Guy Garrick HTML version

12. The Detectaphone
I found it difficult to share Garrick's optimism, however. It seemed to me that
again the best laid plans of one that I had come to consider among the cleverest
of men had been defeated, and it is not pleasant to be defeated, even
temporarily. But Garrick was certainly not discouraged.
As he had said at the start, it was no ordinary criminal with whom we had to deal.
That was clear. There had been gunmen and gangmen in New York for years,
we knew, but this fellow seemed to be the last word, with his liquid bullets, his
anesthetic shells and his stupefying gun.
We had agreed that the garage keeper would, of course, shed little light on the
mystery. He was a crook. But he would find no difficulty, doubtless, in showing
that there was nothing on which to hold him.
Still, Garrick had evidently figured out a way to go ahead while we had all been
floundering around, helpless. His silence had merely masked his consideration of
a plan.
"You three stay here," he ordered. "If anyone should come in, hold him. Don't let
anyone get away. But I don't think there will be anyone. I'll be back within an hour
or so."
It was far past midnight already, as we sat uncomfortably in the reeking
atmosphere of the garage. The hours seemed to drag interminably. Almost I
wished that something would happen to break the monotony and the suspense.
Our lonely vigil went unrewarded, however. No one came; there was not even a
ring at the telephone.