CHAPTER XI. CAUGHT RED-HANDED.

That sudden attack was a big surprise to Clancy. Sure that Hibbard and Long Tom had turned the tables on him, he tried to yell and arouse the house and convey a warning to Fortune. A hand was clapped over his mouth, however, and outcry was impossible.

“Stop your struggling!” a voice hissed in Clancy’s ear. “And don’t try to call out. It will be the worse for you, if you do. I am holding a revolver to your breast, and, if I have to, I will use it.”

Here was another surprise for Clancy. A refined voice, although with a crisp, businesslike ring, had done the talking. Certainly it was not Hibbard’s voice, and it could not possibly be Chantay Seeche Tom’s. Whose, then, was it?

The hand was withdrawn from Clancy’s lips.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

“That’s none of your affair,” came the sharp answer. “How many of your pals are in this house? I heard them, a while ago, and came downstairs. What are you after, anyhow?”

The man, whoever it was, evidently belonged in the place.

“I’m not one of the thieves,” protested Clancy. “I----”

“That’s a likely story! What are you doing in here if you don’t belong to the gang?”

“I came here to do what I could to prevent the villains from robbing the judge. Judge Pembroke knows me. A friend of mine and I blundered upon a tip that something was going to happen here to-night. There wasn’t time to call the police, and we came to see what we could do for the judge.”

Clancy’s captor was a cool one. He gave a low, incredulous laugh.

“You can’t expect me to believe any such stuff as that,” he answered. “How many, besides yourself, are in this house?”

“Two--Dirk Hibbard and a fellow called Tom Long, Chantay Seeche Tom.”

“Hibbard! He knew about that Prescott money, and he’s probably trying to get hands on it. We’ll give them a jolt, I guess. Don’t move--stay right where you are!”

The man reached away from Clancy and half arose. Snap! An electric switch was pressed and a glow of light flooded the room.

For a second, Clancy was blinded, and could see little. As his vision cleared, he discovered that the man who had made a prisoner of him was a young fellow, who bore a striking facial resemblance to the judge. He wore a blanket robe and slippers, and held a small, automatic pistol in his right hand.

“Jove!” murmured the chap with the gun. “You don’t look much like a tough, and that’s a fact. But circumstances are against you, my lad. See that door yonder?”

They were in what was evidently the dining room. As the young man spoke, he nodded toward a door on the other side of the apartment.

“I see it,” Clancy answered.

“That door leads into a hall, and the hall leads to the governor’s study. There is a safe in the study, and the Prescott money is in the safe. Your pals are there, I presume. Walk ahead of me. I’m going to pay them a visit and use you as a screen against any bullets they send in my direction. Start!”

Clancy got up from the floor.

“Hibbard has no love for me,” said he, “and he’ll probably be glad to shoot when he sees who I am. There are two of them, and they must be armed. You don’t want them to get away, do you?”

“I don’t want them to get away with the money. I guess I’ll be able to save that. Stir yourself--we can’t lose any more time.”

The curtain of the doorway through which Clancy had just come was pushed back. The bright glow in the dining room shone out through the doorway and into the room with the open window.

Clancy, shifting his eyes toward the drawn curtain, whirled like lightning. In a flash he had knocked aside the pistol in his captor’s hand and had overthrown him. As the young man dropped, fire streamed through the curtained doorway. A revolver roared in the other room and a bullet crashed into a piece of china on the sideboard and then broke the heavy French mirror behind it into a thousand fragments.

If Clancy had not been quick, that bullet would have struck the young fellow with the gun, for it traversed a line that crossed the exact point where he had been standing.

The young fellow was quick-witted, and, while at first he may have misunderstood Clancy’s action, the crash of the bullet gave him knowledge of the true state of affairs.

“There they go!” cried Clancy.

“Keep back, if you’re not armed!” shouted the other, bounding erect and dashing through the door.

Clancy was ahead of him, but, swift as they were, they were too late. The prowlers had flung themselves through the window, and wild yells were coming from the yard, where Fortune, single-handed, was having all and more than he could attend to.

There was excitement in other parts of the great house. Voices were calling, doors were opening and closing, and feet could be heard running down the stairs and over hardwood floors.

The young fellow stood in the window with the automatic revolver in his hand.

“I’ll give one of them his gruel, anyway,” he muttered.

Before he could shoot, Clancy grabbed his arm.

“Don’t fire!” he exclaimed. “A friend of mine is out there--you might hit him. Are you the judge’s son?”

“Yes,” was the answer, “and I want to get this over with before the governor presents himself. He might get hurt. Are you game to follow those fellows?”

“Of course!”

“Come on, then!”

There was the flutter of a bath robe in the open window, then the space cleared for Clancy. He landed on the ground beside Pembroke.

“They’ve skipped,” said Pembroke. “Even your friend isn’t here! Which way do you think the scoundrels went?”

“I know--they’ve got a car waiting for them. This way!”

Clancy darted for the fence and cleared the iron pickets at a bound. Young Pembroke was tight at his heels.

“If they’ve got a car,” he panted, “they’re bound to get away from us.”

“I’ve fixed the car so they can’t use it.”

Pembroke laughed choppily as he followed Clancy down the street.

“You’re a wonder, old man!” he cried. “And I thought, when I nailed you, that I had one of the thieves!”

Two dark figures could be seen rushing across the street toward the dark bulk of the car.

“There they go!” exclaimed Clancy. “They’ve got a surprise in store for themselves! Look, they’re trying to crank the engine.”

One of the forms could be seen working at the front of the car. He started up with a frantic oath.

“Take to your heels, Chantay! They’ve tampered with the car! Run!”

A figure jumped from the tonneau of the machine and flung off through the night. Hibbard, who had been pulling the crank, ran back along the line of palm trees.

Clancy took after him, and, for a minute, there was an exciting chase. Clancy, however, was far and away the better sprinter. As he came close to Hibbard, the latter turned and brandished a revolver.

“Keep off,” he yelled, “or I’ll drop you!”

Clancy ducked, lurched forward, and came up under the extended arm whose hand gripped the revolver. There was a bit of a struggle, and then Hibbard fell, the red-headed chap on top of him.

“Have you got one of them?” asked Pembroke, coming up.

“Yes--Hibbard,” said Clancy.

“Has he got a canvas bag?”

“No.”

“Then the other scoundrel has the money. I couldn’t find it in the car. Dash it! We’ll have to call in the police--and maybe it’s too late. We’ll take Hibbard to the house, where we can use the telephone. Let him up, old chap.”

Clancy drew away from Hibbard, while Pembroke caught his arm and leveled the “automatic.”

“You’re a nice sort of a chap, aren’t you?” sneered Pembroke. “Robbing the man for whom you used to work! Get up!”

Hibbard got sulkily erect.

“Pick up that revolver,” said Pembroke to Clancy.

The latter stooped and gathered in the weapon, which had fallen from the chauffeur’s hand when he fell.

“Come on to the house, Hibbard,” said young Pembroke. “We’ll let the governor talk with you.”

“I don’t want to talk with the judge,” growled Hibbard. “Take me to jail, if that’s what you’re plannin’ to do.”

“Not much! You’ll face the governor. Step lively, and don’t try to get away. If you make a move to run, the bullets will chase you!”

Between Clancy and Pembroke the rascally chauffeur was led back toward the house.

“You’re responsible for this, Clancy!” snarled Hibbard.

“I don’t know whether I am or not,” Clancy answered. “I guess Mr. Pembroke was next to what you were doing before we reached the house.”

“You’d better jug me,” said Hibbard to Clancy, through his teeth, “or I’ll camp on your trail and settle for you. You’re running up a pretty big score.”

“Your name Clancy?” queried Pembroke.

“Yes,” Owen answered.

“Then you’re the fellow who repaired the governor’s car, out on the trail. He told us about you. Sorry I mistook you for a burglar, Clancy!”

“I hardly see how you could help it,” Clancy returned. “Wonder where the deuce Fortune is?” he added, as he and Pembroke and Hibbard mounted the front steps of the house.

“He was in this, too, eh?” growled Hibbard.

The front door of the house was open, and the judge, in shirt, trousers, and slippers, stood in the entrance.

“What in the world is the matter, Larry?” the judge queried, staring at his son. “Has there been a robbery?”

“That’s the size of it, dad,” answered young Pembroke. “Your Prescott money has gone to Ballyhack, I reckon. There were two of the scoundrels, and the other fellow gave us the slip. He must have had the canvas bag.”

“Never mind the money,” said the judge, “if you’re not hurt. Who’s that you have there?”

“One of them is young Clancy, the chap who repaired your car out in the hills. He came here to prevent the robbery, if he could. The other is Hibbard. He knew about that Prescott money, and came here after it.”

The judge led the way into the drawing-room. A number of the women members of the household were clustered there, shivering with fright. The judge reassured them, and sent them upstairs. After they were gone, he turned to his son, Clancy, and the prisoner.

“I can’t understand this,” said he. “Hibbard, did you come to this house to rob me?”

“I don’t look as though I was here of my own free will, do I?” the chauffeur replied, with an ugly leer.

“I heard some one in the house,” explained Larry, “and went down to the dining room. Some one was just coming through the window, and I waited for him at the door leading from the den into the dining room. When I grabbed him, he proved to be Clancy, there.”

“Clancy!” exclaimed the judge. “Is it possible that----”

“No, dad, it isn’t possible that he’s one of the thieves. He came to warn us about the robbery, but got to the house a little too late. He saved me from getting nipped by a bullet--upset me just as one of the robbers pulled a trigger; after that, he joined in the chase and downed Hibbard single-handed. Clancy has proved a good friend of ours this night.”

“Who was the fellow that got away with the money?” inquired the judge.

“Tom Long,” spoke up Clancy, “the fellow they call Chantay Seeche Tom.”

“He’s equal to a thing like this! I can easily believe that he had a hand in it. I’m out five thousand dollars, but----”

“Jedge, you ain’t out a cent! I happened to grab the bag in the yard, and I ran off with it like a streak o’ greased lightnin’. James Montague Fortune has done somethin’, at last, that didn’t have a bobble in it! Whoop!”

All eyes turned toward the broad doorway that led from the drawing-room into the hall. Fortune stood there, striking an attitude, and holding high a small canvas bag. His face wore a broad and complacent grin.

“Well, here’s luck!” exclaimed Larry Pembroke. “Clancy and his friend have saved the day for us, after all!”