Love stories; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Speculation -- Fiction; Wall Street (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction
“To tell them what I think of them,” replied I, sweeping him aside. For my
blood was up, and I was enraged against the poor cowardly fools.
“For God's sake don't show yourself!” he begged. “If you don't care for
your own life, think of the rest of us. We've fixed a route through
buildings and under streets up to Broadway. Your electric is waiting for
you there.”
“It won't do,” I said. “I'll face 'em--it's the only way.”
I went to the window, and was about to throw up one of the sunblinds for
a look at them; Crawford stopped me. “They'll stone the building and then
storm it,” said he. “You must go at once, by the route we've arranged.”
“Even if you tell them I'm gone, they won't believe it,” replied I.
“We can look out for that,” said Joe, eager to save me, and caring nothing
about consequences to himself. But I had unsettled the inspector.
“Send for my electric to come down here,” said I. “I'll go out alone and
get in it and drive away.”
“That'll never do!” cried Joe.
But the inspector said: “You're right, Mr. Blacklock. It's a bare chance.
You may take 'em by surprise. Again, some fellow may yell and throw a stone
and--” He did not need to finish.
Joe looked wildly at me. “You mustn't do it, Matt!” he exclaimed. “You'll
precipitate a riot, Crawford, if you permit this.”
But the inspector was telephoning for my electric. Then he went into the
adjoining room, where he commanded a view of the entrance. Silence between
Joe and me until he returned.
“The electric is coming down the street,” said he.
I rose. “Good,” said I. “I'm ready.”
“Wait until the other police get here,” advised Crawford.
“If the mob is in the temper you describe,” said I, “the less that's done
to irritate it the better. I must go out as if I hadn't a suspicion of
danger.”
The inspector eyed me with an expression that was highly flattering to my
vanity.
“I'll go with you,” said Joe, starting up from his stupor.
“No,” I replied. “You and the other fellows can take the underground route,
if it's necessary.”
“It won't be necessary,” put in the inspector. “As soon as I'm rid of you
and have my additional force, I'll clear the streets.” He went to the door.
“Wait, Mr. Blacklock, until I've had time to get out to my men.”
Perhaps ten seconds after he disappeared, I, without further words, put on
my hat, lit a cigar, shook Joe's wet, trembling hand, left in it my private
keys and the memorandum of the combination of my private vault. Then I
sallied forth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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