The Thubway Tham MEGAPACK ®. Johnston McCulley
his wallet.”
“It ith nothin’ in my young life what thome irate citithen reporth,” Tham replied. “If it wath not for foolith, irate citithenth makin’ thilly reporth, you dickth wouldn’t have anything to futh about.”
“One of these days—” Craddock commenced.
“Thtop it!” Thubway Tham implored. “That ith the thame old thong, and I’m fed up on that! One of thethe dayth you’ll catch me with the goodth and thend me up the river to do a long thtretch. Uh-huh! You have been tellin’ me that for thome little time now, Craddock. Wait till you do it! Craddock, ath a man I like you very much. I would go to the bat for you any time, Craddock. You are a dethent thort, and all that, and you’re my friend.”
“Tham! You overwhelm me!” Craddock said, with some sarcasm in his voice and manner.
“But ath a polithe offither, Craddock,” Thubway Tham continued, “you are leth than a two-thpot. In other wordth, Craddock, you ain’t in the deck at all!”
With that parting shot, Thubway Tham grinned and continued his walk through Madison Square. “Craddock ith a good old thcout!” he informed himself. “But if he ever did get me with the goodth, he’d thertainly take me in jutht ath if he didn’t know me at all.”
Being in funds, Thubway Tham did not have the inclination on this particular day to descend into the subway and “work.” He attended a matinee at a vaudeville house, ate his dinner, and went home. For a time he held speech with Nosey Moore, and then he went up rickety stairs to his room. He hung up his coat in the big closet that connected his room with an unoccupied one adjoining, put on a house jacket and slippers, filled and lighted a pipe, and sat down before the radio set.
Even at that early hour there were plenty of stations “on the air.” Tham jumped from one to another, and finally stopped when he got the quality of music he desired. But he kept an eye on the little clock on his dresser; he wanted to be sure and “tune in” on a certain New York station at the proper moment and get the police alarms.
Sitting back in the easy-chair, Tham puffed at his pipe and enjoyed music being broadcast from Pittsburgh. And the serenity of the moment was broken by a pounding upon the door.
“Come in!” Tham commanded.
Nosey Moore entered at once, and behind him was another man. Tham knew him by sight and reputation. He was “Snoopy” Sallon, a crook somewhat disliked by other crooks, a man to whom truthfulness and honor were unknown even when dealing with his own kind. Tham quickly shut off the radio.
“Tham, we want help,” Moore said. “We’ve got to hide Snoopy until about midnight.”
“What theemth to be the trouble?” Tham wanted to know.
“The bulls are tryin’ to railroad me,” Snoopy Sallon declared. “They’ve been unable to pin a job on anybody and they’re pickin’ on me. They’ll frame me sure, Tham. If I can hide out until about one o’clock in the mornin’, a couple of friends of mine’ll meet me down on the corner and smuggle me to Jersey.”
“What thort of a job?” Tham asked.
“Loft robbery,” explained Snoopy Sallon. “I ain’t got any friends with dough, and I ain’t got dough of my own and can’t make a fight, and the bulls know it. They’ll railroad me for a stretch and go around braggin’ how they solved another case.”
“Thnoopy, are you tellin’ me the truth?” Thubway Tham demanded. “Are you thhure that you didn’t pull thome thtunt and get the bullth hot on your trail? I’m alwayth willin’ to help a man in trouble, Thnoopy, but I want to know all about it. I’ve got mythelf to think of.”
“It’s just like I told you,” Snoopy declared. “I ain’t done nothin’, Tham. I ain’t turned a trick, or tried to, for more’n a month. I’ve been layin’ low.”
Thubway Tham looked inquiringly at Nosey Moore.
“I thought,” said Mr. Moore, “that you’d let Snoopy hide in that big closet, Tham. You’ll be here playin’ the radio. If the bulls bust in here, everything’ll look natural. While you are talkin’ to ’em, Snoopy can get from the closet to the other room and get down the stairs. If they bust into the other room, Snoopy can come from the closet, get through this room, and make a getaway. Then the bulls will come in and find you smokin’ and playin’ the radio like—”
“I thee!” Thubway interrupted. “I don’t care much for you, Thnoopy, but I’m willin’ to help a man in trouble.” He got up and crossed the room and opened the closet door and beckoned to Snoopy Sallon.
The closet was a large one, and Tham had clothes hanging in it. The door opening from the closet into the next room was locked. Nosey Moore used a pass-key and unlocked it.
“You can thtay in there,” Tham told Sallon. “I want to get back to the radio.”
“Thanks, Tham!” Sallon said. “You’re a square guy. I won’t forget this!”
“I don’t like to thee the dickth and bullth railroad any man,” Tham announced. “That ith not right.”
He closed the door and turned back into his own room with Nosey Moore.
“I don’t like that bird, either,” Mr. Moore whispered to Tham, “but we’ve got to help him make a getaway as long as he plays square. That’s the game we’re in, Tham.”
“Thhure!” Tham responded. “Thtay a minute and lithten to thith muthic, Nothey.”
Moore listened to the music for a time. Then the landlord returned to his office, and Tham listened in alone, and just about forgot Snoopy Sallon. But presently he worked the dials again and “tuned in” on a local station. It was time for the police alarms. Thubway Tham got a certain amount of pleasure out of those police alarms. He visualized thousands of persons listening to them. Tonight he listened while missing persons were described. He heard reports of stolen automobiles. And suddenly he sat up straight in his chair and forgot to puff at his pipe, for there was an alarm that seemed to interest him more than the others. It rang from the loud speaker in such tones that everybody on that floor of the building must have heard it.
“Wanted,” it said, “Snoopy Sallon, five feet, seven, weighs a hundred forty, thin, white face, looks like a dope fiend, little finger of left hand missing, scar over right eye, when last seen was dressed in well-known blue-serge suit and wore a black cap. This man, at five o’clock last evening, without provocation, fired at and wounded in the shoulder Detective Charles Craddock, of the headquarters squad. Presumably he did it in revenge because Detective Craddock once arrested him for burglary. This man Sallon is badly wanted by the police.”
For a moment, Thubway Tham sat as though stunned. Craddock had been shot! Not mortally wounded, thank goodness, but shot just the same! Shot down without provocation. A cowardly act! And Snoopy Sallon, the man who had done it, was hiding in the closet by Tham’s permission! Snoopy Sallon had lied to Tham, too! He had said that the police were making an attempt to railroad him. He knew, undoubtedly, that Tham never would have aided him if Tham knew that he had shot Craddock.
Then it flashed through Tham’s brain that Snoopy Sallon, hiding in the closet, must have heard that description of himself and his crime as it poured from the loud speaker. White with rage, his hands clenched, Thubway Tham sprang to his feet, rushed across the room, and jerked open the closet door to confront his man.
But he did not confront him. Sallon had heard. He knew in what estimation Tham held Craddock, and he expected violence for having lied. So Sallon had slipped from the closet to the empty room adjoining, had gone from there into the hall, and no doubt was hurrying from the lodging house. Tham took down his coat and jerked it on, and reached for his cap. Something seemed to compel him to feel into his coat pockets. And then Thubway Tham did rage indeed. It had not been enough for this Snoopy Sallon to shoot down Tham’s friend and then lie about it. Making his enforced departure, Snoopy Sallon also had taken the small roll of currency that