His lips parted, his eyes wide and incredulous, Locke sat up straight on his chair and stared at Stillman. Janet, who had been listening attentively, gave a little cry, and leaned forward, one slim, protesting hand uplifted. The reporter drew his case from his pocket and lit another cigarette.

Presently Lefty found his voice. “You’re crazy, Jack!” he declared resentfully.

“Am I?” inquired Stillman.

“Oh, it’s impossible!” exclaimed Janet.

“Absolutely ridiculous!” affirmed the southpaw.

“Very likely it seems so to you both,” admitted the newspaper man, his calm and confident manner proclaiming his own settled conviction. “I listened to Lefty’s story, and I know he’s wise to only a small part of what’s been going on.”

“But Parlmee–Oh, it’s too preposterous! For once in your career, at least, you’re way off your trolley, Jack.”

“Prove it to me.”“Why, it isn’t necessary. Franklin Parlmee is a white man, as square as there ever was, and as honest as the day is long.”

“There are short days in midwinter.”

“But his object–he couldn’t have an object, even if he were scoundrel enough to contemplate such a thing.”

“Couldn’t he?” asked Stillman, in that odd, enigmatical way of his. “Why not?”

“Why, he’s practically engaged to Virginia Collier.”

“But without the consent of her father.”

“Yes, but–”

“Bailey Weegman is said to have a great liking for Miss Collier. It was your theory that part of his object in seeking to wreck the Blue Stockings was to get old man Collier in a tight place and force his hand. Why couldn’t Parlmee make the same sort of a play?”

The persistence of the reporter began to irritate Locke, who felt his blood growing hot. Was his life beginning to tell on Stillman? Was it possible the pace he had traveled had begun to weaken his naturally keen judgment?

“Even if Parlmee had conceived such a foolish scheme, he was in no position to carry it out, Jack. On the other hand, Weegman was. Furthermore, it’s perfectly impossible to imagine Weegman acting as the tool and assistant of his rival, whom he hates bitterly. Forget it!”

Unmoved, Stillman shook his head. “Didn’t I say that Weegman was an egotistical dub, and an easy mark? He is naturally a rascal, and he thinks himself very clever, and so is just the sort to fall for a still cleverer rascal.”

Janet’s cheeks were hot and her eyes full of resentful anger. It was difficult for her to sit there and hear Parlmee maligned, and she was confident that that was what she was doing. She could not remain quiet.

“I know Frank Parlmee, Mr. Stillman,” she asserted, “and Lefty is right about him. There’s not a squarer man living.”

“How is it possible for Parlmee to use Weegman as a tool?” asked Locke.

“Through Garrity,” answered the reporter without hesitation.

“But I don’t see–”

Stillman leaned forward. “Listen: I am not at liberty to disclose the sources of my information, but it has come to me that this idea of wrecking the Blue Stockings originated in Parlmee’s brain. He saw himself losing out in the fight for Virginia Collier, and he became desperate. Conditions were ripe. Collier had hit the toboggan, financially and otherwise. A man of considerable strength of will, he had begun to break down. Parlmee knew of his plan to go abroad for his health, and of the arrangement to leave Bailey Weegman in charge of affairs. Collier had a great deal of confidence in Weegman’s ability, and this would now be put to the test. If Weegman should make a grand failure, as Parlmee intended he should, Collier would lose all faith in him; and probably, in his disappointment, he would hand him the g. b. That, above all things, was most to be desired by Parlmee, as it would get out of the way the rival who threatened to defeat him. How to put the thing across was the question. I am willing to give Parlmee the credit of a long-headed piece of work. He knew Weegman must be kept in the dark, must never be permitted to suspect that he was being used as a tool by his hated enemy.”

“It sounds altogether too impossible,” said Locke. But, to his annoyance, in spite of his persistently expressed faith, a shadowy uncertainty, a tiny, nagging doubt, was creeping into his mind. Stillman seemed so absolutely confident of his ground.

“Through his long association with Miss Collier,” the reporter pursued calmly, “Parlmee had learned much about inside conditions in baseball. He had plenty of opportunities to get at things entirely hidden from, or merely suspected by, the general public. He knew Garrity was a grasping scoundrel, who had long regarded the Blue Stockings with a covetous eye, and that, being utterly unscrupulous, he would do anything, as long as he could keep in the background, to break Collier’s grip and get his own soiled paws on the property. Therefore, Garrity was the man to deal with, and to Garrity Parlmee went. They met under cover in Chicago, and the deal was fixed up between them. Then Garrity got at Weegman, the real stool pigeon and the fall guy of the whole plot.”

Locke was listening without protest now. In spite of his desire not to believe, Stillman’s theory seemed possible; he would not yet admit, even to himself, that it was probable. Janet, too, was silent. The color had left her face, and beneath the table her hands were tightly clenched.

“Weegman was just ass enough to fall for it,” continued Stillman contemptuously. “What Garrity promised him I can’t say, but certainly it must have been a satisfactory percentage of the loot–maybe an interest in the team when Garrity got control; and Weegman would sell his soul for money. The moment Collier was out of the way he got to work. You know as well as I do what success he’s had. In order to cover his tracks as far as possible, he has picked you for the goat, and he’ll try to shunt all the blame on you.”

Lefty’s face was grim. He was endeavoring to look at the matter fairly and without bias. To himself he was compelled to admit that his knowledge of Parlmee had been obtained through casual association with the man, not through business dealings, and in no small degree, he, as well as Janet, had doubtless been influenced by the sentiments of Virginia Collier. A girl in love may be easily deceived; many girls, blinded by their own infatuation, have made heroes of thoroughbred scoundrels. It was practically impossible, however, for Locke to picture Parlmee as a scoundrel.

“You have made a statement, Jack,” he said, “without offering a particle of corroborating proof. How do you know all this to be true?”

“I have the word of a man I trust that Parlmee and Garrity had that secret meeting in Chicago, just as I have stated. A few days ago Parlmee made a flying trip to Indianapolis, and–”

“I know that,” interrupted Lefty. “I was in Indianapolis at the time. I met him there and had a brief talk with him.”

“On his way back,” resumed Stillman, “he stopped off at Cleveland to see Garrity, who happened to be in that city.”“How do you know that?”

“My own business chanced to call me out to Cleveland at that time, and I saw Parlmee and Garrity together at the American House.”

Locke took a long breath, recalling the fact that Parlmee, although professing to be in great haste when in Indianapolis, had not returned to his New York office as soon as expected.

“That may have been an accidental meeting,” said the southpaw. “Your proof has holes in it.”

The reporter lighted a fresh cigarette. “How does it happen,” he asked, “that Parlmee is buying up all the small blocks of the club stock that he can get hold of?”

Lefty started as if pricked by the point of a knife. Parlmee, an automobile salesman, a man who had found it necessary to get out and show that he could make good in the business world, buying the stock of the club!

“Is he?” asked the pitcher.

“He is,” asserted Stillman positively. “I know of three lots that he has purchased, and in each instance he has paid a little more than it was supposed to be worth.”

“He–he may have bought it as an investment,” faltered Janet.

The reporter smiled at her. “As far as I can learn, Franklin Parlmee is not situated, financially, to invest much money in stock of any kind. With his stock depreciating, and bound to go lower in value, he would be a chump to purchase it as an investment. The man who pays more than its market value in order to get hold of it knows something about the doings behind the scenes that is not known to the general public. Apparently that man is Parlmee. Who’s furnishing him the money to buy the stock? My own guess is that it is the man who’s looking to get control of the club, and that man is Garrity.”

Still Janet protested that it was impossible, but she looked questioningly at Lefty, the doubt that she was fighting against was now beginning to creep into her eyes.

“Parlmee,” said the southpaw, “has gone to Europe. I have a message from him stating that he would sail on the Northumberland. If he’s behind the plot to wreck the Blue Stockings, why should he leave the field of action at this time?”

“If I’ve got his number,” returned Stillman, “he’s a liar in various ways. Perhaps he has sailed for Europe; perhaps he hasn’t. His message may be nothing more than a little dust for your eyes. But if he has sailed, there’s only one answer to that.”

“Out with it!” urged Locke. “Of course, you think it another move in the rotten game?”“Sure as death and taxes. He believes the time is ripe to get at Collier. He’s gone across to get at him and twist the control of the club out of his hands. Probably he’ll appear before Collier in the guise of a friend anxious to save him from complete financial disaster. He’s got just about enough time to make the trip comfortably, get that business through with, and return before the regular meeting of the league magnates here in New York. Then, at the meeting, Tom Garrity will bob up serenely as the real owner of the Blue Stockings.”