CHAPTER XI

A FREE SPENDER

For perhaps ten seconds Nat Ridley stood in the aisle of the sleeper, looking at the man who confronted him from the upper berth. It was past midnight, and the passengers entering the train in the Pennsylvania Station went directly to bed or sat in the smoking compartment until ready to turn in, for the porter had all the sections made up.

Then the Mexican, Spaniard, or whatever he was, let his eyes fall before the steady gaze of the detective and thrust one leg out over the edge of the berth.

"I am sorry, señor," he began, but Nat was in no mood for polite rejoinder and merely remarked:

"It's all right--not your fault so much as it is this porter's," and he nodded toward the Negro. "But I always travel this way--can't sleep with anyone above me, and I'm not going to begin now. I guess you can find another berth."

"No, sah, boss--beggin' yo' pardon, we's full up!" exclaimed the porter. He saw that he had made a mistake and, looking to the tips in prospect--as well as to the bribe already pocketed--he tried to carry water on both shoulders and propitiate both travelers. "I's mighty sorry, boss," he went on to Nat, "dat I took one ob yo' two berths. I didn't s'pose any one man would want two, 'less he were twins. I figgered de clerk in de ticket office done make a mistake, an' so I told dis gen'men he could hab de upper."

"I'm sorry; but he can't," said Nat, with finality.

"I'll fix him up in de smokin' room," said the porter. "Come on, boss," he continued. "I kin fix you a good bed."

By this time the stranger was in the aisle, having climbed down the little ladder the porter brought for him. He had slipped a coat over his pajamas. He had evidently counted on a full night's sleep when Nat aroused him. The detective looked narrowly at the fellow, but his face was not familiar and Nat did not remember to have seen him before, either in the trio on the street near the cab containing the murdered body of Lemberg or in the Club Tamalle.

"But if he isn't one of the Tola gang, he belongs to the same race, and I don't trust them--not now," decided Nat. "I don't want them sleeping above me."

While the Mexican, with more murmured apologies, went to the other end of the sleeper, Nat piled his baggage into the upper berth and then sat down on the edge of the lower bed to think the matter out. Decidedly, he did not like what he had just discovered.

"I think they're on my trail, in spite of all my precautions," mused the sleuth. "They must have spotted me in the ticket office, and they easily found out where I was going and what berth I had. Then this fellow probably bribed the porter to let him come in here. Well, I've spiked their guns for a time."

But the more the detective thought it over the less he liked it, and he finally reached a decision that caused him to chuckle silently as he began to undress.

Before stretching out Nat rang for the porter and said:

"Don't worry, George, I won't hold it against you that you tried to get away with one of my berths. Here's a dollar, and when you get to the end of your run I may have another for you."

"Dat's de kind of talk I likes t' heah, boss!" and the porter grinned from ear to ear.

"But don't disturb me during the night, and make sure no one else does," warned Nat. "I've got a terrible temper when I'm awakened out of a sound sleep. See that I'm not disturbed."

"Dat's what I'll do, boss. I suah will!"

Then Nat went to sleep, first having taken the precaution of slipping his automatic under his pillow where it was ready to his hand. The train rumbled out beneath New York City, beneath the Hudson River, out over the Newark meadows and so toward the south and Texas. Nat Ridley slept, while, curled up none too comfortably on the leather seat in the smoking compartment was a dark-faced man whose scowl did not add to his looks. From time to time when alone he muttered something beneath his breath. But when the porter came in during the night, he always found his guest smiling.

Morning came, and, with the dollar bill in mind, the porter did not call Nat Ridley, whose temper was so short when suddenly aroused. Not until every other passenger in the sleeper was up and dressed did the porter venture carefully to open the green curtains of lower twelve to say softly:

"It will soon be brekfust time, sah!"

There was no answer, and the window curtains were still down, shrouding the berth in gloom.

"Does yo' still crave sleep?" asked the porter softly, as he reached forth a hand to shake, as he thought, the slumbering form. But his black fingers encountered nothing but bed clothing, and with an exclamation of surprise the porter swung back the curtains, letting in light enough to see that the berth was empty. The man who always traveled double had disappeared, bag and baggage.

"Well, whut yo' know 'bout dat?" gasped the black fellow.

"What is the matter?" asked the Mexican, pressing forward eagerly. "Has anything happened to the señor who was so selfish?" and from the cruel and crafty smile on the face of the man who had slept in the smoking compartment a close observer might have gathered that he would not greatly have minded had the "selfish" man died in his sleep.

"He's done gone--dat's whut happened!" exclaimed the porter. "An' he done owes me a dollar! De nex' time I lays myse'f out----"

But he checked himself suddenly and a grin replaced the scowl of his face as he reached down on the pillow and picked off a crisp dollar bill. Nat Ridley had not forgotten his promise.

"But where is the señor--what has become of him?" asked the Mexican.

"He mus' 'a' got off in de night," said the porter. "We made quite a stop at de junction, an' he mus' 'a' got off den. But he had a ticket clean through to Paloma," he added.

"Yes, I know he did!" exclaimed the Spaniard.

"Yo' knowed dat?" asked the porter suddenly.

"Well--er--I think I heard him say he was going there," was the confused answer. "Why should he get off short of his destination?"

"I dunno, 'less he couldn't sleep," chuckled the Negro. And then, as he kissed the dollar bill before putting it in his pocket, he added: "But I should worry! I got mine!"

* * * * *

It was a hot night in Paloma, Texas, and the temperature of the night appeared to have imparted something of its nature to what was going on in the Cordova Club, a resort much frequented by Americans as well as by Mexicans filtering over the border line.

A jazz band was blaring out its most blaring music--a band composed, it would seem, of negroes, though in its advertisements the Cordova Club made much of its Spanish orchestra. There was a scurrying to and fro of waiters bearing tall glasses of cooling drinks, and it might be argued, other drinks, cooling in so far as ice was concerned, but which seemed composed of liquors that set the blood tingling.

In other words, it was pretty freely whispered about in Paloma that much stronger "stuff" than the legal half of one per cent. was freely dispensed at the Cordova Club.

It was what might be called a high class resort--that is, evening dress for the men and women predominated, though it was not absolutely required that a man have on his "soup and fish," or that women must be bared of arm and shoulder. But that was usual.

Among others who sauntered into the gay and blaring club this hot night was a well-dressed man who seemed bubbling over with good nature. His evening clothes were worn with an air as if he put them on each night to saunter forth for hours of gay life, and he had that about him which caused the head waiter to hurry forward deferentially to ask:

"How many, sir?"

"I'm alone," was the smiling answer. "And I'd appreciate it, captain, if you could put me at a table with some gentlemen where I can enjoy myself."

"Of a surety, señor," was the ready response. "I will place you among what we call the Bohemians."

"Fine and dandy! That suits me right down to the ground!"

A little later the well-dressed stranger was ushered into a circle of equally suitably attired men at a central table, near the dancing floor. As the head waiter left this stranger remarked:

"I suppose there will be no objection if I order some bubble water for the crowd?"

"Bubble water, señor?" questioned the waiter who had come up at a signal from the captain.

"Champagne!" exclaimed the stranger. "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself," he went on. "Bill Brice is my name. I'm traveling for the National Hardware Corporation and I'm taking a night off. Will you oblige me by imbibing a bit of bubble water with me?"

Would they? You should have seen their eyes sparkle at the mention of the sparkling wine. And the waiter, at a signal from his chief, hurried off to fill the order.

Champagne for the whole table! It was seldom done, but----

"He must be a free spender," one of the crowd remarked as they all gave their names to "Bill Brice" in return for his own. "Well, they can't come too free for me."

Then the jazz band blared on, the glasses tinkled, and the champagne frothed while, in a quiet corner, a dark-faced man remarked softly:

"So, he got here after all, did he? But when did he leave lower twelve and slip away from me? That is what I would like to know."