All the next forenoon, Locke kept the wires hot. He ’phoned and telegraphed to every one he could think of who might be able to give him the information he desired so desperately. He met with one disappointment after another. In each instance the reply came back that both Charles Collier and his daughter were somewhere in Europe, but no one appeared to know just where. If his efforts established anything at all, it seemed to be the fact that Lefty had been mistaken in thinking he had seen Virginia in New York; for if she were there, surely some of these people would know of it. The feeling of helplessness, of fighting against greedy and remorseless forces too strong for him to checkmate, pressed upon him heavily.

It was a little after noon when he called the office of the Blade. He wanted to talk to Stillman again. If anybody in New York could find a person wanted, the reporter was the man to do it, and Locke believed that for friendship’s sake Stillman would attempt it.Near the telephone switchboard in the hotel were two long shelves, situated a little distance apart, at which patrons could consult the different directories. At one of these, several persons were looking up numbers, so Locke took his book to the other shelf and found the call for the editorial rooms of the Blade. A man at the next shelf turned, saw the pitcher, and listened when Lefty gave the number to the operator. Instead of giving his own number, which he had found, the man noted down the southpaw’s call on a card. It was the fourth time during the day that this same man had made a record of a number asked for by Locke.

Returning the card to his pocket, the man pretended to busy himself again over one of the directories, keeping his back partly turned toward the pitcher. Soon he heard the switchboard girl repeat Lefty’s number, and direct him to booth No. 1.

The man closed his book and turned round slowly. The southpaw was disappearing into a booth at the end of one of the rows, and, in closing the door behind him, he unintentionally left it slightly open. The watching man moved quietly forward until he was close to this booth, through the glass of which he could see that Lefty’s back was partly turned toward him. There he paused, taking some letters and papers from his pocket and running them over as if searching for something. While appearing to be absorbed in his own affairs, he could hear every word that the pitcher spoke into the receiver.

Getting the editorial rooms of the Blade, Locke asked for Stillman. After a slight delay, he was informed that the reporter was not there. No one could say just when he would be in.

“This is important,” stated Lefty; “a matter in which he is greatly interested. I must talk with him as soon as possible. Will you ask him, as soon as he comes in, to call Philip Hazelton at the Great Eastern? Yes, Hazelton; that’s right. Why, yes, I’m Lefty Locke. All right; don’t fail to tell him immediately he arrives.”

The man outside slipped the letters and papers into his pocket, and turned away after the manner of a person who has suddenly decided upon something. He had not walked ten steps, however, before he turned back. The southpaw was paying for the call. The man watched him now without further effort to avoid notice, and when the pitcher turned from the switchboard he stepped forward deliberately to meet him.

“Hello!” said the man in a voice distinctly husky and unpleasant. “How are you, Locke?”

Lefty stopped short and stared. It was Garrity, coarse, complacent, patronizing. The owner of the Rockets grinned, showing the numerous gold fillings in his teeth. His features were large, and his jaw was square and brutal. His clothes were those of a common race-track follower.

“Quite well, thank you,” answered Lefty coldly, thinking of the pleasure it would be to tell Garrity his private opinion of him.

“Seems to me you look worried. I don’t wonder, though, considering the job they’ve handed you. Some job piecing together the tattered remnants, hey? It’s going to make you a busy little manager.”

“I’m busy now,” said the southpaw, moving as if to pass on; but Garrity detained him. “You’ve got some positions to fill. The Feds got at you hard. Shame to see a team like the Stockings shot to pieces. You’ve got three or four bad holes, and I’d like to help you.”

“You would?”

“Sure. I’ve got the very lads you need, too–Mundy and Pendexter. Both fast men. They work together like two parts of a machine. Mundy covers the short field like Maranville, and Pendexter sure can play that keystone cushion. They’re the boys for you.”

“How’s it happen you are willing to let go of them?” asked Locke, feeling some curiosity to know what lay behind this particular proposition.

“Well, this is between us, mind? I’d just about as soon give up an eye as part with either Mundy or Pendexter, but it’s easier to lose them than dispense with Pressly, my third sacker. That’s been the trouble with my team. Pressly loves Mundy and Pendexter as he loves aconite, and they reciprocate. You know what a feud like that means. It knocks the bottom out of any team. I can’t fill Pressly’s place, but I’ve got a couple of youngsters that I can work in at short and second. I’m not going through another season with those three scrapping. You need the very players I’m willing to part with, and there we are.”

Locke knew the man was not honest, and that he was holding something up his sleeve. In order to make him show his hand, the southpaw asked:

“What do you want for Mundy and Pendexter?”

Garrity considered for a minute. “Well,” he answered slowly, “I’ll trade them with you for Spider Grant–and cash.”

Lefty stared at him in amazement. Was it possible the man could think he was such a soft mark? He laughed loudly.

“You don’t want much, do you, Garrity? The ‘and cash’ was a capper! Man, I wouldn’t trade you Spider Grant for your whole team–and cash!”

The owner of the Rockets scowled, glaring at Locke, the corners of his thick-lipped mouth drooping.

“Oh, you wouldn’t, hey?” he growled huskily. “I suppose you think that’s a joke?”

“Not at all; it’s serious. I couldn’t use the players you offer, anyhow. Mundy does cover the short field like Rabbit Maranville–sometimes; but he’s got a yellow streak, and he quits. Pendexter knows how to play second, and at the beginning of last season he hit like old Sockalexis when the Indian first broke into the league. But the pitchers all got wise to his weak spot, close and across the knees, and from a three-hundred-and-sixty batter he slumped into the two-hundred class. You were thinking of asking for waivers on him. Spider Grant–and cash–for that pair! I didn’t imagine that even you could think me such a boob.”

As he listened, Garrity’s face showed his anger; his breath came short and quick; his eyes were blazing with the fury of a wild animal.

“Have you got that all out of your system?” he asked, when Lefty stopped. “You’re a wise gazabo, ain’t you? You know all about baseball and players and such things! You’ve got a head bigger than a balloon. But it’ll shrink, give it time. It’s plain you think you really know how to manage a team. By the middle of the season, and maybe considerable before that, your head will be about the size of a bird shot. And you’ll know a lot more then than you do now, believe me!”

The southpaw laughed in his face. “Don’t lose your temper,” he advised, “just because you couldn’t put a raw one over on me. Go ahead and ask waivers on Pendexter. You’ll get mine. I wouldn’t carry him on my team if you agreed to pay his season’s salary for me. My trade with Frazer gave you the notion that you could pick another good man off me, and weaken the Stockings still more. You fooled yourself that time, Garrity. Perhaps you’ll find out before long that you are fooling yourself in other ways.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’ll let you guess. But just remember what Bobby Burns said about ‘the best-laid plans o’ mice and men.’”

With this, Locke passed on, leaving the wrathy owner of the Rockets glaring after him.

“You poor fool!” muttered Garrity. “I’ll have you whimpering like a whipped dog before I’m done with you. Your head’s liable to roll into the basket before the season opens. When the time comes, I’ll lift my finger, and the ax’ll fall.”