# When the Winner Lost/Chapter 13

pp. 76–81.

### CHAPTER XIII.
#### LATISSE “GOES WEST.”

IN that second I knew what it means to see red. All the pain and shame that man had caused me rose in one insufferable gust of anger. Jerking my automatic from my pocket, heedless of the fact that Elise was beside me, I ran to the doorway. Murder was in my heart, and had I reached Morris I do not believe I even should have cried to him to surrender. I have called my desire the wish to murder, but there must be some other name for it. If ever a man deserved to die it was he. Luck was with him this time, however.
Just as my fingers clutched the knob of the plate-glass storm door, I saw Charles Latisse climb into the car after Morris, and the machine start. For one moment I had an almost irresistible impulse to throw open the door and pepper away at the taxi, but this could not accomplish my purpose. I stopped with the door unopened and replaced the gun in my pocket.
“Who was he?” Elise asked quietly, stepping to my side. The fact that she did not seem extraordinarily disturbed startled me more than if she had fainted or screamed.
“Th—the m-man I am after!” I answered. “Maurice Morris. What name does he use here?”
Elise regarded me thoughtfully. “Tell me first, Mr. Trask,” she said, “just why you are looking for him. I am not entirely certain that I should help you.”
“The absconding president of the Belleville Avenue Trust and Savings Bank!” I said bitterly. “How much is Charles mixed up with him?”
She paled. “I don't know. I hope not at all. Are you telling me the truth, Mr. Trask?”
“I am,” I answered shortly. “I've told you so much of the truth that I am entirely in your hands. I have nothing against your brother that I know of, but he is keeping the worst company in the world. The sooner I get hold of Morris the better it is for Charles.”
“So I thought when I first met him,” she said, shivering a little. “The way he looked at me made me distrust him. He gave the name of Hosmer Burton.”
“He has called on you, then?” I asked, mentally jotting down the new alias.
“Twice only. When he asked for this evening or this afternoon I told him I had made an engagement already.”
The thought of the mysterious danger Charles had mentioned occurred strongly to me just then. “Keep away from him!” I urged. “I don't know how soon I can trap him, but if he is here in the meantime don't admit him. Put it on the grounds of personal aversion, previous engagements, anything, only don't allow yourself to be alone with him. And Elise”—I hesitated—“You won't tell Charles about this, will you?”
She held our her hand to me and faced me honestly. “I will not tell any one,” she promised. “You may trust me. There is something about you, Mr. Trask, that forces a person to believe you whether she wishes to do so or not.” With that she withdrew her hand from mine and waved me good-by as she fled up the stairs.
Had my wits worked a little more quickly I never should have let her escape, for I had detected the suggestion of a twinkle in her eye as she spoke. However, that was beside the stern business that confronted me. I left, promising myself that on the next occasion I saw Elise I should gain her consent to marry me. Meanwhile I must find “J. M.”
I wasted no time getting downtown to the hotel. Mitsui met me at the door of my suite. “We just want you,” he said, as he closed the door. “'J. M.' he in there,” and Mitsui waved his hand at the closed door of the living room. “He been waiting half an hour.”
Throwing off my wraps I entered the room designated. “J. M.”—as every one seemed to call him—was there, smoking a cigar. He was lounging in a wicker chair, with his long legs couched on the edge of the table, and instantly I entered he arose. Because he had become so interesting to me I noted that he seemed sterner than on the one former occasion I had seen him. He wore a suit of blue serge, untailored at the waist, high collar, and blue bow tie. On first glance one would see that he had a long, homely neck, only part hidden by his stand-up collar. After a second's nearness only the set of his broad but curiously pointed chin would be remembered. He was far from handsome as a man, yet the first impression I had received of him—that of his being a superior for whom one might be glad to work—was strengthened before he uttered a word.
“Tell me all about it, Trask,” he asked, seating himself quietly and waving me to a chair. “I have the ends pretty well in hand now, but I would like to hear your report.”
“Well,” I began, rather at a loss concerning the part of my adventures which would interest him, “I have been trying to earn my money, and if losing several thousand dollars is your idea of that still, I have succeeded.”
His eyes smiled, though his broad mouth kept its firm line. “Yes, that part of it was understood,” he replied. “Now just take for granted that I know nothing, and tell me every detail from beginning to end.”
I did so, starting with Mitsui and Hoffman, and the early adventures in piker gambling. As I talked, I noted a peculiar dullness creeping into his blue eyes, and I stopped, thinking I was losing his attention.
“Go on,” he remarked instantly. “You were saying that you met this Latisse at the Carlton Chess Club.”
I continued the story, and as I came to the part where Elise had told me of the friend of her brother's who had disappeared, a grim expression came to his face.
“Yes, she meant Grover Bankart,” he put in.
The name was unknown to me, so I went on as if he had not spoken. Every detail I related except my first taking of Elise partially into my confidence. This I thought he might as well not hear about. When I related my uncanny experience with Mitsui at the gambling house, the dullness became even greater in my employer's eyes. I saw that it meant concentration.
“The devil!” he exclaimed as I told of the shriek in tunnel. “He never returned, and that is why!"
“But he is out there now!” I protested.
“Oh, Mitsui, yes. This one whom you met at the Carlton, and then again at the Casque and Gauntlet, was Baron Taku, Mitsui's brother, one of my best men. He was along always to keep in touch with you and to help, if help became necessary.”
A great light began to dawn upon me. I had at times been suspicious of the whole crew with whom I was working—at least until I had connected up Morris with Latisse. No man could get the benefit of a doubt with me who even spoke civilly to Maurice Morris—or whatever he called himself. Mitsui had seemed untrustworthy, bobbing up as he did at unexpected places. I had suspected even the artist Hoffman of sinister designs, but now with “J. M.” himself directing affairs and Mitsui sufficiently explained, I knew that I was on the right side.
“I called that gambling house the Casque and Gauntlet,” he continued. “That is the main fact which I had to ascertain, but I think it is plain enough now. The number of the taxi you took is placed against them. They keep their own taxi service, you know. Besides, I had an aviator flying over the vicinity of the road house each of the nights you went out there. Each time, at the precise hour, the lights of a car were observed approaching and vanishing there.”
“So it is some kind of road house, or automobile tavern?”
“Yes, on the surface,” he replied significantly. “You have seen a little of what it is below the level of the ground.”
I bethought myself of the graphs which I had made, and drew them from my pocket. “J. M.” was agreeably surprised at my foresight and congratulated me. He thereupon obtained a map of Chicago from the encyclopædic dictionary in the bookcase, and laid out my penciled peregrinations.
“They don't jibe exactly,” he remarked, when he had tested both on the map, “but both go to the immediate vicinity of the Casque and Gauntlet. I guess that puts on the finishing touch,” he added grimly; “except——”
He stopped. I did not speak, for I thought he would elucidate. “You are a man of rare sense and ability, Mr Trask. Because I want you to aid me through to the finish in this horrible affair, I shall tell you more than I have told any other living being with the exception of my companion, Hoffman, whom you have met."
“Nitsui and Hoffman have told me that you know me only as 'J. M.'” he said. “That stands for Jeffrey Masters, or 'Jigger' Masters to my friends.” His blue eyes flashed with a genuineness of feeling.
“Right-o!” I answered.
“I am an investigator, as doubtless you have guessed. Until last June I was working for the government on war problems. Then this case came up. It is not necessary for me to elaborate, but I may say that long before I was assigned to work on it I had become interested from a purely professional viewpoint. This Middle Western region has staged in a few months more mysterious disappearances—all of prominent men in the financial world, or their sons, too—than the history of crime records in any other given year. Then one of the assistant secretaries of one of our busiest departments at Washington disappeared out here. The circumstances baffled every one, but I saw the connection between that particular instance and the series of crime that had been committed against private citizens.”
“This Grover Bankart was one of the victims, you say,” I inquired.
Masters caught his breath sharply. “Not exactly,” he answered in an odd tone. “Bankart had many reasons for wishing to disappear.”
“You mean——”
“I mean,” Masters continued evenly, “that Grover Bankart is one of the geniuses—or devils, if you prefer the term—who is responsible for the Casque and Gauntlet. For five years I have been looking for him for various pieces of work all over the country. Never before has he dared a big job as this. Now”—and Masters stretched out a long finger and then slowly clenched his fist—“I've got him.”
"And his confederate?” I suggested, wondering if by any chance Morris could be linked up with Bankart.
A grim smile came to Master's lips. “Hoffman has accused me more than once of being too fond of poetic justice,” he said. “In your mixing with that cheap come-on, Latisse, have you met any of his friends."
I could feel the color leaving my cheeks. “Morris!” I cried. “Then you knew I would recognize him!”
Masters nodded. “Just too late I found out that Morris was one of the pair I had been looking for so long. Your bank went under, and Morris came out here with his spoils and aided Bankart in starting the Casque and Gauntlet, buying the road house from the former owners. Of course I didn't know that at the time. When finally I got to work on this case, and found it necessary to secure a young man to play the part of Selwyn Trask, I tried out several without success. Then the notion occurred of winning your co-operation. I sent a detective East to size you up. Just then you were free to leave New York, and you came on to Chicago on a wild hunt for Morris.”
I blushed. “Then I didn't fool him when I changed my name!”
Masters grinned. “No. If you were going to stick with me in the business I would have to give you a little instruction in disguises and methods of losing troublesome people. My detective simply changed his identity, too, and shadowed Selwyn Trask."
“The reason I didn't tell you more about the job at first was because I was afraid you might act too rashly.”
“You were right,” I admitted. “I never could have contained my anger if I had known Morris was connected with that club.” Then I told him of my meetings with Elise, and the queer attempt Charles had made to marry us off. In the same connection I mentioned the fact that Morris also had been to see the girl, though I did not know positively that the warning Charles had given had the remotest bearing upon Morris in any way.
Masters' forehead wrinkled. “I knew about some of that, of course,” he answered. “Though you didn't know it, one or two of my men were near you constantly, except when you were at the club. Taku was the only one beside yourself who got in there, and we did not dare to follow your car. It would probably have meant your death before we could get anything tangible on the gang. In respect to that queer notion of Charles Latisse, I'm afraid I can't shed any light just yet, though. I wouldn't wonder, though——” He stopped short, as a thumping, as of a heavy body being dragged along, sounded from the hall way outside our suite.
I went to the door and flung it open. Charles Armand Latisse stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb as if for support. The second I saw his face I knew something terrible was wrong with him. Never handsome, mainly because of the sinister emotions that had lined it ineradicably, it now was horrible, grotesque! His beady eyes seemed to protrude from a mask of sickly white, and the constant flickering of the lids only accentuated the impression that he could be only on the point of collapse. I never had had the slightest sympathy for him, even when he was concerned for his sister's safety, because I always had felt that by severing his relations with the club entirely he would have made her life much more pleasant—and safe. Now I reached forward took him by the arm, and led him to a chair in the anteroom. If this should prove to be nothing but a snare I thought that the three of us could handle him without difficulty; his looks however, denied this possibility.
“Lo, Trask,” he eats muttered quickly, breathing in deep gusts like a victim of alcoholism. “Didn't figure it well. Haven't much time, so let me talk.” His head fell forward on the desk, but with an effort he turned his face toward me and continued: “I'm done. They got me, which is worse than if the police—— Oh, Trask, it's horrible!”
“What's the matter with you, man? I demanded. “You look sick, very sick. Can't I do something?”
“Sick?” he retorted faintly, a grisly grin wreathing his pallid lips. “Yes, I am sick—poison. I have about five minutes—maybe——”
I started to my feet. “I'll get a doctor!”
“No!” he protested with feeble emphasis. “I took it; meant to die. Paper in coat pocket says so. Don't worry. Let me talk. Oh!” A spasm of pain shut off words for an instant. I was torn between the feeling of necessity for doing something for the man, and the knowledge that if I left him he would die before help could come, and his message would then be lost.
“Had to die,” he groaned, mouthing his words terribly. Another convulsion racked him, and I began to fear that I would not hear what he had to disclose. A second or two later he quieted a little, though. “They've got her,” he went on, his voice growing fainter.
“They? The club, you mean?” I demanded. “Who?”
“Hosmer—Burton and—and——” His voice stopped as a spasm of pain came.
“Who has he got?” I demanded in a louder tone, as he seemed to be sinking. My heart was thumping a wild tattoo of terror.
“Elise!” he wailed. “Only one who cared anything—she loved me and tried——”
I clutched his wrist. “Tell me about it, quick!” I shouted, not even interested in knowing whether any one overheard me.
“Burton,” he gasped, writhing in pain, “Burton wanted her. She—she wouldn't marry—or see him at all. He had me—said he'd put me on the spikes didn't give her over. He said he'd take her to the club. I loved Elise, and would have shot her first, but——” His voice petered out, and his face began to assume a bluish hue.
“What happened?” I cried, beside myself.
It was ten seconds before he could answer. “While I rode with him he knocked me on the head and tied me. Then—then he took Elise. I tried to save her, but—Burton——” Flecked foam interrupted his speech. I shook him savagely, but life had fled.
The second that he could be of no more use, I threw him aside like an empty sack. I hated and detested Charles Latisse at that moment more that I had thought it possible to or detest any one. Through his devilish machinations he had succeeded in getting his sister—the only woman in the whole world for me—into the clutches of that cold-blooded monster at the Casque and Gauntlet!
Morris, of all men in the world! Was he to rob me a second time, this time of Elise? I could not bear the thought. Had I been alone I must have gone raving mad. A film of red danced before my eyes and my fists clenched in a sudden ecstacy of horror and anger. That second I wished that my old “circus” was within wireless signal distance; however, I would go there and get her away from that gang, alone if necessary! Of a sudden I noticed that the blood was running from my lips where my teeth had bitten through!
“I heard it all,” said a quiet voice beside me. “Did you care for this man's sister?” It was Masters, and with calm persuasiveness he led me back into the living room.
“Yes!” I admitted bitterly. “I love her! Oh, how I wish that beast of brother had lived ten seconds longer, so he could have told me more about it! Does Morris intend to——”
“I think I could tell you,” broke in Masters, seizing me by shoulders, and looking down solemnly into my eyes; “but I would prefer that you put this out of your mind until to-night. I need your help.”
“To-night?” I echoed in consternation, “surely you don't think I am going to wait until then, when Elise is in their hands?”
“I am going to ask you to do so,” he returned quietly. “I think I can give you my word that she will not be harmed before then.”
“But how? Why? How can you know?” The words raced out in a flood.
“You must remember,” he answered with the same calmness, “that I have been working on this case a long time. While you have been opening door after door for me I have been gathering the full comprehension of the plan. I could go out there now and probably capture the gang with all their apparatus. There is so much to prove, however, that it is simply necessary that I get them red-handed. I must be able to show just how they have made away with their victims.”
“How can I help in that?” My voice was shaky, for I knew that my only real chance for rescuing Elise waited on this man's pleasure; but the wait seemed impossible.
His expression grew grimmer. “I employed you to risk your life,” he remarked.
“Yes, and I'm ready!” I declared. “Out with it! What do you want?”
“I want you,” he said slowly and with emphasis, “to do just what Baron Taku did unknowingly.”
I stared at him blankly. I could not imagine what he meant.
“The baron,” he continued, “was too much of a gambler to be cautious and follow the instructions given to him. He won money—and you heard the shriek in the tunnel!”
“Yes.”
“Well, I want you to go there to-night and win! It does not matter how you do it. Throw your gentlemanly scruples aside if fortune does not favor you. Cheat! The main thing is to win.”
“I shall do my best.”
“Then,” and his tone grew quieter still, but ominous, “you will keep close watch of the time. At ten minutes past twelve you are to be many thousands of dollars ahead, if possible, and are to leave on the dot. While you are coming through the tunnel I shall raid the place!”
The memory of the shriek came to my mind, but I resolutely put it aside. “Yes, on one condition,” I replied.
“And that is?”
“That you look immediately for Elise Latisse when you come in. From what I have seen I do not expect to be able to assist you much!”