down, Harry, old man,” urged Walter.
“Please, dear,” said the girl. A hand of each of them on my arms, they pressed me into a seat.
I made no resistance. A certain grim wonder had come to me. I watched Consardine and the lieutenant carry on a whispered conversation to which the latter’s leathernecks aimed eager ears. I knew the story Consardine was telling, for I saw the officer’s face soften, and he and his men glanced at me pityingly; at the girl, compassionately. The lieutenant asked some question, Consardine nodded acquiescence and the pair walked back.
“Old man,” the lieutenant spoke to me soothingly, “of course I’ll do what you ask. We get off at the Bridge and I’ll go to the first telephone. Discoverers’ Club, you said?”
It would have been wonderful if I had not known that he thought he was humoring a lunatic.
I nodded, wearily.
“‘Tell it to the marines,’” I quoted. “The man who said that knew what he was talking about. Invincible but dumb. Of course, you’ll not do it. But if a spark of intelligence should miraculously light up your mind tonight or even tomorrow, please phone as I asked.”
“Oh, Harry! Please be quiet!” implored the girl. She turned her eyes, eloquent with gratitude, to the lieutenant. “I’m sure the lieutenant will do exactly as he has promised.”
“Indeed I will,” he assured me—and half winked at her.
I laughed outright, I couldn’t help it. No heart of any marine I had ever met, officer or otherwise, could have withstood that look of Eve’s—so appealing, so grateful, so wistfully appreciative.
“All right, lieutenant,” I said. “I don’t blame you a bit. I bet myself I couldn’t be kidnapped under a New York cop’s eye at a subway entrance. But I lost. Then I bet myself I couldn’t be kidnapped in a subway train. And again I’ve lost. Nevertheless, if you should get wondering whether I’m crazy or not, take a chance, lieutenant, and call up the Club.”
“Oh, brother,” breathed Eve, and wept once more.
I sank back into my seat, waiting another opportunity. The girl kept her hand on mine, her eyes, intermittently, on the leatherneck lieutenant. Consardine had seated himself at my right. Walter sat at Eve’s side.
At Brooklyn Bridge the marines got out, with many backward looks at us. I saluted the lieutenant sardonically; the girl sent him a beautifully grateful smile. If anything else had been needed to make him forget my appeal it was that.
Quite a crowd piled on the car at the Bridge. I watched them hopefully, as they stampeded into the seats. The hopefulness faded steadily as I studied their faces. Sadly I realized that old Vanderbilt had been all wrong when he had said, “The public be damned.” What he ought to have said was “The public be dumb.”
There was a Hebraic delegation of a half dozen on their way home to the Bronx, a belated stenographer who at once began operations with a lipstick, three rabbit-faced young hoods, an Italian woman with four restless children, a dignified old gentleman who viewed their movements with suspicion, a plain- looking Negro, a rather pleasant-appearing man of early middle age with a woman who might have been a school teacher, two giggling girls who at once began flirting with the hoods, a laborer, three possible clerks and a scattering dozen of assorted morons. The typical New York subway train congregation. A glance at right and left of me assayed no richer residue of human intelligence.
There was no use in making an appeal to these people. My three guardians were too far ahead of them in gray matter and resourcefulness. They could make it abortive before I was half finished. But I might drop that suggestion of calling up the Club. Someone, I argued, might have their curiosity sufficiently developed to risk a phone call. I fixed my gaze on the dignified old gentleman—be seemed the type who possibly would not be able to rest until he had found out what it was all about.
And just as I was opening my mouth to speak to him, the girl patted my hand and leaned across me to the man in the Inverness.
“Doctor,” her voice was very clear and of a carrying quality that made it audible throughout the car. “Doctor, Harry seems so much better. Shall I give him—you know what?”
“An excellent idea, Miss Walton,” he answered. “Give it to him.”
The girl reached under her long sport coat and brought out a small bundle.
“Here, Harry,” she handed it to me. “Here’s your little playmate— who’s been so lonely without you.”
Automatically I took the bundle and tore it open.
Into my hands dropped out a dirty, hideous old rag-doll!
As I looked at it, stupefied, there came to me complete perception of the truly devilish cunning of those who had me in their trap. The very farcicality of that doll had a touch of terror in it. At the girl’s clear voice, all the car had centered their attention upon us. I saw the dignified old gentleman staring at me unbelievingly over his spectacles, saw Consardine catch his eye and tap his forehead significantly—and so did every one else see him. The Negro’s guffaw suddenly stopped. The Hebraic group stiffened up and gaped at me; the stenographer dropped her vanity case; the Italian children goggled at the doll, fascinated. The middle-aged couple looked away, embarrassed.
I realized that I was on my feet, clutching the doll as though I feared it was to be taken from me.
“Hell!” I swore, and lifted it to dash it to the floor.
And suddenly I knew that any further resistance, and further struggle, was useless.
The game was rigged up against me all the way through the deck. For the moment I might as well throw down my hand. I was going, as Consardine had told me, where the “greater intellect and will” pleased, whether it pleased me or not. Also I was going when it pleased. And that was now.
Well, they had played with me long enough. I would throw my hand down, but as I sat back I would have a little diversion myself.
I dropped into my seat, sticking the doll in my upper pocket where its head protruded grotesquely. The dignified old gentleman was making commiserating clucking noises and shaking his head understandingly at Consardine. One of the rabbit-faced youths said “Nuts” and the girls giggled nervously. The Negro hastily got up and retreated to the next car. One of the Italian children pointed to the doll and whined, “Gimme.”
I took the girl’s hand in both of mine.
“Eve, darling,” I said, as distinctly as she had spoken, “you know I ran away because I don’t like Walter there.”
I put my arm around her waist.
“Walter,” I leaned over her, “no man like you just out of prison for what was, God knows, a justly deserved sentence, is worthy of my Eve. No matter how crazy I may be, surely you know that is true.”
The old gentleman stopped his annoying clucking and looked startled. The rest of the car turned its attention like him, to Walter. I had the satisfaction of seeing a slow flush creep up his cheeks.
“Dr. Consardine,” I turned to him, “as a medical man you are familiar with the stigmata, I mean the marks, of the born criminal. Look at Walter. The eyes small and too close together, the
