At ten o’clock he arose and pored over the city
directory. Then he put on his shoes, took a
cab, and departed into the night. Twice he changed
cabs, and finally fetched up at the night office of
a detective agency. He superintended the thing
himself, laid down money in advance in profuse quantities,
selected the six men he needed, and gave them their
instructions. Never, for so simple a task, had
they been so well paid; for, to each, in addition
to office charges, he gave a five-hundred-dollar bill,
with the promise of another if he succeeded.
Some time next day, he was convinced, if not sooner,
his three silent partners would come together.
To each one two of his detectives were to be attached.
Time and place was all he wanted to learn.
“Stop at nothing, boys,” were his final
instructions. “I must have this information.
Whatever you do, whatever happens, I’ll sure
see you through.”
Returning to his hotel, he changed cabs as before,
went up to his room, and with one more cocktail for
a nightcap, went to bed and to sleep. In the
morning he dressed and shaved, ordered breakfast and
the newspapers sent up, and waited. But he did
not drink. By nine o’clock his telephone
began to ring and the reports to come in. Nathaniel
Letton was taking the train at Tarrytown. John
Dowsett was coming down by the subway. Leon
Guggenhammer had not stirred out yet, though he was
assuredly within. And in this fashion, with
a map of the city spread out before him, Daylight
followed the movements of his three men as they drew
together. Nathaniel Letton was at his offices
in the Mutual-Solander Building. Next arrived
Guggenhammer. Dowsett was still in his own offices.
But at eleven came the word that he also had arrived,
and several minutes later Daylight was in a hired
motor-car and speeding for the Mutual-Solander Building.
Nathaniel Letton was talking when the door opened;
he ceased, and with his two companions gazed with
controlled perturbation at Burning Daylight striding
into the room. The free, swinging movements
of the trail-traveler were unconsciously exaggerated
in that stride of his. In truth, it seemed to
him that he felt the trail beneath his feet.
“Howdy, gentlemen, howdy,” he remarked,
ignoring the unnatural calm with which they greeted
his entrance. He shook hands with them in turn,
striding from one to another and gripping their hands
so heartily that Nathaniel Letton could not forbear
to wince. Daylight flung himself into a massive
chair and sprawled lazily, with an appearance of fatigue.
The leather grip he had brought into the room he
dropped carelessly beside him on the floor.
“Goddle mighty, but I’ve sure been going
some,” he sighed. “We sure trimmed
them beautiful. It was real slick. And
the beauty of the play never dawned on me till the
very end. It was pure and simple knock down
and drag out. And the way they fell for it was
amazin’.”
