Chapter 5 AT THE JAIL

The rest of the evening following such an eventful day passed pleasantly. Joe had usually been in the habit of strolling down town for a chat with his friends at the hotel. But he knew that the whole town would be buzzing with the exciting adventure of the afternoon and that, if he made his appearance, he would be dragged into the center of the limelight. He shrank from the hero worship likely to be called forth and decided to remain in the home circle.

But he could not wholly cheat the village people of a chance to show their enthusiasm, and all that evening friends came trooping in, to rehearse the story of his exploit, so that it was very late when he finally was able to get to bed.

He rose early the following morning and after a hearty breakfast took his hat and left the house. At almost every step he had to stop and talk to some one who hailed him, so that it was considerably later when he stood in the lobby of the Park Hotel.

"By jiminy! that was a crack shot you made yesterday, Joe," said Sol Cramer, the proprietor.

"It had to be," laughed Joe. "If I hadn't winged him that first time, I wouldn't have had another chance. He'd have got suspicious and thrown the baby down on the tracks."

"Was that what you call your 'bean ball,' Joe?" drawled Ed Wilson.

"I suppose you might call it that," answered Joe with a grin. "It certainly 'beaned' him all right. I've had to send them in pretty close sometimes to keep some fresh batter from crowding the plate, but this is the first time I ever hit a man in the head. By the way, how is he getting on today? It isn't the poor fellow's fault that he's crazy and I'm awfully sorry that I had to hit him at all. I hope he'll soon be as well as ever."

"Oh, I don't think you need to worry about it," returned Sol. "Doctor Allison has been down to the jail to see him, and though there's a lump on the man's head as big as an egg, the doc says it's nothing serious."

"How long has he been staying here?" asked Joe.

"Nearly a week," replied Sol. "It would be a week tonight if he'd stayed."

"And hadn't you noticed anything that might make you think he was off his head?" queried Joe.

"Not the least thing," was the answer. "He was as quiet and well behaved as any man could be. He kept a good deal to himself and didn't seem to know any one in town, so that I wondered sometimes just what his idea was in coming here. But that's none of my business as long as he pays his bills, and I didn't have any complaint on that score. Paid me a week in advance as soon as he had planked down his grip and registered. Paid it from a big roll of bills, too, so that it probably wasn't money worry that made him go mad. I thought he might be one of them literary fellows that come to a quiet town sometimes to write a book."

"And you're sure his name is Talham Tabbs?"

"That's the name he registered by," answered Sol, at the same time turning the hotel register around so that the group could plainly see the name written in a firm business hand. "Then too, his laundry has the initials T. T., and the same letters are on his valise. I guess that's his handle all right."

"You ought to know his name, Joe," jibed Tom Davis. "You're both members of the same secret society."

There was a roar of laughter as they recalled the ridiculous signs that Joe had made and the gravity with which the madman had imitated them.

"I'd hate to have Joe initiate me into his lodge," said Sam Berry. "I only have one head and I need it in my business."

"Same here," chuckled Ed Wilson. "I believe in the strenuous life, but Joe's methods can hardly be called ladylike. Almost rough, you might say."

"It was too bad," said Joe, half remorsefully. "I hated to do it, but it seemed the only way, and it was a matter of life and death."

"You needn't have any qualms of conscience about it," said Sol. "It was the finest thing that has been done in this old town for many a moon, and it'll be a long time before people get through talking about it."

"If you hadn't done it, there would probably be crepe on the Bilkins doorbell this morning," added Sam. "I tell you it made my blood run cold when he swung the baby in the air. I thought it was a goner sure."

"'All's well that ends well,'" quoted Joe, lightly. "I think I'll run down to the jail and take a look at this Talham Tabbs. I may get some inkling of what he had in mind when he kidnapped the baby."

"You have a swell chance of getting anything from that chap," said Ed Wilson, skeptically. "But perhaps it won't do any harm to try."

Joe said goodby to his companions and sauntered down to the jail, which was located on the southeast edge of the town. A few minutes' walk brought him within sight of it.

It was not an impressive structure. In the little town of Riverside crimes were few and far between. The chief function of the jail was to take charge of wandering hoboes and to house some participant in a brawl such as took place from time to time between the laborers at the Harvester works. Once in a great while, something more important was charged against some reluctant dweller in the jail, and on such occasions there was more than ordinary stir within its sleepy precincts.

It was a small two-story building. The upper part was set apart as living quarters for the warden and his family. On the lower floor, there were a number of cells, and a large room in which the occupants of the jail were allowed to gather at stated periods for meals and recreation. In addition, there was a room set aside as a hospital room or infirmary for prisoners who might be ill or disabled, and it was in this that Joe expected to find the victim of his shot the day before.

He was admitted by Hank Bailey, the warden, who shook his hand warmly and repeated the congratulations that Joe was getting tired of hearing.

Hank was a stout, rubicund person and quite advanced in years. He had gained his position not because of any special fitness, but as a henchman of the political party that at that time ruled the county. He was slow and easy going and would have been utterly out of place in a larger jail, where strict supervision and discipline were demanded. But in this sleepy little jail he fitted in well enough, and, as he was good-natured and a general favorite in town, there were no special complaints against his administration.

"Well, Hank," said Joe, after greetings had been exchanged. "I suppose you know pretty well whom I've come to see."

"Sure thing," replied Hank. "You want to see the lunatic that you brought off his perch yesterday in the lumber yard. He's in the hospital room now by the doctor's orders. Come along and I'll let you take a squint at him."

"How does he seem to be today?" asked Joe, as he followed his conductor through the corridor on the lower floor of the jail.

"Oh, he's doing well enough," responded Hank. "Doc Allison was here this morning and said he'd be as good as ever in a day or two. Said though that if that snowball had hit him a fraction of an inch nearer the left ear his skull would have been fractured sure."

"Does he seem to be in his right mind?" asked Joe, as the warden fitted the key into the lock.

"Sometimes he does," replied his guide, "and then again he doesn't. The doc kind o' sounded him as to his doin's yesterday, but he either didn't recollect or he was shammin', one or the other. But you can see him now and judge for yourself."

The jailer passed in and Joe followed.

On a bed in the further corner of the room, Talham Tabbs was lying. It was the first time that Joe had had a chance to examine his face closely and he embraced the opportunity.

It was by no means an unpleasant face nor did it bear any marks of criminality. It was long and lean, but the features were good. If Joe had passed him on the street and noticed him at all, he would have set him down as a keen business or professional man. The only thing at all queer or abnormal were his eyes, that, as he turned them on his visitors, glowed beneath his eyebrows like twin coals.

His glance passed indifferently over the warden, but when he caught sight of Joe there was a flash of recognition. And what surprised Joe was that the recognition was a friendly one. There was no glint of malice or revenge. It was clear that he did not know that it was Joe's hand that had brought about his downfall, and again Joe had that half remorseful twinge that bothered him before, although his common sense told him he had acted rightly.

This feeling was intensified when Tabbs favored him with a solemn wink and then raised his left hand and twiddled the fingers as Joe had done yesterday. Joe was stumped for a minute, but quickly recovered himself and returned the signal. Then Tabbs went through the same flummery with his right hand, then with both hands, and would have concluded the ritual by turning his back to Joe, if the attempt to do so had not revealed that he was strapped to the bed.

Hank Bailey all this time had looked on with growing bewilderment.

"What does all this monkey business mean?" he demanded, helplessly.

Joe nudged him with his foot.

"It's all right," he affirmed. "Mr. Tabbs is a member of the same lodge with me, and because we are brothers he's going to tell me all about what happened yesterday."

A doubtful look came into Tabbs' face.

"How can I with him here," he asked, pointing to the warden. "He isn't a member, and he might give away our secrets if we talked them over before him."

"That's right," agreed Joe with another nudge at Hank. "Please step outside, Mr. Warden, while Brother Tabbs and I confer."

Hank, although still bewildered, complied.

"Now," said Joe, turning to Tabbs and speaking with impressiveness, "I conjure you by the great Te-To-Tum to answer me truly."

Tabbs' face became as grave as an owl's. It was evident that he took a childish delight in this solemn nonsense.

"Speak, brother," he said, "and I will answer truly."

"It is well," said Joe. "Do you know a man named Bilkins?"

Tabbs' face was blank.

"No," he answered. "Never heard the name before."

"Why did you take his baby yesterday?" continued Joe.

"Was that his baby?" the prisoner asked. "I just took it for a lark. The baby needed exercise and so did I."

Joe thought to himself that what the baby needed might well be left to the judgment of its mother, but he continued:

"Do you know a man named Varley?"

A cunning look came into the prisoner's eyes and he no longer looked straight at Joe, as he answered evasively:

"I've known several people by that name in my time."

"This man was Reginald Varley, and he lives at Goldsboro, North Carolina," Joe went on, relentlessly.

"No," snapped Tabbs. "Never met him."

Joe felt sure that the man was not telling the truth, but he was getting so restless and angry under his questioning that Joe felt it was useless just then to pursue the matter further.

"All right, brother," he concluded, as he rose to go. "I'll see you later."

"Perhaps," said Tabbs, and it was not till afterwards that Joe sensed the meaning that lay behind that final word of Talham Tabbs.

He rejoined Hank Bailey, who was waiting in the corridor.

"Well," that worthy greeted him, "did you get anything out of him?"

"Not so you could notice it," replied Joe. "There isn't much nourishment in talking to a madman."

"By the way, Hank," he went on, as they walked toward the street entrance, "there's no chance of any one breaking out of here, I suppose?"

"Leave that to me," answered Hank, swelling with a sense of his importance. "Nobody ain't ever broke out of this jail yet, and by crikey, they won't, as long as I'm the keeper!"

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