That explained it. Now Lefty knew why he had received no answer to his cablegrams. Before the first was sent, Charles Collier was on the high seas, bound for America. He was home, and Garrity held him in the hollow of his hand. On the morrow the owner of the Blue Stockings was to feel the crushing grip of the triumphant schemer.

Weegman watched the southpaw’s face, noting the look of consternation upon it. Suddenly snapping his fingers, he began speaking again: “That’s why I came to you, Locke. What’s done must be done quickly. After eleven o’clock to-morrow it will be too late. You know what that means for you. Garrity hates you like poison, and you won’t last any time after he gets control. You can raise that money.”

“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars! You’re crazy!”

“You can do it, and save yourself. If you’ll do the right thing by me, I’ll tell you how to raise the needful. Together we’ll hand Garrity his bumps. What do you say? Is it a go?” He sprang up and approached, his hand extended.

Locke rose and faced him. The scorn and contempt upon his face would have withered a man less calloused. Weegman recoiled a little, and his hand dropped to his side.

“Weegman,” Lefty said, “you’re the most treacherous scoundrel I ever had the bad fortune to meet. You’re just about as trustworthy as a rattlesnake. Heaven knows I need money, and I certainly want to hold my job, but not even to save my own father and mother from being turned out of the home that has sheltered them so long would I enter into any sort of partnership with you.”

A look of astonished wrath contorted Weegman’s features, and a snarling laugh broke from his lips. “You poor fool!” he cried. “You’ve thrown away your last chance! I did think you would know enough to save yourself, but I see you haven’t an atom of sense in your head.”

There was something almost pitying in the smile Lefty gave him. Something, also, that caused the man a sudden throb of apprehension.

“You’re the fool, Weegman,” returned the southpaw. “You have confessed the whole rotten scheme. You have betrayed yourself and your fellow conspirator, Garrity.”

“Bah!” the rascal flung back, snapping his fingers again. “What good will it do you? I’ll deny everything. You can’t prove a thing. I was careful that there should be no witnesses, no one to hear a word that passed between us.”

Locke grabbed him by the wrist, and snapped him round with a jerk, facing one wall of the room. “And I,” he cried, “took care that every word we uttered should be heard by two reliable persons. I set the trap for Garrity, but I have been unable to decoy him into it. You walked into it unbidden. Look!”

With two strides he reached a dresser that stood against the wall. He seized it and moved it aside. With one finger he pointed to a small, square, black object that clung to the wall two feet from the floor.

“Look!” he commanded again.

Weegman stared uncomprehendingly, yet with the perspiration of dread beginning to bead his forehead.

“What is it?” he asked huskily.

“A dictograph!” answered Lefty. “I had it put in two days ago. When you met me a short time ago and asked for a private interview I started to turn you down. Then I saw old Jack Kennedy and Stillman, the reporter, in the background. They gave me a signal. Thirty seconds after we entered this room they were in the room adjoining, listening by means of that dictograph to every word that passed between us. We’ve got you, Weegman, and we’ve got Garrity, too. Criminal conspiracy is a rather serious matter.”

All the defiance had faded from Bailey Weegman’s eyes. He trembled; he could not command even a ghost of a laugh. He started violently, and gasped, as there came a sharp rap on the door.

“They want to take another good look at you to clinch matters so that they can make oath to your identity,” said Locke, swiftly crossing and flinging the door open. “Come in, gentlemen!”

Kennedy and Stillman entered. Weegman cowered before them. They regarded him disdainfully.

“You beaned him all right, Lefty,” said the ex-manager. “He wasn’t looking for the curve you put over that time.”

The reporter paused to light a cigarette. “After your arrest, Weegman,” he said, “I advise you to make haste to turn State’s evidence. It’s your only chance to escape doing a nice long bit in the stone jug.” He turned, closed the door behind him, and shot the bolt again. “In the meantime,” he added, “I think we can persuade you to refrain from warning Garrity regarding what is coming to him shortly after eleven o’clock to-morrow.”Looking feeble and broken, Charles Collier sat at his desk in the office of the Blue Stockings Baseball Club. On the desk before him lay the books of the club and a mass of letters and documents. At one end of the desk sat Tom Garrity, smoking a big cigar and looking like a Napoleon who dreamed of no impending Waterloo. He was speaking. His words and manner were those of a conqueror.

“You can see how the land lies, Collier. You should have sold out your interest in the team before going abroad. Weegman made a mess of it. To-day you can’t realize fifty cents on the dollar. I’ve offered you my Northern Can stock for your holdings. That’s the best way out for you now. If you refuse you’ll lose Northern Can and the team, both. Better save one by sacrificing the other.”

Collier wearily lifted a protesting hand. “You don’t have to repeat it, Garrity; I know you’ve got me cornered. I’m merely waiting for Weegman. He promised to be here at eleven. It’s past that hour.”

Without asking permission, Garrity reached for the desk phone. “I’ll call in my lawyers,” he said. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Before he could lift the receiver from the hook the door swung open, and Weegman came in, pale and shrinking. At his heels followed Locke, Kennedy, and Stillman. With an astonished exclamation, Garrity put the instrument down.

“I hope we don’t intrude,” said Lefty, smiling on the startled owner of the Rockets. “Having learned from Weegman of this little business meeting, we decided to drop in. I’m very glad to see that you have arrived home in time, Mr. Collier.”

“Too late!” sighed the hopeless man at the desk. “Too late! You’re just in time to witness the transference of the Blue Stockings to Garrity.”

“On the contrary,” returned the southpaw easily, “we have come to purchase Mr. Garrity’s Blue Stockings stock at the prevailing price. Likewise his interest in Northern Can.”

Garrity rose, his face purple with wrath. A tremendously explosive ejaculation burst from his lips. “What in blazes do you mean?” he roared.

“Just what I have said,” Locke answered calmly. “Since arriving in town I have made arrangements for this little business matter. I have opened an account with the New Market National by depositing a certified check for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which is more than enough to make the purchases mentioned. Mr. Collier’s attorney will arrive in ten minutes or so to see that everything is done in a legal manner.”

“But you can’t buy a dollar’s worth of my holdings in either concern.”

“You may think so now. I’m sure you’ll change your mind in a few moments. It is also reported that, for the good of the game, you’ll get out of organized baseball. Have you brought a copy of the second edition of the Morning Blade with you, Stillman? Show it to Mr. Garrity, please.”

The reporter drew a newspaper from his pocket, opened it, passed it to Garrity. One finger indicated a half-column article, with headlines.

GARRITY TO GET OUT.

WILL DISPOSE OF HIS INTERESTS IN THE ROCKETS AND ABANDON BASEBALL. HINTS OF A CONSPIRACY TO WRECK THE BLUE STOCKINGS.