time payment by sylvia jacobs _the whereabouts of a hideaway can be found--but what about the whenabouts?_ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, july 1960. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] slick tennant had a hunch. the sixth sense that had made him king of the local rackets, that had warned him in time when three of his men fell to the machine guns of a rival gang, now told him that the feds were after him, that they had evidence to send him up for a long stretch. but he was going where even the feds couldn't extradite him. slick tennant was going to hide in the future. they didn't call him slick for nothing. for months, a private dick in his pay had shadowed dr. richard porter, inventor of a device called by reporters a time-travel machine, by comedians a crystal ball, and by dr. porter's fellow-psychiatrists a metachronoscope. slick knew the doctor was a widower, knew where he lived, knew pressure could be put upon him through dickie porter, aged seven. in slick's pocket was a house-key dr. porter thought he had lost two weeks ago. but slick hadn't disclosed his intentions to anyone. the chauffeur of his bullet-proof car let him out several miles from the porter residence. strolling along the street, slick might have been any citizen on his way home. a hat shadowed his features as he passed under the street lights, and he carried a briefcase. he hailed a cruising cab and proceeded to a spot two blocks from the porter home, being careful not to tip too much or too little to attract the driver's attention. dr. porter propped an elbow on his pillow, trying to orient himself in the fuzziness that follows a midnight awakening. he stifled a gasp, and sat up suddenly, as he saw that the man silhouetted against the living room lamp had pajama-clad dickie by the arm. the child was rubbing his eyes, but there wasn't a whimper out of him. "i got a gun on the kid," the man said. "i like kids and i won't hurt him if you do what i say." the doctor struggled to keep his voice soothing and professional. "of course you wouldn't," he said. "you don't want to go back to the hospital." the man laughed. "i ain't one of your nuts, doc. and i don't want your money. i got plenty. all i want from you is a little trip in your time machine." "metachronoscope," corrected the doctor. "it's very misleading to call it a time-travel machine." * * * * * letting go of the boy, slick dealt dr. porter a vicious slap. "that'll learn you not to pull none of your high-brow stuff. is it my fault i had to quit school to keep the family from starvin' when my old man got sent up? if slick tennant says it's a time-travel machine, that's what you call it, see?" "yes, i see," dr. porter said faintly. the mention of gangland's most dreaded name had more effect on him than the blow. "now let's get something else straight. once, on tv, they said a couple of guys came back. another time, the news program said they couldn't come back and give tips on the ponies. which is right? can you bring me back any time you want to?" "absolutely not. the decision is irrevocable. the public's impression that the future can be altered or predicted is incorrect." "fine. i don't want to come back. and i don't need to change the future, neither. things may be different, but a smart cookie can always get along. now, according to the news, you only sent these guys ahead a year. that ain't enough. what's the most you could send me ahead?" "theoretically, we could send a subject ahead as much as twenty years, if we could find anyone who would consent to that, and undoubtedly we could learn a great deal more by so doing." "but you did find out that the boys come through okay?" "yes. we sent these two men ahead in 1961. when they returned to awareness, it was 1962. physically and mentally they were as fit as before." "did they know what happened to them?" "well, the year had no apparent duration for them, but they had normal speed memories of the intervening year when they returned to awareness. evidently their fore-memories for the entire year must have been condensed into the brief period they were in the field. from this phenomenon, we derive the term 'sending the subjects ahead' which has so often been misinterpreted. but it's important to note that these condensed fore-memories were not available until twenty-four to forty-eight hours after the events, which means the future cannot be effectively predicted by present techniques." that sounded like plain english; it sounded as if it meant something, but slick wasn't quite sure what. he seized on the last remark, which he understood. "what did you build this gadget for, if you can't tell fortunes with it?" he asked. "the layman thinks in terms of immediate practical application. but our primary objective was knowledge of the human mind. we confirmed the existence of mental capacities that have been suspected for centuries. we formulated the axiom that awareness is a function of subconscious fore-memories becoming currently available. we experimentally suspended awareness without inducing unconsciousness, by causing the fore-memories to condense. i hope the process will develop into a useful tool for my profession, that we learn how to superimpose conditioning on the blank area to produce rational, socially acceptable action, rather than the literal and irrational compulsion which is a drawback to implanting post-hypnotic commands. but i can't tell you at this point where our research will lead." * * * * * this double-talk had slick going around in circles. but he had a strong hunch that taking a trip in the machine was the right thing to do, and he wasn't going to let porter divert him from that. "let's get down to cases, doc. just exactly what's going to happen to me when i get in this machine?" "it's difficult to explain the process in lay terms, particularly under stress. but this may help you to understand it. have you ever had the experience of going back to sleep for a few moments after you awoke in the morning, and dreaming a long, involved dream?" "sure. i get some good hunches that way." "then you know the dream may cover a period of hours, days, or even years. people in the dream move and speak at a normal speed. yet when you awaken again and look at the clock, you see that only a few minutes or even seconds have elapsed. a motion picture of the events in the dream would be nothing but a gabble and a blur, if projected at such terrific speed." "yeah, that's right. i had that happen plenty of times, and i always thought it was kind of funny." "it demonstrates the capacity of the human mind to function independently of the limitations of chronological time. and premonitory experiences--what you call hunches--give us an inkling of the fore-memory phenomenon. in our dreams, the past, future, literal and symbolical material mingles. but by subjecting the physical brain to a certain type of electro-magnetic field, we can isolate the fore-memories, condensed as in the dream, while the subject acts as if in a waking state." "does it hurt when a guy's brain goes into this field?" "not at all. awareness and physical sensations are totally suspended. the elapsing time has no apparent duration. that means you can't feel anything at all, you don't know what has happened until later, and twenty hours or even twenty years pass in a second, as far as your mind is concerned." "why in the hell didn't you give me that straight, instead of dragging in all this dream business? that's just what i'm looking for, just what i figured it would be from the news stories. do you throw this here field ahead or does the time machine travel along with the guy inside?" dr. porter sighed slightly. the man had a preconceived idea, and nothing porter had said had altered it in the slightest. "the machine doesn't actually travel," he explained patiently. "that's why i objected to calling it a time-travel machine. it exists here and now and it will exist in the future, i suppose." "you mean it'll be there when i come out of the field?" "i said i suppose so. why should that concern you, particularly?" "well, i'll tell you. slick tennant pays off two ways. maybe you only heard about the times he paid off guys for crossing him, but he pays off guys that help him, too. i'm paying for your help by giving you a chance to save your skin. i got a hand grenade in this briefcase. when i get through with that machine, i'm going to blow her to little, bitty pieces. maybe you can't bring me back, but i don't want you to have the machine to send the cops after me, neither. by the time you get a new machine built, my trail will be cold." intellectually, dr. porter accepted the concept of the inevitability of events. if slick was going to blow up the machine, he was going to blow it up. still the old, old human habit of trying to control the future kept obstinately insinuating itself. "but you don't need to destroy the machine," he protested. "look, let me try to explain--" "i thought you'd try to talk me out of it," slick said ominously. "i know that a lot of money and work went into that gadget, but i got to blow her up. you should be glad you're not on my list or you'd get blown up with her. and i got no time for any more talkin'. i found out all i want to know. now, get up and get dressed, and make it snappy. you're going to drive me over to the university." porter had been careful not to make any moves that might alarm his unbidden guest; he swung his feet obediently over the side of the bed. "is dickie going with us?" he asked. "you're damned right he is. i don't want you high-signing any cops on the way, and the kid might even be sharp enough to phone the station himself, if we left him here." he didn't add that he had an even better reason for taking the boy. "then let him get some clothes on, too. it's cold outside." to his son, dr. porter added, "don't be afraid, dickie. everything is going to be all right." "sure, daddy," the boy said sturdily. "you just do like he says. he's like the bad guys on tv." "you got a smart kid, porter," slick said, grinning. "knows when to keep his trap shut and what to say when he opens it. that's more than some of the hoods in this town know." * * * * * driving down the freeway toward the university campus, slick and the boy sat in the back seat of dr. porter's car. slick tried the kid on his lap for size; it was a nice fit. the papers said the time machine was a two-passenger job, but if that wasn't the straight dope, slick could hold the kid on his lap, like this. the gangster squeezed dickie's small hand. "you're all right, boy. plenty of guys a lot bigger than you would be bawlin' if slick tennant invited them to take a little ride. if i ever have a kid of my own, i'd want one just like you." he tucked a bill in the pocket of dickie's jacket. "this is to buy you a play gat or something." "thank you, mr. slick," the boy said gravely. though business compelled him to do things like rubbing out the competition, slick was really soft-hearted. some of the proceeds of his illicit activities were devoted each year to buying christmas trees, turkeys, and toys for poor children. he kind of hated to separate dickie porter from his father, but it was the only way he could see to insure a safe passage through time. and then, slick reflected, he _would_ have a kid of his own, or at least one he was responsible for. slick decided then and there that he would send the boy to the fanciest high-class boarding school they had in the future, the kind the millionaire kids went to. dickie would have a pony, a bike, a dog, plenty of fried chicken and strawberry shortcake, all the things slick had yearned for in his own slum childhood. he would live in the country, where there were miles of fresh green grass to play on, and he would wear a silver-studded cowboy suit with real spurs. unless the kids where they were going would be wearing space-pilot suits instead. by gosh, that would be something. maybe slick could take the kid on a luxury cruise to the moon. to provide these things, slick would have to follow the only trade he knew, move in on the local mobs. but he wouldn't let dickie mix with hoods and racketeers. dickie would study to be something respectable, a mouthpiece or maybe a doctor like his old man. dickie would have all the advantages a kid could ask for--everything except a real father. he might even have that, come to think of it. dr. porter might easily live another twenty years, now that slick had warned him to get away from the machine before it was blown up. first, slick would get some plastic surgery, so porter and any other old ducks who were still alive wouldn't recognize him. there ought to be a lot of improvements in plastic surgery in twenty years. probably a guy could even get his fingerprints changed. then he would hire a private dick to look up porter. slick pictured the aged father being reunited with the son he'd lost twenty years before, seeing the child just as he'd been at the moment of parting, with slick playing santa claus in the background, sending the kid a roll of thousand-dollar bills with a pink ribbon around it for a present. it was such a touching thought that tears came to the gangster's eyes, as they did when he watched a sad movie. he was sorry he couldn't let porter and the boy in on his plans right now, but he wasn't ready to tip his hand. * * * * * the machine was a two-passenger job, all right. slick could tell that the minute he saw it. there was no enclosure, just two reclining barber chairs fixed on two circular plates sunk in a platform. after the switch was set, porter had explained, the additional weight of an occupant of the chair would complete the contact and the field would build up. slick examined the control panel, particularly the dial, which was calibrated into twenty sections, each for a ninety-second exposure to the field. "you did say twenty years, didn't you?" dr. porter asked. "if that's the limit," slick replied tersely, "like i heard." "how old are you?" "you mean can my ticker take it? well, i'm forty-five. they tell me i don't look it." slick was vain of his black hair, without a thread of gray in it. "no, you don't look it. but let me take your pulse and blood pressure." * * * * * he submitted, without letting go of either his gun or brief case. "you seem to be in good shape, as nearly as i can tell from a superficial examination. but don't you want to reconsider this twenty-year arrangement? i can't change the setting once you're in the chair, you know. are you sure you understand that the only thing affected will be your own subjective experience, that time will go on just as it always has, but that you won't be aware of anything between now and twenty years from now?" "sure. you told me that three-four times already. what are you trying to do? stall till help gets here?" slick asked suspiciously. "i'm not stalling," the doctor said. "in fact, i'm only too glad to find someone to whom the present means so little that he's willing to go into a twenty-year blank. but ethics insist that i warn you." he turned the switch to the twenty-year mark. "i'm ready," he said. "whaddya mean, warn me?" slick snapped. "is this thing booby trapped?" "certainly not. i have merely tried to explain that it is not exactly what you anticipated--" "you know what i'm drivin' at. have you got the machine set to electrocute me or explode the grenade? a lot of you respectable citizens don't figure a guy like me is exactly human. you wouldn't call it murder to rub me out. you'd think you was doin' the town a favor." "some people would, perhaps, but i'm a doctor, not a judge. i've spent my life trying to find out what makes men like you act as they do, not in devising means of punishing them. but even if i wanted to do you bodily harm, i couldn't. the machine has a built-in safety factor." this was where slick sprang a little surprise. "you willing to bet your kid's life on that?" he asked, picking up the boy. he took two steps toward the platform, watching porter's reactions. if the father made a lunge toward the panel, slick would know the setting was wrong. but porter only stood stunned. the setting was safe, then, but slick had only porter's word that it couldn't be changed after contact. maybe a change would be fatal to the passenger. so he would make sure there would be no changes. "i always take out travel insurance. doc," slick said, and, stepping onto the platform, he put the boy gently into one of the chairs and reclined in the other himself. "dickie!" dr. porter cried. it was the last thing slick or the boy heard him say. * * * * * slick came back to awareness of where he was and what he was doing. he was in one of the radial corridors, but at what compass point, at which level, and how many miles inside the outer walls of the city, he didn't know. he ran his fingers in a puzzled manner through his hair. he had never quite figured out the lettering system of the "circles" which weren't actually circles, but multagons. he didn't even know what time it was. in this perpetual mock daylight, there was no change; there were no variations of seasons in this sterilized, irradiated, humidified, filtered, deodorized, oxygenated, constantly circulating seventy-five degrees. he remembered when streets used to have names, when you needed a street guide instead of a course in geometry to find your way around the city. he remembered when a city was many buildings, not one immense pyramid, when you wore dark glasses against the sun's glare on the pavements, when a santa ana blew dust over everything or smog stung your eyes, when people drove their cars into the downtown congestion instead of leaving them on the outskirts, when they said to each other, "there hasn't been enough rain this year," because there was no weather control and water for the lawns came all the way from the colorado instead of from the nearby pacific. that was the trouble--his mind slipped back to the old days, his memories got out of sequence, and he wandered away from recidivist gardens, the only place he felt comfortable and at home. dr. tyson said it was because he had been in the field so long that time, twenty years ago. a young man was staring at him, and slick looked down at himself. no wonder the young man was staring! to his shame, slick saw that he was wearing some kind of clothes, and worst of all, he was wearing them inside the city! where had he found them? the only possible explanation was that he had drawn them out on his museum card. these scrambled-sequence attacks were becoming more embarrassing each time! "don't act so flustered, pop," the young man said. "nobody saw you but me. take 'em off and i'll put 'em in the lost-and-found chute for you. or are you on your way to a costume ball?" slick looked over the railing of the balcony. there were several people waiting for elevators and radial cars on the level below, all decently naked, of course, but the young man was right. nobody else had seen slick's shame. hurriedly, he stepped out of the uncomfortable clothes and rolled them into a bundle. the young man took it from him. "you're very kind--thank you so much," slick said. "think nothing of it," the young man said. "what address should i put on this stuff?" "just recidivist gardens. they'll take care of it in the office. i hope you don't think all of us at the gardens do peculiar things like this. it's just that--well, it's a long story, but they didn't start my conditioning until i'd been in the blank five years. i'm not capable of anything really anti-social, you understand, but i get what they call sequence scrambles. sometimes i act as if i were living in the past. i'm not crazy, though. the doctors at the gardens assure me i'm not crazy." "of course you're not," the young man said soothingly. "but that's a long blank--five years." "i went the limit, really. twenty years." "then you must be the man they call slick!" "you've heard of my case?" "i was with you the night you made my father put us in the field." "dickie porter! how you have grown! i've always told your father i didn't want to meet you. he said if it was going to happen, it would, whether he introduced us or not. but i hate to face you, after taking such a large slice out of your life--" "but i'm still young. you're the one who's had the worst of it, because when you come out of the blank, you won't have so many years left. but you have the comfort of knowing you really did something worth while. your case and mine have been invaluable to the research, particularly yours, because it was with you that my father developed the conditioning techniques. if it hadn't been for you, it would have been very difficult to find anyone willing to draw a twenty-year blank." "no. not even a lifer would want that. but i don't take any credit for it. i did it only because i was so bull-headed i wouldn't listen to what dr. porter was trying to tell me." "i came out of it six months ago," the young man said. "now i can consciously hear, and feel, and smell, just like other people. i don't have to wait till tomorrow to remember what i said to somebody today, or what tonight's dinner tasted like." * * * * * "i'm so glad to hear that!" slick said. "dr. tyson says i should be coming out of it soon, too. say, wait a minute--i heard what you said just now--i'm hearing what i said myself--why, i've had full sensory impressions for several minutes now, but it kind of sneaked up on me--" the young man seized slick's hand and pumped it vigorously. "congratulations! you're out of it!" "oh, this is wonderful, wonderful! it's like--like coming back to life. i must go home and tell dr. tyson at once! please go with me. it'll do you good to get out of the city. we're the only two people who've drawn such a long blank--we have so much in common. i'll fix you a chicken dinner. i raise my own. just think, to taste my own fried chicken!" "i wish i could go, but it'll have to be some other time. i have a date for the opera. when you see it on the tri-di-cast you'll know my girl and i are in the studio audience." "oh, a girl!" slick said. "of course there'd be a girl, now that you're out of the blank. i won't keep you. but there's just one thing i must ask you--do you ever remember ahead? consciously, that is?" "a few times. but the conscious fore-memories are mixed with post-memories and impossible to place according to dates. it's the same objection that applies when people remember ahead in dreams--you don't know which part of the dream is a fore-memory until it happens." "maybe some day they'll learn to sort those conscious fore-memories out. if i could do it, i would know whether you are ever coming to see me." "i will come," the young man promised. "believe me, i will." absorbed in his newly found sensations, slick took the elevator a hundred and thirty-three floors to ground level, reminding himself not to go too far and wind up in one of the sixty levels below ground. then he stopped the north-by-northwest radial car and punched the button for city limits, thus avoiding the necessity of dealing with the circle lettering system. he sat in the speeding little car, watching the faces of the other passengers, until each, in turn, got off at their respective stops. got off to go to luxurious apartments that were nothing more than cells, with four-sided soundproofing separating neighbor from neighbor, with air, newspapers, prepared meals and all other deliveries coming by chute. how could they bury themselves in the ugly angularity of masonry and steel? how could they, who had always had full senses, deny themselves the sting of wind, the scent of soil and grass, the sound and sight of ocean breakers? how the world had changed in his lifetime, with people who had never committed anti-social acts imprisoning themselves, while those who had needed conditioning enjoyed the therapy of freedom. when the car reached city limits, the door opened automatically and slick, the only passenger left, passed through the shower that sprayed his skin with a porous, temporary plastic coating against the chill outside air. he walked across the thick ground-cover, exquisitely aware of the sensation of softness under his feet, leaving the awesome bulk of the city behind. before him swept the expanse of recidivist gardens, on gently rolling hills, bordering the sea. clearly though he remembered it, this was the first time he had seen it with full and immediate sensory impact. the moon silvered the foliage, cast a path upon the water. here and there, lights were on in the cottages nestled among the foliage, the domed, transparent cottages that combined the psychological effect of living outdoors with the comfort of shelter. the sweet note of a bell buoy clove the night. the beauty was almost unbearable, coming so sharply to long blanked-out senses. the return of immediate awareness, and the knowledge that dickie porter, the only human being with whom he had a kinship of experience, did not hate him, was too much happiness for one day. slick breathed deeply of the salt air, and felt a catch in his heart. he raised a thin hand to his chest. * * * * * the young man who had spoken to slick in the radial corridor found the obituary item in the newspaper he took from the chute with his breakfast next morning. louis g. tennant, 65, known to his friends as "slick," a resident of recidivist gardens, died of a heart attack about 2200 last night, while returning to his home after a visit to central ellay. tennant was one of the first recidivists to benefit from the porter socio-legal conditioning techniques, and was noted for his valuable contribution to science in volunteering in 1963 for a twenty-year blank. he was one of two men who have gone this far ahead, the other being dr. porter's son, richard s. porter, jr., level 72, sse, circle na, apt. 1722. the tennant case did much to direct public attention to the porter techniques, helping to pave the way for a drastic revision of the criminal statutes, and to establish the concept that punishment rather than treatment for anti-social acts is as barbarous as punishment rather than treatment for the insane. when informed of the death, and asked whether subconscious fore-memories of these developments motivated tennant to volunteer as a research subject, dr. richard porter, u.c.l.a., said that the effect of subconscious fore-memories as a compulsion to action is as yet imperfectly understood. he stated, however, that in certain individuals, the fore-memory compulsive factor appears to operate closer to the conscious level than in others. he said that, before going into the blank, tennant was noted for the strength and reliability of his "hunches." he also recalled that tennant and richard porter, jr., were the last two subjects treated in the original metachronoscope, which was destroyed shortly thereafter in an explosion. subsequent models have been modified and improved. tennant's estate was willed to the recidivists' christmas fund for dependent children. according to dr. claude tyson of recidivist hospital, tennant was still in the blank when he died. the closing sentence of the item was wrong, dick porter thought. in his last hours, slick had known how it felt to be alive again, after twenty years. dick porter was the only human being who fully appreciated what that meant. the expendables by jim harmon it was just a little black box, useful for getting rid of things. trouble was, it worked too well! [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, may 1962. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "you see my problem, professor?" tony carmen held his pinkly manicured, flashily ringed hands wide. i saw his problem and it was warmly embarrassing. "really, mr. carmen," i said, "this isn't the sort of thing you discuss with a total stranger. i'm not a doctor--not of medicine, anyway--or a lawyer." "they can't help me. i need an operator in your line." "i work for the united states government. i can't become involved in anything illegal." carmen smoothed down the front of his too-tight midnight blue suit and touched the diamond sticking in his silver tie. "you can't, professor venetti? ever hear of the mafia?" "i've heard of it," i said uneasily. "an old fraternal organization something like the moose or rosicrucians, founded in sicily. it allegedly controls organized crime in the u.s. but that is a responsibility-eluding myth that honest italian-americans are stamping out. we don't even like to see the word in print." "i can understand _honest_ italian-americans feeling that way. but guys like me know the mafia is still with it. we can put the squeeze on marks like you pretty easy." you don't have to tell even a third generation american about the mafia. maybe that was the trouble. i had heard too much and for too long. all the stories i had ever heard about the mafia, true or false, built up an unendurable threat. "all right, i'll try to help you, carmen. but ... that is, you didn't kill any of these people?" he snorted. "i haven't killed anybody since early 1943." "please," i said weakly. "you needn't incriminate yourself with me." "i was in the marines," carmen said hotly. "listen, professor, these aren't no prohibition times. not many people get made for a hit these days. mother, most of these bodies they keep ditching at my club haven't been murdered by anybody. they're accident victims. rumbums with too much anti-freeze for a summer's day, spanish-american war vets going to visit teddy in the natural course of events. harry keno just stows them at my place to embarrass me. figures to make me lose my liquor license or take a contempt before the grand jury." "i don't suppose you could just go to the police--" i saw the answer in his eyes. "no. i don't suppose you could." "i told you once, professor, but i'll tell you again. i have to get rid of these bodies they keep leaving in my kitchen. i can take 'em and throw them in the river, sure. but what if me or my boys are stopped en route by some tipped badge?" "quicklime?" i suggested automatically. "what are you talking about? are you sure you're some kind of scientist? lime doesn't do much to a stiff at all. kind of putrifies them like...." "i forgot," i admitted. "i'd read it in so many stories i'd forgotten it wouldn't work. and i suppose the furnace leaves ashes and there's always traces of hair and teeth in the garbage disposal... an interesting problem, at that." "i figured you could handle it," carmen said, leaning back comfortably in the favorite chair of my bachelor apartment. "i heard you were working on something to get rid of trash for the government." "that," i told him, "is restricted information. i subcontracted that work from the big telephone laboratories. how did you find it out?" "ways, professor, ways." the government did want me to find a way to dispose of wastes--radioactive wastes. it was the most important problem any country could have in this time of growing atomic industry. now a small-time gangster was asking me to use this research to help him dispose of hot corpses. it made my scientific blood seethe. but the shadow of the black hand cooled it off. "maybe i can find something in that area of research to help you," i said. "i'll call you." "don't take too long, professor," carmen said cordially. * * * * * the big drum topped with a metallic coolie's hat had started out as a neutralizer for radioactivity. now i didn't know what to call it. the aec had found burying canisters of hot rubbish in the desert or in the gulf had eventually proved unsatisfactory. earth tremors or changes of temperature split the tanks in the ground, causing leaks. the undersea containers rusted and corroded through the time, poisoning fish and fishermen. through the sba i had been awarded a subcontract to work on the problem. the ideal solution would be to find a way to neutralize radioactive emanations, alpha, beta, x et cetera. (no, my dear, et cetera rays aren't any more dangerous than the rest.) but this is easier written than done. of course, getting energy to destroy energy without producing energy or matter is a violation of the maxim of the conservation of energy. but i didn't let that stop me--any more than i would have let the velocity of light put any limitations on a spacecraft engine had i been engaged to work on one. you can't allow other people's ideas to tie you hand and foot. there are some who tell me, however, that my refusal to honor such time-tested cliches is why i only have a small private laboratory owned by myself, my late wife's father and the bank, instead of working in the vast facilities of bell, du pont, or general motors. to this, i can only smile and nod. but even refusing to be balked by conservative ideas, i failed. i could not neutralize radioactivity. all i had been able to do (by a basic disturbance in the electromagnetogravitational co-ordinant system for earth-sun) was to reduce the mass of the radioactive matter. this only concentrated the radiations, as in boiling contaminated water. it did make the hot stuff vaguely easier to handle, but it was no breakthrough on the central problem. now, in the middle of this, i was supposed to find a way to get rid of some damned bodies for carmen. pressed for time and knowing the results wouldn't have to be so precise or carefully defined for a racketeer as for the united states government, i began experimenting. i cut corners. i bypassed complete safety circuits. i put dangerous overloads on some transformers and doodled with the wiring diagrams. if i got some kind of passable incinerator i would be happy. i turned the machine on. the lights popped out. there were changes that should be made before i tried that again, but instead i only found a larger fuse for a heavier load and jammed that in the switchbox. i flipped my machine into service once again. the lights flickered and held. the dials on my control board told me the story. it was hard to take. but there it was. the internal scale showed zero. i had had a slightly hot bar of silver alloy inside. it was completely gone. mass zero. the temperature gauge showed that there had been no change in centigrade reading that couldn't be explained by the mechanical operation of the machine itself. there had been no sudden discharge of electricity or radioactivity. i checked for a standard anti-gravity effect but there was none. gravity inside the cylinder had gone to zero but never to minus. i was at last violating conservation of energy--not by successfully inverting the cube of the ionization factor, but by destroying mass ... by simply making it cease to exist with no cause-and-effect side effects. i knew the government wouldn't be interested, since i couldn't explain how my device worked. no amount of successful demonstration could ever convince anybody with any scientific training that it actually did work. but i shrewdly judged that tony carmen wouldn't ask an embarrassing "how" when he was incapable of understanding the explanation. * * * * * "yeah, but how does it work?" tony carmen demanded of me, sleeking his mirror-black hair and staring up at the disk-topped drum. "why do you care?" i asked irritably. "it will dispose of your bodies for you." "i got a reason that goes beyond the stiff, but let's stick to that just for now. _where are these bodies going?_ i don't want them winding up in the d.a.'s bathtub." "why not? how could they trace them back to you?" "you're the scientist," tony said hotly. "i got great respect for those crime lab boys. maybe the stiff got some of my exclusive brand of talc on it, i don't know." "listen here, carmen," i said, "what makes you think these bodies are going somewhere? think of it only as a kind of--incinerator." "not on your life, professor. the gadget don't get hot so how can it burn? it don't use enough electricity to fry. it don't cut 'em up or crush 'em down, or dissolve them in acid. i've seen disappearing cabinets before." mafia or not, i saw red. "are you daring to suggest that i am working some trick with trap doors or sliding panels?" "easy, professor," carmen said, effortlessly shoving me back with one palm. "i'm not saying you have the machine rigged. it's just that you have to be dropping the stuff through a sliding panel in--well, everything around us. you're sliding all that aside and dropping things through. but i want to know where they wind up. reasonable?" carmen was an uneducated lout and a criminal but he had an instinctive feel for the mechanics of physics. "i don't know where the stuff goes, carmen," i finally admitted. "it might go into another plane of existence. 'another dimension' the writers for the american weekly would describe it. or into our past, or our future." the swarthy racketeer pursed his lips and apparently did some rapid calculation. "i don't mind the first two, but i don't like them going into the future. if they do that, they may show up again in six months." "or six million years." "you'll have to cut that future part out, professor." i was beginning to get a trifle impatient. all those folk tales i had heard about the mafia were getting more distant. "see here, carmen, i could lie to you and say they went into the prehistoric past and you would never know the difference. but the truth is, i just don't know where the processed material goes. there's a chance it may go into the future, yes. but unless it goes exactly one year or exactly so many years it would appear in empty space ... because the earth will have moved from the spot it was transmitted. i don't know for sure. perhaps the slight deneb-ward movement of the solar system would wreck a perfect three-point landing even then and cause the dispatched materials to burn up from atmospheric friction, like meteors. you will just have to take a chance on the future. that's the best i can do." carmen inhaled deeply. "okay. i'll risk it. pretty long odds against any squeal on the play. how many of these things can you turn out, professor?" "i can construct a duplicate of this device so that you may destroy the unwanted corpses that you would have me believe are delivered to you with the regularity of the morning milk run." the racketeer waved that suggestion aside. "i'm talking about a big operation, venetti. these things can take the place of incinerators, garbage disposals, waste baskets...." "impractical," i snorted. "you don't realize the tremendous amount of electrical power these devices require...." "nuts! from what you said, the machine is like a tv set; it takes a lot of power to get it started, but then on it coasts on its own generators." * * * * * "there's something to what you say," i admitted in the face of his unexpected information. "but i can hardly turn my invention over to your entirely persuasive salesmen, i'm sure. this is part of the results of an investigation for the government. washington will have to decide what to do with the machine." "listen, professor," carmen began, "the mafia--" "what makes you think i'm any more afraid of the mafia than i am of the f.b.i.? i may have already sealed my fate by letting you in on this much. machinegunning is hardly a less attractive fate to me than a poor security rating. to me, being dead professionally would be as bad as being dead biologically." tony carmen laid a heavy hand on my shoulder. i finally deduced he intended to be cordial. "of course," he said smoothly "you have to give this to washington but there are _ways_, professor. i know. i'm a business man--" "you _are_?" i said. he named some of the businesses in which he held large shares of stock. "you _are_." "i've had experience in this sort of thing. we simply _leak_ the information to a few hundred well selected persons about all that your machine can do. we'll call 'em expendables, because they can expend anything." "i," i interjected, "planned to call it the venetti machine." "professor, who calls the radio the marconi these days?" "there are geiger-muller counters, though," i said. "you don't have to give a geiger counter the sex appeal of a tv set or a hardtop convertible. we'll call them expendables. no home will be complete without one." "perfect for disposing of unwanted bodies," i mused. "the murder rate will go alarmingly with those devices within easy reach." "did that stop sam colt or henry ford?" tony carmen asked reasonably.... naturally, i was aware that the government would _not_ be interested in my machine. i am not a fortean, a psychic, a psionicist or a screwball. but the government frequently gets things it doesn't know what to do with--like airplanes in the 'twenties. when it doesn't know what to do, it doesn't do it. there have been hundreds of workable perpetual motion machines patented, for example. of course, they weren't vices in the strictest sense of the word. many of them used the external power of gravity, they would wear out or slow down in time from friction, but for the meanwhile, for some ten to two hundred years they would just sit there, moving. no one had ever been able to figure out what to do with them. i knew the aec wasn't going to dump tons of radioactive waste (with some possible future reclaimation value) into a machine which they didn't believe actually could work. tony carmen knew exactly what to do with an expendable once he got his hands on it. naturally, that was what i had been afraid of. * * * * * the closed sedan was warm, even in early december. outside, the street was a progression of shadowed block forms. i was shivering slightly, my teeth rattling like the porcelain they were. was this the storied "ride," i wondered? carmen finally returned to the car, unlatched the door and slid in. he did not reinsert the ignition key. i did not feel like sprinting down the deserted street. "the boys will have it set up in a minute," tony the racketeer informed me. "what?" the firing squad? "the expendable, of course." "here? you dragged me out here to see how you have prostituted my invention? i presume you've set it up with a 'keep our city clean' sign pasted on it." he chuckled. it was a somewhat nasty sound, or so i imagined. a flashlight winked in the sooty twilight. "okay. let's go," tony said, slapping my shoulder. i got out of the car, rubbing my flabby bicep. whenever i took my teen-age daughter to the beach from my late wife's parents' home, i frequently found 230 pound bullies did kick sand in my ears. the machine was installed on the corner, half covered with a gloomy white shroud, and fearlessly plugged into the city lighting system via a blanketed streetlamp. two hoods hovered in a doorway ready to take care of the first cop with a couple of fifties or a single .38, as necessity dictated. tony guided my elbow. "okay, professor, i think i understand the bit now, but i'll let you run it up with the flagpole for me, to see how it waves to the national anthem." "here?" i spluttered once more. "i told you, carmen, i wanted nothing more to do with you. your check is still on deposit...." "you didn't want anything to do with me in the first place." the thug's teeth flashed in the night. "throw your contraption into gear, buddy." that was the first time the tone of respect, even if faked, had gone out of his voice. i moved to the switchboard of my invention. what remained was as simple as adjusting a modern floor lamp to a medium light position. i flipped. restraining any impulse toward colloqualism, i was also deeply disturbed by what next occurred. one of the massive square shapes on the horizon vanished. "what have you done?" i yelped, ripping the cover off the machine. even under the uncertain illumination of the smogged stars i could see that the unit was half gone--in fact, exactly halved. "squint the seal is one of my boys. he used to be a mechanic in the old days for burger, madle, the guys who used to rob banks and stuff." there was an unmistakable note of boyish admiration in carmen's voice. "he figured the thing would work like that. separate the poles and you increase the size of the working area." "you mean square the operational field. your idiot doesn't even know mechanics." "no, but he knows all about how any kind of machine works." "you call that working?" i demanded. "do you realize what you have there, carmen?" "sure. a disintegrator ray, straight out of _startling stories_." my opinion as to the type of person who followed the pages of science-fiction magazines with fluttering lips and tracing finger was upheld. i looked at the old warehouse and of course didn't see it. "what was this a test for?" i asked, fearful of the frankenstein i had made. "what are you planning to do now?" "this was no test, venetti. this was it. i just wiped out harry keno and his intimates right in the middle of their confidential squat." "good heavens. that's uncouthly old-fashioned of you, carmen! why, that's _murder_." "not," carmen said, "without no _corpus delecti_." "the body of the crime remains without the body of the victim," i remembered from my early ellery queen training. "you're talking too much, professor," tony suggested. "remember, _you_ did it with _your_ machine." "yes," i said at length. "and why are we standing here letting those machines sit there?" * * * * * there were two small items of interest to me in the times the following morning. one two-inch story--barely making page one because of a hole to fill at the bottom of an account of the number of victims of indian summer heat prostration--told of the incineration of a warehouse on fleet street by an ingenious new arson bomb that left "virtually" no trace. (maybe the fire inspector had planted a few traces to make his explanation more creditable.) the second item was further over in a science column just off the editorial page. it told of the government--!--developing a new process of waste disposal rivaling the old buck rogers disintegrator ray. this, i presumed, was one of tony carmen's information leaks. if he hoped to arouse the public into demanding my invention i doubted he would succeed. the public had been told repeatedly of a new radioactive process for preserving food and a painless way of spraying injections through the skin. but they were still stuck with refrigerators and hypodermic needles. i had forced my way half-way through the paper and the terrible coffee i made when the doorbell rang. i was hardly surprised when it turned out to be tony carmen behind the front door. he pushed in, slapping a rolled newspaper in his palm. "action, professor." "the district attorney has indicted you?" i asked hopefully. "he's not even indicted _you_, venetti. no, i got a feeler on this plant in the _times_." i shook my head. "the government will take over the invention, no matter what the public wants." "the public? who cares about the public? the arcivox corporation wants this machine of yours. they have their agents tracing the plant now. they will go from the columnist to his legman to my man and finally to you. won't be long before they get here. an hour maybe." "arcivox makes radios and tv sets. what do they want with the expendables?" "opening up a new appliance line with real innovations. i hear they got a new refrigerator. all open. just shelves--no doors or sides. they want a revolutionary garbage disposal too." "do you own stock in the company? is that how you know?" "i own stock in a competitor. that's how i know," carmen informed me. "listen, professor, you can sell to arcivox and still keep control of the patents through a separate corporation. and i'll give you 49% of its stock." this was carmen's idea of a magnanimous offer for my invention. it _was_ a pretty good offer--49% and my good health. "but will the government let arcivox have the machine for commercial use?" "the government would let arcivox have the hydrogen bomb if they found a commercial use for it." there was a sturdy knock on the door, not a shrill ring of the bell. "that must be arcivox now," carmen growled. "they have the best detectives in the business. you know what to tell them?" i knew what to tell them. * * * * * i peeled off my wet shirt and threw it across the corner of my desk, casting a reproving eye at the pastel air-conditioner in the window. it wasn't really the machine's fault--the water department reported the reservoir too low to run water-cooled systems. it would be a day or two before i could get the gas type into my office. miss brown, my secretary, was getting a good look at my pale, bony chest. well, for the salary she got, she could stand to look. of course, she herself was wearing a modest one-strap sun dress, not shorts and halters like some of the girls. "my," she observed "it certainly is humid for march, isn't it, professor venetti?" i agreed that it was. she got her pad and pencil ready. "wheedling form letter to better mousetraps. where are our royalties for the last quarter of the year? we know we didn't have a full three months with our expendable field in operation on the new traps, but we want the payola for what we have coming. "condescending form letter to humane lethal equipment. absolutely do not send the california penal system any chambers equipped with our patented field until legislature officially approves them. we got away with it in new mexico, but we're older and wiser now. "rush priority telegram to president, united states, any time in the next ten days. thanks for citation, et cetera. glad buddy system working out well in training battlefield disintegrator teams. "indignant form letter to arcivox. we do not feel we are properly a co-respondent in your damage suits. small children and appliances have always been a problem, viz ice boxes and refrigerators. suggest you put a more complicated latch on the handles of the dangerously inferior doors you have covering our efficient, patented field." i leaned back and took a breather. there was no getting around it--i just wasn't happy as a business man. i had been counting on being only a figurehead in the expendable patent holding corporation, but tony carmen didn't like office work. and he hadn't anyone he trusted any more than me. even. i jerked open a drawer and pulled off a paper towel from the roll i had stolen in the men's room. scrubbing my chest and neck with it, i smoothed it out and dropped it into the wastebasket. it slid down the tapering sides and through the narrow slot above the expendable field. i had redesigned the wastebaskets after a janitor had stepped in one. but gimpy was happy now, with the $50,000 we paid him. i opened my mouth and miss brown's pencil perked up its eraser, reflecting her fierce alertness. tony carmen banged open the door, and i closed my mouth. "g-men on the way here," he blurted and collapsed into a chair opposite miss brown. "don't revert to type," i warned him. "what kind of g-men? fbi? fcc? cia? fda? ustd?" "investigators for the atomic energy commission." the solemn, conservatively dressed young man in the door touched the edge of his snap-brim hat as he said it. "miss brown, would you mind letting our visitor use your chair?" i asked. "not at all, sir," she said dreamily. "may i suggest," i said, "that we might get more business done if you then removed yourself from the chair first." miss brown leaped to her feet with a healthy galvanic response and quit the vicinity with her usual efficiency. * * * * * once seated, the aec man said "i'll get right to the point. you may find this troublesome, gentlemen, but your government intends to confiscate all of the devices using your so-called expendable field, and forever bar their manufacture in this country or their importation." "you stinking g-men aren't getting away with this," carmen said ingratiatingly. "ever hear of the mafia?" "not much," the young man admitted earnestly, "since the fbi finished with its deportations a few years back." i cleared my throat. "i must admit that the destruction of a multi-billion business is disconcerting before lunch. may we ask why you took this step?" the agent inserted a finger between his collar and tie. "have you noticed how unseasonably warm it is?" "i wondered if you had. you're going to have heat prostration if you keep that suit coat on five minutes more." the young man collapsed back in his chair, loosening the top button of his ivy league jacket, looking from my naked hide to the gossomer scrap of sport shirt carmen wore. "we have to dress inconspicuously in the service," he panted weakly. i nodded understandingly. "what does the heat have to do with the outlawing of the expendables?" "at first we thought there might be some truth in the folk nonsense that nuclear tests had something to do with raising the mean temperature of the world," the aec man said. "but our scientists quickly found they weren't to blame." "clever of them." "yes, they saw that the widespread use of your machines was responsible for the higher temperature. your device violates the law of conservation of energy, _seemingly_. it _seemingly_ destroys matter without creating energy. actually--" he paused dramatically. "actually, your device added the energy it created in destroying matter to the energy potential of the planet in the form of _heat_. you see what that means? if your devices continue in operation, the mean temperature of earth will rise to the point where we burst into flame. they must be outlawed!" "i agree," i said reluctantly. tony carmen spoke up. "no, you don't, professor. we don't agree to that." i waved his protests aside. "i _would_ agree," i said, "except that it wouldn't work. explain the danger to the public, let them feel the heat rise themselves, and they will hoard expendables against seizure and continue to use them, until we do burst into flame, as you put it so religiously." "why?" the young man demanded. "because expendables are convenient. there is a ban on frivolous use of water due to the dire need. but the police still have to go stop people from watering lawns, and i suspect not a few swimming pools are being filled on the sly. water is somebody else's worry. so will be generating enough heat to turn eden into hell." "mass psychology isn't my strongest point," the young man said worriedly. "but i suspect you may be right. then--we'll be damned?" "no, not necessarily," i told him comfortingly. "all we have to do is _use up_ the excess energy with engines of a specific design." "but can we design those engines in time?" the young man wondered with uncharacteristic gloom. "certainly," i said, practising the power of positive thinking. "now that your world-wide testing laboratories have confirmed a vague fear of mine, i can easily reverse the field of the expendable device and create a rather low-efficiency engine that consumes the excess energy in our planetary potential." * * * * * the agent of the aec whose name i can never remember was present along with tony carmen the night my assistants finished with the work i had outlined. while it was midnight outside, the fluorescents made the scene more visible than sunlight. my disexpendable was a medium-sized drum in a tripod frame with an unturned coolie's hat at the bottom. breathlessly, i closed the switch and the scooped disc began slowly to revolve. "is it my imagination," the agent asked, "or is it getting cooler in here?" "professor." carmen gave me a warning nudge. there was now something on the revolving disc. it was a bar of some shiny gray metal. "kill the power, professor," carmen said. "can it be," i wondered, "that the machine is somehow recreating or drawing back the processed material from some other time or dimension?" "shut the thing off, venetti!" the racketeer demanded. but too late. there was now a somewhat dead man sitting in the saddle of the turning circle of metal. if harry keno had only been sane when he turned up on that merry-go-round in boston i feel we would have learned much of immense value on the nature of time and space. as it is, i feel that it is a miscarriage of justice to hold me in connection with the murders i am sure tony carmen did commit. i hope this personal account when published will end the vicious story supported by the district attorney that it was i who sought tony carmen out and offered to dispose of his enemies and that i sought his financial backing for the exploitation of my invention. this is the true, and only true, account of the development of the machine known as the expendable. i am only sorry, now that the temperature has been standardized once more, that the expendable's antithesis, the disexpendable, is of too low an order of efficiency to be of much value as a power source in these days of nuclear and solar energy. so the world is again stuck with the problem of waste disposal ... including all that i dumped before. but as a great american once said, you can't win 'em all. if you so desire, you may send your generous and fruitful letters towards my upcoming defense in care of this civic-minded publication. the rat racket by david h. keller, m.d. _with dr. keller's genius for hitting at vital spots every time, he now gives us a brand new idea and an ingenious solution. we hope no racketeers read this story. they might, as a result, cause the police some trouble. fortunately, however, the racket has a flaw._ richard moyer, senior partner of the firm of moyer & perkins, read that letter over twice before he called in the man who had helped him make the importing of high grade groceries from england a most profitable business for over twenty years. he simply handed the letter over to paul perkins without a word of explanation. the latter read it through and handed it back in equal silence, but the hand that held the letter trembled. "just another racket," exclaimed moyer, finally. "looks like it. i suppose we were foolish to start in paying for protection. first our trucks were threatened; then the new building; after that our best customers were bombed, and we had to pay to protect them. your son was kidnapped--and the police! they even went so far as to advise that we keep on paying--and now this letter! we might as well close out the business. all our profits go toward supporting a gang of criminals who have muscled into every type of american industry." [illustration: they were running out through the picture. a crazed man tore it from the wall.] "on the face of it the letter looks innocent enough," sighed perkins, as he picked it up and gave it another reading. "simply says that the rat menace is increasing, cites several business houses where the rodents have done a great deal of damage, and offers to give our warehouses complete protection for five thousand a week. you could show that letter to a hundred police officials and they would laugh at your fears. but i am not laughing. because that letter was written on the same damaged typewriter that the other letters were written on and those gangsters have not failed to make any of their threats good." "suppose we pretend that they are honest, and answer their letter and send them a check for the first week's protection?" "they will laugh at you and send back the check." "they may, at that. then we will give them the cash. in either case, it will give us time to think. i feel that they are only experimenting with us. they are after larger game than five thousand a week. we shall see and hear more of this rat business in a while. write to them and tell them that we will pay the cash, and put the entire matter in the hands of the chamber of commerce. if it does not act soon, the entire city will be in the hands of the gangsters." the complaint of moyer & perkins was only one of a dozen similar ones which reached the chamber of commerce that day. in a secluded room of the manufacturers' club a dozen wealthy men met day after day, hearing and weighing evidence against a hundred forms of racketeering which was rapidly becoming a terrible and powerful enemy to the varied industries of the metropolis. practically every business had been threatened and more than one captain of industry blustered openly, but paid his weekly tribute silently in order to protect his business, family, and home. up to this time the usual weapon had been the strong arm man and the bomb. while these were bad enough, they were at least understood. when it came to rats, it was different. of course, everybody knew something about rats--that they were supposed to be numerous around the river fronts and warehouses--but on the other hand, rats were seldom seen in daylight, and there were many new yorkers who never saw one. not one of the dozen men had been raised on a farm and none had served in the trenches during the world war. they did not understand rats, so, they hesitated, and finally simply advised the merchants who had received the rat letters to use their own judgement. as a result, some paid tribute and some did not. there is no evidence to show that those who paid were one hundred per cent free from rats in their warehouses, but within a week there was ample proof that at least three wholesale groceries and one laundry had been invaded overnight by rats in sufficient quantity to cause thousands of dollars' worth of damages. moyer & perkins heard the news and decided to pay another five thousand. the defense committee of the chamber of commerce was called to an extra meeting at the el dorado hotel. the owner of the hotel was one of the committee, a man who, so far, had taken a very inactive part in its transactions. he did not waste time in giving the reason for the special meeting. "i was called on the telephone this morning," he explained. "the person at the other end wanted to protect my hotel from rats for the small compensation of twenty-five thousand dollars a week. he referred casually to the three warehouses and one laundry that had been wrecked last week. right at the present time i have, on an average, twelve hundred guests a night. they are here to be entertained, not to be frightened by rats. but here is the point. if i yield, every other hotel in the city will be placed in a similar position. three hundred thousand strangers are in the city every day. suppose that ten hotels were overrun with rats in one week and the fact was circulated in the press? what would that cost the city?" "better pay it," growled one of the men. he happened to own a hotel. he knew how temperamental was the pleasure-seeking stranger. singularly, that advice was the only brand given by the rest of the committee. they seemed strangely unable to offer any remedy except to keep on paying and in every way possible bar unpleasant news from the newspapers. inside of next month, fifty-five hotels were paying a weekly tax to the rat racketeers. one small hotel refused, and was at once deluged with an army of rats which drove out guests and employees, killed one old scrub woman and severely injured twenty of the cooks, waiters and porters who received the brunt of the rodent onslaught. moyer & perkins were still paying the five thousand a week when, to their surprise, a visitor dropped into their office and casually suggested that they sell him their business. "it used to be a good business," explained moyer. "it still is," interrupted perkins. "what my partner means is this. we have our share of trade, but the overhead has become so heavy that we have not been able to make any money lately." "that is what i understand," commented the stranger. "in fact, i was sent here by the chamber of commerce. they told me you had been paying money for rat protection. that is about the only reason i want to buy your business. your business is supposed to be worth about two hundred thousand and your real estate as much more. suppose i give you half a million and advise you to keep quiet about the sale?" "you mean carry on the business under the old name?" asked moyer, looking at the prospective buyer earnestly. "something like that." the englishman shook his head. "not and remain in this country! they kidnapped my son. no telling what they will do next, if the policies of the firm are changed. anything that is done we shall be blamed for, no matter who really owns the business." "then, you and your partner take a vacation in europe. you can afford it. all i am asking for is an exact account of your transactions with these racketeers, so i can have something to work on." "may i ask what you want to do with the business?" interrogated the junior partner, perkins. "certainly. i intend to use it as one of my experimental laboratories for the study of a mammal, known as the _mus norvegicus_, called, in common english, the brown rat. he is supposed to have originated from the _mus humiliatus_ of central asia. now will you gentlemen take the half million?" "we will!" exclaimed perkins. "then may i ask your name?" "winifred willowby." "not the one who is reputed to own more united states bonds than any other man in america?" gasped richard moyer. "i won't admit that i do, but i am the man you are thinking about." "then i simply cannot understand why you want to mix up in this rat business." "simple enough. i am a hundred per cent american. for five generations my people have been born and buried in this city. i own over two hundred million dollars worth of land here. when the dregs of europe come over to my city and use the rats of asia to bleed that city white, then i personally protest. i am going to start something. i am not sure what, but when i finish, this city will be practically rat empty and gangster free." "a large programme, mr. willowby," whispered perkins. "but i am a large man. now, suppose i write you gentlemen a check?" five minutes later the two partners were alone. moyer looked at the check, then put it in his pocket, and his hat on his head. "suppose we get it cashed?" he said to perkins. "you can do as you please with your half, but i am going to take my family and go back to england. that man willowby is only half pint size, but his blue eyes look cold to me, and i bet he plays a stiff game of bridge. if he starts fighting those gangsters, i do not want to be caught on the battlefield." "how about starting a business over in england?" asked perkins. "not a bad idea. i came over here and together we made half a million selling english groceries to americans. perhaps we can make a million more selling american groceries to englishmen." winifred willowby not only bought the grocery business of mover & perkins; he bought a laundry, a small hotel, an apartment house and a theatre. he kept all the old employees, put in a manager, instructed that the weekly tribute should be paid as usual, and then disappeared from new york city. ten days later, in paradise valley, in the broken country below the poconos of pennsylvania, he entertained several men, each an authority in his special line of art or science. they kept the appointment, not being at all sure what it was for, but unable to refuse the invitation which was accompanied in each case with a substantial check. they had all heard of willowby, but none had ever seen him. no doubt all were rather disappointed at his apparent lack of color and personality. they quickly changed their mind when he started to talk, for there was a man who, when he had something to say, was able to say it briefly and to the point. "you men are all interested in rats," he began, "and so am i. you have worked with rats in one way or another for a good many years. perhaps i ought to introduce you to each other. mr. william rastell has written the best biological study of rats in the english language. he has done for rats what beebe did for the pheasant. now the gentleman next to mr. rastell is mr. carol crawford. i doubt if he ever actually saw or willingly handled a rat in all his life, but i am told he knows more about the folklore and traditions of the rat than any other living person. the third of my guests is professor wilson. he is the psychologist who has tried to breed different strains of rats, some of superior intelligence and others of the imbecile type. what i want you gentlemen to tell me is why these rats congregate at times in certain buildings of new york city, in such large numbers that they are a serious menace to property and even human life, and, then, as suddenly disappear as they appeared." "are they actually doing that?" asked professor wilson, who had suddenly become vitally interested in the conversation. "suppose they are?" queried carol crawford, answering the question for willowby. "that is nothing more than they have done for centuries." "do you mean migratory movements?" asked the biologist, rastell. "rats have always migrated." "i mean nothing of the kind," protested crawford. "i mean their sudden appearance in a town or a building, their remaining there for a short time and then their sudden disappearance. the folklore and fairy tales are full of that sort of thing." "that is why i asked you to come to this conference, mr. crawford," explained willowby. "there is something peculiar happening in new york at the present time, and it has to do with rats and their actions. in some way rats of new york seem to be under the control of a set of racketeers who are able to force them to enter any building they select. the rats come and go suddenly. it is all over in a little while, but when they are in the building, they do a lot of damage." mr. crawford interrupted him. "i doubt if you use the right word, when you say the rats were forced to enter the building. perhaps you mean that the rats were by some means placed in such a psychic condition that they wanted to enter the building." "that brings the matter into my field of research," insisted professor wilson. "i doubt the fact that they were forced, but if they wanted to, why that brings up all kinds of interesting questions." "that is what i am after, gentlemen. i simply want to present the problem to you and have you solve it. i personally am satisfied with one thing. these rats are no different than the rats of five thousand years ago. they are just like the rats of classic greece and imperial rome. maybe mr. crawford will tell us how they acted." the antiquarian fairly beamed as he started to ride his favorite hobby-horse. "of course, the story everyone thinks of is the one concerning the piper of hamelin. it was in the year 1284. the rats were thick, and the piper agreed to lead them out of the town for a certain sum. he played a pipe, no doubt some kind of flute, and the rats followed him. when the people refused to pay, he returned on the 26th of june, the feast of saints john and paul, and again played on the pipe. this time the children, one hundred and thirty in number, followed him into a cave and were lost. the date is well documented. a number of historians believe that it actually occurred, and on the gate of the town is the statement. "'_centum ter denos cum magus ab urbe puellos duxerat ante annos cclxxii condita porta fuit._'[1] "the same story is found, with variations, in all parts of the world. there is, for example, the story of the wicked hatto, abbot of fulda. he was visited by a swarm of rats who killed him. i can give you a dozen variations of that story, but in each of them the rats came and went, suddenly, as mr. willowby says they have been doing in new york." "i should like to see a few examples of this mass movement of rats. i saw a lemming migration in norway, but that was different," explained rastell. "it seems to me that if we actually saw one of these nocturnal attacks, we might learn why they wanted to do it." "he is deadly right," agreed professor wilson. "a few actual facts are worth a hundred theories." "that is why i have asked you to help me," explained the richest man in new york. "i have prepared some experimental stations for your use. i can put you in a grocery warehouse and guarantee that inside of a week you will see more rats than you ever dreamed of. i have a laundry and a small hotel. we can work out the details right now. all i am asking of you is to find out, when the rats come, _why they come_ and, once we know that, we can do something to solve this problem." "the game looks interesting," declared the professor of rat psychology. "what i am interested in is why the rats do it. i am sure that it is because they want to do it, but are they forced to want to do it? it is a problem that will take a lot of research to solve, but rastell and i can solve it. with all respects to our friend, mr. crawford, i think that he had better stay away and just keep on reading about his little pets. a few thousand vicious rats would be hard for him to deal with." "i guess you are right," laughed winifred willowby. "crawford and i will stay here and read about it while you two do the actual scientific work. by the way, crawford, in that story of the piper, what was given the credit for drawing the rats out of the town?" "the tune that he played on the pipes!" "check and double check. now i would advise you gentlemen to locate some musical instrument in that warehouse, and if you find one, experiment with it. of course, you will have to be rather clever to find it. in the first place, the people putting it there will have it under cover and just as soon as the mischief is done they will remove it." "it is nothing like that," laughed professor wilson, almost in scorn. "these are new york rats. it will take more than a little music to lead them from their usual haunts. but rastell and i will start in at once. give us the address of the buildings and the authority to use them. how shall we know when the rats are going to come?" "they will appear within seven days after you stop the racket money. suppose we adjourn the meeting? i want a few words in private with mr. crawford. you other gentlemen can get all the rest of the details from my secretary. he will arrange your salary and expense account. good night." he took mr. crawford into his bedroom. "do you really believe that story, crawford?" "i positively do. and the people believe it. the piper walked down the bungen-strasse and to this day no music is ever played in that street. they even date time in that town from the day the children disappeared." "then, there must be something in it. suppose we go over to europe and find out something about that tune, the tune that drew the rats out of hamelin?" * * * * * rastell and wilson followed out their programme. they went to the grocery warehouse and made a rat survey. there were a few rodents there but not many. then they issued orders that the weekly payment of five thousand dollars be stopped. after that they spent their nights in the warehouse. on the fifth night the rats came by the thousands. they appeared to be hunting for something, but in the meantime, they ate and soiled whatever came their way. the local cats fought heroically, but were soon killed and eaten. the rats came up from the cellar through the elevator shafts, up the steps, through the cracks in the floor, up and up till they started to run around the roof. then, at four in the morning, they started to leave, running down the steps in close formation, seemingly panic-stricken at their own temerity and anxious only to return to their safe, dark haunts. the two scientists, in their wire observation cage, closed their note book, opened the door of the cage, and started to make a careful search of the building. it revealed nothing but the bones of cats and much spoiled food. for the next two days they worked carefully through every part of the building, hunting for something to explain the conduct of the rats. they found nothing. all that they were sure of was the fact that the rats had been there, and that they had not come back. the following week they repeated the experiment in the laundry. the course of events was the same. the payment was refused, then the rats came, devoured and destroyed, stayed a night and left. nothing was found. they decided to go and have a conference with winifred willowby, but he could not be located. the two scientists were left to their own resources. having no other plausible plan of action, they selected the small hotel for their next experiment. this time they set a hundred wire traps and caught several hundred living rats. these they subjected to every known experiment, and at the end were forced to acknowledge that all they had learned left them in ignorance as to why the rats came just for one night in such enormous numbers. two months later their employer sent for them. it appeared that he had just returned from europe. he listened to their story, smiled kindly at their perplexity, suggested that they take a vacation and forget about rats for a while, paid all their bills, and discharged them. he even went so far as to say that he was uninterested in rats, that it had just been a passing hobby and that just at present he was working on other matters. so, he asked them to pass out of his life. but he and carol crawford went into the wilds of pike county and did some experimenting on his own account. meantime, things were going from bad to worse in new york city. the rat racketeers were becoming bolder, and started to reach after larger game. there were rumors that the pennsylvania railroad was paying to protect its terminal and that the interurban was being bled white to keep the rats out of the subway. of course, much of this was rumor and none of it reached the newspapers, but there is no doubt about the fact that eight million people were becoming rat-conscious and rat-afraid. it was growing into a worth-while racket, and those behind it were rapidly acquiring more than riches; they were growing so powerful that they felt able to control the city government. more than one business tried to resist and more than one business awoke to find that it owned nothing but ruins. rat protection was worthless when the enemy came by the hundred thousand and even million. the only worth-while defense against the multitudinous enemy was the payment of the weekly tribute, small enough each week, but in the course of the year taking the profits from most of the firms compelled to pay. within a year the average business in the city was working for the gangsters and content to, at least, be permitted to stay in business. then the racket was transferred to other cities, slowly and on a small scale at first; then more boldly. chicago, philadelphia and washington began to feel the pressure. the profits were divided, but always the main share went to new york. for that was where the big boys were. and ruling the big boys was the old man, who was so little known and so seldom seen that his very existence was questioned by some of the smaller gangsters. no one knew how he had obtained his power, but no one was brave enough to deny it. the fact remained that he simply ruled; reigned like a caesar; dictated like a napoleon. from back-stage he pulled the wires to make his puppets dance. it was this man who aroused the interest of winifred willowby. in other times, in former generations, in far-passed centuries, they might have ruled rome together, or split it in two ways over their dying bodies. but in 1935 the short sword had been replaced by the ballot box and civil war by the primary election. neither man had much that the other craved for, yet both prevented the other from the full enjoyment of life. but it was the blue-blooded patrician who at last gave in and secretly asked for an interview. the conference was held on a fallen log on the shore of porter's pond in pike county, pa. someone said that if mark hopkins sat on one end of a log and a student on the other end, it was a university; but, with willowby on one end of the log and the old man on the other, it became nothing more than a conspiracy against the existence and the very life of the nation. it was a strange sight, those two opposites on the log. the rich man, a little over five feet, barely a hundred pounds, with the body of a boy and the face of an angel. at the other end a large man, with the torso of an ape, and the face of a titan, a man who had conquered by crushing, ruthlessly and devastatingly, all who had dared to oppose him. the two were great men, but they were equally lonely. their very positions as leaders of their respective societies prevented any fraternizing with their followers. "i do not want to waste your time, mr. consuelo," began willowby. "we ought to be able to understand each other. you would do nicely if the federal government would leave you alone, but it has the peculiar ability of annoying you and interfering with your plans. am i right?" "absolutely! of course, it does not make any real difference--" "but it does annoy you--investigations of your income tax and deporting your men now and then?" "well, what of it?" "simply this. after some years of effort, i am at last able to say that i control the government." "that is the silly brag of a child," sneered the old man. "not at all," and as he said that, willowby reached down and picked up a handful of pebbles. "see these stones? in the same way i hold in my hand a majority of the supreme court, over two-thirds of the senators and most of the representatives. i can swing the votes of enough of the states to pass any kind of legislation i wish. now here is my proposition. you handle the cities. i will turn over the country to you. together we will run the nation, and all i want is just one thing--just one little favor from you." "i bet i can guess what that is," laughed the old man. "no doubt, but let me tell you. i want to be the next president." "i thought so." "i think we ought to be together on this thing. perhaps i could be elected without your help, even in spite of your opposition. but if i am, i will, naturally, try to destroy you. we might end up like the kilkenny cats. but if we are allies, i have eight years of power and you have eight years of liberty in which to plunder the richest nation in the world. how about it?" the old man drew a deep breath. "is this on the level?" "it has to be. i have a reputation, and it is respectable. i am placing myself in your hands. what is there to prevent you from giving the press an interview tomorrow?" "you would deny it!" "but no one would listen to me." "i suppose not. what do you want me to do?" "i want you to give the order to your leaders. there are a hundred of them, perhaps a few more. no doubt my list is not absolutely accurate. call them in, from chicago, st. louis, new orleans, boston and philadelphia. have them all in one room. you introduce me. let me talk to them. i will open the war chest, fifty million to start with, and more to come. you promise them anything you want, and i will make the promise good." "and you will be there? right in the room with me?" "i will be there." "i won't do it!" growled the old man. "i never have and i never will. i don't do things that way. a whisper to one or two, and the business is done, but not a hundred at one time. some of these boys have never seen me." "then you want to turn me down?" "not exactly, but i am opposed to that meeting." "then we are through talking. i will take you to the five-ten train, or, if you want to, i will have my chauffeur drive you to the city." "let's talk it over." "no." "how about having six of the big boys there?" "no! all on my list or none." "your list?" "certainly! i am not sure that it is absolutely correct, but it satisfies me." "let me see it." "no reason why you should not." the old man took the paper that was handed to him. it was no casual glance, he gave the names. at last he handed it back to the little man with the casual comment: "i suppose that is not all you know about my organization?" "i suppose not. why not be sensible about this, mr. consuelo? if we fight, we will simply kill each other, but if we become allies who can stop us? but i must be sure of you, and the only way i can be sure is to have you talk to your men, and then let me talk to them. we can have the meeting at night in my offices, you know where, top floor of the empire trust. no one need be any the wiser. half an hour, and all the men can go back with the money in their pockets and the orders in their brains." "o.k. when shall we meet?" "a month from today at ten p.m." "good. i'll give the orders, but i want the money, the fifty million. it is not much, but part of it will help keep the big boys in line. some of them won't like the idea very much." "a little cash will influence them. now, how about taking you back to the city?" * * * * * winifred willowby made preparations for entertaining his one hundred guests. his largest office was transformed into an assembly room. its inch-thick carpets, overstuffed chairs and mahogany trimmings gave it an air of luxuriant comfort. there were special chairs for the big boys and two very special chairs for the old man and the host of the evening. a large picture frame, hanging on one wall, and carefully covered, gave a hint as to part of the evening's ceremony. the empire trust belonged to willowby. he had built it so that he could have a private office on the top floor, the sixty-third from the ground. the elevator reached this floor, but there were no steps. many buildings surpassed it in height, but none in the view that it gave of the city. the guests who arrived first commented on the view and expanded their chests when they realized that they carried that city in their vest pockets. at last every chair was occupied. it was a peculiar gathering. it included judges, politicians, pseudo-business men, several lawyers and even the mayor of one of the largest cities in the mississippi valley. facing them, sat the old man and willowby. of the hundred men in the audience not one was at his ease. most had come because they were afraid to stay away. many hoped that they would not be recognized. the majority doubted the wisdom of such a meeting and felt that the old man was slipping mentally. it was the first time that many of them had even seen him. he was almost as much of an unknown to them as the little man sitting next to him. a peculiar silence hung over the assembly. more than one man fondled the handle of his automatic. no one seemed to be sure of what was going to happen next. it was a fortunate thing that the meeting was held at night; with the audience composed of such men. a daylight gathering would have been impossible. the old man and willowby held a short whispered conference, and then the leader of american racketeers stood up. what had been silence before, now became the hush of death. the old man was going to talk, and everyone wanted to hear what he had to say. it did not take him long to start. "you big boys have been running the cities before," he growled, "but from tonight on we are going to run the country. congress and the supreme court are going to dance to our music and like it. our new friend here has promised to deliver the goods, and he does not want much in return. i have told him that we will trade, and what i say goes. now, you boys listen to willowby, and remember that i am back of him." then he sat down. as far as the records are concerned, that was the longest speech the old man made in his life. the boys hardly knew what to do; they felt they should applaud, but not being certain remained quiet. then willowby stood up. "i do not want very much, gentlemen," he remarked. "i only want to be the next president of the united states, and i can be, with your help. let me show you a picture." he walked over to the covered picture, pulled a cord and unveiled it and there, life size, were the old man and willowby shaking hands. anyone could tell who they were and what they were doing. that brought the house down. everybody felt that it was time for a little noise. some of them, who knew the big boy well enough, went up and congratulated him on the new political alliance. in the confusion, winifred willowby slipped out of the room and no one noticed his absence. but some one did notice the sideboard and started to sample the bottles. soon everyone was drinking a little. but the old man did not drink. he just sat there, moodily chewing his cigar and wondering how much of the fifty million he could keep for his share. nobody saw the first rat. it dropped from behind the picture and ran under a chair. the next rat did the same. perhaps fifty rats were in the room before their presence was noticed. by that time they were coming faster, by the dozen, by the hundred. that was different. one rat in a large room meant nothing. a hundred, five hundred in the same room could mean almost anything. and now they were literally pouring out from back of the picture. a cursing man pulled it to the floor and there was a large hole in the wall, two feet in diameter, and out of that hole the rats were pouring, big brown, hungry rats, dropping to the floor and starting to hunt for food. the puzzled men jumped up on top the chairs; the rats stood on their hind legs and looked at the large chunks of food with black beady, binoculars. the old man just sat there, chewing his cigar and cursing. he knew what it all meant seconds before anyone else. a number of the most fearful men made a dash for the elevator. they were driven back by a torrent of rats climbing up the elevator shaft. then _fear came--and panic_. with gun and heel, and broken chairs for clubs, they started in to kill rats, and for every one they killed, a hundred fastened to them with chisel teeth. to make it worse, the lights went out, and they were there in the dark, with mutilation as a beginning and death as an ending, and still the rats poured into the room, up the elevator shaft and out of the hole in the wall. * * * * * the old man walked across the room, kicking the struggling bodies of his followers out of his pathway. rats ran up his legs and tried to bite his hands, his face; he swept them off him as a tiger would wipe ants off his fur; at last he came to the window. there was the city of new york in front of him, the city of a million twinkling lights, the tomb of a billion dead hopes; the morgue of a nation, covered by laughing, painted faces. he raised the sash and sat on the sill. "damn willowby!" he said. "what a fool i was. but i am going to die clean. no rat is going to send me to hell!" and then he dropped. in the room the struggle kept on--for an hour and then two. at last the screaming ceased, and the only sound was the gnawing of the rats, the crunching of their teeth and their satisfied, little squeaks of pleasure. the next morning winifred willowby called on the chief of the secret service of new york. with him were several men from washington. "i want to tell you something," he said. "a large group of men borrowed my office to have a meeting last night. they wanted privacy and secrecy and they had heard of my place in the empire trust building. so i loaned them the entire floor for the night. but my janitors tell me that something terrible happened. an army of rats invaded the place, as they have been doing with other places in the city, and literally ate every man there; that is, all except one, a fellow by the name of consuelo, and he preferred to jump out of a window and die clean on the pavement." "consuelo?" asked the chief. "not the old man? not _that_ consuelo?" "i think that is the one. here is a list of the men who were there. i thought you might like to look it over before you gave it to the papers." the chief took the list and read it, puzzled. "do you mean these men were there last night?" "i understand so." "and now they are dead?" "i think so. of course, that is for the coroner to say." "do you know who these men were?" "i suppose they were business associates of consuelo. at least, that is what he told me." "they were the hundred biggest gangsters in america. they were the brains of everything vicious in american society. there is not a man there whom we have not been after for years, but we just couldn't pin anything on them. their death in one night gives the decent people in our country a new lease on life. we can go ahead now and get the little fellows. but, tell me, mr. willowby, how did it happen?" "i told you. they had a meeting and the rats came. you know there was a rat racket which no one thoroughly understood. anyway, the rats came--and killed them. no one can tell exactly what did happen, because everyone who was there was killed. that is all. i am sorry that it happened in my office--but i thought i was doing the man a favor to loan him the place for the meeting." * * * * * that night crawford and willowby were talking things over. in rushed rastell and wilson, brushing the indignant butler aside. "we have heard a thousand rumors," began rastell, "and read as many foolish statements in the papers about the rat tragedy, and we just couldn't wait a minute longer. you just have to tell us what happened. we are not going to leave you till you do." "you tell them, crawford," whispered willowby. "whenever i talk about it, my voice becomes squeaky." "it happened this way," explained crawford. "after you started to work, mr. willowby decided to go over and study the story of the piper right in the town of hamelin. we went there and there was no doubt that the town people really believed that it really happened. they told us all about it, and the more we listened and paid them, the more they told. they gave us the very tune the piper played to make the rats follow him. it was a simple little thing, and we made some phonograph records of it. it seems that when the rats hear that tune, they want to get as close as they can to the source of the music. then one old man--he gave us some additional bars which he claimed drove the rats frantic for blood, and we made a record of that also. "afterwards we came back to america and went up into pike county. not so many rats there but enough to experiment with. we tried the short tune and the long tune and they worked on the american rats just like they did on the hamelin ones. we put two and two together and decided that the rat racketeers in new york were using this method of attracting rats. just put a repeating phonograph in a building and start it playing, and then the rats would come and eat everything to pieces. of course, we did not know the psychology of it, but i suppose it has something to do with the effect of musical vibrations on the rat's nervous system. "then mr. willowby thought that it would be a good idea to make a great rat trap and attract all the rats in the city to it. he had a good deal of work done in the empire trust, and rigged up a phonograph with a lot of loud speakers in different parts of the basement. he ran a lot of ropes down a ventilating shaft for the rats to climb on. i think it was his original idea to have them come up to his office by the millions and then use some kind of gas on them. at least, he wanted to get rid of the rats. someone must have turned on the phonograph with the entire record. mr. willowby left the room, went down the elevator and being somewhat absent-minded, told the elevator boy that he could go for the night. of course, he was surprised to hear all about it the next morning. all he wanted to do was to get rid of the rats." "exactly!" purred mr. winifred willowby. and he lit another cigarette. the end footnotes: [1] when the magician (the piper) had led the one hundred and thirty children out of the city, two hundred and seventy-two years before the gate was built. transcriber's note: this etext was produced from _amazing stories_ april 1956 and was first published in _amazing stories_ november 1931. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. _when uncle peter decided to clean out the underworld, it was a fine thing for the town, but it was tough on the folks in tibet._ "and that's how it was, officer" by ralph sholto david nixon, chief of police, morton city. dear chief nixon: no doubt, by this time, you and your boys are a pretty bewildered lot. you have all probably lost weight wondering what has been going on in morton city; where all the gangsters went, and why the underworld has vanished like a bucket of soap bubbles. not being acquainted with my uncle, peter nicholas, with bag ears mulligan, with the gorgeous joy nicholas, my bride of scarcely twenty-four hours, or with me, homer nicholas, you have of course been out of touch with a series of swiftly moving events just culminated. you, above all others, are entitled to know what has been happening in our fair city. hence this letter. when you receive it, joy and i will be on the way to europe in pursuit of a most elusive honeymoon. uncle peter will be headed for tibet in order to interview certain very important people you and your department never heard of. bag ears will probably be off somewhere searching for his bells, and i suggest you let him keep right on searching, because bag ears isn't one to answer questions with very much intelligence. so, because of the fact that a great deal of good has been done at no cost whatever to the taxpayers, i suggest you read this letter and then forget about the whole thing. it all started when joy and i finally got an audience with uncle peter in his laboratory yesterday morning. possibly you will think it strange that i should have difficulty in contacting my own close relative. but you don't know uncle peter. he is a strange mixture of the doer and the dreamer--the genius and the child. parts of his brain never passed third grade while other parts could sit down and tie einstein in knots during a discussion of nuclear physics, advanced mathematics or what have you. he lives in a small bungalow at the edge of town, in the basement of which is his laboratory. a steel door bars the public from this laboratory and it was upon this door that joy and i pounded futilely for three days. finally the door opened and uncle peter greeted us. "homer--my dear boy! have you been knocking long?" "quite a while, uncle peter--off and on that is. i have some news for you. i am going to get married." my uncle became visibly disturbed. "my boy! that's wonderful--truly wonderful. but i'm certainly surprised at you. tsk-tsk-tsk!" "what do you mean by tsk-tsk-tsk?" "your moral training has been badly neglected. you plan marriage even while traveling about in the company of this woman you have with you." joy is a lady of the finest breeding, but she can be caught off-guard at times. this was one of the times. she said, "listen here, you bald-headed jerk. nobody calls me a woman--" uncle peter was mildly interested. "then if you aren't a woman, what--?" i hastened to intervene. "you didn't let joy finish, uncle peter. she no doubt would have added--'in that tone of voice.' and i think her attitude is entirely justified. joy is a fine girl and my intended bride." "oh, why didn't you say so?" "i supposed you would assume as much." "my boy, i am a scientist. a scientist assumes nothing. but i wish to apologize to the young lady and i hope you two will be very happy." "that's better," joy said, with only a shade of truculence. "and now," uncle peter went on. "it would be very thoughtful of you to leave. i am working on a serum which will have a great deal to do with changing the course of civilization. in fact it is already perfected and must be tested. it is a matter of utmost urgency to me that i be left alone to arrange the tests." "i am afraid," i said, "that you will have to delay your work a few hours. it is not every day that your nephew gets married and in all decency you must attend the wedding and the reception. i don't wish you to be inconvenienced too greatly, but--" uncle peter's mind had gone off on another track. he stopped me with a wave of his hand and said, "homer, are you still running around with those bums from the wrong side of town?" * * * * * these words from anyone but uncle peter would have been insulting. but uncle peter is the most impersonal man i have known. he never bothers insulting people for any personal satisfaction. when he asks a question, he always has a reason for so doing. by way of explaining uncle peter's question, let me say that i am a firm believer in democracy and i demonstrate this belief in my daily life. more than once i have had to apologize for the definitely unsocial attitude of my family. they have a tendency to look down on those less fortunate in environment and financial stability than we nicholases. i, however, do not approve of this snobbishness. i cannot forget that a great-uncle, phinias nicholas, laid the foundations of our fortune by stealing cattle in the days of the early west and selling them at an amazing profit. i personally am a believer in the precept that all men are created equal. i'll admit they don't remain equal very long, but that is beside the point. in defense of my convictions, i have always sought friends among the underprivileged brotherhood sometimes scathingly referred to as bums, tramps, screwballs, and i've found them, on the whole, to be pretty swell people. but to get back--i answered uncle peter rather stiffly. "my friends are my own affair and are not to be discussed." "no offense. my question had to do with an idea i got rather suddenly. will any of these--ah, friends, be present at the reception?" "it is entirely possible." "then i could easily infiltrate--" "you could what?" "never mind, my boy. it is not important. i'll be indeed honored to attend your wedding." at that moment there was a muffled commotion from beyond a closed door to our left; the sound of heels kicking on the panel and an irate female voice: "they gone yet? there's cobwebs in this damn closet--and it's dark!" uncle peter had the grace to blush. in fact he could do little else as the closet door opened and a young lady stepped forth. in the vulgar parlance of the day, this girl could be described only as a dream-boat. this beyond all doubt, because the trim hull, from stem to stern, was bared to the gaze of all who cared to observe and admire. she was a blonde dream-boat--and most of her present apparel had come from lying under a sun lamp. uncle peter gasped. "cora! in the name of all decency--" joy, with admirable aplomb, laughed gayly. "why, uncle peter! so it's that kind of research! and no wonder it's top-secret!" uncle peter's frantic attention was upon the girl. "i was never so mortified--" she raised her hair-line eyebrows. "why the beef, winky? aren't we among friends?" "never mind! never mind!" uncle peter fell back upon his dignity--having nothing else to fall back on--and said, "homer--joy--this is cora, my ah--assistant. she was ah--in the process of taking a shower, and--" joy reached forth and pinched uncle peter's flaming cheek. "it's all right, uncle dear. perfectly all right. and i'll bet this chick can give a terrific assist, too." i felt the scene should be broken up at the earliest possible moment. i steered joy toward the door. i said, "we'll see you later, then, uncle peter." "and you too, miss courtney," joy cut in. "make winky bring you and don't bother to dress. the reception is informal." i got joy out the door but i couldn't suppress her laughter. "winky," she gasped. "oh, my orange and purple garter-belt!" * * * * * we will proceed now, to the reception, which was given by my aunt gretchen in the big house on shore drive. we were married at city hall and--after a delicious interlude while the cab was carrying us cross-town--we arrived there, a happy bride and groom. i am indeed fortunate to have wooed and won such a talented and beautiful girl as joy. a graduate of vassar, she is an accomplished pianist, a brilliant conversationalist, and is supercharged with a vitality and effervescence which--while they sometimes manifest in disturbing ways--are wonderful to behold. but more of that later. the reception began smoothly enough. the press was satisfactorily represented, much to aunt gretchen's gratification. joy and i stood at the door for a time, receiving. then, tiring of handshakes and congratulations, we retired to the conservatory to be alone for a few minutes. or so we thought. almost immediately, aunt gretchen ferreted us out. aunt gretchen has long-since lost the smooth silhouette for which the nicholas women are noted. she has broadened in all departments and she came waddling along between banks of yellow roses in a manner suggesting an outraged circus tent. "homer," she called. "homer!" i reluctantly took my hands away and answered her. "oh, there you are! homer--i want an explanation." "an explanation of what?" "there is a person at the door who calls himself bag ears mulligan. he has the audacity to claim you invited him to--to this _brawl_ as he terms it." i must here explain--with sorrow--that my aunt gretchen is a snob. there is no other term for it. it has gotten to be such a habit with her that any friend of mine is automatically a person to be looked down on. and bag ears mulligan is one of my dearest friends. of course i had invited him to my wedding, and felt honored by his attendance. bag ears is a habitue of one of the less glittering places i frequent in search of lasting fellowship--red nose tessie's bar, to be exact. a place of dirty beer glasses but of warm hearts and sincere people. "i'll see this man, aunt gretchen," i said with calm dignity. "he is to be an honored guest. while somewhat rugged in appearance, bag ears has a sensitive nature and must be treated with understanding." aunt gretchen's lips quivered. "homer--i'm through--absolutely and finally through! you can get someone else to handle your next wedding reception. hold it in a barn or a stable. never again in my house." after this tactless outburst, aunt gretchen came about and sailed out of the conservatory. joy and i followed wordlessly. upon arriving at the front door, we found aunt gretchen had spoken the truth. bag ears was waiting there. he had been herded into a corner by johnson, aunt gretchen's stuffed shirt of a butler, who was standing guard over him. bag ears grinned happily when he caught sight of me and i smiled reassuringly. while bag ears is not too richly endowed with good looks, he has a great heart and at one time was possessed of a lightning-fast brain. however, he took a great deal of punishment during his unsuccessful climb toward the lightweight title, and his brain has been slowed down to the point where it sometimes comes to a complete halt. his features reflect the fury of a hundred battles in the squared ring. they are in a sad state, his ears particularly. they hang wearily downward like the leaves of a dying cabbage plant. also, bag ears has fallen into the misfortune of hearing bells at various times--bells that exist only in his poor, bewildered mind. but he is cheerful and warm-hearted nonetheless. he said, "homer, this character says i should o' brung along my invite. but i don't remember you givin' me one. you just ast me to come." "that is true," i returned, "and you are most welcome. you may go, johnson." i gave the butler a cold look and he stalked away. * * * * * i then introduced bag ears to my new bride. "this is joy. i am certainly a lucky man, bag ears. isn't she the most beautiful thing you ever saw?" bag ears was of course impressed. "golly, what gams!" he breathed. his eyes traveled upward and he said, "golly, what--what things and stuff." he came finally to her face. "baby, you got it!" joy was rocked back on her heels. caught unawares by the open admiration in his eyes, she whispered, "oh, my ancient step-ins!" but she rallied like a thoroughbred and gave bag ears a dazzling smile. "i'm delighted, mr. mulligan. homer's friends are my friends--i think--and i'm sure everything will turn out all right." bag ears said, "lady--leave us not be formal. just call me bag ears." "of course--bag ears--leave us be chummy." he now turned his remarks to me and evinced even more intense admiration for my bride. "she reminds me of a fast lightweight--the most beautiful sight in the world." "let us repair to the conservatory," i said, "where we can have a quiet chat." i said this because i felt that some of the other guests might not be as tactful as joy and might make bag ears feel uncomfortable. aunt gretchen had rudely vanished without waiting for an introduction and the actions of the hostess often set the pattern for those of the guests. as we moved toward the rear of the house, joy took my arm and said, "speaking of being stripped down for action--what do you suppose happened to uncle peter? i haven't seen him around anywhere." "he gave his word, so i'm sure he'll come." "that's what i'm afraid of." "i don't understand." "i don't quite understand myself, but i feel uneasy. i remember the calculating look in his eye when he suddenly agreed to honor us with his presence. there was something too eager about that look. and his asking whether any of your friends would be here." "uncle peter is basically a good follow. i think he envies me my wide contacts." "maybe." "if he seemed a trifle peculiar, you must remember that he is a scientist. even now he is engaged in some important project--some experiment--" "i know--we met her." "joy! please!" "--but i wouldn't think he'd have to experiment at his age. i'd think--" i put my hand firmly over her mouth. "darling--we have a guest--bag ears--" "oh, of course." safely hidden behind a bank of tropical grass, i took joy in my arms and kissed her. bag ears obligingly looked in the other direction. but joy didn't quite get her heart into it. she seemed preoccupied--i might almost say, bewildered. "bag ears," she whispered to no one in particular, "and what did you say the lady's name was? oh--i remember--red nose tessie." she pondered for a moment and then smiled up at me dreamily. "darling--i never realized what a versatile person you are--" bag ears perked up. "verseetile? you ain't just a hootin', babe. and _tough_. you should see his right." i strove to quiet him down. "never mind, bag ears--" but joy evinced great interest. "tell me--" "babe--the kid could be the next heavyweight champ in a breeze. i mind me one night a monkey comes into the tavern rodded--" joy held up a hand. "just a moment. i don't like to appear stupid, but--" "a moke wid a heater--a goon wid a gat." "oh--you mean a man with a gun." "sure--that's what i said. anyhow, this droolie makes a crack about tessie's beak--" "an insult relative to her nose?" "sure--sure. and tessie's hot to kiss him wid a bottle when he pulls the iron." "imagine that," joy said, and i felt a slight shiver go through her body. "then homer here, gets off his stool and says very polite-like, 'that remark, sir, was in bad taste and entirely uncalled-for. i believe an apology is in order.' and the monkey standing there with the gat in his mitt. what homer meant was the jerk'd cracked out o' turn and to eat his words fast." "i gathered that was what he meant." "but the screwball raises the hardware and--wham--homer hits him. what a sock! the goon back-pedals across the room and into a cardboard wall next to the door marked 'ladies'. he busts right through the wall and lands in a frail's lap inside who's--" "powdering her nose?" "that's right! what a sock!" * * * * * joy's eyes were upon mine. "darling! i didn't have the least idea. why, it's going to be wonderful! never a dull moment!" i kissed my bride, after which she said, "i think i could do with a drink, sweetheart." "your wish is my command." i got up and started toward the liquor supply inside the house. joy's soft call stopped me. "what is it, angel?" i inquired. "not just a drink, sweet. bring the bottle." i went into the kitchen and got a bottle of brandy. but upon returning, i discovered i'd neglected to bring glasses. but joy took the bottle from me in a rather dazed manner, knocked off the neck against a leg of the bench and tipped the bottle to her beautiful lips. she took a pull of brandy large enough to ward off the worst case of pneumonia and then passed the bottle to bag ears. "drink hearty, pal," she murmured, and sort of sank down into herself. i never got my turn at the bottle because, just at that moment, aunt gretchen came sailing like a pink cloud along the conservatory walk. she was no longer the old familiar aunt gretchen. her eyes were glazed and her face was drawn and weary. bag ears looked up politely and asked, "who's the fat sack?" i was hoping aunt gretchen hadn't heard the question because she would fail to understand that while his words were uncouth, he had a heart of gold and meant well. and i don't think she _did_ hear him. she didn't even hear joy, who replied, "that's the dame that owns the joint." aunt gretchen fixed her accusing eyes upon me to the exclusion of everyone else. her button of a chin quivered. "please understand, homer--i'm not criticizing. things have gotten past that stage. i've merely come to report that the house is filling up with an astounding assortment of characters. johnson resigned a half-hour ago. but before he left, he suggested a man who could handle the situation far better than he himself. a man named frank buck." "but, my dear aunt," i protested. "there must be some mistake. i did not invite any unusual people to this reception. i issued only three invitations. i invited willie shank, who could not come because of a dispute with the police over the ownership of a car he was driving yesterday; john smith, who could not come because this is the day he reports to the parole board, and my good friend bag ears mulligan." "how did you happen to overlook red nose tessie?" joy asked. "the poor woman is emotional. she does not enjoy wedding receptions. she weeps." "so does aunt gretchen," joy observed. aunt gretchen was indeed weeping--quietly, under the blanket of reserve with which the nicholases cover their emotions. i was about to comfort her when she turned and fled. i started to run after her but decided against it and returned to joy. "perhaps," i said, "we had better investigate this strange turn of events. possibly our reception has been crashed by some undesirable persons." "impossible," joy replied. "but it might be fun to look them over. shall we have a quick one first--just to stiffen the old spine a bit?" it sounded like a good suggestion so we stiffened our spines with what was left in the bottle, and quitted the conservatory. * * * * * back in the house, one thing became swiftly apparent. we had guests who were utter strangers to me. but it was bag ears who summed up the situation with the briefest possible statement. "jees!" he ejaculated. "it's a crooks' convention!" "you can identify some of these intruders?" "if you mean do i know 'em, the answer is without a doubt, pal. somehow, the whole cement mixer zinsky mob has infiltered into the joint." "cement mixer zinsky," joy murmured. "another of those odd names." "it's on account of he invented something. zinsky was the first gee to think up a very novel way of getting rid of people that crowd you. he got the idea to mix up a tub of cement--place the unwanted character's feet in same and then throw the whole thing into the lake. result--no more crowding by that guy." "he was the first one who thought of it? a sort of trail blazer." "of course cement mixer is a big shot now and his boys take care of things like that. but sometimes he goes along to mix the cement--just to keep his hand in you might say." "a sentimentalist no doubt." "no doubt," bag ears agreed. i patted joy's hand and said, "don't be alarmed, darling. i will take care of everything." the situation was definitely obnoxious to me. tolerance of one's fellow men is one thing, but this was something entirely different. these people had come uninvited to our festive board and were of the criminal element, pure and unadulterated by any instincts of honesty or decency. and it made me angry to see them wading into aunt gretchen's liquor supply as though the stuff came out of a pump. they were easy to count, these hoodlums, segregated as they were. the more respectable of the guests who had not already left, were clustered together in one corner of the living room, possibly as a gesture toward self-protection. none of these elite were making any effort to approach the buffet or the portable bar at the other side of the room. and in thus refraining, they showed a superior brand of intelligence. under present circumstances any attempt to reach the refreshments would have been as dangerous as crossing the hialeah race track on crutches. in fact, as i surveyed the scene, one brave lady made a half-hearted attempt to cross over and spear a sandwich off the corner of the buffet. she was promptly shoved out of range by a lean, hungry-looking customer in a pink shirt, who snarled, "scram, three chins! you're overfed now." unhooking joy's dear fingers from my arm, i said, "you will pardon me, but it is time for action. bag ears will see that you are not harmed." i started toward the buffet, or rather toward the crowd of male and female hoodlums who completely blocked it from my sight. but bag ears snatched me by the sleeve and whispered, "for cri-yi, homer! don't be a fool! this mob is loaded wid hardware. they don't horse around none. start slugging and they'll dress you in red polka dots. better call in some law." i shook my head firmly and pulled bag ears' hand from my sleeve. but, his attention now turned in another direction, he held on even harder and muttered, "jeeps! i'm seeing things!" i glanced around and saw him staring wide-eyed at the entrance hall, his battered mouth ajar. i followed his eyes but could see nothing unusual. only the hall itself, through an arched doorway, and the lower section of the staircase that gave access to the second floor of the house. it appeared to be the least-troubled spot in view. i frowned at bag ears. "maybe i've gone nuts," he said, "but i'll swear i just saw a face peeking down around them stairs." "whose face?" "hands mccaffery's face! that's whose!" "and who is hands mccaffery?" bag ears looked at me with stark unbelief. "you mean you don't know? maybe your mom didn't give you the facts of life! chum, they's two really tough monkeys in this town. one of them is cement mixer zinsky and the other is hands mccaffery. at the moment they're slugging it out to see which one gets to levy a head tax on the juke boxes in this section. it's a sweet take and neither boy will be satisfied with less than all. seeing them both in one place is like seeing truman and that music critic sit down at the piano together. and i know damn well that hands is up on them stairs!" "you are obviously overwrought. if i have this type of person sized up correctly, none of them would be dallying on the stairs. if this hands person were here, he'd be at the buffet fighting for a helping of pickled beets and a gin wash. pardon me--i have work to do." but there was another interruption. i froze in sudden alarm when i realized joy was no longer at my side. just as i made this discovery, there was an upsurge of commotion at the bar; a commotion that went head and shoulders over the minor ones going on constantly. a short angry scream came to my ears, then a bull-voiced roar of agony. * * * * * the crowd at the buffet surged back and i saw a bucktoothed hooligan bent double, both hands gripping his ankle. thick moans came from his lips. and standing close to him was my joy. but a new joy. a different joy than i had ever seen. a glorious joy, with her head thrown back, her teeth showing, and the light of battle in her eyes. she was holding a plate of jello in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other and was shouting in outraged dignity. "watch who you're shoving, you jug-headed gorilla! and keep your mitts out of the herring! eat like a man or go back to the zoo!" with that she placed an accurate kick against the offending character's other shine-bone and aimed the beer bottle at his skull. joy turned and smiled gayly. "he pushed me," she said. "it's the most wonderful wedding reception i ever attended. have a pickle." but surprise was piling upon surprise. again i froze as a new phase of this horrible affair presented itself. uncle peter. clad in apron and cap, he was behind the bar serving out drinks. this shook me to the core. it was a little like seeing barney baruch hit a three-bagger in yankee stadium and slide into third base. but there he was, taking orders and dishing out drinks with an attitude as solemn and impersonal as an owl on a tree branch. also, he had an assistant--his blonde bombshell. she was fully dressed now and i was struck by the peculiar manner in which this peculiar team functioned. uncle peter would mix a drink, glance at his wrist watch as he served it, then turn and whisper some sort of information to the girl. she noted it down in a small book and the routine was repeated. at this exact moment, i felt a sharp dig in the ribs. this brought my attention back to joy, who had done the digging. "i'm still here, husband mine. your bride--remember? or are you waiting for that blonde hussy to start stripping?" "darling, i'm afraid you're not paying close attention to things of importance. don't you see uncle peter there--serving drinks?" "of course i see him. what of it? if the old roue feels like dishing out a little alcohol to the boys, what--" "it's absolutely beyond all conception. uncle peter never does anything without a good reason. and _this_--" my reply was cut short by a cold, brutal voice that knifed through the room and put a chill on all present. "hold it, everybody! stand still and don't move a finger!" not a finger in the room moved. but all eyes turned toward the arched doorway leading to the entrance hall. in its exact center, there stood a man--a short man of slight stature. he stood spread-legged, wearing a colored kerchief over the lower part of his face. only his eyes were visible--icy, black, narrowed. those eyes seemed to be smiling a grim smile. possibly his hidden teeth were bared in a snarl. but no one cared about that. everyone was far more interested in the black thompson sub-machine gun he held cradled over one arm. he toyed with the trigger, knifing the room with quick side glances. he said, "okay. start sorting yourselves out. you, pretty boy, and the frail with the beer bottle--out of the line of fire." he motioned with the gun barrel and i drew joy toward the wall. "now you, cora--and old puddle-puss. out of the way. and not a peep out of anybody." no one was inclined to peep, and now the stage was set in a manner which seemed to satisfy the masked gunman. the cement mixer zinsky crowd was clustered, cowering, around the buffet, staring at the machine gun as though it possessed the hypnotic eyes of a snake. the situation was entirely plain. the masked man fully intended to break the law by committing murder in aunt gretchen's living room. the only moot point seemed to be whether he intended to slay the whole mob or be selective and cut down only important members. his trigger finger turned white at the knuckle. then uncle peter stepped forward to hold up a protesting hand. "you mustn't fire that weapon, my good fellow. indeed you must not." his matter-of-fact attitude, rather than his words, was what gave the gunman pause. he had hardly expected the display of completely impersonal bravery that uncle peter put on. the gunman asked, "are you nuts, fiddlefoot?" "far from it. but you must not, under any circumstances, fire that gun. it will upset one of the most important experiments in the history of science. that experiment is now in progress." "look, brother. i came here to mow down zinsky and his mob. and i'm mowing. the st. valentine's deal in chi'll look like a sunday school binge after this one." "possibly it will not be necessary to use your weapon." * * * * * uncle peter's words, it seemed, were prophetic. at that exact moment, cement mixer zinsky exploded. not violently, or with any peril to those standing close by. yet no other term can describe it. there was a soft pop--as though a large, poorly inflated balloon had been pricked with a pin. zinsky seemed to go in all directions--fragments of him that is. yet, as each fragment flew away from the main body, it shriveled up so that there was no blood, and no bystander suffered the inconvenience of messed-up clothing. just the _pop_ and zinsky expanded like a human bomb and then turned into dust. as this phenomenon occurred i saw uncle peter nod with great satisfaction and consult a passage in the book presided over by his blonde assistant. he made a check mark in the book. then a second member of the buffet group went _pop_. the masked man stared in slack-jawed wonder. in fact his jaw went so slack the kerchief dropped away revealing his entire visage. he lowered his head and looked down at the gun in his hands; the gun that had not been fired. two more members of zinsky's party followed him into whatever oblivion was achieved by going _pop_ and dissolving into dust. uncle peter evinced bright interest and made two more check marks in the book. the balance of the mob moved as one, but in many directions. they paid no attention to their own weapons as they headed for cover. one of their number exploded as he was halfway through the french doors. uncle peter checked him off and bag ears said, "jeeps! tomorrow every juke box in town can play 'nearer my god to thee.'" then he added, "leave us blow this joint. goofy things is happening here. i don't like it." i was perspiring. i mopped my forehead. "a most amazing occurrence," i observed. joy was digging the fingers on one hand into my arm. i had been watching hands mccaffery back crestfallen out of the living room and toward the front door, terrific slaughter having been accomplished without the firing of a shot. i turned my eyes now to follow the direction in which joy pointed with her other hand and saw the blonde assistant hauling uncle peter through one of the french windows. he did not seem to be enthusiastic about leaving. in fact he appeared to argue quite strenuously against it, but her will prevailed and they disappeared out onto the lawn. now, with all the danger past, people began fainting in wholesale lots. aunt gretchen was resting comfortably with her head braced against the brass rail of the portable bar. those who didn't faint contributed variously intonated screams to the general unrest. and over all this brooded the dank clouds of acrid dust that had so lately been cement mixer zinsky and certain members of his mob. indeed, the scene took on a startling semblance to one of dore's etchings in an old edition of dante's inferno. "i repeat," bag ears bleated plaintively. "leave us blow this joint. it ain't healthy here." "he's right," joy said. "a lot of explanation is wanting. there are some people we've got to catch up with. let's go." with that, she drew bag ears and me toward the french doors through which had recently passed some of the fastest moving objects in this or any other world. we made the flag-stone terrace above the drive where bag ears cordially grasped my hand and said, "well, it was a nice party, folks, and if i ever get spliced i'll sure give you a invite and i sure had a swell time and remember me to your aunt when she wakes up and--" he was backing down the steps when joy cut in with, "bag ears. don't be so rude. you're in no hurry." bag ears slowed down and allowed us to catch up with him. he gave us a sickly smile. "that's where you're wrong, babe." "bag ears," joy went on. "i heard you whisper to homer that you know who that blonde is." "what blonde? me? i don't know nothing about no blonde no-how." "don't hedge. i mean the girl who was assisting uncle peter behind the bar. who is she, really?" "oh--her. everybody knows her. she's hands mccaffery's moll. he likes 'em blonde and--" bag ears was on the move again, striding in the direction of the gate. we hurried to catch up. "that babe's poison," he told us. "any skirt that'd flock with hands mccaffery is poison. i'll tell you kids what i'd do. if she drives south--i'd drive north. goodbye now." just at that moment a big blue sports roadster pushed a bright chromium nose around the corner of the house. i took a firm grip on bag ears' collar, grabbed joy by the arm, and the three of us leaped behind a bush. the car rolled past us. we saw the blonde behind the wheel and uncle peter seated beside her, evidently still protesting the hasty exodus. * * * * * but the girl looked very sharp and businesslike; the way a girl would look who knew where she was going and why. the car picked up speed and swung north. "i wonder," joy murmured, "how uncle peter happened to select hands mccaffery's girl friend as his assistant." "she was a burlycue queen last time i heard of her," bag ears said. "still is, i guess." "that could explain it," i told joy. "you see, uncle peter has--ah, facets to his personality. a tendency to admire women. ah--" "women--period; isn't that what you mean?" "well, it would be perfectly logical for uncle peter to select an assistant from the stage of a burlesque theater." "enough of this," joy snapped. "we're wasting time. go get--oh, never mind! wait here." joy was off in the direction of the garage and in no time at all she was back in my cadillac convertible. as she sailed by i managed to hook a finger around the door handle and get a foot inside. this was no mean feat, as i was also occupied in hauling bag ears along by the collar. i managed to deposit him in the seat beside joy and squeeze in beside him. "a burlycue queen, eh?" joy was muttering. "well, she's not so much! if she couldn't get her clothes off she'd starve to death." "darling," i said, "i don't think this is the sort of thing you should be doing. it's far too dangerous for a girl." "or anybody else," bag ears moaned. there was a bleak look on his face. "i don't like playing around with a guy like hands mccaffery or friends of a guy like him. it's a good way to collect your insurance." "she's heading for higgins drive," joy observed. which was entirely true. the roadster had made a turn on two wheels and was going west. "but our honeymoon," i said, plaintively. "yeah," bag ears repeated, "what about our--your honeymoon?" joy's eyes were sparkling. she turned them on me. the car lurched. she returned her eyes to the road. "yes, darling. our honeymoon! isn't it wonderful?" "but this isn't it! this isn't what people do on their honeymoons." "oh, you mean--but don't worry about that, darling. we'll have plenty of time for--" "lemme out o' here," bag ears moaned. "i got a date to take red nose tessie to the movies." joy apparently did not hear him. "i wish we had all the parts to this puzzle. it looks as though somebody put somebody on the spot for a rubout. but it would seem that somebody else got the same idea but didn't know that somebody else was going to achieve the same result in a more spectacular way and--" "i think you've figured it out most accurately." "some of it fits together. uncle peter was no doubt responsible for the zinsky boys coming to our reception. we'll get the dope on that when we catch up with him. but the blonde must not have known what was going to happen, so she tipped hands off that he could find the whole zinsky mob at the reception. he decided it would be a good place to settle certain matters of his own." "but why did uncle peter want them there?" joy glanced at me with love in her eyes. "darling, we're going to be wonderful companions through life, but most of the fun will be strictly physical. mental exercises aren't your forte." "when red nose tessie makes a date with a guy," bag ears said, "she expects the guy to keep it." "the blonde cora is no doubt heading for a rendezvous with hands mccaffery," joy went on. "and she's taking our dear uncle with her." "okay," bag ears replied. "so we mind our business and keep our noses clean and live a long time." joy was weaving through traffic, trying to keep the roadster in sight. "turn on the radio," she told me. "there might be some news." i snapped the switch and we discovered there was news indeed; an evening commentator regaling the public with the latest: "--an amazing mass phenomena which leading scientific minds have pronounced to be basically similar to the flying-saucer craze. relative to that--you will remember--otherwise reliable citizens swore they saw space ships from other planets hovering over our cities spying on us. "this phase of the hysteria takes an entirely different turn. it seems now that these otherwise entirely reliable citizens are seeing other citizens explode and vanish into thin air. the police and the newspapers have been deluged with frantic telephone calls. in the public interest, we have several persons here in the studio who claim to have seen this phenomena. your commentator will now interview them over the air. you--you, sir--what is your name?" "sam--sam glutz." "thank you, mr. glutz. and will you tell the radio audience what you saw?" "it wasn't nothing--nothing at all. that is--this guy was running down the street like maybe the cops was after him--i don't know. then--there wasn't nothing." "you mean the man disappeared?" "he went pop, kind of--like a firecracker only not so loud--and then pieces of him flew all over and they disappeared and there wasn't nothing--nothing at all." "thank you, mr. glutz. and now this lady--" "turn it off," joy snapped. "the blonde's pulling up." * * * * * this was evident to all three of us. "and by a cop yet," bag ears marveled. "looks like they're going to give theirselves up." it was uncle peter who got out of the car and approached the traffic officer standing at the intersection. "what'll we do?" joy asked. "do you want to try and keep the old goat out of jail or shall we let him go to the chair as he deserves?" the possibility stunned me to a point where it was hard to think clearly. "good lord, joy! think of the scandal! i don't care about myself, but aunt gretchen would never live it down! she'd be black-balled at all her clubs and--" "then," joy replied sweetly, "i'd suggest you get out and slug that cop quick and grab uncle peter before he makes a confession." i had come to the cross-roads, so to speak. the necessity of a weighty decision lay upon my shoulders. was blood thicker than water? was i justified in breaking the law--assaulting an officer in order to keep my uncle from becoming a blot on the family name? i decided, grimly, that one owed all to one's relatives and i was halfway out of the car. then i paused. uncle peter did not seem to be making a confession at all. he chatted easily with the officer and indicated my cadillac with a movement of his thumb. something passed from his hand to the hand of the policeman and the latter looked toward us and scowled. "uncle peter is pulling a fast one," joy said. "the cop's coming after _us_!" i was uncertain as how to proceed now. i watched the scowling policeman approach our car while uncle peter got back in with the blonde cora and drove away. "are you going to hang one on him, sweetheart?" joy asked. "what--what do you recommend?" "i've got a hunch that if you don't, we go to the pokey and uncle peter will be left free to blow up everybody in town." i don't believe the officer meant to arrest us but at the moment my mind wasn't too clear and i accepted joy's point of view. i doubled my fist as the officer approached. he wasted no time in getting acquainted. he said, "how come you guys are tailing those guys? you figuring a stickup or something?" it was now or never. i hunched my right shoulder and aimed a stiff knockout jolt at the officer's jaw. it wasn't too good a target because he had a lantern jaw and it was bobbing up and down as he munched on a wad of chewing gum. but i did not connect. as my fist completed but half its lethal orbit, the officer blew up in my face! he went _pop_, just as so many others had gone _pop_ at our wedding reception; his entire anatomy flying in all directions, to turn into a cloud of sooty smoke and mix with the elements. i was frozen with consternation. but not joy. instantly she dragged me back into the car. "don't you get it? uncle peter gave him that stick of gum!" "you're damn right!" bag ears stated. "the old monkey's gone clear off his trolley. maybe he plans to clean out the whole town!" joy, her eyes slitted, was weaving in and out of traffic so as not to lose track of the blue roadster. "it's as plain as your nose! he's hand in glove with mccaffery and that blonde is bird-dogging him around town and pointing out mccaffery's enemies. uncle peter is knocking them off like clay pigeons." i was amazed at this revelation, but was also thunderstruck by the underworld jargon flowing so easily from joy's luscious lips. "angel," i gasped. "where did you learn to talk like that? those underworld terms!" "i read all the true detective magazines i can get my hands on," she said. "they're good fun, but that's beside the point. we've got to nail uncle peter and nail him quick, or aunt gretchen will ring up a nice big zero in the social world." "how about nailing him without me?" bag ears suggested. "it's nine o'clock and red nose tessie never likes to miss none of the show." "i'm sure, bag ears," joy said, "that tessie would sympathize with our efforts to keep uncle peter out of the electric chair." "i doubt it," he replied dubiously. "tessie's brother got burned in frisco for knocking over a bank clerk and tessie never even attended. let him fry in his own grease was what she said about it." "nevertheless," joy said, "i have no time to stop and let you out." a fast, fifteen-block chase followed. once we lost the blue roadster completely, but, by sheer luck, picked it up three blocks further on as it came wheeling out of a side street. we were in a quiet residential section now, so there was no one to interfere as joy skillfully forced the roadster to the curb. i jumped out and leaped swiftly toward the driver's door. * * * * * the blonde sat behind the wheel with a sullen look on her face. "what is this?" she asked. "a stickup?" "don't be vulgar," i replied. "we are here to take charge of my uncle. this weird slaughter must cease!" joy was by my side now, but bag ears hung back as though somewhat worried about the possible consequences of our act. i heard him muttering: "what if he can just shoot the stuff in your eye maybe? what if a guy doesn't have to swallow it--?" joy's gayety was again coming to the surface. her eyes were bright and i was struck by the fact that she seemed to thrive on this sort of thing. "hello, blondy," she said. "get out from behind--" the blonde's eyes threw sparks. "who you think you're talking to, you lard--" "not truman," joy said. "now get--" i seized joy's wrist. "angel! he's gone! uncle peter isn't here!" i stared at joy in horror. "do you suppose he inadvertently chewed some of his own gum?" joy did not reply. she shouldered me aside, opened the car door and surprised me by getting a very scientific grip on cora. "okay--where is he? what did you do with him?" "he's not here!" "any fool can see that. did he blow up?" "of course not. he went to keep a date." the blonde jerked herself loose from joy's hold and was sullenly straightening her clothing. "i don't see why you and pretty boy have to stick your big noses into this. it's none of your business." "we're making it our business." "you don't seem to realize," i said stiffly, "that uncle peter is very dear to me. he has performed some horrible deeds, and as his loving nephew--" the blonde seemed puzzled. "you're off your crock! pete's okay. he just entered into a little private deal to help out hands mccaffery. i don't see where it's anybody's business, either. if he wanted your help he'd ask for it!" it made my blood run cold to hear this girl refer so casually to the wholesale slaughter that had been going on around us. i strove to find words to shame her, but joy cut in. and apparently my dear wife was more interested, at the moment, in the details of the affair rather than the morals involved. "mccaffery and uncle peter haven't got any deal," she said to the blonde. "you lie as easily as you undress. if they had an arrangement to knock off all those parties at our wedding reception, how come mccaffery brought a machine gun along?" the blonde had an answer. "hands was a little doubtful. he didn't think pete could do it--blow people into thin air just from something they et. he was willing to go along with the gag but he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to rub out the zinsky gang--or as many as he could hit--if the gimmick didn't click. that's why he brought the tommy--just in case." joy turned to me. "it fits," she said. "i've been trying to give uncle pete the benefit of every doubt, but it looks as though you've got a mad dog sniffing at the trunk of your family tree." * * * * * cora frowned. "you've got him all wrong. he's not--" i continued with the questioning. "you are denying that uncle peter had anything to do with this deadly serum that disintegrates people before one's eyes?" "i'm _not_ denying it." "then it follows that your moral sense is so badly corroded you no longer consider murder to be a crime--" "now listen here!" "in law," i went on, "the victim's standing in society is not taken into consideration where murder is involved. it is just as wrong in the eyes of the law to murder cement mixer zinsky as the pastor of the first congregational church." the blonde looked wonderingly at joy. "is this guy for real?" joy reestablished her hold upon the blonde's anatomy. "never mind that. all we want from you is answers. where did uncle peter go? tell me!" "nuts to you!" cora replied. "he doesn't want you bothering him." joy applied pressure. cora squealed but remained mute. i stepped forward. "darling," i said grimly. "this sort of thing is not in your line. i realize this woman must be made to talk so i will take over. it will be distasteful to me, but duty is duty." i got a withering look from my dear wife. "distasteful? in a pig's eye! you'd like nothing better than to get your hands on her--by way of duty of course." "joy!" "don't joy me." and with an expert twist, she flipped the struggling cora out of the roadster, goose-stepped her across and into the back seat of the cadillac. "you and bag ears get in and start driving--slow. i'll have some answers in a minute or two." we did as we were told and i eased the car away from the curb. i had to watch the road, of course, so could not turn to witness what was going on rearward. in the mirror i saw flashes of up-ended legs and, from time to time, other and sundry anatomical parts that flew up in range only to vanish again as the grim struggle went on. bag ears, however, turned to witness the bringing forth of the answers. his first comment was, "oh boy!" joy was breathing heavily. she said, "okay, babe. talk, or i'll put real pressure on this scissors!" bag ears said, "man oh man!" joy said, "quit gaping, you moron! i'm back here too." i gave bag ears a stern admonition to keep his eyes front. "give," joy gritted. "ouch! no!" "give!" cora gave forth an agonized wail. then an indignant gasp. "cut it out! you fight dirty! that ain't fair!" "give!" "all right! all right. pete's meeting hands at--ouch--joe's--ouch--tavern on clark street. ouch! cut it out, will you?" and it was here that i detected a trace of sadism in my lovely wife. "all right," she said regretfully. "sit up. gee, but you talk easy." "just where is this tavern?" i asked. "and what is the purpose of the meeting?" cora's resistance was entirely gone. "in the 2800 block. pete went there to get some money from hands to skip town with." joy now spoke with relish. "lying again. i'll have to--" "i ain't lying!" "don't give us that! uncle peter is wealthy. he doesn't need hands' money. come here, baby." "wait, joy," i cut in hastily. "the young lady may be telling the truth. uncle peter is always short of funds. you see, aunt gretchen holds the purse strings in our family and uncle peter is always overdrawn on his allowance." "then let's get to that tavern and find out what's going on." it took ten minutes to reach the tavern; a standard gin mill with a red neon sign proclaiming its presence. we quitted the car and i entered first, joy bringing cora along with a certain amount of force, and bag ears bringing up the rear. and i was just in time to prevent another murder. as i came through the door, i saw hands and uncle peter leaning casually against the bar. there was no one else in the place. the barkeep was facing his two customers and there were three glasses set before them. the barkeep held one in his hand. uncle peter had just finished spiking the barkeep's drink with a clear fluid from a small vial. uncle peter said, "it's something new i invented. pure dynamite. you haven't lived until you've tasted my elixir." * * * * * hands said, "go ahead. drink it. i want to make sure i wasn't seeing things back at that dame's house." the barkeep said, "pure dynamite, huh?" "your not fooling, chum." he raised the glass and grinned. "salud." i got to the bar just in time to knock the glass out of his hairy paw. he grunted, "what the hell--oh, a wise guy, huh?" and started over the bar. i yelled, "it's murder. they're trying to poison you!" "oh, a crackpot!" he came toward me, shaking off uncle peter's restraining hand. i took a step backward, thankful he was coming in wide open because i had seen few tougher-looking characters in my lifetime. i set myself and sent a short knockout punch against his chin. it was a good punch. everything was in it. it sounded like a sledge hammer hitting a barn door. the barkeep shook his head and came on in. i stepped back and slugged him again. no result. then joy slipped into the narrow space between us. she was smiling and, with her upturned waiting lips, she was temptation personified. the barkeep dropped his hands, paralyzed by her intoxicating nearness. she said, "hello, iron head. how about you and i taking a little vacation together somewhere." he grinned and reached for her. this, it developed, was a mistake, because joy reached for him at the same time. she lifted his two-hundred-odd pounds as though he were a baby and he went flying across the room like a projectile. he hit a radiator head-on and lay still. again i was stupefied. it seemed i knew nothing at all about this girl i'd married. she smiled at me and said, "don't be alarmed, angel. there's an explanation. you see, my mother gave me money for piano lessons and i invested most of it in a course of ju-jitsu. i thought an occasion like this might arise sometime. do you want to take mccaffery, or shall i do it? i doubt if he'll come to the station peaceably." but hands mccaffery was not to be caught flatfooted. without his machine gun he was just an ordinary little man who didn't want to go with us. he took one look at the prone barkeep, muttered, "geez!" and headed for the back door. "get him," joy yelled. "maybe we can make a deal with the cops to fry hands in place of uncle peter!" i started after hands and as i went through the back door i heard uncle peter protesting feebly. "i say now. this is all uncalled-for--" "don't let him get away!" joy called. "he's got the serum!" that cleared things up somewhat and made me even more resolute. evidently we had interrupted uncle peter and hands in the process of doing away with all the latter's enemies. with that bottle in his possession, he was a menace to the entire population of the city. a man of his type would certainly have far more enemies than friends. outside in the dark alley, i was guided only by footsteps. the sound of hands' retreat told me he was moving up the smelly passageway toward division street. i went after him. i am no mean sprinter, having won laurels in college for my fleetness in the two-twenty and the four-forty, and i had no trouble in overtaking the little assassin. we were fast approaching the alley entrance where i would have had the aid of street lights and could have swiftly collared mccaffery whose heavy breathing i could now hear--when disaster struck in the form of a painful obstacle. it was heavy and it caught me just below the knees. i tripped and fell headlong, plowing along a couple of yards of slippery brick pavement on my face. i got groggily to my feet and shook my head to clear my brain. from the deposits of old eggs, rejected tomatoes and other such refuse in my face and ears, i gathered that i had tripped over a garbage can. this delayed me for some moments. when i finally staggered out into division street, a strange sight met my eyes. hands mccaffery had been apprehended. it seemed that the police had orders to pick him up because two uniformed patrolmen had him backed against the wall and were approaching him with caution. they had him covered and were taking no chances of his pulling a belly gun on them. but he did not draw a gun. instead, while i stared wide-eyed, he raised uncle peter's vial to his lips and drank the contents. i will not bore you with details of his going _pop_. if you have read this letter carefully, the details are not necessary. i turned and retraced my steps, realizing hands mccaffery had been vicious and defiant to the last. rather than submit to arrest, he had taken the wild animal's way out. i arrived back in joe's tavern to find the barkeep had been revived and bore none of us any ill-will. this no doubt because of joy's persuasive abilities. cora was sulking in a booth and uncle peter was patching the gash on the barkeep's head. * * * * * i entered with a heavy heart, realizing, as a good citizen, i must turn my own uncle over to the police. but there was an interlude before i would be forced into this unpleasant task. this interlude was furnished by bag ears. after i acquainted the group with the news of how hands had taken the easy way out, bag ears' face took on a rapt, silent look of happiness. he was staring at joy. he said, "pretty--very pretty!" joy said, "thank you." bag ears said, "pretty--pretty--pretty." joy looked at me. "what's eating _him_?" there was a bottle on the bar together with some glasses. i stepped over and poured myself a drink. i certainly needed it. "bag ears isn't referring to you, dear. he's alluding to his bells. he's hearing them again." "oh, my sky-blue panties! pour me a drink." i complied. "you see, bag ears is somewhat punch-drunk from his years in the prize ring. i've seen this happen before." we sipped our brandy and watched bag ears move toward the door. "that's the way it always is. when he hears the bells, he feels a terrific urge to go forth and search for them. but he always ends up at red nose tessie's and she takes him home. it's no use trying to stop him. he'll hang one on you." as bag ears disappeared into the street, there were tears in joy's eyes. "he's dreaming of his bells," she murmured. "i think that's beautiful." she held up her glass. "may he find his bells. pour me another drink." i poured two and we drank to that. "may we all someday find our bells," joy said with emotion, and i was delighted to find my wife a girl of such deep sentiment. "pour me another." i did. "your quotation was wrong, sweetheart," i said. "don't you mean, 'may we all find our shangri-la?'" "of course. let's drink to it." we drank to it and were rudely interrupted by the barkeep who said, "i hope you got some dough. that stuff ain't water." i gave him a ten-dollar bill and--with a heavy heart--turned to uncle peter. "come, uncle," i said gently. "we might as well get it over with." "get what over with?" "our trip to the police station. you must give yourself up of course." "what for?" i shook my head sadly. uncle peter would never fry. his mind was obviously out of joint. "for murder." he looked at joy. he said, "oh, my broken test tube! there is no need of--" "i know it will be hard for them to convict you without _corpus delicti_, but you must confess." "let's all go over to my laboratory." "if you wish. you may have one last visit there." "excellent--one last visit." he smiled and i wondered if i saw a certain craftiness behind it. cora voiced no objections, seemingly anxious to stay near uncle peter. when we got to his laboratory, he went on through into his living quarters and took a suit case from the closet. "what are you going to do?" "pack my things." "oh, of course. you'll need some things in jail." "who said anything about jail? i'm going to tibet." "_tibet!_ uncle peter! i won't allow it. you must stay here and face the music." "the music is in tibet, homer. that's one of the reasons i'm going there. to a monastery high in himalayas. there are some wonderful men there i've always wanted to meet--yogis who have such control over natural laws that they can walk on water and move straight through solid walls." "but, uncle peter! if you want to go to tibet, you should have thought of it before. it's too late now. you've committed murder." "bosh! i haven't killed anyone. the serum i discovered is one of transition, not murder. it causes the stepping-up of the human physical structure into an infinitely higher rate of vibration. two controls are distilled into it. one is a timer that sets off the catalysis, and the other is a directive element based upon higher mathematics which allows the creator of the serum to direct the higher vibratory residue of the physical form to be put down at any prearranged point on the globe before the reforming element takes effect." joy said, "oh, my painted g-string!" i strove to absorb all this. "you mean those people weren't destroyed?" joy was quicker on the reaction. "of course. i couldn't picture uncle peter as a killer somehow. he merely picked them up here and set them down in tibet. can't you understand? he just explained it to you." of course i didn't want to admit my mental haziness to joy, so i skipped hastily over it and pointed an accusing finger at uncle peter. "but why couldn't you have conducted your experiments on a higher plane. why did you have to consort with law-breakers?" * * * * * joy had apparently lost interest. she planted a wifely kiss on my cheek and started toward the door. "i'm going back to joe's tavern," she said. "it's more fun there. when you get all this straightened out, come on over." i moved to protest but she waved me down. "never mind. i'll take a cab." she smiled at me sweetly. "and don't stay too long, darling. i'm sure cora is anxious to get her clothes off." cora distinctly pronounced an unprintable name but joy did not hear it. she was already gone. i turned to uncle peter. "you did not answer my question." "it's very simple. even one of your limited brain power should be able to understand it. you see, with finishing my experiments i was not averse to doing the city a favor. why not, i asked myself, perform them upon persons undesirable to our law-abiding populace? cora was acquainted with hands mccaffery and it was through him that i learned who the really undesirable people were." "but why did you invite them to my wedding reception? i'd think you could find a more appropriate place to carry out your--" "it was an ideal place to get the zinsky mob together. like your aunt gretchen, mr. zinsky has social ambitions, and he anticipated no danger at the reception." "i can see your point." "also, i wanted to get back at your aunt gretchen. she's been very niggardly with funds lately and i wanted to highlight my displeasure in a way she would remember." i had a fairly clear picture of things now. but i still felt uncle peter should be upbraided on a last point. "uncle peter, i think it was shameful of you to inflict those hoodlums on the monks in that monastery in tibet. they'll be in panic." "no. i was careful to send along two policemen to keep them in hand." "so you're leaving for tibet?" "of course. i've got to follow up and check on the success of my serum, though there is really no doubt as to its potency. also i'll be able to achieve a life-long ambition--that of meeting the yogis from whom i should learn a great deal." i glanced at cora. "are you taking her with you?" "of course." "but yogis are above things of the flesh." uncle peter looked me straight in the eye. "maybe the yogis are, but i'm not." there seemed nothing else to discuss, so i left uncle peter's chambers and went back to joe's tavern. my mind, now at ease, was filled again with thought of the honeymoon to come. i would pick up joy and we would be off to pink-tinted lands. but there was a slight hitch. when i arrived at joe's tavern, joy was gone. i inquired of the barkeep and he brought me up to date. "that screwy dame that can throw a guy around? sure, she was here. she had a few drinks and then left again. she said something about having to help a friend find some bells he lost. i don't know what kind of bells they was but that dame can locate them if anybody can." as i was about to leave the tavern, it occurred to me you would want to know the truth of what's been going on, so i'm now in the backroom writing this report which i will drop into the nearest mailbox. then i will go out and find my bride and start upon a well-earned honeymoon. if you have any questions, they'll have to wait until i get back. yours truly, homer nicholas. the end transcriber's note: this etext was produced from _if: worlds of science fiction_ july 1952. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. dorothy dixon wins her wings, by _dorothy wayne_ author of _dorothy dixon and the mystery plant dorothy dixon solves the conway case dorothy dixon and the double cousin_ the goldsmith publishing company chicago ----------------------------------------------------------------------- copyright, 1933 the goldsmith publishing company made in u. s. a. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- to _my young sister_ hilda ----------------------------------------------------------------------- contents i out of the northeast ii taxi! iii a wild ride iv the first hop v trouble vi the hold up vii ground trails viii next morning ix air trails x the meeting xi follow the leader xii the house in the hills xiii trapped xiv the doctor xv staten island sadie has her way xvi what happened in the wine cellar xvii the loening ----------------------------------------------------------------------- dorothy dixon wins her wings _chapter i_ out of the northeast "hi, there, young lady!" "hi, yourself,--what d'you want?" at the water's edge, a girl of sixteen stopped in the act of launching a small skiff. she straightened her lithe figure and faced about, her brown hair blowing in the breeze, turning a pair of snapping grey eyes inquiringly upon the young man who walked down the beach toward her. "miss dixon, isn't it?" asked the stranger, his deeply tanned features breaking into an engaging smile. "i'm not sure i recognized you at first in the bathing suit--" "no matter how you were dressed i'm sure i wouldn't recognize you," returned dorothy, shortly. "i've never laid eyes on you before--that's why." the young man laughed. "quite right," he said, "you haven't. but i happen to be a near neighbor of yours, and i've seen you." "up at new canaan?" "yes. dad has taken the hawthorne place,--bought it in fact." for a full minute the girl stared at this tall young man with the blonde hair and the jolly smile. surprise left her speechless. then--"why--why--" she gasped. "y-you must be the famous bill bolton!" "bolton's the name, all right," he grinned. "but that famous stuff is the bunk." dorothy was herself again, and a little ashamed of her burst of feeling. "but you _are_ the aviator!" she went on, more calmly. "my father told me the other day that you and your father were coming to live across the road from us. and i don't mind telling you we're simply thrilled! you see, i've read about you in the papers--and i know all about the wonderful things you've done!" "i'm afraid you've got an exaggerated idea--it was all in the day's work, you know," protested the blonde-headed young man, his eyebrows slanting quizzically, "i'm bill bolton, but i didn't barge in on you to talk about myself. you're starting out for a sail in that sloop that's moored over there, i take it?" "why, yes, i am. want to come along?" "thanks a lot. i've got a business matter to attend to down here in a few minutes." he hesitated a moment, then--"i know it's none of my affair, but don't you think it's rather risky to go for a sail just now?" dorothy shrugged. "oh, i don't know. there's a two reef breeze blowing out beyond the point, but that's nothing to worry about. i've sailed all over long island sound since i was a kid, and i've been out in worse blows than this, lots of times." "maybe," countered bill. "storm warnings were broadcast about an hour ago. we're in for a northeaster--" she broke in scoffingly--"oh! those weathermen! they're always wrong. it's a perfectly scrumptious afternoon. the storm, if it comes, will probably show up sometime tomorrow!" "well," he retorted, "you're your own boss, i suppose.--if you were my sister," he added suddenly, "you wouldn't go sailing today." "then it's a good thing i'm _not_ your sister. thanks for your interest," she mocked. there was a hint of anger in her voice at the suspicion that bill bolton was trying to patronize her. "don't worry," she added, resuming her usual tone, "i can handle a boat--good-bye!" their eyes met; bill's gravely accusing, hers, full of defiant determination. "good-bye--sorry i spoke." bill turned away and walked up the beach toward the club house. dorothy chuckled when she saw him throw a quick glance over his shoulder. she waved her hand, but he kept on without appearing to notice the friendly gesture. "a temper goes with that blond hair," she said to herself, digging a bare heel into the loose shingle. "i guess i was pretty rude, though. but what right had he to talk like that? bill bolton may be a famous aviator, but he's only a year older than i am." she ran the skiff out through the shallows and sprang aboard. standing on the stern thwart she sculled the small craft forward with short, strong strokes, and presently nosed alongside the _scud_. as she boarded the sloop and turned with the skiff's painter in her hand she caught sight of bill getting into an open roadster on the club driveway. "i guess he meant well," she observed to the wavelets that lapped the side of the _scud_, "but just the same--well, that's that." making the painter secure to a cleat in the stern, she set about lacing a couple of reefs into the mainsail. having tied the last reef-point, she loosened the skiff's painter, pulled the boat forward and skillfully knotted the rope to the sloop's mooring. then she cast off the mooring altogether and ran aft to her place at the tiller. the _scud's_ head played off. dorothy, as she had told bill, was no novice at the art of small boat sailing. with her back bracing the tiller she ran up the jib and twisted the halyard to a cleat close at hand. then as the sloop gained steerageway, she pulled on the peak and throat halyards until the reefed-down mainsail was setting well. the _scud_, a fast twenty-footer, was rigged with a fore-staysail and gaff-topsail as well, but dorothy knew better than to break them out in a wind like this. as it was she carried all the canvas her little boat would stand, and they ran out past the point, which acted as a breakwater to the yacht club inlet, with the starboard gunwale well awash. the wind out here stiffened perceptibly and dorothy wished she had tied in three reefs instead of two before starting. her better judgment told her to go about and seek the quieter waters of the inlet. but here, pride took a hand. if she turned back and gave up her afternoon sail, the next time she saw bill bolton she must admit he had been right. no. that would never do. although the wind out here was stiffer than she had imagined, this was no northeast gale; a good three-reef breeze, that was all. so lowering the peak slightly she continued to head her little craft offshore. the _scud_ fought and bucked like a wild thing, deluging dorothy with spray. she gloried in the tug of the tiller, the sting of the salt breeze, the dance of her craft over choppy seas. glistening in the clear summer sunlight, flecked with tiny whitecaps, the landlocked water stretched out to where the low hills of long island banked the horizon in a blur of purple and green. now and then as she luffed into a particularly strong gust, dorothy had her misgivings. but pride, confidence in her ability to handle her boat and the thrill of danger kept her going. she had been sailing for about an hour, beating her way eastward with the connecticut shore four or five miles off her port quarter, when all at once, somehow, she felt a change. the sunshine seemed less brilliant, the shadows less solid, less sharply outlined. it seemed as if a very thin gauze had been drawn across the sun dimming without obscuring it. dorothy searched the sky in vain to discover the smallest shred of cloud. at the same time the breeze slackened and the air, which had been stimulant and quick with oxygen seemed to become thick, sluggish, suffocating. presently, the _scud_ was lying becalmed, while the ground swell, long and perfectly smooth, set sagging jib and mainsail flapping. except for the rattling of the blocks and the creaking of the boom, the silence, after the whistling wind of a few minutes before, was tremendously oppressive. then in the distance there was a low growl of thunder. in a moment came a louder, angrier growl--as if the first were a menace which had not been heeded. but the first growl was quite enough for dorothy. she knew what was coming and let go her halyards, bringing down her sails with a run. now fully alive to the danger, she raced to her work of making the little craft secure to meet the oncoming storm. she was gathering in the mainsail, preparatory to furling it when there was a violent gust of wind, cold, smelling of the forests from which it came, corrugating the steely surface of the sound. two or three big raindrops fell--and then, the deluge. dorothy rushed to a locker, pulled out a slicker and sou'wester and donned them. returning to her place by the tiller, she watched the rain. rain had never rained so hard, she thought. already both the connecticut and long island shores were completely blotted out, hidden behind walls of water. the big drops pelted the sound like bullets, sending up splashes bigger than themselves. then suddenly the wind came tearing across the inland sea from out the northeast. thunder crashed, roared, reverberated. lightning slashed through the black cloud-canopy in long, blinding zigzags. the wind moaned, howled, shrieked, immense in its wild force, immense in its reckless fury. a capsized sloop wallowed in the trough of heavy seas rearing a dripping keel skyward--and to this perilous perch clung dorothy. _chapter ii_ taxi! the black brush of storm had long ago painted out the last vestige of daylight. crouching on the upturned hull of her sloop, dorothy clung to the keel with nerveless fingers, while the _scud_ wallowed in an angry sea laced with foam and spray. she knew that in a little while the boat must sink, and that in water like this even the strongest swimmer must quickly succumb. cold, wet and helpless, dorothy anxiously scanned her narrow horizon, but in vain. for another half hour she hung on in the rain and darkness, battered by heavy combers that all but broke her hold. she was fast losing her nerve and with it the willingness to struggle. phantom shapes reached toward her from the gloom. strange lights danced before her eyes.... with a rolling lurch the _scud_ sank, and dorothy found herself fighting the waves unsupported. the shock of sudden immersion brought back her scattering wits, but the delusion of dancing lights still held; especially one light, larger and brighter than the others. surely this one was real and not the fantasy of an overwrought imagination! half smothered in flying spume, the drowning girl made one last frantic effort to keep afloat. above the pounding of the sea, a throbbing roar shook her eardrums, a glare of light followed by a huge dark form swooped down as if to crush her--and she lost consciousness. dorothy awoke in a darkness so complete that for a moment she thought her eyes must be bandaged. nervous fingers soon found that this was not the case, and reaching out, they came in contact with a light switch. the sudden gleam of the electrics half blinded her. presently she saw that she lay on a narrow bunk in a cabin. presumably she was aboard a vessel, still out in the storm, for the ship pitched and rolled like a drunken thing, and the roar of a powerful exhaust was deafening. someone had removed her sweater, had tucked warm blankets about her body. her throat burned from a strong stimulant which apparently had been administered while she was unconscious. for some minutes she lay there taking in her surroundings. the charts tacked to the cabin walls, the tiny electric cookstove, hinged table and armsrack opposite. listlessly she counted the weapons, four rifles, three shotguns, two automatics--and fastened in its own niche was a machine gun covered with a waterproof jacket. a complete arsenal.... the shotguns bespoke sportsmen, but this was neither the season for duck nor for snipe. men did not go shooting in long island sound with rifles, revolvers and a machine gun.... _bootleggers!_ it came to her like a bolt from the blue. she was on board a rumrunner, no less, and notwithstanding the exhaustion she suffered from her battles with the waves, she found exhilaration in the exciting discovery. dorothy threw off the blankets, sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. her bathing suit was still wet and clung uncomfortably to her skin. with a hand on the side of the bunk to support her, she stood up on the heaving floor to catch sight of her face in a mirror screwed to the opposite wall. "gracious! i'm a fright," she cried. "i don't suppose there's a vanity case aboard this lugger--and mine went down with the poor little _scud_!" then she spied a neat pile of clothing at the foot of the bunk, and immediately investigated. a dark blue sweater, a pair of trousers, heavy woolen socks, and a pair of boy's sneakers were seized upon and donned forthwith. dorothy giggled as she surveyed herself once more in the little mirror. "just a few sizes too large, that's all. but they're warm, and _dry_, and that's something!" she rummaged about on a shelf, found a comb and with dexterous fingers smoothed her short damp hair into place, then with a sigh of satisfaction, muttered again to herself, "much better, my girl." her makeshift toilet completed, she decided to leave the cabin and continue her explorations outside. there were two doors, one on the side and one at the end which evidently led forward. after a moment's hesitation, dorothy chose the latter. with some difficulty, for the ship still pitched unmercifully, she stumbled forward. then, summoning up her courage, for she was not without trepidation at the thought of facing her desperado rescuers, she laid a hand on the knob and turning it, swung back the door. dorothy found herself in a small, glassed-in compartment, evidently the pilot house. she had hardly time to glance about, when an oddly familiar voice spoke from out the darkness. it was barely distinguishable above the motor's hum. "please, miss dixon, snap off the light or shut the door. i can't possibly guide this craft in such a glare." "why, it's bill bol--mr. bolton, i mean," she cried in surprise, and closed the door. "himself in the flesh," replied that young man. she could see him clearly now, seated directly before her. his back was toward her and he did not turn round. so far as she could see he seemed very busily engaged, doing something with his feet. "then--then it must have been you who picked me up," she stammered. "guilty on the first count, miss dixon." "please don't be funny," she retorted, now mistress of herself once more. "i want to thank you--" "you are very welcome. seriously, though, it is the boathook you have to thank. without that we'd both have gone to davy jones' locker long before this." dorothy was nearly thrown off her feet by an unusually high sea which crashed over the pilot house and rolled the vessel far over on her side. "whew--that was a near one!" the girl exploded as the ship righted itself. "we'll weather it, don't worry," encouraged bill, though he did not feel the confidence his words proclaimed. "it looks to me," said dorothy soberly, "as though we'll be mighty lucky if we reach shore at all--and i guess you know it." "never say die, miss dixon!" "suppose we drop this miss and mister stuff, bill. sounds rather silly at a time like this, don't you think so?" "right you are, dorothy. i'm not much on ceremony, myself, as the irishman said when--" "look here, bill!" dorothy tossed her head impatiently, "i wish you'd omit the comedy--it really isn't necessary. i'll admit i was in a bad way when you dragged me out of the briny deep--and i appreciate your coming to my rescue. but you needn't expect me to faint or to throw hysterics. that sort of thing went out of fashion long ago. girls today have just as much nerve as boys. they don't very often get a chance to prove it, that's all." "please accept my humblest apology, mademoiselle." bill's eyes twinkled though his tone was utterly serious. "i can assure you--" dorothy's merry laugh rang out--her mood had passed as suddenly as it had come. "don't be absurd. tell me--why are _you_ piloting a rumrunner?" "rumrunner? what do you mean?" "if this isn't a rumrunner, why do you carry that machine gun and the rifles and revolvers in the armsrack?" "just part of our equipment, that's all." dorothy's impatience flared up again. "why do you talk such nonsense?" "nonsense?" "certainly. you don't mean to tell me that you took a boat of this size on long cruises!" bill grinned in the darkness. "but you see," he chuckled, "this isn't a boat." "well, what is it then?" "a loening amphibian. not exactly the stock model, for dad and i had quite a few changes made in the cabin and this pilot's cockpit." "_what?_" shrieked dorothy. "an airplane--one that can land either on water or on land?" "that's right. the old crate has the hull of a boat equipped with retractible wheel landing gear which operates electrically." "you're too technical for me," she said frowningly, and balanced herself with a hand on the back of the pilot's seat. "but if this is an airplane, why keep bouncing along on the water? i'd think you'd fly to land and have done with it." "my dear girl--" began bill. "don't use that patronizing tone--i'm not your dear girl--not by a long shot!" bill laughed outright. "my error once more. however, miss spitfire, when you learn to fly, you'll find out that air currents are very like water currents. when it is blowing as hard as it is now, flying a plane is fully as dangerous as sailing a boat--more so, in fact. when the wind reaches a certain velocity, it is impossible to balance your plane. you have to land--or crash." dorothy was beginning to understand. "then you must have taken some awful risks coming out after me." "i was lucky," he admitted. "but you see, even if we were able to fly in this gale, now, it's quite impossible to take off in such a heavy sea. if i gave the old bus enough gas to get up a flying speed, these combers would batter the hull in--i'd never be able to get her onto her step. some day, when it's fine, and the water's smooth, i'll show you what i meant by that. now all we can do is to taxi." "taxi?--this is the first seagoing taxi i've ever been in!" "in air parlance," he explained, "to taxi is to run a plane along the ground or on the water--just now, it isn't all it's cracked up to be." "i should think it would be easier than flying." "not on water as rough as this. your legs go to sleep with the strain you have to put on the rudder pedals." "oh--you're steering with your feet?" "yes." "well, why don't you let me help you? i'll drive her for a while," offered dorothy. bill shook his head. "it's terribly hard work," he demurred. "what of it? i'm as strong as an ox." "thanks a lot. you're a real sport. but the difficulty is in shifting places with me without swamping the old bus. she isn't equipped with dual controls. there's only one set of pedals, and as soon as i release them she will slue broadside to the waves, the wings will crumple, and she'll simply swamp and go under." "and you must taxi either before the wind, or into the wind as we are now, in seas like these?" "you've guessed it," he nodded. "but there must be some way we can manage it," argued dorothy. "you can't keep on much longer. your legs will give out and then we'll go under anyway." bill hesitated a moment. "well, all right, let's try it--but it's no cinch, as you'll find out." "that's o.k. with me. come on--orders, please--and let's go!" _chapter iii_ a wild ride "hey, not so fast," laughed bill. "first of all, will you please step into the cabin, and in the second locker on your right you'll find a helmet and a phone-set. bring them out here. this shouting is making us both hoarse and we'll soon be as deaf as posts from the noise of the motor." "aye, aye, skipper," breezed dorothy, and disappeared aft. in a minute or two she returned with the things he had asked for. bill showed her how to adjust the receivers of the phone set over the ear flaps of her helmet. then reaching for the head set at the other end of the connecting line, he put it on and spoke into the mouthpiece which hung on his chest. "much better, isn't it?" he asked in a normal tone. "it certainly is. i can hear you perfectly," she declared into her transmitter. "--what next?" "come over here and sit on my lap.--i'm not trying to get fresh," he added with a grin, as she hesitated. "i've had to make a shift like this before with dad. there is only one way to do it." dorothy was a sensible girl. she obeyed his order and placed herself on his knees. "now put your feet over mine on the rudder pedals. and remember--to turn right, push down on the right pedal, and vice versa. get the idea?" "quite, thanks." "fine. next--grab this stick and keep it as i have it. now, i'm going to pull my feet from under yours--ready?" "let her go!" bill jerked his feet away, to leave dorothy's resting on the pedals. "good work!" he applauded. "the old bus hardly swerved. keep her as she's pointed now. we can't change her course, much less take off until we hit one of those inlets along the connecticut shore, and smoother water. brace yourself now--i'm going to slide out of this seat." dorothy was lifted quickly. then she dropped back into the pilot's seat to find herself fighting the tenacious pull of heavy seas, straining her leg muscles to keep the plane from floundering. "how's it going?" bill's voice came from the floor of the cockpit where he was busily engaged in pounding circulation back into his numbed legs and feet. "great, thanks. but i will say that this amphibian of yours steers more like a loaded truck in a mudhole than an honest-to-goodness plane! how are your legs?" "gradually getting better--pretty painful, but then i'm used to this sort of thing." "poor boy!" she exclaimed sympathetically, then gritted her teeth in the effort to keep their course as a huge comber crashed slightly abeam the nose. bill grasped the side of her seat for support. "you handled that one nicely," he approved when the wave had swept aft. "but don't bother about me--you've got your own troubles, young lady. i'll be all right in a few minutes." "what i can't understand," said dorothy, after a moment, "is why this plane didn't sink when you landed and picked me up. how _did_ you keep from slewing broadside and going under?" "well, it was like this. when i left you on the beach, i motored back home to new canaan. the sky was blackening even then. i was sure we were in for the storm, so after putting up the car, i went out to the hay barn in that ten acre field where we house the old bus. she needed gas, so i filled the tanks, gave her a good looking over and went back to the house and telephoned." "you mean you phoned the beach club about me?" "yes. the steward said you weren't anywhere around the club, and your sloop wasn't in the inlet. it was pretty dark by then and the wind was blowing a good thirty-five knots. i made up my mind you must be in trouble. frank ran after me on my way out to the plane--he's our chauffeur you know--" "yes, i know--" broke in dorothy--"he drove you and your father to the movies last night. i saw him." "that's right. frank's a good scout. he wanted to come along with me, but i wouldn't let him." "i s'pose you thought you'd save _his_ skin, at least?" "something like that. a fellow doesn't mind taking responsibility for himself--it's a different thing with some one else. well, before frank and i ran this plane out of the barn, i rigged the sea anchor (nothing more than a large canvas bucket with a couple of crossed two-by-twos over the top to keep it open) with an extra long mooring line. the sea-anchor i brought up here in the cockpit with me. the other end of the line was fastened to a ring-bolt in the nose, of course. well--to get through with this yarn--i took off alone and flew over to the sound." "but wasn't it awful in this wind?" "it was pretty bad. as soon as i got over water, i switched on the searchlight, but it was a good half-hour before the light picked you up. then i landed--" "into the wind or with it?" interrupted dorothy. "getting interested, eh?" commented bill with a smile. "well, just remember this then, never make a downwind landing with a seaplane in a wind blowing over eighteen miles an hour." "why?" "because the wind behind your plane will increase the landing speed to the point where you will crash when you strike the water--that's a good reason, isn't it?" "then you landed into the wind when you came down for me?" "that's right. and as soon as i struck the water, i shut off the motor, opened one of these windows and threw over the sea anchor. then i fished you out with the boathook." "it sounds sort of easy when you tell it--but i'll bet it wasn't." she gazed at him admiringly. "you surely took some awful chances--" "hey there!" called bill. "pull back the stick or you'll nose over." "that's better," he approved as she obeyed his order. "keep it well back of neutral. sorry i yelled at you," he grinned. bill got to his feet. "i'm o.k. now," he went on, "and you must be pretty well done up. i'm going to take it over." seating himself on her lap, as she had sat on his, he placed his feet upon hers. a minute later, she had drawn her feet back from the rudder pedals, slipped out from under and was seated on the floor, rubbing life back into her feet and legs, as bill had done. "why is it," she inquired presently, "that the plane rides so much smoother when you're guiding her?" bill smiled. "when i give her right pedal, that is, apply right rudder, i move the stick slightly to the left and vice versa. in that way i depress the aileron on the side i want to sail. it aids the rudder. you got along splendidly, though, and stick work when taxiing needs practice." dorothy got to her feet, rather unsteadily. "look!" she cried. "lights ahead. we must be nearing shore, bill." "we are. there's a cove out yonder i'm making for. and better still, the wind is lessening. just about blown itself out, i guess." in another ten minutes they sailed in through the mouth of an almost landlocked inlet and with the motor shut off drifted in comparatively smooth water. "any idea where we are?" inquired dorothy, when bill, after throwing out the anchor, came back to her. "somewhere between norwalk and bridgeport, i guess," he replied. "there are any number of coves along here. i'll take you ashore, now. we've got a collapsible boat aboard. not much of a craft, but it'll take the two of us in all right. we'll go over to one of those houses, and get your father on the phone. he can come down and drive you back to new canaan." "drive us both back, you mean!" "sorry--but it can't be done. i've got to take this old bus home as soon as the wind dies down a little more." "how long do you suppose that will be?" asked dorothy quietly. bill glanced up at the black, overcast sky and then turned his gaze overside and studied the water toward the inlet's mouth. "oh, in about an hour i'll be able to take off." "then i'll wait and fly back with you." "you certainly are a sportsman," he applauded and looked at his wrist watch. "it's only ten to six--though anyone would think it was midnight. i'll tell you what--suppose i shove off in the dinghy. i'll row ashore and telephone your dad from the nearest house. he will be half crazy if he knows you were out sailing in that blow and haven't reported back to the club. in the meantime, you might scare up something to eat. there's cocoa, condensed milk, crackers and other stuff in the cabin locker nearest the stove. you must be starved--i know i am!" they were standing on one of the narrow decks that ran from amidships forward to the nose of the plane below the pilot house. "the very thought of food makes me ravenous," declared dorothy, starting for the cabin door. "give dad my love and say i'm all right--thanks to you!" she threw back over her shoulder--"tell him to put back dinner until seven-thirty--and to have an extra place laid. in the meantime i'll dish up a high tea to keep us going." within the cabin, she set water on the two-burner electric stove to boil. while it was heating she let down the hinged table and set it with oilcloth doilies, that she found, together with other table necessities in a cupboard next the food locker. she discovered some bread and a number of other eatables stowed away here, as well as the things bill had mentioned. twenty minutes later, bill returned to find the table set with cups of steaming cocoa and hot toasted sandwiches spread with marmalade. "i'll say you're some cook, dorothy!" he pulled up a camp stool, and seated himself at the table. "this is a real party!" "there isn't any butter--" began dorothy doubtfully. "don't apologize. it's wonderful--do start in or i'll forget my manners and grab!" dorothy helped herself to a sandwich and handed the plate across the table. "were you able to get dad?" "yes. just caught him. he'd only got home from the bank a few minutes before. one of the maids told him you'd spoken of going sailing, so he phoned the club about you. he was just leaving the house to drive down there when i rang him up." "did he say anything else?" "oh, naturally, he was glad you were all right. he didn't seem so pleased when i told him i was flying you back. he asked me if i was an experienced pilot." "he would." dorothy chuckled. "what did you tell him?" bill laughed as he helped himself to another sandwich. "i wanted to get out here to your high tea, you know, so i asked him if he smoked cigarettes." "_cigarettes?_" "yes. 'if you do, mr. dixon,' i said--you know the old slogan, 'ask dad--he knows--' and i'm sorry to say i rang off." "i'll bet he goes over and asks your father!" "very probably. dad's rather touchy when anybody questions my rating as a pilot. i'm afraid your father will get an earful." cocoa and toast had disappeared by this time so the two in the cabin set about clearing up. "you must'nt mind daddy's crusty manner," she said with her hands in a dishpan of soapsuds. "he's always like that when he's upset. he doesn't mean anything by it." bill, who was stowing away cups and saucers in the locker, turned about with a grin. "oh, that's all right. i had no business to get facetious--my temper's not so good, either. but there's no hard feeling." he held out his hands. "if you're finished with the dishpan i'll throw the water overside. the storm has broken and there's practically no wind. so if you're ready we'll shove off for new canaan--and i'll give you your first hop." _chapter iv_ the first hop "how about giving me my first flying lesson now?" dorothy suggested as bill hauled in their anchor. "you really want to learn?" "of course i do--i'm crazy about it!" bill coiled the mooring line, looping it with practiced skill. "and i'd be glad to give you instruction. but you're a minor--before we can start anything like that we must get your dad's permission." "oh, that'll be all right, bill," was the young lady's cool assurance. "but how about right now--" "every student aviator is a watchful waiter the first time up. you stand behind me this trip and i'll explain what i'm doing as we go along." "that'll be great! i'm just wild to fly this plane!" bill smiled. "but you won't get your flight instruction in this plane, dorothy." "why not?" "this amphibian is too big and heavy, for one thing; for another, she isn't equipped with dual controls." "but what does that mean?" "i see we'll have to start your training right now, miss student pilot--controls is a general term applied to the means proved to enable the pilot to control the speed, direction of flight, altitude and power of an aircraft.--savez?" "you sound like a text book--but i get you." "all right. now, unless we want the bus washed up on the beach, we'd better shove off." fastening the door to the deck after them, they passed through the cabin and into the pilot's cockpit where head-phone sets were at once adjusted. the amphibian bobbed and swayed at the push of little waves. the sun's face, scrubbed clean and bright by wind and rain was reflected in the rippling water; whilst wet surfaces of leaves, lawns, tree trunks and housetops bordering the inlet gleamed in a wash of gold. little gusts of fresh air blew in through the open windows filling the cockpit with a keen sweet odor of wet earth. dorothy drew a deep breath. "my! the air smells good after that storm!" "you bet--" agreed bill. "but i'll smell brimstone when your father comes into the picture, if we don't shove off pronto for new canaan." "oh, that's just like a boy--" she pouted. "shush! student--listen to your master's--i mean,--your instructor's voice, will you?" "instructor's better," she smiled. "here beginneth your first lesson." bill slid into the pilot's seat. "stand just behind me and hold on to the back of my seat," he ordered. dorothy promptly did as she was told. after all, was not this the real bill bolton the famous ace and midshipman she had read about? "all set?" "aye, aye, sir." "good enough! here we go then. i'll explain every move i make, as i make it. look and listen! first--i crack the throttle--in other words, before starting the engine, set your throttle in its quadrant slightly forward of the fully closed position. next, i 'contact'--that's air parlance for 'ignition switch on.' after that, i press the inertia starter to swing our propeller into motion--" the engine sputtered, then roared. "it is most important," he went on a moment later, "to see that the way ahead and above is clear at this point. safety first is the slogan of good flying." "yes. but really, bill, you don't have to explain every thing you do. i'm watching closely. when i don't understand, i'll ask--if it's all the same to you?" "good girl. don't hesitate to ask me, though." "i won't." with that she saw him widen the throttle and with his stick held well back of neutral to prevent the nose dipping under the waves, he sent the big seaplane hurtling through the water toward the inlet's mouth. the wind had changed since the storm and now, as they raced into the teeth of the light breeze, dorothy tingled with that excitement which comes to every novice with the take off. six or eight seconds after opening the throttle, she saw him push the stick all the way forward. "why do you do that? won't that raise the tail of the plane and depress the nose?" bill shook his head. "in the air--yes. but we're moving at some speed now on the surface--and the bow cannot be pushed down into the water. our speed is gradually forcing it up until--now--we're skimming along on the step, you see." dorothy nodded to herself and watched him ease the stick back to neutral and maintain it there while they gathered more and more speed. "now i'm going to talk some more," said bill. "don't blame me if it sounds like a text book.--in order to fly, certain things must be learned--and remembered. do not take off until you have attained speed adequate to give complete control when in the air. any attempt to pull it off prematurely will result in a take off at the stalling point, where control is uncertain. understand?" "i think so--but how does one know when to do it?" "that comes with practice--and the feel of the ship. as flying speed is gained, i give a momentary pressure on the elevators (like this)--and break the hull out of the water--so--easing the pressure immediately after the instant of take off. now that we are in the air our speed is only slightly above minimum flying speed. any decrease in this would result in a stall. that is why i keep the nose level for six or seven seconds in order to attain a safe margin above stalling point before beginning to climb." "there's certainly a lot more to it than i ever dreamed!" "you bet there is. i haven't told you the half of it yet. one thing i forgot to say--you must always hold a straight course while taxiing before the take off. also, never allow a wing to drop while your plane is on the step.--we've got enough speed on now, so i'll pull back the stick and let the plane climb for a bit." "but you're heading for the long island shore directly away from new canaan--" she protested, "why don't you bring her about--not that i'm in any hurry, but--" "this is an airplane, not a sailboat, dorothy. all turns must be made with a level nose. if i should try to turn while in a climb like this, a stall would probably result, and with the wing down the plane would most likely go into a spin and--" "we'd crash!" "surest thing you know!" "_oh!_" "but the altimeter on the dash says one thousand feet now. we're high enough for our purpose. so i push the stick forward, like this--until the nose is level--so! now, as i want to make a right turn, i apply right aileron and simultaneously increase right rudder considerably." dorothy saw one wing go up and the other go down. she was hardly able to keep her feet as the plane's nose swung round toward the connecticut shore. "isn't that called banking?" "right on the first count," replied bill. "why do you do it?" "because in making a turn, the momentum of the plane sets up a centrifugal force, acting horizontally outward. to counteract this, the force of lift must be inclined until it has a horizontal component equal to the centrifugal force. the machine is therefore tilted to one side, or banked, thus maintaining a state of equilibrium in which it will turn steadily. no turn can be made by the use of the rudder alone. the plane must be banked with ailerons before the rudder will have any turning effect.--get me?" "i get the last part. guess i'll have to do some studying." "everybody has to do that. but i'll lend you some books, so you can bone up on the theory of flight. what i said just now amounts to this: if you don't bank enough you send your plane into a skid." "just like an automobile skids?" "yes. but of course the danger doesn't lie in hitting anything as in a car. a skidding plane loses her flying speed forward and drops into a spin. on the other hand, if you bank her too sharply, you go into a sideslip!" "and the result in both cases is a crash?" "generally. but i think you've had enough instruction for today." "oh--but i want to know how you ended that turn. we're flying straight again now--and i was so interested in what you were saying, i forgot to watch what you did!" "well, after i had banked her sufficiently, i checked the wings with the ailerons and at the same time eased the pressure on the rudder. then i maintained a constant bank and a constant pressure on the rudder pedal throughout the turn. to resume straight flight, i simply applied left aileron and left rudder: and when the wings were level again, i neutralized the ailerons and applied a normal amount of right rudder." "my goodness!" exclaimed dorothy--"and that is only one of the things i have to learn. i thought that flying a plane wouldn't be much more complicated than driving a car." "oh, it's simple enough--only you have to balance a plane, as well as drive it." "do you think i'll ever learn?" "of course you will. it takes time and practice--that's all." "i wonder how birds learn to fly?" dorothy glanced down at the wide vista of rolling country over which they were traveling. the dark green of the wooded hills, the lighter green of fields, criss-crossed by winding roads and dotted with houses, all in miniature, seemed like viewing a toy world. and here and there, just below them, there was the occasional flash of feathered wings, as the birds darted in and out among the treetops. "birds have to learn to fly, too. they get into trouble sometimes." "they do?" "certainly--watch gulls on a windy day--you'll see them sideslip--go into spins--and have a generally hard time of it!" "oh, really? i'd never thought of that. but of course they can fly much better than a plane." bill shook his head. "that's where you are wrong. no bird can loop, or fly upside down. reverse control flying and acrobatics--stunting generally is impossible for them.--but look below! recognize the scenery?" "why, we're almost over new canaan. there are the white spires of the episcopal and congregational churches--and there's main street--and the railroad station!" "and over on that ridge is your house--and mine across the way," he added. "well, here's where i nose her over. hold tight--we're going down." _chapter v_ trouble after releasing the rectractible wheel landing gear, which turned the big amphibian from a seaplane into one which could land on terra firma, bill brought his big bus gently down to the ten acre lot behind the bolton residence. as the plane rolled forward on its rubber tired wheels and came to a stop, two men came walking in its direction from the trees at the edge of the field. "here come our respective fathers--" announced bill, stripping off his headgear. "remember--i take all responsibility for bringing you back in the plane." "you--do nothing of the kind!" dorothy's tone was final. she handed him her head-phone and running back through the cabin, vaulted the low bulwark to the ground. bill hurriedly made things secure in the cockpit and followed her. "and so you see, dad," he heard her say, as he approached where they stood, "bill not only saved my life--he took all kinds of chances with his own, flying in a gale like that. and--oh! i forgot to tell you that he warned me _not_ to go out in the _scud_ this afternoon!" she ended with a mischievous look toward bill. mr. dixon was a tall man, whose tanned, rugged features and searching gaze suggested the sportsman. he turned from his excited daughter, with a smile and an outstretched hand. "i'm beginning to realize, young man, that i owe you an apology for my shortness over the phone. judging from dorothy's story, i can never hope to express my gratitude for what you've done today." bill mumbled an embarrassed platitude as he shook hands, and was glad when mr. bolton broke into the conversation. "the boltons, father and son, were probably born to be hung," he chuckled. "it's a family trait, to fall into scrapes--and so far, to get out of them just as quickly. now, as nobody has been polite enough to introduce me to the heroine of this meeting--i'm the hero's fond parent, miss dorothy. we are about to celebrate this festive occasion by a housewarming, in the form of a scrap dinner at the hero's home--what say you?" "but i thought you were coming to our house--" cried dorothy. "i--" "but me no buts, young lady. your father has already accepted for you both and we simply can't take no for an answer." dorothy glanced at bill, who stood rather sheepishly in the background. then she laughed. "why, of course, if you put it that way--i'd love to come; that is, if the _hero_ is willing!" "say, do you think that's fair!" bill's face was red. he didn't think much of that kind of kidding. "i think it would be great, that is, if you mean me," he ended in confusion. amid the general laughter that followed, dorothy uttered a cry of disgust. "but i can't come like this--" she pointed to her clothes, which were the things that bill had laid out for her in the big plane's cabin. "you look charming--" mr. bolton bowed, and dorothy blushed. "however--" "make it snappy, then, dear." mr. dixon drew out his watch. "you have just fifteen minutes. and mr. bolton won't keep dinner waiting for you, if he's as famished as i am!" "oh, give me twenty!" she pleaded. "all right--hurry, now!" with a wave of her hand, dorothy darted away. "i'll look after the plane, bill," said his father, as she disappeared among the orchard trees. "i want to show mr. dixon over it, and that will give you time for a slicking-up before dinner." it was a jolly, though belated meal that was eventually served to them in the cool, green dining room of the bolton's summer home that evening. mr. dixon, with the finesse of an astute business man, drew out mr. bolton and his son, and the two told tales of adventure by land and sea and air that fascinated the new england high school girl. it all seemed unreal to her, sitting in the soft light of the candles. yet the boltons made light of hairbreadth escapes in the world's unmapped areas--just as if these strange adventures were daily occurrences in their lives, she thought. "it certainly is a shame!" she burst out suddenly. coffee had been served and they had moved to the comfort of low wicker chairs on the terrace. the air was filled with the perfume of june roses. "what's a shame?" bill, now spick and span in white flannels, settled back in his chair. "why, all the wonderful times you and mr. bolton have had--while dad and i were sticking around in new canaan. i'd love to be an adventurer," she finished. "i dare say you'd find it mighty uncomfortable at times," observed her father. "how about it, bolton?" "like everything else, it has its drawbacks and becomes more or less of a grind when one 'adventures' day in and day out--" that gentleman admitted. "i'm only too glad to be able to settle down in this beautiful ridge country for a few months--to rest and be quiet." "there you are, dorothy." her father smiled in the darkness. "and who would there be out in the wilds to admire that smart frock you're wearing, for instance?" "gee, dad! you know i don't care half as much about clothes as lots of the girls--and that hasn't anything to do with it, anyway." "i think we ought to break the news to her," suggested bill, a white blur in the depths of his chair. dorothy sat up eagerly. "what news?" "but perhaps we'd better wait until tomorrow. tonight, she wants to become an explorer--and give away all her best dresses. she might not take kindly to it." this from mr. dixon, between puffs of aromatic cigar smoke. "you're horrid--both of you. don't you think it's mean of them to make such a mystery of whatever they're talking about, mr. bolton? won't you tell me?" "of course, i will, my dear. what do you want to know?" dorothy choked with vexation. "_oh!_" "let's tell her now--right now--" said bill, his voice brimming with laughter. "i don't want to hear." "yes, you do--all together: one--two--three! you--are--going--to--learn--to--fly!" dorothy sprang to her father's chair and caught his arm. "will you really let me, dad?" she cried in delight. "mr. bolton says that bill is an a-1 instructor--and he claims that flying is no more dangerous than sailing twenty-footers in a nor'easter, so i suppose--" "oh--you _darling_!" dorothy flung her arms about his neck. "here--here--" cried mr. dixon. "you're ruining my collar, and my cigar--" "have another," suggested mr. bolton. "i'd willingly ruin boxes of cigars if i had a daughter who'd hug me that way!" "aren't you nice!" she turned about and bestowed a second affectionate embrace on that gentleman. "that is because you aren't quite as mean as your son--he's the limit!" "never slang your instructor," sang out bill. "that's one of the first rules of the air." "seriously, dorothy," her father interposed. "this is a big responsibility bill is taking--and i want your word that you'll do just as he says. no more running off and smashing up a plane as you did the _scud_ this afternoon!" "all right, dad. i promise. but what am i to learn in? bill says that the amphibian is too heavy--and she's not equipped with dual controls." mr. dixon lit a fresh cigar. "i see that you've already started your flight training." "bill explained the procedure to me on our way up here this afternoon. but what are we going to do for a plane?" "bill has some scheme, i believe." "oh, i know," she decided. "bill shall pick me out a nice little plane and--" "i shall pay for it," said her father grimly. "nothing doing. when you have won your wings--well--we shall see. until then, you and bill will have to figure without financial help from your fond parent." "that's fair enough," agreed mr. bolton. "o.k. with me, too," echoed bill. "i happen to have an old _n-9_, a navy training plane, down at the shipyard near the beach club, that will do nicely. i was down there this afternoon having her pontoon removed. i want to equip her with landing gear so i can house her up here. the amphibian uses up too much gas to go joy-hopping in." a maid appeared on the doorstep. "mr. dixon wanted on the phone, please," she announced, and waited while that gentleman preceded her into the house. a moment later mr. dixon was back on the terrace. "the bank's been robbed!" he cried. "sorry, gentlemen, but i've got to hustle down there just as soon as possible." "this way!" called bill, springing down the steps to the garden. "my car's out here--come on!" "that young chap can keep his head," thought mr. dixon as he ran beside his daughter and mr. bolton. "it would take a lot to fluster him." then they came upon him, backing slowly up the drive, both doors swinging wide so they could jump in the car without his stopping. "which bank, mr. dixon?" bill had the car in the road now and was racing toward the village. "first national--main street, next the town hall. i'm president, you know." "i didn't know. but i'm glad to hear it." "how's that?" "you should have a drag with the traffic cops. we are doing an even sixty now--and it would be a bad time to get a ticket." mr. dixon grasped the door-handle as bill skidded them into a cross road with the expertness of a racing driver. "just get us there, that's all," he gasped. "the chief himself phoned me. i didn't wait to hear details--but from what i gathered, the hold up men got clean away before the police discovered the robbery. but time is always a factor in a case of this kind, so don't worry about traffic rules." "i won't," said bill and fed his powerful engine still more gas. along the straight stretch of oenoke avenue they sped, with bill's foot still pressing the accelerator. they flashed past the white blur of the episcopal church and on down the hill into main street and the little town. the car's brakes screamed and bill brought them to a stop on the edge of the crowd of pedestrians and vehicles that blocked further progress. "d'you want us to wait here?" asked mr. bolton. "no--come along," returned his friend, jumping to the sidewalk. "we'll learn the worst together." _chapter vi_ the hold up with bill at her right and mr. bolton at her left elbow, dorothy pushed her way through the crowd behind her father to the entrance of the bank. the policeman at the head of the short flight of steps to the doorway stood aside at a word from mr. dixon. the four passed inside and the heavy door swung shut behind them. "rather like locking up the barn after the sheep vamoosed, isn't it?" bill nodded over his shoulder toward the police guard. "never mind, son--this isn't our party," rebuked his father. a fat man in a dark blue uniform, rather tight as to fit and much be-braided, came bustling up. "who are these men, mr. dixon?" he inquired pompously. "can't have strangers around the bank at this time--" "from what i hear, chief, you and your men let some strangers get away with about everything but the bank itself a little while ago." mr. dixon's tone showed his annoyance. "these gentlemen are friends of mine. what's actually happened? give me some facts. anybody hurt? anybody caught? just what has been taken?" questions popped like revolver shots. "well--it's like this, sir--" the chief seemed pretty well taken down. "thunderation! you and your sleuths are enough to tempt any man to law breaking. there's perkins! perhaps i'll learn something from him." mr. dixon strode toward the rear of the bank. "you mustn't mind dad," dorothy said consolingly. "just now he's half crazy with worry, chief.--these gentlemen are mr. bolton and his son. they've bought the hawthorne place, you know." chief jones mopped his perspiring face with a red bandanna and then shook hands all around. "terrible warm tonight--terrible warm. well, let's go over and find out what's what. i was over to a party at my daughter annie's--only just got in here myself. annie--" "yes, let's find out what has happened." dorothy cut in on this long-winded effusion, and led the way behind the tellers' cages to where her father and several other men were standing before the open vault. "ah, here's the watchman now!" cried mr. dixon as a man, his head completely covered with bandages, came toward them and sank weakly into a chair. "now, thompson, do you think you can tell us exactly what happened, before doctor brown drives you home?" "yes, sir. glad to." the man's voice, though feeble, betrayed excitement. "he sure knocked me out, that bird did--but i'd know him again if i saw him. i c'd pick him out of a million--" "that's fine," mr. dixon interrupted gently. "but start at the beginning, thompson, and we'll all get a better idea of him." "that i will, sir, and 'right _now_!' as that french guy says over the radio.... well, it was about eight o'clock and still light, when the night bell buzzed. i was expecting mr. perkins. he'd told me he'd be back after supper as he had some work to do. i'd been readin' the paper over there by the window, so i got up and opened the front door. but it wasn't mr. perkins. a young fellow in a chauffeur's uniform stood outside." "'i'm mr. dixon's new chauffeur,' he said. 'here's a note from him. he tried to ring you up, but the phone down here seems to be out of order. he said you'd give me a check book to take back to him. better read this.' he passed over a letter--" "have you still got it?" asked mr. dixon. "i think so. yes, here it is, in my pocket." thompson handed the missive to the bank president, who read it aloud: "'dear thompson: 'please give the bearer, my chauffeur, a blank check book and oblige 'yours truly, 'john dixon.'" "looks like my handwriting," sighed mr. dixon when he had finished, "but of course i didn't write it!--what happened after that?" "well, sir, he asked me if he could step inside and take a few puffs of a cigarette, seein' as how you didn't like him to smoke on the job. so i let him in. then i goes over to one of the desks for a check book and--i don't remember nothin' about what happened next, until i found myself in the far corner yonder, with mr. perkins near chokin' me to death with some water he was pourin' down my throat--and a couple of cops undoin' the rope i'd been bound up with. i reckon that feller must have beaned me with the butt of his revolver just as soon as i'd turned my back. doc here, says as how the skull ain't fractured--but that bird sure laid me out cold. if i hadn't had my cap on, he'd of croaked me sure. of course, i shouldn't of let that guy inside, but--" mr. dixon's tone was abrupt as he silenced thompson with a word. "thank you, thompson," he said. "you are not to blame. if you hadn't let him in, he might have shot you at the door. doctor brown is going to take you home now. lay up until you feel strong. and don't worry." he patted the man on the shoulder and thompson departed, leaning on the doctor's arm. "i guess you're next on the list, harry." mr. dixon nodded to perkins. "how did you happen in here tonight?" the cashier, a slender young man, prematurely bald, and dapper to the point of foppishness, removed his cigarette from his mouth and stepped forward. "had that bridgeport transit matter and some other work i wanted to finish," he said crisply. "told thompson i would be back about eight-thirty. matter of fact, it was twenty to nine when i rang the night bell. i rang it several times, no answer; then tried the door and found it unlocked. i thought something must be wrong--and was sure of it when i stepped in and saw thompson lying on the floor, his arms and legs bound. saw that he was breathing, and went to the phone. it was dead--couldn't raise central. i didn't waste much time then, but ran out and hailed sampson, the traffic cop on the corner. told him there'd been a holdup here, so he blew his whistle, which brought another policeman and we three raced back here." "you brought thompson to and cut his bonds--then what?" "i went to the vault. the door was ajar, with books and papers scattered all over the place. haven't had a chance to check up, but it looks as though everything in the way of cash and negotiable securities has been taken." "but the door hasn't been damaged--they couldn't have blown it open!" the cashier shook his head. "no," he admitted, "they opened it with the combination. must have used a stethoscope or the jimmy valentine touch system--" "not with that safe, perkins. but how about the time lock?" "it is never put on, sir, until we have no more occasion to use the vault for the day. i notified the protective system people that i would be working here tonight and would set it when i was through." "humph!" growled the president in a tone that boded ill for someone. "so the time lock wasn't set!" "it is the usual practice, sir," explained perkins nervously. "i--" "never mind that now. anyone else know anything about this robbery?" "yes, sir. sampson, the traffic policeman saw the car." "well, let's hear from sampson, then, if he's here." the officer came forward rather sheepishly. "i was directin' traffic at the corner of main street and east avenue, sir, when i seen your car run down main and stop in front of the bank here." "_my_ car!" exploded dorothy's father. "yes, sir--least it was a this year's packard like you drive--and it had your license number on it--ab521--i ought to know, i see it every day." "yes, that's the number--but--well ... did you notice it further?" "yes, sir, i did. that was about eight o'clock. the chauffeur got out and rang the bell at the entrance to the bank. then i seen him speak to thompson and pass inside." "did you investigate?" "why, no, sir. the man came out almost directly and the door swung shut behind him. then he jumped into the car and drove up the alley at the side of the bank. you always park your car there, sir, so i thought nothin' of it. about twenty minutes later, out he drove again and up main street the way he'd come. and that's the last i've seen of him." "there was only one man in the car--the chauffeur?" "i only saw one. if there was anybody else, they must've been lying down, in the bottom of the car." "very likely." mr. dixon turned to the chief of police. "and what has been done toward catching the thieves--or thief?" "nothing, as yet," the chief confessed. "but i'll get busy on the wire with descriptions of the man and the car right away. you see, i only just--" "never mind that--get along now and burn up the wires. that car has had over an hour's start on you. i'll look after things here for the present." the head of the local police force waddled off with much the air of a fat puppy who had just received a whipping, and mr. dixon walked over to mr. bolton. "you can do me a great favor, if you will," he said. "name it, dixon." "thanks. go to the drug store down the block and call up the bankers protective association in the city. you'll find their number in the directory. tell them what's happened--that will be enough. i want you to call their new york headquarters. that will start them on the job through their branches in short order." "right-oh!" his friend agreed. "and when i get through with new york, i'll see what new canaan can do to fix your phone here." "thanks. i'll appreciate it." "anything i can do, mr. dixon?" inquired bill. "nothing here, thanks. but if you will take my daughter home and see that she doesn't get into any more trouble today, i'll be much obliged to you." "oh, _dad_!" dorothy, threw him a reproachful look, then stood on tiptoe and kissed her parent's cheek. "there, there. i know you're worried. phone me when you want the car. i'll have sandwiches and coffee waiting when you get home." mr. dixon gave her an affectionate hug. "you're a good little housewife," he praised, "but run along now--both of you. there are a million-odd things to be done before i can leave." he beckoned to the cashier and disappeared with him into the vault. "not that way, bill--" dorothy's voice arrested bill as he started for the door. "come out the back way." "what's up?" "i don't know yet. but i've found something that the rest seem to have missed. it may be important--come and see." "you're on, miss sherlock," he said. catching her arm, he hurried with her toward the rear of the bank. _chapter vii_ ground trails bill unlatched the back door of the bank, pushed it open and stood aside for dorothy to pass through. "wait a minute." she put out a restraining hand. the full glare of the arc light in the alley fell on the damp ground at their feet. "right over there are the tire marks of the holdup car. it's lucky it rained this afternoon. the prints are perfect in this mud." "well, that's interesting, but--" "oh, no. of course they won't solve the mystery. that's what you were going to say, isn't it?" dorothy's voice was mocking as she looked up at bill. "but here--see these footprints? from this door to the car?" her tone was triumphant now. "they ought to help just a little, don't you think?" but bill seemed unmoved at her discovery. "probably hoofmarks of the cops," he said rather disparagingly. dorothy laughed. "if those footprints were made by policemen i'll eat them. where are your eyes, bill? the cops in this town wear regulation broad-toed shoes. when i heard the traffic cop tell dad that he'd seen the robbers' car go up the alley, i dashed out here to have a look around. and as soon as i saw these prints i knew they were not made by broad-toed boots. let's examine them closer." taking care to avoid stepping on the well defined trail that led from the door to the tire marks of the car, the two studied the line of footprints. "one fellow wore rubber soled shoes--i guess you're right, dorothy," acknowledged bill, squatting on his heels. "the pattern on this set of prints could have been made by nothing else. but what do you make of these tracks here? just holes in the mud with a flat dab right ahead?" "high heeled shoes, bill. one of this gang is a woman, that is clear enough. what bothers me is the third set--look!" bill stared at the footprints to which she pointed. "the right-hand one was made by a long, narrow shoe, but i'll swear that boot last was never made in america. it's too pointed," he said finally. "the shoe that made that imprint was bought in southern europe, i'll bet--italy, probably. but those queer looking marks to the left are beyond me," he frowned. then he cried--"no, they're not! i have it--the man who made those prints was club-footed!" dorothy disagreed with him. "a club-foot couldn't make that mark. it is too symmetrical--straight on both sides and kind of rounded at the back and front. it wasn't made by a wooden leg, either, bill!" "no. that would simply dig a hole in the mud." "oh, i know! why didn't i see it at once!" she exclaimed excitedly--"the man was lame!" bill snorted. "and he had long pink whiskers which he tied round his waist with a green ribbon!" "don't be silly--i know what i'm talking about." "how so?" "i _know_ that a lame man made that set of marks." "very well. may doctor watson inquire on what miss sherlock holmes bases her astounding deduction?" "on those queer marks, of course, stupid!" "thanks. the clouds have vanished. you make everything so lucid." bill stood erect once more. "but, bill--did you ever see a lame man--whose left leg was shorter than his right?" "maybe i did. but i can't swear at this distant date which leg was the shorter." "well, i can tell you that in this case, the left was!" "maybe--" "maybe nothing! why am i sure of it? because the man wore a lame man's boot--the kind with a very thick sole. my grandfather wore one. he twisted his hip when he was a boy and that leg didn't grow as long as the other. what is more, he always walked on the _sole_ of his big boot--the heel never touched the ground!" "i believe you _are_ right," mused the young man, studying one of the queer footprints again. "i know i am, bill. that kind of a shoe would make exactly that print. not such a bad hunch to take a look out here, was it?" "you're a swell sleuth, dorothy. let's see. now we know there were three in the gang this evening. the chap who played chauffeur and wore sneakers, a woman, and a lame man--probably an italian." "yes. but that doesn't solve the mystery, does it?" "no, but it helps a lot. how about the tire tracks?" "not our car. daddy uses silvertowns and those were made by some other kind." "goodyears, i should say. how about going in now and telling your father what we've learned?" "i'd rather not, if you don't mind?" "why!" "well, you see, bill, dad hasn't much confidence in girls' views on what he calls 'the practical side of life'--mine especially. there'll soon be a bunch of detectives on this case. if they find out for themselves, it's o.k. with me--but i shan't tell them." "you want to work up the case yourself?" "that's exactly it. if you'll help me?" "certainly i will. but we may get into trouble--i mean it is likely to be dangerous work." "does that bother you?" "i'd hate to have you get hurt--" "i won't do anything on my own without telling you first. we'll work together. does that suit your highness?" "you bet! where do we go from here?" "back to my house. we'll go down the alley and hop in your car. i want to ride up to our garage. i've got another hunch." "the kid's clever," remarked bill admiringly. "want to tell me? i haven't a glimmer." they turned out of the alley into main street before dorothy answered. "suppose you guess," she suggested teasingly as she stepped into the car. "or, better still, now that you've become my aviation instructor, i'll even things up and give you a short course in sleuthing." "that's a go, teacher," grinned bill. the car rolled up the hill past the white memorial cross on the village green. "but to a mere amateur in crime it looks as though you had barged into a pretty good mystery, no kidding." "sh--" commanded dorothy. "sherlock holmes is thinking." "don't strain anything," bill advised as he stepped on the accelerator. dorothy did not retort to this thrust, but remainder wrapped in her thoughts for the remainder of the ride. bill turned the car into the dixon's drive before she spoke again. "keep on to the garage, please." "right-oh! still sleuthing, i take it?" "yes." "what _is_ the big idea?" "wait and see." he drew up under the arching elms with the glare of their headlights focussed upon the closed garage doors. dorothy sprang out and ran forward. "locked," she affirmed, giving the handle a tug. "wait a minute, bill. i'll be right back." she disappeared in the direction of the house. bill shut off the engine and clambered down to the ground. presently he saw her coming back, accompanied by a woman in maid's cap and apron. "all right, lizzie," her young mistress said, "i want to look at something first. then you can tell us exactly what happened. that's right, give me the key." she swung open one of the wide doors. "the packard's there, just as i told you, miss dorothy," volunteered lizzie as the three stepped inside the garage. "it's your car that's missing." "i left it at the beach club--" dorothy cut herself short. "the license plates are gone from the packard!" "wasn't that to be expected after what the cop told us in the bank?" there was a hint of mockery in bill's voice. "of course. but the point is--were they taken this afternoon while daddy had the car parked behind the bank--or later this evening after he drove home? he would never remember whether he drove from the bank with the plates still attached or not. he never notices details like that." bill seemed amused. "perhaps not--but what's the difference?" "wait a minute. you'll soon get another slant. now, lizzie--start from the very beginning." lizzie spoke up eagerly. "yes, miss. cook and me was havin' our supper in the kitchen, miss--" "where was arthur?--he's our chauffeur-gardener," explained dorothy to bill. "it's arthur's night off, miss. he went to the movies--said he'd get a bite at the lunch wagon in the village, though why a man should want to eat hot dogs and such trash with honest-to-goodness vittles waiting for him at home is more than--" "never mind that now, lizzie.--you and cook were eating supper--?" "yes, miss. we was just finishin' when we heard a car pass the house on its way out to the garage. i thought it might be arthur, back in the ford for some supper. cook said--" "oh, lizzie, please! what happened then?" "why, a man came to the back door and asked for the key to the garage. said as how he had orders to fix the packard." "what time was that?" "about five minutes after we heard the car drive out here, miss." "no--i mean the time of day." "i couldn't rightly say, miss dorothy. the kitchen clock is down to whipple's being mended. but it was just after you'd gone over to mr. bolton's for dinner." "what did the man look like, lizzie?" "like any young man, miss." "but was he tall or short?" "kind of medium-like--" "dark hair or light?" "i can't seem to remember--he had a chauffeur's cap on and was in his shirt sleeves, that i do know." "did you notice if he limped?" "no, he didn't, miss--but the other fellow did--him with the big boot." "bull's eye!" cried bill. "you're sure some detective, dorothy!" "keep still?" ordered that young lady. and then to the housemaid: "we'll take up the man with the big boot in a minute, lizzie. now then, you gave the other one the garage key, i s'pose?" lizzie snorted. "that i didn't, miss. i took the key off the hook and walked out to the garage with him. mr. dixon wouldn't be thankin' me to let strange men fool round in the garage by theirselves!" "then how in thunder did they cop the license plates without your seeing them?" exploded bill. "do shut up and let me talk!" dorothy stamped her foot impatiently. "now, lizzie, what happened next?" "well, miss, i unlocked the doors and he started tinkerin' with the engine of the packard there. then all of a sudden he went out to the other car and spoke to somebody inside." "what car was that?" "the one he'd drove up in. it was parked out on the drive where the young gentleman has his'n now." "another packard, was it?" "i couldn't say, miss. i didn't pay much attention to it, except that it was a closed car--and there was a man and a woman in back." dorothy exchanged glances with bill. "and then?" "then the young feller comes back and says as how the lady in the car was feeling sick, and could i fetch her a glass of water with a teaspoonful of bicarbonate of soda in it. i knew we had some in the medicine chest upstairs, so--" "so you went back to the house and got it?" "yes, miss." "and _that's_ when they copped the plates!" declared bill, the irrepressible. "bull's eye!" derided dorothy. "how'd you guess it?" "form of genius some of us have." dorothy ignored this last and turned again to the maid. "what happened when you brought back the bicarb, lizzie?" "i give it to the young lady in the car, miss." "young, was she?" "i couldn't get a good look at her face, for she was dabbin' her eyes with a handkerchief like she'd been cryin'. but she was dressed in some of those new-fangled pajamas like you wear to the beach, they was--sort of yellow-green color--and a wisp of her hair that had got loose from the bandanna she wore was red--the brightest red hair i ever see. she turned her head away when she drunk the medicine, but she thanked me prettily enough when she handed back the glass." "have you washed it yet?" "no, miss. you see, i--" "then don't. i want that glass, just as it is. was the lame man sitting beside her?" "no. when i brought her the soda he was comin' out of the garage with the other fellow. he was carryin' a package wrapped in newspaper and he says as how he was takin' some part of the engine back to the shop. he spoke kind of funny, like a foreigner, i thought. and all dolled up in a light suit and a cane. why, he'd even got lemon colored gloves on for all his lameness and the big boot he wore!" "did the girl and the other man wear gloves?" "the man put them on when he started to tinker with the car, i remember. but the girl had no gloves on." "you're sure?" "oh, yes, miss, because i noticed her shiny pink finger nails, particular. i thought at the time that washin' dishes couldn't be no part of her life." "that's fine, lizzie. you make a splendid witness." "thanks, miss. i got a good look at the lame man, too. he had a funny little black mustache like they wear in the movies and little gold knobs in his ears--what do think of _that_!" lizzie paused dramatically as she gave this choice bit of information. "earrings?" "earrings, miss--and--" "thank you, lizzie. you may go now." "remember those earrings, miss. and i'll keep the glass for you, and won't let cook touch it either, never fear!" lizzie's slight figure faded into the darkness. "so you've got pretty good descriptions of the gang _and_ the lady's fingerprints!" bill summed up. "i've got to hand it to you, kid. reckon you'll have to let your father know about it though. those fingerprints will have to be examined by the police." dorothy nodded. "guess you're right. i'll tell him what we found out." "what _you've_ found out, you mean. as i think i told you before, when it comes to detective work, i'm a ground hog!" "nonsense! but that reminds me, bill. do i get a lesson tomorrow?" "do you think you can take time enough from your life work?" "don't be ridiculous. you may think i've finished fooling with this robbery when i turn over the dope to daddy--but i haven't. i want a flying lesson, just the same, in the morning. shall we go up in the _loening_ again?" "no. i'll drive you down to the shore and we'll take the _n-9_ out. don't wait for your father to-night. tell him what you want to at breakfast." "but i've got to--" "this is your flight instructor speaking, dorothy. no lesson in the morning for you, young lady, unless you go straight to bed now and get a good night's rest. a clear head and steady nerves are the first requisites for flying." "all right then. i'll turn in directly. good night." bill was already seated behind the wheel of his car. "good night, dorothy. by the way, _i've_ got a hunch about this bank business. after you've had some flight training we'll investigate together--and the plane will be a great asset," he added mysteriously. his foot pressed the self-starter. "don't be so vague--spill the news like a good fellow." "sh--" mocked bill. "'sherlock holmes is thinking!'" his laugh rang out and the car disappeared in the deep shadows of the drive. "he's not so dumb as he pretends," mused miss dixon. "what can he have up his sleeve?" slowly she moved off toward the back door of the house. _chapter viii_ next morning "you've done splendidly, my dear. i'm proud of you. this information you've dug up will be a lot of help in tracing that gang, i'm sure." dorothy and her father were seated at the table, taking their morning meal in the breakfast porch, just off the dining room. although the bond of affection uniting father and daughter was a strong one, especially since the mother's death some years earlier, neither was particularly demonstrative. and dorothy was not used to receiving unstinted praise of this sort from her father. the colour in her cheeks deepened, and she said off-handedly: "i'm awfully glad, daddy. you haven't had your second cup of coffee, have you?" mr. dixon smiled, and passed his cup to her. his shrewd glance took in her evident embarrassment. "no need to dissemble, daughter. fact is, i keep forgetting you're no longer a child; and i don't mind telling you how valuable you are to me." dorothy smiled back at him. "thanks a lot, dad." she returned his filled cup. "did the gang get away with much?" "plenty. a number of easily negotiable bonds, what currency we had on hand, etc. of course, we're well covered by insurance--but the worst of it is, they took mrs. hamberfield's diamond necklace!" "what! the hamberfields, of canoe hill?" "the same. they bought the old adams place two years ago and keep it for a summer residence. more money there than--er--taste, i believe. mrs. h. goes in for jewels on a big scale." "wears diamonds at breakfast, i'll bet, daddy. she came to the country club last saturday night, dressed up to the hilt and beyond it. i've never seen so much jewelry! doug parsons suggested that she'd been robbing tiffany's. a regular ice-wagon with her diamonds!" "well, she's lost a lot of them, now. that gang evidently knew she had a habit of keeping some of them in her deposit box at the bank, for it was the only one they raided." "that's interesting." "in what way?" "never mind now. tell me some more." "well, naturally, i phoned the lady last night--and well--she was most unpleasant--" "the nasty cat! serves her right to have them stolen!" "hardly that, dear. but the bank is responsible for her necklace and other gewgaws. and her husband is a power in the financial world." having breakfasted sufficiently for one day, dorothy was busy with an orange lipstick. "more unpleasantness for you, daddy?" she asked through pursed lips, her eyes on the small mirror of her compact, open on the table before her. "he is in a position to do the bank considerable harm--by the way, dorothy, are you as efficient at manicuring as you are at making up your mouth?" "p-perhaps. why?" "good. then, after this i'll get you to do my nails while i have my second cup of coffee each morning!" "aren't you horrid!" "aren't you the cheeky kid, using that thing in front of me?" "you really don't mind, daddy?" "do you think it an improvement over nature?" "i know it isn't." "why use a lipstick then?" "but--why do you wear that curly mustache?" "more cheek?" "not at all. but it adds dignity to your face--what's more, your mustache is becoming and you know it." "nonsense!" mr. dixon's tone was derisive but there was a twinkle in his keen gray eyes. dorothy nodded decisively. "while my lipstick, properly used, is also becoming," she went on. "and it gives your daughter a sophisticated appearance otherwise lacking--" she broke off with a giggle as she saw her father's expression. dorothy snapped her compact shut and rose from the table. going round to his side, she gave her father a hug and kissed him lightly on his mustache. "there!" she laughed. "now i've added sophistication to your dignity, daddy. you'll be able to run both the bank and that ritzy mrs. hamberfield like a charm today. so long! bill is coming for me and we're going down to the beach. i'm to have my first real flight instruction this morning, you know." "from all accounts you did pretty well yesterday, young lady. don't you think you'd better come down to the bank and tell the story of your sleuthing to the bankers' association detectives? they'll be up here from new york this morning." from the doorway, dorothy shook her head. "nothing doing!" she cried. "i love you a lot--but you have the story down pat yourself--and i've got a date i can't break. that glass with the fingerprints on it, you'll find nicely wrapped up on the hall table. 'by--" she was through the door and across the lawn before mr. dixon could reply. he folded his napkin and laid it on the table with a sigh. "heigho!" he murmured. "i wonder what her mother would say to that? still, dorothy grows more like her every day. the youngster has brains if she only uses them in the right way. she certainly has been a help on this robbery--and she is a comfort to me--but a great responsibility at that." then, carefully lighting his after-breakfast cigar, mr. dixon walked into the house. shortly after mr. dixon had left for the bank, bill's horn honked in the drive. dorothy appeared presently, wearing a boy's outing shirt open at the neck and a pair of fawn-colored jodhpurs. she noticed as she approached the car that frank, the bolton's chauffeur, was seated in the rumble. "i've got to run into new york and buy some flying clothes," she announced as she seated herself at bill's side. "don't bother about clothes, for heaven's sake. they won't help you to fly. i've got several extra helmets and some goggles and those things you're wearing now will be just the thing. all you need are overalls--and i bought you those in the village this morning." "aren't you nice," she beamed. "but i do need a leather coat, don't i?" "what for?" "didn't you tell me the cockpits of your n-9 were open--that they didn't have windshields?" "yes--but what of it?" "won't it be cold?" "not at this time of year. we're not out for an altitude record. of course, when you get a couple of miles or so above the earth you have to bundle up--but the old oxx motor in my n-9 would never get you there. she's not built for that kind of work. later on, you can order a monkey suit or a leather coat from the city." "yes, i'll get one of those sporty knee-length coats--" decided dorothy gleefully. "not if i know it!" "but why not? they're so goodlooking!" "and more dangerous than a broken strut!" "they are?" dorothy's tone was horrified. "certainly. if you buy a coat, get a waist-length model. anything longer not only hampers a pilot, it catches the wind and is likely to get caught around your stick or other controls and crash the plane." "oh!" said dorothy disappointedly. bill slanted his eyes from the road and smiled at her. "not everyone who wears a yachting cap is a yachtsman! you'll have plenty to think of during your flight training without bothering about such things." "i guess you're right," she agreed. "how long will it take to teach me to fly, bill?" "it all depends upon your aptitude, dorothy. ask me again after ten hours of dual instruction. but no matter how apt you prove to be, flying is not learned in a day. i've mapped out a forty-hour course for you. want to look it over?" he handed her a typewritten sheet. she studied the paper interestedly. it was titled. "course of flight training. i. _dual instruction._ first hour taxiing straight flying turns glides second take-offs climbing s-turns breaking glide and leveling off slow motion landings by instructor third flying at leveling-off height (seaplanes only) slow motion landings normal landings, use of elevators only fourth cut-gun landings, under three feet, elevators only sixth normal landings cut-gun landings spirals use of ailerons, rudder, throttle approaches elementary forced landings ninth stalls and spins ii. _elementary solo flying._ first solo: five minute flight, necessary turns, one landing first 5 hours: take-offs, turns, landings instruction flight: instruction as necessary, including spins; power stall landings (seaplanes only) 5 to 10 hours: take-offs, turns, spirals, landings instruction flight: instruction as necessary, including spins 10-15 hours: same as 5 to 10 hours iii. _advanced flying._ instruction flight: reverse control turns and spirals, side-slips, power spins 15-20 hours: take-offs, turns, spirals, landings; reverse control turns and spirals instruction flight--acrobatics 20-25 hours: acrobatics, with 20 minutes of each hour on elementary work instruction flight: precision landings, forced landings, figure-eight turns, wing-overs 25-30 hours: precision landings, forced landings, figure-eight turns, wing-overs final instructions flight: review; instruction as necessary." "looks pretty complicated to me," sighed dorothy, handing back the paper. "gee, but there's a lot to learn!" "more than the average novice has any idea of. but don't imagine that this course will make you or anyone else an experienced pilot. additional time must be spent in the air before you can get an interstate commercial pilot's license. but after the instruction i've outlined here, your knowledge of flying should be sufficient to enable you to go on with your training yourself." "i hope so," said dorothy, but there was little confidence in her tone. bill brought the car to a stop beside an open field. "cheer up!" he encouraged. "flying is like anything else worth while--troublesome to learn, but easy enough when you know how. hop out, kid. there's the n-9, with her new landing gear, over there. frank will take the car back. we'll fly up to my place now and i'll give you your first real instruction over our own flying field!" _chapter ix_ air trails dorothy donned her overalls while bill spoke to the mechanic who was waiting by the plane. then the man got into a car and drove away, and bill beckoned her to him. "all set?" "all set." "then we'll begin. first of all, you must know the names of the different parts of the plane. some you know already, but we'll go over them just the same. that hinged movable auxiliary surface on the trailing edge of the wing is an aileron. its primary function is to impress a rolling movement on the airplane. got that?" "yes." "then repeat what i just said." dorothy did so. "good. now this is a drag wire." after twenty minutes of this kind of thing he asked her to point out an aileron and explain its use. "k.o." he said at last. "we'll go over parts each day for a while and the book work you must do at home will help to refresh your memory. now nip into the forward cockpit and i'll explain the working of the controls." he gave dorothy a hand up and when she was seated, swung himself on to the cowl of the cockpit. "first of all--and let this become habit--" he ordered, "adjust your safety belt. yes, that's the way. now we'll go ahead. that's the stick there. take hold of it. you'll notice it is pivoted at its base. forward movement of the stick increases the angle of attack of the elevators and depresses the nose. backward movement decreases angle and raises the nose. lateral movement of the stick operates the ailerons, movement to the right depressing the right wing, and to the left, the left wing." when she was sure she understood the functions of one thing he explained the next. "now tell me just what i have told you--" he commanded. fully an hour had gone by before he was satisfied that she understood thoroughly. "tired?" he asked at last. "not a bit," she smiled. "i'm afraid i'm kind of dumb--but all these gadgets, as you call them, are a little confusing at first." "oh, you're catching on in first rate order," he told her. "nothing but practice will make you letter perfect. and that comes soon enough when you handle the plane yourself. now i'll fly us home. all i want you to do is to fold your arms and listen. keep your eyes in the cockpit and watch the movements of the stick and rudder bar. my cockpit aft is equipped with similar controls. when i move my stick--yours moves--and vice versa. all right?" "you bet." he reached in his pocket and drew forth a small leather-bound book which he handed her. "here's your flight log book, dorothy. write it up after every flight. there are columns for the date, type of plane, duration and character of flight, passengers or crew carried (if any) and remarks. a commercial pilot should have his log book certified monthly by an official of the company. for a student it is a good thing to commence during training. stick it in your pocket," he advised as she thanked him. "and put on this helmet. it's a gosport, with phones in both ear flaps, connected by a voice tube to this mouthpiece. i'll use that end of it to coach you through during flight." "but this helmet is hard and stiff," objected dorothy. "i'll bet it isn't nearly as comfortable as that nice soft leather one you're wearing." "possibly not. but until you're through with your instruction i want you to wear a 'crash' helmet. they're a lot of protection for the head in case of minor accident. no instructor worth his salt permits a student to use a soft leather helmet until you've had a lot of experience." "oh, very well then," she said, adjusting her heavy headgear, "you're the boss!" "you bet i am when it comes to this kind of thing. if i weren't sure you were willing to give me strict obedience, i'd never propose teaching you. and please remember that this isn't a joy hop. the more attentive you are to instruction--the quicker you'll learn." "i'm your willing slave, sir," she mocked good-humoredly, and drew the helmet strap tight beneath her chin. then as the engine roared and the plane rolled forward she felt the same thrill she had experienced the afternoon before when she and bill had taken off in the amphibian. the same tightening of her muscles and beating throb of the pulse in her neck. they were soaring upward now and the sensation of smoothness became apparent after the jars and bumps of taxiing over the rough field. the sting of the wind on her face was exhilarating, but her eyes were streaming. realizing that she had forgot to adjust her goggles, she pulled them down from the front of her helmet. "i've been wondering how long it would be before you did that," came bill's voice through the headphones. "never mind--it's a grand thrill while it lasts--you'll lose it soon enough." dorothy, for the first time in her life, found a retort impossible to make. "now that we've got enough air under us," bill's voice continued, "i'm going to fly straight for home. remember what i said about watching your stick and rudder bar. also keep an eye on the bank-and-turn indicator as well as the fore and aft level indicator and inclinometer." dorothy shifted her gaze to the instrument board before her. unconsciously she ticked off the other instruments. there were the two bill had just mentioned; a magneto switch, oil pressure gauge, earth inductor, compass indicator, altimeter, 8-day clock, primary pump and tachometer. it pleased her that she could so readily recall their names and uses. then she heard bill's voice in her ear again: "the reason that i keep pulling the stick back slightly so often, dorothy, in level flight, is because the old bus is a bit nose heavy. you'll notice it when you handle her later on. it's nothing to worry about. very few planes are perfectly balanced." dorothy turned her eyes guiltily on the stick again. she had been caught napping that time! one really needed half a dozen pairs of eyes for a job like this. and--how different bill's manner aboard an airplane, she thought. he was certainly all business. but she respected and admired his knowledge and his ability as an airpilot which left no opening for argument. "you can look overside now," came his voice again interrupting her thoughts. "we're going to land." below them she saw the bolton's house. the nose of the plane dropped suddenly as the stick went forward and they shot down to land on the field near the bolton's hangar. bill spoke again from the rear cockpit. "if you're ready for more flight instruction, hold up your right hand." dorothy held up her right hand. "good. then we'll practice taxiing," came back the even voice. "remember that a land plane with engine idling will remain at rest on the ground in winds of normal force. that means that all movement of the plane must be made by use of the engine. when your bus begins to move you control it primarily by using the rudder. in a wind as strong as the one blowing now, you'll notice the plane's tendency to turn into it. that's due to the effect on the tail. it tends to swing like a weathervane until the nose is headed directly toward the point of the compass from which the wind is blowing. your experience in sailing is going to be a great help. "now, just one thing more and we'll shove off. while taxiing, you must hold the stick well back of neutral. that will prevent any tendency of the tail to rise and cause the plane to nose over. grasp the stick lightly with your fingers. never freeze onto anything. if you feel me wiggle the stick sharply--let go at once. i may or may not have my hands and feet on the controls, but you cannot know that. act just as if you were alone in the plane. got all that?" dorothy raised her hand again. "then snap on the ignition and get going." for the next hour she taxied the _n-9_ around the field while bill issued commands from the rear cockpit. so interested was she in her lesson that it seemed no time at all before he told her to shut off the engine. "take off your helmet and get down," he said as the plane came to a stop. and he helped her overside. "gee, bill, it's wonderful!" she cried, jumping lightly to the ground beside him. "you did splendidly," he encouraged. "this field is pretty rough in spots--makes it bumpy going. how are you--stiff?" "not a bit!" "you need a rest, just the same." "but i'm not in the least tired. can't i go up now?" bill looked at her and shook his head. "nothing doing," he said with pretended sternness. "that is--not for the next fifteen minutes. here comes frank with something cold to drink on his tray--horse's neck, probably. there's nothing like iced ginger ale with a string of lemon peel in it when you're real thirsty!" "my, you're thoughtful!" "don't thank me--it's all frank's idea." they sipped their drinks in the shade of the old barn that had been turned into a hangar for the bolton's planes. "while you're resting, i want you to study this paper, dorothy. it's a routine i want you to follow in preparing for every flight you take--with me, or soloing," he explained, handing it over. "when you've got it by heart, repeat it to me and then we'll carry on. your first job for the next hop will be to do exactly what i've written there." for perhaps ten minutes both were silent and bill closed his eyes and turned over on his back. "asleep?" asked dorothy presently. "no--just relaxing. got that dope down pat?" "sure. i mean, yes, instructor." "give me back the paper then, and shoot!" he said, sitting up. "preparations for flight:" recited dorothy. "first, inspect the plane and engine as necessary. second, observe the wind direction. third, observe the course direction (if a course is being flown). fourth, set the altimeter. fifth, see that helmet, goggles and cushions are properly adjusted. sixth, see that cloth to wipe goggles is handy. seventh, give the engine a ground test. eighth, see that the gas valve is properly set. ninth and last--buckle the safety belt!" "one hundred per cent! good work, dot. now come over to the plane and show me how you do it." he grinned, awaiting a quick retort--but dorothy, intent on the business of learning to fly, walked at his side in a fit of concentration. "she sure is keen," he said to himself. "i never got a rise--and 'dot,' to dorothy, is like waving the american flag at a mexican bull!" dorothy continued to prove her aptitude for she went through the flight preparations with but one mistake. she entirely forgot the matter of the cloth to wipe her goggles! presently he took her up again and started in with his coaching. "you now have thirty-five hundred feet registered on your altimeter," he announced through her phone. "enough air below to get us out of trouble if we should happen to get into it. the higher one flies, the safer one is. now you are going to get straight flight instruction. i am moving the stick backward--now forward--now backward--now forward. see how the nose of the plane rises and falls in response? watch closely--i'm going to do it again. there, now--take the stick and do it yourself." dorothy did as he bade her. it was thrilling to feel the huge plane respond to her will. then followed instruction in moving the stick successively right and left by which means the right wing and then the left are correspondingly depressed. after that came rudder instruction. first bill pushed the right and left sides of the rudder bar successively, forward, thereby swerving the nose first to the right and then to the left. dorothy, of course repeated these movements after him. then he explained that to hold a steady course, to fly straight, constant right rudder must be maintained to overcome the torque, or drag of the propeller blades tending to swing the nose to the left. while to fly level longitudinally, some point on the engine is kept in line with the horizon. that to fly level laterally, up aileron and opposite rudder are applied whenever a wing drops. he told her numerous other things, such as that when flying straight, the nose should frequently be dropped momentarily, or the course changed a few degrees in order to look ahead. otherwise, an approaching plane may be hidden by the engine. "good night!" thought dorothy as she strained her ears to catch every word, while she watched the controls and saw how the plane reacted to their manipulation by her instructor. "if it takes all this detail to fly straight and level, i'll get the heebie-jeebies when it comes to acrobatics!" "take over controls," came bill's voice. "fly straight for that white church tower on the horizon." dorothy's body stiffened, but she took hold of the stick again bravely enough, and placed her feet on the rudder bar at the same time. she could feel her temples throbbing, and her heart was beating faster than the clock on her instrument board. at last she was actually flying an airplane--all by herself. but was she? suddenly there came a check in the forward speed of the plane and dorothy felt it start to slew off sideways as the nose dropped. then before she knew exactly what was happening, the stick in her hand seemed to spring back, then to the right, while right rudder increased considerably without help from her foot. up came the nose, followed by the left wing, and down went the right. the slewing stopped as suddenly as it had begun. then she felt left aileron and left rudder being applied--and once more the n-9 was flying straight and level. "forgot what i said about checking a skid just now, didn't you?" said bill's voice in her ear. "here's the news again. any swinging of the nose to the left can be promptly recognized and checked--but,--and here's where you went wrong--the nose cannot be swung back to the right without applying a small bank. any attempt to do so will cause your plane to skid. that naturally results in a loss of flying speed forward and the heavier end drops. if not checked at once, it means going into a spin. carry on again now, and please try to keep your wits about you. this is not a kiddie-car. mistakes are apt to be costly!" dorothy bit her lips in anger. more than ever did she regret the lack of a mouth piece on her head phone. her temper flared at his sharp tone, and what seemed to her unfair criticism so early in the game. but she took over again as he ordered and gradually her vexation disappeared in her effort to concentrate every faculty on the job of flying the plane and keeping to her course. she was gradually gaining confidence. she made the same maneuvers which had caused the skid before, and carried through perfectly. bill told her so in no stinted terms, and the last shreds of her anger disappeared. "the man who put _me_ over the bumps," he added, "always said: 'when a student aviator makes a mistake, give him blazes--make him mad. he'll remember what he should have done all the better--and live longer!' that advice applies to either sex, dorothy. naturally, i hope you'll live to a ripe old age." dorothy liked him for this apology. she wanted to thank him but of course that was out of the question. "i'll take her over now." she heard his even tones once more, above the engine's roar. "time for lunch. this afternoon, if you like, we'll take up another end of this business. and you can get even by teaching me how to become an honest-to-goodness sleuthhound!" _chapter x_ the meeting after lunch dorothy and bill established themselves comfortably in the shade of the terrace awning back of the bolton's house, and dorothy's ground training began. "first of all," said her instructor, "you must learn the signals for maneuvers, such as when the stick is shaken laterally, one hand held up, it means control of the plane is resumed by the instructor. opening the throttle in a glide means resume level flight. there are eight of these signals to memorize. then there are eight correction signals as well." "i'll get them down soon enough," his pupil assured him. "is that all?" "i should say not. that's just a starter. your ground training will consist of three parts: theoretic training, which takes up principles of flight; aircraft construction, aviation engine construction; and the elements of meteorology. next, practical training, which embraces the maintenance and repair of aircraft together with maintenance and repair of aviation engines. then comes aviation procedure, which takes up air commerce regulations; instruction procedure (signals come under that) and precautions and general instructions." "whew!" whistled dorothy in dismay. "it _is_ a business!" bill laughed at her forlorn expression. "cheer up--the first hundred years are the hardest. but seriously, to become an efficient air pilot, it is essential to know thoroughly this ground work and all of the maneuvers i listed under elementary flying. none of them can be safely omitted. of those i included under advanced flying, acrobatics are not required for a pilot's license, but they're a grand help in developing ability to handle a plane with confidence. proficiency in reverse control flying, precision landings with power, forced landings and cross country flying is required for an interstate commercial license--and vital for every pilot." "is _that_ all?" asked dorothy, with diminished enthusiasm. "no. to become a real flyer, you must understand aerial navigation and pass off formation flying and night flying. it sounds like a lot--but it really isn't so difficult. of course, if you don't _want_ to go the whole way--" "oh, but i do, bill," she said earnestly. "it's only that i never dreamed there was so much to be learned. it kind of takes my breath away--" "you mustn't let that bother you. i'm glad you're going to do the thing up right, though. it will take a lot of your time--but you'll find it worth your while. let's get busy now. we'll start on signals. then later this afternoon you can go up again if you feel like it." for the next two weeks dorothy worked daily with bill. by the end of that time she had completed her elementary solo flying and was now engrossed in mastering the difficulties of reverse control. bill realized after giving her two or three lessons, that his pupil showed a high degree of aptitude for flying. their trip home in the amphibian after the wreck of the _scud_, had proved pretty conclusively to him that this sixteen-year-old girl had an unusually cool and stable temperament. ordinarily, flight training is inadvisable for anyone under eighteen years of age, and bill knew that twenty years is preferable. for, ordinarily, the instinctive coordination between sensory organs and muscles, which is necessary toward the control of a plane in the air, does not develop earlier. an airplane must be kept moving or it will fall; and the processes of reason are far too slow to keep up with the exigencies of flight. flying cannot be figured out like a problem in mathematics. calculation won't do the trick--there isn't enough time for it. of course there are exceptions to this rule. bill bolton was one himself, and dorothy, he knew, was another. when mr. dixon questioned him as to dorothy's progress, he gave him a list of the maneuvers that had already been mastered, and the approximate length of time she had taken to satisfy him in performance. "but that doesn't mean a thing to me--" objected the older man. "look here--i was talking to a friend of mine who is an old royal flying corps man. he said that dorothy should wait several years before training. how about it? i know your reputation as a flyer, and i've proved my confidence in you by trusting you with my daughter's life. why is it better for her to start now, rather than later?" "do you play the violin, sir?" "no ear for music." mr. dixon shook his head in reminiscence. "my father played well. it was his ambition that we play duets together. but after wasting money for two years on lessons for me, he gave it up. my! the sounds i made when i practiced! it must have been torture to him. i can't tell one note from another--but i remember how awful it was. but what has _that_ got to do with dorothy's flying?" "a good deal. you couldn't play the violin because you are not musical, and only a musical person can learn to play it well. in some respects, mastery of the violin and mastery of flying, have a common bond. with both the one fundamental requirement is natural or instinctive aptitude. flying is an art, and without natural ability it is useless to attempt it. and if it isn't inherent, mr. dixon, it just can't be acquired. moreover, the only way to find out if that aptitude exists, is by trial. if dorothy had the natural ability for the violin that she has for flying, practice and experience would make her a second kreisler!" a smile crept along the corners of mr. dixon's mouth. "ah, but kreisler is a _man_!" "i know, sir, but honestly, sex has nothing to do with it." "so you think she should keep on with her flight training?" "i _know_ she should, mr. dixon, if you want her to fly at all. she has all the qualifications that go toward making a really _good_ air pilot." "well, i'm glad to hear you say it, and glad you're so enthusiastic." "of course i am," declared bill. "she's fearless and alert and she loves the work--she'll do well." and so dorothy continued her flight training. she came down one afternoon from a solo flight and bill, who had been watching her maneuvers from the shade of the hangar, walked over as the plane rolled to a stop. "not so good--" she called out as she sprang to the ground. "i nearly overshot my landing." "so i noticed," returned her young instructor rather grimly. "carelessness, you know, that's all. keep your mind on the job. and here's something else. remember, when you are making a flipper turn, the nose must first be dropped to level. otherwise you'll get into serious trouble. also don't forget that until the wings pass an angle of bank of 45 degrees your controls are not inverted and must be handled as in a normal turn." "o.k. skipper," she sighed. "i'll remember in future." "one thing more. those two 360-degree spirals with an altitude loss of about 1000 feet were well done. but you must bring your plane out of reverse control spirals above 1500 feet altitude--now we'll put your bus away and call it a day." work finished, they strolled over to the terrace where frank as usual had iced drinks awaiting them. "you've certainly taught me a lot in fourteen days," observed dorothy after sipping her ginger ale. "but it's kind of put a crimp into our detective work. by the way, you never have told me what you had up your sleeve with regard to the robbery--something to do with an airplane coming in handy, wasn't it?" "your memory is better on the ground than in the air!" "pish! likewise, tush! you don't intend to wait till i finish training or anything like that, before coming across with that clue that will help us land those birds in jail?" "why should i?" "i don't know. thought maybe you might figure my interest in landing the gang would take my mind off flying--" bill took a long, refreshing drink of the iced liquid at his elbow. "you're on the wrong track. i'm simply biding my time and keeping a finger on the pulse of the robbery, as it were." "do you mean that?" "i'm in deadly earnest," he assured her, although his eyes twinkled mischievously. "then all i can say," exclaimed dorothy, "is that you're one up on everybody else who is working on the case." "how come?" "why? you know as well as i do that when the packard rolled out of the alley by the bank, in all probability carrying three people and the loot, it disappeared completely. and it's stayed that way ever since, hasn't it? that's two weeks ago tonight." "any new clues lately?" "nary a one. the police traced the red-headed girl's finger prints to sarah martinelli, better known as staten island sadie. they sent dad her record--i saw it--believe me, that lady is a ripe egg!" "how beautifully expressive." dorothy raised her eyes from her compact's tiny mirror. "well, she must be!--are you trying to kid me?" bill finished his ginger ale. "come on, tell me the rest." dorothy grinned. "that's all there is, there isn't any more, my child. don't imagine those police are efficient, do you? none of the missing bonds have been found, and as for the money, those chaps have probably spent it by this time. i feel awfully sorry for daddy, though," she continued in a changed voice, "--that mrs. hamberfield is still raising the roof about her diamond necklace. serves her right for being such a mutt, i say." "tough on both parties, i should think." "nothing of the kind. daddy says that her husband, stonington hamberfield, made his coin profiteering during the war. what do you think his name really is?" "you tell me." "steinburg hammerfeld--isn't that a hot one?" "a hun, eh?" "well, if he isn't--i'm president hindenburg, san francisco harbor and the statue of liberty all in one!" bill smiled appreciatively at this sally, then changed the subject. "let's go to the movies this evening?" "can't. it's pen and pencil club night." "what on earth is that?" "oh, about a year ago, a bunch of us at high school, girls and fellows, started a club to write short stories. we meet every other tuesday night at some member's house. everybody has to write a story at least one a month, or they're fined a quarter. we read aloud and discuss them at the meeting. come with me after supper and pay my quarter." "nothing doing. that kind of thing is my idea of a perfectly terrible evening." dorothy slipped the compact into a pocket of her jodhpurs and got to her feet. "that's where you're all wrong, bill. noel sainsbury, the writer, is our adviser. he makes it awfully interesting--we have lots of fun. he was a naval aviator during the war. you two should have lots in common. do come along and meet him." "why i dined at his place, little windows, last night!" "oh, you do know him?" "naturally. where would i be if it weren't for him? look at the books he's written about me. noel sainsbury brought dad and me to new canaan. we're awfully fond of him and his wife and little girl." "yes, winks is a darling and mrs. sainsbury is a peach--" dorothy agreed. "she comes to our meetings, too. i'm named for her, you know." "really? that's interesting." "you bet. then you'll come tonight?" "i'd like to, very much." "all right. the meeting is at betty mayo's, in white oak shade. i'll be here about eight in my car and drive you down there." "i'll be ready--so long!" "so long!" ------------------------------------------it was nearly quarter to nine before they got started, as things turned out. mr. dixon had gone to new york for the day on business, had been detained in town, and dorothy waited dinner for him. "well, we won't have missed much," she explained to bill as her car breasted the marvin ridge road. "the first half hour is always taken up with the minutes of the last meeting and all that parliamentary stuff. i love driving in the twilight, anyway. next place on the left is where we're bound. we'll be there in a jiffy." they rounded a bend and came upon a packard parked at the roadside. the hood was up and a man looked up from tinkering with the engine as their lights outlined his figure. "pull up! pull up!" bill's tense whisper sounded in her ears. "where are your eyes, girl?" but dorothy needed no second warning. she shot home the brake, for she too had seen the great, misshapen boot that the dapper little motorist wore on his left foot. _chapter xi_ follow the leader "need any help?" inquired bill, as dorothy drew up opposite the packard. "thanks! this thing has got me stumped. i'm not much of a mechanician," returned the lame man ruefully. "do you know anything about motors?" "making them behave is my long suit," was bill's glib retort as he alighted from the car and crossed the road. "let's see if i can locate your trouble. got plenty of gas?" "lots of it. i just looked to see." "then let me have your flashlight while i give her the once over." "wait a minute--" called dorothy, "i'll swing this car round and put my lights on the engine. there--is that better?" she ended, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. "nothing could be sweeter!" sang out bill without turning his head. "hold her as you are." dorothy's offer had not been quite so altruistic as it sounded, for now her lights brilliantly illuminated the two figures bending over the packard's engine. while bill went over the motor with the sureness of an expert, keeping up a desultory conversation with the stranger, dorothy used her eyes to good advantage. but after a while she grew impatient. why didn't bill capture the man at once so they could haul him off to the police station? why did he continue to go on with his pretended inspection of the engine? he couldn't really be in earnest, for if he found the trouble and fixed it, the lame man would simply get in his car and drive away. could it be that bill wasn't sure of his quarry? of course, he was clean shaven, although lizzie had described him as having a small mustache. naturally, he'd shave it off. by this time he must know that his description had been broadcast. and so far as she could see the earrings were missing too. but that was to be expected. and he spoke good english with a slight italian accent. what was the matter with bill! he was big enough to take care of the man with one hand, when all he did was tinker and jabber. what was the use of that? "your engine seems to be in a-1 condition," bill was saying. "doesn't look as if you'd been running the car lately." "i haven't," replied the lame man. "she ran like a charm when i drove down here earlier this evening. then all of a sudden she stops--and won't go on." "ah! here we are!" bill exclaimed a moment later. "you've got a choked jet. i'll fix that in a jiffy." "you are very kind," beamed the italian. "is that a serious trouble?" "not so bad. buy better gas and have your carburetor well looked over. i'll fix it so the car will move, though." "do you think she will run fifty miles?" "sure--but there are plenty of garages nearer than that if you want to fix it." "i'll wait until i reach home. my friend--he will give the engine a thorough going over. he understands very well such things." "good enough." bill straightened his back and closed the hood. "you're o.k. now. she'll run." "then thank you so much. you have been very kind." "don't mention it." bill waved farewell and crossed the road as the lame man climbed into his car and drove off in the direction of new canaan village. "what ever _is_ the matter with you?" dorothy broke out in a fever of angry disappointment. "why didn't you nab him while you had the chance? now he'll get away and--" "hush, sister! likewise calm yourself," cut in bill. "move over. i'm going to drive. this business isn't finished by a long shot. it has only just begun." dorothy, flabbergasted by his high-handed manner, slid across the seat as he directed, and bill sprang in behind the wheel. the tail light of the packard disappeared around the bend of the road. "what's the idea?" she fumed. "wait till we get going, dot." bill threw in the reverse and started to turn the car in the direction from which they had come a quarter of an hour before. "_don't_ call me 'dot'! you know i won't stand for it. aren't you the limit--going to try to trail him, i suppose, when you could have nailed him right here!" "don't get peeved!" bill swung the little car onto the road and switching off his lights brought his foot down on the accelerator. "i know what i'm doing." "_well, maybe_ you do." her voice was full of sarcasm. "but we might just as well go back to the pen and pencil meeting. you'll never catch up with his bus." "shan't try to. there's his tail light now!" they rounded the turn and bill sent the car streaking along the black road like a terrified cat up a back alley. "there's no need to get snippy," he added. "you heard what our friend said about _his_ friend--who understands all about engines? on a bet, that's the lad who wore the chauffeur's cap and beaned the night watchman. he said he'd let him look over the carburetor when he got home, didn't he? and like as not that ripe egg lady--the one with the red head--will be there too!" "staten island sadie?" "sure thing." "perhaps," admitted dorothy. "the lame man _was_ alone in his car. but you stand a good chance of losing him, even if he doesn't see us. we'll have to switch on the lights going through towns." "but, you see, i'm pretty sure i know where he's bound for." "you do?" her surprise drove all petulance from her tone. "that's what i've kept up my sleeve. if he takes the ridgefield road, out of new canaan, then i'm certain of it." "better switch on the glims again," she advised. "we'll crash or get a ticket running without them in this south main street traffic--we're nearly in the village now. i can spot the packard ahead there." then, contritely, she continued: "sorry i was peeved, bill, old thing. i didn't understand. forgive me--and let's hear all about it." "of course--hello!" he cried. "he's slowed down. confound it, anyway. that comes of talking and not keeping my mind on the job. i'll bet he has his suspicions. wants to see if we're following--nothing dumb about that bird. i shouldn't have driven so close. he'll tumble to a certainty if we slow up too." "what are you going to do?" "give me time--" he answered grimly. "confound again! there goes the red light on the library corner! now we're in for it." "p'raps he won't notice us," said dorothy hopefully as they drew up behind the packard. "not a chance. but we'll fool him yet. let me do the talking," he whispered as the lame man thrust his head out of the car and looked back at them. "hello, there!" cried bill cheerfully. "i see you've got this far without another breakdown!" "good evening, my friend," replied the italian. "this is a surprise. i thought you were going the other way." "oh, no. just ran down there to leave a message." bill's tone was affability itself. "you must have come pretty slowly. how's the car running?" "nicely, thank you." "don't be afraid to let her out. well--there's the light. excuse me if i pass you," he said airly. "we're in a hurry. so long." "au revoir ..." dorothy added gaily and waved her hand as bill swung to the left, then headed up main street in advance of the packard. "aren't you smart! you'll get us into a heap of trouble yet with your 'au revoirs'!" "hey, there"--she cried. they were rolling swiftly up the hill past the bank. "you should have turned right then left, for ridgefield--back at the last corner!" bill laughed. "old angel face did just as i figured," he informed her, still chuckling. "i spotted him making the turn, in the glass." "where are we going? sure you haven't lost him?" "listen. that chap is heading for ridgefield. from there he will run another ten miles up to danbury. unless i'm completely wet, his objective is a certain house in the hills on a back road, over toward the new york borderline about twenty-five miles north. it's a rough, wild stretch of country, with pawling, n. y., to the west and new milford, connecticut, on the east, that he's heading for. nice riding too, dirt roads, mere trails that haven't had a scraper on them since the revolution. that house i just told you about is a good ten miles from a railroad as a plane flies--probably twice as far by road." "interesting--but why are we heading this way?" "simply because it is too dangerous to follow that lad just now. he smells a rat and is sure to park in some dark spot along the way to make certain he's not being followed." "then what _are_ we going to do?" "i'm going to run west over to bedford, new york. then north from there through golden bridge and croton falls to brewster. from brewster i'll keep to the same state road north toward pawling. but just before i get to patterson, there's a dirt road that turns off into the hills to the northeast. that's the one i'll follow. eventually, i'll get to the house. angel face's route is shorter--but i'll get there soon after he does, if he stops along the way to see if anyone's after him. first of all i'll drop you at your house and get myself a gat." "you'd better get two--for i'm coming with you." "sorry, my girl--this is a man's job." dorothy turned and stared at him. "well--of all the consummate nerve--" she began. "sorry, dot--it just can't be. i've got no right to let you run the risk." "don't you _dare_ to 'dot' me again!" miss dixon was distinctly irritated. "and what's more, if you try to ditch me, i'll phone the police station and spill everything. they'll pick you up at bedford and horn in, of course--and like as not, they'll gum it all." "if you talk that way, i suppose i'll have to take you." "of course you will. say, bill, that was only a bluff, wasn't it?" bill smiled. "perhaps. but it's a risky business." "no worse than learning to fly, is it?" "fifty-fifty, i should say." "that's settled, then. what i can't understand is why you didn't corral that gang long before this--or at least put the police on to them, if you knew where they were all the time." "but that's just it--they haven't been in the house since the robbery. i've driven up there several times and reconnoitered from the air as well." "then what makes you think you'll corner the gang at the house now?" the car turned in the dixon's drive and came to a stop by the side entrance. "you'll have to wait till the next chapter for that," he laughed. "time is worth more than money now. i'll tell you all about it when we get going again. beat it upstairs now and change that light dress for breeches and a dark sweater or coat. i'll run across the road for something more suitable and less conspicuous than white flannels." "o.k." dorothy sprang out of the car. "don't forget our armory." "not a chance. now forget the prinking and make it snappy," he sang out, backing down the driveway. _chapter xii_ the house in the hills "don't tell me it takes a girl long to change her clothes!" was dorothy's salutation, as bill drove up to the side entrance again. "you've kept me waiting here exactly three minutes and a half." "sorry," he said in mock contrition. "fact is, i thought we'd better use my own bus tonight and i had to go out to the garage to get it." "what's the big idea?" dorothy sprang in beside him, looking very trim and boyish in jodhpurs and dark flannel shirt over which she wore a thin brown sweater. "isn't my car good enough for you?" "this boat has a full tank," he replied tersely. "can't waste time tonight picking up gas." they had reversed the car down the drive and were now speeding along the tree-lined road in the direction of bedford. "got my gun?" she asked. "surest thing you know!" bill passed over a small revolver in a holster. "tie yourself to that! it's a colt .32 and it's loaded. know how to use it?" "certainly. what do you expect me to do--release the safety catch and pull the trigger to see if it works?" her tone flared hotly with indignation. bill whistled a tuneless air, but the whistle developed into a laugh and the laugh continued until dorothy snapped: "_don't_ cackle like a billygoat!" "billygoats don't--" he began but broke off, changing his bantering tone. "then why do you tie the leg-strap around your waist?" he asked seriously enough. she swallowed hard. "because--well, because i've never used this kind of a holster before, smarty. but i can shoot--daddy taught me--i can box, too, and i've had lessons in jiu jitsu. oh, i can take care of myself, if that's what's worrying you!" "glad to hear it, dorothy. excitement kind of stirs you up eh?" "it's not excitement that does it, bill--it's suspense. but i'm sorry i bawled you out." "don't mention it. my humble apologies for being so rude--" "imbecile! you weren't. but never mind that--tell me about this house in the woods and what it has to do with the gang who robbed the bank." the car ran into bedford and taking the turn to the right, he swung on to the northbound turnpike. "go ahead with the story," begged dorothy as they left the picturesque village behind. "right-o! here goes. on our way back from the south last month, i dropped dad at new orleans. the old _loening_ needed a thorough overhauling, so dad left me there with the plane and went north by train. after i saw him off at the l. and n. station, i went back to the st. charles hotel and slept for nearly twenty-four hours. i got a touch of jungle fever when i was down in the cypress swamps and was still feeling pretty rocky. "so for the next ten days i loafed while the amphibian got what was coming to her. when she'd been made shipshape again i flew her north. i was in no hurry to reach new canaan and stopped off at atlanta, and at philadelphia, where i have friends. "a couple of days before i met you i started on the last leg of the hop. it was raining when i left philly--a filthy morning, with high fog along the coast. that is why i decided not to follow the new york-philadelphia-hartford air route, but cut straight north over eastern pennsylvania and northern new jersey, hoping for better visibility inland. instead, the old bus ran me into even worse weather. the fog grew lower and denser and flying conditions became even rottener than before. you haven't run into fog in a plane, yet, dorothy--and, believe me, it's no fun. "i expected to cross the hudson at about haverstraw and fly east to new canaan. i know now that i must have overshot that burg; that the plane was probably nearer newburgh when we crossed the river and headed east. to make matters worse, a few minutes later, the engine commenced to skip. i began to realize then that i didn't know where i was." dorothy had been listening intently, her eyes on the grotesque shadows cast by their headlights upon the stone fences along the road; now she turned and stared at him in astonishment. "that's a good one! you've flown pretty much all over the country--and get lost in dear little connecticut!" "oh, i don't know--parts of the state are as wild as the canadian woods! and just remember that the visibility at five hundred feet was so poor i could hardly see the nose of my plane. and worse luck, i knew that with the engine cutting up the way she was, i'd soon be forced to land." "what did you do?" "nosed over until i got almost down to the trees on the hilltops. visibility was better there, but for the life of me i couldn't spot a landing place.--nothing but one chain of hills after another, all covered with trees. the sides of these foothills of the berkshires are steep as church roofs--and they run down to narrow, densely wooded valleys. well, for some time i circled about with the engine acting worse every split second. then, in a valley a little wider than any i'd come across so far, i saw the glint of water--a little lake. fifty yards or so away, there was a good-sized farmhouse with a fairly level hay field behind it. i chose the lake, although it wasn't much better than a duck pond--and landed. "the house was a ramshackle affair, but some smoke rose from the chimney, so i figured someone lived there. while i was fixing my engine, a girl--or rather i should say a young woman--came out of the house and walked down to the little dock near where the plane was floating." "of course she had red hair and wore yellow beach pajamas?" said dorothy. "she did--i mean, she had. anyway, when lizzie described the girl in the car who wanted bicarbonate of soda and got it, i was sure that my er--lady of the lake and she were one and the same." "did you talk to her?" "i did. i told her i was lost and asked her where i had come down. she told me, after a while. that is, she gave me a general idea in what direction danbury lay and about how far away from town we were. but i thought at the time that she was awfully cagy and tight with her information." "in other words, she didn't seem especially glad to see you?" "that's it. instead of inviting me ashore and up to the house for a meal, she wanted to know how long i was likely to be on the lake--and then she beat it back to the house. naturally, i thought it queer she should be so inhospitable and stand-offish. people are usually interested anyway, when a plane arrives unexpectedly in their neighborhood--too darn interested, if anything. still, i didn't think much about her, then. i had the information i wanted, and after changing a couple of sparkplugs, i took off and made new canaan via danbury without any more trouble." "did you see anyone besides the girl with the red hair?" "not a soul." "and you've been back since the robbery, i think you said?" "several times. but the place has been deserted and the house locked up tighter than a drum." there was a long pause. "why do you think the gang are there now?" asked dorothy. "simply because we saw the lame man take the ridgefield road?" "this is the way i figured." they had passed through the little town of brewster, heading north, some minutes before. now bill turned the car off the state highway and on to a winding dirt road full of deep ruts that he knew ran far into the wooded hill country to the northeast. "it is my idea," he continued, slowing down to a bare twenty-mile pace, "that after the robbery, that gang scattered and laid low for a while. they didn't go to the house, that i do know. after you went to bed that night, i drove up here to have a look-see. nobody home, as i've told you. but they couldn't have a better place for headquarters. there isn't a house anywhere round that neck of the woods. sooner or later, they're bound to meet there. the loot has got to be divided. seeing our lame friend headed in that direction this evening makes me doubly certain. i've kept it to myself, because if that army of detectives who are on this case started camping out near the house on a watchful waiting spree, those crooks would be sure to spot them and never show up." "i guess you're right," she said. for some time neither spoke, while their car bumped slowly along the uneven road. "what do you suppose that lame man was doing on marvin ridge?" she inquired presently. "search me. how should i know? you certainly love to fire questions at a guy." "he told us the car hadn't been used lately," she mused, ignoring his remark. "that only goes to prove we're right in thinking he has been in hiding somewhere." "but where?" "merciful heaven! another question! that road runs down to noroton, doesn't it? and from there the boston post could bring him from all points east and west. there's no telling where he'd come from." "but i drove up from the post road that way yesterday. it has been freshly oiled to within a half mile of where we met him. yet that packard hadn't run through oil. if she had, i'd have seen it with my headlights smack on her." "perhaps he came down a side road?" "not between that point and the oil--there isn't any." "maybe he'd been calling in the neighborhood--" "don't be silly--i know everyone who lives along that road." "you think it out then--i've got enough to do trying to navigate this road. i'm going to switch out the lights, now. we're not more than a couple of miles from the house." "do you think they'll put up much of a fight?" "good lord! you don't think i've any intention of trying to capture them?" bill exclaimed. he was very busily engaged in keeping the car in the middle of the grass grown trail as it rolled, down a steep hillside at a snail's pace. "i'm not taking chances with you along. it would be foolish to attempt anything like that. you'll get into no battles tonight, miss. this is just a scouting party. if the gang have arrived, we'll beat it back to brewster and get the cops on the job." "oh, _dear_!" sighed dorothy. "and i thought this was going to be the real thing!" "no grandstand plays for you tonight, young lady. what's more--i'm running this show. if you don't promise to behave, you'll warm a seat in this car, while i mosey up to the house. how about it?" dorothy's voice betrayed her disgust and disappointment. "oh, i'll promise. but if we are leaving all the fun to the police, why did you bring the guns?" "because you seemed to expect them, little brighteyes. but we might as well have left them home, for all the use they'll be--i'll see to that. it's bad enough to be forced into bringing you up here. your father will certainly raise the roof when he finds it out. i shan't tell him, that's flat." "you believe in being candid!" with cutting sarcasm. "you bet. and please remember that if you try to pull off anything you'll probably crab the show. and get us into a good old-fashioned mess besides." he stopped the car and slipping into reverse gear, backed off the trail. "there!" he switched off the ignition. "we're all ready for a quick getaway if need be." "how far are we from the house?" she asked in a tense whisper. "about a mile. i'm afraid to drive nearer--sound carries a long way up these quiet valleys. let's get started now. i want you to walk just behind me. be careful where you place your feet. we'll follow the trail a while farther, but it's pretty rough going. above all else--don't talk--and make just as little noise as possible." "what if they have sentries posted?" she asked, coming to his side. "aren't you the limit!" bill seemed really annoyed. "there you go talking again! for your satisfaction, though--if we have the bad luck to come across anyone, i'll naturally do my best to scrag him. you, of course, will act as you think best. my advice is to beat it to the car, as fast as you can. come along now--and quiet!" "aren't you horrid tonight!" she breathed, swinging up the overgrown trail behind him. but bill didn't hear her. anyway, he didn't answer, and she followed in his footsteps while a pleasurable thrill of excitement gradually took the place of her disappointment. it was nearly pitch dark, walking along in the shadow of tall trees that lined the twisting path. now and then the cry of a night bird came to her from the woods, but except for the dull sound of their steps on the damp earth--the occasional snapping of a twig underfoot, all was quiet in the forest. bill was only a blur in the gloom ahead. but she was glad to know he was there just the same. this creeping through the still night to reconnoiter a gang of bank-thieves held a kick all its own. yes, she was glad that bill was close by. there came a movement in the underbrush behind them. hands of steel caught her arms, pinning them to her sides. "sentries, bill!" she screamed, struggling frantically to free herself. "look out! _look out!_" she heard bill mutter angrily. heavy feet crashed in the brush and she heard the sharp impact of a solid fist meeting soft flesh. several men were shouting now and someone groaned. bending suddenly forward and sideways, dorothy managed to fasten her teeth on the wrist of the man who held her. with a howl, he let go her right arm and at the same time a gun went off. the night was torn with a scream of anguish. but before she could use her free arm someone dropped a bag over her head, a rope was knotted about her wrists and a muffled voice spoke to her through the folds of the sack. "_be_have, sister! _be_have, i say, or i'll crack yer wid dis rod. i ain't no wild cat tamer. quiet now, or i'll bash yer one!" inasmuch as it was no part of dorothy's plan to get "bashed" in a bag, that young lady kept quiet. "that's the girl!" he applauded. swinging her over his shoulder as though she were a sack of flour, he walked away from the scuffle on the trail. _chapter xiii_ trapped the burlap sack was stiflingly hot. moreover it seemed impregnated with fine particles of dust which burned her throat and nostrils and set her coughing. dorothy was frightfully uncomfortable. breathing became more and more difficult. "let me go--i'm smothering!" she gasped. "and get another piece bit out of me arm?" snorted her captor. "nothin' doin'." "but i'm choking to death in this filthy bag! it's full of dust!" "keep yer mouth shut, then," gruffed the man. "and stop that wrigglin'. i'll tap yer one if yer don't. what do ye think this is, anyway--a joy ride?" "but--" she began again. "shut up!" he growled. "behave, will yer? say, sister, if i had me way youse'd get bumped off right now. give me more of yer lip and i'll do it, anyway!" there was a grim menace in the gangster's tone that frightened dorothy more than his words. thereafter she spoke no more. she even refrained from struggling, although her head swam and his grip of iron about her knees had become torture. what had happened to bill, she wondered, and cold fear entered her heart. she was almost certain that it had been a blow from his fist she had heard directly after her warning shout. but the shot and the scream immediately afterward? had that been the sound of his automatic--or another's? the thought of bill lying in the woods wounded--perhaps dead--drove her frantic. yet she was powerless, with her wrists lashed behind her back. while the man who carried her lurched forward, stumbling now and then over the uneven ground, each step causing his victim fresh agony, dorothy's conviction of hopelessness assailed and overwhelmed the last shreds of her fighting spirit. she wept. presently,--it seemed an age,--she sensed that the gangster was mounting a flight of steps. there came the creak of a board underfoot. then she knew that he was fumbling with a doorknob. a glow of light appeared through the burlap. "here we are, sister!" he grunted, with evident relief. swinging her from his shoulder, he placed dorothy on her feet and pulled off the sack. "gosh!" he exclaimed, steadying her as she would have fallen, "i thought it was a mack truck i was carryin'. but you're only a kid! nobody'd think you weighed so much. did i make you cry?" he placed an arm under her elbow and led her to a chair. it was of the hard, straight-backed, kitchen variety, but dorothy was only too glad to sit down and rest. she kept her eyes closed, for the light, after the dark confines of the bag, was blinding. her breath came in convulsive gasps. "feelin' kind of woozy?" the man's tone was callous, but at least it evinced a slight interest in her condition and she took advantage of that at once. "yes, i am," she admitted, keeping her eyes closed, but drawing deep breaths of air into her lungs between words. "you nearly smothered me in that filthy bag. if you want to make up for it, you can bring me a drink of water now." "you certainly have some noive! y' don't happen ter want a couple of ice cubes and a stick in it too?" "plain water, if you please." "dat's all you'll get, kid. but i'm dry myself, so i'll bring you some." she heard him cross the room, jerk open a door and tramp over an uncarpeted floor beyond. dorothy opened her eyes. a wave of faintness swept over her and the room seemed to whirl before her. as she tried to struggle to her feet she found her roped hands had been securely fastened to the back of her chair. she sank back wearily, her thoughts in wild confusion. after a moment she turned her attention to her surroundings, conscious of the futility of any further effort to free herself, and resolved to bide her time. the long, narrow room evidently ran the width of the house for shuttered windows broke the bare expanse of walls at either end. behind her chair, she knew, was the door through which she had been carried into the room, with shuttered windows flanking it. facing her were two other doors, one open and one closed. through the open door came the sound of a hand pump in action, where her captor was drawing water. the room in which she sat was dimly lighted by an oil lamp, its chimney badly smoked and unshaded. it stood on an unpainted table amidst the debris of dirty dishes and an unfinished meal. chairs pushed back at odd angles from the table gave further evidence of the diners' hurried exit. "they must have posted someone further down the road," she mused. "i wonder how he got word to the house so quickly?" then she caught sight of a wall-phone in the shadows at the farther end of the room. "telephone, of course! they must have planted one somewhere this side of the turnpike. the man on watch saw our car pass and immediately sent word along the wire!" it suddenly occurred to dorothy that she herself might find that telephone useful. for a moment she contemplated dragging her chair across the room, but gave up the idea almost at once, for the sound of the pump in the room beyond had ceased and she heard the gangster's returning footsteps. he appeared in the doorway almost immediately. a broad-shouldered, narrow hipped, sinewy young man, with a shock of sandy hair falling over his ferret-like eyes. the white weal of an old knife scar marred the left side of his face from temple to chin. an ugly, though not bad humored countenance, she summed up--certainly an easy one to remember. "here yer are, sister!" was his greeting. "get outside o' this an' yer'll feel like a new woman!" he held a brimming glass of fresh water to her lips. dorothy gulped eagerly. "hey, there! not so fast," he cautioned. "you'll choke to death and sadie'll swear i done yer in." he pulled the glass out of her reach. "tastes good, eh?" "it certainly does. give me some more." "take it easy, then. i don't want yer to get sick on this job." he grinned and allowed her to finish drinking. "i guess yer ain't used to a dump like this--" he waved his hand toward the litter on the table and included the peeling wall-paper. "still, it's a heap better than a hole in the ground out in the woods. you certainly are the lucky girl!" he grimaced, then laughed heartily at his joke. dorothy's tone was stern, "what have they done with bill?" "who's bill? yer boy friend?" "is he hurt?" "i hope so. he sure gave tony a nasty crack. a rough little guy, he is--some scrapper. it looked like a battle royal to me when i left an' brung yer up here. but don't get the wrong idea, kid. by this time, one of the bunch has slipped a knife into him--pretty slick at that sort o' thing, they are." dorothy said nothing, but he read her feelings in her face. "cheer up, sister," he said, heaping a plate with baked beans and sitting down at the table. "pardon me, if i finish supper. that lad ain't so hot. you've got me now, haven't yer? i'm a better man than he was, gunga din!" "yes, you are--i _don't_ think!" "how do yer get that way?" "well--" dorothy eyed him uncompromisingly--"why are you afraid of me, then?" "_afraid?_ you little whippet!" he paused, his knife loaded with beans half way to his mouth. "say--that's a good one! what are yer givin' us?" "you keep me tied up, don't you? why? you're twice my size and you've got a gun--" "two of 'em, little one--my rod and yourn." "yet you're afraid to loosen my hands." "no, i'm not--but--" "please," she begged, changing her tone. "my face itches terribly from all that dust and i--" "well, what do yer think i am? a lady's maid?" "don't be silly--i just hate to sit here talking to you, looking such a fright!" "so that's it," he laughed. "don't try yer blarney on me! i'm as ugly as mud and yer knows it. though i'll say yer need a little make-up--and i'll let yer have it. but just get rid of that idea that you've got me buffaloed--yer haven't!" he pushed back his chair and coming round the table, untied the rope that bound her wrists. "thanks." she began to rub her hands, which were numbed and sore. "don't mention it," he leered. "now yer can doll up to yer heart's content while i shovel some more chow into me. i sure am empty an' that's no lie!" "hey, mike!" called a man's voice from the doorway behind her. "where do they keep the wheelbarrer in this godforsakin' dump?" "in the shed out back," returned mike, sliding his chair up to the table again and picking up his knife. "what yer want it for? what's the trouble?" "trouble enough!" grumbled the other. "there's a couple o' guys messed up pretty bad down the line. need somethin' to cart 'em up here in. sling me a hunk o' bread, will yer? i ain't had no chow." "tough luck!" mike replied callously, his mouth full, and tossed him half a loaf. "so long." "so long--" sang out the other, and dorothy heard him cross the porch and thump down the steps. she was busily engaged in flexing her stiff fingers. she began to feel better, stronger, quite like her old self again. but the news that two men were badly hurt was anything but comforting. was bill one of them? she wondered. with an effort, she thrust the thought from her, and drawing forth a comb and a compact from a pocket, she commenced the complicated process of making herself presentable. if she was to make her escape before the rest of the gang arrived she must work fast. but not too fast, for every second brought back renewed strength to her cramped arms and fingers. "how's that?" she asked a few minutes later, replacing comb and compact in her pocket and getting to her feet. "say! you're some looker! i'd never have thought it!" mike pushed back his chair and came toward her, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. "say! you've got sadie lashed to the silo!" "who's sadie? your steady?" she asked, playfully pointing a forefinger at him. mike leaned back against the table. "never mind sadie," he retorted. "i've got an idea." "spill it." "you wanta breeze--get outa here, don't yer?" "what a mind-reader!" "cut it, kid!" mike's tone was tense with earnestness. "that guy you been travelin' with is either dead or a cripple. sposin' you pal up with me. tell me yer will, kid, and we'll hop it together, now." "how about the rest of the gang?" "what about 'em. i ain't a regular--just horned in on this deal to make a coupla grand extra." "but i'm expensive--" she laughed. "i'll say you are! what of it? i make good money. i'm no lousy crook. i've got a real profession." "what is it?" "i'm a wrestler, kid, and i ain't no slouch at it, either." for a moment dorothy paled. for some reason she seemed taken aback. "what's the matter?" he asked. dorothy straightened her lithe figure. "not a thing," she shrugged. then musingly, "so you're a wrestler, eh?" "sure--what did yer think i was--a gigolo?" dorothy giggled. "know this hold?" she asked casually. and then a startling thing occurred--especially startling to the unsuspecting mike. there was a flash of brown-sweatered arms, a swirl of darker brown hair and mike felt himself gripped by one elbow and the side of his neck. he knew the hold, had practiced it in gymnasium, but not for some years. to be seized violently thus aroused the man and it brought an instinctive muscular reaction which was assisted by a stab of pain as dorothy's thumb sank upon the nerve which is called the "funny bone." yes, mike knew the hold, and how to break it and recover; so as dorothy swirled him backward onto the table with uncanny strength, he pivoted. then, clutching her under her arms, he clasped his hands just beneath her shoulder blades, bearing downward with his head against her chest. it was a back-breaking grip, but her slender form twisted in his arms as though he had been trying to hold a revolving shaft. an arm slipped over his shoulder, a hand fastened on his wrist and began to tug it slowly upward with the deliberate strength of a low-geared safe hoist. then the other hand, stealing around him, encircled the middle finger of his clasped hand and began to force it back--a jiu jitsu trick. if he resisted, the finger would be broken. to release his clasp would mean a probable dislocation of the other arm. mike realized that he had to do not only with a phenomenally strong girl, but with a skilled and practiced exponent of oriental wrestling tricks. he was by no means ignorant of this school, and countered the attack in the proper technical way--with utter relaxation for the moment--a supple yielding, followed by a swift offensive. though he was broader of shoulder and heavier, the two were nearly of equal height, possibly of equal strength, but of a different sort. mike's was slower, but enduring; dorothy's more that of the panther--swift, high of innervation, but incapable of sustained tension. such maneuvers as immediately followed in this curious combat were startling. mike felt that he was struggling with an opponent far more skilled than himself in jiu jitsu, one trained to the last degree in the scientific application of the levers and fulcrums by which minimum force might achieve maximum results in the straining of ligaments and paralysis of muscles. and to give him his due, for all his bluff about striking her with the gun on the way up to the house, mike had some decent instincts beneath his roughness. whereas he was striving to overcome without permanently injuring the girl, dorothy had no such qualms. she was fighting with deliberate intention of putting him out of the running, for at least such time as would permit her to carry out her plans for escape. but for a time mike's efforts were purely defensive, his object to save himself from disgraceful defeat. what would the gang say if she bested him, a professional wrestler, and make her getaway? they fell across the table, shattering the crockery, then pitched off on to the floor with mike underneath. he writhed over on his face and offered an opening for an elbow twist which was not neglected. there was an instant when he thought the joint would go; but he broke the hold by a headspin at the cost of infinite pain. mike had seen the state in which jiu jitsu wrestlers left their vanquished adversaries. defeat at this girl's hands would probably leave him helpless and crippled for three or four hours. it was not a pleasant thought. he would have to hurt her--hurt her badly, if he could. he was flat on his face again when suddenly he felt his automatic jerked from its holster and she sprang to her feet. "if you move an eyelash," said dorothy, rather breathlessly, "i'll pull the trigger!" "if you don't drop that rod at once, i'll blow the top of your head off," declared a dispassionate voice from the doorway. dorothy dropped the gun. _chapter xiv_ the doctor "and now, mike," continued the voice, "i'd like to know how you happened to be caught napping." dorothy swung round to see a young woman standing in the doorway. with a gasp of consternation she found herself staring down the barrel of a revolver. for a fraction of a second her heart turned over with a sickening thud. then she recovered her poise. "well, i guess _my_ trick's over," she exclaimed as cheerfully as possible. mike scrambled to his feet, catching up his automatic as he did so. instead of answering the girl who leaned against the door frame, he stared at dorothy in a sort of amazed wonder. she met his gaze, a malicious little smile at the corners of her mouth. aside from a flush on her cheeks, she showed not the slightest sign of the ordeal she had just passed through, nor the exhaustion it must have produced. his eyes fell rather stupidly to her feet. if mike had not so recently staggered under dorothy's material weight, he would not have believed her to possess any at all. he drew a deep breath. "who taught you jiu jitsu?" "a woman professional in new york. she had a class--the others went in for it in a lady like way. but i took it up seriously because i thought i might need it some day." "have you--ever?" he had dropped his east side argot, she noticed. "once or twice--but never like this," she smiled. "i should hope not." mike was rather pale. he frowned. "where do you get your appalling strength?" "heredity--and training. i come by it honestly. it's not so extraordinary as some people seem to think." her smile widened. "my father is the strongest man i've ever known. although you'd never guess it by looking at him. he can do all sorts of stunts. he's trained me--running, boxing, fencing, swimming--" "i'll say he has! i wouldn't have believed it possible--and you only a kid!" dorothy nodded and looked at him with a curious light in her gray eyes. "perhaps i'm not so strong as you think--i know a little more about oriental wrestling than you do, that's all." "yes, that's all!" said the woman by the doorway in a mocking tone. she stepped across the threshold and came toward them. "go over there and sit down." she motioned dorothy to a chair. "and not another peep out of you--understand?" her eyes gleamed at dorothy through narrowed lids with a light more metallic than the reflection from the barrel of her automatic. it was a strange look--combined of ruthlessness and malicious amusement. "interesting--very interesting, indeed!" she turned to mike, as dorothy obeyed her and sat down. "and now that you and your little lady friend have finished your heart-to-heart, perhaps you'll tell me what it's all about--why i find you flat on the floor covered by her gun?" "jealous, sadie?" mike's tone was tantalizing. "you _fool_!" she took a step forward. the expression on her face underwent a startling change. mockery gave way to an exasperated ferocity. her eyes opened to their full size. then the volcano of her wrath erupted. words poured forth with the sharp regularity of a riveting hammer. mike was given a description of his characteristics, moral, mental and physical, that brought the angry blood to his forehead. whereupon he retorted in like spirit and soon they were going it hammer and tongs, while the fury on sadie's face froze into livid hate. it was a wicked face, yet beautiful, dorothy thought as she watched from her chair in the corner; a strangely beautiful face beneath a coiled crown of glorious red hair. but its beauty was distorted, devilish. her lips were scarlet, slightly parted, showing the double rim of her even teeth as she hurled insult after insult at the man before her. like some evil goddess, she stood motionless, the rise and fall of her bosom the only token of the deadly emotion she felt as her even tones poured forth vituperation. presently dorothy's ears caught the sound of footsteps thumping on the porch. the lame man limped into the room and sized up the situation at a glance. "stop that scrapping, you two!" he commanded. "stop it, sadie! do you hear me? stop it at once!" the red-haired girl glared at him, but she obeyed. there was a dangerous finality in his tone that debarred argument. she swept over to the table, and deliberately turning her back upon the others, poured herself a cup of coffee. "mike!" barked the italian. "go out and give the others a hand. we've got a couple of invalids with us. i've already administered first aid, but they will have to be carried upstairs and put to bed. hustle, now!" mike disappeared through the door without a word. this little lame person seemed to brook no opposition. he was probably the brain and the leader of this gang, thought dorothy--but he was speaking to her now. "good evening again, miss dixon! i felt somehow certain we were fated to meet a third time tonight!" his glance snapped from her to sadie and back again. "sorry we had to 'bag' you, as it were--hope you suffered no great inconvenience?" "oh, i'm all right," she replied coolly. "but i notice that your sweater is torn in several places. you will excuse me?--but you look rather rumpled. i got the impression that you and the young lady who is at present drinking coffee might have had--a difference of opinion, shall we say?" "no. these tears in my sweater were caused by accident. miss martinelli had nothing to do with it." "so you know her name! but, of course you would. that bicarbonate of soda proved a boomerang. too bad she really needed it at the time. it's a lesson to us, to remember that servant girls are likely to be lazy." "oh, it wasn't lizzie's fault," smiled dorothy. "i caught her before she had had time to wash the glass, that's all." "you are a very clever young woman." "well, i don't know about that--" she drawled. then she left her chair and took a step toward him. "tell me--is bill bolton very badly hurt?" "just a bit frazzled, that's all." her aviation instructor limped into the room. his coat was gone and his soft shirt, once white, hung from his shoulders in dirty, tattered streamers. one eye, half-closed, was rapidly turning black. blood streaked his cheeks. just above his left knee the trouser-leg had been cut away and a blood-soaked bandage was visible. dorothy saw that his wrists were handcuffed behind his back. at his elbow, a man whose jaw was queerly twisted to one side, stood guard with drawn revolver. the lame man grinned. "here's your young friend now. you can take him in the kitchen if you like and wash him off a bit. i'll come in later with some bandages. you'll find matches and a lamp on a shelf just inside the door.--stick that gun in your pocket, tony," he added to his henchman. "come over here. now that we've proper light, i'll snap that jaw of yours back into place." dorothy put an arm about bill without speaking and led him slowly into the dark room. then as her hand groped for matches on the shelf, there came a loud click from the other room, followed by a scream of anguish. dorothy felt her hair rise on the back of her neck. there was a momentary silence, then low, breathless moans. "what is it, bill?" she whispered fearfully. "what's happened?" bill chuckled. "tony's dislocated jaw is back in place, now, that's all. too bad i didn't knock it clean off while i was about it. he's the bird who knifed me a while ago. no fault of his that he only got me in the leg, either. i'm glad to hear he's getting his, now." "goodness--" dorothy found the matches at last and struck one. "here i stand--and you're badly hurt--don't say you aren't--i know it. where's that lamp? he said it was on the shelf. it isn't. there it is on the table. _dash_--there goes the match!" "take it easy, kid!" "oh, i'm all right. that man's scream kind of set my teeth on edge." she struck another match, then lit the lamp and carried it to a dresser by the sink. "come over here and sit down," she said, drawing out a chair. "i want to swab out that cut in your leg. the rag is filthy--" she pulled out the drawer in the dresser. "here's luck! towels--clean ones! who'd have thought it!" with deft fingers she unfastened his bandage, then cleaned the wound with fresh water from the pump, using every precaution not to hurt him. "you're certainly good at this kind of thing," was bill's sincere tribute as she turned her attention to the bruised cut on his head. "part of my high school course, you know. i'm better at this than at latin," she admitted with a smile. "tell me what happened in the woods after i got scragged and mike carted me up here?" "who's mike?" "i'll tell you about him in a minute. get along with your story first." "not much of a story. i didn't last long enough to make it interesting." "tell me about it, anyway." "well--i heard you yell and half turned when tony and another lad jumped me. you know what happened to tony--" "yes, but the shot right afterward? oh, bill, i was scared silly they'd killed you! whose gun _was_ that?" "mine. i'd got my gat loose by that time and drilled him through the shoulder. it turned out later that he tripped over a log when he fell, came down with his leg under him and snapped the bone. when i learned the horrid truth, i wept!" "i'll bet you did! couldn't you break away then?" "i could not. several others had joined the rough-house by that time. for a while--not very long--we played a lively little game of tag, blind-man's-buff, postoffice, dilly-dilly-come-and-be-killed, with me as dilly, until another chap jumped out of a ford on to the middle of my back and rubbed my face in the cool, wet soil! at that bright moment old limpy clinched these handcuffs on my wrists and read me a lecture on the error of my ways. "he's a physician when he isn't bank-robbing, i think. anyway, the gang call him 'doctor.' he seems to be running the show. not such a bad lad if he could be made over again. tony, you must know, has developed an almost uncontrollable penchant for sheathing his pigsticker in my carcass once more. strangely enough, i can't see it tony's way. and fortunately for me, neither can the doctor! now, young lady, if you're finished squeezing cold water into my sore eye, i'll sing the doxology!" dorothy giggled. "aren't you funny! i don't believe more than half of that tale is true. i'll wager things were a whole lot worse than you've painted them, sir!" "well, you've proved to be a good little guesser quite often--what i'm interested in is what happened to you." dorothy told him. "nice work!" bill complimented her as she finished talking. "i know a few jiu jitsu holds, but you must be a wonder at it. it's too bad staten island sadie had to butt in and spoil your show. the more i see of that lady, the less i like her. she was in the woods when the gang jumped us--barged off in a huff later, because the doc wouldn't let her croak me then and there. she's a nice little playmate. every one of this gang is a cold-blooded thug--but she's a fiend! but, to tell the honest truth, it's our lame friend who worries me most." "yes," agreed dorothy. "that suave manner of his gives me the creeps!" "so sorry--" purred the doctor's voice directly behind them. "but if i were in your position, my young friends, i should undoubtedly be worried, too." bill and dorothy swung round to see him coming toward them. in his hand he carried a small, black bag. "how is our invalid, nurse?" he inquired, feigning ignorance of their startled surprise, and placing his satchel on the table. "those who live by the sword--but you are familiar with the quotation, i'm sure?" opening the bag, he produced bandages, adhesive tape, a pair of surgical scissors and a large tube of salve. "lay these out, so i can reach them easily, please," he ordered as he unwrapped the temporary bandage dorothy had bound about bill's leg. "ah! i see you have cleansed the wound, but it is safer to be more thorough. hand me one of the swabs you will find wrapped in cellophane in the bag, please. strange how the professional spirit will dominate--even though the patient's life may not be a long one!" he glanced smilingly at dorothy. "don't tell me the knife was poisoned?" she cried in horror. "hardly anything so melodramatic, my dear. you don't quite grasp my meaning." "he means," said bill grimly, "that after he has had the fun of patching me up, i'm to be taken for a ride. but don't let him bluff you. he's only trying to scare us." "too much knowledge is dangerous at times--entirely too dangerous," returned the lame man. "hand me another swab, nurse. but you put it rather crudely, young man--and i am perfectly in earnest, i assure you." "oh, you couldn't do _that_!" dorothy blenched and her hand shook as she passed him the swab. "well, you see, it is not entirely up to me," he replied, carefully cleaning the wound. "the matter of your friend's future, shall i say?--as well as your own, will have to be put to vote presently. of course, if miss martinelli has her way--but why anticipate the unpleasant?" to dorothy's surprise, bill chuckled. "they hang in this state, for murder," he remarked coolly. "it's a nasty death, i've heard. what's more, doctor, a man of your mentality does not deliberately stick his head into a noose!" "perhaps not, my young friend. but you forget that in order to prove murder, there must be a body--or bodies, as the case may be." the doctor looked up at bill and smiled again. _chapter xv_ staten island sadie has her way "i believe that i have done all that is necessary," said the doctor after a few minutes--"and i think the patient will be more comfortable now." then, with a sardonic gleam in his eye, he added, "also, i have enjoyed our conversation very much!" he walked to the sink where he washed his hands and dried them carefully on a clean towel. "and so, if you young people are quite ready, we'll adjourn for that voting contest i mentioned a little while ago." he motioned them to precede him, and brought up the rear with his bag as dorothy helped bill limp into the front room. politely, the doctor placed chairs for them and bade them be seated. never once had this black-eyed little man's manner betokened anything but courteous consideration. but his suavity troubled dorothy far more than bluster would have done. she sensed the venom behind his smooth tones, the purring growl of the tiger before it springs. dorothy knew she was losing her nerve. but she looked at bill and smiled bravely as they sat down. bill smiled back at her then shifted his glance with hers to the table, where the members of the gang were seated. the little doctor headed the board, the others at the side facing the room. next to the lame man sat the red-haired girl; then came mike, tony, who was nursing his jaw, johnny, the man who had fetched the wheelbarrow, and another whom dorothy had not seen before. tony, she fancied, had played the part of chauffeur at the bank. then bill broke into the low-voiced conversation that was going on at the table. "how about unlocking these handcuffs, doctor?" the doctor shook his head. "no, no, my young friend. even with your honorable wounds of combat, you are far too active for us to take any chances." "but what could i do? you are six to one, counting miss martinelli--and all armed," insisted bill. "these things are darned uncomfortable." tony shot him a deadly glance. "i'm glad to hear it," he muttered through clenched teeth. "you'll be a lot more uncomfortable by the time i finish with you." "shut up, you two!" snapped sadie. "now, dad," she went on in a different tone, addressing the doctor, "let's finish this business. we can't sit here gabbing all night." "that's what i say!" this from johnny. "bump off the pair of 'em--they know too much. then we can divvy up and be on our way!" "you forget that it is our custom to put such matters to vote," interposed the doctor. "two of our company are upstairs and unable to attend. also, another member is expected at any time now. without his help our little _coup_ would have been extremely difficult." "chuck and pete are too ill to vote," argued miss martinelli. "as for perkins--that sap is scared to death! i doubt if he shows up at all." "oh, he wants his share," declared the doctor. "he'll come. we shall give him five minutes--and then continue our business." he tapped a cigarette on the back of his gold case, struck a match and lounged back in his chair, inhaling the aromatic smoke with evident enjoyment. dorothy's eyes met bill's in astonishment. he smiled but said nothing. it was interesting enough that sadie should turn out to be the doctor's daughter. but the news that harry perkins, her father's trusted lieutenant at the bank, was mixed up in this robbery was simply dumfounding to dorothy. that was how things had been made easy for the gang--that was how they knew just when mrs. hamberfield's necklace would be in her deposit box. and another thing--perkins' home was on the marvin ridge road, just beyond the mayo place where the pen and pencil club were to meet! the doctor had been coming from the perkins' house when she and billy had met his car. and that explained the absence of road oil on the packard's tires! johnny's voice interrupted her train of thought. "how are we goin' to make our getaway tonight with them two lads down and out upstairs?" he grumbled. "our plan was to separate after we'd divvied up the loot--but them fellers can't be moved." "supposing you stay and look after them--" derided sadie. "when we've made the divvy, as you call it, this bunch breaks up for the time being. we all go our own sweet ways. it's a case of each for himself. if you want to stick here and nurse those boobs upstairs, nobody's going to stop you." "not me! i don't know nothin' about--" "then keep your mouth shut. whatever we do, we'll decide later on. how about the time, dad?" "time's up," decided the doctor with a glance at his watch. "we'll wait no longer for mr. perkins. now, concerning our two young friends who were so unwise as to join us tonight--what is your pleasure?" "bump them off, of course, as johnny so prettily puts it," yawned sadie languidly. "i'll attend to the job, if the rest of you are squeamish." "we will put it to vote," announced the doctor. "those in favor will raise their right hands and say 'aye'." five hands, including his own, sprang into the air. "contraries, 'no'." "_no_," said mike in a firm voice, holding up his right hand. "the ayes have it," declared the doctor dispassionately. "what's the matter with you, mike?" sneered sadie. "got a crush on the girl?" "no," retorted mike. "just trying to stop you from making an even bigger fool of yourself than you are usually!" "i'm afraid you'll have to pipe down, mike." the doctor's eyes gleamed balefully. "sentence has been passed on miss dixon and mr. bolton--and that is all there is to it." "that's where you're dead wrong." "what do you mean? don't you realize that these two know too much about us to permit them to live?" "have i said they didn't? but sadie should not be allowed to be their executioner." "oh--aren't you considerate!" sadie's tone was pregnant with sarcasm. "want the job yourself?" "not particularly--none of us should do it." "who then, may i ask?" "why, perkins, of course." "you're crazy! he hasn't the nerve." "maybe not--make him do it anyway." it was the lame man's turn to take a hand. "and why should mr. harry perkins be so entrusted?" "to keep his mouth shut." "i'm afraid i don't understand you." "and i didn't think you could be so dense. look here, doctor. i haven't been one of your crowd long, but i'd never have joined up at all if i'd known i was getting in with such a bunch of nitwits!" "you are forgetting yourself, i think," the doctor's tone was cutting. "no. i ain't. listen--perkins only came into this because he was up against it proper. how you found out he had speculated, first with his own money and then with the bank's, is none of my affair. what i do know is that when wall street put him into a tight place, you put up the extra margin with his brokers upon an assurance from him that he would do--just what he's done!" "you are very well informed, mike. and what then?" "just this: the bank has been robbed, but it was a crude job at best. why the bulls haven't fastened on perkins already on account of that time-lock business, is beyond me. then, for once in your long and successful career, you were careless, doctor. you allowed your paternal feeling to out-weigh your natural caution. the result is that the cops got sadie's fingerprints and a description of you, of her and of tony. i am simply bringing all this up to show you that we are not out of the mess yet--not by a long shot." "in other words, you think we have a fifty-fifty chance with the police?" "better than that, perhaps. i think, though, that if we do get nailed, we should stop perkins from blabbing--and stop him effectually." "i see," said sadie. "let him bump off the pair over there--then take him for a ride?" "be still, carissima!" doctor martinelli was interested. "i see what mike is driving at. he fears that if things should by chance go wrongly, harry perkins would try to save his precious skin by turning state's evidence. and that if he were forced to--er--place these two young people where they will do the least harm, mr. perkins will not be in a position himself to turn state's evidence--that is, of course, should it become necessary. that is your reason for not voting with the rest of us?" "it is, doctor. do you wish to vote on it again?" "not necessarily. i consider your plan adequate." "but why make the biggest mistake--of murdering us?" bill entered the conversation. dorothy leaned toward him. "it's no use, bill," she whispered steadily. "they've made up their minds--and you heard what the doctor said in the other room!" bill did not attempt to reply, for doctor martinelli was speaking again. "and why, in your opinion, are we making a mistake in putting you and miss dixon out of the running?" he inquired affably. "take your time, young man, answer carefully. we are in no hurry--until mr. harry perkins arrives." "he won't arrive," rejoined bill. "the authorities have got him by this time." "bluff!" shot out sadie and turned fiercely on her father. "what's the use of all this?" she cried. "it makes me sick. why do you stand for it?" "because he knows bill _isn't_ bluffing!" dorothy's raised voice silenced the woman. "we knew that you had been visiting harry perkins this evening, doctor. and we passed word to the police on our way through new canaan. the only reason you weren't arrested on the way up is because they want to catch the whole gang together. if you hadn't shown up here, the rest of your people might have got wise and left before the police could make arrangements to surround the place." "but, you see, my dear," said the doctor, "i wasn't visiting mr. perkins this evening. i had just motored up from the post road, and--ah--points east, when i ran into you and your friend bill." dorothy laughed. "oh, no, you hadn't, doctor. the road beyond perkins' place was freshly oiled. there was no sign of oil on your car." "she got you that time, doc!" exclaimed mike. "d'you mind saying why you were foolish enough to drop in on perkins and put us up a tree this way?" doctor martinelli was irritated. "because the safest place to park that loot was in perkins' house," he snapped, "and as he refused to bring it up here himself, i had to fetch it." "then all i can say is that you and sadie have made a pretty mess of things." "is that so?" retorted the red-haired young woman. "was it _my_ fault that that fellow over there landed his plane on the lake? that was before the new canaan deal. he had nothing at all to go on then!" "that's where you're wrong," broke in bill. "your hair and those beach pajamas make a combination not easily forgotten. you wore them once too often, miss martinelli." "and you seem to forget," added dorothy, "that you've been finger-printed both in this country and in england. the police know all about you and your father and tony. they probably have the records of the rest of your gang. if anything happens to bill or myself, you are bound to pay the penalty." "say, doc!" johnny's excited voice sounded shrilly, "i don't like this--not a little bit i don't. tie up that pair and let's vamoose. them cops is likely to be here any minute. i'm tired of all this fool talk. come on--this place is gettin' too hot fer me!" mike got to his feet. "i don't stir from this place until i get my share of the divvy," he declared firmly. "what's the matter with you, johnny? if doc lights out with the bag full of kale, it ain't likely the rest of us will ever get what's coming to us." "but i can't afford to get pinched--" johnny faltered. "not after that jersey city job, i can't. it means the hot seat for me." the gangster shivered and moistened his lips. "it is my candid opinion that you are all exciting yourselves unnecessarily." the doctor's voice betrayed no emotion whatsoever. "miss dixon and mr. bolton are clever young people--but not quite clever enough. they're throwing a gigantic bluff to save their lives. the police won't be here tonight. why? simply because if they knew anything about this house, we would have been raided long before this. those two haven't told the police or anyone else a thing about it. they wanted to pull off their job all by themselves!" "and how, may i ask, do you figure that?" bill endeavored to make his tone sarcastic. "for this reason: if you had reported what you had learned--and guessed--the authorities would never have permitted you to come here tonight. and this proves it!" there was a light step on the porch and harry perkins came in through the open door. _chapter xvi_ what happened in the wine cellar "sorry to be so late," greeted the bank's cashier. "my car broke down. i've had to walk five miles, at least--" he broke off, catching sight of dorothy and bill for the first time. "hello!" he exclaimed, "what are you two doing here?" "they are waiting for you to bump them off," replied sadie with a sneer. "why, what do you mean?" perkins gazed breathlessly around the room. "just what i said. you are going to stop their mouths for good--and do it right now. we've been shilly-shallying over this business long enough!" perkins' glance took in the others seated at the table. "has she gone nuts?" he asked. "we have decided that you are to do what my daughter has just mentioned," said the doctor smoothly. "and i," retorted perkins angrily, "tell you here and now that i will be no party to murder!" sadie drew her revolver. "well--if he won't, i will!" she began when her wrist was caught in a grip of steel, then twisted up and backward. "drop it, little one--drop it--or i'll break your arm," said mike. sadie shrieked with pain, but she dropt her revolver and mike pocketed it. "i'll get you for that!" she screamed. her father leaned forward in his chair. "shut up, you idiot!" he said coldly and deliberately slapped her across the mouth with his open hand. "we've had enough from you for one evening. mike was perfectly right to stop you. perkins is going to do this job, and you know _why_ he is going to do it. i'll have no more argument from you. keep still now, until you have my permission to speak." "but i tell you i'll have nothing to do with it," repeated perkins, and attempted to light with trembling fingers the half-burned cigar he was chewing. doctor martinelli swung round in his chair. "you'll do as you're told," he said through clenched teeth. "a little persuasion of the kind i have in mind has been known to make braver men than you change their opinions, mr. harry perkins!" he glared at the cashier, who dropped his eyes--and the cigar--at one and the same moment. "that's the way, doc," applauded mike, getting to his feet. "we've been sittin' round this table so long we're all getting stale. what we need's a little excitement." he pointed to dorothy and bill. "i'll take these two down stairs and stick them in the old wine cellar. they'll keep fine and dandy down there. later, when mr. perkins sees reason he can run down and finish them off. while i'm gone, johnny, you beat it out to the woodshed and fetch in a length of garden hose." he guffawed--"i guess you know that trick--the bulls have made it pretty popular?" the lame man smiled and nodded. "o.k. doc?" "it's a good plan, mike. go ahead with it." mike took a flashlight from his pocket and beckoned to the prisoners. sadie pushed back her chair and jumped up. "tie that girl or she'll get away!" she ordered. "pipe down!" thundered the gangster and there was an ugly gleam in his eyes as he glared at her. "give me any more of your lip, sadie, and you'll take a trip downstairs yourself. some day when you ain't got a thing to do fer a couple of weeks, try gettin' outa that place with the door locked. run along now--murder yourself, if you have to--you red-headed bag of hot wind!" he turned his back on the furious woman and motioned bill and dorothy to walk before him into the kitchen. "well, of all the nerve--" dorothy heard sadie cry sharply as harry perkins broke in with--"look here, doctor martinelli, do you really mean to--" mike shut the door, cutting the argument in the front room to a mere mumble of voices. "down those stairs to the right and then straight ahead, you two," he directed, pointing the way with his flashlight--"no tricks, either, unless you want your buddie hurt worse than he is now, miss wildcat!" dorothy, with her arm about bill's shoulders, stopped at the head of the cellar stairs. "i think you told me you were getting two thousand dollars for your share in the new canaan robbery," she murmured. "that's right--a coupla grand," he acknowledged. "not much, but when i made the deal, i wasn't as strong with doc as i am now." "if you let us go, my father will pay you ten thousand!" "nothing doing!" "and i promise you he'll use his influence in your behalf, as well. it seems to me a mighty easy way to make a lot of money--" mike shrugged his shoulders. "maybe it is," he admitted. "but then you see, i've never double-crossed a pal yet, and i'm not going to start at this late day. cut the chatter now--there's nothing doing." "you won't regret it, mike." the door behind them opened slowly, revealing doctor martinelli's slight figure. "my judgment of human nature is rarely at fault," the little man went on rather pompously. "i believed i could trust you--now i know it. there's a full share coming to you on this deal, mike. cut along now, but hurry back. as soon as you've locked them up, i'll need your help with perkins." the door closed once more and mike waved toward the gaping black of the cellar stairs. "you heard what doc said--down you go!" "over there to the left," he directed when his two prisoners reached the bottom and dorothy helped billy to hobble across the damp, earthern floor, in the shifting rays of mike's torch. ahead in the wall of native stone that formed the foundation of the house, they could see a door of heavy wood, at least six inches thick. mike pushed it fully open. for a moment dorothy thought of jumping him, but now she saw he carried a revolver in his free hand. "in you go!" he said roughly, elbowing them over the threshold. but instead of locking them in, he stepped over the sill and gently pulled the door shut behind him. bill, anticipating the end, stepped between dorothy and their captor. "let her go, mike. her father and mine will give you anything you ask. shoot me if you must--but let her go. use two shots, and the others will think--tell them--" "quiet, please," whispered mike fiercely, and dorothy started, for he spoke now with the voice of a well bred englishman. "neither of you will be shot tonight, if you do as i tell you. here--take this automatic, miss dixon. and listen carefully, both of you. i've only a minute. you'll find a few useful articles under the pile of sacking in that far corner," he went on, pointing into the gloom behind them. "then, get out of the window as quickly as you can--the bars are sawn through. your car is still parked where you left it. go straight home. that, i think, will be all at present." bill and dorothy stared at him in wide-eyed amazement. "who are you, anyway?" the girl whispered, peering up at him. "to ease your minds," he smiled, "i'm not exactly what i pretend to be. and i want to apologize to you, miss dixon, for the exceedingly crude game i was forced to play with you. the doctor had his suspicions of me, until just a few moments ago, i believe, and he has had us watched ever since i brought you here. but now he has proved his judgment to be sound--" he chuckled to himself--"and has ceased his strict surveillance." he paused a moment then went on, more seriously. "my name is michael conway. i am a detective-inspector in the criminal investigation department of new scotland yard. i've trailed certain members of the martinelli gang all the way from london. my plans seem to have miscarried this evening; otherwise, you need not have been put to all this inconvenience. remember that the house has ears, and be as quiet as possible. good night--and good luck!" the door swung shut behind him. they heard him turn the key in the lock and he was gone. "gee whiz!" muttered bill, "and i thought--" "sh--bill!" cautioned dorothy. "never mind now. stand where you are, or you'll break your neck in this darkness." her voice came from farther off now. he knew she was feeling her way across the room toward the corner. presently a light appeared and she spoke again. "i've found the things," she told bill. "besides this flash, there's another automatic, a small ax, and a chisel." "thank heaven for that," said bill. "now i've a chance of getting these handcuffs off!" "but we can't do it in here," dorothy objected. "remember what mike said about making a noise. we'll have to wait till we get outside. there's the window. it's going to be a tight squeeze." her light showed them they were standing in a narrow room, walled like the cellar in native stone. along the sides, piled one on top of the other were wine casks, which proved to be empty. the damp air was heavy with the fumes of evaporating lees. high to one side was a small barred window. "lean against this barrel, so it won't slip," whispered dorothy, and clambered up to the window. "yes, the bars are loose!" she removed the short lengths of rusty iron from the open frame and carefully laid them on the ground outside. "now the paraphernalia--" she placed ax, chisel and revolver beside the bars on the grass and descended to bill's side. "guess i'll have to go first," observed bill. "we'll never make it, otherwise. give me a boost, will you?" they were both breathless and nearly exhausted by the time bill had been pushed up and out of the window. dorothy was so tired it took every ounce of her waning strength to drag herself through the narrow aperture after him. they rested for some minutes in the long, dewy grass, gathering strength and courage for the waiting ordeal. as soon as they began to move away from the house, dorothy realized that bill was near collapse. even with her supporting arm, he lurched and stumbled through the tangled undergrowth. "it's that old hole in my leg," he grumbled in answer to her question. "it's opened up again--been bleeding pretty freely. you'd better leave me here." he sank wearily to the ground behind a cluster of elder bushes, about two hundred yards from the house, the weight of his body pulling dorothy to her knees beside him. "i'll do nothing of the kind!" she whispered fiercely. "but you must--i can't go any further," his voice trailed off weakly. with a quick movement she felt for his wound in the darkness and tightened the bandage. "we'll wait here till you're strong enough to walk, that's all. if i try to run the car up here, they'll hear it from the house. there's no use to try to cut off your handcuffs, either. the least sound will bring that gang down on us." "not the car--" he mumbled. "the amphibian--beat it for the loening--and bring help." dorothy bit her lip. with bill delirious there was nothing she could do but remain with him. "that's all right," she said, trying to calm him--"we'll stay here till you feel stronger, bill. then i'll help you down to the car." bill had been lying on his side, his head pillowed on her knees. now he wriggled into a sitting position. "i'm pretty well all in," he admitted, "but i'm not off my head--not yet--if that's what you're thinking.--didn't i tell you about the amphibian?" "you certainly did not----" dorothy's tone was relieved, yet excited. "well, here's the dope, then. she's parked in the next valley--over that hill behind the house. you'll find her under the trees at the edge of a wood lot. i flew up here several nights ago. wanted a means of quick getaway, if it became necessary. frank met me over there and drove me home. it's a rotten landing place. you'll find it worse for the take off. you'll be taking an awful chance to do it." dorothy got to her feet. "you certainly are the one and only life-saver," she breathed joyfully. "every time we get really up against it--you've a plane up your sleeve or something. don't worry--i'll fly it all right!" "hop it for danbury, then. when you get there, land in the fair grounds. phone the police and tell them to run down in a car and that you'll fly them back here. you can land on the lake. the bus has a searchlight--" he broke off as the sharp detonation of an automatic came from the direction of the house. this was followed by shouts and the sound of a scuffle. presently all was quiet once more. "something's up!" said dorothy. bill nodded gravely. "i wonder if they haven't found we're not in the wine cellar--if they've charged mike conway with our escape?" "well, i'm going over to see." "no, you're not--i'll go." but by the time bill had struggled to his feet, dorothy had run to the house and was peering between the shutters of the side window. she stood there for a moment, then ran back to him. "the doctor has been shot," she gasped. "not badly hurt, i think--evidently took it in the shoulder. but they've got mike. he's tied hand and foot and bound to a chair!" "that's bad," said bill slowly. "it's awful! they'll surely shoot him before i can get the police here!" bill hobbled back toward the shelter of the bushes with dorothy's arm about his waist. "some break!" he said disgustedly, as he sank to the ground. "i'm out of the running and you can't hold up that bunch single handed--" "i can try it though, bill." "not if i have anything to say, you won't. there are too many of 'em--it's impossible. but what we're going to do now, i haven't the slightest idea!" _chapter xvii_ the loening "one thing is clear--" said dorothy firmly--"and that is, we can't let michael conway be butchered by that band of cut-throats. he saved our lives--we've got to save his." bill, his head in his hands, did not reply. "if you were only in better shape so i could get those handcuffs off--and if there weren't so many of them in the house," she went on, speaking her thoughts aloud, "one of us might be able to hold them up from the window while the other went round through the door and took their guns away. but we can't afford to wait till you can walk alone and i can free your hands. what's to become of mr. conway, in the meantime? oh, bill, you're generally so fertile with ideas--_can't_ you think of any thing?" bill lay motionless, and still did not answer. dorothy stooped over him. "bill! bill!" she called in a tense whisper. then, daring greatly, she flashed her light on his face, held it there for an instant, then snapped it off. "down and out, poor chap," was her summing up after a glimpse of his closed eyes and dead white features. "loss of blood, probably. he'll come round after while--but when?" her heart sank. for several minutes she knelt beside his quiet form, lost in thought. then she began to act. "sorry, bill, old thing, but i've got to leave you. it's the only way." her murmured tones were muffled by the sweater she pulled over her head. stripping free her arms, she rolled it in a ball and placed the soft pillow beneath bill's head. she gave him a little pat, then started off toward the hill back of the house. dorothy crossed the field beyond the farm's overgrown orchard in darkness. it was not until she reached the woods at the foot of the hill that she dared to snap on her flashlight. even with its help the climb was no sinecure. the hillside, steep as a church roof and densely wooded, was, moreover, thick with underbrush, which hindered her progress. rocky outcroppings and huge boulders made frequent detours necessary. by the time she struggled to the top she was winded and pretty well done up. her vitality had suffered considerably from strain and worry and violent exercise during the course of the evening. she was quite ready to drop down and have a good cry, and to admit to herself right then that she was beaten. only the knowledge that a life, possibly two, hung upon her efforts, kept her going. stopping only long enough to tie a broken shoelace, she hurried over the crest of the hill and plunged down the farther side. here, her progress became even more difficult, for she floundered into a berry patch whose thorns tore her clothing and badly scratched her face and hands. determinedly, she pushed her way through, gritting her teeth in pain. presently, after several bad falls over hidden rocks and tree stumps, she found herself on a narrow, grass-grown wood road at the foot of the hill. so far as she could see, the trail wound along the middle of the valley. but she hadn't the faintest idea in which direction lay the field (bill had called it a wood lot) where the _loening_ was hidden. dorothy was totally at a loss. _why_ hadn't she taken more precise directions before tramping over here? this trail _must_ lead to the wood lot or near it. bill said frank had driven there in the car.... "what a fool i am!" she exclaimed suddenly to the night at large and pointed her flashlight toward the ground at her feet. there were the tire marks of a car, plain enough. brewster and danbury lay far to the left beyond the mouth of this valley which paralleled that of the gang's headquarters. therefore, bill's car must have come up the trail from the left. the tracks kept on up the road to her left--the wood lot must be in that direction. as she trudged on, watching carefully for any deviation of the tire marks, she forgot her weariness for the time being. the winding road ended and she saw an open space ahead. it must be the wood lot. hadn't bill said it was the only possible landing place in the valley! dorothy hurried across the field, through a tangle of knee-high grasses and wild flowers. she pointed her light higher now and tried to pierce the black of the night for a glimpse of the plane. then she saw it parked at the forest's edge, directly ahead, and sprang forward with a delighted cry. as she came close, she saw that it faced the open lot, and silently thanked bill for his foresight. with a plane the size of the amphibian it would have been impossible to swing round the tail unassisted. her preparations for this flight would probably not have met with her instructor's approval. but knowing that time was more important than detail, she cut them to a minimum. a quick glance at the retractible landing gear sufficed to satisfy her that the wheels were securely blocked. then she sprang aboard and gave the engine a short ground test. it was acting splendidly and she shut it off almost directly. a hurried trip aft to the cabin and she came back to the pilot's cockpit, dragging the plane's machine gun, which, after some trouble, she managed to set up on its tripod which she fastened to cleats in the decking. certain now that the gun was secure, she adjusted the ammunition belt as bill had instructed her. then she raced aft again and overside. when she returned, she brought the wheel blocks with her. these she dropped in the cabin, saw to it that the door was properly fastened, then took her place at the controls forward. the night was overcast and starless; the ceiling unusually low, and so far as she could judge there was not the slightest breath of wind. she switched on the plane's searchlight and started the engine. the trees at the far end of the wood lot were uncomfortably near and high. yet bill had judged a take off from such a place to be possible, or he would never have parked there. the big loening was moving now--rolling drunkenly over the rough ground, yet gaining speed with every foot. she widened her throttle, steadily, fully--at the same time pushing the stick well forward. then as the amphibian gained still more speed and she felt the tail lift clear, she eased the stick steadily back to neutral. they were racing over the field now. she gave the elevators a slight upward pressure. the wheels lifted clear, but the trees at the edge of the lot were perilously near. she knew that when a plane leaves the ground its speed is not far above stalling point. and with these trees so close, to stall now would precipitate a bad crash--and failure. dorothy, therefore, kept the nose level for an instant or two, a dangerously short instant, she feared. back came her stick again. the plane was climbing at last but at a frightfully precipitous angle. would they make it? would the throbbing engine continue to function under the unaccustomed strain? dorothy bit her lip. she eased off slightly as the motor coughed; but pulled the stick back almost immediately. they were abreast the treetops now.--they were over. but with a margin so small that dorothy was certain the wheels had brushed the branches. she eased their angle of ascent, but still continued to climb. then when she was sure they were well above the crest of the hill, she leveled off and banked to the left. once more she leveled off and turned on the electrical mechanism which raised the plane's landing gear. below her she could dimly make out the gangster's farmhouse, the lake and the stretch of ground between them. she closed her throttle, pushing the stick forward as she did so, and at the same time applied right aileron and hard right rudder. as the plane shot downward she neutralized the elevators. then did likewise with her ailerons as the proper bank was reached. left aileron and hard left rudder were next applied until the wings became laterally level. having completed a beautiful half spiral, dorothy landed the amphibian on the little lake. her next move was an unusual one, but on it depended the success or failure of her plan. with the airplane headed toward the lake's low shore beyond which lay the farmhouse, she turned the switch which propelled the retractible landing gear downward and into the water. then she opened the throttle for the last time. there came a bump and a jar. the tail tilted to a dangerous angle as the plane's wheels struck the shallows. would they mire in the soft ground at the lake's edge she wondered, and cause the big bus to nose over and crash? but no--the plane, after a sickening wrench, rolled free. it glided over the sandy bank and on to the grass. shutting off her engine, dorothy permitted her amphibian steed to come to a stop at the porch steps, its ugly snout poked almost up to the open doorway of the house. dorothy had been too busy guiding her bus to pay any attention to the reception accorded her arrival. a shot or two had been fired from the porch and she had caught a glimpse of dark figures silhouetted against the open doorway. but now, as the slowing wheels struck the steps, the porch was empty. the way was clear for mike's release. together they would find bill and make a clean getaway in the amphibian. what did it matter if the gang made their escape? her life and the lives of her two friends were all that counted now. to speed the departing company she turned the browning into action and sent half a belt of bullets whipping through the door. but dorothy aimed high. she had no desire to play the part of executioner. from her place in the cockpit she got a good view of the front room. mike, the scotland yard detective, still sat bound to his chair, but the others were streaking for the back of the house. she could see them tugging at the doors, which for some reason, seemed to give them difficulty of exit. huddled at the far end of the room, they clamored and struggled to get out of range. dorothy stopped firing and bill bolton hobbled up the porch steps. "jumping jupiter! girl, you're a wonder!" he applauded. "hold the browning on 'em. they can't get away. i locked those doors from the outside. crawled through the wine cellar window to do it," he panted. "thought it might embarrass them some--but this stunt of yours makes it perfect." he took a step forward and raised his voice. "stick 'em up!" he cried. "stick 'em up--every one of you--that's better. now line up, facing the back wall--and remember--just one bad break is all miss dixon wants to rip off another belt--aimed right, this time--" he added significantly. as the gangsters scrambled to obey his orders, bill walked into the room and dorothy saw that his wrists were still handcuffed behind his back. "who's got the handcuff key, mr. conway?" he inquired. "johnny, i believe," returned mike quietly. "johnny, have you the key?" this from bill. "y-yes, i got it." "got a gun?" "n-no, sir, it's on the table." "i'll take your word for it. throw the key over your shoulder, then stick up your hands again." johnny complied with these demands, and bill picked up the key by sitting on the floor and worming over to where it lay. "think you can turn this with your teeth, mr. scotland yard?" mike nodded. bill swung round and lifted his hands as high as his bonds permitted. the detective lowered his head and got his teeth on the key. a moment later there sounded a slight snap--and bill was free. "good job!" he worked his cramped shoulders. "that certainly is a relief!" he limped to the table, snatched a knife and a couple of seconds later mike was on his feet. without more ado they turned to, and roped the gangsters one by one. dorothy got down from the plane and came into the room. "who's going to stand guard while the plane goes for the police?" "nobody," was bill's answer. "we'll pile the bunch in the bus and take them to new canaan ourselves. gosh, there'll be some big time in the town tonight, when we arrive!" "this morning, you mean," yawned dorothy. "it's getting light. and you two may not know it, but i could go to sleep standing up--and right now!" "brace up, kid! you're some aviatrix, even though i did train you!" "i'll second that--" beamed mr. michael conway, grasping her hand. "i had a splendid view through the doorway--and when that big bus hurled itself out of the water like a hippo--and began to charge the house, i--" but dorothy interrupted him with a shake of her head and an involuntary glance at bill. "all i did was to take some awful chances with bill's property, mr. conway." "ah--incidentally--saving my life, and making the capture of this gang possible?" smiled the detective. "you're a modest young lady, indeed. but i suppose we'd better be getting along--" and with a wave of his hand, he added, "it may interest you to know that the loot is in that kit bag under the table." "o.k. we'll attend to that," said bill. then turning to dorothy--"i'll say you took some chances, young woman! how about getting a plane of your own to fool with from now on?" "oh, bill! do you think daddy will let me?" "i know he will." bill was serious now. "after what you've done tonight, you've certainly won your wings!" those who have enjoyed this story will be interested in the next book of this series, entitled _dorothy dixon and the mystery plane_. the end dorothy dixon solves the conway case by dorothy wayne author of dorothy dixon wins her wings dorothy dixon and the mystery plane dorothy dixon and the double cousin the goldsmith publishing company chicago ----------------------------------------------------------------------- copyright, 1933 the goldsmith publishing company made in u. s. a. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- to ruth kirby she says my books are "neat".... ----------------------------------------------------------------------- contents i out of luck ii to the rescue iii in the conway house iv visitors v the motive vi cornered vii raven rocks viii the chimney ix over the top x ol' man river xi mr. john j. joyce xii voices from below xiii the way out xiv the lion's den xv in the toils xvi the book xvii the test ----------------------------------------------------------------------- dorothy dixon solves the conway case chapter i out of luck above the speeding airplane, lowering black of approaching night and storm; below, the forest, grim and silent, swelling over ridges, dipping into valleys, crestless waves on a dark green ocean. "we can't make it, betty." dorothy dixon, at the controls, spoke into the mouthpiece of her headphone set. betty mayo, in the rear cockpit, glanced overside and shuddered. "but you can't land on those trees!" she cried shrilly. "we'll crash--you know that!" "maybe we will--and maybe we won't!" returned dorothy, gritting her teeth. "keep your eyes peeled for a pond or a woodlot--anywhere you think we can land." "what--what's the matter?" called back her friend, steadying her wobbly nerves with an effort. "matter enough. we're nearly out of gas--running on reserve fuel now. when the rain starts, it'll be pitch dark in no time." "oh, dorothy--do try to stay up! we can't crash and be killed--that's what it will mean if you try to land here!" "betty, be-have, will you? this is my funeral." the pilot in her anxiety, had struck upon an unhappy choice of words. "oh, you must do something--this is terrible--" the frenzied girl in the rear cockpit almost shrieked. dorothy ripped off her headphone set. she could no longer allow her attention to be distracted by betty's excited whimpering. the small amphibian, flying low, topped a crag-scarred ridge. at the foot of the cliff she saw a tiny woodland meadow. action in the air must be automatic. there is never time to reason. with the speed of legerdemain the young pilot sent her plane into a steep right bank and pushed down hard on the left rudder pedal. the result was a sideslip, the only maneuver by which the amphibian could possibly be piloted into the woodlot. tilted sideways at an angle that brought a scream from terrified betty, the heavy mass of wood and metal dropped like a plummet toward the earth. this was too much for little miss mayo. convinced that her friend had lost control of the plane, she closed her eyes and prayed. with uncanny accuracy, considering the rainswept gloom, dorothy recovered just at the proper instant. hard down rudder brought the longitudinal axis of the plane into coincidence with its actual flight path again. at the same time she brought the up aileron into play, thereby preventing the bank from increasing. then as the amphibian shot into a normal glide, she leveled the wings laterally by use of ailerons and rudder. their speed was still excessive, so for a split second or two, dorothy leveled off and fishtailed the plane. that is, she kicked the rudder alternately right and left, thereby swinging the nose from side to side, and did so without banking and without dropping the nose to a steeper angle. taking the greatest possible care that her plane was in straight flight prior to the moment of contact with the ground, she gave it a brief burst of the engine, obviating any possibility of squashing on with excessive force. the airplane landed well back on the tail, rolled forward over the bumpy ground and came to a stop at the very edge of the little meadow, nose on to the line of trees and underbrush. dorothy switched off the ignition, snapped out of her safety belt and turned round. "hail, hail, the gang's all here," she said cheerfully. "wake up, betty! we've come to the end of the line." betty opened her eyes and looked about in startled amazement. "why--why we didn't crash, after all!" "certainly not," snorted dorothy. "d'you think i'd let _wispy_ mash up my best friend? come on, dry your eyes. good thing it's so dark and none of the boys are with us. you'd be a fine sight," she teased. "i think _will-o-the-wisp_ is a silly name for a plane." betty's remark was purposely irrelevant. she wanted to change the subject. "then don't think about it. turn your mind upon the answer of that dear old song, 'where do we go from here?'" "where are we?" betty could be practical enough when her nerves were not tried too severely. "mmm!" murmured her friend. "that's the question. i'm not quite sure, but i think we're on the new york state reservation over on pound ridge. a good ten miles or more from home, anyway." "if we're on the reservation we're certainly out of luck," sighed betty. "it's a terribly wild place--nothing but rocks and ridges and woods and things. they keep it that way on purpose." "nice for picnics on sunny days, i guess," affirmed dorothy. "but not so good on a rainy night, eh? here, put on this slicker before you're wet through. then get down. we've got to move out of here." betty stood up, caught the coat dorothy threw into the cockpit, and after slipping into it, she stared fearfully about. "what are you waiting for?" dorothy inquired from below. "i'm going to stay where i am," announced miss mayo in a quavering voice. "it's safer." "how safe?" dorothy turned on her flash light. its moving beam brought into bold relief the jungle of scrub oak and evergreens that walled the little pasture. "listen, dorothy! i remember father saying that they preserved game on the pound ridge reservation. there are sure to be bears and--and other things in these woods. turn off the light--quick--they'll be attracted to us if we show a light--" "bears--your grandmother!" said dorothy's mocking voice and the light flashed full on betty. "don't be so silly. come down here at once!" "no, i won't. i'm going to stay up here. i--i'm sure it's safer." "then you can be 'safer' by yourself. if you think i'm going to stick around this woodlot all night, you've got another guess coming. snap out of it, won't you, betty?" "but you wouldn't leave me all alone out here!" "watch me." the light began to move away from the plane. "i'll come--i'll come with you, dorothy--wait!" the light came back and betty scrambled to the ground in a fever of haste. "now, then, stop being a goop and take this flash," directed dorothy. "hold it on the plane so i can see. we've got to make _wispy_ secure, before we get under way." "i s'pose you get that navy lingo from bill bolton." betty felt rather peevish now. "you talk just like him ever since he taught you to fly." "i wish he was here now," retorted her friend, and climbed into the cockpit. "here--take these wheel blocks and stop grouching. and for goodness' sake, please don't wobble that light! i want to get these cockpit covers on before everything is flooded." a few minutes later she climbed down again and after adjusting the wheel blocks, took the flashlight from betty. "all set?" she inquired briskly. "got your knitting and everything? 'cause it's time we were moving." betty began to cry. "i think you're mean--of course i want to get out of here, but--but you n-needn't--" dorothy put her arm about the smaller girl's shoulders. "there, there," she comforted, "cheer up. i won't be cross any more. here's a hanky, use it and come along. gee, i wish this rain would stop! it's coming down in bucketfuls." "i'm sorry, too, for sniveling," said betty meekly. she made a strenuous effort to be brave as they walked away from the dark shape of the plane. "but don't you think you'd better get out your revolver, dorothy? honestly, you know, we're likely to run into anything out here in these woods." dorothy burst into a peal of laughter. "bless you, honey," she chuckled. "i don't carry a gun when i go calling--or any other time if i can help it. we'll get out of this all right, don't worry. i should have looked at the gas before we left home, but i thought there was plenty to take us over to peekskill and back. _wispy_ eats the stuff--that's the answer!" they stumbled along on the outskirts of the woodlot, dorothy keeping her light swinging from side to side before them. "but i thought you _always_ carried a gun--" insisted betty, her mind still on the same track--"you ought to, after all you went through with those bank robbers and then the gang of diamond smugglers!" "well, you've got to have a license to tote a revolver--i'll admit i've carried 'em now and then--but not to a tea!" replied her friend. "do try and help me now, to find a way out of this place." "but maybe there is no way out. we can't climb those cliffs, and this meadow's hemmed in by the woods. oh, dear, i wish i knew where we are!" "i'm not certain," mused dorothy, more to herself than to her companion, "but i think i caught sight of the fire tower on the ridge just before we sideslipped. that would mean that this meadow is on the eastern edge of the reservation--and that there's a road on the hill across from the ridge. there must be a trail of some kind leading in here. they could never get the hay out or the cattle in, otherwise; this place must be used for something." they trudged along, keeping the trees on their left until the farther end of the meadow was reached. as they rounded the corner the light from the flash brought into view a narrow opening in the trees and undergrowth. "what did i tell you?" sang out dorothy. "there's our trail! this certainly is a lucky break!" "where do you suppose it goes?" betty's question was lacking in enthusiasm. "oh, it's the tunnel from the grand central to the new waldorf-astoria," said dorothy, squinting in the darkness. "i'm going to take a room with a bath. you can have one, too, if you're good!" betty stumbled into a jagged wheel rut and sat down suddenly. "oh, my goodness!" she moaned. "my new pumps are ruined--and these nice new stockings are a mass of runs from those nasty brambles!" "humph! just think how lucky you are to be alive," suggested dorothy callously. "look--we're coming into another meadow. yes--and there's a light--must be a house up there on the hill." "what if they won't let us in?" wailed betty. they were heading across the meadow, now, toward the hill. dorothy stopped and turned the flashlight on her friend. "you certainly are a gloom!" she declared angrily. "do you think i'm enjoying this? _my_ shoes and stockings are ruined, too, and this ducky dress i'm crazy about has a rip in the skirt a yard long. it will probably be worse by the time we get through the brush on that hillside. but there's absolutely no use in whining about it--and there's not a darned thing to be scared of. is that clear to you, betty?" she paused, and then went on more gently. "come on, old thing, you'll feel much better when we've found a place to get warm and dry." "i know you think i'm an awful baby." betty tried her best to make her voice sound cheerful, but her attempt was not a brilliant success. "but i'm just not brave, that's all," she went on, "and i do feel perfectly terrible." "i know. you're not used to this kind of an outing, and i am, more or less. but i can see how it would upset you. here's a stone fence. give me your hand, i'll help you over. fine! now save your breath for the hill. we've got a stiff climb ahead of us." for the next fifteen or twenty minutes they fought their way up the steep slope through a veritable jungle of thickets and rock. in spite of frequent rests on the boulders that dotted the hillside, both girls were exhausted by the time they came to another delapidated stone wall that acted as a low barrier between the brush and an over-grown apple orchard. through the gnarled trunks, they could dimly see the shape of the house whence came the light. dorothy sat down on top of the wall, and pulled betty to a place beside her. then she switched off her flash. "some drag, that!" her breath came in labored gasps. betty was too weary to make any reply. for a time they sat, silently. then dorothy slid painfully off the wall into the orchard. "you stay here, betty. i'm going over to the house and reconnoiter." "say! you don't go without me!" betty sprang down with sudden determination. "then walk carefully and don't make any noise." a tone of startled surprise came into betty's voice. "what--what are you afraid of, dorothy?" she whispered excitedly. "not a thing, silly. but there may be watch dogs--and i want to get some idea of the people who live in that dump before i ask 'em for hospitality. i've got myself into trouble before this, going it blind. i know it pays to be careful. if you must come with me, you must, i suppose. but walk behind me--and don't say another word." she stalked off through the orchard with betty close at her heels. as they neared the house, which seemed to be badly in need of repair, it was plain that the light came from behind a shaded window on the ground floor. dorothy stopped to ponder the situation. a shutter hanging by one hinge banged dully in the wind and a stream of rain water was shooting down over the window from a choked leader somewhere above. she felt a grip on her arm. "let's don't go in there," whispered betty. "it's a perfectly horrid place, i think." "it doesn't look specially cheerful," admitted dorothy. "but there may not be another house within a couple of miles. there's a porch around on the side. maybe we can see into the room from there." together they moved cautiously through the rank grass and weeds to the edge of the low veranda. there was no railing and the glow from two long french windows gave evidence that the floor boards were warped and rotting. the howl of the wind and driving rain served to cover the sound of their movements as they tiptoed across the porch to the far window. both shades were drawn, but this one lacked a few inches of reaching the floor. both girls lay flat on their stomachs and peered in. quick as a flash, dorothy clapped her hands over betty's mouth, smothering her sudden shriek of terror. chapter ii to the rescue the cold, wet wind of late september howled around the house. dorothy wished she had brought a revolver. "stop it! betty, stop!" she hissed and forced her friend to crawl backward over the rough boards to the edge of the porch. "stay here, and don't make a sound. do you want them out after us? for goodness' sake, take a grip on yourself! i'm going back to the window and--not another peep out of you while i'm gone!" with this warning, she slithered away before betty could voice an objection. lying flat before the window once more with her face almost level with the floor, she stared into the room. the scene had not changed. nor had the three principals of the drama being enacted on the other side of the pane moved from their positions. a sudden gust tore loose the shutter at the back of the house, sending it crashing down on some other wooden object with terrific racket. "must have hit the cellar doors," thought dorothy. the man with the cigar, who stood before the cold fireplace stopped talking. she saw him cock his head to one side and listen. the bald-headed man in the leather armchair kept his revolver levelled on the room's third occupant, and snapped out a question. with a shrug, the man by the fireplace went on speaking. he was a dapper person, flashily dressed in a black and white shepherd's plaid suit which contrasted disagreeably with the maroon overcoat worn open for comfort. dorothy took a dislike to him at first sight. not withstanding his mincing gestures, the man had the height and build of a heavyweight prizefighter. now he leaned forward, emphasizing with a pudgy forefinger the point of his oratory which was directed toward the third member of the party. dorothy uttered an impatient exclamation. she could not hear a word. the roaring storm and the closed windows prevented her from catching even the rumble of their voices. she continued to gaze intently upon the prisoner, a well set up youth of eighteen or nineteen, curly-haired and intelligent looking. her sympathy went out at once to this young fellow. he was bound hand and foot to the chair in which he sat. a blackened eye and his shirt, hanging in ribbons from his shoulders, told of a fight. then she spied an overturned table, books and writing materials scattered over the rumpled rug. "whew!" she whistled softly. "he staged a little battle for 'em, anyway, i'll bet!" she smiled as she noticed that the youth's opponents had likewise suffered. for the bald-headed man held a bloodstained handkerchief to his nose, while the other's overcoat was ripped from collar to hem and he nursed a jaw that was evidently tender. the room which lay beneath her scrutiny offered a decided contrast to the unkempt exterior of the house. the walls were completely lined with bookcases, reaching from ceiling to floor. the shelves must have held thousands of volumes. essentially a man's library, the furnishings were handsome, though they had evidently seen better days. in reply to a question barked at him from the dapper prize fighter, the young prisoner shook his head in a determined negative. the big man spat out an invective. this time the boy smiled slightly, shook his head again. with a roar of fury that was audible to the watching girl outside, the prize fighter-bully strode over to his victim and struck him across the mouth. that brutal action decided dorothy. she wormed her way backward off the porch. betty was still crouched where she had left her. she sprang up and caught her friend's arm. "isn't it terrible?" she whispered tensely. "he's such a good-looking boy, too--don't tell me they've killed him or anything?" without speaking, dorothy led her around to the back of the house. "no, they haven't killed him," she answered when they had reached the shelter of the apple orchard. "this is no movie thriller. but something pretty serious is going on in there. now tell me--are you going to pull yourself together and be of some help? because if you're not, you can climb one of these trees and stay there until it's all over. that's the only safe place i know of--and even up there you'll get into trouble if you start screaming again!" "well, i really couldn't help it, dorothy. he was such a darling looking boy and--" "my goodness--what have his looks got to do with it? he's in a peck of trouble--that's the principal thing. i want to help him." "oh, so do i!" asserted betty eagerly. "i'll be good, honest i will." "obey orders?" "do my best." "o.k. then. i'm going round front. those blackguards must have come in a car--and i'm going to find it." "but you can't leave me here alone--" "there you go again, silly! i'm not going to drive away in the car. i've got another plan. listen! there's a cellar door, somewhere back of the house i guess. it's one of the flat kind that you pull up to open. i heard that shutter slam down on it." "i suppose you want me to open it?" "bullseye!" "you needn't be so superior," betty's tone was aggrieved. "what'll i do if it's locked?" "oh, people 'way out in the country never lock their cellar doors," dorothy's tone was impatient, her mind three jumps ahead. "but suppose this one is?" "wait there until i come back. hurry now--there's no telling what's going on in that room. so long--i'll be with you in a few minutes. if you hear a crash, _don't scream_!" she raced away and as she reached the corner of the side porch, a quick glance over her shoulder told her that betty was marching resolutely toward the cellar door. this time dorothy skirted the porch and toward the front of the house she came upon a weed-grown drive which swept in a quarter circle toward the road some fifty yards away. a limousine was parked before the entrance to the house. it was empty. dorothy breathed a sigh of relief. she hurried past the car and found that the drive ran round the farther side of the house, out to a small garage at the back. the garage doors were open, and inside she spied an ancient ford. for some reason the sight of the ford seemed to perturb her. she stood a while in deep thought. then as an idea struck home, she drew forth her flash light and sent its beam traveling over the interior of the garage. she did not take the precaution of closing the doors. the library was on the other side of the house and there was little danger of her light being seen. suddenly she uttered a cry of satisfaction. her light had brought into view about a dozen gasoline tins stacked in a corner. she lifted them one by one--all were empty. she hunted about and presently unearthed a short piece of rubber hose from under the seat of the automobile. "first break tonight!" she said to herself. "here's hoping the luck lasts!" a few minutes later, if anyone had been watching, they would have seen a girl in a slicker, her dark curly hair topped by an aviation helmet, leave the garage carrying two gasoline tins. these she took to the orchard and deposited them behind a couple of apple trees. her next movements were more puzzling. she walked back to the garage and around that little building to the side away from the main house. again her flash light was brought into play. this time she focussed it on the land to the side and rear and saw that the low wall which partly encompassed the orchard ended at the back of the garage. there was no obstruction between the drive at the side of the house and a rough field that sloped sharply down the valley whence she and betty had come. then she realized that the house and orchard lay on a plateau-like rise of land which jutted out into the valley from the main ridge, the ground dropping steeply on three sides. "well, the scenery couldn't be sweeter!" remarked dorothy. "now, i hope to goodness they've left the keys." it was blowing half a gale now, and rain in crystal rods drove obliquely through the flash light's gleam. she switched off the light and stuffed it into a pocket of her dripping slicker and beat her way against the storm toward the house. here she found the limousine, and hastened on toward the side porch. lying flat at the window once more, she saw that a fire had been started in the fireplace. the dapper person crouched before it, holding an iron poker between the burning logs. dorothy realized on the instant the fiendish torture those beasts were planning. she jumped to her feet and tiptoeing over the boards, raced for the car. her hand, fumbling on the dash, brought a faint jangle from a bunch of keys-"break number three!" she cried and slipped behind the steering wheel. as she switched on the ignition she brought her right foot down on the starter and when the powerful engine purred she fed it more gas and let in the clutch. the car rolled forward and she swung it round the corner of the house toward the garage, with her thumb pressed down hard on the button of the horn. "that'll bring them out!" she chuckled and slipping into high sent the car hurtling off the drive, headed for the field beyond the garage. an instant later she dropped off the running board while the limousine raced into the field and down the steep hillside to the valley below--and destruction. at the same moment dorothy heard shouts from the house and footsteps pounding on the gravel. she wasted no time peering after the car. turning on her heel, she flew round the garage and over to the rear of the house. the cellar door was open, betty was standing on the top step. "down you go!" panted dorothy. "take this flash and switch on the light--quick!" a slight shove sent betty stumbling down the stone flight and dorothy followed more slowly, bringing down the wide door over her head. "the light, betty, the light!" she cried. "b-but we can't go into the house--those men--" "never mind the men--do as you're told. i can't find the lock on this door in the dark. where are you, anyway?" "right here," said a small voice and the flash light gleamed. dorothy shot home the bolt and took the torch into her own hand. "come on!" without waiting to see if her order was obeyed, she ran to the stairs that led up to the first floor. at the top of the short flight, she found a closed door. she opened it and stepped into the kitchen, with betty at her elbow. locking the door behind them, she flashed her light about the room, then walked over to a table and pulled out the drawer. "here--take this!" betty stepped back as a large kitchen knife was thrust in her direction. "take it!" commanded dorothy and again the smaller girl unwillingly did as she was told. "but--but you can't mean we're going to fight them with knives," she spluttered, "why, dorothy--i just couldn't--" "don't talk rot!" dorothy's tone was caustic. "please cut the argument, now--i know what i'm doing!" betty trotted at her heels as she crossed the kitchen toward the front of the house, passed through a swinging door into the dining room. an arched doorway to their right, brought the hall into view, and beyond it, another door stood open, leading into the lighted library, where they saw its single occupant still tied to his chair. "go in there and cut him loose," directed dorothy. she pushed betty into the room and raced for the open front door. she heard the sound of voices from the drive as she neared the end of the hall. she could see the figures of two men just beyond the front steps. just as her hand reached the door handle, they turned in her direction and the black night was seared with the sharp red flash from an automatic. chapter iii in the conway house with the detonation of the gun in her ears, dorothy flung herself against the door and slammed it shut. her hand fumbled for the key, found it and sent the bolt shooting into place. about the house the rain-lashed wind howled and moaned like some wild thing in torment. her heart was pumping and her breath came in choking gasps. leaning against the solid oak door she pressed her ear to a panel. the noise of the storm muffled all other sound, but she thought she could detect the mumble of men's voices just outside the door. it was impossible to catch the words, of course, but the mere sound told the girl that they were standing on the small front porch. to her right was a sitting room. she hurried into it. a quick flash of her torch showed two windows facing the drive. she tried the catches. they were unlocked. she fastened them and ran out of the room, down the hall to the rear. the light from the library threw the staircase into silhouette. dorothy started for the dining room, but stopped short as the young man whom she had sent betty in to free, bounded into the hall. "hello!" he cried. "do you know where they are?" dorothy pointed toward the front door. "right out there!" "good! i'll fix 'em!" he raced up the stairs and she heard him running toward the front of the house. "betty!" she called. "come here!" "what is it?" answered that young lady's voice from the library. "george told me to stay in this room." "_george?_" exploded dorothy. she ran to the door and looked in. betty was toasting her soaking pumps from a chair before the fire. she turned her head when dorothy appeared and beckoned toward the blaze. "yes--george conway," she explained smilingly. "he owns this house, you see." dorothy's fingers pressed the wall switch and the electric lights went out. "well, you _are_ a fast worker--" was her comment. "dash over to those windows and see that they're fastened. then pile some of these chairs and tables in front of the french doors--anything will do, just so it's heavy. hurry--and when you've finished, go into the hall and stay there." betty stared through the darkness. "but george says--" "i don't care _what_ george says! the hall is the safest place right now." "well, why can't you help me?" grumbled betty. "suppose those awful men come before i've--" "they won't if you snap to it. i'm off to fasten the windows in the rest of the house." this last was thrown over her shoulder as she tore across to the dining room. after making the rounds in there she went into the kitchen. here she found a window open and the back door unlocked. it took her but a moment to remedy this, and she was passing back to the dining room when there came a terrific crash and reverberation from the floor above, followed by screams and curses from outside. she went out into the hall and another report from above shook the windows in their frames. betty, wild-eyed with fright, rushed into the bright arc of dorothy's flash light. "what on earth is it?" she cried in very evident alarm. "shotgun," said dorothy tersely. "if those yells meant anything, i guess we can take it that somebody's been hit." then she noticed that betty's left hand held an open compact, while in her right she clutched a small rouge puff. her ash-gold hair which she wore long had become unknotted and hung halfway down her back. her petite figure drooped with weariness. "gracious, betty! how in the wide world did you ever get rouge on the end of your nose? you're a sight!" "well, you turned out the light--" miss mayo's tone was indignant, as she rubbed the end of her nose with a damp handkerchief. "i think i'll run upstairs and spruce up a bit." dorothy looked at her and laughed. "come on up with me," suggested betty. "you don't look so hot yourself." "no, you run along and pander to your vanity, my child. when you've finished, why don't you go into the kitchen and make us a batch of fudge--that would be just the thing!" "why so sarcastic?" betty raised her delicate eyebrows. "well--what do you think we've run into--a college houseparty or something?" "oh, i think you're mean," betty pouted. "but you do choose the queerest times to spiff up!" "do you think those men will try to get in again!" betty's blue eyes widened. "if i didn't know that your head was a fluffball--but what's the use. run along now. it sounds as if george were coming down. hurry up--you might meet him on the stairs!" "cat!" said betty and flew. dorothy went to the door and listened. if the two men were still outside, they gave no sign of their presence. nothing came to her ears through the panels but the howl of the storm. then she heard footsteps running down the stairs from the second story and switched her flashlight on george. he carried a double barreled shotgun in the hollow of his arm. "howdy!" he greeted her enthusiastically. "you know, i can never thank you girls enough for all you've done. gosh! you're a couple of heroes, all right--i mean heroines. when i saw betty--i mean, miss mayo," he amended quickly with an embarrassed grin, "come sprinting into the library and begin to cut me loose, why i just couldn't believe my eyes!" "some wonderworker, isn't she?" dorothy contrived to look awestruck, but there was no malice in her amused tone. "you said it--she's a whizbang! and she told me you two came in an airplane. i've never met a girl aviator before. i guess she's a second dorothy dixon--you must have read what the newspapers said about that girl!" he shook his head admiringly. "betty sure has nerve!" "she has, indeed!" dorothy kept her face straight with an effort. "but tell me--what did you do to that crew outside?" "plugged 'em--clean. got a bead on them through a front window." "what? you--killed them? buckshot, at that distance?" george chuckled. "not buckshot--rock salt. use it for crows, you know. it stings like the dickens." "i'll bet it does!" dorothy's laugh was full-throated and hearty. "what's become of them?" she asked when she could speak. "they beat it around the house to the garage. do you know what happened to their car?" "yes. it ran away--down the lots to the bottom of the valley. and between you and me and the hatrack, i don't think it will ever run any more." "gee whiz!" chuckled george. "who'd ever think a little thing like betty would have the pluck to pull a stunt like that!" "who would?" said dorothy and joined in the laugh. "well, as long as their car is out of the running, they'll probably try to steal my flivver." george tapped his gun significantly, "but i'll put a crimp in that. they've got to pass the dining room windows to get out of here." "you needn't bother--the ford won't move." "sure it will." george stopped short in the doorway and turned toward her. "that car of mine runs like a watch." "but not without gas," explained dorothy. "i drained the tank into a couple of tins." "you did?" "sure thing. parked the tins in your orchard. they'll never find 'em." "say!" exclaimed george. "you must be almost as good as betty that is, i mean--" "who's taking my name in vain?" miss mayo was tripping blithely downstairs. "you two seem to be finding a lot to talk about." george stared at her. "say, you certainly look swell when you're dolled up." "well, it's the best i can do now," deprecated betty. "i borrowed a pair of your slippers though--woolly ones. that is, i s'pose they're yours?" "glad to have you wear 'em." george's eyes were still glued to betty's pretty face when dorothy broke in. "look here, we'll have to get down to business. george--listen to me. betty won't melt, you know--" "oh, i think you're terrible--" interrupted betty. her friend paid no attention, but kept on talking to george. "do you really think they've gone?" he nodded. "i'm pretty sure they have--that is, for the present. you can't do a whole lot when your hide is full of salt. i'll bet they're kiting down the road right now. maybe they'll stop in at the robinson's or somewhere and get a lift to stamford or ridgefield or wherever they came from. they may have some pals about here, of course. i sort of gathered that they weren't working on their own--that there was somebody in back of them." "well, at least we can count on a breather. let's go in the library and turn on the light. i'm tired of standing about in this hall and i want to dry out by the fire." in the library, george pushed a couple of easy chairs before the comforting blaze. dorothy cast aside her slicker and helmet and dropped into one of them. she kicked off her sodden shoes and stretching her legs toward the warmth, drew forth a comb and proceeded to make herself neat. george perched on the arm of betty's chair, and the two stared at the flames without speaking. at last dorothy put her comb away, turned to george and broke the silence. "it's none of my particular business, of course, but would you mind telling me the reason for all this rough house? why did those men attack you and tie you up--what were they doing around here?" george shook his head slowly. "hanged if i know," he said. "you don't know? but they seemed to be asking you questions--from what i could see through the window, it looked that way." "that's right. but--but--well, you two girls are real sportsmen. you've pulled me out of an awful mess. heaven knows i appreciate what you've done, but i just can't have you running any further risk on my account, miss--" "dixon," supplied betty. "i forgot you hadn't been introduced." george leaned forward. "do you come from new canaan?" he shot out. "of course, we live there," said betty. "and i want you to know that dorothy is my best friend. we're seniors at the new canaan high--if that interests you." "so _you're_ dorothy dixon, the flyer!" he exploded. "suffering monkeys! i didn't know i was entertaining a celebrity. why, you're the girl i was talking about--who--" "here, here--don't make me blush," laughed dorothy. "but don't you see? your being dorothy dixon makes all the difference in the world." dorothy's eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown. "i don't get you," she said. "i really don't know what you're talking about." "why, if what the newspapers say is true, you simply eat up this gangster stuff--a whiz at solving all kinds of mysteries." "nice lady-like reputation, what?" she mocked. "well, that's all right with me. because now--i have no hesitancy in telling you all i know about this queer business. you'll probably know just what to do--and you'll be a wonderful help." "how about me?" betty was a direct little person and seemed at no pains to disguise her feelings. "i don't think you're a bit polite, george!" "oh, i feel differently about you--" stammered that young man, then stopped short and looked painfully embarrassed. dorothy thought it time she took matters into her own hands. "don't be silly, betty, george knows how clever you are!" she flashed a mischievous glance at her friend, then went on in a serious tone. "and of course we're keen to hear all about it, george, and we'll do anything we can to help you. but your story will keep a while longer. i hope you don't mind my mentioning such a prosaic thing--but do you happen to have anything to eat in the house?" "oh, my gosh! of course i have--" he threw a glance at the clock and jumped to his feet. "it's nearly eight o'clock. you girls must be starved! sit right here and i'll bring supper in a jiffy. i was just about to eat mine when those two thugs dropped in and put an end to it for the time being." "i'll help you," offered betty, hopping out of her chair. "that's a good plan," decreed dorothy. "while you're starting things in the kitchen, i'd like to use the phone, if i may." "there it is, on that table in the corner," said george. "hop to it. i'll drive you home later in the flivver." "thanks, but i've got to have gas for my plane. we'll talk it over at supper, shall we?" she took up the telephone and the others hurried from the room. presently she joined them in the kitchen. "i called up your mother, betty, and told her you were spending the night with me," she announced. "dad is away, so i got hold of bill bolton and he'll be over here in about twenty minutes." "oh, fine--" began betty and stopped short as an electric bell on the wall buzzed sharply. for a moment they stared at it in startled silence. then george spoke. "somebody's ringing the door bell," he said slowly. chapter iv visitors "you girls stay in here--i'll go," continued george, his hand on the swinging door to the dining room. "no, you shan't!" betty sprang before him, blocking his way. "don't make such a fuss," said dorothy. "somebody's got to go. come here!" her long arm shot out and betty was held in a light embrace that seemed as unbending as tempered steel. "stop wriggling," she commanded. "this is george's job. did you leave your gun in the library, george?" "yes. i'll pick it up on the way." "better not do that. maybe it's one of your neighbors." "haven't any. none of the people around here come to see me." the bell buzzed loudly again, and continued to do so. someone was keeping a finger pressed on the button beside the front door. "i have a plan," dorothy announced suddenly. "betty, you stay here, and--" "and have them break in the back door while you two are in the front hall? no thanks--i'm coming with you, that's all." dorothy did not stop to argue. she hurried into the dining room and across the hall to the library, followed by the others. "look here," she whispered, picking up the shotgun. "slip on your jacket, george. that shirt will show anyone you've been in a fight. betty and i will go into the front sitting room. it's dark in there. turn on the hall light and open the door as though everything were all right, and you expected a friend. if it is someone you know, they won't see us in the sitting room. if it isn't--and they try to start something, jump back so you're out of line from the door to that room ... and i'll fill 'em full of salt!" "swell idea! a regular flank attack!" enthused the young man, struggling into his coat. "all set?" he switched on the hall light. the girls ran into the sitting room. dorothy stood in the dark with the shotgun pointed toward the hall and saw him turn the key and pull open the door. "good evening, george," whined a high-pitched voice. "mind if i come in for a minute or two?" "walk in, mr. lewis. bad night, isn't it?" george's face showed surprise but he swung the door wide and closed it with a bang as a tall figure, leaning heavily on a cane, shuffled into the lighted hallway. the man's bent back, rounded shoulders and the rather long white hair that hung from beneath the wide brim of his soft black hat, all bespoke advanced age. immensely tall, even with his stoop, the old man towered over george, who was all of six feet himself. although the night was not cold, he was buttoned to the chin in a long fur coat. dorothy caught sight of piercing black eyes beneath tufted white eyebrows. the long, cadaverous, clean shaven face was a network of fine wrinkles. "what say?" he cupped a hand behind his ear. "i said it was a bad night to be out in," shouted george. "what can i do for you?" "yes, that's it, my lad--there's something i--yes, it's a bad night--bad storm. listen, george!" "yes, sir." "what say?" "i'm listening, mr. lewis." "well, listen then." the sharp eyes peered up and down the hall. dorothy moved further back into the dark room. "your father had a lot of books, george--a very fine library." "yes, he had." "what say?" "i said he had." the old man shook his head. his high voice became querulous. "i know he's dead," he snorted. "i'm talking about his books." "they are not for sale," said george. "bless you--i don't want to buy 'em. but there's one i want to borrow." "which one is that?" "what say?" george's reply _sotto voce_ was not polite. he was getting impatient. "i want to borrow a book called aircraft power plants; it's by a man named jones." dorothy pricked up her ears. "all right," shouted george. "i'll try to find it." "what say? listen, george! speak distinctly, if you can. i'm not deaf--just a little hard of hearing. don't mumble--you talk as though your mouth was full of hot potato. that's a bad eye you've got--been in a fight?" george ignored this last. "listen--" he said, then stopped, controlling a desire to giggle as he realized his plagiarism. "come into the library, mr. lewis. i'll try to find the book for you." he took the old man by the arm and led him down the hall. betty crept over to dorothy. "do you know who he is?" she asked in a low tone. "mr. lewis, i gathered," said dorothy, straining her ears to catch the muffled sounds coming from the library. "_he_ talked loud enough,--quite an old gentleman, isn't he?" "old skinflint, you mean." "you've seen him before?" "certainly. i've seen him at our house. daddy knows him--says he's made a fortune, foreclosing mortgages and loaning money at high rates of interest. he's terribly rich, though you'd never know it by his looks." "that's interesting--wonder what he wants with george?" "came to borrow a book--that's plain enough." "almost too plain, if you want my opinion," dorothy said thoughtfully. "there's no use guessing at this stage of the game." "what are you talking about?" "oh, nothing much. can you hear what they're saying in the next room?" "they seem to be having an argument--but it's not polite to listen--" "polite, your grandmother! i'd listen if i could--but all i get is a mumble-jumble. i vote we go back to the kitchen. i want my supper. i'll feel better when i've eaten. this house gives me the jim-jams for some reason." "me, too," betty admitted ungrammatically. "fancy being alarmed at the sound of a doorbell!" "my word--and likewise cheerio!" dorothy turned the flash on her friend. "how do you get that way, betty? been reading the british poets or something?" betty blinked in the glare. "turn it off. no, i haven't. don't you remember the movies last night? the english duke in that picture--" she broke off suddenly and caught at dorothy's arm. "listen--dot, listen!" she whispered. from the rear of the house came a muffled pounding. dorothy shook her off. "i'll dot you a couple, if you take liberties with my name," she snapped. "and for goodness' sake, don't hold on to me that way, and stop that listen stuff! this isn't an earthquake--somebody's at the back door, and i'm going to see who it is!" "but suppose those men have come back?" "they're too well salted down," dorothy flung back at her. "i _fancy_ you'd better stay in here--if you're _alarmed_!" she crossed the hall to the dining room again and hurried through the kitchen with betty close on her trail. that young person apparently preferred to chance it rather than be left alone. dorothy went at once to the back door. "who's there?" she called, as the knocking broke out again. "it's bill bolton," returned a muffled voice. "is that you, dorothy?" she drew back the bolt and flung the door open. "hello, bill!" she hailed. "you're just in time for supper." a tall, broadshouldered young fellow wearing golf trousers and an old blue sweater which sported a navy "n" came into the room. he was bareheaded and his thick, close-cropped thatch of hair was brown. when he smiled, bill bolton was handsome. a famous ace and traveller at seventeen, this friend of dorothy's had not been spoiled by notoriety. his keen gray eyes twinkled goodnaturedly as he spoke to dorothy. "well, i should say you look pretty much at home," he grinned. "but then you have a faculty of landing on your feet. and how's betty tonight? thought i'd find you girls in a tight fix and here you are--getting up a banquet. terry walters was over at my house when you rang up, so he came with me. he's outside, playing second line defense. all sereno here, i take it?" "quiet enough now," dorothy admitted, "though it was a bit hectic, to say the least, a while back. call terry in, will you? i'm going to do some scrambled eggs and bacon now." she reached for a bowl and began to crack eggs and break them into it. bill stuck his head out the door and whistled. a moment later, a heavy set, round faced lad of sixteen made his appearance in the doorway. under his arm he carried a repeating rifle. "h'lo, everybody," he breezed, resting his rifle against the wall. "this is some surprise,--bill and i were all set to play the heavy heroes and we find you making fudge!" "not fudge," corrected betty. "honest-to-goodness food! dorothy and i haven't had a single thing to eat since lunch, except a lettuce sandwich and some cake at helen ritchie's tea over at peekskill this afternoon. we're getting supper now." "_we?_" dorothy's tone was richly sarcastic. "then, old dear, suppose you do some of the getting. i think i heard the front door shut just now, so that means that old mr. lewis has shoved off. you can go into the dining room and set the table.--bill, you're a good cook--how about starting the coffee? terry, be a sport and cut some bread--you might toast it while you're about it!" "whew!--some efficiency expert!" terry winked at bill. "where do they keep the bread box in this house, anyway?" "barks her orders like a c.p.o. doesn't she?" laughed bill, opening the coffee tin. then he drew forth a wax-paper wrapped loaf from an enameled container, held it up: "here's your bread, terry--catch!" the door from the dining room swung open and george came in. "well, george!" dorothy turned to the others. "here is our host," she explained and introduced him all round. "it's certainly white of you fellows to hustle over here," he said as he shook hands. "i appreciate it." "oh, don't mention it," grinned bill. "we seem to be rather late for the excitement." "well, if it hadn't been for betty and dorothy--" began george. "you'd have pulled yourself out all right," interrupted the latter young lady. "look here, supper's nearly ready, and since i've set everybody else to work, suppose i give you a job, too? take betty into the dining room and show her how to set the table, and you'll be a fine help." "say, it's great, the way you've pitched in here--did you have a hard time finding things?" "no, not at all. except--" here dorothy looked stern, "i don't approve of your housekeeping methods--i had to scour the frying pan twice, sir, do you realize that?" george hung his head. "gee, i guess i'm pretty careless, but--" the cook giggled: "mercy, you look downcast. i was only kidding, george. i think you're a fine housekeeper, honestly, i do. now you get a wiggle on with the table, please. these eggs are nearly finished. they'll be ruined if we have to wait." when the two had disappeared, dorothy dished the scrambled eggs into a warm plate and turned to bill and terry. "he thinks betty ran this job," she informed them. "they've got a crush on each other, i guess. so don't put him wise, will you?" "mum's the word," smiled bill, while terry nodded. "far be it from me to mess up love's young dream." "don't be silly," retorted dorothy. "but you know, betty's a darling. i had to be terribly cross with her all the time, just to keep her bucked up. but she's my best friend and i'm crazy about her." "she is nervous and high-strung, i know," supplemented terry. "i'll bet you had a sweet time with her." "not so bad. have you boys had supper?" "oh, yes, some time ago," answered bill. "that's good. i didn't want to use up all george's food. i'll let you have some coffee, though--that is, if you're good and don't kid those two in the other room." "cross-my-heart-hope-to-die-if-i-do." bill's face was solemn. "likewise me," declaimed terry. "i must have my coffee." "table's set," announced betty, popping in to the kitchen, closely followed by george. "eggs are finished and the bacon's fried," returned dorothy. "how about the coffee, bill?" "perfect--though i sez so." "_and_ the toast!" terry was busy buttering the last slice. "you know, lovers used to write sonnets on their lady's eyebrows--now, if they'd seen this toast!" dorothy shook her head at him. "that will be about all from you. come along, all of you--everything smells so good, and i'm simply ravenous." it was a merry party that gathered about the old mahogany dining table. bill began by teasing dorothy about her lack of foresight that sent her up on a flight without enough gas. she returned his banter with interest: the others joined in and for a time everybody was wisecracking back and forth. george was the first to bring the conversation back to current events. "i don't know mr. lewis very well," he replied in answer to a question of betty's. "he was a friend of my father's--at least father had business dealings with him. i thought i'd never get rid of the old boy tonight." "did you find the book he wanted?" asked dorothy. "jones' aircraft power plants, wasn't it?" "some book, too!" affirmed bill. "have you read it, conway?" "didn't know i owned it. the book--in fact, the whole library, was my father's. about all he saved from the wreck. when i couldn't find the book for old lewis, what do you think he said?" "'listen!'" dorothy's voice mimicked perfectly the old gentleman's querulous tones. everyone burst into laughter. "yes, he said that," george told her, "and a whole lot more." "i hate riddles," cried betty. "do tell us--" "why, he wanted to buy the entire library--and when i turned him down, he made me an offer on the house providing entire contents went with it!" betty laughed. "a good low price, i'll bet. mr. lewis is a terrible old skinflint." "i thought so, too, until he made me this offer." "do you mind saying how much?" dorothy never hesitated to come to the point. "twenty-five thousand dollars!" "seems like a lot of money to me!" was bill's comment. "a lot of money! i should say so." george cried excitedly. "why, this place isn't worth more than eight--possibly ten thousand dollars at the outside." "i smell a rat," said terry, "or to put it more politely, the old boy's offer has something doggoned stinking crooked mixed up in it." "to add to our cultured brother's oratory," said bill, "there certainly seems to be something pretty darned putrid in the kingdom of denmark!" "a whole lot nearer home, if you ask me," broke in dorothy.--"that old man--" "just a moment," begged bill. "your deductions, miss dixon, are always noteworthy. in fact, at times, the press of our glorious country has frequently referred to you as miss sherlock holmes, but--" "cut the comedy, bill!" broke in the object of this effusion. "what is it you're driving at?" "simply, as i was saying when so rudely interrupted, that your deductions and ideas on this business may be aland a yard wide, but except for what you shot at me over the telephone, both terry and i are wading about in a thick pea soup fog, so to speak. suppose you give us your account of these mysterious happenings. that should put us 'hep' to the situation, and then george can tell us his end of the story, why he got tied up by these blokes and all that." george did not appear cheerful. "but i don't know--" he protested. "haven't the slightest idea." "so dorothy said over the phone. but perhaps if you start far enough back--give us the story of your life, as it were--we may be able to dig out a motive." "at times you show positively human intelligence, bill!" dorothy yawned, without apology. "well, here goes! maybe if bill will let me get a few words in edgewise, i may forget i'm so sleepy!" chapter v the motive "and then i opened the back door and found you standing there, bill. phew!" dorothy ended with a sigh. "it's almost more of an effort in the telling than it was in the doing!" "i wouldn't believe it if i didn't know it was true," declared terry solemnly. "you've the great gift of stating things clearly, terry," remarked bill bolton. "in other words, why must you put in your foot every time you open your mouth? dorothy, my girl, you said your piece nicely." "i'm not your girl, thank heaven! if i was at all interested, i'd certainly burst into tears. please don't try to be humorous--it's painful, positively painful." "i guess i'd better begin my story," george decided diplomatically. "or somebody's likely to start throwing things. where do you want me to start?" "like this," volunteered terry, setting his empty coffee cup on its saucer. "'i was born an orphan at the age of four, of poor but dishonest parents....'" "'and until the age of thirteen and three-quarters, could only walk sideways with my hair parted in the middle,'" came george's quick follow up. "he's all right," decreed bill. "let him speak his piece, gang--this is going to be good." "of all the conceited nerve!" exclaimed dorothy. "do shut up and give george a chance," broke in betty heatedly. "i want to hear about it--and this is a serious matter, i--" "now you're the one who's stopping him," accused her chum. "for goodness' sake, get going, george--we've got to drive to new canaan some time tonight." "all right," said george. "if you people don't find it interesting, well, you've brought it on yourselves. surprising as it may seem, i was born at the usual age at 'hilltop,' that big whitehouse on the ridge, overlooking the other side of the reservation. father, you know, was an inventor. he was always an extremely reticent man and i realized as i grew older that he was very much of a recluse. he never spoke to mother and me about his inventions, but they must have brought him a good income. we kept up that big place and had plenty of servants, although we entertained very little. after i got through the nursery stage, i had a french governess and later a tutor. mother and i were great pals. she must have been a busy woman, for she superintended the running of our model farm and dairy, but she was never too occupied with her duties but what she had time to romp and play with me. i know now that she must have led a very lonely life. "my father spent nine-tenths of the time in his laboratory and workshop. he did not encourage friends or acquaintances and he never went anywhere with mother. he had but one hobby, his work, and although i know he was very fond of us, the work came first. even later, when i grew up, he never seemed like the fathers of other fellows i knew. it was his reticence and absolute absorption in those inventions of his that kept us practically strangers. "five years ago last spring, when i was twelve, mother died. her heart had never been strong--her going took the only person i really loved away from me." george was unable to go on for a moment, and betty caught his hand under the table and held it. the tenderhearted little girl was very near to tears. george smiled manfully, then went on with his recital. "sorry," he apologized for his show of feeling, "i never quite got over losing mother. my governess had been replaced by a tutor a couple of years before this, but now father decided i was to go to boarding school. so i was packed off to lawrenceville, a homesick, lonely little kid if there ever was one. i'd never been thrown with boys of my own age before--i guess i was pretty much of a young prig--but as the poet says, 'i soon learned different.' "during the holidays i used mostly to come back to hilltop. father never made a kick if i brought fellows back with me. we had the run of the place, which he kept up just as it had been when mother was alive. one thing was understood though: he must not be annoyed by my guests. there were saddle horses, for he rode regularly every morning before breakfast; cars to drive, and he also belonged to the club over at bedford, although i don't think he had ever seen the place. he gave me plenty of money to spend and always allowed me to accept invitations from other fellows to visit at their homes. altogether i had a pretty good time. the only trouble was that father never took any real interest in me. i was lucky enough to get my 'l' at football, but he never came down to lawrenceville--not even to see a game." "i've got your number, now!" cried terry, interrupting him. "you're stoker conway! i thought i'd seen you before. say, bill, this guy is too modest. 'lucky to make his letter,' i don't think! conway captained the lawrenceville team last season. my cousin, ed durham (they call him bull durham down there) played left tackle. i went down with dad and uncle harry last fall to see the princeton freshman-lawrenceville game." "i remember your telling about it," said dorothy. "somebody, i think, made a sixty-yard run for a touchdown." "i'll bet george did it," piped up betty. "he certainly did! and let me tell you, angelface, that your boy friend was the fastest halfback lawrenceville or any other school has seen in years. all american stuff--that's what he is. hard luck you didn't get to college this year, old man." "can't always have what we want," remarked george philosophically. "who won the game?" asked bill. "the one you saw, terry?" "why, lawrenceville, of course. smeared 'em--outplayed those freshies from start to finish and did it with a lighter team. thirty-three to nothing--think of it!" dorothy turned toward george. "stoker conway--i like that name, 'stoker.' how did you get it?" george grinned. "i was a grubby little mutt--my first term at lawrenceville. somebody pasted the name on me, and it stuck." "three celebrities at one table," sighed terry. "i knew we had two with us to-night--but a third! it's just too much. betty, you and i have just got to do something to make ourselves famous. there's practically no hope for me, i admit, but you will probably become a movie queen, when you're old enough--ash-gold hair and a baby doll face are all the rage on the screen!" "oh, i don't know," hit back betty, ignoring the laughter caused by this left handed compliment. "how about the fame you won in the diamond smuggling case? you got plenty of newspaper publicity then." this sally turned the laugh on terry, for as the three others knew, he had played anything but an heroic part in that episode. but terry was a jolly soul and his hearty laugh at his own expense joined with the others. "lay off, betty!" he cried, "that was one below the belt. what do you bet i spot the motive in this mysterious case of stoker's?" "see here, will you pipe down?" bill expostulated. "all you will spot is your clothes. keep quiet and quit waving your arms--you nearly upset my coffee. how can any of us learn anything unless you give stoker a chance to get on with his story?" terry suppressed a retort and george hurried into the breach. "here goes on the second installment, then," he said. "and it will probably interest you all to know i'm pretty near the end. let's see--where was i?" "last fall, at lawrenceville," prompted dorothy. "you couldn't get your father to come down there." george nodded. "yes, that's right. he never would come--not even when i graduated last june. i wrote him specially about it, but, well, he was having his own troubles about that time. before i came home i passed my finals for princeton. it was on the books that i'd go there this fall. "only i didn't," continued young conway rather solemnly. "father met me at the bedford station in the flivver when i came back. on the way up here he told me that reverses in business had forced him to sell hilltop. i knew, of course, that business conditions were pretty bad all over the country. but he looked ill and he had aged terribly since i'd seen him during the easter holidays. i was much more worried about his physical condition, he seemed so played out, so feeble. but when we drove into the yard and i saw this down-at-the-heels old house--well, i certainly got another shock." "it must have been terribly hard," sympathized betty. "especially after living all your life in the big place on the hill." "a bit of a comedown," acknowledged george, "but i don't want any of you to think i was ashamed of the place. if father had to live here, it was good enough for me. i felt so sorry for him, though. he'd never been much of a mixer, as i said, but when he did talk to a fellow he was certainly interesting, full of pep and vitality--and a sure hog for work. now all that was changed. he had no workshop or laboratory here. all day long and half the night he would sit reading in the library across the hall. if i spoke to him, he would answer 'yes' or 'no' to a question--but never volunteered anything on his own account. he seemed more like a man stunned--a man who realizes his life is a failure and no longer cares to go on. "the woman down the road who cooks and keeps the house clean told me he had moved in here the early part of april and that during the time before i came back, he had been exactly as i found him. "i wanted to get a job in the city. even though i couldn't get him to talk about his affairs, i knew he couldn't have very much money, living in a ramshackle place like this. but though i wanted to get out and earn some money, i realized i must stay with him for the time being--and i'm glad i did. father passed away in his sleep the night of july fourth. the doctor said it was his heart--like mother. "well, i guess that's about all of it. when the will was read i found that he'd left me everything. it amounted to two thousand dollars in cash, and this house and the sixteen acres that go with it. i stuck on here for the rest of the summer, trying to get the place in better shape; gave the house a couple of coats of paint, re-shingled parts of the roof, and have done as much as i could. i'm trying to sell the place, you know, and the agent told me i could never do it unless it was put in better condition. it looks pretty bad still, but i've worked like a dog. "and i forgot to say, that mr. lewis bought hilltop from father. he drops in here every once in a while for a chat. i know he's got a reputation for being a skinflint, but i sort of like the old man, anyway." dorothy, who had been absent-mindedly rolling bread pills on the table cloth, threw him a sharp glance. "what happened tonight, before we came?" she asked. "why, i was just about to get my supper, when the bell rang. i opened the door and those two guys jumped me." "not very subtle, were they? what do you suppose they were after?" bill looked inquiringly at george. "well, this is the funny part of it all. they said they'd come for the letter father had left for me to read after his death--" "and you didn't give it to them?" "i'd never even heard of such a letter. i told them so." "and they wouldn't believe you, eh?" "they thought i was bluffing, of course." "but how on earth--did they say anything about the contents of the letter?" this question came from dorothy. "no. simply that they wanted it--and they knew i must have it. what i can't understand is how they could be so sure that a letter exists--even if i'd known about it, i wouldn't have given it to them--but it's all as clear as mud to me." "has mr. lewis ever spoken to you about it?" "never." "have you any reason to suppose that your father might have left a letter for you--any idea that he might have had an important message to convey to you in that way?" "not the slightest. you see, i--" "look here," broke in terry. "do you think it possible that old lewis knew that your father wrote you that letter--and believes that it's in this house? he might have hired those thugs to get it from you, then when he found out they failed, he hopped over here himself and made that offer to buy your place, in order to get hold of it? there may be something valuable contained in it, and he wants to get it at any cost." "too crude," declared dorothy with a shake of her head. "perhaps he does want to buy it--but i doubt if he has anything to do with those holdup fellows. mr. lewis may be close but i'm sure he's a clever man. the very fact that he came here so soon after the fracas clears his skirts of trying to hold up stoker. as i say, he may want to get hold of the letter himself, but i'm dead sure he's not the nigger in this particular woodpile." "then who is?" terry wanted to know. "tell us that, and you'll win the fame you're after," chuckled betty. "just a moment," bill was speaking again. "if old lewis is as clever as you think he is, dorothy, then the smart thing for him to do would be exactly what he _has_ done!" "how's that?" "well, if he did hire those lads, he might figure that by coming over here, stoker'd begin to believe he was the man behind the gun. _but_, he might have realized that on second thought, stoker would discount the idea, for the very reason you have done so." "gosh!" exploded terry. "that's a stumper, bill. what are we going to do about it?" "that's the question--_can_ we do anything?" dorothy flicked a bread pill across the table. chapter vi cornered "there's one thing about it," bill bolton told the others seated at the supper table. "this letter that mr. conway is supposed to have written to stoker is at the bottom of all this queer business." "but that doesn't get us anywhere, does it?" objected terry. "we must find out what that letter's about. get hold of the underlying motive, you know." "say, you got that out of a detective story--'underlying motive'--i know you did." betty shook an accusing finger at him. "well, what of it? that's the thing we've got to do--and i guess it doesn't matter how you say it." "enter doctor watson!" bill grinned and winked at dorothy. "look out for your laurels, miss sherlock holmes!" "oh, come on--this isn't any jazz number," she returned with spirit. "what's your big idea, terry?" "why, hunt for the letter of course. when we find it, we'll have the--ahem!--underlying motive as well." "maybe. who's going to do the hunting?" "all of us. we'll each take a room, and--" dorothy laughed. "you're some organizer. suppose you start in with the library. it won't take you more than a week to go through all the books in that room!" "but listen, dorothy--" "don't be absurd. we'll have a hunt tomorrow, if you want. but betty and i have got to get home now--and anyway, i know where that letter is." the four about the table stared at her in unfeigned amazement. "_where?_" they cried in chorus. "i'll give each of you three guesses," she went on mischievously. "oh, don't be horrid," pleaded betty. "you know we're absolutely up a tree--" chimed in george. "come on and tell," invited bill. "how did you find out?" added terry. "simply by keeping my eyes and ears open," retorted the object of this wordy bombardment, "and by knowing that two and two make four, not sometimes, but all the time. every one of you has heard as much about this as i have tonight, and every one, excepting stoker, has kidded me because i found out some things about the bank robbery and that smuggling gang this summer. now you won't even take the trouble to think for yourselves. the whereabouts of that letter is clear enough; to be able to put our hands on it, is something quite different." "well, i apologize for us all," bill leaned across the table, "we were only kidding you--weren't we, betty?" "why, of course--she knows that, she's only trying to--" "come on, dorothy," terry coaxed her with a grin. "the letter is--?" george asked soberly. dorothy pursed her lips, then smiled. "in your father's copy of jones' aircraft power plants," she replied calmly. "find that book, which mr. lewis was so keen to locate that he offered to buy this house in order to get it--and you'll have the letter." "i believe you're right," conceded bill, "you generally are--but that book is going to take some finding, or i've got another guess coming." "if there really is a letter and it's in the book," said george, "mr. lewis must have hired those men." "not necessarily," returned dorothy, "but i'll admit it's possible." george's face wore a puzzled frown. "what i can't understand is why outsiders should know about this letter, when i have never heard of it." "and if your father really wrote a letter to you, and they knew it--why did they wait nearly three months before they tried to steal it?" bill shook his head. "it's beyond me." "and why did they start in using strong arm stuff right off the bat?" terry propounded this question to the table at large. "well, i think it is the most mysterious thing i ever heard of," said betty, struggling to stifle a yawn. dorothy stood up. "well, we can't talk about it any longer tonight. betty and i must be getting home." she turned to bill. "did you bring some extra gas for _wispy_?" she asked. "from the sound of things outside, the storm seems to be pretty well over. i don't want to leave the plane in that woodlot all night. some tramp might come across her and bust something." "i've brought enough gas to fly back to new canaan and then some. i'll go with you in the plane." "how about me?" betty looked surprised, yet oddly hopeful. "terry'll drive you home," said bill. george looked disappointed, but voiced no objection to the plan, and betty merely shrugged. dorothy spoke up quickly. "no, i think you'd better stay here tonight, terry. somebody ought to stay here with george ... pardon me, stoker! but as it's sunday to-morrow, there's no school to get up early for, and stoker can drive betty over to my house and come back here. bill and i will bring her over after breakfast and we can see what we can do to locate that letter." "good plan," agreed young conway enthusiastically. "i'll be back in less than an hour." "but who's going to wash all these dishes?" grumbled terry. "not afraid to stay here, are you?" said dorothy. "oh, if you put it that way i'll wash them," he retorted. "you do 'em tonight, and we'll do 'em tomorrow--but we really must be going now." ten minutes later, betty and george chugged out of the drive in his flivver. terry parked bill's car in back of the house, then he helped his friend to lift out the three large tins of gasoline they had brought with them from new canaan. "i'll take two," announced bill, "and you'll have to tote the other one, dorothy." "hadn't i better carry it down the hill?" suggested terry. "it's kind of heavy." "no, thanks, i can manage it all right." she lifted the can by its handle. "it's not so heavy. your job is to stay in the house. as it is, i hate leaving you here alone." terry waved them off. "i'll be all right," he scoffed. "i think we've got those guys buffaloed--for the time being, anyway." "keep your rifle handy," advised bill, "and don't open up to anyone except stoker." "you bet i won't." "good night, then--" "and good luck," added dorothy, switching on her flash. "good night, both of you--see you in the morning." he watched their light travel into the orchard and turned back to the empty house. dorothy and bill reached the rear wall of the orchard and came to a stop. although the storm had passed and with it the driving rain, heavy cloud formations obscured the stars. "better hop over the fence, dorothy," said bill, "then i'll pass these containers across to you. gee whiz! it sure is some black night. you came up this way, didn't you?" "yep." dorothy's voice came from the other side where her light was flashing. "hand over the cans. that's right." bill joined her and picked up his load again. "the ground slopes down to the valley from here," she said. "drops would be a better word, i guess. it goes down like the side of a roof. watch your step! this wet grass is slippery as ice." "i've found that out," said bill, sitting down suddenly. "which way is that woodlot trail from here?" he got to his feet. the tins had saved him from a bad tumble. "off to the right--down in the valley." "then let's steer off that way. take this hill on the oblique. it's easier walking. by the way, which side of the river have you got the bus parked?" "river? what river? i didn't know there was one." "well, there is. stone hill river, it's called. if you didn't cross it going up to stoker's house, the plane must be on this side." "you've got a master mind," she retorted and her light went out. "what's the matter?" "followed your example, and sat down." the light flashed on again. "aren't hurt, are you?" "don't be personal," she laughed. "how did you know there was a river down in the valley?" "why, i brought a map of the reservation with me--studied it on the way over while terry drove. we'd never have found that dirt road stoker's house is on otherwise. part of it is really in the reservation, you see. the concrete road from poundridge village that runs to south salem parallels it about a quarter of a mile to the east." "route 124," said dorothy, walking carefully for fear of slipping again. "i know that road. ever been in the reservation, bill?" "no--have you?" "when i was a little girl, we used to drive over, for picnics sometimes. i don't remember much about it, though, except that it's a terribly wild place--all rocks and ridges and forest. it covers miles. the state has cut trails and keeps them open, otherwise the woods have been left in their virgin state." "there are cabins, too, the map calls them shelters," bill informed her. "the state rents them to camping parties. well, it's quite wild enough to suit me right here. how are you making out?" dorothy was leading the way with her light. "fine, thanks. i'm on the level again." "glad to hear that you are," chuckled bill. "silly! i mean i'm on fairly level ground again. and look what i've found." her light flashed to the left and came to rest on the wreck of a seven passenger closed car. "good enough!" exclaimed bill. "those thugs won't do any more riding in that bus. see how the car smashed that big tree--it must have torn down the hill like greased lightning!" they deposited their gasoline tins on the grass and inspected the mass of twisted metal more closely. "hello!" ejaculated dorothy. "someone's been here before us." "how do you figure that?" "the license plates have been removed. i know they were on the car when i sent it down here. i was in such a rush i forgot to take the number, worse luck!" "too bad--now we won't be able to trace the owner." "oh, yes, we will. unless we've got an unusually clever mind bucking us, i'll bet we can trace it through the factory number and the number of the engine. give me a hand, bill. let's get the hood up." "master mind number two," grunted bill when dorothy's flash was turned on the motor. "him and me both, eh? the number plate has been removed, and the one on the engine chiseled off. those lads must have had a lovely time doing it, with their hides full of salt." dorothy switched off her light with a click. "_they_ never came down here, in their condition," she said decisively. "it must have been somebody else--probably the man who is back of them--or others of that gang." "old lewis?" "i don't know. of course, he himself couldn't have done this--" "yes, he's a bit too old to come traipsing down to this valley all alone in the dark." "too bad we've showed our light on the hill and around here just now," she said slowly. "you think they may still be in the offing?" "i hope not. chances are they don't know about the plane." "you'd better go back to the house," he advised. "i can lash two of these tins together and sling them over my shoulder. if there's going to be a shindy, you'll be better off up the hill with terry." "thanks a lot," said dorothy. "if there's going to be trouble, we'll go it together. anyway, you'd never be able to find the trail to the woodlot in the dark. it's great of you to suggest carrying on without me, but it just can't be done." "you sure are a good sport, dorothy." bill picked up his tins. "where do we go from here?" "follow me. and the less noise we make, the better." with bill close on her heels, she led across the clearing toward the dark line of trees on their left, winding her way around rocky out-croppings and stunted bushes that made traveling in the dark a difficult proceeding. "think you can find the cart road?" she heard him whisper. "it's black as your hat without the flash." "sure can," she replied cheerfully. "all we have to do is to turn right at the woods and follow them up the valley until we come to it. quiet, now--if anybody's, watching, we may be able to get by them in the dark." they had gone another twenty yards or so, when dorothy stopped suddenly and caught at bill's arm. "there's somebody behind that big rock to the left!" she whispered fiercely. "i'm sure i saw something move." "you sure did, young lady," announced a gruff voice close to their right. "tell your girl friend not to make a fuss, mr. conway. my men are all around you." a tall figure, hardly more than a blur in the darkness, stepped from behind a tree and came toward them. chapter vii raven rocks bill bolton dropped one of the gasoline tins he was carrying and grasping the other with both hands, hurled its heavy bulk at the stranger. the tin caught the man full in the chest. as he staggered back, dorothy felt herself seized from behind. a quick twist and pull sent her antagonist hurtling off to the right. it was not for nothing she had put in long hours mastering the complicated throws and holds of jiu jitsu, that strenuous art of japanese wrestling. she freed herself in time to see bill crash his fist into the face of a third man. "come on!" he yelled, and they raced for the line of trees. but their troubles were not over yet. straight ahead and directly in their path, another dark figure was leaping toward them. there was no time to dodge--to swerve. bill dove at the man, stopping him short and bringing him to the ground with a clean tackle just above his knees. the force of contact was terrific. for the fraction of a second neither the tackler nor his opponent moved. then as dorothy, trembling with excitement, bent over them, bill scrambled to his feet. "are you hurt, bill?" the girl's voice was breathless with concern. "no--only winded--" he gasped. "be all right--in a minute." dorothy gripped him by the arm and they trotted forward again, gradually increasing their speed as bill regained his breath. from behind them came the calls and angry shouts of their pursuers. all at once, the inky black blur of the woods loomed before them. "keep along the edge of this pasture toward the wood road," dorothy whispered quickly. "i'm going to start a false trail. maybe we can fool them. you get your breath--join you in a minute or two." she sprang into the underbrush, crashing over low bushes, snapping dead twigs and branches under foot with all the clatter of a terrified cow in a cane brake. then the noise stopped as suddenly as it started, and bill was surprised to hear her light footsteps at his heels. "i want 'em to think we're hiding in there," she explained hurriedly. "can you run now?" "you bet!" they sped along the edge of the wood, spurred by the thought that the ruse would delay their pursuers and perhaps throw them off the trail altogether. from their rear came the sound of a rough voice issuing commands. men were beating the underbrush, cursing in the darkness. both dorothy and bill had got their second wind and were running much more easily now. then dorothy tripped on the uneven ground and would have fallen had not bill thrust out a steadying hand. "thanks," she said jerkily as she ran. "look over my shoulder. lights back there." "wonder they didn't use 'em before," was bill's only comment. dorothy slowed down to a fast walk and bill also slackened his pace. "we must be nearly there," she panted, "though since we had to drop the gasoline, there doesn't seem much use hiking over to the plane." bill nodded in the darkness. "think we'd better get back to the house?" "yes; they'll never see us, especially now that they've got their flashlights going--that glare will blind them. i vote we keep on along the valley until we pass the wood road, then swing across this pasture again and up the hill till we strike the road. that will take us back to the conway place and--" "look!" bill's exclamation arrested her, but his warning was unnecessary. far above, a sudden rift in the clouds brought a full moon into view. the woods, the open pasture and the steep hill down which they had traveled almost blindly a few minutes before were now bathed in clear, silvery light as bright as day. as they dashed forward again, a shout from behind told them they had been seen. "stop or we'll fire!" "there's the trail, bill--it's our only chance!" men were calling to each other behind them and she caught the sound of heavy feet pounding along in their wake. as she and bill turned into the wood road and sped down its winding stretches under the arch of intertwining boughs, a revolver cracked several times in quick succession. overhead, the bullets went screaming through the branches. "shooting high to scare us," wheezed bill. "'fraid we're running into a dead end." "maybe not--this moonlight won't last--clouds too heavy." dorothy wasted no more breath in speech. her every effort was centered in keeping up with the long legged young fellow who seemed to cover the ground so easily and at such an amazing rate of speed. presently they swept out of the wagon-trail and into the glaring moonlight of the woodlot. shouts and calls from their pursuers but a short distance behind now, lent wings to their feet. at the far end of the open space, dorothy's amphibian lay parked where she had left it. "not that way!" warned bill and caught her arm as she started to swing toward the airplane. "straight ahead!" there was no time for argument. dorothy swerved and dashed across the lot, following his lead. straight ahead lay a narrow belt of woods which ended abruptly in precipitous cliffs towering upward almost perpendicularly for several hundred feet to the top of the ridge. what bill's plan might be, she could not guess. those sheer palisades certainly could not be scaled. what could his objective be? if they turned up or down the valley the enemy would be sure to hear them tracking through the thick underbrush. and there would be no chance of outflanking the pursuit, for the men were between them and the conway house. she and bill were trapped at last--trapped by walls of rock and the encompassing passing ring of the enemy. they reached the farther edge of the field where a hurried glance behind showed them that the men were plunging out of the wood road. then the moon, perhaps ashamed of the trouble he had brought them, swam away behind another cloud formation, and once again the world was sunk in darkness. bill's fingers gripped her hand. "follow me. walk carefully and hold your arm before your face. it's a case of feel our way till we get used to the gloom--and there's no sense in losing an eye." he led onward through the wood and although dorothy could see nothing but an opaque blackness before her eyes, bill never hesitated in his stride. with his hand behind his back, he pulled her forward as though guided by an uncanny knowledge of invisible obstructions in their path. "how do you do it?" she marveled. "don't tell me you can actually see to dodge these branches and tree trunks?" she heard him chuckle. "not _see_--feel. i learned the trick in the florida swamps last summer. osceola, chief of the seminoles, taught me." "oh, yes! he's a wonder in the woods. how is it done?" "tell you sometime. here we are--at the stone hill river. you'll have to get your feet wetter, i'm afraid, but it's only a small stream, not deep. we turn right, here." "golly, it's cold!" dorothy splashed into the water behind him. "brrr--i know it. lift your feet high or you'll fall over these boulders. and please try to make as little noise as possible." from the direction of the woodlot came a prodigious crashing and threshing. the pursuit had gained the woods. "noise!" she said scornfully, floundering along in his wake. "those thugs can't hear me--they're making too much racket themselves. i suppose, bill, you're working on a plan, but what it can be is a mystery to me." "you mean--where we're bound for?" "yes. we can't get back to the big pasture and the hill up to stoker's house. they'll head off any play of that kind." "i know that. stand still a minute, i want to listen." "but bill--" "sh--yes, that must be it!" "must be what?" there was impatience in dorothy's tone. "the waterfall i was trying to find." "you don't mean to tell me you're planning to crawl behind a waterfall and hide! honestly, bill, i--" "oh, nothing like that," he answered coolly, "the fall isn't big enough." "look here, will you _please_--" "all right, calm yourself. we haven't much time but i guess they've lost our trail for the time being. on the way over here in the car, terry told me something of the lay of the land. he's crazy about hiking, you know, and mountain climbing. he's walked all over the reservation and he knows it like his own back yard." "yes, yes, what of it?" "well, terry told me that there is just one possible way to get out of this stony hill river valley on this side. that is, unless one goes a mile or two up or down the valley. there are entrances to the reservation at either end--dirt roads that cross from the concrete turnpike over to this ridge above us." "but there is a way out?" "yes. a sort of trail up the cliffs. it's not marked on the map of the reservation. terry found it last summer. pretty tough going even in daylight, i guess." "but how on earth can we find it in the dark?" "terry told me that a smaller stream flowed into this creek at just about this point, and that it drops into the river gully by way of a low waterfall. it was the sound of that fall i was listening for. hear it just over there to the right?" "what's the next move?" "we turn our backs on the waterfall, and cross this stream. the trail starts in a kind of open chimney in the foot of the cliffs. the map calls these young precipices raven rocks, by the way. if you think it is too dangerous, we can let those chaps catch us. they'll probably let us go soon enough. they're trailing the wrong party, though they haven't realized it. what do you say?" bill's tone was non-committal. "i know, they took you for stoker conway. but don't you see, bill--" her tone was firm, "they must not find out their mistake. while they're tracking us, they will leave the conway house alone, and that'll give terry and stoker a chance to hunt for the book and the letter." bill's reply was flippant, but there was a note of relief in his voice. "chance to get a good night's rest, you mean!" "they're not going to bed--" dorothy pulled her companion toward the opposite bank of the stream. "terry told me so." "thank goodness we're out of that," she exclaimed a moment later as they climbed the steep side of the gully. "if there's anything colder than a trout stream, i've yet to find it. i'm soaked nearly to my waist--how about you?" "ditto. we'll be warm enough presently--just as soon as we hit raven rocks." "wish we had raven's wings--we could use 'em!" "listen!" bill stopped suddenly in his tracks. "don't _say_ that," she whispered--"reminds me of old man lewis!" "they're coming this way. i guess they got tired of beating the woods for us. take my hand again. we've got to find that chimney." they went perhaps ten paces more when bill brought up short again. "here's the cliff--wait where you are--be back in a minute." he drew his fingers from her clasp and she heard him move off. standing in utter darkness she could hear the men splashing toward them along the shallow river bed, and still others tramping through the woods with flashing lights that moved nearer every second. not once did her alert mind question the advisability of trying to scale raven rocks on a coal-black night. not once did she waste a thought on the danger of that perilous enterprise. dorothy dixon never counted the cost when it was to help a friend. her entire attention was centered on their pursuers. who they were, or why they sought george and his letter were points of little consequence now. all that mattered was that they be kept on their search for as many hours as possible. presently they would come abreast and their lights would pick her out at the foot of the cliff. the sopping skirt of her frock sagged about her knees, dank and clammy beneath her slicker. she gathered it in her hands and squeezed what water she could from it, more for want of something to do than for any other reason. no longer could she hear bill stumbling about. what could have happened to him? the lights were only a dozen yards away now. in another minute or two their glare would pick her up for a certainty. for the first time that evening, dorothy became fidgety. bill had told her to remain here. that was an order, and must be obeyed. but--oh! if bill would only come! chapter viii the chimney then on her right she heard a soft rustling, immediately followed by a low call: "dorothy, where are you?" the words brought her joyous relief. "coming!" she replied in a cautious whisper, and with her left hand feeling the almost sheer wall, she hurried toward bill's voice. from the darkness he grasped her hand and spoke close to her ear. "i've located the chimney, dorothy." "good! i was getting worried. is it far away?" "no. only a few steps." "what kept you so long, bill?" "had to find the rope." "what rope?" they were moving now in the direction from which he had come. "the one terry hid in a niche of the rocks. talk of hunting needles in a--" "but do we need it?" "couldn't risk the climb without it. you've never done any mountain scaling--i have." "well, what's the dope?" they had stopped and bill took her arm. "here--let me knot this end around your waist. first, ditch the slicker, though. you won't be able to climb in that. i'll take care of it for the present." he took her coat and she felt him make the rope secure. "i'm tied to the other end," he told her. "but what'll you do about my slicker, bill? if we ever get to the top of the ridge, i'll need it." bill was busy and didn't answer for a moment. then--"your coat and mine are rolled up and lashed to my back," he explained. "i'm going first. i know more about this kind of thing than you, and my reach is longer. may have to pull you up the hard places. don't be afraid to put weight on the rope when i give the word. but if you slip--yell." he did not say that a slip on her part would in all probability pull him with her to crash on the rocky ground below. bill bolton did not believe in being an alarmist, but she understood just the same. "thanks, i'll do my best, bill." "start climbing." his voice came from above her head and she felt a jerk on the rope. "this chimney is a fissure in the cliff, and it slants slightly upward, thank goodness. reach above and get handholds on the rock projections first. then pull yourself up, until you find a foothold. when you put your weight on your feet, press your legs against the side walls. that will keep you from slipping. take it easy and rest as much as you like. this kind of thing can only be done slowly." "i'm coming," dorothy said quietly and she pressed her body into the niche she could not see. "that's the stuff! i'll rest while you climb. and while you're doing it, i'll keep the rope taut and out of your way." dorothy was silent. groping in the darkness above her head, her fingers came in contact with a rough projection. it was little more than a small knob in the rocky side of the chimney, but she managed to get a firm grip on it with her right hand. her left found another projection slightly lower on the other side. she exerted all her strength and slithered upward. drawing her knees up she sought rests for her feet on the sides, but the rock seemed absolutely smooth. for an instant she was at a loss. then remembering bill's advice, she pressed her legs against the chimney walls and pushed. that her body moved upward so easily came as a surprise. it was hard to realize that sheer walls would give such a purchase. almost at once her shoulders were above the hand holds and she could raise herself by pressing downward until her left knee was planted on the same projection that she had gripped with that hand. braced firmly against the rock, she looked for higher hand holds, found them and soon was able to get her left foot on to the place where her knee had been. with her weight on that foot, it became a simple matter to plant her right in the opposite niche. straightening her body, she lay forward against the slanting cliff and rested. "go ahead, bill," she called in a low voice as soon as she could speak. "o.k., kid," came the prompt reply from overhead. "on my way." pressed against the wet rockface she could hear the scrape of his boots and the heavy breathing of muscular strain. her own thin soled shoes were sodden from the wet of the woods and pasture. worse still, the leather was bursting at the sides. and this climb would probably complete their ruin. by the time she reached the top, they would be beyond walking in at all. never again would she board her plane shod in pumps. "come along!" bill interrupted her soliloquy, and using the same tactics as before she continued to climb. the first drops of rain she had felt at the bottom of the cliff now increased to a steady downpour. dorothy became soaked to the skin. water from her leather helmet ran down her forehead, forcing her to keep her eyes closed most of the time. the cliff, wet and slippery from the preceding storm, was soon slick as a greased slide. twice she lost her foothold and would have fallen had not her sharp cry warned bill in time. how he managed to stick to his precarious perch and bear her weight on the rope until she found a grip on the rock again was more than she could fathom. each time she slipped her heart almost stopped beating. and the horrible emptiness at the pit of her stomach made her feel deathly ill. but she never wholly lost her nerve. climbing, then resting, she kept steadily on. but her strenuous exertions and the almost continuous strain on muscles ordinarily little used was wearing down her vitality. would this terrible climbing in the dark never end, she thought. her whole body ached, her arms and legs felt heavy as lead. wearily she raised her right hand seeking another hold. when she felt bill's fingers grasp her own, she started. the shock very nearly caused her to lose balance. "now your other paw," said his well-known voice somewhere above in the gloom. "that's the way--up you come." then before she really understood what was happening, dorothy was dragged higher until she was seated beside bill on a narrow ledge. his right arm held her tightly. he was puffing like a grampus. she wriggled and wiped the water and perspiration from her eyes with a wet, clammy hand. "sit tight--old girl," bill's words came in little jerks. "i know you're used to altitudes in a plane, but this is different. i guess you'll get a shock when you look below, so--steady." dorothy opened her eyes and was glad of his supporting arm. far below, at the foot of the cliff, pinpoints of light moved hither and yon, puncturing the darkness. "they know we're somewhere up here," he said softly. "heard you when you slipped, i dare say. well, we'll take some finding--and that's no lie," he chuckled. "why--i--i--had no idea we'd come so far," she stammered. "those lights look miles away." "three or four hundred feet, that's all." "funny--it makes me almost dizzy to look down there. you're right--it is different from flying altitude. bill, do you think they'll find the chimney?" "maybe. but they're not likely to try to use it--not tonight, anyway." "why not? we did it." "we were sure of a way up--they aren't. and i don't imagine they bargained for any blind climb up cliffs like these in the rain and darkness. they wouldn't mind slugging one of us with a sand bag, but when it comes to real danger, they'd count themselves out." "gee," dorothy giggled nervously. "i wish i'd been able to!" "count yourself out? well, i don't blame you, kid. nerve-wracking isn't the name for it. but you certainly stood up well. do you feel able to go on now?" "yes, i suppose so." her reply was rather weak. "then we'd better get under way. terry said the chimney was the worst of it and we are through with that now. it ends at this ledge." he helped her to her feet. "brrr--that wind is cold on wet clothes. if we don't get moving, we'll cop a dose of pneumonia, sure as shooting!" "you're a nice, thoughtful fella, bill," dorothy smiled grimly in his direction. "trouble is your thoughtfulness is oddly strenuous at times. is there much farther to go?" "we're more than half way," he assured her, "and from now on you'll get more walking than climbing." dorothy wanted to laugh but was too tired to do so. "lead on, macduffer," she cried gamely. "i'm lame, halt and blind, but i'll do my best to follow my chief!" "atta girl," he commended. "give us your paw again, we can travel better that way." "we'll travel, all right--that is, unless our friend terry is a dyed-in-the-wool fabricator." "hopefully not, as they say in the fatherland," he chuckled. he caught her hand in his and they started on a climb up the steep hill that ran back from the ledge. as bill had predicted, the going here was not nearly so difficult as it had been in the chimney. so far as dorothy could tell, the cliffs, which were covered with a grass-grown rubble, sloped in at this point, and at a much easier angle of ascent. whereas the chimney was almost perpendicular, here, by bending forward and aiding progress with occasional handholds on bushes and rocky outcroppings, it was possible to do more than merely creep forward. a slip, of course, would be dangerous. it would be hard to stop rolling, once started down the incline; and unless a bush or a boulder were conveniently in the way, a bound over the ledge would be inevitable--and then oblivion. she did not like to think about it. bill guided her up the incline and did so with uncanny accuracy, considering the darkness, and the fact that he had not travelled this trail before. she came to the conclusion that the worst was over, when he stopped abruptly. "sit down and take it easy," he advised. "this is where i've got to see what we're doing." "surely you're not going to show a light?" she asked in alarm, and sank down on the rocky ground. "have to," was his quick reply. "those guys below us know we're up here, so what does it matter?" "but i thought we were almost at the top." "almost, but not quite. look at that!" a beam of light shot upward from his torch, and turning her head, she saw a sight that sent her heart down to the very tips of her ragged, soaking pumps. they had indeed come to the top; but merely to the top of this steep hillside of bushes and rubble. where this ended, a few feet away, the naked rock towered almost perpendicular. forty feet or more from its base this wall jutted sharply outward, half that distance again. she sprang to her feet, an exclamation of dismay on her lips. this rock canopy above their heads, this absolutely unscalable barrier to their hopes extended in both directions so far as the eye could see. bill, who had moved several feet downhill, was flashing his light back and forth along the rugged edge of this roof of rock beneath which she stood. "how far does it go?" she asked in a small voice. "according to terry," he replied, "right to where the cliffs end--both ways--and without a break or a tunnel. but you can't walk along underneath very far, because this slant we are on is only forty or fifty yards wide. beyond it in either direction there's a sheer drop." "then--we're out of luck." her tone was entirely hopeless. bill laughed shortly. "where terry got down, we can get up--but it's not going to be easy--and that's sure fire!" chapter ix over the top "well! if you know the way out, why don't you say so?" dorothy flared in exasperation. "what?" returned bill vaguely. he was walking across the side of the hill, keeping beneath the end of the rocky overhang forty feet above his head. the light from his electric torch swept along the edge of this seemingly unsurmountable obstruction. then it darted out and upward as if to pierce the dripping night above. "did you speak?" he amended, looking back at her. "thought i heard you say something, but couldn't quite catch it." his voice was as sincere as the words he had just uttered, but dorothy's reply was caustic. "i said why keep the secret to yourself? all this stuff about how terry got down and we are supposed to get up is keeping me on pins and needles. if terry left a rope ladder or something hanging over the edge last summer, it must be gone by now." "no, he didn't use a rope ladder--" "well, it looks to me as if we'd have to fly up if we ever want to get to the top of this ridge! i don't know whether you're _trying_ to tantalize me--but you're succeeding, all right. for goodness' sake, bill, if you know the answer, tell me." "i'm sorry, dorothy," he called repentantly. he ran up the incline toward her. "i didn't mean to leave you in the soup--i ought to have realized--look, i'm awfully sorry," he repeated in sincere contrition. "oh, that's all right, bill." she was embarrassed now. "i had no business to get so shirty." under the light of the torch, their eyes met in a smile of friendly understanding. "but please tell me what it is you're trying to find?" "why, the tree--i honestly thought i'd told you about it before." "what tree?" she asked patiently. "the one that terry used to get down here. it's our only hope." "but i don't see any tree. if there is one, how is it going to help us?" bill took her hand and gave it a little pat. "come over here with me," he said, and led the way toward the spot where he had been standing. "but bill--there's no tree up there--" "wait until i get the light on it. there you are!" and there was a tree, after all. but instead of pointing toward the heavens like any other tree she had ever seen, this colorado spruce grew sideways out from the top of the cliff. with the exception of a few tufts on the top, its branches grew only on the upper side of the horizontal trunk, giving it more the appearance of a ragged hedge than an honest-to-goodness tree. "i get you," she said slowly. "the tree--and the rope." "aha! young lady, you're not so dumb as you'd sometimes like people to think!" "but is the rope long enough?" "hope so. terry claimed he used it double." "yes?" she said doubtfully. "but will the tree hold us both? you've been a sailor, but i don't think i'm up to climbing a swinging rope, hand over hand after coming up that chimney." she thought for a moment, then went on. "there's only one way i can get up there. you'll have to tie one end of the rope to a stone and sling it over the trunk. when that end drops, we can take out the stone, i'll stick my foot in the loop and--" "bill bolton pulls you up," he ended for her. "that listens well, dorothy, and if the rope was running through a pulley up there, everything would be hunky-dory. as it is, she'll be chafing against a hard, uneven surface. i'd probably pull the tree down, even if i was able to get you off the ground." "but my arms feel dead--right up to my shoulders." "i know, kid. but you can do it, after i fix the rope and you have lashed your end to this big bush here. it's going to be a case of shin for you, not hand over hand climb. although that's not so hard when you know how. like most things, there's a knack to it." "all right. i'll do my best." "you'll make it," he assured her. "if you'll untie that end of the rope from around your waist, i'll hunt up a rock and we'll get busy." presently a heavy stone was fastened to the rope end. "stand clear," sang out bill. then as she stepped back, he swung the stone round and round in a vertical circle, much as a seaman heaves the lead for a sounding. up went the stone and the rope, and dorothy watched with bated breath while she pointed the torch for guidance. she saw it swing over the tree trunk and drop to earth on the farther side. "snappy work, bill," she applauded. "who goes first? you or me?" "this is a case where gentlemen take precedence. i'll go first--and show you a little trick they teach midshipmen at annapolis." he untied the knot which held the stone and bringing the ends together pulled the rope until the lengths on both sides of the trunk were even. "so long," he breezed, "see you anon!" with a hand on either rope he swung himself upward, seemingly without effort. it was as though he were lifting a penny-weight rather than one hundred and seventy-five pounds of solid american bone and muscle. then with a quick movement he twisted the slack ends about his thighs, and the girl was amazed to see him let go both hands and wave. "it's a way we have in the navy," he laughed. "quite a comfortable seat--if you know how. skirts are rather in the way, so i don't advise you to try it. although i must say in parting that you have already parted with the greater part of your skirt." dorothy giggled. "what of it? there's a perfectly good pair of bloomers underneath." she was amused by his fooling, though she suspected he was trying to put heart into her. bill coughed. "finicky persons of british extraction might claim that your last statement was a decided bloomer itself--but i digress--" he went on, in the manner of a barker at a side show. "laydees and gen-tel-men--i wish to state that william bolton, late tiddledywinks champion of the nutmeg state, is about to give his famous impersonation of a monkey on a stick!" his hands grasped the ropes above his head. up came his body, the turns about his thighs providing an apparently comfortable seat or purchase, while his hands shot upward again. the speed with which he went through these movements was remarkable, the swiftness of his passage up the ropes only comparable to an east indian running up a cocoanut palm. before dorothy could believe her eyes, he was sitting astride the tree trunk, hauling up the rope. "that was marvelous!" she called up to him. "some day you'll have to show me how you do it." "o.k.!" she saw now that one end of the rope was coming slowly down again. as it sank nearer, her torch brought to view the fact that it was knotted every few feet. soon she was able to catch the swinging end. "make it fast to that bush," he commanded. she did as she was told and turned to him for further orders. bill pulled the rope taut, then lashed his end about the trunk close to the point where the tree jutted out from the rock. that done he slashed the loose half free with his knife just above the knot. "that gives us a hauling line," she heard him say. "i'll hang on to this end--you knot the other about your waist." she caught the end that he threw down and after fastening it securely about her, peered up at him again. "all right for me to shin up?" she asked, with a hand on the knotted rope that was to act as her ladder to the dizzy height above. "wait till i get back on terra firma--this tree won't stand our combined weights." perhaps a minute elapsed. then she heard his voice again, though she could no longer see him. "come ahead!" he directed. "sing out when you start and let me know if i pull too hard." dorothy switched off the light and slipped the torch down the back of her frock where it was caught in the blouse made by the line about her waist. "ready!" she called and grasping the taut rope, she started to shin up. almost immediately she was helped on her way by a steady pull on the line bill was holding. the going was difficult but the knots held her and kept her from slipping. notwithstanding aching arm and leg muscles, it was surprising how easily she was able to hoist herself upward with the added pull from above. the actual distance to be climbed was not so great, but it seemed unbelievably soon when her hands touched the tree trunk. bill called a warning. "get a good purchase around the rope with your legs, then lift your arms--take hold of the branches on top of the trunk and heave!" she felt a stronger pull on the rope; her hands grasped two upright branches and she was dragged upward and on to the tree. bill caught her under her arms and swung her on to the rock. then he picked her up bodily and carried her back a few yards from the edge of the chasm. "hurray! we're up!" he gasped and let her down on solid ground. dorothy did not reply. for a moment speech was beyond her. she sank down on a boulder. after a little while she untied the rope that belted her and producing the electric torch, handed it to bill. "snap on the light, will you?--while i take stock of the damage. i know i'm a wreck, but it's just as well to learn the worst at once." "rather rumpled," he pronounced as he complied with her request. "good night! you've only got one shoe!" "lost the other coming up the rope. this one is no good either. what's left of it is just a mass of soaking pulp." then she laughed softly as she brushed some spruce needles from her knees and picked a malicious little bit of flint from the palm of one hand. her wet skirt was in ribbons. she saw that her stockings were a mass of ladders now, and she had a suspicion that her knickers were torn. but what did such trifles matter when one was bent upon a great achievement? "pretty bad," she admitted and stood up on one foot. "hand me my slicker, please. this rig is beyond repair--that will keep some of the wind out. gee, it's chilly!" "and wet," he added grimly, as he helped her into the coat. "sorry to have to remind you, dorothy, but we've got to be on our way, again." "i don't think i can go any further, bill." he knew this to be a candid statement of fact, not a complaint. "but we must, dorothy. they are coming after us, you know." "not up this cliff! unless, you mean--" her voice was troubled, "the rope! could you slide down ours and untie that from the bushes, then shin up again?" "i could, but it isn't necessary. they aren't coming that way." "is there another way?" "yes, for them. by the road across the valley and around by either of the entrances to the reservation." "why are you so sure?" "because while i was out on the tree trunk, i saw lights going up the hill. then a car which evidently had been parked down the road from stoker's house, started off toward the boutonville entrance. which means, of course, that they'll motor in on the boutonville road. that crosses the reservation. then all they've got to do is to leave the car at the mouth of the fire tower trail and hike down here along the top of the cliffs. they've cut off any retreat down the cliffs on our part, too. those birds intend to catch us--or rather, they want to get hold of stoker pretty badly. they've left men down in the valley, i saw their lights." "well, it will take them some time to walk over here from the boutonville road," dorothy said wearily. "i'm going to sleep. i've got to." "you can't--not in this rain. and you're soaked through into the bargain." bill's tone was firm. "wait a minute--i've got an idea." dorothy, who was half dozing with her back to the boulder, opened her eyes with an effort. she saw him draw forth a paper from his pocket, unfold it and study it with the aid of the lighted torch. "this is a map of poundridge reservation," he explained. "here's a trail that leads back from raven rocks to the spy rock trail. this end of it must be about a hundred yards along the cliffs to our left, if i've got my bearings right. listen, dorothy! these two trails meet about a mile and a half from here--and close by is a cabin. it's marked shelter no. 6 on the map. once in there we'll be under cover. these shelters are rented to campers during the summer, you know. there's sure to be a fireplace. i'll find the dry wood and we can dry out and get warm." dorothy yawned and shut her eyes again. "no use, bill. i hate to be a short sport--but i'm just all in. chances are we'd find the cabin locked when we got there." bill put the map back in his pocket. "i don't blame you," was what he said. "i'm used to roughing it and i don't feel any too scrumptious myself. but we've got to do something. the gang will be here in less than an hour. but i must admit that i don't see how you're going to walk a mile and a half with only one shoe." he looked down at dorothy. she was fast asleep. chapter x ol' man river "poor kid! she certainly is all in," bill muttered in a tone that was close to despair. what on earth was he going to do now? the wind had stiffened and heavy rain slanted out of the east in an unremitting deluge. both of them were soaked to the skin under their slickers. despite his vigorous cliff-climbing, bill was chilled to that dorothy, huddled against the boulder, was shivering in her sleep. he himself was weary and heavy-eyed. his vitality was at low ebb. but with a sudden exertion of latent will power he got painfully to his feet. he bent over the sleeping girl and taking her by the shoulders shook her back and forth. "wake up, dorothy!" he called. "wake up!" deep in oblivion, she made no answer. bill shook her harder. "leave me 'lone," she murmured drowsily. "want sleep--go 'way!" putting forth his full strength, bill lifted her until she stood leaning against him still sound asleep. bringing her arms up and over his shoulders, he pivoted in a half circle. now that his back was toward her, he bent forward, and catching her legs, drew them over his thighs. dorothy, still oblivious to all that went on, was hoisted up into the position called by small children, "riding piggy-back." though slender, she was well-built and muscular, and he was surprised at her dead weight. with his forearms beneath her knees, clutching the lighted torch with one hand, he moved slowly off with her in the direction of the raven rock trail. after some little trouble he found it, a narrow swath cutting back through the forest at right angles to the top of the cliffs. without hesitation he began to follow the path. overhead the twisted branches met in a natural arch. it seemed even darker below their dripping foliage than in the open on the cliffs, and the feeble ray from his flash light penetrated but a few feet into the yawning black ahead. it was heavy going with dorothy's solid weight on his back. the uneven ground, sodden with rain, was slippery where his feet did not sink in the muddy loam. and at times he was near to falling with his burden. the trail followed a snakelike course. for a time it wound over comparatively level ground, then dipped steeply into a hollow. the girl was becoming heavier by the minute. bill stuck it out until they topped the opposite rise, then let her down. dorothy awoke with a start. "what are you doing?" she cried. "where am i?" "so far as i can make out, we're about half a mile down the raven rock trail," he said slowly. "and--and you carried me all this way?" "piggyback," he replied laconically. "why, bill! you must be nearly dead--" "well, there have been times when i've felt more peppy--" "how could you, bill? why didn't you wake me up?" "tried to--but it just wasn't any use. you couldn't have walked it, anyway--with only one shoe." "oh, yes, i could. but you were sweet to do it, only--" "better climb aboard again," he suggested, ignoring her praise, "we've got all of a mile to go before we get to the cabin." dorothy made a gesture of dissent. "thanks, old dear. i'm going to walk." "well, if you feel up to it--you take my shoes--i'll get along fine without them in this mud." "i'll do nothing of the kind. i've got a better plan. stupid of me not to think of it before. hand over your knife, please." dorothy cut two long strips, six or seven inches wide, from the bottom of her slicker. "i'm going to use these to bind up my feet," she explained and handed back the knife. "wait a minute!" bill seized his own raincoat and cut two wider strips, which he folded into pads. "sit down on that stump, and hold up your hoof," he ordered. "i'll show you how it's done." dorothy hopped to the stump and after seating herself, kicked off her remaining shoe. "there goes the end of a perfect pump," she chuckled. "think i'll keep it for luck," declared bill. she raised her eyebrows and laughed. "some girls might think you were becoming sentimental--you, of all people!" "well?" "well, i know it's only because you were born practical. you want that shoe so as to prevent anyone else from finding it, the men who are chasing us, for instance?" "i never argue with members of the opposite sex--that's why i still enjoy good health." he grinned and pocketed the shoe. "hold up your foot, young lady. it's a lovely night and all that, but we're going to get out of it as soon as possible." he placed one of the folded pads beneath the sole of her foot and wound a strip of slicker about it and the foot bringing the ends together in a knot about her ankle. "now the other," he prompted, and dealt with it in the same way. dorothy stood up and took a trial step or two. "wonderful!" she said. "i could walk to new york in these. they're a lot more comfortable than the shoes i ordinarily wear." "we'll have to patent the idea." "that reminds me, bill," dorothy spoke slowly. they were moving along the trail again. "do you think the letter mr. conway is supposed to have written stoker could possibly have had anything to do with patents?" "what patents?" "oh, i don't know exactly--patents belonging to mr. conway." "you mean--which he left to stoker?" "why, yes. mr. conway was an inventor. he must have patented things." "very probably. but stoker told us that his father's entire estate amounted to the place he's living in and a few thousand dollars. if mr. conway still owned patent rights on his inventions, why weren't they mentioned in the will?" "you think, then, that he sold them before his death?" "looks that way," summed up bill. "anyway, if there were patents, they'd be registered in washington. it wouldn't do anyone any good to steal them." dorothy tramped along beside him. except for the sound of their footsteps squishing in the muddy path and the drip of the rain from wet leaves and branches, the woods were very still. "what can those people be after if it isn't the patents on mr. conway's inventions?" she said in a puzzled tone, after a pause. "search me--what ever it is, the thing must be very valuable. they'd never take all this trouble otherwise." "give us all this trouble, you mean. and here's another riddle, bill. why was hilltop sold?" bill threw her a glance and shrugged. "ask me something real hard," he suggested, "you're the sherlock holmes of this case. i'm only a mighty dumb doctor watson. and i'm no good at problems in deduction, even when my thinkbox is moting properly--which it isn't at present." "but there must have been some good reason for the sale of that property," she persisted. "when stoker went back to lawrenceville after the easter holidays last spring, everything at home was going on just as usual--a big place, servants, cars, horses, plenty of money--everything. then he came back from school in june, and all that everything just wasn't!" "and father had moved into that dump on the stone hill river road with a part-time maid-of-all-work, and that 1492 flivver.... deucedly clear and all that! by the way, do they teach english or just plain connecticut yankee at the new canaan high? your use of words at times is more forceful than grammatic." "grammatical for choice. you're not so hot on the oratory yourself, bill. people who live in glass houses, you know--?" "wish we were in one," was his reply. "anything with a fire and a roof that sheds water would suit me just now!" "what are you trying to do, bill, evade my question?" dorothy's nap had done her good. though still weary and stiff, she felt tantalizingly argumentative for all that she was wringing wet and horribly chilly. talking helped to keep up her spirits. just ahead their torch revealed a branching of the path. "the map says we keep to the right," announced bill. "it's only a step over to the spy rock trail now." "glad to hear it--but it seems to me you _are_ trying to evade my questions!" "questions?" he chuckled. "they come too fast and furious. and to be honest, how can you expect me to guess the right answers when you don't know them yourself? you certainly are the one and only human interrogation point tonight." "and you're so helpful," she retorted. "this is the most mysterious affair i've ever been mixed up in." "here we are at the other trail, praise be to allah." "turn to the right?" she asked. "that's it. in about a hundred yards we ought to run on to a path leading off to the left. that leads to shelter no. 6. the cabin's quite near now, if this map in my pocket's any good." they trudged along the trail and a couple of minutes later in the dim glow from the flash they saw an opening in the trees. "come on," he said, quickening his pace. "we'll be under cover in a jiffy." "we'll probably have to break in." dorothy caught up with him as the path swung round in a quarter circle to the left. "no, we won't," he replied, catching her arm and coming to a halt. at the same time he shut off the electric torch. straight ahead in the darkness they could make out the blur of a small building. through a chink in what they took to be a closed shutter came a thin ray of light. "somebody's got there ahead of us," bill observed more to himself than to dorothy. "what are we going to do?" "do? what can we do but knock them up and ask for shelter?" "i guess you're right," she admitted. "neither of us can go on until we've had rest and a drying out." "that's how i look at it." "we've got to go easy, though. remember what i trotted into with betty at stoker's house?" "where do you get this 'we' stuff?" he said rather gruffly. "here, take this gun and get behind a tree. i'm going over there. if they get nasty when they open up, i'll sidestep--and you can use your own judgment." "i'll use it right now, bill. i'm going to the house with you. don't argue--" she started on along the path. bill caught up with her. "take the automatic, anyway," he shoved the gun into her hand. "shoot through your pocket if you have to. better keep it out of sight. stand to one side just out of the line of light when they open. all set?" "go ahead." dorothy's right hand gripped the revolver in her pocket. she slipped off the safety catch, pointed her forefinger along the snubnosed barrel and let her middle finger rest lightly on the trigger. rat-tat-tat--rat-tat-tat. bill's fist pounded the cabin door. there came a pause. she felt the quickened beats of her heart. rain pounding on the gutterless roof dripped in a steady trickle on her bare head and down her neck. from somewhere nearby came the mournful cry of a hoot owl. bill knocked again. within the little house they heard the sound of footsteps. dorothy stiffened. the bolts of the door were withdrawn, the door opened and dorothy stepped up beside bill. framed in the lighted rectangle was an ancient, white haired negro. he peered out at them from beneath the cotton-tufts of his eyebrows, blinded for the moment by the night. "good evening, uncle. can we come in out of the wet for a little while?" bill's tone held the gentle camaraderie of those brought up by darky servants in the south. "lordy, lordy--white folks, an' drippin' wet!" exclaimed the old fellow, straightening his bent back and smiling pleasantly. "walk right in, capt'in--and you, too, missy. ol' man river ain't got quarters like you is prob'ly useter--but it's dry and it's warm, an' yo-all's sho' is welcome!" chapter xi mr. john j. joyce "thank you, uncle," said bill and motioning dorothy to go first, he stepped across the threshold. the old darky slammed the door shut behind them blotting out the storm, and sent the bolt home. "yo'all go over ter the fire an' drip," he beamed, pointing to the blazing logs in the fireplace of native stone. "lordy, lordy, you chillen is sho' 'nuf half drown'. but we's gwine ter fix dat sho' nuf in a jiffy." while the two warmed their hands at the hearth, he bustled off towards the rear of the cabin and disappeared through a doorway that led into another room. dorothy looked at bill and smiled delightedly. the cabin was primitive though there was a cozy and homelike air about it. the chinks between the bark of the logs which formed the walls were stuffed with dry moss and clay. there was no ceiling to the room. one looked up through the cross beams clear to the gable of the slanting roof. from these sturdy four-by-fours hung half a ham, several bunches of onions, a pair of rubber boots and other oddments. wide boards had been laid across them in a couple of places, evidently to provide holdalls for other paraphernalia. the small room's principal article of furniture was a rustic, handmade table. three stools without backs and an armchair of like manufacture completed the furnishings if one did not count several shining pots and pans that hung on nails driven into the logs and a huge pile of kindling that took up an entire corner. a steaming kettle hung from a crane over the fire and the floor of the room flaunted a large mat woven of brightly colored grasses. "he keeps everything as neat as a new pin," dorothy whispered. "isn't he perfectly sweet?" "wonder how he happens to be here," said bill. "this shelter is state property." "shush--he's coming." the old darky ambled into the room again, grinning from ear to ear. ol' man river, as he called himself, quite evidently enjoyed bestowing hospitality. over one arm he carried a bundle of clothes. "ise mighty thankful dat yo'all come 'long dis evenin'," he exclaimed. "it sho' do get mighty lonesome up in dese hyar woods--speshally on a black night when de rain come an' de wind howl roun' dis cabin. i brought you all some clo's. 'twant much i could find, jes' overalls and shirts, like what ise got on. but dey is dry and dey is as clean an' sweet as soap and rainwater can make 'em." dorothy took the faded blue flannel shirt and overalls he held out to her. "thank you, uncle. you certainly are kind and thoughtful, but it's a shame to use your clean clothes this way." the old man's grin grew wider, his even white teeth gleamed in the wrinkled black of his kindly face. "don' you menshun it, missy. dese clo's ain't nuffin. dey ain't no tellin' what's gwine ter happen ef you don' hop inter de back room an' take off yo' wet things. while yo' gone, de young genneman can change. an' ol' man river, he's gwine ter dish up supper. now, missy, run away or yo'll sho' catch yo' death in dose wet things." dorothy hurried into the back room and closed the door. on a little table she saw an old fashioned oil lamp with a glass base and an unshaded chimney, which cast a cheerful glow of light over a home-made bed which filled one side of the cubicle. as she sat down, she found that instead of a mattress, the bed boasted fir and hemlock boughs, scented and springy to the touch. several khaki-colored army blankets were neatly rolled at the foot of the bed. a row of hooks behind the door and rudely fashioned shelves which extended the breadth of the partition between the two rooms, completed the appointments of ol' man river's bedroom. dorothy saw that the partition did not rise clear to the peak of the roof, but ended at the crossbeams. the sound of bill's voice and the old darky's came over the top, and a most appetizing odor of coffee and frying ham. it was just then that dorothy realized how famished she was. a glance at her wristwatch showed that it was a quarter past midnight. she continued to strip off her wet clothes and the wrappings from her feet. picking up a couple of flour sacks from the stool by the shuttered window, she gave herself a thorough rub down. the home-made towels had been washed until they were soft as linen, and they sent a pleasant glow of returning circulation throughout her tired body. warm and dry once more, she donned the overalls and shirt and drew on a heavy pair of gray wool socks. though the overalls needed turning up and the shirt was too long in the sleeves and more than a trifle wide across her shoulders, it was on the whole a warm and comfortable outfit. she rubbed her short, curly hair dry, then combed it into place before the cracked mirror which stood on the wall shelf. a deft application of powder and rouge from her ever-present compact completed her simple toilet. there came a knock on the door and bill's voice told her that supper was ready. "coming!" she called. picking up the sodden heap of clothes from the floor, she blew out the light, opened the door and marched into the other room. "transformation!" bill saluted her gaily. "how about it, uncle abe? you'd never take her for the same person, would you?" the old man, who was bending over the hearth, turned his head toward her and smiled. "roses," he said, "roses in june!" dorothy laughed outright. "thanks for the compliment, uncle abe, but i'm afraid these roses came out of a compact." she hung her wet clothes over a chair, near to bill's. "den i should'a said, fresh as a rose," the old darky chuckled. "and not half as dewey as when you let us in," added bill. "by the way, dorothy, let me introduce our host, uncle abe lincoln river--known to the world at large as ol' man river, but to his friends he's uncle abe. and the young lady who is parading around in your clothes, uncle, is miss dorothy dixon of new canaan, known to many people as i-will-not-be-called-dot! she looks kind and gentle, but if you value your life, never take her on in a wrestling bout. she's sandow, the terrible greek and the emperor of japan all in one." dorothy waved him aside. "get out of my way, slanderer!" she cried. "i want to shake hands with uncle abe. dry clothes seem to have gone to his head, uncle." the aged negro stood up and took her outstretched hand between his horny palms. "why, i'se read about yo'all when i worked fo' misteh joyce, missy. dey uster let me hab de papers after de folks up dar ter de big house done finished wid 'em. airplanes, robbers, ebbryt'ing!" ol' man river shook his head. "sho' wuz tuk back some ter see what ladies kin do dese days, ma'am!" "well, then you must have read about mr. bolton, here, too? bill bolton, the flyer--?" "dat's so, ma'am. i done heard tell o' dis genneman, too!" he turned his rolling eyes in unfeigned admiration upon bill. bill glared at dorothy. "oho! so you put the spotlight on me, do you?" he cried in pretended anger. but ol' man river motioned toward the table which was set with tin cups and plates and a very much battered metal coffee pot. "supper's ready, missy. i'se sorry i ain't got a cloth. 'p'raps yo'all won't mind dis time. now if yo' an' marse' bill will tak' yo' chairs, i'll serve it up quicker dan whistlin'." "but you've only set two places," protested dorothy. uncle abe wagged his woolly pate. "it ain't right fo' an' ol' niggeh ter sit down wid de quality, missy." "stuff and nonsense! put another cup and plate on the table, bill, and another knife, fork and spoon. uncle abe's going to eat with us, or i won't touch a thing--and believe me, this food looks tempting!" "well, if yo' puts it thataway, ma'am, i will take a bite." uncle abe gave a mellow chuckle. "i sho' duz love ham. de smell of it in de pan fair do make my mouf water!" dorothy took up the hot skillet from the hearth. "i'll put the ham on the plates, uncle abe, if you'll bring over that pan of hot bread you've got warming in the ashes." "not hot bread, dorothy," corrected bill, "--corn pone--real honest-to-goodness corn pone!" "mmmm--" she exclaimed with eyes dancing, "hurry up, uncle abe, i just can't wait!" "dey ain't no butter," explained uncle abe, "but if yo'all puts some o' dis ham gravy over it, i reckon yo'll fin' yo' kin eat it." "ho, that's the best way to eat it!" cried bill. "used to have it that way when i lived at annapolis. if there's anything that tastes better, i've yet to find it. and look, dorothy, we've got molasses to sweeten our coffee! uncle abe sure does set a real southern table." the old man chuckled happily as they sat down to the meal. "marse johnson done give me dat 'lasses," he said as he filled the coffee cups from the battered pot. "he de big boss o' de reservation. i don't mind tellin' yo'all, ma'am, if marse johnson didn't wink at ol' man river a-livin' in dis hyar cabin, dis niggeh sho' would be in a bad way. but dese reservation folks is no white trash. dey knowed 'bout marse joyce turnin' me loose after i'd worked fo' him all dese years. i did odd jobs for 'em dis summer, an' a while back, marse johnson, he 'lowed i could have de cabin, now it's gettin' kinda chilly fo' de ol' man to sleep in de barn." "that was pretty decent of him," remarked bill, with his mouth full of fried ham and hot corn pone. "but who is this mr. joyce you speak of, uncle?" ol' man river wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "dat man's name ez john j. joyce, marse billy. he's got dat big place on de ridge over yonder nexter hilltop, marse conway's ol' home. i worked fo' marse joyce fo' 'bout ten years--eveh sence i come up no'th from virginny where dis ol' niggeh was raised." "and he let you go after you'd worked for him all that time?" cried dorothy, setting down her coffee cup. "i call that rotten mean!" "yaas, ma'am--john j. joyce is sho' a hard man. i wuz one o' de gard'ners on de' 'state. one noon he calls us all up ter de big house. 'men,' he say, standin' on de gall'ry steps, 'times is hard an' they's gwine ter be harder. i'se got ter do my bit fer dis 'ere depresshun like eve'y one else. dat is why i'se a-cuttin' you down from six ter three. de three what am de oldest can clear out. dey ain't wu'th as much ter me.'" "the dirty dog!" bill's face was hot with anger. "i should say so!" dorothy's tone matched bill's in vehemence. uncle abe shook his head. "de good book say, 'him what has, gits, and him what ain't got nuffin' gits dat nuffin' tuk'n away'," he remarked a bit sadly. "but dis hyar niggeh ain't got no complaint, ma'am. ol' man river has sho' got a warm cabin. he ken trap brer rabbit in de woods, and 'times he gits brer possum. marse johnson pays fer a spell o' work once in a while and dat pays foh things he haster buy over to de store. i kinder git de idee, missy, dat dis hyar ol' man is livin' on de top o' de worl'." "well, maybe," answered dorothy, "but i call it doggone mean, just the same. tell me, uncle, outside of being mean and heartless, what sort of man is this john j. joyce?" "waal, you see'd how he done me, missy. jes' git up an' go--didn't say he wuz sorry or nuffin'. he's rich and he's sharp. maybe he's honest, i don't know, but i'se allus thought as how marse conway 'ud done better if he'd er hoed his own 'taters. but i reckon dis niggeh hadn't oughter be crit'sizin' de quality." "quality, nothing!" exploded bill. "mr. conway was all right--at least, george is--but the other fellow is the worst kind of a polecat!" "den yo'all knows marse george?" "yes, uncle, he's a friend of ours," said dorothy. "and he is right up to his neck in trouble just now. anything you can tell us about his father will be a big help." uncle abe pushed his plate away and leaned his elbows on the table. "dey ain't much i kin tell," he announced, "but i'se knowed marse george since he wuz a l'il boy. he wuz allus nice an' friendly with uncle abe." "you say that his father and mr. joyce were friends--that they had dealings of some sort together?" dorothy inquired. "yaas, ma'am. dey wuz pardners in bizness, i reckon. leastways, like you said, dey had dealings togedder." "but if joyce was in business with mr. conway, why didn't stoker mention that?" asked bill of dorothy. "perhaps he didn't know about it, bill. he was away at school, remember, most of the time. and he told us that his father never spoke of his affairs or encouraged him to ask questions." "but it doesn't sound reasonable, dorothy. a fellow must know the name of his father's firm." "that's true, in a way. but maybe there was no firm--of joyce and conway? isn't it possible that mr. joyce may have acted as mr. conway's agent--sold the inventions for him, perhaps? mr. conway was not a business man. he was always too occupied in his laboratory or in his workshop." "dat am de way it wuz, missy," broke in the old darky eagerly. "'times, de gennemen 'ud walk in de garden an' talk while dis hyar niggeh done his weedin' or plantin' or wotnot--neveh done pay 'tenshun ter ol' man river. he don't count fer nuffin' atall. marse conway done make his 'ventions--marse joyce done what he call 'put 'em on de market.' is dat what yo'all wanter know, ma'am?" "yes, thank you, uncle. i believe i'm beginning to see light at last." "blest if i do," commented bill. "joyce couldn't try to steal patents registered in mr. conway's name, could he?" dorothy smiled. "that can wait. it's time we helped uncle abe wash up. then maybe he'll let us have a couple of blankets to spread before the fire. we're dead for sleep and we're keeping him up too." the old fellow started to answer, then cocked his head and lifted a warning hand. "is folks a-follerin' yo' chill'un?" he asked suddenly. "yes," said dorothy, "and they mustn't catch us!" "dey's someone a-comin'," he whispered. "don' yo' say nuffin'. jes do like uncle abe tell yo'all and he fix it so nobody can't find nuffin' hyar!" chapter xii voices from below "take dose clo'es by de fire yonder," directed the sharp-eared old man, "an' go in de back room an' shin up de wall shelves to dese fo'-by fo's oveh our heads. tote de clo'es 'long wid yo' an' lay flat on dem boards. 'times i trap somefin' out er season--dis niggeh's got ter eat--dat dere's mah hidin' place. nobody can't see yo'all, nobody can't fin' yo' dere!" while he talked and the others snatched their half dried things from before the fire, the old darky was clearing the table of dishes. he flung the remains of the meal onto the blazing logs and scooping up the cups and plates, stacked them, dirty as they were, on a shelf. dorothy and bill ran into the back room and scrambled up to the crossbeams. as they crawled along the boards which were laid close together in threes, they saw uncle abe light an ancient corncob, then pick up a tattered newspaper and sit down by the fire. no more had they laid themselves flat on their airy perch with their bundles of damp clothing, than there came a pounding on the cabin door. "who dat?" called out ol' man river without moving from his chair. "open up, do you hear, river? i want to speak to you," barked a voice from out the night. "yaas, suh--comin'!" peering through the cracks between the boards, his guests saw him rise slowly and shuffle to the door. stretched out over the little bed chamber, with their heads close to the partition, they had an unobstructed view of the lighted room beyond. as the boards were laid over the middle of both rooms and ran nearly the length of the cabin, they realized with satisfaction that unless someone stood close to the side wall, it would be impossible to spy them out. uncle abe's oil lamp sent its gleams but a few feet, and the rest of the room and the crossbeams lay in deep shadow which was an added protection to the hidden two. ol' man river drew the bolt and swung open the door. "walk right in, marse joyce," they heard him say. and without waiting for a reply, he hobbled painfully back to his chair before the hearth. three men stamped into the cabin and banged the door shut on the storm. "you're keeping late hours, river," the leader of the party snapped out without preamble. from the tones of his voice, dorothy and bill knew him to be the same man who had spoken to them in the valley meadow, and who bill had downed with the gasoline tin. he was a short, stocky person with a bulldog face and a scrubby toothbrush moustache. he and his companions looked tired and angry. they were also very wet. the speaker walked over to the fire, leaving a track of little pools across the floor. putting his hands over the blaze, he scowled down at uncle abe. "well," he contended disagreeably, "i said you were up late. answer me, can't you?" "so yo' say, marse joyce. so yo' say." uncle abe continued to gaze unconcernedly into the fire as though he had no idea the heavy set man was becoming angrier by the minute. "you black whelp!" he thundered, "what do you mean by bandying words with me?" uncle abe remained silent. "are you deaf?" cried joyce. "tell me what you're sitting up for!" "i'se takin' a warm, suh." "taking a--_warm_?" "yaas, suh. i'se a mis'ry in der feet--rhumytizzem. can't sleep nohow. so i sets an' reads de paper by de fire--an' takes a warm." "oh, you do, do you?" "yaas, suh, i sho' do." "don't answer me back that way, do you hear?" the old darky continued to puff calmly on his corncob. mr. joyce thrust his hands in his pockets and glowered at him. his companions stood silently by, watching uncle abe. "where are your visitors?" he asked suddenly. bill released the safety-catch on his automatic. uncle abe puffed steadily on his pipe, but said nothing. "answer me! where are they?" snarled john j. joyce. "yaas, suh!" the old darky removed the corncob from his mouth and looked up at his late employer. "well, why don't you speak?" "kase yo' done tell me not ter answer a while back." "i tell you to answer me now." mr. joyce glared threateningly into his face. "are you just stubborn, or in your dotage? _where are your visitors?_" the old man spat with great precision on to a glowing cinder. "dey right hyar, marse joyce," he said. "right here? where?" "hyar in dis room, suh. all three o' yo'." "say, are you crazy, or am i?" joyce flung at him. "no, suh, i ain' crazy," returned the old man, and joyce's companions broke into a roar of laughter at this none too subtle gibe. john j. joyce turned on them furiously. "shut up, you two! go into that back room and pull them out!" still guffawing, the men disappeared through the doorway in the partition. "nobody in here!" a voice sang out after a moment. joyce looked bewildered. then he picked up the lamp, walked to the open door and looked into the room. "yank that bed apart!" he ordered. the two lying on the boards above his head heard the men dragging the evergreen boughs off the couch. joyce said not a word when their search was ended, but turned on his heel and returned to the front room, followed by his henchmen. "didn't think yo'd fin' nobody," remarked uncle abe mildly, "if yo' had, i'd sho' bin supprised!" "so you'd been surprised, eh?" john j. joyce had an unpleasant way of repeating words. now he stood over the old man belligerently. "yaas, suh," replied uncle abe with an unconcern he probably did not feel. "i could o' tol' yo' dat dey's nobody in dere. who yo'all a-lookin' fo'?" "what business is that of yours?" the old man remained silent. "if you must know," snarled joyce, "we're looking for a young fellow and a girl." "what dey doin' uphyar in de woods at dis time o' night?" "tryin' to get away from us, i guess," said one of the men. "you keep your trap shut, featherstone," barked joyce. "i'm not paying you to talk. this is my show, not yours." "well, if you talk that way, you can run it by yourself. i'm not your slave. keep a civil tongue in your head, joyce--or i'll go back to the car--and go right now." "that goes with me, too," broke in the second man gruffly. "what d'you take us for--a pair of fools? i wasn't hired to do a marathon the length and breadth of the forest on a soakin' wet night. those kids ain't here--let's go!" "oh, is that so? well now you've had your say, and you'll go--when i get good and ready," sneered joyce in his disagreeable, domineering voice. "but what's the use of hangin' round?" argued the first man. "i'm tired and i'm hungry and i'm soaked to the skin--" "and if i say the word to certain parties, the two of you will be taking a longer journey," snapped their employer, "--a little trip up the river that ends in a chair--a red hot one. shut up, both of you." he turned to uncle abe again. "come, river--out with it," he commanded. "where have that boy and girl gone to?" "how should i know?" uncle abe knocked his pipe out on the hearth. "what fo' yo'all chasin' dese hyar chillun in de woods?" "that's my business. there are fresh tracks leading along the trail right up to your door." "dat may be, suh. day may be. i ain't sayin' dey isn't, marse joyce." he wagged his head solemnly. "i wuz out myse'f e'rlier in de evenin'." "huh! you wouldn't leave two sets of tracks!" "yaas, suh, marse joyce--goin' an' comin'." dorothy, from her perch above, smiled at the old darky's astuteness. their tracks were on the trail, of course, for those who followed to read; but the rain had long ago blurred the outlines. their pursuers could not know in which direction the footprints led. "so you think it was your tracks we followed?" john j. joyce continued to speak in the harsh, bullying tone that made dorothy want to kick him. she realized, nevertheless, that the old darky's last statement was proving a serious facer to his inquisitor. "i ain't a-gwine ter say jes' dat," returned uncle abe. "all i knows is dat i made tracks on de trail. if dey's more'n two pair, dey ain't mine." "what trails were you on?" came the sudden question, and dorothy tingled with excitement as uncle abe hesitated. "lemme see, suh--why, i wuz down de spy rock trail, an' de cross trail. and den i wuz 'long de overlook and de raven rock trails--" "a nice long walk you had on a wet night," sneered the white man. uncle abe was imperturbable. "yaas, suh." "i don't believe a word of it." "dat yo' priv-lige, marse joyce." "well, it doesn't sound likely to me, especially when you say you've rheumatism in your feet." "i'se gotter eat, suh." "what's that got to do with it? there are no stores on these trails. what do you pretend you were doing, anyway?" ol' man river chuckled gently. "baitin' traps." "catch anything?" joyce sneered. "i don't suppose you did." "den you's a mighty bad 'sposer, suh. kaze i done cotch dat der rabbit yonder!" following the direction of his pointed finger, dorothy saw for the first time that a large jackrabbit hung from a crossbeam in a corner. "it's no go, joyce," broke in one of the henchmen. "this nigger doesn't know where those kids are. let's beat it." joyce, who had unbuttoned his coat, fastened it up again. "for once you're right," he admitted truculently. "it's time we got back to the car. that pair have holed in for the night somewhere else. we'll watch the reservation entrances in the morning." "good night, suh, and a pleasant walk!" dorothy had hard work to repress her laughter. she loved this spunky old negro. joyce turned angrily upon him. "you keep a civil tongue in your face, river!" he menaced. "in the first place, this is a state preserve, and poaching is severely punished; and secondly, you have no right to be squatting in this shelter, i--" "pick on someone your size, joyce," advised the man who had spoken before. "this old nigger ain't doin' you nor anyone else any harm. leave him alone." "it's two to one, joyce. come on!" said the other. for a moment dorothy thought there would be a row. joyce looked as though he would burst with rage. but evidently thinking better of it, he turned his back to the fire and strode over to the door. without another word, he opened it and disappeared into the black night. he was followed immediately by the two men. the one who had spoken for abe swung round in the doorway. "i know you're a good hearted old liar, uncle," he whispered. "and if you think a minute you'll know why i know it! don't blame you. joyce has a nasty temper and no matter where those kids are, we'll round 'em up in the morning, anyway. good night!" "'night," returned ol' man river. "pleasant walk, suh!" "yep. the joke's on us," grinned the other and shut the door behind him. bill and dorothy were about to move from their cramped positions when they saw the old man raise a finger to his lips in warning as apparently he studied the glowing embers of the fire. the door suddenly opened and the same man stuck his head in. "you're a sly old fox," he said. "i know you've got those kids hidden somewhere. maybe they're listening for all i know, and i can tell you, uncle, they are getting a rotten deal. joyce calls me featherstone. here's my card. give it to them. g'd-night." a bit of white pasteboard fluttered to the floor as the door slammed. uncle abe got stiffly off his chair, shuffled over to the door and sent the bolt home. then he picked up the card. bill pushed the pile of damp clothing off the boards, then swung himself down to the floor. dorothy was beside him as he turned to catch her. "uncle abe," she said, taking the old man's hand, "you are kind and you're good, and you are very, very brave. bill and i can never properly thank you for all you've done for us tonight." "say no mo' 'bout it," protested uncle abe, when bill put his hand on his shoulder. "look here, uncle abe," he broke in, "you're one of the grandest guys i know. some day perhaps we can even up things a bit. you ran a big risk for us, you know." the old man smiled and blinked at them for a moment. "then, yo'all must be sleepy--i sho' is. you kin take the back room if you will, missy. marse bill an' me's gwine ter hit de hay in here." "who was that man, uncle abe?" asked dorothy, stifling a yawn with the palm of her hand. "what did his card say, i mean?" "spec' he's a deteckative, missy. de card say 'michael michaels, private inquiry agent'." "evidently he's got his eye on joyce," summed up bill. "wonder who he's working for?" "what interests me more just now," said dorothy, "is how mister michael michaels knew we were hidden here." the old man chuckled. "he's sho' 'nuf a smart man, missy. it wuz de tracks on de trail. he know'd i done never make dem tracks. he know'd dey wan't nobody else's but yourn." "how come, uncle?" asked bill. "dat jackrabbit a-hangin' yonder done it, suh." "but what's that rabbit got to do with our tracks?" "marse michaels, he must o' touched dat bunny. den he know'd it wan't never trapped today. dat bunny's stiff ez er hick'ry log!" dorothy and bill burst into laughter. "bet you were scared silly for fear joyce might examine it and realize that you hadn't been out tonight!" said bill. "dat's right, sho' nuf, marse bill." "you know, mr. michaels may be a big help to us," remarked dorothy, yawning unashamedly in their faces this time. "well, i just can't hold my head up any longer. good night, both of you." "good night," returned bill and uncle abe in unison. dorothy took herself off to the back room and bed. chapter xiii the way out the gray light of early morning crept into shelter no. 6 through the open shutters. it brought to view two forms rolled in blankets, sleeping soundly before the dying embers of last night's woodfire. in the back room, dorothy was curled up on the fragrant bed of evergreens, deep in a dreamless slumber. the storm of the evening was gone, leaving in its place a fine, steady drizzle. the air was chill and damp. it bade fair to be another unpleasant day. the hands of a battered alarm clock that stood on the chimney shelf marked quarter to eight, but the sleepers were motionless. then suddenly uncle abe sat up and knuckled the sleep from his eyes. "lordy, lordy!" he grumbled, catching sight of the clock. "dose chillun wuz ter git 'way early an' dis hye'r nigger sleepin' lak de daid. i speck de young missy an' marse bill need der sleep--an' we'll fool marse joyce jus' de same." he got stiffly to his feet, stretched his ancient arms above his head and set about building up the fire. presently bill opened his eyes and yawned. then he threw off his blanket, sat up and sniffed. "bacon--eggs--coffee," he murmured. "good morning, uncle, you sure are an a1. up to the minute chef!" hovering over a sizzling frying pan, the old man turned his head and smiled at bill. "mornin', marse bill. yaas, suh, i 'low dat eatin' brekfus' an' gettin' it, too, is de bes' fashion what is." "you said it," grinned bill. "say, i guess we all overslept! well, no use crossing our bridges 'til we come to 'em. any place in this hotel where i can wash and slick up a bit, uncle?" "sho' is, suh. de soap an' de towel an' de bucket an' de basin is over yonder by de do'. when yo'alls done wid dem, p'raps yo'll wake de young missy, an' carry de bucket in yonder?" "sure will," returned bill, "but i'll wake her up first." he went to the door in the partition and banged his fist on the panels. "first call for breakfast in the dining car ahead--" "ummm--" responded a sleepy voice from the back room. "time to get up, dorothy. hop to it, kid!" "i'm awake!" called back that young lady. "o.k. when you're ready, there'll be a pail of water outside your door." "thanks. be with you in a jiffy." bill crossed the room, sloshed water into the tin basin and carried the pail back. while he was immersed in his morning ablutions dorothy's door opened and her hand withdrew the pail. bill had no more than taken a seat at the table, when she put in her appearance. dressed in the overalls, flannel shirt and heavy wool socks of the night before, she looked particularly bright and cheerful. "morning, everybody!" she smiled. "that bed of yours, uncle abe, is the most comfortable one i ever slept on. too bad i had to turn you out of it." "reckon neither marse bill ner me knowed what we wuz a-sleepin' on, missy. i sho' wuz daid ter ebbryt'ing all night long. de flo' ain't discomfertubble, when yo' knows how ter lay on it." "i'm kind of stiff," admitted bill. "but i feel fifty million per cent better. bet i never moved from the time i turned in until the smell of breakfast woke me up." "my!" exclaimed dorothy, peeking into the frying pan. "where did all these swell eggs come from, uncle?" the old darky chuckled. "dat's one o' de two things a white pusson mus'nt never ask no color'd pusson, missy." "and what's the other?" dorothy inquired with twinkling eyes. "where a nigger gits his chickens." all three of them laughed this time and sat down to breakfast. during the meal there was little conversation. both dorothy and bill were frankly hungry and each was silently puzzling a way out of their predicament. uncle abe, always affable, nevertheless, rarely if ever volunteered advice unless called upon. in his mind, to do otherwise would have been a breach of good manners. bill drained his second cup of coffee and met dorothy's look. "got any ideas?" he asked her. she shook her head and pushed her chair back from the table. "no, i haven't," she confessed gravely. "but if i'm any judge of bad character, mr. john j. joyce will keep his promise. too bad we slept so long." "maybe," said bill. "but without that good rest, we'd have been dead ones today. the tough part of it is that joyce's men will be posted at all the reservation entrances now--" "and on the trails around this shelter." "very likely. if we could ditch those guys and hike over to a road, we might get a lift out in somebody's car. lots of people drive in here on sundays." "not in weather like this, bill. no, even if we did persuade someone to give us a lift, we'd be soon seen and stopped." bill suddenly brought his fist down upon the table. "we're a pair of idiots," he declared. "joyce's men won't stop us. they'll be looking for stoker conway and a girl. keep those clothes on you're wearing, and with my old hat, all they'll see is a couple of fellows on a tramp. nobody'd take me for george conway. why, we've got nothing to worry about!" "that's where i differ with you. we most certainly have plenty to worry us." "but how come, dorothy?" "how do we know that friend joyce hasn't got hold of stoker and possibly terry, too?" "then--if he has, he won't want us." "oh, yes, he will. you can bet your boots, mr. joyce isn't letting anyone go whom he may think was mixed up in last night's affair." bill looked surprised. "but joyce can't go on kidnapping people," he argued. "or rather he can't keep on trying to kidnap the whole bunch who were in stoker's house last night, and then hold them indefinitely. even if he caught us all, he couldn't hold us long." "long enough to get what he thinks stoker has got--and make his getaway, if necessary. at least that's how i figure it. if he catches any of us we're not likely to come in personal contact with him. he's too smart to give himself away like that." "possibly you're right. but if he did catch any of us, he'd soon find out that stoker and the rest of the bunch know less about this mysterious something he's after than he does himself!" dorothy smiled. "rather involved, but i think i fathom your meaning. you seem to forget, bill, that when betty and i butted into this thing up at the conway house, a couple of strong-arm men were starting to heat a poker. i don't think mr. joyce's hospitality will prove a pleasant experience if we are caught by him or his men." "well, we've got to get off this reservation--how are we going to do it?" "blest if i know," she admitted candidly. "but we've just got to find a way. and look here, bill--i know you think i'm all steamed up over a trifle--but i honestly believe that whatever joyce is trying to steal from stoker is so enormously valuable that he's determined to risk pretty nearly everything short of murder to gain possession of it!" "i wouldn't put murder past him, either," said bill. "his actions prove he's in deadly earnest," dorothy went on, and then turned to ol' man river, who was peacefully puffing his pipe. "you've heard what we were saying, uncle abe. have you any suggestions to give us?" that ancient colored gentleman removed the corncob from between his teeth and pursed his lips. "waal, yaas, m'am. i reckon marse johnson is de answer to yo' question," he said thoughtfully. "oh, he's the reservation superintendent--you're right, uncle abe--he can do it if anyone can. why didn't we think of him before?" "dat am so, missy. der ain't a-gwine nobody ter stop yo'all long wid marse johnson." "that's a great idea, uncle," applauded bill. "the super's house is right across the reservation from here, if i recall rightly?" "yaas, suh, it am. right down yonder where de boutonville road come out far side ob de reservation t'ard cross river." "think you could pilot us down there and give those guys in the woods the miss?" "i speck dese men ain't gwine ter git familious wid us if yo' foller ol' man river. i'se boun' we-all sho' give 'em de bestes' game er hide an' seek dey ez ever had. it ain't a-gwine be easy, marse bill. but i'll git yo'all down yonder and den you kin carry de young missy home in a kyar. marse johnson, he's got three automerbiles." "i hope it'll be as easy as you say," grinned bill, amused by the old man's earnestness. "i'll make a bundle of miss dorothy's clothes and then the best thing we can do is to get started." "i'se got a pair er sneakers dat you kin wear, missy," uncle abe announced. "dey ain't no count nohow, but dey's got sol's an' dat sho' am better dan walkin' in dose socks." "thanks a lot, uncle, you're such a grand help to us--" she smiled at the old man and he fairly beamed. "i'll love wearing them. but first of all, we'll heat some water and wash dishes. don't look so annoyed, bill. we've got plenty of time, now, and there's nothing more slovenly than letting the dishes go after a meal. we did it because we had to last night, but i intend to leave uncle abe's cabin just as spick and span as we found it. you fetch some water and heat it while uncle abe scrapes the plates. in the meantime i'll straighten up the back room and sweep out the house." dorothy was as good as her word. by the time the dish water was hot, her bed had been made, the cabin swept and generally put to rights. then she brought out the dishpan and washed both the supper and breakfast dishes while bill and uncle abe dried them. "some swell housekeeper," said bill to uncle abe with a grimace, "and she knows how to make the men folks work, too!" "an' dat am ez it should be," declared the old darky solemnly. "de good book say, 'what am food fo' de goose am good eatin' fo' de gander'...." "i don't know whether that's a compliment, or not, uncle," laughed dorothy. "but you see, it didn't take long, and i feel better knowing everything's clean." "is your ladyship ready to go now?" asked bill. "quite ready--thank you so much." "then let's shove off. what you said about stoker and terry a while ago has got me worried, i must admit. i want to get to a telephone just as soon as possible." uncle abe left the cabin first. after scouting about in the cold drizzle for a few minutes, he came back and declared that the way was clear. "i gen'rally goes 'long overlook trail an' down de cross river road ter git er marse johnson's house," explained the old man, once they were outside the cabin. "but dis mornin' we ain't gwine dat-away--t'aint safe. yo' all stick close behin' ol' man river, an' sing out ef he's a-travelin' too fast. dis ain't no easy trail we'se takin'." he struck directly into the woods and for the next hour dorothy never even sighted a path. she soon found out that when uncle abe described this as 'no easy trail,' he was telling the unvarnished truth. dorothy was no alice-sit-by-the-fire. she had been on some stiff hikes before this, but the ancient negro led them up hill and down dale, through the tangled undergrowth or virgin forest dripping wet with rain. and he led them through this wilderness of trees and rocks at a perfectly amazing rate of speed. until dorothy caught her second wind, she was hard put to keep up. if joyce had men out, they never saw them. in fact, except for an occasional bird or small forest animal scuttling away in their advance, they neither saw nor heard any living thing. eventually they climbed the steep side of a wooded ridge and stopped. below them, through the trees dorothy made out woodland meadows, stretching down to a road which ran along their side of the valley. lower down and paralleling the highway, a winding river ran down the vale. lying in broad fields near the river to their left was a large farm house and barns. "cross river road, cross river, and marse johnson's house," announced uncle abe, using a hand and forearm for a pointer. "dat highway yonder what runs inter de cross river road near de house ez de honey holler road. right dar am de cross river entrance, an' right dar ez 'zackly de place whar ol' man joyce's gang am hangin' out." "it's going to be a job to get down there without being seen," remarked bill. "der ain't nobody gwine ter see us," protested the old darky, "kaze soon ex we git ter der open, you an' me an' missy am gwine ter ben' down low an' hug de far side er de stone fences. but we'alls stayed hyar confabbin' long 'nuf. got ter git goin' ag'in." he moved off down the slope, the others following. by dint of doing exactly as he advised, fifteen minutes later found them ringing mr. johnson's doorbell. "dese young people am fren's er mine, miz johnson," uncle abe told the motherly person who opened the door. "step right in," she invited with a smile. "lands sakes, you're drippin' wet. come in by the kitchen range and get dried out. you must be perishin'--" "thanks. may i use your telephone?" inquired bill as he spied a wall instrument in the hall. "of course you can," beamed mrs. johnson. "there's a book on the table there." "thank you, i know the number." "going to call up stoker?" asked dorothy in a low tone. "yes. you and uncle abe go into the kitchen and get warm. i'll be with you in a minute or two." but it was not until a good five minutes later that bill put in his appearance. "everything all right?" demanded dorothy from her seat on a kitchen chair close to the coal range. "i'm afraid not," bill looked worried. "they don't answer the phone." chapter xiv the lion's den "no answer at all?" dorothy inquired anxiously. "that's what i said." bill's tone was a bit gruff. he walked over to the range and warmed his hands at the glowing coals. "what i mean is, could you hear the bell ring in stoker's house?" "oh, yes, the bell rang. but nobody came to the phone." "that's what i wanted to know." "why? i can't see that the ringing of the phone bell makes any difference--" "all the difference," declared dorothy. "never mind why, now. i've just told mrs. johnson that i had to park _wispy_ on the other side of the reservation last night, and that some men over there were very disagreeable and we were forced to accept uncle abe's hospitality for the night." "we think a heap of uncle abe on the reservation," affirmed the superintendent's wife. "and don't you worry about your airplane, miss dixon. we'll see that it don't come to no harm. my husband had to drive over to katonah this morning, but i'll get sam watson on the job. he's in the office right now. sam!" she called, "come in here." a stalwart, broad-shouldered young man walked into the kitchen. his natty uniform marked him a member of the reservation force. "did you want something, mrs. johnson?" "this is miss dorothy dixon of new canaan, and mr.--" she hesitated. "bolton--bill bolton," supplied that young man. "the flyers!" guard watson's honest face wore a broad grin. "heard about you both--who hasn't? pleased to meet you, i'm sure." he shook hands with them and nodded to uncle abe. "it's like this, sam," explained mrs. johnson. "miss dixon run out of gas last night and her airplane is down to the woodlot just below raven rocks in the stone hill river valley. get eddie, that's his beat anyway, and keep an eye on the airplane until these young folks pick it up this afternoon. they had trouble with some tramps over there last evenin' and put up to uncle abe's for the night. pass the word on to the rest of the boys about them dead beats that's botherin' people on the reservation, will you?" "i sure will, mrs. johnson. if they're still around, we'll run 'em off quicker'n greased lightning." "you're very good," smiled dorothy. "we saw a couple of suspicious characters hanging round the cross river entrance when we came over here to headquarters just now." "i'll rout 'em out," sam watson promised. "if they kick up a fuss they'll put in thirty days behind the bars. well, i must be hoppin' it. glad to have met you folks, i'm sure. so long, everybody!" with a stiff salute and a broad smile he was gone. they heard him tramp down the hall and then the front door slammed. "checkmate to j. j. j.," murmured bill. dorothy played chess with her father--"not checkmate--check," she corrected. "by the way, mrs. johnson, i wonder if we can trespass on your good humor still further?" "land's sakes alive! i haven't done nothing for you yet!" the superintendent's wife was busy with hot water and a teapot. "do you happen to have an extra car that we could borrow for a few hours?" "why, sure i have, my dear. but there's no hurry about your leavin', is there? a cup of tea, now, to warm you up and some of these nice crisp crullers i made yesterday? then i'll get you and mr. bolton some dry things to put on and after dinner you can take the car and ride home. how'll that be?" dorothy laughed and shook her head. "you're awfully kind, really, mrs. johnson, but we can't stay. we've got an appointment that just can't be broken." "but your wet clothes, miss dixon?" "thanks for your offer, but we aren't so wet now. i will have a cup of tea if i may, although we only finished breakfast a little while ago." "and don't forget those crisp crullers," protested bill with a grin. "i certainly do love homemade crullers, ma'am." "an' dey ain't nuffin' better 'an de ones miz johnson makes," chuckled uncle abe. "i'se tasted 'em befo' an' dis hyar nigger knows!" mrs. johnson beamed delightedly. "even if i do say so who shouldn't," she remarked modestly, "this batch came out pretty good. but are you sure i can't tempt you to stay for sunday dinner? we're having fish chowder, chicken friccassee, with dumplin's, and a pumpkin pie!" "you sure do make my mouth water," groaned bill. "i only wish we could stop, and meet your husband, mrs. johnson. if you'll keep the invitation open, we'd love to take advantage of it some other time." the good lady passed them their tea and a plate heaped with golden brown crullers. "we'll make it next sunday noon then. our children are all married, with homes of their own. mr. johnson and i miss not having young folks round the house. it'll make it seem like the good old times again, if you come. don't forget now, next sunday." "we'll be here with bells on, mrs. johnson," promised bill. "and we'll try not to look like a couple of tramps then," added dorothy. "you'll always be welcome, no matter what you wear," declared their hostess. "i'll make another pumpkin pie for you." they chatted for ten minutes or so and then bade mrs. johnson goodbye. "uncle abe will take you out to the garage," she said in parting. "take the buick. you'll need a closed car on a day like this." when the kitchen door had shut out the smiling, motherly figure, and they were following the old darky along the drive, dorothy turned to bill. "and they say that new englanders are not hospitable! why, they're the most hospitable people in america if you really know them!" "country people, no matter what part of the united states they live in, are generally friendly. living in cities, where your next door neighbor is a stranger, makes a person suspicious. but i've found that most honest-to-goodness americans will do a lot for a person in trouble." "dere's de kyar, missy," uncle abe interrupted apologetically. "reckon dis hyar ol' nigger'll wish yo'all goodbye an' mo' comferble beds ternight." dorothy caught the old fellow's hand and held it between her own. "uncle abe," she said, looking straight into his shining eyes, "do you really like living up there in the woods, all by yourself?" "waal, dis nigger ain't used ter much, missy," he said slowly, "an' de cabin am a heap better 'an a barn er no roof atall. but, it sho' do get mighty lonesome, 'times." "i bet it does. how would you like to live in quarters over our garage and work for my father? he was saying only a day or so ago that what with driving the cars and all arthur has too much to do around the place. we need a gardener and general handy man. the job is yours if you'll take it--and i don't mind saying i'll feel badly if you don't." ol' man river winked back the tears with a brave effort, although the little wrinkles at the corners of his mouth puckered in a smile. "yo' sho' is good ter dis hyar nigger, missy!" "and you want to come? i won't take no for an answer--" "it do me good fer ter hear you sesso, missy. kaze yo' sho' is de qual'ty and dis hyar ol' nigger never done had no real fambly 'time he come no'th." bill winked at uncle abe. "and if that nocount dixon family don't treat you right, you come right across the road to my house." "spect i'll git 'long tollerbul well on miss dor'thy's side," he chuckled. "well, what's the good word now, dorothy?" bill motioned toward the buick. "it's about time we beat it over to stoker's, don't you think?" "i do think," returned dorothy. "and that's why we aren't going over there." "but surely--" "but nothing. the boys aren't there or they'd have answered the phone. if you hadn't heard the bell ring we could be fairly sure the wire was cut and that they were holding the house in a state of siege, so to speak. now we know they aren't there." bill did not seem impressed. "if that line of reasoning is logical, i'm as cold on the right answer as a water tank in winter. how do you know joyce's men haven't got them tied up in the house?" "because at this stage of the game, joyce would hardly do that and leave them there for their friends to find. and if his men were still in the house, they'd be sure to answer the telephone. you and uncle abe get right into that buick now. we are going to take a run up to mr. john j. joyce's place." bill did not attempt to hide his astonishment. "gee, whiz, dorothy?--you've got a whale of a lot of nerve!" dorothy shrugged and looked steadily at bill. "well, are you game?" for answer he followed her into the car. "pretty much like jumping feet first into the lion's den," he commented, "but considering your middle name is daniel, or ought to be, i dare say we'll have a roaring good time of it!" "stop talking jazz, bill. how about you, uncle abe?" the old man already lounged back on the rear seat. "reverse dis hyar injine inter de drive, miss dor'thy--an' when yo'all turned round i'se gwine ter show yo' where we'se a-gwine." dorothy, smiling over the steering wheel, backed out of the garage and got the buick headed toward the road. "well, uncle?" she prompted. "d'reckly in front of us, way over yonder on de far hill ez er big house." "the white one in the trees?" asked bill. "yaas, suh, de only one any pusson kin see from hyar. dat am hilltop, marse conway's ol' place." "where mr. lewis lives now!" "eggzackly so, ma'am. marse joyce's place ez jus' back er yonder." "bet he calls it, 'the den,'" said bill. uncle abe cackled, "no, suh, marse bill--hee-hee--dat house done called 'nearma'." "near ma?" repeated dorothy in a puzzled tone. "there are some queer indian names in this part of the country, but that's a new one on me." "'tain't injun, missy. dat dere hones' ter goodness 'merican. marse joyce's ol' ma uster lib cross de ridgeroad. dat how he come ter name de house 'near ma'." "that old scurmudgeon! i don't believe it!" cried bill in an explosion of laughter. "dat am de spittin' trufe, marse bill. de ol' lady am daid, but he still call de place nearma jus' de same." "how do we get to it, uncle?" dorothy asked after a moment. "run out de entrance till we come ter de turnpike, missy. den right, long dat road to cross river. from de village yonder we follers de road ter lake waccabuc, but we don't hafter travel dat far." "good enough." the car swung round the side of the house and into the road. "i guess sam got rid of the watchers by the gate--there's nobody at the entrance." they swept into the highroad and on through the pre-revolutionary hamlet of cross river. half a mile further, as they were speeding along the top of a wooded ridge, uncle abe spoke again. "dat stone fence long de road ter de right b'long ter hilltop," he pointed out. "de house am set way back from de road behin' de trees. round de bend ahead yo'all gwine ter see 'nother higher wall, dat starts by three white birches. yonder am where marse joyce's land begins." "and what's on the farther side of the joyce property?" "dere ain't nuffin, missy, 'cept jes' mo' dese hyar woods." "fine! and i suppose, after being up here for nearly ten years, you can find your way about in those woods?" "sho' can, missy. ef dere's er rabbit hole dis nigger a' missed in dem woods, i wanter know." "better and better. you're a marvellous help, uncle abe." "what do you plan to do? park the car near the road, hike back through the woods and cut over toward the house from that side?" bill was not enthusiastic. "just about that." "and when you sight the historic mansion?" "i'm going into the house." "oh, yes, you are..." "oh, yes, i am!" "and how do you expect to do that without being nabbed right off the bat?" "last night you told me i asked too many questions, bill. and uncle abe says 'what's food for the goose is swell eating for the gander...'!" chapter xv in the toils "ef yo'll pahdon my sayin' so, miss do'thy," volunteered uncle abe as the car was run into the underbrush beyond the nearma wall and parked behind a clump of scrub oak and evergreens, "i 'lows as how it sho' would er bin better ter 'proach de house from de odder side. we could er travelled down marse lewis' place and come in dat-a-way. dere's mo' lan'scapin' on dat side." "thanks for the suggestion, uncle," dorothy locked the ignition. "but i think we'll keep just as far away from mr. lewis' property as we can, for the present." "do you think he really is mixed up with j. j. j. in this business?" bill asked her. "can't say--it certainly looks like it--and we'll take no unnecessary chances." "how about the chances we'll take in breaking into nearma?" "i said unnecessary! anyway, i'm the one that's going in there." "but look here, dorothy! do you think i'm going to let you walk into that place alone?" "not alone, old dear. uncle abe is coming with me." "oh, is he? and what am i to do while you're in the house mixing it up with those thugs? do you expect me to stick out here with the car and see that somebody doesn't steal the tires?" dorothy looked amused. bill was annoyed with her and she did not blame him. "you'll have plenty to do, bill." she gave his shoulder a good-natured pat and sprang out of the car. "come on, both of you. i'll explain my plan as we go. lead the way, uncle abe. i want to get to the kitchen door without being seen from the house if possible." uncle abe got out of the car. bill was already beside her. "yo'all foller ol' man river!" said the ancient darky and led into the woods away from the road. "well, what's the dope?" bill's tone was less exasperated now, and side by side they swung in behind the old man. dorothy took his arm. "i guess you think i'm a brainless idiot," she began, "with all my wild schemes--" "well, i don't quite see your idea in going in there alone--but it's your show, so go ahead and explain." "attaboy! now this is the point. i want to do some scouting inside and i'll need you to cover me as it were. uncle abe knows joyce's servants. and mr. joyce is looking for you and me. well, don't you see, if uncle abe brings a stray _boy_ into the kitchen for a bite to eat, it won't seem anything out of the way. in these clothes, i'll never be taken for a girl." "but you won't stay in the kitchen--i know you!" bill was not quite convinced. "perhaps not--what i do inside will depend on circumstances as i find 'em." "humph! and what is my important work to consist of?" "i want you to watch this side of the house. if i need you, i'll open a window and wave. if it happens to be a window on the ground floor, you can get in that way. if i open a second story window, come in through the kitchen. you've got a gun--that ought to be a help." "but--suppose you aren't able to get to a window?" "oh, then wait half an hour; when the time's up run down to cross river in the car and phone the state police and get them up here just as soon as possible." "why not get them up here now?" "because we really haven't got anything to go on. chances are they wouldn't come and i want to be able to pin something good and definite on mr. john j. joyce before we get the police on the job." bill seemed impressed by her reasoning. "i guess you're right. if stoker and terry are in nearma and we can prove it, j. j. j. will have a nice little charge of kidnapping to face." "and i want to get him for grand larceny and conspiracy as well," she returned. "that may sound ambitious, but i want to land that gentleman and his friends on a bunch of counts that will send them to sing sing for a very, very long time." "you and me both. i don't know what joyce's plans are, but after listening to his bark last night, i'll bet they're something pretty rotten. hello!--there's uncle abe beckoning." they caught up with the old darky who was peering through the woods to their right. "yonder's de stone fence, missy," he announced, "an' beyon' am marse joyce's prop'ty. de house am 'bout fifty yards from de fence." "good. bill, you go ahead and lay low behind some of the bushes near the house. uncle abe and i will be along in a minute." "aye, aye, skipper. take care of yourself." with a wave of his hand he climbed the low stone wall and disappeared into the shrubbery on the joyce grounds. dorothy turned to ol' man river. "i suppose you know the cook over there, uncle?" "oh, yaas, ma'am. liza an' me's bin frien's fer ten years." "that's fine. now listen to what i say, because you've got your part to play in this affair and there mustn't be any slipup." for several minutes she talked earnestly to the old negro. "is that all clear?" she ended presently. "yaas, missy. i'll do what yo'all tells me to--but i ain't 'zackly hankerin' fer you to do all dis." dorothy laughed. "neither am i, uncle. but it's just got to be done, you know." they climbed the fence as bill had done and set off in the direction of the house, which soon came into view through the shrubbery and trees. as they drew nearer, dorothy saw that nearma was a large white frame house with green shutters in the conventional new england style. a wide veranda ran along the front of the house and on the far side a massive fieldstone chimney broke the expanse of clapboard between the rows of windows. the drive swung round the front of the building and turned sharply to the rear cutting the wide lawn on the near side. the grounds were beautifully landscaped. on a bright summer's day it must indeed be a lovely spot. just then it looked bleak and drear in the steady autumn downpour. they reached the drive without sighting bill, and followed it to the back of the house. presently uncle abe was knocking on the kitchen door. his second knock was followed by the sound of footsteps and the door opened to disclose an enormously fat negress whose head was bound with a bright red bandanna. the angry glare on her round black face changed to a delighted grin as she recognized her visitor. "lord, lordy," she exclaimed. "if it ain't uncle abe river hisself. come in outer de wet. you sure is a sight fer sore eyes. ain't seen you nohow fer a month er sundays!" liza bustled her callers through an outer pantry into a spacious kitchen. "i wuz over ter cross river," said uncle abe, seating himself in a proffered chair. "an' you is allus so good an 'commydatin', liza, i 'lowed i'd drop in an--" "find out whedder liza would ask you t' dinner," chuckled that good natured person. "reckon you ain't livin' so high now'days in dat der cabin." "yo' sho' is a good guesser," grinned uncle abe. "but i likes ter see ol' frien's an' i wanted speshul ter ax if marse joyce could gimme a spell o' work rakin' leaves er sump'n." liza pursed her lips an shook her head vigorously. "'tain't likely dat man'd give you nothin'," she said darkly. "de goin's on hyar lately is sure terrubul. wat wid all dese strange men in de house an' de young gemmun dey brought in han'cuffed las' night--an' right froo dis hyar kitchen too--i'se jes' 'bout ready ter give notice. but i mustn't say nothin'! who is dis hyar boy wid you, uncle?" dorothy made a quick decision. "not a boy, auntie--a girl," she said quietly. "--and a friend of the young man who was brought here last night." "sakes alive!" exploded the stout cook. "wat's all dis i'm a-hearin'?" "yo'all hearin' de spittin' trufe, liza," chimed in uncle abe earnestly. "miss do'thy am de qual'ty. jes' yo' listen ter wat she say." dorothy waited for no more comment. with a few deft word strokes she painted a vivid picture of last evening's happenings at the conway house. then having aroused a wide-eyed interest in her story, she went on to tell of the adventure in uncle abe's cabin and the morning's experiences. "i am not trying to make trouble between you and mr. joyce," she ended, "but if you will help me to free that young gentleman--he must be either george or terry--you'll be doing a very fine thing and my father will see you come to no harm." "i'se 'spected fo' some time marse joyce wuz er bad man," said liza, "but i ain't askeert of him. wat you want i should do, miss do'thy?" "i just want you to tell me some things, liza. then you go on getting dinner and i'll see what i can do for my friend." "hadn't i better call in marse bill?" "no, not yet. if anything goes wrong in the house i want to have someone on the outside to phone for the police." she turned to liza. "do you know where mr. joyce and his men are now?" "yes, ma'am. marse joyce an' most of 'em done gone somewheres in de big car--left de house 'bout 'n hour ago." "how many are still here?" "two o' dose no-count white men is somewhere in de front part of de house. an' let me tell yo'all if dat white trash comes a-bustin' inter my kitchen agin, dey a-gwine ter git a rollin' pin bounced offen dere skulls!" "if you can't do it, liza--i will--" added uncle abe. "ho--how come i can't do it, abe? you jes' watch dis pickaninny. i'll bust 'em an' bust 'em good!" dorothy giggled. liza's description of herself as a pickaninny had upset her gravity for the moment. "i can see you're both going to be useful. but tell me, auntie--do you know where they're keeping this young man?" "he's in de blue room, missy. i done tote up his breakfas' to de do'. marse joyce give de odder two girls de day off, so i'se cook an' waitress an' chambermaid today. you run along, miss do'thy an' if dose cheap ivory rollers try ter git fresh--jes' holler fo' aunt liza--she'll bust 'em!" dorothy had started for the pantry when uncle abe sprang out of his chair and caught her arm. "'scuse me, missy," he apologized then went on eagerly--"i'se got er idee." "yes? what is it, uncle?" "dey's logs an' dey's kindlin' in der entry, missy. i done seen 'em when we come in. well, miss do'thy, you tote some kindlin'--an' i'll carry a couple er logs an'--" "fine! we'll do it!" dorothy's alert mind had grasped the plan before uncle abe's tongue could give utterance to it. "an' de bes' part of it is, honey," grinned liza, "dat all de rooms on dis flo' has fireplaces an' mos' of dem upstairs too. marse joyce, he's a crank on open fires." dorothy chuckled. "lucky break for us." she took a small armful of kindling that uncle abe held out to her. "yo'all better foller me," said the old darky, "i knows de way 'bout dis house, miss do'thy." he pushed open a swinging door and they slipped into a dining room, panelled in white pine. it was an attractive room and dorothy decided that despite his criminal traits, john j. joyce was a man of taste. uncle abe tiptoed across the room and paused in the doorway to the hall. "we better see who's downstairs befo' we goes up," he whispered, and trotted off along the corridor. he stopped at a closed door near the foot of the staircase and lifted his hand to knock. but before his knuckles had touched the panel, the heavy oak swung inward and they were confronted by the prizefighter whom dorothy had last seen heating a poker in the conway house. "'scuse us, suh. we'se bringin' wood fo' de fire." the big man glared at them for a moment. then apparently satisfied, he stepped aside. "o.k. thought i heard someone snoopin' around. dump those logs in the box and then get out." he paid no more attention to them. slouching stiffly in a big chair before the fire, he became immediately engrossed in the sunday paper. uncle abe dropped the logs into the woodbox, and dorothy knelt on the hearth and piled her kindling beside it. in rising to her feet her head brushed uncle abe's arm, knocking off the soft felt hat bill had loaned her. quick as a flash she retrieved it and thrust it back on her head. "a boy with a girl's bob!" dorothy turned sharply and found herself staring into the muzzle of an automatic. "stand right where you are," barked the big man, as he got up out of his chair. "and you too, dinge--" the revolver swerved for a second in abe's direction. "ol' man river and the girl, of course--we expected you to show up. the laugh's on you, all right. where's your boy friend?" "right here!" bill bolton stepped from behind the heavy window draperies, his revolver trained on the gangster's stomach. "drop that gun--drop it, or i'll drill you!" then as the automatic crashed to the floor, a smile spread over his tanned face. "and this time the laugh is on you, my friend," he added softly. "oh, _yeah_?" came a rasping voice from the hall doorway. "you drop _your_ rod, bo'--and stick 'em up! don't move--you're covered. now laugh that one off--ha-ha!" bill's gun fell to the floor and his hands rose slowly upwards. in the doorway stood the bald man--the other member that dorothy had spied on in the library of the conway house. chapter xvi the book the newcomer limped a couple of paces into the room. his left arm and one leg were swathed in bandages. "what price rock salt?" remarked bill pleasantly, still reaching toward the ceiling. despite her qualms, dorothy could not help smiling. the bald man's face became scarlet with fury. "another crack like that and i'll give you a taste of something harder than rock salt," her roared. "and when i get through with him that guy who was so free with his shotgun last night will wish he'd never been born!" bill ignored this outburst. "that gat was my only weapon," he announced without rancor. "this house is in new york state, so if you want to burn in sing sing, shoot--i'm tired of holding up my arms." he lowered his hands and thrust them into his trousers pockets. the bald man looked daggers but he did not pull the trigger. instead he turned on his partner. "why don't you do something, chick?" he growled. "you know i'm laid up--oughta be in bed right now, for that matter." "say, eddie," complained the burly fellow, "i'm stiff as a board myself--i got peppered all down my back and you know it." "aw, quit yer grousin'. you can still move around. tie 'em up and we'll dump 'em somewhere till the boss gets back." "yeah? an' what do we use fer rope?" eddie scratched his head with the butt of his revolver and hobbled over to an armchair. "stick that gat in yer pocket, chick," he ordered as he lowered himself carefully into the deep cushions. "i've got 'em covered. beat it into the kitchen--that fat dinge in there's got plenty of clothesline. help yerself and tell her i'll come in an' bump her off, if she gets nasty!" chick pocketed his revolver and started to walk stiffly across the room when liza's ample figure appeared in the doorway. in her hands she bore a wooden mixing bowl, brimming with cake batter. the whites of her eyes gleamed dangerously, as she glared at chick; then she waddled into the room and halted just behind eddie's chair. "i done heard what yo'all said jes' now, bald man--" she shook her head slowly from side to side and stared down at the gangster's hairless pate. "seems ter me you was talkin' 'bout bumpin' somebuddy!" with his gun covering the three prisoners, eddie was unable to look up at her. chick undoubtedly hailed liza's appearance as relief from the painful necessity of a walk to the kitchen. he sat down on the edge of a chair opposite eddie and scowled at her sourly. eddie took up the conversation with the angry woman behind him. "that's right, nigger," he chuckled hoarsely. "we want some clothesline, to tie up these here nuisances--an' if you don't cough some up right now--i'll bump you off, see?" "reckon you got your names mixed--" without warning liza brought the solid mixing bowl down upon his unprotected skull. eddie collapsed beneath the forceful blow and as he crumpled to the floor, liza flung the bowl and its contents in chick's face. then with an agility surprising in one so cumbersomely made, she catapulted herself at the astonished ruffian. over went his chair and they crashed in a tangled heap of broken furniture, waving legs and cake batter. bill broke into a roar of laughter, but dorothy wasted no time in being amused at this spectacle. she dove for bill's gun which eddie had not bothered to retrieve. she ran over the struggling pair on the floor and held the muzzle to chick's head. "stop fighting!" she commanded. "stop it at once--" chick sat up and tried to scrape the batter out of his eyes. "i ain't fightin'," he growled, "i'm half blind and i'm fair smothered. an' if me back ain't broke it oughter be! take that mack truck offen my legs--i can't move, much less put up a scrap!" "get up, liza!" dorothy had to smile at the fellow's plight. with bill's help she got the stout negress planted on her feet again. uncle abe stood guard with a poker over eddie. that glum gentleman was heralding his return to consciousness with the most remarkable series of coughing grunts. "this sure is the craziest rough house i ever got mixed up in," laughed bill. "old baldy over there sounds like a french pig rooting for truffles--" dorothy grinned absent-mindedly, her thoughts on the next move to be made. "we'll let dese two pigs burrer an' grunt down cellar," declared liza, straightening her turban and smoothing down her apron. "dere's a empty storeroom down dere--it's got a strong door an' a good bolt, too. gimme a gun, please miss dor'thy. me an' uncle abe can 'tend ter dis white trash." the negress walked over to eddie, who stared about the room, a dazed expression on his face. "git up an' come along." then as eddie continued to look at her vacantly, she picked him up as if he were a baby and draped him over her broad shoulders. "yo'all go first, liza," said uncle abe. he prodded chick with the gun he had taken from her. "him an' me'll be right behin'." dorothy and bill watched the odd procession pass from the room. "whew!" she exclaimed. "that was a hectic five minutes. but how did you happen to be in here?" "got tired of sticking round outside, so slipped in by that window. eddie was asleep at the time, but he woke up right afterward. then you and uncle abe walked in--and you know the rest. say, it must be terry these guys nabbed. wonder what's become of stoker and betty?" "heaven only knows," said dorothy wearily. "i'll go up and let terry out and i think the best thing you can do is to phone the state police. with terry here, we've got enough on mr. john j. joyce to hold him, now." "we sure have. wonder what the j in john j. joyce stands for?" "well, it will stand for jay, jonah and jinx all in one, _if_ you get the police here before he comes back and sets his men free. by the way, i may be going coo-coo with all this, but it seems to me that i keep hearing shots every now and then. there's another--hear it?" "somebody's probably potting bunnies in the woods." bill seemed unconcerned. "i noticed it just after i got in here. beat it upstairs now, and i'll hunt up a telephone." dorothy found the room where terry was held prisoner by the simple expedient of opening each door as she came to it. the fourth door was locked, but the key was on the outside. it was no surprise to her, upon opening it, to see her friend lying on the bed. a quick glance showed dorothy that both windows were barred. terry sprang up with a glad cry. "it's sure good to see _you_!" he gave her a good-natured hug. "how in the world did you manage this?" dorothy told him as briefly as possible. "what i want to know," she said in conclusion, "is how they happened to catch you napping--and what's become of george conway and betty?" "they didn't catch me napping," terry retorted. "you and bill had been gone about an hour and i expected stoker back from taking betty home any minute. a ford drove into the garage, there was a bang on the door and a voice sang out--'let me in. it's george.' well, i opened up and--" "it wasn't george--" supplied dorothy, as usual going straight to the point. "joyce and his men nabbed you, of course. that's plain enough. but where are betty and george?" "search me." bill burst into the room and stood breathless before them. "did you get the police?" asked dorothy. "got headquarters all right. but what do you think's happened?" "spill it, bill. this is no guessing bee," said terry. "the sergeant told me they'd had a phone call from lewis. the old man was frantic. joyce and his gang were trying to break into his house. the whole caboodle from headquarters are up there now, rounding up john j. joyce and company." "that accounts for the shots we heard," cried dorothy. "get on your rubbers, terry. we're going to hike over to mr. lewis's place right now. i want to be in at the finish." "and i," added bill, "want to find out what this mess is about!" they raced downstairs and stopping only long enough to tell liza and uncle abe of this new development, set off for the lewis property adjoining. following hasty directions given them by the darkies, they hurried along a path which led them to a gate in a high wall. the gate was not locked and they continued along the path which crossed the lewis estate. presently the dim shape of a large white house appeared through the mist. "halt!" a gruff voice arrested them as they were about to ascend the steps at the side entrance. a state trooper barred their way. "who are you--and what do you want?" "we are friends of mr. lewis," said dorothy. she explained the circumstances of their arrival. "well, we've just sent joyce and his men to the lockup. the whole crew of 'em. we corralled 'em proper. they'd busted into the house, you know, and it sure would have been a mixup if this fly cop that horned in on the joyce bunch hadn't clapped his gat to joyce's head and held up their game until we got here." "oh, that must have been michael michaels--the private inquiry agent who came to uncle abe's last night," said bill. "we'd like to go in the house, officer." "o.k. with me. there's some kind of a pow-wow goin' on in the living room. i'll take you in there." he opened the door and led them across the square hall into the living room. here they found a surprise awaiting them. "betty! george!" cried dorothy. she flew across the room to her friend. "i'm so glad you're safe. how did you get here?" "oh, darling! it's too exciting for words!" gurgled betty as they hugged each other. "and george was so brave--he--" "mr. lewis and his chauffeur stopped our lizzie last night," broke in stoker. "told us joyce and his men were likely to hold us up down the road. so we left the ford and came over here with mr. lewis. and we've been here ever since." "listen, george!" said that old gentleman, and both girls giggled. "hadn't you better introduce your friends? this young lady in overalls is miss dixon, i take it?" "she certainly is," smiled stoker and performed the necessary introductions. the other men in the room proved to be michael michaels and an inspector of the state police. for a few minutes everybody seemed to be talking at once. bill told george and mr. lewis of his adventures with dorothy, while terry explained his capture by the joyce gang to the inspector and michaels. "listen!" said dorothy and threw a reproving glance at the others' unsuppressed smiles--"will somebody please tell me what mr. joyce has been trying to steal from stoker?" "why, that's so," interjected mr. lewis, "you have no idea, of course--" "no, except that it's probably mixed up with that book, _aircraft power plants_, i think it's called--" the old gentleman looked at her in unfeigned astonishment. "listen, michaels!" he cried. "she says this business is connected with that book. pretty good guess, eh?" "certainly is," returned the detective. "but the book is a mystery in itself, and one we haven't yet solved." "but what _was_ joyce after?" interrupted bill with a show of impatience. "the plans, of course," said stoker conway. "but what plans?" "the plans of my father's new aircraft engine. i knew nothing about it until mr. lewis told me last night." "where are the plans, and what has the book to do with them?" broke in dorothy. "listen, young lady," began mr. lewis, when michaels the detective stopped him with a gesture. "better let me tell them, sir," he suggested. "these young people have a right to know." the old gentleman nodded approval and the detective, after biting off the end of a cigar, continued to talk while the others grouped about him. "about two weeks ago," he said, "mr. lewis called at my new york office. there he told me the following story. six weeks before his death, mr. conway came over here and told mr. lewis that he had perfected plans for an aircraft motor which would develop very high power on a very small consumption of gasoline." "that's just what all the inventors are after now," interposed bill. "why, i should say so!" cried dorothy. "if _wispy's_ motor didn't lap up the gas like a thirsty camel, i'd never have been forced to land in that woodlot yesterday afternoon!" "all very interesting, i'm sure--" terry's voice was sarcastic. "but do let's hear what mr. michaels is trying to tell us!" "that's all right," smiled the detective. "let's see--where was i? oh, yes, the motor: well, the inventor told mr. lewis that his partner and sales agent had ruined him financially, and that now he was convinced that he'd been swindled, and that joyce was a crook. mr. lewis suggested mr. conway take the matter to the courts, and offered to advance money for legal expenses. mr. conway said he hadn't sufficient evidence for a case; that joyce had covered his tracks too well. then he spoke about the plans for this new motor he'd just completed. he said that joyce knew about it and was trying to get control of the thing; but that outside of stealing the plans outright, joyce could do nothing, as the partnership had been dissolved. and at the same time he told mr. lewis that he knew he was suffering from an incurable disease and could live but a few months longer at most." "listen, michaels--let me tell it," interrupted old lewis. "you are wandering all over the place.... your father, george, said that should he have the new motor built, joyce would undoubtedly make trouble, and he, conway, wanted to die in peace. he told me he was going to entrust me with the plans and would send them to me after he had made some slight changes in them. and he said that he would send me his check to cover the expense of building and exploiting the engine. 'after i'm gone, you attend to it for george,' he said. 'that boy has no mechanical ability, and he's too young to market a thing like this motor. joyce or other wolves like him would rob him of it in twenty four hours.' and that, was the last time i saw john conway alive." the old gentleman pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose violently. "he wouldn't see me when i called, nor would he mention the plans over the phone. he died while i was in boston on business. when i got back the next day, i found a package from him waiting for me. of course, i thought it would contain the plans and his check. when i opened it up i found nothing but a book--_aircraft power plants_, by a man named jones. i was naturally surprised, and searched its pages from cover to cover, but found no papers of any kind. i've even read every word of it since then. and its pages have been tested for invisible ink. but i've had my trouble and pains for nothing." "i wonder why father didn't tell me of those plans?" george remarked rather wistfully. "that i can't explain, my boy. as you know now, i thought you had them. either that you had removed them from the book before it left your house, or that your father had changed his mind and given them to you. anyway, i decided to await developments. nothing happened until joyce, who had been in europe since conway's death, returned home a couple of weeks ago. he came to see me and asked me outright if i knew anything about conway's airplane motor plans. i never liked nor trusted joyce, but i saw no harm in telling him the truth. for of course i figured that george must have set the wheels in motion for the sale of the motor long before. joyce could do nothing about it at this late date." "but to my astonishment, the man told me the motor had not been marketed--that he would have heard if any company had bought it. 'either that boy's got the plans,' he said, 'or conway had two copies of the book and sent you the wrong one--' i didn't understand how the book came into it and told him so. 'conway always sent important papers through the mail by placing them between the pages of a book,' he assured me. 'thought they would travel safer that way.' "well, he changed the subject then, and left. i got nervous about what i'd told him, and hired michaels to watch the fellow. michaels dug up a lot of things about joyce, and managed to get himself placed on his staff of roughnecks. if he could have been in two places at once, all this trouble over at the conway house last night would never have come off." dorothy spoke from her place on the couch beside betty. "how did you happen to go there last night?" "i wanted to find out if george really had another copy of the book. later i learned from michaels that joyce's men had tried to torture the boy into telling them where the plans were--and that then he intended to kidnap him. i was on my way over there to warn him when we met on the road. he wanted to put young walters wise, but i was sure the joyce gang wouldn't hurt his friend. i had promised michaels not to go ahead on my own hook until i saw him. perhaps i was wrong, but i did what i thought was best for george's interests. i've heard since that they just about tore the house apart, looking for the other copy of that book!" "do you happen to have the copy that was sent you, here in the house?" asked dorothy. "yes--right here, on the table." michaels handed it to her. dorothy pored over the book for a few minutes, then laid it down. "mr. lewis, do you mind if i take it home with me?" "why, of course not--keep it as long as you wish." "thanks," she smiled. "now, you gentlemen want to plan about what to do with joyce and co., and bill and i have some gas to buy and a plane to fly home. so i'll say _au revoir_ for the present!" chapter xvii the test on a morning some three months later, the private flying field on the bolton place was the mecca of a considerable portion of new canaan's population. the ridge road and the surrounding meadows were jammed with cars that flaunted license plates of a dozen different states. although the december sun shone brightly in a cobalt sky, the crowd shivered and stamped on the frozen ground for the winter air was icy. all eyes were turned upward toward an airplane, high above their heads, which swept the sky in immense, horizontal circles. a small group of people bundled in heavy fur coats stood and chatted by the open doors of the hangar. "i almost wish they'd come down," said george conway. "they must be half-dead for want of sleep, and they've already beaten the world's record by hours. it must be a terrific strain, especially for dorothy." "oh," cried betty mayo. "isn't she marvelous?--and bill, too!" "they're a pair of young idiots!" growled old mr. lewis, whose false teeth were chattering. "but i must admit they're first class sportsmen to stay up all this time for a friend!" "you said it." declared terry walters, and glanced at his wrist watch. "in exactly one minute, they'll have been up one hundred and one hours, without refueling. gosh, it's wonderful! that motor of your father's is some humdinger, stoker!" "why, it's simply adorable!" betty was brimming over with excitement. "and i just can't help being glad that that horrid mr. joyce and his men are being sent to sing sing for years and years and years! it's too--" "here they come!" the crowd yelled and roared and swarmed toward the roped-off enclosure. sure enough--at last the big plane was spiralling downward. it landed lightly on the frozen ground and bowled across the field. the crowd surged in, but there was no sign of life, no movement about the plane. mechanics jerked open the door, and there, side by side, grimy, worn, unkempt, were dorothy dixon and bill bolton, sleeping like children! somehow they were taken into the bolton's house and put to bed, where they continued to sleep for twelve hours, while certain anxious gentlemen waited about, impatiently demanding interviews. the pair eventually looked up from quantities of ham and eggs in the dining room, to greet their visitors. "now, i want to talk business," said the portly man who led the van. "mr. conway will not discuss the matter. he refers me to you--" "oh, you can talk to her," said bill. he motioned to dorothy. "she's run this show from start to finish." "and what," asked the portly gentleman, coming at once to the point, "will you take for that motor, miss dixon?" "hmmm--a hundred hours, without refueling," remarked dorothy, thoughtfully buttering a slice of toast. "i hope you've given that some thought." "i have given it several thoughts. name a price." "a million," said dorothy. "dollars?" bill kicked her under the table. "pounds, certainly," said dorothy. "i went to england last year, and after i learned how to figure their complicated money, i've never been able to unlearn it!" she smiled benignly upon the company. bill nodded. "dorothy's some little bargainer, ain't she?" he said delightedly, with his mouth full. "give you a million dollars," said the portly gentleman. "give up your place," said dorothy, "and let some of these other gentlemen into the game." "a million and a half," said the portly gentleman, edging closer to the table. "make it two million and you win." "done!" "thank you," smiled dorothy. "now please make the check payable to george conway." the gentlemen filed out of the room. "gee, you're a whizbang, dorothy!" bill exploded as soon as they were alone. "some christmas present for stoker!" "you're not so bad yourself," laughed the girl. "that kick of yours was worth just a million dollars!" five minutes later, the kitchen door of the bolton's house was flung open and a black face crowned with an aureole of woolly hair peered in. "has yo'all heard de news, liza?" panted uncle abe in great excitement. "g'wan home, niggah, i'ze busy makin' waffle fo' de chilluns," retorted the bolton's cook. "golly, but dey sure is hungry!" "miss dorothy done sol' dat motah fo' two million dollars. i wuz stickin' roun' outside an' done hear de gen'men talkin' 'bout it." "lan's sakes, but dat a pile er money," said liza pouring batter on to the hot waffle iron. "how come marse bill was able ter build dat engin'? i thought dat de plans was lost?" "you sho' has a one-track mind, liza," uncle abe observed contemptuously. "and dat track spells nuthin' but kitchen. my young missy _found_ dem plans! she beat all dose big detecatives to it!" "do tell! whar was dey?" "in er book, liza." "shucks, i done heard 'bout de book. dey warn't no plans inside it." "huh! dey sho wuz, too!" "whar dey at?" "miss dor'thy done took er knife an' ripped dat book erpart! dat little lady is de quality, an' she sure am smart. de plans was on thin paper, pasted in de back whar de leaves o' de book am sewed togedder." "do tell!" liza shook her head. "but what i nevah did un'erstan' wuz why marse joyce tried ter kidnap de other boys and girls." "liza, you sho' is dumb. it all come out in de trial. firs' marse joyce think marse george know 'bout de plans, so his men try ter make him tell. den when miss dor'thy busted up dat party, he know dat de other chilluns would sho' crab his game if dey wuz let loose ter tell 'bout it." "abe, you is crazy! how dat man goin' ter keep all dose young folks locked in his house while he try to sell dem plans? de police sure find dem befo' he's able ter do dat!" "no. liza, you's wrong agin. marse joyce knew a lot about dem plans. marse conway had done tol' him consider'ble about dem, and marse joyce done tell de rooshians what marse conway tell him. de rooshians say dey give him a heap of money jes' as soon as he build dat engine." "an' marse joyce figured he'd beat it to rooshia jes' as soon as he could put his han's on de plans?" said liza. "dat's right--" nodded the old darky. "you ain't quite ez dumb ez yo' looks, niggah. an' de way marse george is a-hangin' roun' miss betty--" "yo'all talks too much," liza cut him short. "lan' sakes! gossipin' at yo' age! tote dis hyar plate of hot waffles inter der dinin' room. de young folks am hungry!" the end * * * * * dorothy's further adventures will be found in the fourth book of this series, dorothy dixon and the double cousin. clue of the silken ladder _by_ mildred a. wirt _author of_ mildred a. wirt mystery stories trailer stories for girls _illustrated_ cupples and leon company _publishers_ new york _penny parker_ mystery stories _large 12 mo. cloth illustrated_ tale of the witch doll the vanishing houseboat danger at the drawbridge behind the green door clue of the silken ladder the secret pact the clock strikes thirteen the wishing well saboteurs on the river ghost beyond the gate hoofbeats on the turnpike voice from the cave guilt of the brass thieves signal in the dark whispering walls swamp island the cry at midnight copyright, 1941, by cupples and leon co. clue of the silken ladder printed in u. s. a. _contents_ chapter page 1 double trouble _1_ 2 a rope of silk _12_ 3 society routine _23_ 4 a turn of fortune _32_ 5 the man in gray _42_ 6 an apartment burglary _49_ 7 mark of the iron hook _59_ 8 psychic signs _67_ 9 mrs. weems' inheritance _75_ 10 ouija board wisdom _85_ 11 the celestial temple _94_ 12 a message for mrs. weems _102_ 13 cousin david's ghost _111_ 14 wet paint _118_ 15 hidden money _125_ 16 over the window ledge _135_ 17 kano's curio shop _142_ 18 the bell tower _151_ 19 penny investigates _157_ 20 inside the cabinet _163_ 21 startling information _168_ 22 scaling the wall _174_ 23 a prisoner in the belfry _181_ 24 the wooden box _188_ 25 extra! _200_ chapter 1 _double trouble_ "now i ask you, lou, what have i done to deserve such a fate?" jerking a yellow card from beneath the windshield of the shiny new maroon-colored sedan, penny parker turned flashing blue eyes upon her companion, louise sidell. "well, penny," responded her chum dryly, "in riverview persons who park their cars beside fire hydrants usually expect to get parking tickets." "but we were only inside the drugstore five minutes. wouldn't you think a policeman could find something else to do?" "oh, the ticket won't cost you more than five or ten dollars," teased louise wickedly. "your father should pay it." "he should but he won't," penny answered gloomily. "dad expects his one and only daughter to assume her own car expense. i ask you, what's the good of having a weekly allowance when you never get to use it yourself?" "you _are_ in a mood today. why, i think you're lucky to have a grand new car." louise's glance caressed the highly polished chrome plate, the sleek, streamlined body which shone in the sunlight. the automobile had been presented to penny by her father, anthony parker, largely in gratitude because she had saved his newspaper, _the riverview star_, from a disastrous law suit. "yes, i am lucky," penny agreed without enthusiasm. "all the same, i'm lonesome for my old coupe, leaping lena. i wish i could have kept her. she was traded in on this model." "what would you do with that old wreck now, penny? nearly every time we went around a corner it broke down." "all the same, we had marvelous times with her. this car takes twice as much gasoline. another thing, all the policemen knew lena. they never gave her a ticket for anything." penny sighed deeply. pocketing the yellow card, she squeezed behind the steering wheel. "by the way, whatever became of lena?" louise asked curiously, slamming the car door. she glanced sharply at penny. "oh, she's changed hands twice. now she's at jake harriman's lot, advertised for fifty dollars. want to drive past there?" "not particularly. but i'll do it for your sake, pet." as the car started toward the harriman car lot, louise stole an amused glance at her chum. penny was not unattractive, even when submerged in gloom. upon the slightest provocation, her blue eyes sparkled; her smile when she chose to turn it on, would melt a man of stone. she dressed carelessly, brushed a mop of curly, golden hair only if it suited her fancy, yet somehow achieved an appearance envied by her friends. the automobile drew up at the curb. "there's lena." penny pointed to an ancient blue coupe with battered fenders which stood on the crowded second-hand lot. a _for sale_ sign on the windshield informed the public that the auto might be bought for forty dollars. "lena's value seems to have dropped ten dollars," commented louise. "my, i had forgotten how wrecky the old thing looks!" "don't speak of her so disrespectfully, lou. all she needs is a good waxing and a little paint." the girls crossed the lot to inspect the coupe. as they were gazing at it, jake, the lot owner, sidled toward them, beaming ingratiatingly. "good afternoon, young ladies. may i interest you in a car?" "no, thank you," replied penny. "we're just looking." "now here is a fine car," went on the dealer, indicating the coupe. "a 1934 model--good mechanical condition; nice rubber; a lively battery and fair paint. you can't go wrong, ladies, not at a price of forty dollars." "but will it run?" asked louise, smothering a giggle. "there's thousands of miles of good service left in this little car, ladies. and the price is only fifteen dollars above the junk value." the thought of leaping lena coming to an inglorious end in a junk yard was disconcerting to penny. she walked slowly about the car, inspecting it from every angle. "forty dollars is too much for this old wreck," she said firmly. "why, penny, such disrespect!" mocked louise. penny frowned down her chum. sentiment and business were two different matters. "what _will_ you give?" inquired the car owner alertly. "not a cent over twenty-five." louise clutched penny's arm, trying to pull her away. "have you lost your mind?" she demanded. "what could you do with this old car when you already have a new one?" penny did not listen. she kept gazing at the coupe as one who had been hypnotized. "i'd take it in a minute, only i don't have twenty-five dollars in cash." "how much can you raise?" asked the dealer. "not more than five dollars, i'm afraid. but my father is publisher of the _riverview star_." jake harriman's brows unknitted as if by magic. "anthony parker's daughter," he said, smiling. "that's plenty good enough for me. i'll sell you the best car on the lot for nothing down. just come inside the office and sign a note for the amount. will that be okay?" disregarding louise's whispered protests, penny assured the dealer that the arrangement would be perfectly satisfactory. the note was signed, and five dollars in cash given to bind the bargain. "i'll throw in a few gallons of gas," the man offered. however, jake harriman's gasoline did not seem suited to leaping lena's dyspeptic ignition. she coughed feebly once or twice and then died for the day. "you have acquired a bargain, i must say!" exclaimed louise. "you can't even get the car home." "yes, i can," penny insisted. "i'll tow her. a little tinkering and she'll be as good as new." "you're optimistic, to say the least," laughed louise. penny produced a steel cable from the tool kit of the maroon sedan, and jake harriman coupled the two cars together. "penny, what will your father say when he learns of this?" louise inquired dubiously. "on top of a parking ticket, too!" "oh, i'll meet that problem when i come to it," penny answered carelessly. "louise, you steer lena. i'll drive the sedan." shaking her head sadly, louise climbed into the old car. although penny was her dearest friend she was forced to admit that the girl often did bewildering things. penny's mother was dead and for many years she had been raised by a housekeeper, mrs. maud weems. secretly louise wondered if it were not the housekeeper who had been trained. at any rate, penny enjoyed unusual freedom for a high school girl, and her philosophy of life was summed up in one headline: action. penny put the sedan in gear, towing the coupe slowly down the street. the two vehicles traveled several blocks before a hill loomed ahead. penny considered turning back, and then decided that the cars could make the steep climb easily. however, midway up the hill the sedan suddenly leaped forward as if released from a heavy burden. at the same instant lena's horn gave a sharp warning blast. glancing into the mirror, penny was horrified to see leaping lena careening backwards down the steep slope. the tow rope had unfastened. bringing the sedan to the curb, she jerked on the hand brake, and sprang to the pavement. louise, bewildered and frightened, was trying desperately to control the coupe. the car gathered speed, wobbling crazily toward the line of traffic. "guide it! guide it!" shouted penny. "put on the brakes!" so confused was louise that she lost her head completely. straight toward a long black limousine rolled the coupe. the chauffeur spun his wheel, but too late. there was a loud crash as the two cars came together. penny raced down the hill to help her chum from the coupe. "are you hurt?" she asked anxiously. louise shook her head, wailing: "penny parker, just see what has happened now! you never should have bought this stupid old wreck!" both the chauffeur and an elderly gentleman who carried a cane, alighted from the limousine. with grim faces they surveyed the fender which had been crushed. "the owner is mr. kohl," louise whispered nervously. "you know, president of the first national bank." the banker did not recognize either of the girls. addressing them both, he made several pointed remarks to the effect that irresponsible young people were very thoughtless to endanger the property of others with their ancient "jalopies." "it was entirely my fault, mr. kohl," acknowledged penny meekly. "of course, i'll pay for the fender." the banker softened somewhat, gazing at the girls in a thoughtful, more friendly way. "haven't i seen you somewhere before?" he asked. "oh, yes, mr. kohl." penny was quick to press for an advantage. "why, i am one of your best customers. ever since i was six years old i've trusted your bank with my savings!" "i remember you now," said mr. kohl, smiling. "you're the parker girl." adding a mental note that anthony parker actually was one of the bank's largest depositors, he decided it would be excellent policy to make light of the accident. a moment later as a policeman came to investigate, he insisted that the incident had been unavoidable and that it would be a mistake to arrest the girls. "mr. kohl, you were noble, absolutely noble," declared penny gratefully after the policeman had gone. "the least i can do is to pay for the damage." "i'll stop at sherman's garage and have a new fender put on," the banker responded. "the bill can be sent to your father." after mr. kohl had driven away, louise helped penny hook the coupe to the sedan once more. she remarked cuttingly: "you've done right well today. one parking ticket, a bill for twenty-five dollars, and another one coming up. just what _will_ your father say?" "plenty," sighed penny. "i wonder if it might not be a good idea to break the news by easy stages? perhaps he'll take it more calmly if i telephone." "don't be too sure." the street was a narrow, dingy one with few business houses. noticing a japanese store which bore a sign, "kano's curio shop," she started toward it, intending to seek a public telephone. louise seized her arm. "penny, you're not going in there!" "why not?" "this is dorr street--one of the worst places in riverview." "oh, don't be silly," chuckled penny. "it's perfectly safe by daylight. i'll go alone if you're afraid." thus challenged, louise indignantly denied that she was afraid, and accompanied her chum. the door of mr. kano's shop stood invitingly open. pausing on the threshold, the girls caught a pleasant aroma of sandalwood. so quietly did louise and penny enter that the elderly, white-haired shop owner did not immediately see them. he sat behind a high counter, engrossed in something he was sewing. "good afternoon," said penny pleasantly. the japanese glanced up quickly and as quickly thrust his work beneath the counter. recovering poise, he bowed to the girls. "may we use your telephone if you have one?" penny requested. "so very sorry, miss," the japanese responded, bowing again. "have no telephone." penny nodded, absently fingering a tray of tiny ivory figures. the japanese watched her, and mistaking curiosity for buying interest, brought additional pieces for her to inspect. the curios were all too expensive for penny's purse, but after endless debate she bought a pair of wooden clogs. the shop owner padded away into a back room, intending to wrap the package for her. scarcely had he vanished when penny turned excitedly to her chum. "lou, did you notice how funny he acted when we came in here?" "yes, he didn't want us to see what he was making evidently." "exactly what i thought! but we'll fool mr. kano!" giving louise no opportunity to protest, penny boldly peered behind the counter. "here it is," she whispered. "but _what_ is it?" hidden in a pasteboard box lay coil upon coil of what appeared to be fine, black silk rope. curiously, she lifted it up, exposing a network of crossbars. "well, of all things!" she exclaimed. "it's a ladder, lou! a ladder made of silk!" chapter 2 _a rope of silk_ even as penny spoke, she felt a hard, warning tug on her skirt. quickly she turned around. in the doorway stood the old japanese. his smile was not pleasant to behold. "we-we were just looking at this rope," penny stammered, trying to carry off the situation with dignity. "i hope you don't mind." the japanese shopkeeper gazed steadily at the girl, his face an emotionless mask. since he spoke no word, it became increasingly evident that he regarded her with anger and suspicion. "may i ask what use is made of this silk rope?" penny inquired. "do you sell it for a special purpose?" the japanese coldly ignored the direct questions. "so very sorry to have kept you waiting," he said softly. "your change please." penny knew that she deserved the rebuke. accepting the package and coins, she and louise hastily left the shop. not until they were some distance away did the latter speak. "penny, you would do a trick like that! one of these days your curiosity will get us into serious trouble." "at least i learned what was hidden behind the counter," chuckled penny. "but that jap didn't seem very eager to answer my questions." "can you blame him? it certainly was none of our affair what he kept inside the box." "perhaps not, lou, but you must admit he acted strangely when we first entered the shop. you know--as if we had surprised him in a questionable act." "he naturally was startled. we came in so quietly." "all the same, i'm not one bit sorry i looked behind the counter," penny maintained. "i like to learn about things." "i agree with you there!" "lou, what purpose do you suppose silk ladders serve? who uses them and why?" "now, how should i know? penny, you ask enough questions to be master of ceremonies on a radio quiz program." "i can't recall ever having seen a silk ladder before," penny resumed, undisturbed by her chum's quip. "would acrobats use them, do you think?" "not to my knowledge," louise answered. "if i were in your shoes i should worry about more serious matters than those connected with a mere silk ladder." "the world is filled with serious things," sighed penny. "but mystery! one doesn't run into it every day." "you do," said louise brutally. "if a stranger twitches his ears twice you immediately suspect him of villainy." "nevertheless, being of a suspicious nature won me a new car," penny defended herself. "don't forget dad gave it to me for solving a mystery, for telling his newspaper readers what was going on _behind the green door_." "oh, your curiosity has paid dividends," louise admitted with a laugh. "take for instance the time you trailed the _vanishing houseboat_, and again when you lowered the kippenberg drawbridge to capture a boatload of crooks! those were the days!" "why dwell in the past, lou? now take this affair of the silk ladder--" "i'm afraid _you'll_ have to take it," louise interrupted. "do you realize it's nearly four o'clock? in exactly ten minutes i am supposed to be at the auditorium for orchestra practice." "lou, you can't desert me now," penny protested quickly. "how will i get lena home? i need you to steer her." "thanks, but i don't trust your tow rope." "at least go as far as the _star_ office with me. once there, maybe i can get one of the reporters to help me the rest of the way." "oh, all right," louise consented. "but the _star_ office is my absolute limit." deciding not to take time to telephone her father, penny once more climbed into the maroon sedan, posting louise behind the wheel of the coupe. at a cautious speed the two cars proceeded along the street, coming presently to a large corner building which housed the _riverview star_. no parking space being available on the street, penny pulled into the newspaper plant's loading dock. "say, you!" shouted a man who was tossing stacks of freshly inked papers into a truck. "you can't park that caravan in here!" penny's eyes danced mischievously. "oh, it's quite all right," she said. "i guess you don't know who i am." "sure, i do," the trucker grinned. "but your dad gave orders that the next time you tried to pull that daughter-of-the-publisher stuff we were to bounce you! this dock is for _star_ trucks." "why, the very idea," said penny, with pretended injury. "the night edition doesn't roll for an hour and i'll be away from here before then! besides, this is a great emergency! when dad hears about all the trouble i'm in, a little matter such as this won't even ruffle him." "okay, chase along," the trucker returned good-naturedly. "but see to it that you're out of here within an hour." penny bade louise good-bye, and with plaid skirt swinging jauntily, crossed the cement runway to the rear elevator entrance. without waiting for the cage to descend, she took the steps two at a time, arriving at the editorial floor gasping for breath. "what's your rush?" inquired an amused voice. "going to a fire?" jerry livingston, ace reporter for the _star_, leaned indolently against the grillwork of the elevator shaft, his finger pressed on the signal button. he and penny were friends of long standing. "oh, hello, jerry!" penny greeted him breathlessly. "guess what? i've just come from dorr street--kano's curio shop--and i had the most amazing adventure!" "i can imagine," grinned jerry. "if you breezed through the place the way you do this building, you must have left it in ruins." "just for that, i won't tell you a thing, not a thing," retorted penny. "what sort of a mood is dad in today?" "well, i heard him tell dewitt that unless the news output improves on this sheet, he aims to fire half the force." "sounds like dad on one of his bad days," penny sighed. "maybe i should skip home without seeing him." "trouble with the old allowance again?" jerry asked sympathetically. "you don't know the half of it. i'm submerged so deeply in debt that i'll be an old lady before i get out, unless dad comes to my rescue." "well, good luck," chuckled jerry. "you'll need it!" walking through the newsroom, between aisles of desks where busy reporters tapped on their typewriters, penny paused before a door marked: _anthony parker, editor_. listening a moment and hearing no voices within, she knocked and entered. her father, a lean, dignified man with tired lines about his eyes and mouth, sat working at his desk. he smiled as he saw his daughter, and waved her toward a chair. instead, penny perched herself on a corner of the desk. "dad, i have a splendid surprise for you," she began brightly. "i've just accomplished a wonderful stroke of business!" "never mind beating about the bush," interrupted mr. parker. "shoot me the facts straight. what have you done this time?" "dad, your tone! i've bought back my old car, leaping lena. and it only cost me a trifling sum." mr. parker's chair squeaked as he whirled around. "you've done _what_?" "it's a long story, dad. now don't think that i fail to appreciate the grand new car you gave me last winter. i love it. but between lena and me there exists a deep bond of affection. today when i saw her on jake harriman's lot looking so weather-beaten and unhappy--why, a little voice inside me whispered: 'penny, why don't you buy her back?' so i did." "never mind the sentimental touches. when i gave you the new car i thought we were well rid of lena. how much did you pay for it?" "oh, lena was a marvelous bargain. five dollars cash and a note for twenty more. the man said you could pay for it at your convenience." "very considerate of him," mr. parker remarked ironically. "now that we have three cars, and a double garage, where do you propose to keep lena?" "oh, anywhere. in the back yard." "not on the lawn, young lady. and what do you plan to do with two cars?" "the maroon one for style, and lena when i want a good time. why, dad, she bears the autographs of nearly all my school friends! i should keep her as a souvenir, if for no other reason." "penny, it's high time you learned a few lessons in finance." mr. parker spoke sternly although his mouth twitched slightly. "i regret that i cannot assume your debts." "but dad! i'm a minor--under legal age. isn't it a law that a father has to support his child?" "a child, but not two cars. if you decide to take the case to court, i think any reasonable judge will understand my viewpoint. i repeat, the debt is yours, not mine." "how will i pay?" asked penny gloomily. "i've already borrowed on my allowance for a month ahead." "i know," said her father. "however, with your ingenuity i am sure you can manage." penny drew a deep breath. argument, she realized, would be utterly useless. while her father might be mildly amused by her predicament, he never would change his decision. "since you won't pay for lena, i suppose it's useless to mention mr. kohl's fender," she said despairingly. "does he have one?" "please don't try to be funny, dad. this is tragic. while i was towing lena, the rope broke and smash went the fender of mr. kohl's slinky black limousine." "interesting." "i had to promise to pay for it to keep from being arrested. oh, yes, and before that i acquired this little thing." penny tossed the yellow card across the desk. "a parking ticket! penny, how many times--" mr. parker checked himself, finishing in a calm voice: "this, too, is your debt. it may cost you five dollars." "dad, you know i can't pay. think how your reputation will be tarnished if i am sent to jail." mr. parker smiled and reached as if to take money from his pocket. reconsidering, he shook his head. "i know the warden well," he said. "i'll arrange for you to be assigned to one of the better cells." "is there nothing which will move you to generosity?" pleaded penny. "nothing." retrieving the parking ticket, penny jammed it into her pocket. before she could leave there came a rap on the door. in response to mr. parker's "come in," mr. dewitt, the city editor, entered. "sorry to bother you, chief." "what's wrong now, dewitt?" the publisher inquired. "miss hilderman was taken sick a few minutes ago. we had to send her home in a cab." "it's nothing serious i hope," said mr. parker with concern. "a mild heart attack. she'll be out a week, if not longer." "i see. be sure to have the treasurer give her full pay. you have someone to take her place?" "that's the problem," moaned dewitt. "her assistant is on vacation. i don't know where we can get a trained society editor on short notice." "well, do the best you can." dewitt lingered, fingering a paper weight. "the society page for the sunday paper is only half finished," he explained. "deadline's in less than an hour. not a chance we can pick up anyone in time to meet it." penny spoke unexpectedly. "mr. dewitt, perhaps i can help you. i'm a whiz when it comes to writing society. remember the kippenberg wedding i covered?" "do i?" dewitt's face relaxed into a broad grin. "that was a real write-up. say, maybe you could take over miss hilderman's job until we can replace her." "service is my motto." penny eyed her father questioningly. "it might save the _star_ from going to press minus a society page. how about it, dad?" "it certainly would solve our problem," contributed dewitt. "of course the undertaking might be too great a one for your daughter." he winked at penny. "she'll have no difficulty in taking over," said mr. parker stiffly. "none whatsoever." "then i'll start her in at once," dewitt replied. "come with me, miss parker." at the door penny paused and discreetly allowed the city editor to get beyond hearing. then, turning to her father she remarked innocently: "oh, by the way, we overlooked one trifling detail. the salary!" the editor made a grimace. "i might have expected this. very well, i'll pay you the same as i do miss hilderman. twenty-five a week." "why, that would just take care of my debt to jake harriman," protested penny. "i simply can't do high pressure work without high pay. shall we make it fifty a week?" "so you're holding me up?" "certainly not," chuckled penny. "merely using my ingenuity. am i hired?" "yes, you win," answered mr. parker grimly. "but see to it that you turn out good work. otherwise, you soon may find yourself on the _star's_ inactive list." chapter 3 _society routine_ penny followed city editor dewitt to a small, glass-enclosed office along the left hand wall of the newsroom. miss hilderman's desk was cluttered with sheets of copy paper which bore scribbled notations, items telephoned to the _star_ but not yet type-written. "there should be a date book around here somewhere," dewitt remarked. finally he found it in one of the desk drawers. penny drew a deep breath as she scanned the long list of social events which must be covered for the sunday page. "do the best you can," dewitt said encouragingly. "work fast, but be careful of names." the telephone bell rang. as penny reached for the receiver, dewitt retreated to his own domain. "hello, miss hilderman?" a feminine voice cooed, "i wish to report a meeting, please." "miss hilderman isn't here this afternoon," replied penny politely. "i will take the item." gathering up paper and pencil, she slid into the revolving chair behind the telephone, poised for action. "yes," she urged, "i am ready." there was a lengthy pause, and then the woman at the other end of the line recited as if she were reading from a paper: "'a meeting of the mystical society of celestial thought, order of amar, 67, will be held tuesday night at eight o'clock in the temple, 426 butternut lane. the public is cordially invited.'" "what sort of society is the order of amar?" penny inquired curiously, taking notes. "i never heard of it before." "why, my dear, the society is very well known," the woman replied. "we hold our meetings regularly, communing with the spirits. i do hope that the item appears in print. so often miss hilderman has been careless about it." "i'll see that the item is printed under club notices," penny promised. "your name, please?" the woman had hung up the receiver, so with a shrug, penny typed the item and speared it on a wire spindle. for the next hour she was kept busy with other telephone calls and the more important stories which had to be rushed through. copy flowed steadily from her office by way of the pneumatic tube to the composing room. shortly after five o'clock, dewitt dropped in for a moment to praise her for her speed and accuracy. "you're doing all right," he said. "so far i've only caught you in one mistake. mignonette is spelled with a double t." "this job wouldn't be half bad if only brides could learn to carry flowers with easy names," laughed penny. "when i get married i'll have violets and sweet peas!" dewitt reached for the copy on the spindle. "what's this?" he asked. "more to go?" "club notices." the editor tore the sheet from the wire, reading it as he walked toward the door. abruptly, he paused and turned toward her. "miss parker, this can't go through." "why, what is wrong?" penny asked in surprise. "have i made another error in spelling?" dewitt tore off the lead item and tossed it on her desk. "it's this meeting of the so-called mystical society of celestial thought. the _star_ never runs stuff like that, not even as a paid advertisement." "i thought it was a regular lodge meeting, mr. dewitt." "nothing of the sort. merely a free advertisement for a group of mediums and charlatans." "oh, i didn't know," murmured penny. "these meetings have only one purpose," mr. dewitt resumed. "to lure victims who later may be fleeced of their money." "but if that is so, why don't police close up the place?" penny demanded. "why doesn't the _star_ run an exposã© story?" "because evidence isn't easy to get. the meetings usually are well within the law. whenever a police detective or a reporter attends, the services are decorous. but they provide the mediums with a list of suckers." penny would have asked dewitt for additional information had not the city editor walked hurriedly away. scrambling the item into a ball, she tossed it into the waste paper basket. then upon second thought she retrieved it and carefully smoothed the paper. "perhaps, i'll drop around at the temple sometime just to see what it is like," she decided, placing the item in her pocket. "it would be interesting to learn what is going on there." for the next half hour penny had no time to think of the celestial temple. however, at twenty minutes before six, when her father came into the office, she was well ahead of her work. "hello, penny," he greeted her. "how do you like your new job?" "fine and dandy. only routine items rather cramp one's style. now if i were a regular reporter instead of a society editor, i know several stories which would be my dish!" "for instance?" inquired mr. parker, smiling. "first, there's an oriental shop on dorr street that i should investigate. the japanese owner acted very mysteriously today when i went there. louise and i saw him making a silk ladder, and he refused to reveal its purpose." "a silk ladder?" repeated mr. parker. "odd perhaps, but hardly worthy of a news story." "dad, i only wish you had _seen_ that old japanese--the sinister way he looked at me. oh, he's guilty of some crime. i feel it." "the _star_ requires facts, not fancy or emotion," mr. parker rejoined. "better devote your talents to routine society items if you expect to remain on my payroll." penny took the announcement of the celestial thought meeting from her pocket and offered it to the publisher. "here's one which might be interesting," she said. "how about assigning me to it after i get this society job in hand?" mr. parker read the item and his eyes blazed with anger. "do you know what this means, penny?" "mr. dewitt told me a little about the celestial temple society. he said the paper never ran such items." "certainly not! why, i should like nothing better than to see the entire outfit driven out of town! riverview is honeycombed with mediums, fortune tellers and faith healers!" "perhaps they mean no harm, dad." "i'll grant there may be a small number of persons who honestly try to communicate with the spirit world," mr. parker replied. "my concern is not with them, but with a group of professional mediums who lately have invaded the city. charlatans, crooks--the entire lot!" "why don't you write an editorial about it?" penny suggested. "an editorial! i am seriously tempted to start a vigorous campaign, but the trouble is, the police cannot be depended upon to cooperate actively." "why, dad?" "because experience has proven that such campaigns are not often successful. evidence is hard to gain. if one place is closed up, others open in different sections of the city. the mediums and seers operate from dozens of private homes. when the police stage raids they acquire no evidence, and only succeed in making the department look ridiculous." "yet the mediums continue to fleece the public?" "the more gullible strata of it. until recent months the situation here has been no worse than in other cities of comparable size. lately an increasing number of charlatans has moved in on us." "why don't you start a campaign, dad?" penny urged. "you would be doing the public a worthwhile service." "well, i hesitate to start something which i may be unable to finish." "at least the public deserves to be warned." "unfortunately, penny, many persons would take the attitude that the _star_ was persecuting sincere spiritualists. a campaign must be based on absolute evidence." "can't it be obtained?" "not without great difficulty. these mediums are a clever lot, penny. they prey upon the superstitions of their intended victims." "i wish you would let me work on the story, dad." "no, penny," responded her father. "you attend to your society and allow dewitt to worry about the celestial temple crowd. even if i should launch a campaign, i couldn't allow you to become mixed up in the affair." the telephone bell jingled. with a tired sigh, penny reached for the receiver. "society desk," she said mechanically. "i am trying to trace mr. parker," informed the office exchange operator. "is he with you, miss parker?" "telephone, dad," said penny, offering him the receiver. mr. parker waited a moment for another connection to be made. then penny heard him say: "oh, it's you, mrs. weems? what's that? repeat it, please." from her father's tone, penny felt certain that something had gone wrong at home. she arose, waiting anxiously. mr. parker clicked the receiver several times. "apparently, mrs. weems hung up," he commented. "is anything the matter, dad?" "i don't know," mr. parker admitted, his face troubled. "mrs. weems seemed very excited. she requested me to come home as soon as possible. then the connection was broken." "why don't you try to reach her again?" mr. parker placed an out-going call, but after ten minutes the operator reported that she was unable to contact the housekeeper. "mrs. weems never would have telephoned if something unusual hadn't happened," penny declared uneasily. "perhaps, she's injured herself." "you think of such unpleasant things." "something dreadful must have happened," penny insisted. "otherwise, why doesn't she answer?" "we're only wasting time in idle speculation," mr. parker said crisply. "get your things, penny. we'll start home at once!" chapter 4 _a turn of fortune_ penny immediately locked her desk and gathered up hat and gloves. she was hard pressed to keep pace with her father as they hastened to the elevator. "by the way, you have your car downstairs?" the publisher inquired absently. he seldom drove his own automobile to the office. "what a memory you have, dad!" chuckled penny. "yes, i have all two of them! parked in the loading dock for convenience." "penny, haven't i told you a dozen times--" mr. parker began, only to check himself. "well, it will save us time now. however, we may discuss a few matters when we get home." the elevator shot them down to the first floor. leaping lena and the maroon sedan remained in the loading dock with a string of _star_ paper trucks blocking a portion of the street. "hey, sister," a trucker called angrily to penny. "it's time you're getting these cars out of here." he broke off as he recognized mr. parker and faded behind one of the trucks. "dad, do you mind steering lena?" penny asked demurely. "we can't leave her here. you can see for yourself that she seems to be blocking traffic." "yes, i see," mr. parker responded grimly. "of course, if you would feel more dignified driving the sedan--" "let me have the keys," the publisher interrupted. "the important thing is to get home without delay." penny became sober, and slid into her place at the wheel of leaping lena. amid the smiles of the truckers, mr. parker drove the two cars out of the dock. once underway, the caravan made reckless progress through rush-hour traffic. more than once penny whispered a prayer as lena swayed around a corner, missing other cars by scant inches. presently the two automobiles drew up before a pleasant, tree-shaded home built upon a high terrace overlooking a winding river. penny and her father alighted, walking hurriedly toward the front porch. the door stood open and from within came the reassuring howl of a radio turned too high. "nothing so very serious can have happened," remarked penny. "otherwise, mrs. weems wouldn't have that thing going full blast." at the sound of footsteps, the housekeeper herself came into the living room from the kitchen. her plump face was unusually animated. "i hope you didn't mind because i telephoned the office, mr. parker," she began apologetically. "i was so excited, i just did it before i stopped to think." "penny and i were nearly ready to start home in any case, mrs. weems. has anything gone wrong here?" "oh, no, mr. parker. it was the telegram." "telegram? one for me, you mean?" "no, my own." the housekeeper drew a yellow paper from the pocket of her apron, offering it to the publisher. "my cousin david died out in montana," she explained. "the funeral was last saturday." "that's too bad," remarked penny sympathetically. and then she added: "only you don't look particularly sad, mrs. weems. how much did he leave you?" "penny! you say such shocking things! i never met cousin david but once in my life. he was a kind, good man and i only wish i had written to him more often. i never dreamed he would remember me in his will." "then he did leave you money!" exclaimed penny triumphantly. "how much does the telegram say, dad?" "you may as well tell her, mr. parker," sighed the housekeeper. "she'll give me no peace until she learns every detail." "this message which is from a montana lawyer mentions six thousand dollars," returned the publisher. "apparently, the money is to be turned over without legal delay." "why, mrs. weems, you're an heiress!" cried penny admiringly. "i can't believe it's true," murmured mrs. weems. "you don't think there's any mistake, mr. parker? it would be too cruel if someone had sent the message as a joke." before returning the telegram to the housekeeper, mr. parker switched off the radio. "this message appears to be authentic," he declared. "my congratulations upon your good fortune." "what will you do with all your money?" inquired penny. "oh, i don't know." the housekeeper sank into a chair, her eyes fastening dreamily on a far wall. "i've always wanted to travel." penny and her father exchanged a quick, alarmed glance. mrs. weems had been in charge of the household for so many years that they could not imagine living without her, should she decide to leave. during her brief, infrequent vacations, the house always degenerated into a disgrace of dust and misplaced furniture, and meals were never served at regular hours. "the oceans are very unsafe, mrs. weems," discouraged penny. "wars and submarines and things. surely you wouldn't dare travel now." "oh, i mean in the united states," replied the housekeeper. "i've always wanted to go out west. they say the grand canyon is so pretty it takes your breath away." "mrs. weems, you have worked for us long and faithfully and deserve a rest," said mr. parker, trying to speak heartily. "now if you would enjoy a trip, penny and i will get along somehow for two or three weeks." "oh, if i go, i'll stay the entire summer." the housekeeper hesitated, then added: "i've enjoyed working here, mr. parker, but doing the same thing year after year gets tiresome. often i've said to myself that if i had a little money i would retire and take life easy for the rest of my days." "why, mrs. weems, you're only forty-eight!" protested penny. "you would be unhappy if you didn't have any work to do." "at least, i wouldn't mind trying it." "such a change as you contemplate should be considered carefully," contributed mr. parker. "while six thousand seems a large sum it would not last long if one had no other income." before mrs. weems could reply, a strong odor of burning food permeated the room. "the roast!" exclaimed the housekeeper. "i forgot it!" penny rushed ahead of her to the kitchen. as she jerked open the oven door, out poured a great cloud of smoke. seizing a holder, she rescued the meat, and seeing at a glance that it was burned to a crisp, carried the pan outdoors. "what will the neighbors say?" mrs. weems moaned. "i never did a thing like that before. it's just that i am so excited i can't think what i am doing." "don't you mind," laughed penny. "i'll get dinner tonight. you entertain dad." with difficulty she persuaded the housekeeper to abandon the kitchen. left to herself, she opened a can of cold meat, a can of corn, a can of peaches, and with a salad already prepared, speedily announced the meal. "mr. parker, i truly am ashamed--" mrs. weems began. "now don't apologize for my cooking," broke in penny. "quantity before quality is my motto. anyway, if you are leaving, dad will have to accustom himself to it." "i'll hide the can opener," said mr. parker. "that's a good idea, dad." "before i go, i'll try to teach penny a little more about cooking," mrs. weems said uncomfortably. "of course, you'll have no difficulty in getting someone efficient to take my place." "no one can take your place," declared penny. "if you leave, dad and i will go to wrack and ruin." "you are a pair when you're left to yourselves," mrs. weems sighed. "that's the one thing which makes me hesitate. penny needs someone to keep her in check." "an inexperienced person would be putty in my hands," declared penny. "you may as well decide to stay, mrs. weems." "i don't know what to do. i've planned on this trip for years. now that it is possible, i feel i can't give it up." penny and mr. parker regarded each other across the table, and immediately changed the subject. not until that moment had they actually believed that the housekeeper was serious about leaving riverview. somehow they had never contemplated a future without mrs. weems. "i happen to have two complimentary tickets to a show at the rialto," mr. parker said offhand. "i'll be tied up with a meeting tonight, but you folks might enjoy going." "shall we, mrs. weems?" inquired penny. "thank you," responded the housekeeper, "but i doubt if i could sit still tonight. i thought i would run over to see mrs. hodges after dinner. she'll be pleased to learn about my inheritance, i know." "a friend of yours?" asked mr. parker. "yes, penny and i have been acquainted with her for years. she lives on christopher street." "perhaps this is none of my affair, mrs. weems. however, my advice to you is not to tell many persons about your inheritance." "oh, mrs. hodges is to be trusted." "i am sure of it, mrs. weems. i refer to strangers." "i'll be careful," the housekeeper promised. "no one ever will get that money away from me once i have it!" penny helped with the dishes, and then as her father was leaving the house, asked him if she might have the two theatre tickets. "since mrs. weems doesn't care to go, i'll invite louise," she explained. mr. parker gave her the tickets. making certain that the housekeeper was upstairs, he spoke in a low tone. "penny, mrs. weems is serious about leaving us. you must try to dissuade her." "what can i do, dad?" "well, you usually have a few ideas in the old filing cabinet. can't you think of something?" "i'll do my best," penny said with a twinkle. "we can't let an inheritance take mrs. weems from us, that's certain." after her father had gone, penny telephoned louise, agreeing to meet her chum at the entrance of the rialto. arriving a few minutes early, she idly watched various cars unloading their passengers at the theatre. presently a long black limousine which penny recognized drew up at the curb. the chauffeur opened the door. mr. kohl and his wife stepped to the pavement. observing the girl, they paused to chat with her. "i see you have the new fender installed on your car, mr. kohl," penny remarked with a grin. "may i ask how much i owe the garageman?" "the sum was trifling," responded the banker. "twelve dollars and forty cents to be exact. i may as well take care of it myself." "no, i insist," said penny, wincing inwardly. "you see, i am one of the _star's_ highly paid executives now. i write society in miss hilderman's absence and dad gives me a salary." "oh, really," remarked mrs. kohl with interest. "we are giving a dinner for eight tomorrow night. you might like to mention it." "indeed, yes," said penny eagerly. obtaining complete details, she jotted notes on the back of an envelope. mrs. kohl, at penny's request, was able to recall several important parties which had been held that week, providing material for nearly a half-column of society. after the kohls had entered the theatre, penny turned to glance at the black limousine which was pulling away from the curb. a short distance away stood a young man who likewise appeared to be watching the car. he wore a gray suit and a gray felt hat pulled unnaturally low over his eyes as if to shield his face. as penny watched, the young man jotted something down on a piece of paper. his gaze remained fixed upon the kohl limousine which was moving slowly down the street toward a parking lot. "why, that's odd!" thought penny. "i do believe he noted down the car license number! and perhaps for no good purpose." chapter 5 _the man in gray_ deciding that the matter should be brought to mr. kohl's attention, penny looked quickly into the crowded theatre lobby. the banker and his wife no longer were to be seen. turning once more, the girl saw that the young man in gray had also disappeared. "now where did he go?" thought penny. "he must have slipped into the alley. i wish i knew who he was and why he wrote down that car license number." curious to learn what had become of the man, she walked to the entrance of the alley. at its far end she could barely distinguish a shadowy figure which soon merged into the black of the starless night. penny was lost in thought when someone touched her arm. whirling, she found herself facing louise sidell. "oh, hello, lou," she laughed. "you startled me." "sorry to have kept you waiting," apologized louise. "i missed my bus. may i ask what you find of such interest in this alley?" "i was looking for a man. he's disappeared now." penny told louise what she had observed, mentioning that in her opinion the man might be a car thief. "i've heard that crooks spot cars ahead of time and then steal them," she declared. "i think i should have mr. kohl paged in the theatre, and tell him about it." "you'll make yourself appear ridiculous if you do," louise discouraged her. "the man may not have taken down the license number at all. even if he did, his purpose could have been a legitimate one." "then why did he slip down the alley?" "it's merely a short-cut to another street, isn't it? penny, your imagination simply works at high speed twenty-four hours of the day." "oh, all right," said penny with a shrug. "but if mr. kohl's car is stolen, don't blame me." "it won't be," laughed louise, linking arms with her chum. "not with a chauffeur at the wheel." entering the theatre, the girls were escorted to their seats only a few minutes before the lights were lowered. penny glanced over the audience but failed to see either mr. kohl or his wife. the curtain went up, and as the entertainment began, she dismissed all else from her mind. the show ended shortly before eleven and the girls mingled with the crowd which filed from the theatre. penny watched for mr. and mrs. kohl but did not see them. as she walked with louise toward the bus stop she spoke of her new duties as society editor of the _star_. "lou," she asked abruptly, "do you mind going home alone?" "why, no. where are you taking yourself?" "to the _star_ office, if you don't mind." "at this time of night?" "i have a few notes i should type. unfinished work always makes me nervous." "you, nervous!" louise scoffed. "i'll bet you want to see jerry livingston!" "no such thing," denied penny indignantly. "jerry doesn't work on the night force unless he's assigned to extra duty." "well, you have something besides work on your mind." "come along with me, suspicious, and i'll prove it." "no, thanks," declined louise. "it's home and bed for me. you run along." the girls separated, penny walking three blocks to the _star_ building. the advertising office was dark, but blue-white lights glowed weirdly from the composing room. only a skeleton night staff occupied the newsroom. without attracting attention, penny entered her own office. for an hour she worked steadily, writing copy, and experimenting with various types of make-up to be used on monday's page. the door creaked. glancing up, penny momentarily was startled to see a large, grotesque shadow of a man moving across the glass panel. however, before she actually could be afraid, jerry livingston stepped into the room. "oh, it's you!" she laughed in relief. "i thought it was against your principles to work overtime." the reporter slumped into a chair, and picking up a sheet of copy paper, began to read what penny had composed. "i'm not working," he replied absently. "just killing time." with a yawn he tossed the paper on the desk again. "is my stuff that bad?" inquired penny. "not bad at all. better than miss hilderman writes. but society always gives me a pain. not worthy of your talents, penny." "i wish you would tell dad that, jerry. i'd love to work on a big story again--one that would rock riverview on its foundation!" "i could bear up under a little excitement myself, penny. ever since you broke the green door yarn, this sheet has been as dead as an egyptian tomb." "things may pick up soon." "meaning--?" "dad is thinking rather seriously of launching a drive against an organized group of mediums." "so i hear," nodded jerry. "you know, for a long while i've thought that a clever reporter might be able to dig up some evidence at the celestial temple." "then you know about the place?" "i've been there several times." "what are the meetings like, jerry?" penny asked eagerly. "similar to a church musical service. at least everything was dignified when i was there. but i sure had a feeling that the lid was about to blow off." "perhaps you were suspected of being a _star_ reporter, jerry." "oh, undoubtedly. i could tell that by the way folks stared at me. the only person who would have a chance to get real evidence would be someone unknown as a reporter." "i wish dad would let me try it." "i don't," said jerry flatly. "the celestial temple is no place for a little girl like you." penny did not reply as she lowered her typewriter into the cavity of the desk. she was thinking, however, that if louise could be persuaded to accompany her, she would investigate the celestial temple at the first opportunity. "i'll take you home," jerry offered as penny reached for her hat. the night was a warm, mellow one in early june, marred only by dark clouds which scudded overhead, threatening rain. deciding to walk, penny and jerry crossed the park to oakdale drive where many of riverview's most expensive homes had been built. "doesn't mr. kohl live on this street?" penny presently asked her escort. "yes," he answered, "in a large stone apartment building. i'll point it out when we get there." they walked for a time in silence. then penny found herself telling about the afternoon meeting with mr. kohl which had led her to kano's curio shop. she spoke, too, of the silken ladder which had so aroused her speculation. jerry listened with polite interest. "you and louise shouldn't have chased around dorr street alone," he said severely. "it's a bad district." "oh, it was safe enough, jerry. i'd like to go back there. i can't help being curious about that strange ladder which the old japanese man was sewing." "i doubt if there's a story connected with it. the japanese make any number of curious articles of silk, you know." "but a ladder, jerry! what purpose could it serve?" "for one thing it would be more convenient to carry than the ordinary type." "one couldn't stand it against a wall or use it in the ordinary way, jerry. i asked the japanese about it but he refused to answer." "he may not have understood you." "oh, he understood, all right. do you know what i think? he was afraid i might discover something which would involve him with the police!" "better forget the kano curio shop," jerry said tolerantly. "i repeat, dorr street is no place for you." "and i'm supposed to forget the celestial temple, too," grumbled penny. "oh, i see you grinned behind your hand! well, mr. livingston, let me tell you--" she paused, and jerry's hand tightened on her own. unmistakably, both had heard a muffled scream. the cry seemed to have come from one of several large brick and stone buildings only a short distance ahead. "what was that?" penny asked in a low tone. "someone calling for help?" "it sure sounded like it!" exclaimed jerry. "come on, penny! let's find out what's going on here!" chapter 6 _an apartment burglary_ together penny and jerry ran down the street, their eyes raised to the unevenly lighted windows of the separate apartment houses. they were uncertain as to the building from which the cry had come. suddenly the front door of the corner dwelling swung open, and a young woman in a maid's uniform ran toward them. jerry, ever alert for a story of interest to the _star_, neatly blocked the sidewalk. of necessity the girl halted. "get a policeman, quick!" she gasped. "mr. kohl's apartment has been robbed!" "mr. kohl--the banker?" demanded penny, scarcely believing her ears. "yes, yes," the maid said in agitation. "jewels, silverware, everything has been taken! the telephone wire was cut, too! oh, tell me where i'll find a policeman!" "i'll get one for you," offered jerry. the information that it was mr. kohl's house which had been burglarized dumbfounded penny. as the reporter darted away to summon help, she showered questions upon the distraught maid. "i don't know yet how much has been taken," the girl told her excitedly. "the rooms look as if a cyclone had swept through them! oh, what will the kohls say when they learn about it?" "mr. and mrs. kohl aren't home yet?" "no, they went to the theatre. they must have stopped at a restaurant afterwards. when they hear of this, i'll lose my job." "perhaps not," said penny kindly. "surely you weren't to blame for the burglary." "they'll think so," the maid responded gloomily. "i am acquainted with mr. and mrs. kohl. perhaps, if i speak a good word for you it may help." "i doubt it," the girl responded. "i was supposed to have stayed at the apartment the entire evening." "and you didn't?" "no, i went to a picture show." "that does throw a different light on the matter," commented penny. "i didn't think it would make any difference. i intended to get here ahead of the kohls." "the robbery occurred while you were away?" "yes. as soon as i opened the door i knew what had happened! oh, i'll lose my job all right unless i can think up a good story." "i wouldn't lie if i were you," advised penny. "the police are certain to break down your story. in any case, you owe it to yourself and your employers to tell the truth." a misty rain had started to fall. the maid, who was without a wrap, shivered, yet made no move to re-enter the building. overhead, all along the dark expanse of apartment wall, lights were being turned on. "i am afraid your scream aroused nearly everyone in the building," said penny. "if i were in your place i would return to the kohl apartment and not answer many questions until the police arrive." "will you stay with me?" "gladly." the apartment door had slammed shut and locked with the night latch. fortunately the maid had a key with her so it was not necessary to ring for the janitor. ignoring the persons who had gathered in the hall, they took an automatic lift to the third floor, letting themselves into the kohl suite. "this is the way i found it," said the maid. she switched on a light, revealing a living room entirely bare of rugs. where three small oriental rugs had been placed, only rectangular rims of dirt remained to mark their outlines. beyond, in the dining room with its massive carved furniture, the contents of a buffet had been emptied on the floor. several pieces of china lay in fragments. a corner cupboard had been stripped, save for a vase and an ebony elephant with a broken tusk. "the wall cabinet was filled with rare antiques," disclosed the maid. "mrs. kohl has collected early american silver for many years. some of the pieces she considered priceless." the bedrooms were in less disorder. however, bureau drawers had been overturned, and jewel cases looted of everything save the most trivial articles. "mrs. kohl's pearls are gone, and her diamond bracelet," the maid informed, picking up the empty jewel box. "i am pretty sure she didn't wear them to the theatre." "i wouldn't touch anything if i were you," advised penny. "fingerprints." the maid dropped the case. "oh!" she gasped. "i never thought of that! do you think the police will blame me for the robbery?" "not if you tell them the truth. it surely will be unwise to try to hide anything." "i won't hold anything back," the maid promised. "it happened just like i said. after mr. and mrs. kohl left i went to a picture show." "alone?" "with my girl friend. after the show we had a soda together, and then she went home." "what time did you get here?" "only a minute or two before i called for help. i tried the telephone first." "why didn't you summon the janitor?" "i never thought of that. i was so excited i ran outside hoping to find a policeman." penny nodded and, returning to the living room, satisfied herself that the telephone wires actually had been cut. "you didn't notice anyone in the halls as you went downstairs." "no one. old mr. veely was on the lower floor when i came from the show, but he's lived here for seven years. i don't see how the burglar got into the apartment." "i was wondering about that myself. you're quite sure you locked the suite door?" "oh, yes, i know i did," the maid said emphatically. "and it isn't possible to get into the building without a key. otherwise, the janitor must be called." penny walked thoughtfully to the living room window. the apartment stood fully thirty-five feet from a neighboring building, with the space between much too wide to be spanned. below, the alley was deserted, and no fire escape ascended from it. "the burglar couldn't have entered that way," declared the maid. "he must have had his own key." before penny could respond, a sharp knock sounded on the door. the servant girl turned to open it. however, instead of the anticipated police, the apartment janitor, george bailey, peered into the disordered room. "i heard someone scream a minute or so ago," he said. "some of the tenants thought it came from this apartment. maybe they were mistaken." "there's no mistake," spoke penny from across the room. "the kohls have been robbed. will you please come inside and close the door?" "robbed! you don't say!" the janitor stared with alarmed interest. "when did it happen?" penny allowed the maid to tell what had occurred, adding no information of her own. when there came a lull in the excited flow of words, she said quietly: "mr. bailey, do you mind answering a few questions?" "why should i?" the janitor countered. "i'll tell you right now i know nothing about this. i've attended strictly to my duties. it's not my lookout if tenants leave their suite doors unlocked." "no one is blaming you," penny assured him. "i merely thought you might contribute to a solution of the burglary." "i don't know a thing about it." "you didn't let anyone into the apartment building tonight?" "not a soul. i locked the service door at six o'clock, too. now let me ask this: who are you, and how did you get in here?" "that's fair enough," smiled penny. she told her name, explained that she was an acquaintance of the kohls, and had been summoned by the maid. "please don't think that i am trying to play detective," she added. "i ask these questions in the hope of gaining information for my father's paper, the _star_." "well, it looks to me as if it was an inside job," the janitor replied, mollified. "come to think of it though, i've seen a suspicious-acting fellow hanging around the building." "you mean tonight?" "no, several days ago. he stayed on the other side of the street and kept watching the doorway." "what did he look like, mr. bailey?" "oh, i don't remember. he was just an average young man in a gray overcoat and hat." "gray?" repeated penny alertly. "it may have been light blue. i didn't pay much attention. at the time i sized up the fellow as a detective." penny had no opportunity to ask additional questions for just then voices were heard in the hallway. as she opened the door, jerry livingston, followed by a policeman, came toward her. "learn anything?" the reporter asked softly in her ear. "a little," answered penny. "let's see how much the officer turns up before i go into my song and dance." making a routine inspection of the rooms, the police questioned both the maid and the janitor. from an elderly lady who occupied the adjoining suite he gleaned information that the kohls' telephone had rung steadily for fifteen minutes during the early evening hours. "what time was that?" interposed penny. the policeman gazed at her with sharp disapproval. "please," he requested with exaggerated politeness. "sorry," apologized penny, fading into the background. "it rang about eight o'clock," the old lady revealed. "the information is not significant," said the officer, glancing again at penny. she started to speak, then bit her lip, remaining silent. "well, sister, what's on your mind?" he demanded abruptly. "excuse me, officer, but i think the information does have importance. couldn't it mean that the crooks, whoever they were, telephoned the apartment to make certain it was deserted before breaking in?" "possibly," conceded the policeman. his frown discouraged her. "any other theories?" "no," said penny shortly. the policeman began to herd the tenants into the hall. for a moment he paid no attention to penny and jerry, who with the maid were permitted to remain. "never try to show up a policeman, even if he is a stuffed shirt," remarked the reporter softly. "it gets you nowhere." the door closed and the officer faced the pair. "now young lady," he said, quite pleasantly. "what do you know about this burglary? i'll be very glad to listen." "i don't really know a thing," admitted penny. "but here's a little clue which you may be able to interpret. i can't." leading the policeman to the window, she started to raise the sash. the officer stopped her, performing the act himself, his hand protected by a handkerchief. "there is your clue," said penny. she indicated two freshly made gashes on the window ledge. separated by possibly a foot of space, they clearly had been made by a hook or sharp instrument which had dug deeply into the wood. chapter 7 _mark of the iron hook_ "what do you think of it?" penny asked as the officer studied the marks in silence. "i'd say they were made by something which hooked over the ledge," the policeman replied. "possibly a ladder with curving irons." jerry gazed down over the window ledge into the dark alley. "no ordinary ladder could reach this high," he commented. "raising an extension would be quite a problem, too." the kohl maid timidly approached the window, gazing at the two deep gashes with interest. asked by the policeman if she ever had noticed them before, she shook her head. "oh, no, sir. they must have been made tonight. i know they weren't there this afternoon when i dusted the window sills." "incredible as it seems, the thief came through this window," decided the policeman. "how he did it is for the detectives at central station to figure out." explaining that the rooms must not be disturbed until identification bureau men had made complete fingerprint records, the officer locked penny, jerry and the maid outside the suite. he then went to a nearby apartment to telephone his report. "maybe this is an ordinary burglary, but it doesn't look that way to me," remarked jerry as he and penny went down the stairway. "in any case, the story should be front page copy. anything the kohls do is news in riverview." "how high would you estimate the loss?" "oh, i couldn't guess, jerry. thousands of dollars." passing groups of tenants who cluttered the hallway excitedly discussing the burglary, they evaded questioners and reached the street. "jerry," said penny suddenly, "i didn't mention this to the policeman because he seemed to resent my opinions. but it occurred to me that i may have seen the man who robbed the kohls--or at least had something to do with it." "how could you have seen him, penny? we were together when the kohl maid yelled for help." "earlier than that. it was while i was at the theatre." half expecting that jerry would laugh, penny told how she had observed the man in gray note down the license number of the kohl limousine. "it came to me like a flash! that fellow may have telephoned the kohl apartment after seeing the car at the theatre. making sure no one was at home, he then looted the place at his leisure." "wait a minute," interrupted jerry. "the motor vehicle department closes at six o'clock. how could your man have obtained kohl's name and address from the license number?" "i never thought about the department being closed," confessed penny. "how you do love to shoot shrapnel into my little ideas!" "at least you have original theories, which is more than i do," comforted jerry. "before we leave, shall we take a look at the alley?" penny brightened instantly and accompanied the reporter to the rear of the building. the alley was deserted. without a light they were unable to examine the ground beneath the kohl's apartment window. suddenly, both straightened as they heard a sound behind them. the brilliant beam of a flashlight focused on their faces, blinding them. "oh, it's you again," said a gruff voice. the beam was lowered, and behind it they saw the policeman. "you young cubs are a pest," he said irritably. ignoring them, he moved his light over the ground. there were no footprints or other marks visible beneath the window. "if a ladder had stood here it would show," remarked jerry. "the thief must have used some other means of getting into the building." while the policeman was inspecting the ground, the janitor stepped from a rear basement door, joining the group. "officer, i have some more information for you," he volunteered. "what is it?" "i was talking with my wife. she says that about two hours ago she noticed a man walking through the alley. he carried a suitcase, and kept looking at the upstairs windows." "no ladder?" "only a suitcase." "i'll have the detectives talk with your wife," the policeman promised. "they'll be here any minute now." penny and jerry lingered until the two men arrived, bringing a photographer with them. no new evidence being made available, it seemed a waste of time to remain longer. "don't bother to take me home," penny insisted. "dash straight to the office and write your story. the other papers won't have a word about the robbery until the police report is made." "i don't like to abandon you." "don't be silly, jerry. it's only a few blocks farther." thus urged, the reporter bade penny good-bye. as she hastened on alone, it began to rain and the air turned colder. to save her clothing, she ran the last block, reaching the porch quite breathless. the house was dark, the front door locked. penny let herself in with a key, switched on the lights, and after getting a snack from the refrigerator, started upstairs. from her father's room issued loud snores. however, mrs. weems' door stood open, and as penny glanced in she was surprised to see that the bed had not been disturbed. "mrs. weems must still be at the hodges'," she thought. "perhaps i should go after her. she'll have a long walk in this rain." penny went to a window and looked out. the downpour showed no sighs of slackening. with a sigh she found her raincoat and started for the garage. during her absence, mr. parker had towed leaping lena to a vacant lot adjoining the property. the maroon car awaited her beneath shelter, and she drove it through dark streets to the hodges' modest home. lights glowed cheerily from the lower floor windows. in response to penny's knock, a bent old man, his hands gnarled by hard labor, opened the door. "is it penelope?" he asked, squinting at her through the rain. "come in! come in!" "good evening, mr. hodges. is mrs. weems still here?" "yes, i am, penny," called the housekeeper. "goodness, what time is it anyway?" "nearly midnight." penny shook water from her coat and stepped into the spic and span living room. an unshaded electric light disclosed a rug too bright, wallpaper too glaring, furniture stiff and old fashioned. yet one felt at once welcome, for the seamstress and her husband were simple, friendly people. "have a chair, penelope," invited mrs. hodges. she was short like her husband, with graying hair and an untroubled countenance. "thank you, but i can't stay," replied penny. "i came to drive mrs. weems home." "i had no idea it was so late," the housekeeper said, getting to her feet. "mrs. hodges and i have been planning my traveling outfit." "i'll try to have the dresses for you within the next two weeks," promised the seamstress. "your good fortune makes me very happy, maud. isn't the news of her inheritance wonderful, penelope?" "oh, yes, yes, of course," stammered penny. "only i hope mrs. weems isn't leaving us within two weeks. what's this about a traveling outfit?" "i've always wanted fine clothing," said mrs. weems dreamily. "mrs. hodges is making me a suit, three silk dresses, a tissue velvet evening gown--" "an evening gown!" penny gasped. "where will you wear it?" "i'll find places." "maybe she aims to catch a husband while she's galavantin' around out there in californy," contributed mr. hodges with a sly wink. "the very idea!" laughed mrs. weems, yet with no displeasure. penny sagged into the nearest rocking chair. the conversation was paced too fast for her. "evening gowns--husbands--california," she murmured weakly. "wait until dad hears about this." "mr. hodges was only joking," declared mrs. weems, reaching for her hat. "i wouldn't marry the best man on earth. but i definitely am going west this summer." "i envy you, maud," said the seamstress, her eyes shining. "pa and i want to go out there and buy a little orange grove someday. but with taxes what they are, we can't seem to save a penny." mrs. weems squeezed her friend's hand. "i wish i could take you along, jenny," she said. "all these years you've sewed your poor fingers almost to the bone. you deserve an easier life." "oh, pa and i don't complain," the seamstress answered brightly. "and things are going to look up." "sure they are," agreed mr. hodges. "i'll get a job any day now." penny, who was watching the seamstress' face was amazed to see it suddenly transformed. losing her usual calm, mrs. hodges exclaimed: "pa! it just this minute came to me! maud getting her inheritance is another psychic sign!" penny rocked violently and even mrs. weems looked startled. "i don't know what you mean, jenny," she said. "we said we wouldn't tell anybody, ma," protested mr. hodges mildly. "mrs. weems is my best friend, and penelope won't tell. will you, penelope?" "not what i don't know," replied penny in bewilderment. "how can mrs. weems' inheritance have anything to do with a psychic sign?" "you may as well tell 'em," grinned mr. hodges, "if you keep the news much longer you'll bust." "the strangest thing happened three nights ago," mrs. hodges began, her voice quivering with excitement. "but wait! first i'll show you the letter!" chapter 8 _psychic signs_ as penny and mrs. weems waited, the seamstress went to another room, returning with a stamped, slit envelope. "notice the postmark," she requested, thrusting the letter into penny's hand. "it was mailed from new york," the girl observed. "i mean the hour at which the envelope was stamped by the postmaster." "i make it 11:30 p.m. june fifteenth," penny read aloud. "does the time and date have special significance?" "indeed, it does," the seamstress replied impressively. "you tell them, pa." "it happened three nights ago," began mr. hodges. "ma worked late stitchin' up some playsuits for mrs. hudson's little girl. afterwards we had bread and milk like we always do, and then we went to bed." "at the time, i said to pa that something queer was going to happen," broke in the seamstress. "i could feel it in my bones. it was as if something was hovering over us." "a feeling of impending trouble?" questioned penny. "nothing like that," said mr. hodges. "no, it was as if one almost could feel a foreign presence in the room," mrs. hodges declared, lowering her voice. "a supernatural being." "surely you don't believe in ghosts...?" penny began, but the seamstress did not hear. unheeding, she resumed: "pa rubbed my back to ease the pain i get from working too long at the machine. then we went to bed. neither of us had gone to sleep when suddenly we heard it!" "six sharp raps on the outside bedroom wall," supplied mr. hodges. "it was like this." he demonstrated on the table. "we both heard it," added mrs. hodges. "it scared me nearly out of my wits." "possibly it was someone at the door," suggested penny. "no, it wasn't that. pa got up and went to see." "could it have been a tree bough brushing against the wall?" "it wasn't that," said mr. hodges. "the maple is too far off to strike our bedroom." "there's only one explanation," declared the seamstress with conviction. "it was a psychic sign--the first." "i don't believe in such things myself," announced penny. "surely there must be another explanation." "that's what i told jenny," nodded mr. hodges. "but since the letter came, doggoned if i don't think maybe she's right." "what has the letter to do with it?" inquired mrs. weems. the seamstress pointed to the postmark on the envelope. "the hour at which we heard the strange tappings was eleven-thirty! pa looked at the clock. and it was three days ago, june fifteenth." "corresponding to the marking on this envelope," commented penny. "that is a coincidence." mrs. hodges shook her head impatiently. "you surely don't think it just happened by _accident_?" she asked. "it must have been intended as a sign--an omen." "what did the letter say?" penny inquired, without answering mrs. hodges' question. she knew that her true opinion would not please the woman. "it wasn't rightly a letter," the seamstress returned. "the envelope contained six silver dollars fitted into a stiff piece of cardboard." "we figured it was another sign," contributed mr. hodges. "six raps on the wall--six dollars." "i wish some ghost would come and pound all night long on my bedroom door," remarked penny lightly. "penelope, you shouldn't speak so disrespectfully," mrs. weems reproved in a mild voice. "excuse me, i didn't mean to," said penny, composing her face. "what else has happened of a supernatural nature?" "why, nothing yet," mrs. hodges admitted. "but pa and i have had a feeling as if something important were about to take place. and now maud inherits six thousand dollars!" "there was nothing psychic about that," said mrs. weems. "cousin david had no close relatives so he left the money to me." the seamstress shook her head, and an ethereal light shone in her eyes. "night before last when i went to bed i was thinking that i wished with all my heart something nice would happen to you, maud. now it's come to pass!" even mrs. weems was somewhat startled by the seamstress' calm assumption that her thoughts had been responsible for the inheritance. "don't you see," mrs. hodges resumed patiently. "it must mean that i have great psychic powers. i confess i am rather frightened." penny arose and began to button her raincoat. "excuse me for saying it," she remarked, "but if i were you, mrs. hodges, i'd spend the six dollars and forget the entire affair. someone must have played a joke on you!" "a joke!" the seamstress was offended. "people don't give away money as a joke." "no, these days they squeeze the eagles until they holler," chuckled mr. hodges. "the letter was postmarked new york city," went on his wife. "we don't know a soul there. oh, no one ever can make me believe that it was done as a joke. the letter was mailed at exactly the hour we heard the six raps!" "and there wasn't a sign of anyone near the house," added mr. hodges. "well, at least you're six dollars ahead," said penny. "shall we go, mrs. weems? it's after midnight." the seamstress walked to the door with the callers. "i'll get busy tomorrow on those new dresses," she promised mrs. weems. "drop in again whenever you can. and you, too, penelope." driving home through the rain, penny stole a quick glance at the housekeeper who seemed unusually quiet. "do you suppose jenny could be right?" mrs. weems presently ventured. "i mean about cousin david and the inheritance?" "of course not!" laughed penny. "why, your cousin died a long while before mrs. hodges discovered that she was psychic. it's all the bunk!" "i wish i really knew." "why, mrs. weems!" penny prepared to launch into a violent argument. "i never heard of such nonsense! how could mrs. hodges have psychic powers? everyone realizes that communication with the spirit world is impossible!" "you are entitled to your opinion, penny, but others may differ with you. who can know about the life beyond? isn't it in the realm of possibility that mrs. hodges may have had a message from cousin david?" "she didn't speak of it." "not in words, penny. but those strange rappings, the arrival of the letter--it was all very strange and unexplainable." "i'll admit it was queer, mrs. weems. however, i'll never agree that there's anything supernatural connected with it." "you close your mind to things you do not wish to believe," the housekeeper reproved. "what can any of us know of the spirit world?" penny gazed at mrs. weems in alarm. she realized that the seamstress' story had deeply impressed her. "i'll stake my knowledge against mrs. hodges' any old day," she declared lightly. "i met one ghost-maker--osandra--remember him?" "why remind me of that man, penny?" asked the housekeeper wearily. "because you once paid him good money for the privilege of attending his sã©ances. you were convinced he was in communication with the world beyond. he proved to be an outrageous fraud." "i was taken in by him as were many other persons," mrs. weems acknowledged. "mrs. hodges' case is different. we have been friends for ten years. she would not misrepresent the facts." "no, mrs. hodges is honest. i believe that the money was sent to her. but not by a ghost!" "let's not discuss it," said mrs. weems with finality. "i never did enjoy an argument." penny lapsed into silence and a moment later the car swung into the parker driveway. the housekeeper hurried into the house, leaving the girl to close the garage doors. penny snapped the padlock shut. unmindful of the rain, she stood for a moment, staring into the night. nothing had gone exactly right that day, and her disagreement with mrs. weems, minor though it was, bothered her. "there's more to this psychic business than appears on the surface," she thought grimly. "a great deal more! maybe i am stubborn and opinionated. but i know one thing! no trickster is going to take advantage of the hodges or of mrs. weems either--not if i can prevent it." chapter 9 _mrs. weems' inheritance_ the clock chimed seven-thirty the next morning as penny came downstairs. she dropped a kiss on her father's forehead and slid into a chair at the opposite side of the breakfast table. "good morning, daddykins," she greeted him cheerfully. "any news in the old scandal sheet?" mr. parker lowered the newspaper. "please don't call me daddykins," he requested. "you know i hate it. here's something which may interest you. your friends the kohls were robbed last night." "you're eight hours late," grinned penny, reaching for the front page. "i was there." "i suppose you lifted the pearls and the diamond bracelet on your way to the theatre." "no," said penny, rapidly scanning the story which jerry had written, "but i think i may have seen the man who did do it." she then told her father of having observed a stranger note the license number of the kohl car, and mentioned the events which had followed. "you may have been mistaken about what the man wrote down," commented her father. "that's possible, but he was staring straight at the car." "i doubt if the incident had any connection with the burglary, penny. with the motor vehicle department closed, he would have had no means of quickly learning who the kohls were or where they lived." "couldn't he have recognized them?" "in that case he would have no need for the license number. you didn't see the man note down the plates of other cars?" "no, but he may have done it before i noticed him standing by the theatre." turning idly through the morning paper, penny's attention was drawn to another news story. reading it rapidly, she thrust the page into her father's hand. "dad, look at this! there were two other burglaries last night! apartment houses on drexel boulevard and fenmore street were entered." "h-m, interesting. the kohls occupy an apartment also. that rather suggests that the same thief ransacked the three places." "and it says here that the families were away for the evening!" penny resumed with increasing excitement. "i'll bet a cent they were at the theatre! oh, dad, that man in gray must have been the one who did it!" "if all the persons you suspect of crime were arrested, our jails couldn't hold them," remarked mr. parker calmly. "eat your breakfast, penny, before it gets cold." mrs. weems entered through the kitchen door, bearing reenforcements of hot waffles and crisp bacon. her appearance reminded penny to launch into a highly entertaining account of all that had transpired at the hodges' the previous night. "penny!" protested the housekeeper. "you promised mrs. hodges to say nothing about the letter." "oh, no, i didn't promise," corrected penny. "i was careful to say that i couldn't tell what i didn't know. years ago dad taught me that a good reporter never agrees to accept a confidence. isn't that so, dad?" "a wise reporter never ties his own hands," replied mr. parker. "if he promises, and then obtains the same story from another source, he's morally bound not to use it. his paper may be scooped by the opposition." "you two are a pair," sighed mrs. weems. "scoops and front page stories are all either of you think about. i declare, it distresses me to realize how penny may be trained after i leave." "the way to solve that problem is not to leave," said penny. "you know we can't get along without you." mrs. weems shook her head. "it cuts me almost in two to leave," she declared sadly, "but my mind's made up. mrs. hodges says i am doing the right thing." "and i suppose a ghost advised her," muttered penny. mr. parker glanced sternly at his daughter and she subsided into silence. but not for long. soon she was trying to reopen the subject of the mysterious letter received by the hodges. for a reason she could not understand, her father was loath to discuss it. "come, penny," he said. "if we're having that game of tennis this morning, it's time we start." en route to the park, the publisher explained why he had not chosen to express an opinion in the housekeeper's presence. "i quite agree with you that mrs. hodges has no psychic powers, penny. she's been the victim of a hoax. however, mrs. weems is intensely loyal to her friend, and any disparaging remarks made by us will only serve to antagonize her." "i'll try to be more careful, dad. but it's so silly!" monday morning found penny busy once more with her duties at the society desk. no new information had developed regarding the kohl burglary, and she did not have time to accompany mrs. weems who went frequently to the hodges' cottage. secretly penny held an opinion that the housekeeper's inheritance might be the work of a prankster. therefore, upon returning from the office one afternoon and learning that the money actually had been delivered, she was very glad she had kept her thoughts to herself. "the lawyer came this morning and had me sign a paper," mrs. weems revealed to the parkers. "then he turned the money over to me--six thousand dollars." "i hope the cheque is good," remarked penny. "it was. i had the lawyer accompany me to the bank. they gave me the money without asking a single question. i have it here." "you have six thousand dollars cash in the house!" "yes, i had the cashier give it to me in hundred dollar bills." "do you consider it safe to keep such a large sum?" mr. parker inquired mildly. "i should advise returning it to the bank, or better still, why not invest it in sound securities?" mrs. weems shook her head. "it gives me a nice rich feeling to have the cash. i've hidden it in a good place." "where?" demanded penny. "i won't tell," laughed mrs. weems. again later in the evening, mr. parker tried without success to convince the housekeeper that she should return the money to a bank. never one to force his opinions upon another, he then dropped the subject. "when will you be leaving us, mrs. weems?" he inquired. "whenever you can spare me. now that i have the money, i should like to leave within ten days or two weeks." "since we can't persuade you to remain, i'll try to find someone to take your place," mr. parker promised. both he and penny were gloomy at the prospect of replacing the housekeeper. not only would they miss mrs. weems but they honestly believed that she would never be happy without two incorrigibles and a home to manage. "dad," penny ventured when they were alone, "just supposing that mrs. weems' money should mysteriously disappear--" "don't allow your mind to dwell on that idea," cut in her father sternly. "we'll play fair." "oh, i wouldn't do it," said penny hastily. "i was only joking. but if something _should_ happen to the money, it would solve all our problems." "mrs. weems has earned her vacation. even though it will be hard to lose her, we mustn't stand in her way." "i guess you're right," sighed penny. the following day miss hilderman resumed her duties at the _star_, and penny once more found herself a person of leisure. to her annoyance, mrs. weems insisted that she spend many hours in the kitchen, learning how to bake pies and cakes. a particularly distasteful lesson came to an end only when penny, with brilliant inspiration, remembered that the housekeeper had an appointment with the seamstress. "dear me, i had forgotten it!" exclaimed mrs. weems. "yes, i must try on my new dresses!" "i'll drive you over," offered penny. not in recent days had the girl called upon the hodges. as she and mrs. weems alighted from the car, they both noticed freshly ironed curtains at the windows. mr. hodges was pounding dust from a carpet on the line. "housecleaning?" inquired penny, pausing to chat with the old man. "yes, jenny's got me hard at it," he grinned. "she's been tearin' the house upside down gettin' ready for the new roomer." "oh, have you taken one?" penny was surprised, knowing that in past years the hodges had been too proud to rent rooms. "there's a young feller moving in today," mr. hodges said, picking up the carpet beater. "go on inside. jenny'll tell you about it." penny and mrs. weems entered the cottage where the seamstress was running a dust mop over the floors. she was somewhat dismayed to see the housekeeper. "oh, maud, i've been so busy i didn't get your dresses ready to be tried on." "it doesn't matter," replied mrs. weems. "what's this about a new roomer?" "i always said i wouldn't have one cluttering up the place. but this young man is different. his coming here--well, i interpret it as another sign." "a sign of what?" inquired penny with her usual directness. "well, it seemed as if i had a direct message from the spirit world to take him into our home. he came here last night. instead of knocking in the usual way, he rapped six times in succession!" "probably he was the one who sent the letter," said penny alertly. "oh, no! he didn't know anything about it. i asked him." "what is his name, mrs. hodges?" "al gepper. he's such a nice young man and he talks so refined. i am letting him have the entire floor upstairs." "that should bring you a nice income," remarked mrs. weems. "i am asking only two dollars a week," admitted the seamstress. "he said he couldn't pay more than that." "why, jenny," protested mrs. weems, "such a small amount hardly will cover the lights and various extras." "i know, maud, but i couldn't turn him away. he moved his apparatus in last night and will bring his personal belongings sometime today." "his apparatus?" echoed penny. "what is he, a chemist?" "no," replied the seamstress, smiling mysteriously. "i'll show you the rooms." penny and mrs. weems followed the woman upstairs. the upper floor was divided into two small bedrooms with a wide, old-fashioned sliding door between which could be opened to make one large chamber. the larger of the rooms had been cleared of its usual furniture. where a bed previously had stood was a circular table with six or eight chairs, and behind it a tall cabinet with a black curtain across the front. "mr. gepper plans to use this room for his studio," explained mrs. hodges. penny's gaze had fastened upon the cabinet. she crossed to it and pulled aside the curtain. inside were several unpacked boxes and a suitcase. "mrs. hodges, to what purpose does your young man expect to put this studio?" she asked. "i don't know. he didn't tell me. but i think he intends to carry on psychic experiments. he's a student, he said." "mr. gepper was afraid to tell you the truth lest you refuse to rent the rooms," declared penny. "mrs. hodges, your roomer is a medium." "why do you think so?" "because i've seen trappings such as these before at other sã©ance chambers," replied penny. "mrs. hodges, you must send him away before he involves you with the police." chapter 10 _ouija board wisdom_ "trouble with the police!" mrs. hodges echoed, regarding penny with unconcealed dismay. "how can it be illegal to rent mr. gepper these rooms?" "renting the rooms isn't illegal," penny corrected. "but if the young man conducts public sã©ances here--filches money from people--then you may be considered a party to the scheme. this city has a local ordinance prohibiting fortune telling, mind reading and the like." "i am sure the young man means no wrong." "penny," commented mrs. weems, "it seems to me that you are overly concerned. why are you convinced that mr. gepper is a medium?" "doesn't this cabinet indicate it?" "i thought it was some sort of wardrobe closet," mrs. hodges admitted. "al gepper is a medium, or pretends to have spiritualistic powers," penny repeated. "in my opinion you'll be very unwise to allow him to start an illegal business here." "oh, dear, i don't know what to do now," declared the seamstress. "i'll have to ask pa about it." she and mrs. weems started downstairs, expecting that penny would follow. instead, the girl lingered to inspect the cabinet. on the lower floor a door slammed, and there were footsteps ascending the stairway. she paid no heed, assuming that it was either mr. hodges or his wife who approached. the door swung open. turning, penny saw a young man, possibly thirty years of age, standing on the threshold. his dark eyes were sharp and appraising. "hello," he said, without smiling. "aren't you afraid a monkey may jump out of that cabinet?" penny, who seldom blushed, felt a wave of heat creeping over her cheeks. "hello," she stammered. "you must be mrs. hodges' new roomer." "al gepper, at your service. who are you, girlie?" "you guessed it," said penny shortly, edging away from the cabinet. al gepper remained in the doorway, blocking the exit with his arm. he did not move as the girl attempted to move past him. "what's your hurry?" he drawled. "stick around and let's get acquainted. i'll show you some neat card tricks." "thanks, but i haven't time, mr. gepper." "what's your name anyhow?" he persisted. "you're not mrs. hodges' daughter." "no, only a friend." "you needn't be so icy about it," he rebuked. "any friend of mrs. hodges' is a friend of mine." "i never make friends easily," penny replied. "for that matter, i don't mind telling you that i have advised mrs. hodges not to rent you these rooms." "oh, you have?" inquired the man, his eyes hardening. "and what business is it of yours?" "none, perhaps. i merely am not going to allow her to be taken in if i can prevent it!" "oh, indeed. do you mind explaining?" "it's perfectly obvious that you're one of these fake spiritualists," penny accused bluntly. "your nickname should be six-raps al!" "a little spit-fire, aren't you?" the man retorted. "but you have style. now i may be able to use you in my business." "you admit that you're a medium?" "i am a spiritualist. not a fake, as you so crudely accuse. and i assure you i have no intention of deceiving or taking advantage of your dear friends, the hodges." "you expect to use these rooms for public sã©ances?" "i do." "then you are certain to get the hodges into trouble with the police." "not unless you start squawking." al gepper's manner changed abruptly. he grasped penny's wrist and pushed a leering face close to hers. "i'm not looking for any trouble from you or anyone else--see! if you try to make it, you'll wake up with a headache!" penny jerked free and, shouldering through the door, raced downstairs. glancing back, she saw that al gepper was following, though at a more leisurely pace. instantly she divined that he intended to make sure no report of the incident was given to the hodges, save in his presence. mrs. weems and the old couple were talking in the kitchen. "well, ma, it's for you to decide," mr. hodges was saying. "we gave our word to the young feller, and it's kinda mean to turn him out so sudden like." "i regret penny said anything about the matter." apologized mrs. weems. "you know how out-spoken and impulsive she is. of course, she has no information about mr. gepper." "oh, but i do have information," spoke penny from the doorway. "mr. gepper has just admitted that he intends to use the room for public sã©ances. isn't that true?" defiantly, she turned to face the young man who had followed her. "quite true," he acknowledged loftily. "one who has a great psychic gift is duty-bound to allow the world to benefit from one's talents. the selection of this house as a temple for celestial communication was not mine, but the bidding of the spirits. in a dream i was instructed to come here and take up residence." "what night did you have the dream?" questioned mrs. hodges, deeply impressed. "it was june fifteenth." "the very night we heard the strange rappings on our bedroom wall, pa." "dogonned if it wasn't!" "mr. gepper, do you truly believe it is possible to communicate with the spiritual world?" mrs. weems inquired politely. "my dear madam, i can best answer by offering a demonstration. have you a ouija board in the house?" "yes, we have," spoke mrs. hodges eagerly. "pa and i got it from a mail order house years ago, but it never worked for us. you fetch it, pa." mr. hodges brought a large, flat board which bore letters and figures. upon it he placed a small, triangular piece with cushioned legs. "this do-dad is supposed to spell out messages, ain't it?" he asked. "ma and i could never make it work right." al gepper smiled in a superior way, and placing the board on his lap, motioned for mrs. weems to sit opposite him. however, before the housekeeper could obey, penny slid into the vacant chair. the medium frowned. "place your hands lightly on the triangular piece," he instructed. "concentrate with me as we await a message from the spiritual world." penny fastened her eyes on the distant wall with a blank stare. a minute passed. the ouija board made several convulsive struggles, but seemed unable to move. "the spirits encounter resistance," the medium said testily. "they can send no message when one's attitude is antagonistic." "shall i take off the brakes?" asked penny. even as she spoke the pointer of the triangle began moving, rapidly spelling a message. "al gepper is a fraud," it wrote. the medium sprang to his feet, allowing the board to fall from his lap. "you pushed it!" he accused. "the test was unfair." "why, the very idea," chuckled penny. "penny, please allow mr. gepper to conduct a true test," reproved mrs. weems severely. "let me try." al gepper, however, would have no more of the ouija board. instead, he took a pad of white paper from his pocket. seating mrs. weems at the kitchen table he requested her to write a message, which, without being shown to anyone in the room, was sealed in an envelope. the medium pointedly requested penny to examine the envelope to assure herself the writing could not be seen through the paper. "you are satisfied that i have not read the message?" he asked. "yes," penny admitted reluctantly. the medium took the envelope, ran his fingers lightly over it, and returned it still sealed to mrs. weems. "if i am not mistaken, madam, you wrote, 'is the spirit of my cousin in this room?'" "why, i did!" exclaimed mrs. weems. "those were the exact words! how did you know?" al gepper smiled mysteriously. "you have seen nothing, madam," he said. "now if conditions are right, it may be possible for us to learn if a spirit has joined our group. lower the blinds, please." mr. hodges hastened to obey. with the kitchen in semi-darkness, the medium motioned for his audience to move a few paces away. taking his own position behind the kitchen table, he intoned: "oh, spirit, if you are with us in the room, signal by lifting this piece of furniture." slowly the man moved his hands above the table. at first nothing happened, then to the astonishment of his audience, it lifted a few inches from the floor. there it hung suspended a moment before dropping into place again. "you see?" with a triumphant ring to his voice, the medium crossed the room to raise the window shades. "now do you doubt me?" "no! no!" cried mrs. hodges tremulously. "only a spirit could have moved that table. maud, perhaps it _was_ your cousin david." the medium gazed at mrs. weems with sympathetic interest. "you have lost a loved one recently?" he inquired. "cousin david and i never were well acquainted," replied the housekeeper. "that was why i was so surprised when he left me an inheritance." "mrs. weems!" remonstrated penny. she was dismayed by the revelation so casually offered. "no doubt you would like to communicate with your departed cousin at some later time," the medium said smoothly. "allow me to offer my services as an intermediary. no charge, of course." "why, that's very generous of you, mr. gepper." "not at all. friends of the hodges are my friends. shall we set a definite date--say tomorrow at two o'clock?" "yes, i'll come. that is, if the hodges are to be present." "assuredly. mrs. hodges is definitely psychic and should contribute to our sã©ance." it was with the greatest of difficulty that penny finally induced the housekeeper to leave the cottage. al gepper accompanied them to the door. "tomorrow at two," he repeated, smiling slyly at penny. "and you may come also, my little doubter. i assure you it will be well worth your time." chapter 11 _the celestial temple_ "penny, tell me the truth," mrs. weems urged as they drove home together. "didn't you push the ouija board?" "of course," laughed penny. "but if i hadn't, al gepper would have. he was trying hard enough!" "he said you were resisting the spirits." "that was the worst sort of nonsense," penny returned impatiently. "gepper is a fraud, and i wish you hadn't told him about your inheritance." "how can you accuse him of being a fraud after you saw his marvelous demonstration? the table actually rose from the floor." "i know it did," penny acknowledged unwillingly. "but it must have been trickery." "how could it have been? the table was an ordinary one. mrs. hodges uses it every day of her life." "i don't know how he did it," penny responded. "all the same, i am sure he's a trickster. promise me you won't tell him anything more about yourself or the inheritance." "very well, i'll promise if it gives you satisfaction," the housekeeper replied. "however, i do intend to keep my appointment." penny had no opportunity to relate to her father what had occurred at the hodges home, for mr. parker was absent on a two-day business trip to a distant town. feeling that she must tell someone, she sought louise sidell, and they discussed every angle of the affair. "will you attend the sã©ance with mrs. weems?" louise asked her curiously. "will i?" penny repeated. "i'll be right there with bells! i intend to expose mr. al gepper if it's the last act of my life!" returning home later in the afternoon, she found mrs. weems sitting on the living room floor, sorting a drawer of old photographs. "you're not packing your things already?" penny asked in alarm. "only these photographs," the housekeeper responded. "i wouldn't have started the task, only i got into it when the agent came." "agent?" "a man from the clamont photograph studio." "never heard of the place." "it's opening this week. they're having a special offer--three old photographs enlarged for only twenty-five cents. i gave the man cousin david's picture and two others." "that is a bargain," remarked penny. "i wish i had been here." the evening meal was served, and afterwards mrs. weems devoted herself to the reading of travel books borrowed from the library. penny could find no occupation to satisfy her. she turned the radio on, switched it off again, and wandered restlessly from room to room. finally she went to the telephone and called louise. "how about a little adventure?" she proposed. "and don't ask for explanations." "will we be home by ten o'clock? that's the parental deadline." "oh, yes, we'll make it easily. meet me at the corner of carabel and clinton streets." mrs. weems was so engrossed in her book that she merely nodded as penny explained that she and louise were going for a walk. reaching the appointed corner the girl found her chum awaiting her. "tell me about this so-called adventure," she commanded. "where are we going?" "to the celestial temple, lou. at least, we'll look at it from the outside. meetings are held there nearly every night at eight o'clock." "penny, i don't think i care to go." "nonsense! the meetings are open to the public, aren't they? we'll have a very interesting time." "oh, all right," louise consented reluctantly. "but i can't understand why you're so interested in the place." the girls took a bus to the end of the line, then walked three blocks until they came to butternut lane. for long stretches there were only scattered houses and the street lamps were far between. becoming increasingly uneasy, louise urged her chum to turn back. "why, we're at our destination now," penny protested. "i am sure that must be the building." she pointed to an old, rectangular brick structure only a few yards ahead. obviously it once had been a church for there was a high bell tower, and behind the building a cluster of neglected tombstones gleamed in the moonlight. the evenly spaced windows were illuminated, and music could be heard. "are you sure this is the place?" louise inquired dubiously. "it looks like a church to me, and they're holding a service." "oh, the building hasn't been used for such purposes in over fifteen years," penny explained. "i investigated, so i know its history. until three years ago it was used as a county fire station. only recently it was reclaimed by this omar society of celestial thought." the girls moved closer. through an open window they were able to see fifteen or twenty people seated in the pews. a woman played a wheezing organ while a man led the off-key singing. "let's go inside," penny proposed. louise held back. "oh, no, we can see everything from here. it looks as if it were a very stupid sort of meeting." "appearances are often deceiving. i want a ringside seat." penny pulled her chum toward the entrance door. there they hesitated, reading a large placard which bore the invitation: _the public is invited. services at eight p.m. daily._ "we're part of the public, lou," urged penny. "come along." she boldly opened the door, and there was no retreat. heads turned slightly as the girls entered the rear of the temple. as quickly they turned forward again, but not before penny had gained an impression, of sharp, appraising faces. a man arose, bowed, and offered the girls his bench, although many others were available. they slipped into the pew, accepting a song book which was placed in louise's hand. while her chum sang in a thin, squeaky voice, penny allowed her gaze to wander over the room. at the far end she saw a door which apparently opened into the bell tower. on a slightly raised platform where the leader stood, were two black-draped cabinets somewhat similar to the one she had seen at mrs. hodges' cottage. otherwise, there was nothing of unusual interest. the services were decorous to the point of being boring. yet as the meeting went on, penny and louise both felt that they were being studied. more than once they surprised persons gazing at them. at the conclusion of the session which lasted no longer than thirty minutes, the leader asked the audience if any "brother" were present who wished to attempt a spirit communication. immediately, penny sat up a bit straighter, anticipating that interesting demonstrations were in store. nor was she mistaken. a thin, hard-faced man went to the rostrum, and in a loud voice began to call upon the spirits to make known their presence. signs were at once forthcoming. the empty pews began to dance as if alive. the speaker's table lifted a foot from the floor and a pitcher of water fell from it, smashing into a dozen pieces. louise, her eyes dilated with fear, edged closer to penny. "let's go," she pleaded. penny shook her head. a woman dressed in blue silk glided down the aisle, stopping beside the girls. she held a tray upon which were a number of objects, an opal ring, a knife, and several pins. "dearie," she said to penny, "if you would care to have a message from a departed soul, place a trinket in this collection. any personal object. our leader will then exhort the spirit to appear." "no, thank you," replied louise, without giving her chum a chance to speak. "perhaps, you would prefer a private reading," the woman murmured. "i give them at my home, and the fee is trivial. only a dollar." "thank you, no," louise repeated firmly. "i'm not interested." the woman shrugged and moved on down the aisle, pausing beside an elderly man to whom she addressed herself. "lou, why did you discourage her?" penny whispered. "we might have learned something." "i've learned quite enough. i'm leaving." louise squeezed past her chum, heading for the exit. penny had no choice but to follow. before they could reach the door, it suddenly opened from the outside. a young man who had not bothered to remove his hat, entered. seeing the girls, he abruptly halted, then turned and retreated. penny quickened her step. taking louise's hand she pulled her along at a faster pace. they reached the vestibule. it was deserted. penny peered up and down the dark street. "well, he's gone," she remarked. "who?" louise questioned in a puzzled voice. "you mean that man who entered the temple and then left so suddenly?" "i do," responded penny. "unless my eyes tricked me, he was none other than al gepper!" chapter 12 _a message for mrs. weems_ "i don't know anyone answering to that name," remarked louise. "however, the fellow did act as if he were retreating from us." penny glanced up and down the dark street. no one was to be seen, and since so little time had elapsed, she reasoned that the man had taken refuge either in the high weeds or the nearby cemetery. "it must have been gepper," she declared. "naturally he wouldn't care to meet me here." quickly penny recounted the events of the afternoon. "then you think he may be connected with the temple, penny?" "that would be my guess. lou, this place is nothing but a blind. the members of the society pretend to be honest spiritualists, while in reality they're charlatans. they hold services for one purpose only--to solicit persons for private readings." "isn't that illegal?" "of course it is. the police should raid the place." "then why don't they, penny?" "dad says it's because they've been unable to obtain sufficient evidence. but they'll have it after we report what we've seen tonight!" "how do you suppose they made things jump around as if they were alive?" louise remarked as the girls walked slowly toward home. "it frightened me." "everything was done by trickery. i'm sure of that, lou. just as soon as dad returns i shall make a full report to him. we'll see what he can do about it." by the time penny arrived home, mrs. weems had retired to her room. however, the light still burned and the door was open a crack. rapping, the girl entered, for she was eager to tell the housekeeper about her visit to the celestial temple. mrs. weems sat at the desk. hastily she closed one of the drawers, and turned the key. "you startled me, penny!" she exclaimed. "i do wish you would give more warning before you descend upon one." "sorry," apologized penny, glancing curiously toward the desk. "oh, i see!" "you see what?" demanded the housekeeper. "six thousand dollars reposing in a desk drawer!" mrs. weems' look of consternation betrayed her. she glanced at the locked drawer, and then laughed. "for an instant i thought you actually could see the money, penny." "then my guess was right?" "i keep the money in the drawer," mrs. weems admitted. penny sat down on the edge of the bed, drawing up her knees for a chin rest. "mrs. weems, don't you think it's risky keeping so much money here?" "it will only be for a few days, penny. i'll have it converted into traveler's cheques as soon as i am ready to start west." "the desk doesn't seem a safe place to me." "you're the only person who knows where i keep the money, penny. oh, yes, i told mrs. hodges, but she is to be trusted. no one can steal it as long as i have the key." mrs. weems tapped a black velvet ribbon which she wore about her neck. "i keep this on me day and night," she declared. "no thief ever will get it way from me." penny said nothing more about the matter. instead, she launched into a highly colored account of her visit to the celestial temple. the housekeeper expressed disapproval, remarking that she never would have granted permission had she known in advance where the girls were going. nevertheless, her eager questions made it evident that she was deeply interested in the demonstration which had been witnessed. "i don't see how you can call it trickery," she protested. "you have no proof, penny." "never in the world will i believe that spirits can make tables do a dance, mrs. weems! probably the furniture had special wiring or something of the sort." "you can't say that about the table at mrs. hodges', penny." "no, it seemed to be just an ordinary piece of furniture," the girl admitted reluctantly. "all the same, al gepper is a fraud, and i wish you wouldn't attend his old sã©ance tomorrow." "but penny, i gave my promise." "i can run over to the house and tell him you've changed your mind." mrs. weems shook her head. "no, penny, i am curious to learn if he will be able to communicate with the spirits. tomorrow's sã©ance should provide a genuine test. the man knows nothing about me or my ancestors." "mrs. hodges probably has provided all the information he'll require." "i telephoned her yesterday and requested her not to tell mr. gepper anything about me. she'll respect my wishes. the test should prove a true one." penny sighed and arose from the bed. knowing mrs. weems as she did, she realized that her opinion could not be changed by argument. it was her hope that al gepper would discredit himself by failing in the sã©ance. "penny, please promise that you'll do nothing outrageous tomorrow," mrs. weems begged as the girl started to leave. "i am sure mr. gepper feels that you are antagonistic." "i'll try to behave myself," penny laughed. "yes, we'll give mr. gepper a chance to prove what he can do." at two the following afternoon she and mrs. weems presented themselves at the hodges' cottage. both mr. hodges and his wife, who were to sit in at the sã©ance, were trembling with anticipation. "mr. gepper is simply wonderful," the seamstress confided to mrs. weems. "he tells me that i have great healing powers as well as a psychic personality." "jenny, i hope you haven't told him anything about me," the housekeeper mentioned. "oh, no, maud. for that matter, he's said nothing about you since you were here." mrs. weems cast penny an "i-told-you-so" glance which was not lost upon al gepper who entered the room at that moment. "i am ready for you, ladies," he said. "kindly follow me." in the upstairs room blinds had been drawn. al gepper indicated that his audience was to occupy the chairs around the circular table. "before we attempt to communicate with the departed souls, i wish to assure you that i employ no trickery," he announced, looking hard at penny. "you may examine the table or the cabinet if you wish." "oh, no, mr. gepper," murmured mrs. hodges. "we trust you." "i'll look, if you don't mind," said penny. she peered beneath the table, thumped it several times, and pulled aside the curtain of the cabinet. it was empty. "now if you are quite satisfied, shall we begin?" purred mr. gepper. "it will make it much easier, if each one of you will give me a personal object." "a la the celestial temple method," muttered penny beneath her breath. "what was that?" questioned the medium sharply. "nothing. i was merely thinking to myself." "then please think more quietly. i must warn you that this sã©ance cannot be successful unless each person present concentrates, entering into the occasion with the deepest of sincerity." "i assure you, i am as sincere as yourself," penny responded gravely. mr. hodges deposited his gold watch on the table. his wife offered a pin and mrs. weems a plain band ring. penny parted with a handkerchief. after everyone was seated about the table, al gepper played several phonograph records, all the while exhorting the spirits to appear. taking mrs. weems' ring from the tray before him, he pressed it to his forehead. a convulsive shudder wracked his body. "someone comes to me--" he mumbled. "someone comes, giving the name of david--david swester." "my cousin," breathed mrs. weems in awe. "he is tall and dark with a scar over his left eye," resumed the medium. "i see him plainly now." "that _is_ david!" cried the housekeeper, leaning forward in her eagerness. "david, have you a message for us?" the medium intoned. there was a long silence, during which the man could be seen writhing and twisting in the semi-darkness. then his voice began again: "david has a message for a person called maud." "i am maud," said mrs. weems tremulously. "oh, what does he say?" "that he is well and happy in the spirit world, but he is worried about maud." "worried about me? why?" the medium again seemed to undergo physical suffering, but presently the message "came through," although not in an entirely clear form. "david's voice has faded. i am not certain, but it has something to do with six thousand dollars." "the exact amount he left to me!" mrs. weems murmured. "david is afraid that you will not have the wisdom to invest the money wisely. he warns you that the present place where you have it deposited is not safe. he will tell you what to do with it. now the voice is fading again. david has gone." with another convulsive shudder, al gepper straightened from the position into which he had slumped. resuming his normal tone he said: "that is all. the connection with cousin david has been broken." "can't we contact him again?" mrs. weems asked in disappointment. "not today. possibly tomorrow at this same hour." "couldn't you call up another spirit by using my pin or pa's watch?" mrs. hodges suggested wistfully. al gepper raised one of the window blinds. "i am very, very tired," he said. "this sã©ance was particularly exhausting due to the presence of someone antagonistic. tomorrow if conditions are right, i hope actually to materialize cousin david. the poor soul is trying so hard to get a message through to the one he calls maud." "you mean i'll be able to see him?" the housekeeper asked incredulously. "i hope and believe so. i must rest now. after a sã©ance i should refresh myself with sleep." "of course," agreed mrs. hodges. "we are selfish to overtax you." recovering their trinkets, the elderly couple and mrs. weems went from the room. penny was the last to leave. "well, sister?" inquired the medium in a low voice. "were you convinced, or do you still think that you can show up al gepper?" "i think," said penny softly, "that you are a very clever man. but clever as you are, one of your well-trained ghosts may yet lead you to the city jail!" chapter 13 _cousin david's ghost_ when penny reached the lower floor she found mrs. weems and the hodges excitedly discussing the sã©ance. the seamstress and her husband emphatically declared that they had given the medium no information regarding either the housekeeper or the deceased cousin david. "then there can be only one explanation," mrs. weems said. "we were truly in communication with a departed spirit." "don't you agree, penny?" inquired mrs. hodges. "i am afraid i can't," she replied. "the test was a fair one," mrs. weems insisted. "mr. gepper couldn't have described cousin david so accurately if he hadn't actually seen him as he materialized from the spirit world." "al gepper could have obtained much of his information from persons in riverview," penny responded. "about me, perhaps," the housekeeper conceded. "but not about cousin david. why, i doubt if anyone save myself knew he had a scar over his eye. he received it in an automobile accident twelve or thirteen years ago." "just think!" murmured mrs. hodges. "tomorrow you may actually be able to see your departed cousin!" in vain penny argued that al gepper was a trickster. she was unable to offer the slightest evidence to support her contention while, on the other hand, the hodges reminded her that the medium had never asked one penny for his services. from the cottage penny went directly to the _star_ office, feeling certain that her father would have returned there from his trip. nor was she mistaken. gaining admittance to the private office, she wasted no words in relating everything which had transpired during his absence. her father's attention was flattering. "penny, you actually saw all this?" he questioned when she had finished. "oh, yes! at the celestial temple louise was with me, too. we thought you might take up the matter with the police." "that's exactly what i will do," decided mr. parker. "i've turned the matter over in my mind for several days. the _star_ will take the initiative in driving these mediums, character readers and the like out of riverview!" "oh, dad, i was hoping you'd say that!" mr. parker pressed a desk buzzer. summoning dewitt, he told of his plan to launch an active campaign. "nothing will please me better, chief," responded the city editor. "where do we start?" "we'll tip the police to what is going on at the celestial temple. have them send detectives there for tonight's meeting. then when the usual hocus-pocus starts, arrests can be made. have photographers and a good reporter on hand." "that should start the ball rolling," agreed dewitt. "i'll assign jerry livingston to the story. salt sommers is my best photographer." "get busy right away," mr. parker ordered. "we'll play the story big tomorrow--give it a spread." "how about al gepper?" penny inquired after dewitt had gone. "could he be arrested without involving the hodges?" "not very easily if he lives at their place. has he accepted money for the sã©ances he conducts there?" "he hasn't taken any yet from mrs. weems. i am sure he must have other customers." "you have no proof of it?" "no." "suppose we forget al gepper for the time being, and concentrate on the celestial temple," mr. parker proposed. "in the meantime, learn everything you can about the man's methods." "no assignment would please me more, dad. i've the same as promised mr. gepper he'll land in jail, and i want to make good." mr. parker began to pace the floor. "i'll write a scorching editorial," he said. "we'll fight ignorance with information. our reporters must learn how these mediums do their tricks, and expose them to the gullible public." "i'll do everything i can to help," penny promised eagerly. "may i have al gepper for my particular fish bait?" "he's your assignment. and i'm depending upon you to see that he doesn't work any of his trickery on mrs. weems. if she can't be persuaded to remain away from the hodges', then we must protect her as best we can." "i'll try to accompany her every time she goes there, dad. i am afraid he may be after her money." "gepper doesn't know she inherited six thousand dollars?" mr. parker asked in alarm. "yes, she dropped the information that she had come into money. he supplied figures himself." "i wonder how?" "i haven't the slightest idea, dad. gepper is as clever a man as ever i met. honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if he does produce cousin david at tomorrow's sã©ance." mr. parker snorted in disgust. "tommyrot! the man will make an excuse about the conditions not being right, and fail." "perhaps, but he seems pretty confident." "you expect to attend the sã©ance?" "oh, definitely. jungle beasts couldn't keep me away." "then be alert every instant--without appearing too suspicious, of course. try to learn how the man accomplishes his tricks." "leave it to me," chuckled penny. "mr. al gepper is due for his first shock when he wakes up tomorrow and reads that the celestial temple has been raided. unless i am much mistaken, that place is one of his favorite haunts." leaving the newspaper office, penny went directly home. she longed to stop at the sidell home, but she had promised her father to say nothing about the planned raid until it was an accomplished fact. feeling the need of work to occupy her time, she washed the maroon car and waxed the fading paint of leaping lena. at six o'clock her father came home for dinner. "any news?" penny asked, running to meet him. "everything's set," he answered. "dewitt laid your information before the police. tonight three detectives will attend the meeting at the temple. if anything out of the way happens, the raid will be staged." penny was so tense with expectation that she was unable to do justice to the delicious dinner which mrs. weems had prepared. her father, too, seemed unusually restless. after dinner he made a pretense of reading the paper, but actually his eyes did not see the print. the hands of the clock scarcely appeared to move, so slowly did time pass. eight o'clock came, then nine. suddenly the telephone rang. penny was away in an instant to answer it. from the next room she called to her father: "it's for you, dad! dewitt, i think." "i told him to telephone me as soon as the raid was staged." mr. parker arose and went quickly to take the receiver. penny hovered at his elbow. "hello! dewitt?" the publisher asked, and after a slight pause: "oh, i see. no, i don't think penny was mistaken. it's more likely there was a tip-off." he hung up the receiver and turned toward penny who anticipated the news. "the raid was a failure?" "yes, penny. detectives spent two hours at the meeting. nothing happened. it was impossible to make arrests." "they must have been recognized as detectives." "undoubtedly." "others will be assigned to the case?" "i doubt it, penny. dewitt reports that the police have become convinced that the spiritualists who use the temple are not operating for profit." "louise and i know better because she was approached." penny anxiously regarded her father. "dad, even if the police do give up, we won't, will we?" "no, we're in this fight and we'll stay in it," he answered grimly. "we'll put some new teeth in our trap. and the next time it's sprung, i warrant you we'll catch a crook." chapter 14 _wet paint_ promptly at two o'clock the following afternoon, penny and mrs. weems presented themselves at the hodges' cottage for the appointed sã©ance. already mr. gepper awaited them in the darkened apartment on the second floor. penny's glance about the room found everything in the same order as upon the previous visit, save that an easel with a large black sheet of artist's paper stood beside the cabinet. she moved as if to examine it. al gepper intercepted her by saying: "sit here, if you please. beside mrs. weems. i'll call the hodges and we'll start at once." the medium went to the door and shouted down the stairway. penny noticed that he remained where he could watch her every move in a mirror which hung on the wall. she shrewdly guessed that he was afraid she might attempt to examine either the cabinet or the easel. mr. and mrs. hodges came in response to the call, taking chairs about the circular table. the gaze which they fastened upon al gepper was almost worshipful. "now today i hope to materialize the spirit of cousin david," announced the medium. "the task will be difficult, as you must realize. after the sã©ance begins i am compelled to request absolute quiet. the slightest movement may frighten away the spirits." "why are spirits so timid?" asked penny. "because their beings are so sensitive that they instantly feel an unfriendly presence," the man responded glibly. "please hold hands, and use every precaution that contact is not broken." mrs. weems took one of penny's hands and mr. hodges the other. mrs. hodges sat next to her husband. after lowering black curtains over the window blinds to further darken the room, the medium returned to his chair. those at the table were unable to distinguish his form, and for a time there was no sound save the scratching music of a phonograph record. presently the medium exhorted the spirit of cousin david to appear. for at least ten minutes there was no indication that communication was to be established. then a cowbell tinkled, causing mrs. weems to shake and tremble. "are you there, david?" called the medium. the bell jingled violently. "we are ready, david," intoned the medium. "have you a message for us?" to penny's amazement, a pair of shapely white hands slowly materialized, apparently pulling aside the curtain of the cabinet above the medium's head. in the darkness they glowed with a weird phosphorescent light. next appeared a white-rimmed slate, upon which luminous words were written: "i am the spirit of cousin david. is maud here?" "yes, yes," responded mrs. weems, quivering with excitement. "have you a message for me?" again the hand wrote: "my happiness in this world beyond is disturbed. maud, do not squander the money which i gave to you." "squander it?" the housekeeper said aloud. "why, i've scarcely spent a penny!" "a trip to california is ill-advised," wrote the hand. "invest your money in good eight per cent securities. there are many excellent companies--the brantwell corporation, white and edwards, the bierkamp company." the slate vanished and once more the jingling of the cowbell denoted that the spirit was moving away. the medium spoke. "contact has been broken. shall we try to reach cousin david again?" "oh, please!" pleaded mrs. weems. "i don't know what to do now. i've planned on the western trip and i can't understand why cousin david should advise me to give it up." "i wouldn't go agin' the spirits if i was you," advised mr. hodges. "you better change your plans, maud." "but how can i be certain that the message came from cousin david?" the housekeeper quavered. "oh, dear, i am so upset! if only i could be certain." "madam, i hope you do not distrust me," said al gepper reprovingly. "oh, no, it's not that. i'm just upset." "perhaps, if you actually saw your cousin it would set your mind at rest." "is it possible to see him?" "i cannot promise, but we will try. hold hands again please, and everyone concentrate." there followed an interval during which the medium pleaded with the spirit of cousin david to return and show himself. suddenly the group was startled to see a luminous banjo move high through the air, unsupported by any hand. it began to play "down upon the swanee river." midway through the selection, the music broke off and the banjo disappeared. an instant later mrs. hodges uttered a choked cry. "the easel! look at it, maud!" all eyes turned toward the painter's canvas. as the medium focused a flashlight upon it, the face of an elderly man slowly materialized on the blank surface, the picture appearing in red, blue and finally black oil paint. "it _is_ cousin david!" whispered mrs. weems, gripping penny's hand so tightly that it hurt. "he looks exactly as he did when last i saw him!" the medium extinguished his light and again the room was dark. mrs. weems' chair creaked as she stirred restlessly. mr. hodges' heavy breathing could be plainly heard. there was no other sound. everyone waited in tense expectancy, sensing that the climax of the sã©ance was at hand. suddenly, behind al gepper's chair a spot of ethereal light appeared. as penny watched, it grew in size until the figure had assumed the proportions of a man. then, to her further amazement, it slowly rose toward the ceiling, hovering above mrs. weems' chair. throughout the sã©ance penny had remained firm in her conviction that the medium had resorted to trickery to produce his startling effects. although she could not be sure, she thought that several times he had slipped from his chair to enter the conveniently placed cabinet. she also believed that the only way he could have materialized the ghost was by donning luminous robes. "i'll end his little game once and for all," she thought. deliberately she waited until the ghostly figure floated close to her own chair. then with a sudden upward spring, she snatched at it. greatly to her chagrin, her hand encountered nothing solid. with the speed of lightning, the figure streaked toward the cabinet behind al gepper's chair and was seen no more. arising, the medium switched on the room lights. his face was white with anger. "i warned you to make no move," he said harshly to penny. "you deliberately disobeyed me." "oh, penny, why did you do it?" wailed mrs. weems. "i was so eager to get another message from cousin david." "his spirit has been frightened away," announced the medium. "it will be impossible ever to recall him. for that matter, i shall never again conduct a sã©ance with this young person present. she is a disturbing element." "oh, penny, you've ruined everything," said mrs. weems accusingly. "why do you act so outrageously?" penny started to speak and then changed her mind. mrs. weems, the seamstress and her husband, all were gazing at her with deep reproach. she realized that there was nothing she could say which would make them understand. she arose and walked to the easel. the painting of cousin david remained clearly visible. she touched it and then glanced at her finger which bore a streak of red. the paint was still wet. penny stared at her finger a moment. lifting her eyes she met the triumphant gaze of al gepper. "not even a skillful artist could have painted a picture so quickly," he said with a smirk. "only a spirit would have the ability. you are dumbfounded, my little one?" "no, just plain dumb," answered penny. "i salute you, mr. gepper." without waiting for mrs. weems, she turned and went from the house. "now how _did_ he do it?" she muttered. "i saw everything and yet i am more in the dark than ever. but i am sure of one thing. unless i work fast, al gepper is almost certain to obtain mrs. weems' inheritance." chapter 15 _hidden money_ one of penny's first acts upon arriving home was to scan the telephone directory under the heading, investment firms. the three companies mentioned during the sã©ance, white and edwards, brantwell, and bierkamp, were unlisted. "evidently there are no such firms in riverview," she reflected. "but why was mrs. weems advised to invest her money with one of them? it looks very suspicious to me!" not until after five o'clock did mrs. weems return from the hodges'. she seemed rather upset, and when penny tried to bring up the subject of the sã©ance, said distantly: "please, penny, i prefer not to discuss it. your conduct was disgraceful." "i apologize for grabbing at the ghost, mrs. weems. i only did it to prove that al gepper is a fraud." "your motives were quite apparent. one could not blame mr. gepper for being angry." "oh, mrs. weems," said penny in desperation. "how can you be taken in by his smooth line? his one purpose is to obtain your money." "you are very unjust," the housekeeper responded. "today i tried to pay mr. gepper for the sã©ance and he would not accept one penny." "that's because he is playing for higher stakes." "it's no use discussing the matter with you," mrs. weems shrugged. "you are prejudiced and will give the man credit for nothing." "i give him credit for being very clever. mrs. weems, please promise that you'll not allow him to invest your money for you." "i have no intention of doing so, penny. it does seem to me that i should consider cousin david's wishes in the matter. very likely i shall abandon my plans for the western trip." "and stay here with us?" penny cried eagerly. "no, i am thinking of going to a larger city and taking an apartment. with my money invested in eight per cent securities, i should have a comfortable little income." "mrs. weems, i've heard dad say over and over that sound securities will not pay such a high rate of interest. promise you won't invest your money until you've talked with him." "you're always asking me to promise something or other," the housekeeper sighed. "this time i shall use my own judgment." realizing that further argument was only a waste of breath, penny wandered outside to await her father. when he came, they sat together on the front porch steps, discussing the situation. "i'll drop a word of advice to mrs. weems at the first opportunity," offered mr. parker. "if she is in the mood you describe, it would not be wise to bring up the subject tonight. she merely would resent my interference." "what worries me is that i am afraid she may have told al gepper where the money is kept." "tomorrow i'll urge her again to deposit it in a bank. we'll do our best to protect her from these sharpers." the publisher had been very much interested in penny's account of the sã©ance. however, he was unable to explain how the various tricks had been accomplished. "dad," penny said thoughtfully, "you don't suppose there's any chance it wasn't trickery?" "certainly not! i hope you're not falling under this fellow's spell?" "no, but it gave me a real shock when i saw cousin david's face materialize on the canvas. it was the absolute image of him--or rather of a picture mrs. weems once showed me." a startled expression came over penny's face. without explanation, she sprang to her feet and ran to the kitchen. "mrs. weems," she cried, "did you ever get it back? your picture!" "what picture, penny?" the housekeeper scarcely glanced up as she vigorously scrubbed carrots. "i mean the one of cousin david. you allowed a photographer to take it for enlargement." "it hasn't been returned," mrs. weems admitted. "i can't imagine why the work takes so long." "i think i can," announced penny. "but you never would believe me if i told you, so i won't." racing to the porch, she revealed to her father what she thought had occurred. it was her theory that the agent who had called at the parker home days earlier had in actuality been one of al gepper's assistants. "don't you see, dad!" she cried. "the man obtained a picture of cousin david, and probably turned it over to the medium." her face fell slightly. "of course, that still doesn't explain how the painting slowly materialized." "nor does it explain the ghost or the banjo. penny, couldn't gepper have painted the picture himself in the darkness?" "there wasn't time, dad. besides, he held a flashlight on the painting. no human hand touched it." "you say, too, that the banjo was high overhead when it played?" "that's right, dad. gepper couldn't have reached the strings. the instrument floated free in the air." "sounds fantastic." "believe me, it was, dad. it's no wonder gepper is gaining such influence over mrs. weems. he's as slick as a greased fox!" "i'll have jerry go to the house and try to learn how the fellow operates," declared mr. parker. "we can't break the story until we have absolute evidence that gepper has obtained money under false pretenses." the next day penny remained close at home. mrs. weems still treated her somewhat distantly, leaving the house immediately after lunch and declining to explain where she was going. penny was quite certain that her destination was the hodges' cottage. "guess i'll run over and see louise," she thought restlessly. "nothing to do here." before she could leave the house, the doorbell rang. a man of perhaps thirty, well dressed, with a leather briefcase tucked under his arm, stood on the front porch. he bowed politely to penny. "this is where mrs. weems resides, i believe?" "yes, but she isn't here now." "when will she be home?" "i can't say," replied penny. "are you an agent?" the man's appearance displeased her although she could not have said exactly why. his smile was too ingratiating, his eyes calculating and hard. "my name is bierkamp," he explained. "i represent the harold g. bierkamp investment company." penny stiffened. she glared at the agent. "you mean you represent the al gepper spookus company," she said in a cutting voice. "well, mrs. weems doesn't want any of your wonderful eight per cent stocks! she'll not see you, so don't come here again!" "and who are you to speak for her?" the man retorted. "if you come here again, i'll call the police," penny threatened. "now get out!" without another word, the man retreated down the street. penny watched until he turned a corner and was lost to view. she was a trifle worried as to what she had done. "if mrs. weems learns about this she'll never forgive me," she thought uneasily. "but he was a crook sent by al gepper. i know it." wandering upstairs, she entered the bathroom, intending to wash before going to louise's home. on the tiled floor lay a velvet ribbon with a key attached. at once, penny realized that mrs. weems had left it there inadvertently. "it's the key to her desk," she reflected, picking it up. "and she insists that her money is kept in a safe place! i have a notion to play a joke on her." the longer penny considered the idea, the more it pleased her. jubilantly, she set forth for the sidell home. taking louise into her confidence, she visited a novelty shop and purchased a supply of fake money. returning home, she then unlocked the drawer of mrs. weems' desk and, removing the six thousand dollars, replaced it with neat stacks of imitation bills. louise watched her with misgiving. "penny, this joke of yours isn't likely to strike mrs. weems as very funny," she warned. "you're always doing things which get you into trouble." "this is in a good cause, lou. i am protecting mrs. weems from her own folly." "what will you do with the money?" "deposit it in a bank." "you are taking matters into your hands with a vengeance! suppose you're robbed on the way downtown?" "that would complicate my life. upon second thought, i'll send for an armored truck." to louise's amazement, penny actually carried through her plan. a heavily guarded express truck presently drew up before the parker residence, and mrs. weems' money was turned over to the two armed men who promised that it would be delivered safely to the first national bank. "there, that's a load off my mind," said penny. "just let al gepper try to steal mrs. weems' money now!" louise shook her head sadly. "you may be accused of stealing yourself. i wouldn't be in your slippers when mrs. weems learns about this." "oh, i'll be able to explain," laughed penny. the joke she had played did not seem quite so funny an hour later. mrs. weems returned home and without comment recovered the key which had been replaced on the lavatory floor. she did not open her desk or mention the money. at dinner penny was so subdued that the housekeeper inquired if she were ill. "not yet," the girl answered. "i'm just thinking about the future. it's so depressing." "perhaps a picture show would cheer us all," proposed mr. parker. mrs. weems displayed interest, and penny, without enthusiasm, agreed to go. eight o'clock found them at the avalon, a neighborhood theatre. the show was not to penny's liking, although her father and the housekeeper seemed to enjoy it. she squirmed restlessly, and finally whispered to her father that she was returning home. in truth, as penny well knew, she was suffering from an acute case of "conscience." now that it was too late, she regretted having meddled with mrs. weems' money. gloomily she walked home alone. as she entered, she heard the telephone ringing, but before she could answer, the party hung up. with a sigh penny locked the front door again, switched out the lights and went to bed. for a long while she lay staring at a patch of moonlight on the bedroom carpet. although she felt tired she could not sleep. "it's just as louise said," she reflected. "i'm always getting myself into hot water and for no good reason, either!" her morose thoughts were interrupted as a hard object thudded against a nearby wall. penny sat up, listening. she believed that the sound had come from mrs. weems' room, yet she knew she was alone in the house. rolling from bed, she groped for a robe, and without turning on the lights, tiptoed down the hall. mrs. weems' door stood open. was some intruder hidden in that room? peering inside, penny at first noticed nothing amiss. then her gaze fastened on the window sill, plainly visible in the moonlight. two iron hooks, evenly spaced, had been clamped over the ledge! chapter 16 _over the window ledge_ as penny flattened herself against the wall, the head and shoulders of a man slowly rose into view. although his body was plainly silhouetted in the moonlight, she could not see his face. the intruder raised the sash, making no sound. he hesitated, listening a moment, then dropped lightly into the bedroom. without turning on a flashlight which he carried, he went directly to mrs. weems' desk. so deliberate was the action that penny instantly decided the fellow had come for a particular purpose and knew the lay-out of the entire house. "he means to steal mrs. weems' money!" she thought. opening the desk, the man tried the drawer where the inheritance funds had been hidden. failing to unlock it with a key, he took a tool from his pocket and in a moment had broken the lock. removing the stack of fake bills which penny had substituted, he thrust them into his coat. taking no interest in anything else in the room, he moved stealthily toward the window. penny knew there was no one within calling distance and that the man probably was armed. wisdom dictated that she remain in hiding, but she was determined the thief should not escape. hoping to take him by surprise, she stalked forward. a board creaked. with a muttered exclamation the man whirled around. at the same instant penny flung herself upon him, diving low in imitation of a football tackle. the thief reeled, but instead of falling he recovered his balance and gave penny a tremendous shove which sent her sprawling backwards. before she could regain her feet, he ran to the window. swinging himself over the ledge, he vanished from view. by the time penny reached the window there was no sign of the intruder. he had disappeared as if into thin air. however, she knew that the man must have descended by means of a ladder which he had hastily removed. she ran her hand over the window ledge. the iron hooks no longer were there, only the scars which had been cut in the wood. "this undoubtedly was the same fellow who broke into the kohl apartment!" she thought. "but how did he escape so quickly?" penny started for a telephone, intending to notify the police. however, when it occurred to her that her father might not wish the matter made public, she changed her mind and ran downstairs. unlocking the rear door, she glanced carefully about the yard. there was no one in sight, no movement behind any of the shrubbery. "he's gone, of course," she thought. penny wore no shoes. finding a pair of old galoshes on the porch, she protected her feet with them, and hobbled into the yard. the grass beneath mrs. weems' window had been trampled, but at first glance there was no clue to indicate how the burglar had gained entrance to the house. "obviously he used a ladder," she reasoned. "but how did he descend so quickly? and what became of the ladder? i know he never had time to carry away one of the ordinary type." a dark object lying on the grass attracted penny's attention. picking it up, she carried it to the porch and switched on a light that she might see to better advantage. in her hand she held a torn strand of black silk rope. "this may be an important clue!" she thought excitedly. "i know now how the man entered the house!" as penny examined the piece of rope, automobile headlight beams cut a path across the yard. the parker car drew up on the driveway and both mrs. weems and mr. parker alighted. "dad, come here quickly!" penny called as he started to open the garage doors. "what's wrong, penny?" both the publisher and mrs. weems came toward the porch. "we've had a burglar," penny announced. "he broke into mrs. weems' room, smashing the lock on the desk--" "my money!" the housekeeper exclaimed in horror. "oh, penny, don't tell me that it's gone!" "he escaped with the contents of the drawer." mrs. weems gave a moan of anguish. "haven't you called the police?" she demanded. "when did it happen? tell me everything!" "first, i'll set your mind at rest," penny replied. "your money is safe." "oh! i never was so relieved in all my born days." mrs. weems sagged weakly into a porch rocker. "penny, how could you torture me by letting me think the money was stolen?" "because i have a confession to make, mrs. weems. you left the key to your desk lying on the bathroom floor. i thought it might be a good joke to move the money to another place." "oh, you darling blessed girl!" laughed mrs. weems. "where did you hide it, penny? are you sure it's safe?" "it should be. i had it taken to the first national bank and deposited in your name. the thief carried off a package of fake money." "rather high-handed weren't you?" commented her father. "now don't you scold her," spoke mrs. weems quickly. "i am glad penny acted as she did. otherwise, i might have lost my entire inheritance." penny drew a deep breath. "i'm relieved you feel that way about it. i wish i could see the burglar's face when he discovers he stole worthless money!" both the housekeeper and mr. parker pressed her with questions. she revealed exactly what had occurred during their absence, showing them the strand of black silk rope. "dad, i think this may be a valuable clue," she declared. "what does it suggest to you?" "not much of anything, i am afraid." "you remember that when the kohls were robbed the police couldn't figure out how the burglar gained entrance?" "yes, i recall the story." "well, i believe the same man committed both burglaries." "why do you think so, penny?" "at the kohl's the police found two marks on the window ledge apparently made by iron hooks. similar marks are on the sill in mrs. weems' room. for that matter, i distinctly saw the iron pieces bite into the wood." "let's look at them," proposed mr. parker. "only the marks are there now, dad. the man jerked the hooks loose after he descended. they must have been attached to his ladder." "i thought you said he had none, penny." "there was no time for him to have carried away an ordinary, heavy ladder. i think the one he used must have been made of silk." "and this is a piece of it!" mr. parker exclaimed, examining the twisted strand with new interest. "your theory sounds plausible. it would be possible for a man to scale a wall with such a ladder." "he could jerk loose the hooks in an instant, too, dad. the ladder would fit into a small suitcase, or even his pocket!" "there's one objection to your theory, penny. how could such a ladder be raised to the window ledge? it naturally would be limp." "that part has me puzzled, i'll admit." "i never even heard of a silken ladder," said mrs. weems doubtfully. "i once saw one being made," declared penny with deliberate emphasis. "at a japanese shop on dorr street." "that's right, you spoke of it!" exclaimed her father. "penny, you may have something!" "i think so, dad. this strand of twisted silk may lead straight to kano's curio shop." "and from there?" penny hesitated, glancing at mrs. weems. she knew that the housekeeper might take offense, but she answered quietly: "my guess would be to al gepper, dad. who but he or an accomplice could have known where the money was hidden?" chapter 17 _kano's curio shop_ as penny had anticipated, mrs. weems indignantly declared that she did not believe mr. gepper could have had any connection with the attempted robbery. yet, even as she made the assertion, a startled expression came over her face. "think back, mrs. weems," urged mr. parker. "how many persons knew where you had secreted the money?" "i told mrs. hodges." "and al gepper?" penny probed. "well--" the housekeeper looked ill at ease. "he may have heard me talking with mrs. hodges. i remember he passed through the hall while we were together." "what day was that?" inquired penny. "yesterday. after the sã©ance. but i can't believe that mr. gepper would try to steal the money. i just can't!" "from what penny has told me of the man, i should judge that he is a schemer," contributed mr. parker. "you know the _star_ has started a vigorous campaign directed against such mediums as al gepper." "but he told me such remarkable things about cousin david," protested mrs. weems. "facts which couldn't be faked." "oh, gepper doesn't make many false moves," acknowledged penny. "he's a smooth worker. all the same, he's a fake." "how could he have faked cousin david's message? you forget we actually saw the picture of my relative painted without the aid of a human hand." "did the picture closely resemble your cousin?" inquired mr. parker. "oh, yes, indeed. it looked exactly as i saw him many years ago." "isn't that rather odd?" demanded penny. "one would expect cousin david to age a little." "penny believes that a photographer's agent who came here a few days ago was sent by gepper to obtain a picture of your relative," explained mr. parker. "did the man ask you many questions about your cousin?" "well, yes, he did," mrs. weems admitted unwillingly. "i made a mistake giving him the photograph." "it seems fairly evident that the picture was used by gepper," mr. parker commented. "whether he plotted to steal your money remains to be proven. penny, you saw the man plainly?" "no, i didn't, dad. not his face. he was about the same build as gepper." "that's not much to go on." "from the first gepper was determined to get mrs. weems' money, dad. he sent a man here who pretended to be from the bierkamp investment company." "you didn't tell me that," said mrs. weems. "well, no i didn't. i was afraid you would invest your money with him, so i drove the man away. he must have been gepper's accomplice. failing to acquire the money by that means, he plotted the burglary." "surely you don't agree with penny?" the housekeeper asked mr. parker unhappily. "in general, i am afraid i do. mr. gepper is an undesirable character, and i should like nothing better than to send him to jail." "come upstairs, mrs. weems," urged penny. "i'll show you the desk." both the housekeeper and mr. parker followed her to the second floor. an examination of the bedroom disclosed no additional clues, but after studying the marks on the window ledge, the publisher favored penny's theory that a silk ladder had been utilized. "it was unwise of me to keep my money here," mrs. weems remarked in a crestfallen tone. "i--i've been silly about everything, i guess." penny gave her a quick hug. "no, you haven't. anyone might have been taken in by al gepper." "i shall never attend another of his sã©ances. i'll urge mrs. hodges to turn him from her house." "mrs. weems, are you willing to help get evidence against him?" asked mr. parker abruptly. "why, yes, if i can." "then go to the hodges' exactly as you have in the past," instructed the publisher. "penny has been warned by gepper not to attend any of the sã©ances, but you'll still be welcome. learn everything you can and report to me." "i'll be glad to do it, mr. parker." "don't allow him to guess that you have become suspicious. above all, never withdraw your money from the bank at his suggestion." "you may be sure i won't. this has taught me a bitter lesson." "haven't you an assignment for me, dad?" inquired penny. "how about kano's curio shop?" "early tomorrow i'll send jerry there to question the old jap." "will you notify the police?" "not for the present. if we can crack this story i'd like to get it ahead of the _record_." "i wish you would send me to kano's instead of jerry." "dorr street is no place for you, penny," mr. parker replied, dismissing the matter. "shall we get to bed now? it's nearly midnight." after the doors had been locked once more penny went to her room, but she did not immediately fall asleep. instead, she kept mulling over the events of the night. the more she thought about it the more firmly she became convinced that both the kohl home and her own had been entered by the same person. "the telephone was ringing when i came from the movie," she recalled. "now i wonder who called? it may have been a trick of the thief to learn if anyone were in the house. when no one answered, the assumption would be that the coast was clear." penny felt rather well satisfied with the way matters had developed. in one bold stroke she had saved mrs. weems' inheritance, convinced the housekeeper that al gepper was not to be trusted, and had made definite progress in gaining evidence to be used in her father's campaign against the charlatan invaders of riverview. yet it annoyed her that the story, now that it had reached an active stage, was to be turned over to jerry. "i have a notion to visit the kano curio shop ahead of him," she thought. "that's exactly what i'll do!" having made up her mind, she rolled over and promptly fell asleep. in the morning penny ate breakfast and wiped the dishes with a speed which astonished mrs. weems. shortly after her father left for the office, she backed her own maroon car from the garage, and offering only a vague explanation, departed for kano's curio shop. dorr street was quite deserted at such an early hour, and the japanese shop owner had just unlocked his doors. he was sweeping the floor as penny boldly entered. "good morning, mr. kano," she greeted him. "you remember me, i believe?" mr. kano bowed, regarding her warily. "yes," he replied. "you are the young lady whose curiosity is very large." penny smiled. "you are right, mr. kano. it is very large, especially about a certain silken ladder." mr. kano frowned as he leaned on his broom. "i am very sorry," he said. "i am a merchant, not one who answers what you call the quiz-bee." penny understood that the japanese never would tell her what she wished to know save under compulsion. she decided to adopt firm tactics. "mr. kano," she said, "my father is the owner of the _riverview star_ and he intends to expose certain crooks who have been robbing wealthy persons such as the kohls. you read in the paper that their home was entered?" "yes, i read," the japanese shrugged. "my own theory is that the thief gained entrance by means of a silk ladder," penny declared. "_a ladder made in this shop!_" the shopkeeper's eyes narrowed. "i know nothing," he replied. "nothing. you go now, please." "if i go," said penny, "i'll return with the police. you would not like that, i take it?" her voice was crisp and full of menace. mr. kano lost some of his poise. "no!" he answered sharply. "i am an honest man and want no sad trouble with the police." chancing to glance toward the street, penny observed jerry livingston standing on the opposite corner. he was gazing thoughtfully toward the curio shop, and she knew that he must have been sent by her father to interview mr. kano. inspired, she turned again to the old japanese. "you see that young man yonder?" she asked, indicating jerry. "i have but to summon him and he'll come here." "detective?" demanded mr. kano, peering anxiously through the window. "do not call him! i am an honest man. i will answer your questions." "then tell me about the silken ladder." "i know little," the shopkeeper insisted. "i made the rope for a man who said: 'do this or we will burn your shop down, mr. kano.' so i made the ladder and he paid me well for fashioning it." "and what was the man's name?" "his name i do not know. but his eyes were small and evil. his skin was dark, his nose crooked." mr. kano ceased speaking with an abruptness which caused penny to glance toward the door. her first thought was that jerry had entered. instead a strange young man stood there, regarding her suspiciously. as she stared at him he quickly retreated, but not before she had caught a fleeting impression of a face which matched mr. kano's description with startling accuracy. "was he the one?" she demanded as the door slammed. "the man for whom you made the ladder?" "no, no!" denied the japanese. his words failed to convince penny. darting to the door, she saw that the young man already was far down the street, walking rapidly. "he is the one," she thought. "i'll follow him." "wait," called the japanese as she started away, "i have more to tell you." it was a ruse to detain her, penny knew. pushing past the shopkeeper who sought to bar the exit, she reached the street and ran toward jerry livingston. "why, penny!" he exclaimed in surprise. "what are you doing in this part of town?" "never mind that," she answered hastily. "if you're after a story, come along with me. we're trailing the man who just left kano's shop." chapter 18 _the bell tower_ jerry fell into step with penny. as they walked along, she told him of her conversation with mr. kano. "i believe this man we're following is the same one who entered our house last night," she declared. "he's the same build as the fellow i grabbed. besides, he fits kano's description of the person who bought the silken ladder." "here's hoping you're right," replied jerry. "if i muff this assignment, i may wake up looking for another job." fearing that the man ahead would discover he was being followed, jerry and penny dropped farther and farther behind. presently they saw him enter a pawnshop. "i know that place," commented jerry. "it's run by spike weiser, a notorious _fence_. he buys stolen goods and gets rid of it at a profit. has a swell home on clarmont drive." "why don't the police arrest him?" "oh, they watch the place, but spike is too smart to be caught. he has a system for handling _hot_ goods." "i'll venture some of the kohl loot was sold through him, jerry." "it wouldn't surprise me. but if the police search the place they won't find a thing." loitering on the opposite side of the street, penny and the reporter kept close watch of the pawnbroker's shop. thirty minutes elapsed. the man whom they had trailed, did not reappear. "he must have slipped out the back door," jerry remarked. "probably knew he was being watched." "i'm beginning to think so myself." jerry glanced at his watch. "i can't take any more time," he said. "i'll have to get back to the office." "i'll watch a few minutes longer," answered penny. "if anything develops i'll try to telephone." jerry walked hurriedly away. scarcely had he disappeared when the door of the pawnshop opened, and the young man who had entered a half hour earlier, appeared. penny hastily moved back into the vestibule of an office building. without observing her, the stranger crossed the street and walked briskly toward an intersecting boulevard. there was no opportunity for penny to telephone the _star_ office. following, she was hard pressed to keep the man within view. not until they reached the entrance of butternut lane did it dawn upon her that the celestial temple might be their destination. then, indeed, her pulse stepped up a pace. "it's exactly as i guessed!" she thought triumphantly. "he's connected with al gepper and the other mediums!" not wishing to attract attention in the deserted lane, penny took a short cut through the cemetery, emerging at the rear of the celestial temple. there was no door on that side of the building but a window had been left raised. placed beneath it, as if for her particular convenience, was a large rock. penny stood on it, peering into the temple. the room was unoccupied. however, as she waited, the same man she had trailed, quietly let himself in through the front entrance, using a key. he glanced about and called in a low voice: "pete! pete! anyone here?" there was no answer, which seemed to please the young man. he moved quickly down the aisle, crossed the platform to a door which opened into the bell tower. kneeling he began to fit keys into the lock, seeking one which would serve. as penny watched, the young man suddenly straightened. apparently he had heard footsteps in the vestibule for he moved away from the bell tower door. a middle-aged woman with dyed hair and a skin of unusual pallor entered the temple. she stopped short as she saw the young man. "you here, slippery?" she commented, gazing at him with distrust. "where's pete?" "hello, sade. i was wonderin' about pete myself. just got here a minute ago." the woman's gaze fastened upon the key which had been left in the bell tower door. "say, what's coming off here?" she demanded. "you were trying to get inside!" "now don't ruffle your feathers, sade," the man said soothingly. "i was only testing the door to make sure it was locked." "i'll bet! you were aiming to break in! slippery, they sure named you right. why, you'd double-cross your own mother!" "oh, quiet down," the man retorted angrily. "i only came here to make sure pete was on the job. the lazy loafer has skipped out and left the place unguarded." the woman deliberately seated herself in a chair beside the bell tower door. "i'm parking here until pete shows up," she announced. "maybe you're on the square, slippery, but i don't trust you." "thanks for your flattering opinion," the man responded mockingly. "you give me a pain, sade. i do all the dangerous work, and what do i get? a measly ten per cent." "plus what you stick in your pocket when you're on a job," the woman shot back with rising anger. "you've been doing pretty well for yourself, slippery--you and al. but the boys are getting wise. from now on it may not be so easy. better play fair with the rest of us--or else." "you always did have a wagging tongue," the man retorted. "always trying to stir up trouble. don't you realize we've got to work together or we'll be jailed separately? our ranks must be united." "gettin' sort of jittery, ain't you?" "maybe you haven't been reading those editorials in the _star_." "sure, i read them and get a big laugh. this guy parker has to blow off steam. nothing will come of it." "the police have visited this place once already." "and what did they find? nothing." "that's no guarantee they won't try again. i tell you this town is getting too hot for comfort." "figurin' on blowing?" the woman inquired, watching him shrewdly. slippery's laughter had an unpleasant edge. "you sure do get ideas, sade. don't start peddling that line of talk. understand?" "i hear." suddenly losing his temper, the man strode nearer, seizing her arm. "just start something and see where you wake up!" he said harshly. "one word to pete or any of the boys and you won't do any more pretty fortune telling!" the woman jerked her arm free, gazing at the man in sullen silence. nor did she speak as he left the temple, slamming the door behind him. chapter 19 _penny investigates_ penny debated whether or not to follow slippery. deciding that she should try to keep him within sight, she abandoned her post beneath the window and ran to the front of the building. already the young man was far down the lane, walking rapidly. before penny could overtake him he hailed a taxi and drove away. by the time she obtained another cab, pursuit was futile. "to the _star_ office," penny ordered the driver. although slippery had eluded her, she did not feel that her morning's work had been wasted. she believed that her father would be very much interested in a report of her findings. "it's evident that slippery is connected with al gepper and various mediums of the celestial temple," she reflected. "i am sure, too, that he's the one who broke into our house, but to prove it may not be so easy." penny had not fully understood the conversation which she had overheard between slippery and sade. that they distrusted each other was evident, but why had the woman feared slippery might break into the bell tower during the guard's absence? "something of great value to the organization must be kept there," she reasoned. "but what can it be?" penny believed that her father would not delay in requesting police to search the bell tower of the celestial temple. however, a disappointment awaited her. upon arriving at the newspaper office dewitt stopped her as she went past his desk. "don't go in there," he said, jerking his thumb toward mr. parker's private room. "why not?" asked penny in surprise. "is dad having a conference?" dewitt nodded as he composed a two column headline. "with j. p. henley." "the _star's_ sugar daddy?" "our biggest advertiser. he's threatening to go over to the _record_." "why, that's serious!" "it is if he quits the _star_. the old man--mr. parker--" dewitt corrected hastily, "has been trying to soften him up for the past two hours. whatever you do, don't bust in there now." "i won't, mr. dewitt, but i did wish to see dad." "anything i can do for you?" penny hesitated. "well, i wanted to talk to him about something i learned today at the celestial temple." "oh, yes," nodded the city editor, his attention on a sheet of copy. "mr. parker is handling the campaign personally. sorry i can't be of service." rather startled by dewitt's unusual politeness, penny glanced hopefully toward jerry livingston's desk. it was littered with papers, but quite deserted. with a sigh she left the building and walked to dorr street where she had left her maroon car. upon reaching home she found that mrs. weems was not there and she had forgotten her own key. for a time she sat disconsolately on the front porch. then she decided to go to the hudell garage where leaping lena had been left for repairs three days earlier. the car was ready, and with it a bill for eight dollars and forty-two cents. "i'll have to give you a dollar on account and pay the remainder next week," said penny. "or would you rather keep the car as a deposit?" "give me the dollar," said the garage man hastily. penny became even more depressed as she drove the automobile home. not for the world would she openly admit that she had made a mistake in repurchasing lena. secretly she acknowledged that two cars were an unbearable financial drain upon slender resources. turning into her own street, penny saw mrs. weems walking toward home, and stopped for her. "i've just come from the hodges'," the housekeeper commented, climbing into the car. "you have?" inquired penny eagerly. "did you learn anything?" "no, i didn't. mr. gepper seemed very unwilling to conduct another sã©ance. he acted so different this time--almost as if he bore me a personal grudge." "he's probably provoked because your inheritance eluded him." "he did tell mrs. hodges that he doubted i had any money," mrs. weems responded. "what happened at the sã©ance?" "why, nothing. the table moved and we heard a few raps. that was all." "no message from cousin david?" "not a word or a sign. mr. gepper seemed very indifferent about it all. he said he couldn't give me another appointment unless i paid for it." "what do you think about him now?" penny asked curiously. "don't you agree with dad and me that he was after your money?" "yes, i was very silly," the housekeeper acknowledged. "mrs. hodges has begun to lose faith in him, too. she says he's been bringing all sorts of folks to her place. when she told him she didn't care to have the house over-run with strangers, he became very unpleasant." "you mean he threatened her?" "in a mild way. he told her that he would stay as long as he pleased and she could do nothing about it. mrs. hodges is afraid to go to the police for fear she'll be arrested with mr. gepper." "i wonder if he ever has charged for his sã©ances?" penny said thoughtfully. "i am sure he has, penny. of course i have no proof." "mrs. weems, you must go there again this afternoon," penny urged. "insist upon another sã©ance, and pay him for it! then you'll be able to testify as a witness against him!" "but i don't wish to go into court," the housekeeper protested. "besides, mr. gepper won't be at the cottage this afternoon." "where is he going?" penny questioned alertly. "i don't know. i heard him tell mrs. hodges he would be gone this afternoon, but would return for an eight o'clock sã©ance." "why, that's fine--wonderful!" chuckled penny. mrs. weems gazed at the girl with sudden suspicion. "now what have you thought up?" she demanded. "nothing alarming," grinned penny. "i merely plan to visit mr. gepper's studio during his absence. who knows, i may yet master a few of the finer points of ghost-making!" chapter 20 _inside the cabinet_ despite mrs. weems' protests, penny remained firm in her decision to investigate mr. gepper's studio. she ate a belatedly prepared lunch and did not reach the hodges' cottage until nearly four o'clock, having driven there in lena. the doors were closed and penny knocked several times without receiving a response. "everyone must have gone away," she thought. "oh, dear, now what shall i do?" penny reasoned that it was of vital importance for her to inspect al gepper's room during his absence. she might never have another opportunity. yet she hesitated to enter the house while the hodges were away, even though she felt certain the seamstress would not mind. walking to the rear, penny noticed that the porch screen had been left unfastened. entering the kitchen, she called mrs. hodges' name but received no answer. "if i wait for her to come home it may be too late," decided penny. "this is an emergency." her mind made up, she took the stairs two at a time to al gepper's room. her knock went unanswered. satisfied that he was not there, she tried the door and found it unlocked. penny raised a blind to flood light into the darkened room. save that a film of dust covered the furniture, everything was approximately the same as she had last seen it. her gaze fell upon two suitcases which had been pushed beneath the bed. the first contained only miscellaneous clothing. the second merited a more careful inspection. almost at once penny came upon an old faded picture, the one of cousin david which mrs. weems had given to the photographer's "agent." "so that was how it was done!" she thought. "al gepper sent one of his confederates to see mrs. weems and obtain information about her cousin. the painting which appeared so miraculously during the sã©ance was merely a copy of this! even so, how was it painted so quickly?" forgetting the picture for a moment, penny picked up several newspaper clippings which were fastened together with a rubber band. all had been taken from the obituary column and concerned the death of well-to-do riverview persons. "al gepper and his pals are ghouls!" penny told herself. "they prey upon the relatives of persons who have died, realizing that at such a time it will be much easier to interest them in trying to communicate with the departed!" lifting a tray from the suitcase, her attention focused upon a small red booklet. as she turned rapidly through it, a folded sheet of paper fell to the floor. examining it, penny saw a long list of names, together with pertinent information about each person. not only was the address and financial standing of the individual given, but the deceased relatives in each family and other facts of a personal nature. the list had been mimeographed. "this must be a 'sucker' list!" thought penny. "no wonder it's easy for a medium to find victims and tell them astonishing facts." thrusting the paper into her pocket, she turned her attention to the wardrobe closet. al gepper's clothes hung in orderly rows from the hangers. behind them, half hidden from view, was a small box. pulling it to the window, penny examined the contents. there were many bottles filled with chemicals, the names of which were unfamiliar. she noted a bottle of varnish, another of zinc white, and some photographic paper in a sealed envelope. a glance satisfying her, she replaced the box and next turned her attention to the cabinet behind the large circular table. here she was richly rewarded as her gaze fell upon a banjo. "the same one which played during mrs. weems' sã©ance!" she thought. "we were able to see it in the dark because it's covered with luminous paint. but what made it rise into the air, and how could it play without the aid of human hands?" penny examined the instrument closely. she chuckled as she discovered a tiny phonograph with a record built into its back side. as she pressed a control lever, it began a stringed version of "down upon the swanee river." quickly turning it off, she inspected other objects in the cabinet. at once she found a rod which could be extended to a height of five feet. "that's how the banjo was raised!" she reasoned. "and by use of this rod it would be easy to make a ghost appear to float high overhead. this luminous material must have been used." penny picked up a filmy robe, shaking out the many folds. while it was clear to her that al gepper had employed the garment to materialize the so-called spirit of cousin david, she could only guess how he had made it enlarge from a mere spot to a full sized figure. "he must have wadded the cloth in his hand, and held it above his head," she mused. "then he could have slowly shaken it out until it covered his entire body. thus the figure would appear to grow in size." in one corner of the cabinet penny came upon a luminous slate. "this was used for cousin david's message," she thought. "al probably had an assistant who wrote on it and thrust it through the curtain." while many questions remained unanswered, penny had obtained sufficient evidence to indicate that al gepper was only a clever trickster. greatly elated, she decided to hasten to the _star_ office to report her findings. noticing that she had neglected to return the two suitcases to their former places, penny pushed them under the bed again. as she straightened, a door slammed on the lower floor. for an instant she hoped that it was mrs. hodges or her husband who had come home. then she heard footsteps on the stairs, and their rapidity warned her that they could belong only to a young person. frantically, she gazed about the room. the cabinet seemed to offer the safest hiding place. slipping into it, she pulled the black curtain across the opening. chapter 21 _startling information_ scarcely had penny hidden herself when al gepper entered the room. with him was the hook-nosed young man known as slippery. "i tell you, al," the latter was saying, "this town is getting too hot for comfort. we've got to blow." "it was that parker girl who queered everything," muttered gepper. "how could i know that her father was a newspaper publisher? he's stirred up folks with his editorials." "you never should have let her in here. we had a swell set-up, but now we can expect a raid any day." "i tell you i thought she was just a smart-aleck kid, a friend of the hodges'. didn't learn until yesterday who she was." "we've got to blow, al. sade's threatening to make trouble, too. she thinks we're holding out on the others." "we have picked up a little extra coin now and then." "sure, al, but we've always been the brains of the outfit. we take most of the risk, plan all the big jobs, so why shouldn't we have more?" "it's time we cut loose from 'em, slippery." "now you're talking! but we can't pull out until the henley job comes off. i've had a tip that the house is likely to be deserted tonight. let's make the haul and then skip." "okay," agreed gepper. "i have some suckers coming for a sã©ance at eight. i'll get rid of them in quick time, and be waiting. so long, slippery." a door slammed, telling penny that the hook-nosed man had left. she was somewhat stunned by what she had overheard, believing that the henley who had been mentioned must be her father's chief advertiser. nervously she waited inside the cabinet, wishing that she might take her information to the police. to her intense annoyance, al gepper did not leave the room even for a moment. instead he threw himself on the bed and read a tabloid newspaper. after an hour, he arose and began to prepare his supper on an electric grill. penny shifted from one position to another, growing more impatient. every time the man came toward the cabinet her heart beat a trifle faster. she was quite sure the hodges had not yet returned home, and should al gepper discover her, he would not treat her kindly. the medium finished his supper and stacked the dishes in the closet without washing them. then he started to get ready for the night's sã©ance. peeping from between the cracks of the curtain, penny saw him seat himself before the easel. with painstaking care he painted a picture of a woman, using a photograph as a model. after a coating of varnish had been applied, he allowed it to dry and afterwards covered the entire picture with zinc white. the original painting was entirely hidden. penny knew that hours had elapsed. the room gradually darkened, and al gepper turned on the lights. "oh, dear, i must get out of here soon!" the girl thought desperately. "but if i make a break for it he'll be sure to see me. that will ruin all my plans." eight o'clock came. al gepper put on his coat, combed his hair and was alertly waiting when the doorbell rang. however, instead of descending the stairs he shouted an invitation for the visitors to come up. two women in their early forties were ushered into the sã©ance chamber, to be followed almost immediately by an elderly man. "we will start at once if you please," said al gepper brusquely. "i have another engagement tonight. however, before the sã©ance is undertaken i must ask that each of you pay the required fee, five dollars." the money was paid, and the three persons seated themselves at the table. gepper switched off the lights. the sã©ance began in much the same manner as the one penny had attended. the medium called upon the spirit of a woman named flora to appear. "now concentrate hard--everyone," he instructed. "flora, where are you? can you not show yourself that we may know it is truly your spirit which communicates with us?" from the cabinet, so close to al gepper that she could have touched his hand, penny was able to see his every move. yet so swift was his next action, that she barely discerned it. taking a wet sponge from his pocket he wiped it across the painting previously prepared. the picture immediately became visible to the audience as gepper focused his flashlight on the canvas. "that wasn't the way he made mrs. weems' picture appear," thought penny. "the fellow must have a great repertoire of tricks!" the sã©ance had become so interesting that she no longer thought of escape. nevertheless, she came to a sudden realization of her precarious position as she heard the medium say that he would next endeavor to persuade the spirit of flora to take actual shape. with a shock it dawned upon her that in another moment the man would enter the cabinet to make use of the luminous gauze robe and other paraphernalia. knowing that she could not hide from him, penny decided upon a bold break for freedom. dropping the ghostly robe over her face and shoulders, she pulled aside the dark curtain and flitted into the room. her dramatic entrance brought gasps of astonishment from the persons who sat at the circular table. the medium, as dumbfounded as his audience muttered: "what the dickens!" and pushed back his chair, his legs rasping on the floor. penny did not linger, but darted past the group and groped for the door. in the darkness she could not immediately find it. her shining robe, on the other hand, made her an easy target for al gepper. angrily the medium strode across the room, seizing her arm. she jerked away, but he grasped a fold of the robe. it tore and was left behind. at that critical instant, penny's hand encountered the door. she swung it open, and bounded down the stairway. in the sã©ance chamber a light went on, then the hallway became brilliantly illuminated. but by that time the girl was in the dining room. she could hear al gepper clattering down the steps, intent upon capturing her. penny was determined that he should never learn her identity. letting herself out of the house by way of the kitchen door, she decided that if she attempted to cross the yard, the medium certainly would recognize her. the woodpile offered a hiding place and she crouched behind it. scarcely had she secreted herself, when al gepper ran into the yard. he glanced about carefully and circled the house twice. finally, convinced that the "ghost" had escaped he came back to the porch. his customers, greatly agitated by what had occurred, were demanding explanations. "someone played a prank," gepper explained briefly. "it will be impossible to resume the sã©ance for the spirits are offended. you will leave, please." the customers departed and the medium locked himself in the house. he did not bother to lower the upstairs hall blind, and penny caught occasional glimpses of him as he moved to and fro. "he's packing to leave!" she observed. "unless i act in double-quick time, he'll skip town! i must notify dad and the police without an instant's delay!" chapter 22 _scaling the wall_ the nearest drugstore with a public telephone was two blocks away. penny ran the distance, and slipping into the booth, she dialed the _star_ office. informed by the building switchboard operator that neither her father nor dewitt was available, she inquired for jerry livingston, and to her relief was connected with him. "listen, jerry, this is penny!" she began excitedly. "i haven't time to explain, but the lid is blowing off the fake spiritualist story! rush the police out to the hodges' cottage and demand al gepper's arrest! send another squad or some private detectives to mr. henley's home." "henley!" jerry exclaimed. "say, have you gone loco?" "i'm not making any mistakes," penny replied tersely. "if you act quickly we may prevent a robbery. i'm on my way there now to warn mr. henley! oh, yes, try to find dad or dewitt and warn them a big story is breaking!" "penny, what's this all about?" the reporter demanded. "i can't go to the police unless i know what i am doing." "you must, jerry. i have plenty of evidence against gepper and his crowd, but unless you take the police to the hodges' in the next fifteen minutes it will be too late!" without giving jerry opportunity to delay her with other questions, penny hung up the receiver. hastening to the street, she gazed frantically about for a taxi. none was to be had. "i'll get to the henley place quicker in lena than by waiting for a cab to come along," she thought. the battered old car had been parked a short distance from the hodges' cottage. hurrying there, penny jumped into the ancient vehicle and started the motor. as usual it made a loud clatter, but she did not suspect that the sound carried far up the street. nor did she guess that al gepper stood at the darkened window of his room, watching her. penny drove as fast as she could to the henley home in the southern section of riverview. lights blazed from the downstairs windows. abandoning her car in the driveway, she rang the doorbell. after a long wait, a maid appeared. "is mr. henley here?" penny asked breathlessly. "or mrs. henley? it's most important that i talk with them at once." "mrs. henley has been at the seashore for a month," the maid replied in an agitated voice. "mr. henley is somewhere downtown. i've been trying to get him, but the telephone wire has been cut!" "the house hasn't been robbed?" "mrs. henley's jewelry has been taken! i don't know what else." "when did it happen?" penny asked. "it must have been during the last half hour. i went to the corner store for a book of stamps. when i came back five minutes ago i discovered what had occurred. i ought to call the police, but i am afraid to do it until i've talked with my employer." "the police already have been notified," said penny. "they'll be here any minute." "but how did you know--?" the maid began in astonishment. penny had turned away. she was convinced that the burglary had been committed by slippery. perhaps, by this time he had fled town, but she did not believe he would leave without his pal, al gepper. climbing into the car again, penny debated. it was reasonable to suppose that, having accomplished the burglary, slippery would return to the hodges' cottage to meet the medium. "if he does, the police should be on hand to seize him," she thought. "at least, he and al will be held for questioning. but there's one place i forgot to cover--the celestial temple." like a flash came the recollection that slippery had been deeply interested in something which was guarded in the bell tower. was it not possible that he might return there before leaving riverview? shifting gears, penny turned the car and headed for butternut lane. anxiously, she glanced at the gasoline gauge. it registered less than a gallon of fuel and she had used her last dime in the telephone booth. "if i coast on all the downgrades i should just make it," she estimated. in starting for the celestial temple penny was acting upon a "hunch." however, it disturbed her that the henley burglary had been accomplished, and she was afraid she might again be wasting precious time. now that it was too late, she wondered if it would not have been wiser to remain at the hodges' cottage until the police arrived. "i only hope that end of the affair isn't bungled," she thought. "i'll never get over it if al and slippery both escape." penny had reached the entrance to butternut lane. parking at the side of the road, she continued afoot toward the celestial temple. from a distance the building appeared dark. however, as she drew closer she could distinguish a dim light. inside the temple, a stout man wearing a hat sat with his chair tilted against the door of the bell tower room. "he must be the guard," thought penny. "probably the one they call pete." suddenly she paused, retreating into a clump of elder bushes near the walk. from the direction of the cemetery a figure emerged. at first, all that penny could distinguish was a man carrying a suitcase. as he drew closer, her pulse quickened. unmistakably, it was slippery. without passing the bushes where the girl had taken refuge, the man walked on toward the temple. presently he halted. glancing carefully about to assure himself that he was unobserved, he shoved his suitcase into the tall weeds which lined the walk. then he moved to one of the temple windows, peering into the gloomy interior. "now what?" thought penny, watching alertly. "this should prove interesting." slippery remained beneath the window a minute or two. instead of entering the temple, he presently returned to the high weeds, stooping to remove some object from his suitcase. hiding it under his coat, he circled the building and approached the side adjoining the cemetery. thoroughly mystified, penny cautiously followed, taking care that her body cast no shadow which would attract slippery's attention. the man seemed deeply engrossed in the task he had set for himself. from his coat he took a collapsible rod which he extended to the approximate length of a fish pole. to its end he attached a trailing silken ladder. deftly the man raised the ladder until two metal hooks bit into a projection of the bell tower. he tested the ropes to make certain they would bear his weight then, with the agility of a cat, mounted the silken rungs. penny saw him disappear into the bell tower. "now why did he climb up there?" she asked herself. "he must be after something hidden in the belfry." penny knew that she was a long distance from police aid, but it was unthinkable that slippery should be allowed to escape. impulsively, she moved from her hiding place to the base of the tower. grasping the silken ladder, she gave it a quick jerk which dislodged the two iron hooks. down it tumbled into her arms, leaving the man trapped in the turret. "he'll never dare call for help when he discovers what has happened," reasoned penny. "if he does, the guard, pete, will have something to say!" rolling the ladder into a small bundle, she started across the clearing, intending to seek the nearest telephone. with no thought of lurking danger, she brushed past a clump of bushes. a hand reached out and grasped her arm. penny screamed in terror and tried to break free. the hand help her in a grip of steel. as she struggled, her captor emerged from the shelter of leaves. it was al gepper. "i thought i might find you here, my little one," he said grimly. "you have had your fun. now you must pay, and the entertainment shall be mine!" chapter 23 _a prisoner in the belfry_ penny tried to scream, only to have al gepper clamp his hand over her mouth. "none of that!" he said harshly. "behave yourself or you'll get rough treatment." inside the temple, lights suddenly were turned on, for the brief struggle had been heard by pete. the squat, stupid-faced man appeared in the doorway of the building, peering down the lane. "who's there?" he demanded suspiciously. al gepper uttered an angry word beneath his breath. it was not to his liking that pete should be drawn into the affair. however, he could not avoid detection. "it's al!" he called softly. "this girl broke up my sã©ance tonight, and i trailed her here. she was prowling around the bell tower." as he spoke, he dragged penny toward the temple entrance. his words convinced her that he had not observed her remove the silken ladder from the belfry wall, nor was he aware that slippery was a prisoner in the tower. "let's have a look at her," said pete. he flashed a light directly into penny's face. "she's the parker girl--daughter of the publisher," informed al. "yeah," commented pete. "i saw her at one of our meetings. another girl was with her. how much has she learned?" "enough to get us all run out of town. the question is, what shall we do with her?" "bring her inside, and we'll talk it over," said pete. "maybe we ought to call a meeting." "no," replied al gepper impatiently, shoving penny through the doorway. "we can take care of this ourselves." the door was locked from the inside. al pushed penny into a chair on the front platform. "now sit there," he ordered. "one peep out of you and we'll tie you up and tape your mouth. understand?" "_oui, oui, monsieur_," said penny, mockingly. the two men stepped a few paces away and began to whisper together. pete seemed to protest at al's proposals. penny watched them uneasily, speculating upon their final decision. whatever it was, she would never be given an opportunity to report to the police until it was too late to apprehend members of the temple. "i was stupid not to realize that gepper might trail me," she told herself. "if only i had used an ounce of caution, i might have brought about the capture of the entire gang. not to mention a grand scoop for dad's paper." penny slumped lower in her chair. her own predicament concerned her far less than the knowledge that she had bungled a golden opportunity. speculatively, her gaze shifted toward the bell tower room. the door was closed and she believed that it must be locked. there was no sound from the belfry, adding to her conviction that the man imprisoned there was fearful of attracting attention to his plight. al gepper and pete came toward her. with no explanation, the medium seized her arm and ordered her to walk toward the exit. "where are you taking me?" penny asked. "never mind. you'll find out in good time." "wait!" exclaimed penny, bracing her legs and refusing to be pushed. "if you'll let me go, i'll tell you something very much worth your while." deliberately, she allowed the silken ladder to slip from beneath her coat. the men would not have heeded her words, but the familiar object served its purpose. "where did you get that ladder?" demanded al gepper. "so you would like to know what became of your friend, slippery?" responded penny evenly. "you'll be surprised when i tell you that he has double-crossed you both!" "you're lying," accused gepper. penny shrugged and did not speak. "what were you going to say?" gepper prodded in a moment. "out with it! how did you get slippery's ladder?" "it fell into my hands, literally and figuratively." "stalling for time will get you nowhere," snapped gepper, losing patience. "if you know anything about slippery spill it fast or you'll not have another chance." "your friend tried to double-cross you," declared penny. she decided to make a shrewd guess. "tonight, after he robbed the henley home he came here intending to loot the bell tower." "why, the dirty sneak!" exclaimed pete. "weren't you here on guard all evening?" gepper demanded, turning to him. "sure, i was. i never set foot outside the building." "slippery wasn't here?" "haven't seen him since yesterday morning." "then the girl is lying!" "oh, no, the girl isn't," refuted penny. "if you care for proof you'll find it in the tower." "proof?" "i mean slippery. he's hiding in the belfry now, hoping you'll not discover him there. you see, he scaled the wall by means of this silk ladder. i removed the ladder, and i assume he's still up there." "why, the low-down skunk!" pete exclaimed wrathfully. "so he planned to rob us! i'll get him!" leaving al to watch penny, the guard ran to the tower room door and unlocked it. stealthily he crept up the iron stairway which led to the belfry. suddenly those below heard a cry of rage, followed by the sound of scuffling. al gepper listened tensely, yet made no move to join the fight. he remained standing between penny and the outside door. "you were right," he admitted in a stunned voice. "slippery's up there. he meant to get all the swag for himself." the fight increased in intensity as the two men struggled on the belfry steps. over and over they rolled, first one delivering a hard blow, and then the other. still locked, they finally toppled to the floor, but even then al gepper remained a bystander. penny was less concerned with the fight than with thoughts of escape. she had hoped that al, too, would join the battle. apparently, he was taking no chance of letting her get away. she considered attempting a sudden break for freedom, but immediately abandoned it. the outside door had been locked by pete. before she could turn the key, al would be upon her. as for the windows, none were open. while they might not be locked, it was out of the question to reach one quickly enough. penny's gaze roved to the tower room once more, and the struggling men. high above their heads she saw something which previously had not drawn her attention. it was a loop of rope, hanging from the belfry. "why, that must be attached to the old church bell!" thought penny. "if only i could reach it, i might be able to bring help here." however, the rope dangled high overhead. even if she were able to reach the room leading to the tower, there was nothing upon which she could stand to grasp the loop. obviously the rope had been cut short years before to prevent anyone from ringing the bell. penny glanced toward al gepper. the medium's gaze was upon the two struggling men, not her. a golden opportunity presented itself, if only she had the wits to make use of it. almost at the girl's feet lay the tangle of silken ladder. as she stared at it, a sudden idea took possession of her. the iron hooks would serve her purpose, but dared she try it? if she failed--and the chances were against her--punishment would be certain. yet, if she did nothing and merely waited, it was likely that al gepper and his pals never would be brought to justice. she must take the chance, no matter how great the personal risk. for a moment penny remained inactive, planning what she must do. if she made a single mistake, fumbled at the critical instant, everything would be lost. above all, her aim must be accurate. if she missed the loop-slippery and pete were beginning to tire, their blows becoming futile and ineffective. further delay in executing her plan only increased the danger. she must act now or never. her mind made up, penny no longer hesitated. with a quick movement she seized the silken ladder and darted to the doorway of the bell tower. "hey!" shouted al gepper, starting after her. penny slammed the door in his face. taking careful aim, she hurled the silken ladder upward. one of the iron hooks caught in the loop of the rope. she jerked on it, and to her joy, the bell began to ring. chapter 24 _the wooden box_ penny pulled the rope again and again, causing the huge bell to sway back and forth violently. it rang many times before al gepper succeeded in opening the tower room door. his face was crimson with fury when he seized the girl, hurling her away from the rope. with one quick toss he released the hooks of the silken ladder, stuffing the soft strands beneath his coat. the bell made a final clang and became silent. penny retreated against the wall, anticipating severe punishment for her act. however, al and his companions were more concerned with thoughts of escape than with her. "we've got to get out of here," muttered al. "come on!" the two men on the floor had ceased their struggles. painfully they regained their feet. in this sudden emergency they had forgotten their differences. "what shall we do about the box in the tower?" pete demanded, nursing a swollen eye. "leave it here," returned al. "we can't save anything now. the police are apt to swoop down on us any minute." turning, he fled to the street. pete and slippery hesitated, then followed. penny heard a key turn in the lock. even before she tested the door she knew she had been imprisoned in the tower room. "they've escaped after all," she thought dismally. "but i may have saved some of the loot. i'll take a look." quickly she climbed the iron stairs to the belfry. from the turret she obtained a perfect view of the entire lane. al gepper was running down the street, while pete and slippery had turned toward the cemetery. there were no other persons in the vicinity, penny thought at first glance. then her heart leaped as she saw three men entering the lane at its junction with the main street. they, too, were running. "they must have heard the bell!" she told herself. "oh, if only i can make them understand what has happened!" her best means of attracting attention was by ringing the bell. she pushed against it and was rewarded by a deafening clang. the men stopped short, staring toward the belfry. penny cupped her hands and shouted. her words did not carry plainly, but the newcomers seemed to gain an inkling of what was amiss, for they wheeled and began to pursue the two who had taken refuge in the cemetery. from her high perch, penny saw al gepper nearing the end of the lane, unobserved by all save herself. tapping the bell again, she called: "get him, too! at the end of the street!" one of the pursuers halted, turning toward the tower. in the moonlight penny saw his face and recognized jerry livingston. he was close enough now to hear her voice. "it's al gepper!" she shouted. "don't let him escape!" the reporter turned, but as he started off in the new direction, both he and penny saw the fleeing man climbing into leaping lena. with a grinding of gears, he drove away. jerry stopped, thinking that he never could overtake the car. "keep after him, jerry!" encouraged penny. "the gas tank is almost empty. he can't possibly go more than three or four blocks!" as the reporter again took up the chase, she began tolling the bell once more, determined to arouse everyone within a mile of the temple. her energy was rewarded, for in another minute she heard the familiar wail of a siren. a police cruiser swerved alongside the tower, stopping with a lurch. "what's the idea of ringing that bell?" demanded an officer, leaping to the ground. tersely penny explained the situation. the two policemen took a short-cut through a vacant lot, circling the cemetery. darkness swallowed them, but presently there came a muffled command to halt, followed by a revolver shot. so excited was penny that she nearly tumbled from the bell tower. recovering her balance, she sat on the stone ledge, trying to remain calm. her nerves were jumpy and on edge. "if only jerry captures al gepper--that's all i ask!" she breathed. as the minutes elapsed, it occurred to her that she had not yet searched for the loot which she believed to be hidden in the belfry. with questing fingers she groped beneath the ledge. for a short distance she felt nothing. then she encountered a long wooden box. before she could open it, she heard shouts from the direction of the cemetery. four men, two of them police officers, were marching slippery and pete toward the temple. as they came nearer she received another pleasant surprise. the two who had aided in the capture were her father and salt sommers, a photographer for the _star_. "dad!" shouted penny. "can you get me down from this pigeon roost?" mr. parker, separating from the others, came to the foot of the bell tower. "so it was you who sounded the alarm!" he exclaimed. "i might have known! how did you get up there?" "i'm locked in. dad, send the police to help jerry. he's after al gepper who rode off in my car." the police cruiser was dispatched, leaving one officer to guard the two prisoners. mr. parker unlocked the door of the tower room, releasing his daughter. "you're all right?" he asked anxiously. "of course. here's a little present for you." penny thrust the wooden box into his hands. "what's this?" "i don't know yet. i found it hidden in the belfry." "penny, if you fell into a river you would come up with a chest of gold!" exclaimed the publisher admiringly. "open it quick, dad." mr. parker required no urging. the box was locked but he pried off the cover hinges, exposing the contents. "a real treasure!" exclaimed penny. the box contained several bracelets, one of them set with rubies and diamonds, countless rings, four watches, and several strings of matched pearls. "stolen loot!" ejaculated the publisher. "and what a collection!" chuckled penny as she examined the separate pieces. "there's enough plunder here to start a jewelry store." "likewise sufficient evidence to put this celestial temple gang out of circulation for a long, long time," added her father. "i learned a lot tonight, dad. wait until i tell you!" "a scoop for the _star_?" "you'll be able to use your largest, blackest headlines." penny began to tell her story, interrupting only when slippery and pete were brought into the building handcuffed together. starting again, she made her charges, accusing slippery not only of having committed the henley burglary, but also of having robbed the kohls and many prominent riverview families. after inspecting the jewelry found in the wooden box, one of the police officers definitely identified several of the pieces as stolen goods. he expressed an opinion that the jewelry had been hidden in the belfry because it was too "hot" to be disposed of by fences. "the organization members had an agreement by which all shared in the loot," added penny. "that caused trouble. al gepper and slippery thought they were taking most of the risk without sufficient return. so they pulled a few extra jobs of their own." before she could reveal more, the police car was heard outside the temple. from the window penny saw that jerry and the policeman were returning with al gepper who had been handcuffed. "they've caught him!" she cried jubilantly. the prisoner was brought into the temple to be identified. he had been captured when leaping lena had stalled for lack of gasoline. as gepper was searched, the silken ladder, and various small objects were removed from his coat. penny noticed two tiny rubber suction cups no larger than dimes, and immediately made up her mind that later she would try to obtain them. she was quite certain she knew their purpose. penny told her story and learned, in turn, that after she had telephoned jerry, he had traced her father, and with the police both had hastened to the hodges' cottage. arriving there, they discovered that gepper had fled. jerry, mr. parker, and salt sommers had immediately proceeded to the celestial temple. "it was lucky you rang that bell, penny," chuckled jerry. "if you hadn't, we never would have arrived here in time." "it was lucky, too, that mr. gepper tried to escape in lena," she laughed. "i guess my old rattle-trap has redeemed itself." one of the officers picked up the silken ladder, examining it with critical interest. he agreed that it had undoubtedly been used in many mysterious burglaries committed during the past month. "it's obvious that slippery approached the houses on the 'blind' side, and scaled the wall after hooking his ladder into a window ledge," penny remarked. "i suppose he reasoned that second-story windows nearly always are left unlocked. but how did he learn the houses were deserted? by telephoning?" "that would be my opinion," nodded the policeman. "if someone answered, he could hang up. otherwise, he would be fairly sure the house was empty." "one night at the theatre i saw a man who resembled slippery noting down the license number of the kohl car. but the house was robbed within a few hours after that. how could he have obtained the name and address?" "easily. there are 'information fences' who supply such data to fellow members of the underworld. it is also possible that slippery previously had watched the kohl house, obtained the car license number, and then watched for it later at the theatre." jerry already had supplied police with the name of the fence whose establishment slippery had visited earlier in the day. later, a raid staged there brought to light much loot taken from various riverview homes. however, for the moment, police were most interested in gaining complete information which could be used in rounding up all members of the celestial temple society who had not fled the city. searching slippery they found, not only jewelry stolen from the henley residence, but a booklet containing many names and telephone numbers. "sadie beardsell," penny read. "she's one of the members, i am sure." lest mr. and mrs. hodges might also be arrested, she explained that the old couple had been an innocent dupe of al gepper. turning to the medium she said: "i think i know how you accomplished most of your tricks. of course, you were the one who sent mrs. hodges a letter with six dollars. undoubtedly, you had it mailed by an accomplice from new york at exactly the hour you specified. then at that same hour you slipped up to the hodges' cottage, and rapped six times on the bedroom wall." "you seem to have everything figured out," al gepper responded sarcastically. "clever girl!" "i saw how you made the spirit painting tonight at the sã©ance," resumed penny. "may i ask if that same method was used in regard to mrs. weem's picture of cousin david?" she did not dream that the medium would answer her question. with a shrug which implied that the entire matter was very boring, he replied: "no, the picture was painted with a solution of sulphocyanid of potassium and other chemicals, invisible until brought out with a re-agent. during the sã©ance, an assistant sprayed the back of the canvas with an atomizer, bringing out the colors one by one." "and how was the paint made to appear wet?" "poppy oil." "one more question, mr. gepper. i never could understand how you were able to raise the kitchen table at mrs. hodges' cottage." "no?" al gepper smiled mockingly. "i assure you i had nothing to do with that demonstration. it was a true spirit manifestation." "i'll never believe that," declared penny. "then figure it out for yourself," replied the medium. "you are such a very brilliant child." before the prisoners were led to the police car, salt sommers set up his camera and took a number of flashlight pictures for the _star_. "how about it, mr. parker?" inquired jerry eagerly. "are we putting out an extra?" "we are," said the publisher crisply. "this is the big break i've been hoping we would get! we should beat the _record_ on the story by at least a half hour." the three men hurriedly left the celestial temple, with penny trailing behind them. at the main street intersection they finally obtained a taxicab. "to the _star_ office," mr. parker ordered. "an extra dollar if you step on it." "how about my pictures?" salt sommers asked, as the cab rocked around a corner. "they ought to be dandies." "rush them through as soon as we get to the office," mr. parker instructed. "if they're any good we'll run 'em on page one. jerry, you handle the story--play it for all it's worth." jerry glanced at penny who sat very still between her father and salt. their eyes met. "chief," he said, "there's a sort of fraternity among reporters--an unwritten rule that we never chisel on each other's work." "what's that?" mr. parker asked, startled. "i don't get it." then his glance fell upon his daughter, and he smiled. "oh, so it's that way! you think penny should write the story?" "i do, chief. it's hers from the ground floor up." "please, dad, may i?" penny pleaded. the cab rolled up to the _star_ office, stopping with a jerk. mr. parker swung open the door, helping her alight. "the story is yours, penny," he said. "that is, if you can crack it out fast enough to make the extra." "i'll do it or die in the attempt." "keep to the facts and write terse, simple english--" mr. parker began, but penny did not wait to hear his instructions. with a triumphant laugh, she ran ahead into the _star_ office. her entry into the newsroom was both dramatic and noisy. "big scoop, mr. dewitt," she called cheerily. "start the old print factory running full blast!" dropping into a chair behind the nearest typewriter, she began to write. chapter 25 _extra!_ penny stood at the window of her father's office, listening to the newsboys crying their wares on the street. "_extra! extra! read all about it! police capture three in raid on celestial temple! extra! extra!_" mr. parker rocked back in his swivel chair, smiling at his daughter. "your story was first-class, penny," he said. "thanks to you we scooped the _record_. tired?" "i do feel rather washed out," penny admitted. "writing at high speed with a deadline jabbing you in the back is worse than facing a gang of crooks. but it was exciting." "you turned in a good story," her father praised again. "in fact, you may as well take credit for breaking up that outfit of fake spiritualists." "so far the police have only captured al gepper, slippery and pete. there's not much evidence against the others." "true, but rest assured those who aren't rounded up will leave riverview. the backbone of the organization has been smashed." penny sank wearily into a chair, picking up a copy of the _star_ which lay on her father's desk. two-inch, black headlines proclaimed the capture, and opening from the banner was her own story tagged with a credit line: _by penelope parker_. salt sommer's photographs had made the front page, too, and there was a brief contribution by jerry telling of al gepper's attempted flight in leaping lena. "dad, you must admit that it was a stroke of genius when i bought back that old car," remarked penny. "why, if it hadn't been for lena, al gepper surely would have escaped." "that and the fact you always run your cars on an empty tank," responded mr. parker. "i suppose you foresaw the future when you made your brilliant purchase?" "not exactly. it was just a feeling i had--the same sort of hunch which came to me when i found the silken ladder at kano's curio shop. if i depended upon a mere brain to solve mysteries, why i'd be no better than the police." "your modesty overwhelms me," chuckled her father. "i'm thankful my other reporters aren't guided by their instincts. otherwise i might have a scoop a day." "there's one thing which annoys me," penny said, frowning. "and what is that?" "two of al gepper's tricks haven't been explained. how was he able to raise a table and read a message in a sealed envelope?" "i was talking to the chief of police about that letter trick only this morning, penny. magicians often employ it. wasn't the message written on a pad of paper before it was placed in the envelope?" "yes, it was." "then very likely gepper read the message from the pad. he could have placed carbon paper beneath the second or third sheets. possibly he resorted to a thin covering of paraffin wax which would be less noticeable." "now that i recall it, he did glance at the pad! how would you guess he lifted the table?" "were his hands held high above it, penny?" "only an inch or two. however, he never touched the table. i was able to see that." "could he have used sharp, steel pins held between his fingers?" "i doubt it. but i think i know what he may have used! did you notice two small suction cups which were taken from his pockets by the police?" "well, no, i didn't, penny." "the longer i mull over it, the more i'm convinced he used them to raise the table. they could be held between the fingers and wouldn't be observed in a darkened room. dad, if i can get those rubber cups from the police, i'll have some fun!" the telephone rang. it was mrs. weems calling to ask if penny were safe. mr. parker replied in the affirmative and handed the receiver to his daughter. "penny, i just read your story in the paper," the housekeeper scolded. "you never should have pitted yourself against those dangerous men! i declare, you need someone to watch you every minute." "i need you," said penny. "and so does dad. why not promise to stay with us instead of going away on a trip?" "of course, i'll remain," came mrs. weems' surprising answer. "i made up my mind to that two days ago. you and your father never could take care of yourselves." "what will you do with your inheritance, mrs. weems?" "i hope your father will invest it for me," replied the housekeeper meekly. "one thing i know. no medium will tell me what to do with it." the hour was late. penny felt relieved when her father locked his desk in preparation for leaving the office. they walked through the newsroom, down the stairway to the street. a middle-aged man in a brown suit and derby hat alighted from a taxi, pausing as he saw them. "mr. parker!" he called. "may i speak with you?" the publisher turned, recognizing him. "mr. henley!" he exclaimed. "i have just come from the police station," the advertiser said in an agitated voice. "i was told that your daughter is responsible for the capture of the men who robbed our home tonight." "yes, penny managed to have a rather busy evening," smiled mr. parker. "i hope you suffered no loss." "everything was recovered, thanks to your daughter. miss parker, i realize i never can properly express my appreciation." "i was sorry i couldn't prevent the burglary," replied penny stiffly. "as it turned out, the capture of the crooks was mostly due to luck." "you are too modest," protested mr. henley. "i've talked with the police, you know. i am truly grateful." the man hesitated, evidently wishing to say more, yet scarcely knowing how to shape his words. penny and her father started to move away. "oh, about that contract we were discussing today," the advertiser said quickly. "yes?" mr. parker paused. "i've been thinking it over. i acted too hastily in deciding to cancel." "mr. henley, please do not feel that you are under obligation," said the publisher quietly. "even though penny accidentally did you a favor--" "it's not that," mr. henley interrupted. "the _star_ is a good paper." "the best in riverview," said penny softly. "yes, it is!" mr. henley declared with sudden emphasis. "i tell you, parker, i was irritated because of a trivial mistake in my firm's copy. i've cooled off now. suppose we talk over the matter tomorrow at lunch." "very well," agreed mr. parker. "the commodore hotel at one." bowing to penny, mr. henley retreated into a waiting taxi and drove away. "how do you like that, dad?" penny inquired after a moment's silence. "i like it," answered mr. parker. "the _star_ could have limped along without mr. henley. but the going would have been tough." "he'll renew the old contract?" "oh, yes, and probably give us a better one. stealing mr. henley's words, i am truly grateful." penny gazed at her father with twinkling eyes. "are those idle words, dad? or are you willing to back them in a material way?" "i might," grinned mr. parker. "present your bill." "well, dad, i've discovered to my sorrow that i can't support two cars on my present allowance. i need a generous raise." "you could get rid of lena." "why, dad! after her noble work tonight!" "no, i suppose not," sighed mr. parker. "you've earned an increase, and i may as well grant it." "retroactive to the time i started working on the story," added penny. "i figure if you pay back allowance, i'll be solvent once more!" "you drive a hard bargain," chuckled the publisher. "but i'll agree." arm in arm, they started on down the street. rounding a corner of the _star_ building they abruptly paused before the plate-glass window to watch a long, unbroken sheet of white paper feed through the thundering press. freshly inked newspapers, cut and folded, slid out one upon the other to be borne away for distribution. "it's modern magic, isn't it, dad?" penny said reflectively as the great machine pounded in steady rhythm. "yes, penny," her father agreed. "and for this edition, at least, you were the master magician!" the end transcriber's notes --replaced the list of books in the series by the complete list, as in the final book, "the cry at midnight". --silently corrected a handful of palpable typos. --conforming to later volumes, standardized on "dewitt" as the name of the city editor. behind the green door _by_ mildred a. wirt _author of_ mildred a. wirt mystery stories trailer stories for girls _illustrated_ cupples and leon company _publishers_ new york _penny parker_ mystery stories _large 12 mo. cloth illustrated_ tale of the witch doll the vanishing houseboat danger at the drawbridge behind the green door clue of the silken ladder the secret pact the clock strikes thirteen the wishing well saboteurs on the river ghost beyond the gate hoofbeats on the turnpike voice from the cave guilt of the brass thieves signal in the dark whispering walls swamp island the cry at midnight copyright, 1940, by cupples and leon co. behind the green door printed in u. s. a. _contents_ chapter page 1 trouble for mr. parker _1_ 2 a rival reporter _12_ 3 traveling companions _21_ 4 pine top mountain _30_ 5 over the barbed wire _38_ 6 penny trespasses _47_ 7 the green door _55_ 8 a coded message _63_ 9 a call for help _72_ 10 locked in the cabin _79_ 11 a newspaper mystery _89_ 12 the green card _97_ 13 an unkind trick _105_ 14 a broken rod _115_ 15 in the tool house _123_ 16 a puzzling solution _129_ 17 strange sounds _138_ 18 questions and clues _146_ 19 peter jasko serves notice _152_ 20 visitors _162_ 21 old peter's disappearance _173_ 22 the secret stairs _182_ 23 rescue _189_ 24 henri's salon _197_ 25 scoop! _206_ chapter 1 _trouble for mr. parker_ "watch me coming down the mountain, mrs. weems! this one is a honey! an open christiana turn with no brakes dragging!" penny parker, clad in a new black and red snowsuit, twisted her agile young body sideways, causing the small rug upon which she stood to skip across the polished floor of the living room. she wriggled her slim hips again, and it slipped in the opposite direction toward mrs. weems who was watching from the kitchen doorway. "coming down the mountain, my eye!" exclaimed the housekeeper, laughing despite herself. "you'll be coming down on your head if you don't stop those antics. i declare, you've acted like a crazy person ever since your father rashly agreed to take you to pine top for the skiing." "i have to break in my new suit and limber up my muscles somehow," said penny defensively. "one can't practice outdoors when there's no snow. now watch this one, mrs. weems. it's called a telemark." "you'll reduce that rug to shreds before you're through," sighed the housekeeper. "can't you think of anything else to do?" "yes," agreed penny cheerfully, "but it wouldn't be half as much fun. how do you like my suit?" she darted across the room to preen before the full length mirror. a red-billed cap pulled at a jaunty angle over her blond curls, penny made a striking figure in the well tailored suit of dark wool. her eyes sparkled with the joy of youth and it was easy for her to smile. she was an only child, the daughter of anthony parker, editor and publisher of the _riverview star_, and her mother had died when she was very young. "it looks like a good, practical suit," conceded the housekeeper. penny made a wry face. "is that the best you can say for it? louise sidell and i shopped all over riverview to get the snappiest number out, and then you call it _practical_." "oh, you know you look cute in it," laughed mrs. weems. "so what's the use of telling you?" before penny could reply the telephone rang and the housekeeper went to answer it. she returned to the living room a moment later to say that penny's father was in need of free taxi service home from the office. "tell him i'll be down after him in two shakes of a kitten's tail!" penny called, making for the stairway. she took the steps two at a time and had climbed halfway out of the snowsuit by the time she reached the bedroom. a well aimed kick landed the garment on the bed, and then because it was very new and very choice she took time to straighten it out. seizing a dress blindly from the closet, she wriggled into it and ran downstairs again. "some more skiing equipment may come while i'm gone," she shouted to mrs. weems who was in the kitchen. "i bought a new pair of skis, a couple of poles, three different kinds of wax and a pair of red mittens." "why didn't you order the store sent out and be done with it?" responded the housekeeper dryly. penny pulled on her heavy coat and hurried to the garage where two cars stood side by side. one was a shining black sedan of the latest model, the other, a battered, unwashed vehicle whose reputation was as discouraging as its appearance. "leaping lena," as penny called her car, had an annoying habit of running up repair bills, and then repaying its long suffering owner by refusing to start on cold winter days. "lena, you get to stay in your cozy nest this time," penny remarked, climbing into her father's sedan. "dad can't stand your rattle and bounce." the powerful engine started with a blast. while mrs. weems watched anxiously from the kitchen window, penny shot the car out backwards, wheeling it around the curve of the driveway with speed and ease. she liked to handle her father's automobile, and since he did not enjoy driving, she frequently called at the newspaper office to take him home. the _star_ building occupied a block in the downtown section of riverview. penny parked the car beside the loading dock at the rear, and took an elevator to the editorial rooms. nearly all of the desks were deserted at this late hour of the afternoon. but jerry livingston, one of the best reporters on the paper, was still pecking out copy on a noisy typewriter. "hi, penny!" he observed, grinning as she brushed past his desk. "have you caught any more witch dolls?" "not for the front page," she flung back at him. "my newspaper career is likely to remain in a state of _status quo_ for the next two weeks. dad and i are heading for pine top to dazzle the natives with our particular brand of skiing. don't you envy us?" "i certainly would, if you were going." "if!" exclaimed penny indignantly. "of course we're going! we leave thursday by plane. dad needs a vacation and this time i know he won't try to wiggle out of it at the last minute." "well, i hope not," replied jerry in a skeptical voice. "your father needs a good rest, penny. but i have a sneaking notion you're in for a disappointment again." "what makes you say that, jerry? dad promised me faithfully--" "sure, i know," he nodded, "but there have been developments." "an important story?" "no, it's more serious than that. but you talk with him. i may have the wrong slant on the situation." not without misgiving, penny went on to her father's private office and tapped on the door. "come in," he called in a gruff voice, and as she entered, waved her into a chair. "you arrived a little sooner than i expected, penny. mind waiting a few minutes?" "not at all." studying her father's lean, tired-looking face, penny decided that something _was_ wrong. he seemed unusually worried and nervous. "a hard day, dad?" she asked. mr. parker finished straightening a sheaf of papers before he glanced up. "yes, i hadn't intended to tell you until later, but i may as well. i'm afraid our trip is off--at least as far as i'm concerned." "oh, dad!" "it's a big disappointment, penny. the truth is, i'm in a spot of trouble." "isn't that the usual condition of a newspaper publisher?" "yes," he smiled, "but there are different degrees of trouble, and this is the worst possible. the _star_ has been sued for libel, a matter of fifty odd thousand." "fifty thousand!" gasped penny. "but of course you'll win the suit!" "i'm not at all sure of it." anthony parker spoke grimly. "my lawyer tells me that harvey maxwell has a strong case against the paper." "harvey maxwell?" repeated penny thoughtfully. "isn't he the man who owns the riverview hotel?" "yes, and a chain of other hotels and lodges throughout the country. harvey maxwell is a rather well known sportsman. he lives lavishly, travels a great deal, and in general is a hard, shrewd business man." "he's made a large amount of money from his hotels, hasn't he?" "maxwell acquired a fortune from some source, but i've always had a doubt that it came from the hotel business." "why is he suing the _star_ for libel, dad?" "early this fall, while i was out of town for a day dewitt let a story slip through which should have been killed. it was an interview with a football player named bill morcrum who was quoted as saying that he had been approached by maxwell who offered him a bribe to throw an important game." "what would be the reason behind that?" "maxwell is thought by those in the know to have a finger in nearly every dishonest sports scheme ever pulled off in this town. he places heavy wagers, and seldom comes out on the losing end. but the story never should have been published." "it was true though?" "i'm satisfied it was," replied mr. parker. "however, it always is dangerous to make insinuations against a man." "can't the story be proven? i should think with the football player's testimony you would have a good case." "that's the trouble, penny. this boy, bill morcrum, now claims he never made any such accusation against maxwell. he says the reporter misquoted him and twisted his statements." "who covered the story, dad?" "a man named glower, a very reliable reporter. he swears he made no mistake, and i am inclined to believe him." "then why did the football player change his story?" "i have no proof, but it's a fairly shrewd guess that he was approached by maxwell a second time. either he was threatened or offered a bribe which was large enough to sway him." "with both maxwell and the football player standing together, it does rather put you on the spot," penny acknowledged. "what are you going to do?" "we'll fight the case, of course, but unless we can prove that our story was accurate, we're almost sure to lose. i've asked bill morcrum to come to my office this afternoon, and he promised he would. he's overdue now." anthony parker glanced at his watch and scowled. getting up from the swivel chair he began to pace to and fro across the room. a buzzer on his desk gave three sharp, staccato signals. "morcrum must be here now!" the editor exclaimed in relief. "i'll want to see him alone." penny arose to leave. as she went out the doorway she met the receptionist, accompanied by an awkward, oversized youth who shuffled his feet in walking. he grinned at her in a sheepish way and entered the private office. while penny waited, she entertained herself by reading all the comic strips she could find in the out-of-town exchange papers. in the adjoining room she could hear the rhythmical thumping, clicking sound of the _star's_ teletype machines. she wandered aimlessly into the room to read the copy just as the machines typed it out, a story from washington, one from chicago, another from los angeles. it was fascinating to watch the print appear like magic upon the long rolls of copy paper. presently, the teletype attendant, young billy stevens, came dashing into the room. "oh, hello, miss parker," he said with a bashful grin. "hello, billy," penny answered cordially. she studied the keyboard of the sending teletype machine, running her fingers over the letters. "i wish i could work this thing," she said. "there's nothing to it if you can run a typewriter," answered billy. "just a minute, i'll throw it off the line on to the test position. then you can try it." at first penny's copy was badly garbled, but under billy's enthusiastic coaching she was soon doing accurate work. "say, this is fun!" she declared. "i'm coming in again one of these days and practice. thanks a lot, billy!" as penny went back into the editorial room she saw the morcrum boy leaving her father's office. his head was downcast and his face was flushed to the ears. obviously, he had not had a comfortable time with mr. parker. the moment the boy had vanished, penny hurried into her father's office to learn the outcome of the interview. "no luck," reported mr. parker, reaching for his hat and overcoat. "he wouldn't change his story?" "no. he seemed like a fairly decent sort of boy, but he kept insisting he had been misquoted. i couldn't get anywhere with him. he'll testify for maxwell when the case comes to trial." mr. parker put on his overcoat and hat, and opened the door for penny. as they left the building he told her more about the interview. "i asked the boy point-blank if he hadn't been hired by maxwell. naturally, he denied it, but he acted rather alarmed. oh, i'm satisfied he's either been bought off or threatened." "when does the case come to trial?" "the last of next month, unless we gain a delay." "that gives you quite a bit of time. don't you think you could take two weeks off anyhow, dad? we both planned upon having such a wonderful time at mrs. downey's place." penny and her father had been invited to spend the christmas holidays at pine top, a winter resort which attracted many riverview persons. they especially had looked forward to the trip since they were to have been the house guests of mrs. christopher downey, an old friend of mr. parker's who operated a skiing lodge on the slopes of the mountain overlooking silver valley. "there's not much chance of my getting away," mr. parker replied regretfully. "that is, not unless important evidence falls into my hands, or i am able to make a deal with maxwell." "a deal?" "if he would make reasonable demands i might be willing to settle out of court." penny gazed at her father in blank amazement. "and admit you were in the wrong when you're certain you weren't?" "any good general will make a strategic retreat if the situation calls for it. it might be more sensible to settle out of court than to lose the case. maxwell has me in a tight place and knows it." "then why don't you see him? he might be fairly reasonable." "i suppose i could stop at the riverview hotel on our way home," mr. parker said, frowning thoughtfully. "there's an outside chance maxwell may come to terms. drop me off there, penny." while the car threaded its way in and out of dense traffic, the editor remained in a deep study. penny had never seen him look so worried. her own disappointment was keen, yet she realized that far more than a vacation trip was at stake. fifty thousand dollars represented a large sum of money! if maxwell won his suit it might even mean the loss of the _riverview star_. sensing his daughter's alarm, mr. parker reached out to pat her knee. "don't worry," he said, "we're not licked yet, penny! and if there's any way to arrange it, you shall have your trip to pine top just as we planned." chapter 2 _a rival reporter_ penny presently edged the sedan into a parking space across the street from the riverview hotel. as she switched off the ignition her father said: "better come along with me and wait in the lobby. it's cold out here." penny followed her father into the building. the hotel was an elegant one with many services available for guests. she noticed a florist shop, a candy store, a dry cleaning establishment, and even a small brokerage office opening off the lobby. "oh, yes," said mr. parker as penny called his attention to the brokerage. "maxwell hasn't overlooked anything. the hotel has a special leased wire which i've been told gives him a direct connection with his other places." walking over to the desk, mr. parker mentioned his name and asked the clerk if he might see harvey maxwell. "mr. maxwell is not here," replied the man with an insolent air. "when will he be at the hotel?" "mr. maxwell has left the city on business. he does not expect to return until the end of next month." mr. parker could not hide his annoyance. "let me have his address then," he said in a resigned voice. "i'll write him." the clerk shook his head. "i have been instructed not to give you mr. maxwell's address. if you wish to deal with him you will have to see his lawyer, gorman s. railey." "so maxwell was expecting me to come here to make a deal with him?" demanded mr. parker. "well, i've changed my mind. i'll make a deal all right, but it will be in court. good day!" angrily, the newspaper man strode from the lobby. penny hurried to keep pace with him. "that settles it," he said tersely as they climbed into the sedan again. "this libel suit will be a fight to the finish. and maybe my finish at that!" "oh, dad, i'm sure you'll win. but it's a pity all this had to come up just when you had planned a fine vacation. mrs. downey will be disappointed, too." "yes, she will, penny. and there's mrs. weems to be thought about. i promised her a two weeks' trip while we were gone." they drove in silence for a few blocks. as the car passed the sidell residence, penny's father said thoughtfully: "i suppose i could send you out to pine top alone, penny. or perhaps you might be able to induce your chum, louise, to go along. would you like that?" "it would be more fun if you went also." "that's out of the picture now. if everything goes well i might be able to join you for christmas weekend." "i'm not sure louise could go," said penny doubtfully. "but i can find out right away." after dinner that night, she lost no time in running over to the sidell home. at first louise was thrown into a state of ecstasy at the thought of making a trip to pine top and then her face became gloomy. "i would love it, penny! but it's practically a waste of words to ask mother. we're going to my grandmother's farm in vermont for the holidays, and i'll have to tag along." since grade school days the two girls had been inseparable friends. between them there was perfect understanding and they made an excellent pair, for louise exerted a subduing effect upon the more impulsive, excitable penny. inactivity bored penny, and wherever she went she usually managed to start things moving. when nothing better offered, she tried her hand at writing newspaper stories for her father's paper. several of these reportorial experiences had satisfied even penny's deep craving for excitement. three truly "big" stories had rolled from her typewriter through the thundering presses of the _riverview star_: tale of the witch doll, the vanishing houseboat, and danger at the drawbridge. even now, months after her last astonishing adventure, friends liked to tease her about a humorous encounter with a certain mr. kippenberg's alligator. "pine top won't be any fun without you, lou," penny complained. "oh, yes it will," contradicted her chum. "i know you'll manage to stir up plenty of excitement. you'll probably pull a mysterious eskimo out of a snow bank or save santa claus from being kidnaped! that's the way you operate." "pine top is an out of the way place, close to the canadian border. all one can do there is eat, sleep, and ski." "you mean, that's all one is supposed to do," corrected louise with a laugh. "but you'll run into some big story or else you're slipping!" "there isn't a newspaper within fifty miles. no railroad either. the only way in and out of the valley is by airplane, and bob-sled, of course." "that may cramp your style a little, but i doubt it," declared louise. "i do wish i could go along." the girls talked with mrs. sidell, but as they both had expected, it was not practical for louise to make the trip. "i'll come to the airport to see you off on your plane," louise promised as penny left the house. "you're starting thursday, aren't you?" "yes, at ten-thirty unless there's bad weather. but i'll see you again before that." all the next day penny packed furiously. mr. parker was unusually busy at the office, but he bought his daughter's ticket and made all arrangements for the trip to pine top. since mrs. weems also planned to leave riverview the following day, the house was in a constant state of turmoil. "i feel sorry for dad being left here alone," remarked penny. "he'll never make his bed, and he'll probably exist on strong coffee and those wretched raw beef sandwiches they serve at the beanery across from the _star_ office." "i ought to give up my vacation," declared mrs. weems. "it seems selfish of me not to stay here." mr. parker would not hear of such an arrangement, and so plans moved forward just as if his own trip had not been postponed. "dad, you'll honestly try to come to pine top for christmas?" penny pleaded. "i'll do my best," he promised soberly. "i have a hunch that harvey maxwell may still be in town, despite what we were told at the hotel. i intend to busy myself making a complete investigation of the man." "if i could help, i'd be tickled to stay, dad." "there's nothing you can do, penny. just go out there and have a nice vacation." mr. parker had not intended to go to the office thursday morning until after penny's plane had departed, but at breakfast time a call came from dewitt, the city editor, urging his presence at once. before leaving, he gave his daughter her ticket and travelers checks. "now i expect to be at the airport to see you off," he promised. "until then, good-bye." mr. parker kissed penny and hastened away. later, louise sidell came to the house. soon after ten o'clock the girls took leave of mrs. weems, taxiing to the airport. "i don't see dad anywhere," penny remarked as the cabman unloaded her luggage. "he'll probably come dashing up just as the plane takes off." the girls entered the waiting room and learned that the plane was "on time." curiously, they glanced at the other passengers. two travelers penny immediately tagged as business men. but she was rather interested in a plump, over-painted woman whose nervous manner suggested that she might be making her first airplane trip. while penny's luggage was being weighed, two men entered the waiting room. one was a lean, sharp-faced individual suffering from a bad cold. the other, struck penny as being vaguely familiar. he was a stout man, expensively dressed, and had a surly, condescending way of speaking to his companion. "who are those men?" penny whispered to louise. "do you know them?" louise shook her head. "that one fellow looks like someone i've seen," penny went on thoughtfully. "maybe i saw his picture in a newspaper, but i can't place him." the two men went up to the desk and the portly one addressed the clerk curtly: "you have our reservations for pine top?" "yes, sir. just sign your name here." the clerk pushed forward paper and a pen. paying for the tickets from a large roll of greenbacks, the two men went over to the opposite side of the waiting room and sat down. penny glanced anxiously at the clock. it was twenty minutes past ten. a uniformed messenger boy entered the room, letting in a blast of cold air as he opened the door. he went over to the desk and the clerk pointed out the two girls. "now what?" said penny in a low voice. "maybe my trip is called off!" the message was for her, from her father. but it was less serious than she had expected. because an important story had "broken" it would be impossible for him to leave the office. he wished her a pleasant trip west and again promised he would bend every effort toward visiting pine top for christmas. penny folded the message and slipped it into her purse. "dad won't be able to see me off," she explained to her chum. "i was afraid when dewitt called him this morning he would be held up." before louise could reply the outside door opened once more, and a girl of perhaps twenty-two who walked with a long, masculine gait, came in out of the cold. penny sat up a bit straighter in her chair. "do you see what i see?" she whispered. "who is she?" inquired louise curiously. "the one and only francine sellberg." "which means nothing to me." "don't tell me you haven't seen her by-line in the _riverview record_! francine would die of mortification." "is she a reporter?" "she covers special assignments. and she is pretty good," penny added honestly. "but not quite as good as she believes." "wonder what she's doing here?" "i was asking myself that same question." as the two girls watched, they saw francine's cool gaze sweep the waiting room. she did not immediately notice penny and louise whose backs were partly turned to her. her eyes rested for an instant upon the two men who previously had bought tickets to pine top, and a flicker of satisfaction showed upon her face. moving directly to the desk she spoke to the ticket agent in a low voice, yet loudly enough for penny and louise to hear. "is it still possible to make a reservation for pine top?" "yes, we have one seat left on the plane." "i'll take it," said francine. penny nudged louise and whispered in her ear: "did you hear that?" "i certainly did. why do you suppose she's going to pine top? for the skiing?" "unless i'm all tangled in a knot, she's after a big story for the _record_. and i just wonder if those two mysterious-looking gentlemen aren't the reason for her trip!" chapter 3 _traveling companions_ francine sellberg paid for her ticket and turned so that her gaze fell squarely upon penny and louise. abruptly, she crossed over to where they sat. "hello, girls," she greeted them breezily. "what brings you to the airport?" as always, the young woman reporter's manner was brusque and business-like. without meaning to offend, she gave others an impression of regarding them with an air of condescension. "i came to see penny off," answered louise before her chum could speak. "oh, are you taking this plane?" inquired francine, staring at penny with quickening interest. "i am if it ever gets here." "traveling alone?" "all by my lonesome," penny admitted cheerfully. "you're probably only going a short ways?" "oh, quite a distance," returned penny. she did not like the way francine was quizzing her. "penny is going to pine top for the skiing," declared louise, never guessing that her chum preferred to withhold the information. "pine top!" the smile left francine's face and her eyes roved swiftly toward the two men who sat at the opposite side of the room. "we are to be traveling companions, i believe," remarked penny innocently. francine's attention came back to the younger girl. her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "so you're going out to pine top for the skiing," she said softly. "and you?" countered penny. "oh, certainly for the skiing," retorted francine, mockery in her voice. "nice of the _record_ to give you a vacation." by this time the silver-winged transport had wheeled into position on the apron, and passengers were beginning to leave the waiting room. the two men who had attracted penny's attention, arose and without appearing to notice the three girls, went outside. "you don't deceive me one bit, penny parker," said francine with a quick change of attitude. "i know very well why you are going to pine top, and it's for the same reason i am!" "you seem to have divined all my secrets, even when i don't know them myself," responded penny. "suppose you tell me why i am going to pine top mountain?" "it's perfectly obvious that your father sent you, but i am afraid he over-estimates your journalistic powers if he thinks you have had enough experience to handle a difficult assignment of this sort. i'll warn you right now, penny, don't come to me for help. on this job we're rivals. and i won't tolerate any bungling or interference upon your part!" "nice to know just where we stand," replied penny evenly. "then there will be no misunderstanding or tears later on." "exactly. and mind you don't give any tip-off as to who i am!" "you mean you don't care to have those two gentlemen who were here a moment ago know that you are a reporter for the _record_." "naturally." "and who are these men of mystery?" "as if you don't know!" francine made an impatient gesture. "oh, why pose, penny? this innocent act doesn't go over worth a cent." louise broke indignantly into the conversation. "penny isn't posing! it's true she is going to pine top for the skiing and not to get a story. isn't it?" "yes," acknowledged penny unwillingly. she was sorry that her chum had put an end to the little game with francine. the reporter stared at the two girls, scarcely knowing whether or not to believe them. "why not break down and tell me the identity of our two fellow passengers?" suggested penny. "so you really don't know their names?" francine flashed a triumphant smile. "fancy that! well, you've proven such a clever little reporter in the past, i'll allow you to figure it out for yourself. see you in pine top." turning away, the young woman went back to the desk to speak once more with the ticket man. "doesn't she simply drip conceit!" louise whispered in disgust. "did i make a mistake in letting her know that you weren't on an assignment?" "it doesn't matter, lou. shall we be going out to the plane before i miss it?" the huge streamliner stood warming up on the ribbon of cement, long tongues of flame leaping from the exhausts. nearly all of the passengers already had taken their seats in the warm, cozy cabin. "good-bye, lou," penny said, shaking her chum's hand. "good-bye. have a nice time. and don't let that know-it-all francine get ahead of you!" "not if i can help it," laughed penny. francine had left the waiting room and was walking with a brisk step toward the plane. not wishing to be the last person aboard, penny stepped quickly into the cabin. all but two seats were taken. one was at the far end of the plane, the other directly behind the two strange men. penny slid into the latter chair just as francine came into the cabin. as she went down the aisle to take the only remaining seat, the reporter shot the younger girl an irritated glance. "she thinks i took this place just to spite her!" thought penny. "how silly!" the stewardess, trim in her blue-green uniform, had closed the heavy metal door. the plane began to move down the ramp, away from the station's canopied entrance. penny leaned close to the window and waved a last good-bye to louise. as the speed of the engines was increased, the plane raced faster and faster over the smooth runway. a take-off was not especially thrilling to penny who often had made flights with her father. she shook her head when the stewardess offered her cotton for her ears, but accepted a magazine. penny flipped carelessly through the pages. finding no story worth reading, she turned her attention to her fellow passengers. beside her, on the right, sat the over-painted woman, her hands gripping the arm rests so hard that her knuckles showed white. "we--we're in the air now, aren't we?" she asked nervously, meeting penny's gaze. "i do hope i'm not going to be sick." "i am sure you won't be," replied penny. "the air is very quiet today." "they tell me flying over the mountains in winter time is dangerous." "not in good weather with a skilful pilot. i am sure we will be in no danger." "just the same i never would have taken a plane if it hadn't been the only way of reaching pine top." penny turned to regard her companion with new interest. the woman was in her early forties, though she had attempted by the lavish use of make-up to appear younger. her hair was a bleached yellow, dry and brittle from too frequent permanent waving. her shoes were slightly scuffed, and a tight-fitting black crepe dress, while expensive, was shiny from long use. "oh, are you traveling to pine top, too?" inquired penny. "half the passengers on this plane must be heading for there." "is that where you are going?" "yes," nodded penny. "i plan to visit an old friend who has an inn on the mountain side, and try a little skiing." "this is strictly a business trip with me," confided the woman. she had relaxed now that the transport was flying at an even keel. "i am going there to see mr. balantine--david balantine. you've heard of him, of course." penny shook her head. "my dear, everyone in the east is familiar with his name. mr. balantine has a large chain of theatres throughout the country. he produces his own shows, too. i hope to get a leading part in a new production which will soon be cast." "oh, i see," murmured penny. "you are an actress?" "i've been on the stage since i was twelve years old," the woman answered proudly. "you must have seen my name on the billboards. i am miss miller. maxine miller." "i should like to see one of your plays," penny responded politely. "the truth is i've been 'at liberty' for the past year or two," the actress admitted with an embarrassed laugh. "'at liberty' is a word we show people use when we're temporarily out of work. the movies have practically ruined the stage." "yes, i know." "for several weeks i have been trying to get an interview with mr. balantine. his secretaries would not make an appointment for me. then quite by luck i learned that he planned to spend two weeks at pine top. i thought if i could meet him out there in his more relaxed moments, he might give me a role in the new production." "isn't it a rather long chance to take?" questioned penny. "to go so far just in the hope of seeing this man?" "yes, but i like long chances. and i've tried every other way to meet him. if i win the part i'll be well repaid for my time and money." "and if you fail?" maxine miller shrugged. "the bread line, perhaps, or burlesque which would be worse. if i stay at pine top more than a few days i'll never have money enough to get back here. they tell me pine top is high-priced." "i don't know about that," answered penny. as the plane winged its way in a northwesterly direction, the actress kept the conversational ball rolling at an exhausting pace. she told penny all about herself, her trials and triumphs on the stage. as first, it was fairly interesting, but as miss miller repeated herself, the girl became increasingly bored. she shrewdly guessed that the actress never had been the outstanding stage success she visioned herself. penny paid more than ordinary attention to the two men who sat in front of her. however, miss miller kept her so busy answering questions that she could not have overheard their talk, even if she had made an effort to do so. therefore, when the plane made a brief stop, she was astonished to have francine sidle over to her as she sat on a high stool at the lunch stand, and say in a cutting tone: "well, did you find out everything you wanted to know? i saw you listening hard enough." "eavesdropping isn't my method," replied penny indignantly. "it's stupid and is employed only by trash fiction writers and possibly _record_ reporters." "say, are you suggesting--?" "yes," interrupted penny wearily. "now please go find yourself a roost!" francine ignored the empty stools beside penny and went to the far side of the lunch room. a moment later the two men, who had caused the young woman reporter such concern, entered and sat down at a counter near penny, ordering sandwiches and coffee. rather ironically, the girl could not avoid hearing their conversation, and almost their first words gave her an unpleasant shock. "don't worry, ralph," said the stout one. "nothing stands in our way now." "you're not forgetting mrs. downey's place?" "we'll soon take care of _her_," the other boasted. "that's why i'm going out to pine top with you, ralph. i'll show you how these little affairs are handled." chapter 4 _pine top mountain_ penny was startled by the remarks of the two men because she felt certain that the mrs. downey under discussion must be the woman at whose inn she would spend a two weeks' vacation. was it possible that a plot was being hatched against her father's friend? and what did francine know about it? she glanced quickly toward the young woman reporter who was doing battle with a tough steak which threatened to leap off her plate whenever she tried to cut it. apparently, francine had not heard any part of the conversation. being only human, penny decided that despite her recent comments, she could not be expected to abandon a perfectly good sandwich in the interests of theoretical honor. she remained at her post and waited for the men to reveal more. unobligingly, they began to talk of the weather and politics. penny finished her sandwich, and sliding down from the stool wandered outdoors. "i wish i knew who those men are," she thought. "francine could tell me if she weren't so horrid." penny waited until the last possible minute before boarding the plane. as she stepped inside the cabin she was surprised to see that francine had taken the chair beside maxine miller, very coolly moving penny's belongings to the seat at the back of the airliner. "did you two decide to change places?" inquired the stewardess as penny hesitated beside the empty chair. "i didn't decide. it just seems to be an accomplished fact." the stewardess went down the aisle and touched francine's arm. "usually the passengers keep their same seats throughout the journey," she said with a pleasant smile. "would you mind?" francine did mind for she had cut her lunch short in the hope of obtaining the coveted chair, but she could not refuse to move. frowning, she went back to her former place. actually, penny was not particular where she sat. there was no practical advantage in being directly behind the two strangers, for their voices were seldom audible above the roar of the plane. on the other hand, miss miller talked loudly and with scarcely a halt for breath. penny was rather relieved when an early stop for dinner enabled her to gain a slight respite. with flying conditions still favorable, the second half of the journey was begun. penny curled up in her clean, comfortable bed, and the gentle rocking of the plane soon lulled her to sleep. she did not awaken until morning when the stewardess came to warn her they soon would be at their destination. penny dressed speedily, and enjoyed a delicious breakfast brought to her on a tray. she had just finished when francine staggered down the aisle, eyes bloodshot, her straight black hair looking as if it had never been combed. "will i be glad to get off this plane!" she moaned. "what a night!" "i didn't notice anything wrong with it," said penny. "i take it you didn't sleep well." "sleep? i never closed my eyes all night, not with this roller-coaster sliding down one mountain and up another. i thought every minute we were going to crash." maxine miller likewise seemed to have spent an uncomfortable night, for her face was haggard and worn. she looked five years older and her make-up was smeared. "tell me, do i look too dreadful?" she asked penny anxiously. "i want to appear my best when i meet mr. balantine." "you'll have time to rest up before you see him," the girl replied kindly. "how long before we reach pine top?" "we should be approaching there now." penny studied the terrain below with deep interest, noting mountain ranges and beautiful snowy valleys. at last the plane circled and swept down on a small landing field which had been cleared of snow. passengers began to pour from the cabin, grateful that the long journey was finally at an end. "i hope i see you again," said penny, extending her hand to miss miller. "and the best of luck with mr. balantine." eagerly, she gathered together her possessions and stepped out of the plane into blinding sunlight. the air was crisp and cold, but there was a quality to it which made her take long, deep breaths. beyond the landing field stood a tall row of pine trees, each topped with a layer of snow like the white icing of a cake. from somewhere far away she could hear the merry jingle of sleigh bells. "so this is pine top!" thought penny. "it's as pretty as a christmas card!" a small group of persons were at the field to meet the plane. catching sight of a short, sober-looking little woman who was bundled in furs, penny hastened toward her. "mrs. downey!" she cried. "penny, my dear! how glad i am to see you!" the woman clasped her firmly, planting a kiss on either cheek. "but your father shouldn't have disappointed me. why didn't he come along?" "he wanted to, but he's up to his eyebrows in trouble. a man is suing him for libel." "oh, that _is_ bad," murmured mrs. downey. "i know what legal trouble means because i've had an unpleasant taste of it myself lately. but come, let's get your luggage and be starting up the mountain." "just a minute," said penny in a low tone. with a slight inclination of her head, she indicated the two male passengers who had made the long journey from riverview to pine top. "you don't by any chance know either of those men?" mrs. downey's face lost its kindliness and she said, in a grim voice: "i certainly do!" before penny could urge the woman to reveal their identity, francine walked over to where she and mrs. downey stood. "did you wish to see me?" inquired the hotel woman as francine looked at her with an inquiring gaze. "are you mrs. downey?" "yes, i am." "i am looking for a place to stay," said francine. "i was told that you keep an inn." "yes, we have a very nice lodge up the mountain about a mile from here. the rooms are comfortable, and i do most of the cooking myself. we're located on the best ski slopes in the valley. but if you're looking for a place with plenty of style and corresponding prices you might prefer the fergus place." "your lodge will exactly suit me, i think," declared francine. "how do i get there?" "in my bob-sled," offered mrs. downey. "i may have a few other guests." "it won't take me a minute to get my luggage," said francine, moving away. penny was none too pleased to know that the girl reporter would make her headquarters at the downey inn. her face must have mirrored her misgiving, for mrs. downey said apologetically: "business hasn't been any too good this season. i have to pick up an extra tourist whenever i can." "of course," agreed penny hastily. "one can't run a hotel without guests." "i do believe jake has snared another victim," mrs. downey laughed. "that woman with the bleached hair." "and who is jake?" inquired penny. mrs. downey nodded her head toward a spry man with leathery skin who was talking with maxine miller. "he does odd jobs for me at the inn," she explained. "when he has no other occupation he tries to entice guests into our den." "you make it sound like a very wicked business," chuckled penny. "since the fergus hotel was built it's become a struggle, to the death," replied mrs. downey soberly. "i truly believe this will be my last year at pine top." "why, you've had your home here for years," said penny in astonishment. "you were at pine top long before anyone thought of it as a great skiing resort. you're an institution here, mrs. downey. surely you aren't serious about giving up your lodge?" "yes, i am, penny. but i shouldn't start telling my troubles the moment you arrive. i never would have said a word if you hadn't asked me about those two men yonder." she gazed scornfully toward the strangers whose identity penny hoped to learn. "who _are_ they?" penny asked quickly. "the slim fellow with the sharp face is ralph fergus," answered mrs. downey, her voice filled with bitterness. "he manages the hotel and is supposed to be the owner. actually, the other man is the one who provides all the money." "and who is he?" "why, you should know," replied mrs. downey. "he has a hotel in riverview. his name is harvey maxwell. he only comes here now and then." "harvey maxwell!" repeated penny. "wait until dad hears about this!" "your father has had dealings with him?" "has he?" murmured penny. "maxwell is the man who is suing dad for libel!" "well, of all things!" "i believe i understand why francine came out here too," penny said thoughtfully. "francine?" "the girl who just engaged a room at your place. i think she went to your inn for the sole purpose of keeping an eye on me." "why should she wish to do that?" "francine is a reporter for the _riverview record_. dad's story about maxwell bribing a football player served as a tip-off to other editors. now the _record_ may hope to get evidence against him which they can build up into a big story." "i should think that would help your father's case." "it might," agreed penny, "all depending upon how the evidence was used. but somehow, i don't trust francine. if there's any fancy newspaper work to be done at pine top, i aim to look after it myself!" chapter 5 _over the barbed wire_ mrs. downey laughed at penny's remark, not taking it very seriously. "i wish someone could uncover damaging evidence against harvey maxwell," she declared. "but i fear he's far too clever a man to be caught in anything dishonest. sometime when you're in the mood to hear a tale of woe, i'll tell you how he is running things at pine top." "i'd like to learn everything i can about him," responded penny eagerly. mrs. downey led the girl across the field to the road where the bob-sled and team of horses had been hitched. jake, the handy man, appeared a moment later, loaded down with skis and luggage. maxine miller, francine, and a well-dressed business man soon arrived and were helped into the sled. "this is unique taxi service to say the least," declared francine, none too well pleased. "it must take ages to get up the mountain." "not very long," replied mrs. downey cheerfully. jake drove, with the hotel woman and her guests sitting on the floor of the sled, covered by warm blankets. "is it always so cold here?" shivered miss miller. "always at this time of year," returned mrs. downey. "you'll not mind it in a day or two. and the skiing is wonderful. we had six more inches of snow last night." penny thoroughly enjoyed the novel experience of gliding swiftly over the hard-packed snow. the bobsled presently passed a large rustic building at the base of the mountain which mrs. downey pointed out as the fergus hotel. "i suppose all the rich people stay there," commented miss miller. "do you know if they have a guest named david balantine?" "the producer? yes, i believe he is staying at the fergus hotel." at the next bend jake stopped the horses so that the girls might obtain a view of the valley. "over to the right is the village of pine top," indicated mrs. downey. "just beyond the fergus hotel is the site of an old silver mine, abandoned many years ago. and when we reach the next curve you'll be able to look north and see into canada." a short ride on up the mountain brought the party to the downey lodge, a small but comfortable log building amid the pines. on the summit of a slope not far away they could see the figure of a skier, poised for a swift, downward flight. mrs. downey assigned the guests to their rooms, tactfully establishing penny and francine at opposite ends of a long hall. "luncheon will be served at one o'clock," she told them. "if you feel equal to it you'll have time for a bit of skiing." "i believe i'll walk down to the village and send a wire to dad," said penny. "then this afternoon i'll try my luck on the slopes." "just follow the road and you'll not get lost," instructed mrs. downey. penny unpacked her suitcase, and then set forth at a brisk walk for the village. she found the telegraph station without difficulty and dispatched a message to her father, telling him of harvey maxwell's presence in pine top. the town itself, consisting of half a dozen stores and twice as many houses, was soon explored. before starting back up the mountain penny thought she would buy a morning newspaper. but as she made inquiry at a drug store, the owner shook his head. "we don't carry them here. the only papers we get come in by plane. they're all sold out long before this." "oh, i see," said penny in disappointment, "well, next time i'll try to come earlier." "i beg your pardon," ventured a voice directly behind her. "allow me to offer you my paper." penny turned around to see that ralph fergus had entered the drugstore in time to hear her remark. with a most engaging smile, he extended his own newspaper. "oh, i don't like to take your paper," she protested, wishing to accept no favor however small from the man. "please do," he urged, thrusting it into her hand. "i have finished with it." "thank you," said penny. she took the paper and started to leave the store. mr. fergus fell into step with her, following her outside. "going back up the mountain?" he inquired casually. "yes, i was." "i'll walk along if you don't mind having company." "not at all." penny studied ralph fergus curiously, fairly certain he had a special reason for wishing to walk with her. for a time they trudged along in silence, the snow creaking beneath their boots. "staying at the downey lodge?" fergus inquired after awhile. "yes, i am." "like it there?" "well, i only arrived on the morning plane." "yes, i noticed you aboard," he nodded. "mrs. downey is a very fine woman, a very fine woman, but her lodge isn't modern. you noticed that, i suppose?" "i'm not especially critical," smiled penny. "it seemed to suit my needs." "you'll be more critical after you have stayed there a few days," he warned. "the service is very poor. even this little matter of getting a morning newspaper. now our hotel sees that every guest has one shoved under his door before breakfast." "that would be very nice, i'm sure," remarked penny dryly. "you're the manager of the hotel, aren't you?" ralph fergus gave her a quick, appraising glance. "right you are," he said jovially. "naturally i think we have the finest hotel at pine top and i wish you would try it. i'll be glad to make you a special rate." "you're very kind." it was a struggle for penny to keep her voice casual. "i may drop around sometime and look the hotel over." "do that," he urged. "here is my card. just ask for me and i'll show you about." penny took the card and dropped it into her pocket. a few minutes later as they passed the fergus hotel, her companion parted company with her. "he thought i was an ordinary guest at mrs. downey's," penny told herself. "otherwise, he never would have dared to make such an open bid for my patronage." upon returning to the lodge she told mrs. downey of her meeting with ralph fergus. "it doesn't surprise me one bit," the woman replied angrily. "fergus has been using every method he can think of to get my guests away from me. he has runners out all the time, talking up his hotel and talking mine down." penny sat on the edge of the kitchen table, watching mrs. downey stir a great kettle of steaming soup. "while i was coming here on the plane i heard fergus and maxwell speaking about you." "you did, penny? what did they have to say? nothing good, i'll warrant." "i couldn't understand what they meant at the time, but now i think i do. they said that nothing stood in their way except your place. maxwell declared he would soon take care of you, and that he was on his way to pine top to show fergus how such affairs were handled." mrs. downey kept on stirring with the big spoon. "so the screws are to be twisted a bit harder?" she asked grimly. "why do they want your place?" penny inquired. "because i take a few of their guests away from them. if my lodge closed up they could raise prices sky high, and they would do it, too!" "they offered me a special rate, whatever that means." "fergus has been cutting his room rents lately for the sole purpose of getting my customers away from me. he makes up for it by charging three and even four dollars a meal. the guests don't learn that until after they have moved in." "and there's nothing you can do about it?" mrs. downey shook her head. "i've been fighting with my back to the wall this past season. i don't see how i possibly can make it another year. that is why i wanted you and your father to visit here before i gave up the place." "dad might have helped you," penny said regretfully. "i'm sorry he wasn't able to come." at one o'clock mrs. downey served a plain but substantial meal to fourteen guests who tramped in out of the snow. they called loudly for second and third helpings which were cheerfully given. after luncheon penny sat for a time about the crackling log fire and then she went to her room and changed into her skiing clothes. "the nursery slopes are at the rear of the lodge," mrs. downey told her as she went out through the kitchen. "but you're much too experienced for them." "i haven't been on skis for nearly two years." "it will come back to you quickly." "i thought i might taxi down and look over the fergus hotel." "the trail is well marked. just be careful as you get about half way down. there is a sharp turn and if you miss it you may find yourself wrapped around an evergreen." penny went outside, and buckling on her skis, glided to the top of a long slope which fell rather sharply through lanes of pine trees to the wide valley below. as she was studying the course, reflecting that the crusted snow would be very fast, francine came out of the lodge and stood watching her. "what's the matter, penny?" she called. "can't you get up your nerve?" penny dug in her poles and pushed off. crouching low, skis running parallel, she tore down the track. pine trees crowded past on either side in a greenish blur. the wind whistled in her ears. she jabbed her poles into the snow to check her speed. after the first steep stretch, the course flattened out slightly. from a cautious left traverse, a lifted stem turn gave her time to concentrate her full attention on the route ahead. she swerved to avoid a boulder which would have broken her ski had she crashed into it, and rode out a series of long, undulating hollows. gathering speed again, penny made her decisions with lightning rapidity. there was no time to think. confronted with a choice of turns, she chose the right hand trail, slashing through in a beautiful christiana. too late, she realized her error. directly ahead loomed a barbed wire fence. there was no opportunity to turn aside. penny knew that she must jump or take a disastrous fall. swinging her poles forward, she let them drop in the snow close to her ski tips. crouching low she sprang upward with all her strength. the sticks gave her leverage so that she could lift her skis clear of the snow. momentum carried her forward over the fence. penny felt the jar of the runners as they slapped on the snow. then she lost her balance and tumbled head over heels. untangling herself, she sat up and gazed back at the barbed wire fence. "i wish all my friends at riverview could have seen that jump!" she thought proudly. "it was a beauty even if i did land wrong side up." a large painted sign which had been fastened to the fence, drew her attention. it read: "skiers keep out." "i wonder if that means me?" remarked penny aloud. "yes, it means you!" said an angry voice behind her. penny rolled over in the snow, waving her skis in the air. she drew in her breath sharply. an old man with a dark beard had stepped from the shadow of the pine trees, a gun grasped in his gnarled hands! chapter 6 _penny trespasses_ "can't you understand signs?" the old man demanded, advancing with cat-like tread from the fringe of pine trees. "not when i'm traveling down a mountain side at two hundred miles an hour!" penny replied. "please, would you mind pointing that cannon in some other direction? it might go off." the old man lowered the shotgun, but the grim lines of his wrinkled, leathery face did not relax. "get up!" he commanded, prodding her with the toe of his heavy boot. "get out of here! i won't have you or any other skier on my property." "then allow me to make a suggestion," remarked penny pleasantly. "put up another strand of barbed wire and you'll have them all in the hospital!" she sat up, gingerly felt of her left ankle and then began to brush snow from her jacket. "did you see me make the jump?" she asked. "i took it just like a reindeer. or do i mean a gazelle?" "you made a very awkward jump!" he retorted. "i could have done better myself." penny glanced up with genuine interest. "oh, do you ski?" by this time she no longer was afraid of the old man, if indeed she had ever been. "no, i don't ski!" he answered impatiently. "now hurry up! get those skis off and start moving! i'll not wait all day." penny began to unstrap the long hickory runners, but with no undue show of haste. she glanced curiously about the snowy field. an old shed stood not far away. beside it towered a great stack of wood which reached nearly as high as the roof. through the trees she caught a glimpse of a weather-stained log cabin with smoke curling lazily from the brick chimney. as penny was regarding it, she saw a flash of color at one of the windows. a girl who might have been her own age had her face pressed against the pane. seeing penny's gaze upon her, she began to make motions which could not be understood. the old man also turned his head to look toward the cabin. immediately, the girl disappeared from the window. "is that where you live?" inquired penny. instead of answering, the old man seized her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. "go!" he commanded. "and don't let me catch you here again!" penny shouldered her skis and moved toward the fence. "so sorry to have damaged your nice snow," she apologized. "i'll try not to trespass again." crawling under the barbed wire fence, penny retraced her way up the slope to the point on the trail where she had taken the wrong turn. there she hesitated and finally decided to walk on to the fergus hotel. "i wonder who that girl was at the window?" penny reflected as she trudged along. "she looked too young to be old whisker's daughter. and what was she trying to tell me?" the problem was too deep for her to solve. but she made up her mind she would ask mrs. downey the name of the queer old man as soon as she returned to the lodge. reaching the fergus hotel, penny parked her skis upright in a snowbank near the front door, and went inside. she found herself in a long lobby at the end of which was a great stone fireplace with a half burned log on the hearth. bellboys in green uniforms and brass buttons darted to and fro. a general stir of activity pervaded the place. as penny was gazing about, she saw maxine miller leave an elevator and come slowly across the lobby. the actress would not have seen her had she not spoken. "how do you do, miss miller. i didn't expect to see you here." "oh, miss parker!" the actress' face was the picture of despair. "i've had the most wretched misfortune!" "why, what has happened?" inquired penny, although she thought she knew the answer to her question. "i've just seen mr. balantine." miss miller sagged into the depths of a luxuriously upholstered davenport and leaned her head back against the cushion. "your interview didn't turn out as you expected?" "he wouldn't give me the part. hateful old goat! he even refused to allow me to demonstrate how well i could read the lines! and he said some very insulting things to me." "that is too bad," returned penny sympathetically. "what will you do now? go back home?" "i don't know," the woman replied in despair. "i would stay if i thought i could change mr. balantine's opinion. do you think i could?" "i shouldn't advise it myself. of course, i don't know anything about mr. balantine." "he's very temperamental. perhaps if i kept bothering him he would finally give me a chance." "well, it might be worth trying," penny said doubtfully. "but i think if i were you i would return home." "all of my friends will laugh at me. they thought it was foolish to come out here as it was. i can't go back. i am inclined to move down to this hotel so i'll be able to keep in touch with mr. balantine with less difficulty." "it's a very nice looking hotel," commented penny. "expensive, i've been told." "in the show business one must keep up appearances at all cost," replied miss miller. "i believe i'll inquire about the rates." while penny waited, the actress crossed over to the desk and talked with a clerk. in a small office close by, ralph fergus and harvey maxwell could be seen in consultation. they were poring over a ledger, apparently checking business accounts. miss miller returned in a moment. "i've taken a room," she announced. "i can't afford it, but i am doing it anyway." "will you be able to manage?" "oh, i'll run up a bill and then let them try to collect!" penny gazed at the actress with frank amazement. "you surely don't mean you would deliberately defraud the hotel?" "not so loud or the clerk will hear you," miss miller warned. "and don't use such an ugly word. if i land the part with mr. balantine, of course i'll pay. if not--the worst they can do is to throw me out." penny said no more but her opinion of miss miller had descended several notches. "what are you doing here?" the actress inquired, quickly changing the subject. "oh, i just came down to look over the hotel. it's very swanky, but i like mrs. downey's place better." miss miller turned to leave. "i am going back there now to check out," she declared. "would you like to walk along?" "no, thank you, i'll just stay here and rest for a few minutes." penny had no real purpose in coming to the fergus hotel. she merely had been curious to see what it was like. even a casual inspection made it clear that mrs. downey's modest little lodge never could compete with such a luxurious establishment. she studied the faces of the persons in the lobby. there seemed to be a strange assortment of people, including a large number of men and women who certainly had never been drawn to pine top by the skiing. penny thought whimsically that it would be interesting to see some of the fat, pampered-looking ones take a tumble on the slippery slopes. "but what is the attraction of this place, if not the skiing?" she puzzled. "there is no other form of entertainment." presently, a well-fed lady in rustling black silk, her hand heavy with diamond rings, paused beside penny. "i beg your pardon," she said, "can you tell me how to find the green room?" "no, i can't," replied penny. "i would need a map to get around in this hotel. you might ask at the desk." the woman fluttered over to the clerk and asked the same question. "you have your card, madam?" he inquired in a low tone. "oh, yes, to be sure. the manager presented it to me this morning." "take the elevator to the second floor wing," the man instructed. "room 22. show your card to the doorman and you will be admitted." penny waited until after the woman had gone away. then she arose and sauntered across the lobby. she picked up a handful of hotel literature but there was no mention of any green room. pausing by the elevator, she waited until the cage was deserted of passengers before speaking to the attendant, a red headed boy of about seventeen. "where is the green room, please?" "second floor, miss." "and what is it? a dining room?" the attendant shot her a peculiar glance and gave an answer which was equally strange. "it's not a dining room. i can't tell you what it is." "a cocktail room perhaps?" "listen, i told you i don't know," the boy answered. "you work here, don't you?" "sure i do," he said with emphasis. "and i aim to keep my job for awhile. if you want to know anything about the green room ask at the desk!" chapter 7 _the green door_ before penny could ask another question, the signal board flashed a summons, and the attendant slammed shut the door of the elevator. he shot the cage up to the fifth floor and did not return. hesitating a moment, penny wandered over to the desk. "how does one go about obtaining a card for the green room?" she inquired casually. "you're not a guest here?" questioned the clerk. "no." "you'll have to talk with the manager. oh, mr. fergus!" penny had not meant to have the matter go so far, but there was no retreating. the hotel manager came out of his office, and recognizing her, smiled ingratiatingly. "ah, good afternoon, miss--" he groped for her name but penny did not supply it. "so you decided to pay us a visit after all." "this young lady asked about the green room," said the clerk significantly. mr. fergus bestowed a shrewd, appraising look upon penny. "oh, yes," he said to give himself more time, "oh, yes, i see. what was it you wished to know?" "how does one obtain a card of admission?" "it is very simple. that is, if you have the proper recommendations and bank credit." "recommendations?" penny asked blankly. "just what is the green room anyway?" ralph fergus and the clerk exchanged a quick glance which was not lost upon the girl. "i see you are not familiar with the little service which is offered hotel guests," mr. fergus said suavely. "i shall be most happy to explain it to you at some later time when i am not quite so busy." he bowed and went hurriedly back into the office. "i guess i shouldn't have inquired about the green room," penny observed aloud. "there seems to be a deep mystery connected with it." "no mystery," corrected the clerk. "if you will leave your name and address i am sure everything can be arranged within a few days." "thank you, i don't believe i'll bother." penny turned and nearly ran into francine sellberg. too late, she realized that the girl reporter probably had been standing by the desk for some time, listening to her conversation. "hello, francine," she said carelessly. the girl returned a haughty stare. "i don't believe i know you, miss," she said, and walked on across the lobby. penny was rather stunned by the unexpected snub. she took a step as if to follow francine and demand an explanation, but her sense of humor came to her rescue. "who cares?" she asked herself with a shrug. "if she doesn't care to know me, it's perfectly all right. i can manage to bear up." after francine had left the hotel, penny made up her mind that she would try to learn a little more about the green room. her interest was steadily mounting and she could not imagine what "service" might be offered guests in this particular part of the hotel. choosing a moment when no one appeared to be watching, penny mounted the stairway to the second floor. she followed a long corridor to its end but did not locate room 22. returning to the elevator, she started in the opposite direction. the numbers ended at 20. while penny was trying to figure it out, a group of four men and women came down the hall. they were well dressed individuals but their manner did not stamp them as persons of good breeding. one of the women who carried a jeweled handbag was talking in a loud, excited tone: "oh, herbert, wait until you see it! i shall weep my eyes out if you don't agree to buy it for me at once. and the price! ridiculously cheap! we'll never run into bargains like these in new york." "we'll see, sally," replied the man. "i'm not satisfied yet that this isn't a flim-flam game." he opened a door which bore no number, and stood aside for the others to pass ahead of him. penny caught a glimpse of a long, empty hallway. "that must be the way to room 22," she thought. she waited until the men and women had gone ahead, and then cautiously opened the door which had closed behind them. no one questioned her as she moved noiselessly down the corridor. at its very end loomed a green painted door, its top edge gracefully circular. beside it at a small table sat a man who evidently was stationed there as a guard. penny walked slowly, watching the men and women ahead. they paused at the table and showed slips of cardboards. the guard then opened the green door and allowed them to pass through. it looked so very easy that penny decided to try her luck. she drew closer. "your card please," requested the doorman. "i am afraid i haven't mine with me," said penny, flashing her most beguiling smile. the smile was entirely lost upon the man. "then i can't let you in," he said. "not even if i have lost my card?" "orders," he answered briefly. "you'll have no trouble getting another." penny started to turn away, and then asked with attempted carelessness: "what's going on in there anyway? are they selling something?" "i really couldn't tell you," he responded. "everyone in this hotel seems to be blind, deaf and dumb," penny muttered to herself as she retraced her way to the main hall. "and definitely, for a purpose. i wonder if maybe i haven't stumbled into something?" she still had not the faintest idea what might lie beyond the green door, but the very name had an intriguing sound. it suggested mystery. it suggested, too, that ralph fergus and his financial backer, harvey maxwell, might have developed some special money-making scheme which would not bear exposure. into penny's mind leaped a remark which her father had made, one to the effect that harvey maxwell was thought to have his finger in many dishonest affairs. the green room might be a perfectly legitimate place of entertainment for hotel guests, but the remarks she had overheard led penny to think otherwise. something was being sold in room 22. and to a very select clientele! "if only i could learn facts which would help dad's case!" she told herself. "anything showing that maxwell is mixed up in a dishonest scheme might turn the trick!" it occurred to penny that the editor of the _riverview record_ might have had some inkling of a story to be found at pine top. otherwise, why had francine been sent to the mountain resort? certainly the rival reporter was working upon an assignment which concerned harvey maxwell. she inadvertently had revealed that fact at the riverview airport. "francine thinks i came here for the same purpose," mused penny. "if only she weren't so high-hat we could work together." there was almost no real evidence to point to a conclusion that the fergus hotel was not being operated properly. penny realized only too well that once more she was depending upon a certain intuition. an investigation of the green room might reveal no mystery. but at least there was a slender hope she could learn something which would aid her father in discrediting harvey maxwell. without attracting attention, penny descended to the main floor and left the hotel. as she retrieved her skis from the snowbank she was surprised to see francine standing close by, obviously waiting for her. "hello, penny," the girl greeted her. "goodness! aren't you mistaken? i don't think you know me!" "oh, don't try to be funny," francine replied, falling into step. "i'll explain." "i wish you would." "you should have known better than to shout out my name there in the lobby." "i don't follow your reasoning at all, francine. are you traveling incognito or something?" "naturally i don't care to have it advertised that i am a reporter. i rather imagine you're not overly anxious to have it known that you are the daughter of anthony parker either!" "it probably wouldn't be any particular help," admitted penny. "exactly! despite your play-acting at the airport, i know you came here to get the low-down on harvey maxwell. but the minute he learns who you are you'll not even get inside the hotel." "and that goes double, i take it?" "no one at pine top except you knows i am a reporter," went on francine without answering. "so i warn you, don't pull another boner like you did a few minutes ago. whenever we're around fergus or maxwell or persons who might report to them, just remember you never saw me before. is that clear?" "moderately so," drawled penny. "i guess that's all i have to say." francine hesitated and started to walk off. "wait a minute, francine," spoke penny impulsively. "why don't we bury the hatchet and work together on this thing? after all i am more interested in gaining evidence against maxwell than i am in getting a big story for the paper. how about it?" francine smiled in a superior way. "thank you, i prefer to lone wolf it. you see, i happen to have a very good lead, and you don't." "well, i've heard about the green room," said penny, hazarding a shot in the dark. "that's something." francine stopped short. "what do you know about it?" she demanded quickly. "maybe we could work together after all." penny laughed as she bent down to strap on her skis. "no, thanks," she declined pleasantly. "you once suggested that a clever reporter finds his own answers. you'll have to wait until you read it in the _star_!" chapter 8 _a coded message_ penny sat in the kitchen of mrs. downey's lodge, warming her half frozen toes in the oven. "well, how did you like the skiing?" inquired her hostess who was busy mixing a huge meat loaf to be served for dinner. "it was glorious," answered penny, "only i took a bad spill. somehow i missed the turn you told me about, and found myself heading for a barbed wire fence. i jumped it and made a one point landing in a snowbank!" "you didn't hurt yourself, thank goodness." "no, but an old man with a shotgun came out of the woods and said 'scat!' to me. it seems he doesn't like skiers." "that must have been peter jasko." "and who is he, mrs. downey?" "one of the oldest settlers on pine top mountain," sighed mrs. downey. "he's a very pleasant man in some respects, but in others--oh, dear." "skiing must be one of his unpleasant aspects. i noticed he had a 'keep out' sign posted on his property." "peter jasko is a great trial to me and other persons on the mountain. he has a hatred of skiing and everything pertaining to it, which amounts to fanaticism. a number of skiers have been injured by running into his barbed wire fence." "then he put it up on purpose?" "oh, yes! he has an idea it will keep folks from skiing." "he isn't--?" penny tapped her forehead significantly. "no," smiled mrs. downey. "old peter is right in his mind, at least in every respect save this one. he owns our best ski slopes, too." penny shifted her foot to a cooler place in the oven. "not the slopes connected with this lodge?" mrs. downey nodded as she whipped eggs to a foamy yellow. "i leased the land from jasko's son many years ago, and jasko can do nothing about it except rage. however, the lease expires soon. he has given me to understand it will not be renewed." "can't you deal with the son?" "he is dead, penny." "oh, i see. that does make it difficult." "decidedly. jasko's attitude about the lease is another reason why i think this will be my last year in the hotel business." "you don't think ralph fergus or harvey maxwell have influenced jasko?" penny asked thoughtfully, a frown ridging her forehead. "i doubt that anyone could influence the old man," replied mrs. downey. "stubborn isn't the word to describe his character. even if i lose the ski slopes, i am quite sure he will never lease them to the fergus hotel interests." "while i was down there i thought i saw a girl standing at the window of the cabin." "probably you did, penny. jasko has a granddaughter about your age, named sara. a very nice girl, too, but she is kept close at home." "i feel sorry for her if she has to live with that old man. he seemed like a regular ogre." removing her toasted feet from the oven, penny pulled on her stiff boots again. without bothering to lace them, she hobbled toward the door. "oh, by the way," she remarked, pausing. "did you ever hear of a green room at the fergus hotel?" "a green room?" repeated mrs. downey. "no, i can't say i have. what is it, penny?" "i wonder myself. something funny seems to be going on there." having aroused mrs. downey's curiosity, penny gave a more complete account of her visit to the fergus hotel. "i've never heard anyone mention such a place," declared the woman in a puzzled voice. "but i will say this. the hotel always has attracted a peculiar group of guests." "how would you like to have me solve the mystery for you?" joked penny. "it would suit me very well indeed," laughed mrs. downey. "and while you're about it you might put ralph fergus out of business, and bring me a new flock of guests." "i'm afraid you're losing one instead. maxine miller told me she is moving down to the big hotel." "i know. she checked out a half hour ago. jake made an extra trip to haul her luggage down the mountain." "anyway, i shouldn't be sorry to see her go if i were you," comforted penny. "i am quite sure she hasn't enough money to pay for a week's stay at pine top." going to her room, penny changed into more comfortable clothing and busied herself writing a long letter to her father. from her desk by the window she could see skiers trudging up the slopes, some of them making neat herring-bone tracks, others slipping and sliding, losing almost as much distance as they gained. as she watched, francine swung into view, poling rhythmically, in perfect timing with her long easy strides. "she _is_ good," thought penny, grudgingly. dinner was served at six. afterwards, the guests sat before the crackling log fire and bored each other with tales of their skiing prowess. a few of the more enterprising ones waxed their skis in preparation for the next day's sport. "any newspapers tonight?" inquired a business man of mrs. downey. "or is this another one of the blank days?" "jake brought new york papers from the village," replied the hotel woman. "they are on the table." "blank days?" questioned francine, looking up from a magazine she had been reading. "mr. glasser calls them that when he doesn't get the daily stock market report," explained mrs. downey, smiling at her guest. "and don't the newspapers always arrive?" questioned francine. "not always. lately the service has been very poor." "i'd rather be deprived of a meal than my paper," growled mr. glasser. "what annoys me is that the guests at the fergus hotel always get their papers. i wish someone would explain it to me." "and i wish someone would explain it to _me_," murmured mrs. downey, retreating to the kitchen. in the morning penny decided to ski down to the village for a jar of cold cream. the snow was crusted and fast but she felt no terror of the trail which curved sharply through the evergreens. her balance was better, and this time she had no intention of impaling herself on peter jasko's barbed wire fence. seldom checking her speed, she hurtled along the ribbon of trail. racing on to the sharp turn, she shifted her weight and swung her body at precisely the right instant. the slope stretched on past rows of tall trees, towering like sentinels along the snow-swept ridges. presently it flattened out into an open valley. penny sailed past a house, a barn, and gradually slowed up until she came to a low hillock overlooking the village. recapturing her breath, penny took off her skis and walked on into pine top. she made a few purchases at the drug store and then impulsively entered the telegraph office. to her surprise, francine sellberg was there ahead of her. "how late is your office open?" the reporter was asking the operator. "six-thirty," he replied. "and if one has a rush message to send after that hour?" "well, you can get me at my house," the man answered. "i live over behind the albert's filling station." "thank you," responded francine, flashing penny a mocking smile. "i may have an important story to send to my paper any hour. i wanted to be sure there would be no delay in getting it off." penny waited until the reporter had left the office and then said apologetically: "i don't suppose you've received any message for me?" "we always telephone as soon as anything comes in," the man replied. "but wait! you're penelope parker, aren't you?" "in my more serious moments. otherwise, just plain penny." "i do have something for you, then. a message came in a few minutes ago. i've been too busy to telephone it to the lodge." he handed penny a sheet of paper which she read eagerly. as she anticipated, it was from her father, and with his usual disregard for economy he had not bothered to omit words. "glad to learn you arrived safely at pine top," he had wired. "your information about h. m. is astonishing, if true. are you sure it is the same man? keep your eye on him, and report to me if you learn anything worth while. i am held here by important developments, but will try to come to pine top for christmas." penny read the message twice, scowling at the sentence: "are you sure it is the same man?" it was clear to her that her father did not have a great deal of faith in her identification. and obviously, he did not believe that anything could be gained by making a special trip to pine top to see the hotel man. thrusting the paper into the pocket of her jacket she went out into the cold. "no one seems to rate my detective work very highly," she complained to herself. "but when dad gets my letter telling him about the green door he may take a different attitude!" skis slung over her shoulder, she began the weary climb back to the downey lodge. before penny had walked very far she saw that she was overtaking a man on the narrow trail ahead of her. observing that it was ralph fergus, she immediately slowed her steps. the hotel man did not turn his head to glance back. he kept walking slower and slower as if in deep thought, and after a time he reached absently into his pocket for a letter. as he pulled it out, another piece of pale gray paper fluttered to the ground. fergus did not notice that he had lost anything. the wind caught the paper and blew it down the slope toward penny. "oh, mr. fergus!" she called. "you dropped something!" the wind hurled her words back at her. realizing that she could not make the man hear, penny quickened her pace. after a short chase she rescued the paper when it caught on the thorns of a snow-caked bush. at first glance penny thought she had gone to trouble for no purpose. the paper seemed to be blank. but as she turned it over she saw a single line of jumbled letters: yl gfzky glulffls "what can this be?" penny thought in amazement. "nothing, i guess." she crumpled the paper and tossed it away. but as it skittered and bounced like a tumble weed down the trail, she suddenly changed her mind and darted after it again. carefully straightening out the page she examined it a second time. "this looks like copy paper used in a newspaper office," she told herself. "but there is no newspaper in pine top, i wonder--?" the conviction came to penny that the jumbled letters might be in code. her pulse leaped at the thought. if only she were able to decipher it! "i'll take this to the lodge and work on it," she decided quickly. "who knows? it may be just the key i need to unlock this strange affair of the green door!" chapter 9 _a call for help_ all that afternoon and far into the evening penny devoted to her assigned task, trying to make sense out of the jumbled sentence of typewriting. she used first one method and then another, but she could not decode the brief message. she had moments when she even doubted that it was a code. at last, completely disgusted, she threw down her pencil and put the paper away in a bureau drawer. "i never was meant to be a cryptographer or whatever you call those brainy fellows who unravel ciphers and things!" she grumbled. "maybe the trouble with me is that i'm not bright." switching off the lamp, penny rolled up the shade, and stood for a moment gazing down into the dark valley. far below she could see lights glowing in the fergus hotel, mysterious and challenging. "i feel as if i'm on the verge of an important discovery, yet nothing happens," she sighed. "something unusual is going on here, but what?" penny did not believe that francine knew the answer either. the girl reporter undoubtedly had been sent to pine top upon a definite tip from her editor, yet she could not guess the nature of such a tip. it was fairly evident that francine was after some sort of evidence, but so far she had made no progress in acquiring it. "we're both groping in the dark, searching for something we know is here but can't see," thought penny. "and we watch each other like hawks for fear the other fellow will get the jump!" the green door intrigued and puzzled her. while it might mean nothing at all, she could not shake off a feeling that if once she were able to get inside the room she might learn the answer to some of her questions. penny had turned over several plans in her mind, none of which suited her. the most obvious thing to do was to try to bribe an employee of the hotel to give her the information she sought. but if she failed, her identity would be disclosed to ralph fergus and harvey maxwell. it seemed wiser to bide her time and watch. penny awoke the next morning to find large flakes of snow piling on the window sills. the storm continued and after breakfast only the most rugged skiers ventured out on the slopes. francine hugged a hot air register, complaining that there was not enough heat, many of the other guests, soon exhausting the supply of magazines, became restless. luncheon was over when penny stamped in out of the cold to find mr. glasser fretfully pacing to and fro before the fireplace. "when will the papers come?" he asked mrs. downey. "jake usually goes down to the village after them about four o'clock. but with this thick weather, the plane may not get in today." "it's in now, mrs. downey," spoke penny, shaking snow from her red mittens. "i saw it nearly half an hour ago, flying low over the valley." "then the papers must be at pine top by this time." mrs. downey hesitated before adding: "i'll call jake from his work and ask him to go after them." "let me," offered penny quickly. "in this storm?" "oh, i don't mind. i rather like it." "all right, then," agreed mrs. downey in relief. "but don't get lost, whatever you do. if the trails become snowed over it might be better to stay on the main road." "i won't get lost," laughed penny. "if worse comes to worst i always can climb a pine tree and sight the fergus hotel." she dried out her mittens, and putting on an extra sweater beneath her jacket, stepped outside the lodge. the wind had fallen and only a few snowflakes were whirling down. hearing the faint tingle of bells, penny turned to gaze toward the road, where a pair of white horses were pulling an empty lumber wagon up the hill. the driver, hunched over on the seat, was slapping his hands together to keep them warm. "why, that looks like old whiskers himself," thought penny. "it is peter jasko." the observation served only to remind her of their unpleasant meeting. since being so discourteously ejected from the jasko property penny had not ventured back. knowing that the old man was away she felt sorely tempted to again visit the locality. "i guess i ought not to take the time," she decided regretfully. "mr. glasser will be fretting for his paper." making a quick trip down the mountainside, penny swung into the village. mrs. downey had told her that she would be able to get the newspapers at the pine top cafe where a boy named benny smith had an agency. entering the restaurant, she glanced about but saw no one who was selling papers. finally, she ventured to ask the proprietor if she had come to the right place. "this is the right place," he agreed cheerfully. "benny went home a little while ago." "then how do i get the papers for mrs. downey's lodge?" "guess you're out of luck," he replied. "they didn't come in today." "but i saw the plane." "the plane got through all right. i don't know what was wrong. somehow the papers weren't put aboard." penny turned away in disappointment. she had made the long trip to the village for no purpose. while she did not mind for herself, she knew that mr. glasser and the other guests were likely to be annoyed. after a day of confinement indoors they looked forward to news from the outside world. "it's strange the papers didn't come," she mused as she started back to the downey lodge. "this isn't the first time they've failed to arrive either." penny climbed steadily for a time and then sat down on a log to rest a moment. she was not far from the jasko cabin. by making her own trail through the woods she could reach it in a very few minutes. a mischievous idea leaped into her mind, fairly teasing to be put into effect. what fun to climb the forbidden barbed wire fence and honeycomb mr. jasko's field with ski tracks! she could visualize his annoyance when he returned home to learn that a mysterious skier had paid him a visit. "he oughtn't to be so mean," she said aloud to justify herself. "it will serve him right for trying to frighten folks with shotguns!" penny fastened on her skis and glided off through the woods. she kept her directions straight and soon emerged into a clearing to find herself in view of the jasko cabin. drawing near the barbed wire fence she stopped short and stared. "why, that old scamp! he really did it!" a new strand of wire had been added to the fence, making it many inches higher. penny's suggestion, offered as a joke, had been acted upon by peter jasko. not even an expert ski jumper could hope to clear the improved barrier. any person who came unwittingly down the steep slope must take a disastrous tumble at the base of the fence. "this settles it," thought penny grimly. "my conscience is perfectly clear now." she rolled under the fence and surveyed the unblemished expanse of snowy field with the eye of a mechanical draftsman. "i may as well be honest about it and sign my name," she chuckled. starting in at the far corner of the field she made a huge double-edged "p" with her long runners. it took a little ingenuity to figure out an "e" but two "n's" were fairly easy to execute. she finished "y" off with a flourish and cocked her head sideways to view her handiwork. "not bad, not bad at all," she congratulated herself. "only i've used up too much space. we'll have to have a big penny and a little parker." she ran off a "p" and an "a" but even her limber body was not equal to the contortion required for an "r." in the process of making a neat curve she suddenly lost her balance and toppled over in an ungainly heap. "oh, now i've done it!" she moaned, slowly picking herself up. "all my wonderful artistry gone for nothing. 'parker' looks like a big smudge!" a sound, suspiciously suggesting a muffled shout of laughter, reached penny's ears. she glanced quickly about. no one was in sight. the windows of the cabin were deserted. "i think i'll be getting out of here," she decided. "if old whiskers should come back this wouldn't be a healthy place to practice handwriting." penny dug in her poles and glided toward the fence. in the act of rolling under the barbed wires, she suddenly froze motionless. she had heard a cry and this time there was no doubt in her mind as to the direction from which the sound had come. her startled gaze focused upon the cabin amid the trees. "help! help!" called a shrill, half muffled voice. "come back, and let me out of my prison!" chapter 10 _locked in the cabin_ penny hesitated, and as the call was repeated, went slowly back toward the cabin. she could see no one. "up here!" shouted the voice. glancing toward the second story windows, penny saw a girl standing there, her face pressed to the pane. "peter jasko's granddaughter!" thought penny. "and she must have seen me decorating the place with ski tracks." however, the other girl was only concerned with her own predicament. she smiled and motioned for penny to come directly under the window. "can you help me get out of here?" she called down. "you're not locked in?" inquired penny in astonishment. "i certainly am! my grandfather did it. he fastened the door of the loft." "how long have you been there?" "oh, not very long," the girl answered impatiently, "but i'm sick of it! will you help me out of here?" "how?" "grandfather always hides the key to the outside door in the woodshed. it should be hanging on a nail by the window." penny hardly knew what to do. it was one thing to annoy peter jasko by making a few ski tracks in his yard, but quite another to antagonize him in more serious ways. for all she could tell, he might have locked the girl in the cabin as a punishment for some wrongdoing. "does your grandfather often leave you like this?" she asked dubiously. "always when there's snow on the ground," came the surprising answer. "oh, please let me out of this hateful place! don't be such a goody-good!" to be accused of being a "goody-good" was a novel experience for penny. but instead of taking offense she laughed and started toward the woodshed. "on a nail by the window!" the girl shouted after her. "if it isn't there look on the shelf by the door." penny found the key and came back. taking off her cumbersome skis, she unlocked the front door and stepped inside the cabin. the room was rather cold for the fire had nearly gone out. despite a bareness of furniture, the place had a comfortable appearance. snowshoes decorated the walls along with a deer head and an out-dated calendar. there was a cook stove, a homemade table, chairs, and a cot. "do hurry up!" called the impatient voice from above. "climb the steps." at the far end of the room a rickety, crudely constructed ladder ascended to a rectangular trap door in the ceiling. mounting it, penny investigated the fastening, a stout plug of wood. she turned it and pushed up the heavy door. instantly, it was seized from above and pulled out of the way. head and shoulders through the opening, penny glanced about curiously. the room under the roof certainly did not look like a prison cell. it was snug and warm, with curtains at the windows and books lining the wall shelves. the floor was covered with a bright colored rag rug. there was a comfortable looking bed, a rocker and even a dressing table. "thanks for letting me out." penny turned to gaze at the girl who stood directly behind her. she was not very pretty, for her nose was far too blunt and her teeth a trifle uneven. one could see a faint resemblance to peter jasko. "you're welcome, i guess," replied penny, but with no conviction. "i hope your grandfather won't be too angry." "oh, he won't know about it," the girl answered carelessly. "i see you know who i am--sara jasko." "my name is penny parker." "i guessed the penny part. i saw you trying to write it in the snow. you don't believe in signs either, do you?" "i didn't have any right to trespass." "oh, don't worry about that. grandfather is an old fuss-budget. but deep down inside he's rather nice." "why did he lock you up here?" "it's a long story," sighed sara. "i'll tell you about it later. come on, let's get out of here." penny backed down the ladder. the amazing granddaughter of peter jasko followed, taking the steps as nimbly as a monkey. going to a closet, sara pulled out a wind-breaker, woolen cap, and a stub-toed pair of high leather shoes which she began to lace up. "you're not aiming to run away?" penny asked uneasily. "only for an hour or so. this snow is too beautiful to waste. but you'll have to help me get back to my prison." "i don't know what this is all about. suppose you tell me, sara." "oh, grandfather is funny," replied the girl, digging in the closet again for her woolen gloves. "he doesn't trust me out of his sight when there's snow on the ground. today he had to go up the mountain to get a load of wood so he locked me in." "what has snow to do with it?" "why, everything! you must have heard about grandfather. he hates skiing." "oh, and you like to ski," said penny, "is that it?" "i adore it! my father, bret jasko, was a champion." sara's animated face suddenly became sober. "he was killed on this very mountain. grandfather never recovered from the shock." "oh, i'm so sorry," murmured penny sympathetically. "it happened ten years ago while my father was skiing. ever since then grandfather has had an almost fanatical hatred of the hotel people. and he is deathly afraid i'll get hurt in some way. he forbids me to ski even on the easy slopes." "but you do it anyway?" "of course. i slip away whenever i can," sara admitted cheerfully. "skiing is in my blood. i couldn't give it up." "and you don't mind deceiving your grandfather?" "you don't understand. there's no reasoning with him. each year he gets a little more set in his ways. he knows that i slip away to ski, and that's why he locks me up. otherwise, grandfather is a dear. he's taken care of me since my father died." sara wriggled into her awkward-fitting coat, wrapped a red scarf about her throat and started for the door. "coming, penny?" "i haven't promised yet that i will help you get back into your cubby-hole." "but you will," said sara confidently. "i suppose so," sighed penny. "nevertheless, i don't particularly like this." they stepped out of the cabin into the blinding sunlight. the storm had stopped, but the wind blew a gust of snow from the roof into their faces. "my skis are hidden in the woods," said sara. "we'll walk along the fence so my footprints won't be so noticeable." "the place is pretty well marked up now," penny observed dryly. "your grandfather would have to be blind not to see them." "yes, but they're your tracks, not mine," grinned sara. "besides, this strong wind is starting to drift the snow." they followed the barbed wire fence to the woods. sara went straight to an old log and from its hollow interior drew out a pair of hickory jumping skis. "let's walk up to mrs. downey's lodge," she proposed. "her chute is a dandy, but most of the guests are afraid to use it." "i haven't tried it myself," admitted penny. "it looks higher than pike's peak." "oh, you have plenty of nerve," returned sara carelessly. "i saw you take grandfather's barbed wire entanglements." "that was a matter of necessity." "nothing ventured, nothing gained," laughed sara, linking arms with penny and pulling her along at a fast pace. "i'll teach you a few tricks." they climbed the slope steadily until forced to pause for a moment to catch their breath. "mrs. downey isn't using the bob-sled run this year, is she?" sara inquired curiously. "i didn't know anything about it." "she has a fine one on her property, but it's out of sight from the lodge. i guess there haven't been enough guests this season to make it worth while. too bad. bob-sled racing is even more fun than skiing." coming within view of the downey lodge, penny observed that a few of the more hardy guests had taken advantage of the lull in the storm, and were out on the slopes, falling, picking themselves up, falling again. "i have to run into the house a minute," penny excused herself. "i'll be right back." she found mrs. downey in the kitchen and reported to her that she had been unable to purchase papers in the village. "the plane came in, didn't it?" "yes, but for some reason the papers weren't put on." "i wonder if the fergus hotel managed to get any?" "i don't see how they could." "it's happened before," declared mrs. downey. "time after time we miss our papers, and then i learn later that the fergus hotel guests had them. i don't understand it, penny." "shall i tell mr. glasser?" "i'll do it," sighed mrs. downey. "he's going to be more irritated than ever now." penny went outside to find sara waiting impatiently for her. the girl had strapped on her skis, and was using two sharp-pointed sticks for poles. "ready to try the jump, penny?" "no, but i'll watch you." "there's nothing to it, penny," encouraged sara as they climbed side by side. "just keep relaxed and be sure to have your skis pointing upward while you're in the air." as it became evident that the girls intended to try the chute, a little crowd of spectators gathered on the slope below to watch. "i'll go first," said sara, "and after i've landed, you come after me." "i'll think it over," shivered penny. "don't think too long, or you'll never try it. just start." sara bent to examine her bindings. then in a graceful crouch she shot down the hill and with a lifting of her arms soared over the take-off. she made a perfectly poised figure in mid-air and an effortless landing on the slope below, finishing off with a christiana turn. "she's _good_!" thought penny. "i'll try it, too, even if they carry me off on a stretcher!" in a wave of enthusiasm she pushed off, keeping her arms behind her. as the edge of the chute loomed up, she swung them forward and sprang into the air. but something went wrong. in an instant she was off balance, her arms swinging wildly in a futile attempt to straighten her body into position. the gully appeared to be miles below her. panic surged over penny and her muscles became rigid. she was going to take a hard fall. "relax! relax!" screamed a shrill voice. with a supreme effort penny drew back one ski and bent her knees. she felt a hard jar, and in amazement realized that she had landed on her feet. her elation was short lived, for the next instant she collapsed and went sliding on down the slope. sara ran to help her up. "hurt?" "not a bit," laughed penny. "what a spectacle i must have made!" "your jump wasn't half bad. next time you'll do much better." "i'll never make one as good as yours," penny said enviously. seeing francine standing near, she turned to the reporter and exclaimed: "did you watch sara's jump? wasn't it magnificent?" "you're both lucky you weren't injured." francine walked over to the two girls. she stared at sara's odd looking costume. "you're not a guest here?" she inquired. "no," answered sara. "nor at the fergus hotel?" "i live a ways down the mountain." francine regarded her coldly. "you're the jasko girl, aren't you, whose grandfather will not allow skiers on his property?" "yes, but--" "since you jaskos are so sign conscious i should think you might obey them yourself! take a glance at that one over on the tree. unless my eyesight is failing it reads: 'only guests of the hotel may use these slopes.'" chapter 11 _a newspaper mystery_ penny stared at francine, for a moment not believing that she had meant the remark seriously. as she comprehended that the girl indeed was serious, she exclaimed in quick protest: "oh, francine, what an attitude to take! sara is my guest. i'm sure mrs. downey doesn't mind." "i'll go," offered sara in a quiet voice. "i never dreamed i would offend anyone by being here." "i'm not particularly offended," replied francine defensively. "it merely seems reasonable to me that if you won't allow others on your property you shouldn't trespass yourself." "sara had nothing to do with that sign on her grandfather's land," declared penny. "francine, you must have jumped out of the wrong side of the bed this morning." sara had turned to walk away. penny caught her hand, trying to detain her. "wait, i'll run into the lodge and ask mrs. downey. but i know very well it will be all right for you to stay." sara hesitated, and might have consented, save at that instant the three girls heard the faint tinkle of bells. a sled loaded with wood came into view around a curve of the mountain road. "that's grandfather on his way home!" exclaimed sara. "i must get back there before he learns i've been away! hurry, penny!" with several quick thrusts of her sticks, she started down the trail which led to the jasko cabin. penny followed, but she could not overtake her companion. sara skied with a reckless skill which defied imitation. while penny was forced to stem, she took the rough track with no perceptible slackening of speed, and had divested herself of skis by the time her companion reached the woods. "we'll have to work fast," she warned, hiding the long runners in the hollow log. "i want you to lock me in the cabin and then get away before grandfather sees you!" "what about our tracks in the snow?" "i'll blame them all on you," laughed sara, "it's beginning to get dark now. and grandfather is near sighted." "i don't like this business at all," complained penny as they kept close to the fence on their way to the cabin. "why not tell your grandfather--" "he would rage for days and never let me out again. no, this is the best way. and you'll come back soon, won't you, penny?" "i don't like to promise." "i'll teach you how to jump." sara offered attractive bait. "we'll see. i'll think it over." "no, promise!" persisted sara. "say you'll come back and at least talk to me through the window. you have no idea how lonesome i get." "all right," penny suddenly gave in. "i'll do that much." reaching the cabin, sara had penny tramp about in the snow with her skis so as to give the impression that a visitor had walked several times around the building but had not entered. "you'll have to lock me in the loft," she instructed. "then take the key back to the woodshed and get away as quickly as you can." sara pulled off her garments and hung them in the closet. with a mop she wiped up tracks which had been made on the bare floor. then she climbed up the ladder to her room. penny turned the wooden peg, and retreating from the cabin, locked the door. "don't forget!" sara called to her from the window. "come again soon--tomorrow if you can." hiding the key in the woodshed, penny tramped about the outside of the building several times before gliding off toward the boundary fence. as she began a tedious climb up the trail toward the downey lodge, she saw the sled appear around a bend of the road. penny did not visit the jasko cabin the following day nor the next. along with other guests she was kept indoors by a raging snow and sleet storm which blocked the road and disrupted telephone service to the village. everyone at the downey lodge suffered from the confinement, but some accepted the situation more philosophically than others. as usual mr. glasser complained because there were no daily papers. penny overheard him telling another guest he was thinking very seriously of moving to the fergus hotel where at least a certain amount of entertainment was provided. "he'll leave," mrs. downey observed resignedly when the conversation was repeated to her. "i've seen it coming for days. mr. glasser has been talking with one of the runners for the fergus hotel." "it's unfair of them to try to take your guests away." "oh, they're determined to put me out of business at any cost. miss sellberg is leaving, too. she served notice this morning." penny glanced up with quick interest. "francine? is she leaving pine top?" "no, she told me she had decided to move to the fergus hotel because of its better location." penny nodded thoughtfully. she could understand that if francine were trying to gain special information about either ralph fergus or harvey maxwell, it would be to her advantage to have a room at the other hotel. had it not been for her loyalty to mrs. downey, she, too, would have been tempted to take up headquarters there. "i can't really blame folks for leaving," mrs. downey continued after a moment. "i've not offered very much entertainment this year. last season in addition to skiing we had the bob-sled run." "i met sara jasko and she was telling me about it," replied penny. "can't you use the run again this year?" "we could, but it scarcely seems worth the trouble and expense. also, it takes experienced drivers to steer the sleds. the young man i had working for me last winter isn't available at present." "is there no other person at pine top who could do it?" "sara jasko," responded mrs. downey, smiling. "however, it's not likely her grandfather would give his consent." the following day dawned bright and clear and brought a revival of spirit at the downey lodge. nevertheless, with the roads open once more, both francine and mr. glasser moved their belongings down to the fergus hotel. as was to be expected, their departure caused a certain amount of comment by the other guests. late in the afternoon penny offered to ski down to pine top for the newspapers. she planned to stop at the fergus hotel upon her return, hoping to learn a little more about the mysterious green room which had intrigued her interest. reaching the village, penny located benny smith, but the lad shook his head when she inquired for the daily papers. "i don't have any today." "but the plane came through! i saw it myself about an hour ago. this makes four days since we've had a newspaper at the lodge. what happened?" the boy glared at penny almost defiantly. "you can't blame me. it's not my fault if they're not put on the plane." "no, of course not. i didn't mean to suggest that you were at fault. it's just queer that we miss our papers so often. and we never seem to get the back editions either." "well, i don't know anything about it," the boy muttered. penny stood watching him slouch off down the street. something about the lad's manner made her wonder if he had not lied. she suddenly was convinced that benny knew more about the missing newspapers than he cared to tell. "but how would he profit by not receiving them?" she mused. "he would lose sales. it simply doesn't make sense." as she trudged on down the street penny turned the problem over in her mind. she walked with head bent low and did not notice an approaching pedestrian until she had bumped into him. "sorry," apologized the man politely. "it was my fault," replied penny. she glanced up to see that the stranger was no stranger at all, but the airplane pilot who had brought her to pine top several days before. he would have passed on had she not halted him with a question. "i wonder if you could tell me what seems to be the trouble with the newspaper delivery service here at pine top?" "we couldn't get through yesterday on account of the weather," he returned. "but what happened to the papers today?" "nothing." "you mean they came through?" penny asked in surprise. "that's right. you can get them from benny smith." "from benny? but he said--" penny started to reveal that the boy had blamed the failure of service upon the pilot, and then changed her mind. "thank you," she returned, "i'll talk with him." penny was more puzzled than ever, but she had no reason to doubt the pilot's word. obviously, the newspapers had arrived at pine top, and benny smith knew what had become of them. "i'll just investigate this matter a little further," penny decided as she left the village. approaching the fergus hotel a few minutes later, she paused to catch her breath before going inside. in the gathering twilight the building looked more than ever like a great swiss chalet. the pitched roof was burdened with a thick layer of white snow, and long icicles hung from the window ledges. inside the crowded, smoke-filled lobby there was an air of gaiety. a few lights had been turned on, and the orchestra could be heard tuning up in the dining room. penny saw no one that she knew. crossing quickly to a counter at the far side of the lobby, she spoke to a girl who was in charge. "can i buy a newspaper here?" "yes, we have them." the girl reached around a corner of the counter, indicating a stack of papers which penny had not seen. "new york times?" "that will do very nicely." penny paid for the paper and carrying it over to a chair, quickly looked at the dateline. "it's today's issue, all right," she told herself grimly. "this proves what i suspected. ralph fergus has been buying up all the papers--a little trick to annoy mrs. downey and get her in bad with her guests!" chapter 12 _the green card_ "do you always talk to yourself?" inquired an amused voice from behind penny. glancing up from the newspaper, the girl saw maxine miller standing beside her chair. for an instant she failed to recognize the actress, so elegant did the woman appear in a sealskin coat and matching hat. the outfit was so new that the fur had lost none of its glaze, an observation which caused penny to wonder if miss miller had misled her regarding the state of her finances. "good evening, miss miller," she smiled. "i didn't know you for a moment." "how do you like it?" inquired the actress, turning slowly about. "your new fur coat? it's very beautiful. and you're looking well, too. you didn't by chance get that role from david balantine?" miss miller's painted lips drew into a pout. "no, he left the hotel this morning." "oh, that's too bad. i suppose you'll be going soon, then?" the actress shook her head, and laughed in a mysterious way. "no, i've decided to stay here for awhile. i like pine top." penny was puzzled by miss miller's sudden change in manner and appearance. the woman acted as if she were the possessor of an important secret which she longed to reveal. "you must have fallen heiress to a vast fortune," penny ventured lightly. "better than that," beamed miss miller. "i've acquired a new job. take dinner with me and i'll tell you all about it." "well--" penny deliberated and said honestly, "i didn't bring very much money with me, and i'm not dressed up." miss miller brushed aside both objections as if they were of no consequence. "you'll be my guest, dearie. and your clothes don't matter." she caught penny's hand and pulled her to her feet. her curiosity aroused, the girl allowed herself to be escorted to the dining room. miss miller walked ahead, strutting a bit as she brushed past the crowded tables. heads lifted and envious feminine eyes focused upon the actress' stunning fur coat. penny felt awkward and embarrassed, clomping along behind in her big heavy ski boots. the head waiter gave them a choice table near the orchestra. miss miller threw back her coat, exposing a form-fitting black satin gown with a brilliant blue stone pin at the neck line. she knew that she was creating an impression and thoroughly enjoyed herself. a waiter brought menu cards. the actress proceeded to order for both herself and penny. she selected the most expensive dishes offered, stumbling over their long french names. "how nice it is to have money again," she remarked languidly when the waiter had gone. "do you really like my new wardrobe, dearie?" "indeed, i do, miss miller. your dress is very becoming, and the fur coat is stunning. isn't it new?" "exactly two days old." "then you must have acquired it since coming to pine top. i had no idea such lovely skins could be bought anywhere near here." "we're very close to the canadian border, you know." again the actress flashed her mysterious smile. "but the duty is frightful unless one is able to avoid it." penny gazed thoughtfully across the table at her companion. "and do you know how to avoid it?" she asked as casually as she could manage. miss miller steered skilfully away from the subject. "oh, this coat was given to me. it didn't cost me a cent." "and how does one go about acquiring a free coat? you've not become a professional model?" "no," the actress denied, "but your guess is fairly warm. i do have a nice figure for displaying clothes. no doubt that was why i was given the job." "who is your employer, miss miller? someone connected with the hotel?" the waiter had brought a loaded tray to the table, and the actress used his arrival as a pretext for not answering penny's question. after the man went away she began to chat glibly about other subjects. however, with the serving of dessert, she once more switched to the topic of her wardrobe. "you were asking me about my fur coat, dearie," she said. "would you like to have one like it?" "who wouldn't? what must i do to acquire one--rob a bank?" miss miller laughed in a forced way. "you will have your little joke. from what you've told me, i imagine your father has plenty of money." "i don't remember saying anything about it," responded penny dryly. "as a matter of fact, my father isn't wealthy." "at least your family is comfortably fixed or you wouldn't be at this expensive winter resort," miss miller went on, undisturbed. "now would you be able to pay as much as a hundred dollars for a coat?" "i hadn't even thought of buying one," replied penny, trying not to disclose her astonishment. "can you really get a good fur coat for as little as a hundred dollars?" "you could through my friend." "your friend?" asked penny bluntly. "do you mean your new employer?" "well, yes," the actress admitted with a self-conscious laugh. "he is a fur salesman. you've been very nice to me and i might be able to get a coat for you at cost." "that's most kind," remarked penny dryly. "where could i see these coats?" "my employer has a salesroom here at the hotel," miss miller declared. "i can arrange an appointment for you. say tomorrow at two?" "i haven't enough money with me to buy a coat even if i wanted one." "but if you liked the furs you could wire your parents for more," the actress wheedled. "it is a wonderful opportunity. you'll never have another chance to buy a beautiful coat at cost." "i'll have to think it over," penny returned. "i suppose you get a commission on every garment sold?" "a small one. in your case, i'll not take it. i truly am interested in seeing you get your coat, dearie. you have just the figure for it, you're so slim and svelte." penny was not deceived by the flattery. she knew very well that the actress had treated her to dinner for the purpose of making her feel under obligation and as a build-up to the suggestion that she purchase a fur coat. glancing at the bill she was relieved to see that she had enough money to pay for her share of the meal. "no, no, i won't hear of it," miss miller protested grandly. summoning the waiter, she gave him a twenty dollar bill. "let me know if you decide you would like to see the coats," she said to penny as they left the dining room together. "it won't cost you anything to look, you know." "i'll think it over. thanks for the dinner." penny looked about the crowded lobby for ralph fergus or harvey maxwell, but neither man was to be seen. while at the hotel she would have liked to acquire a little more information about the green room. with the actress hovering at her elbow it was out of the question. she considered speaking of the matter to miss miller, and then abandoned the idea. however, it had occurred to her that the mysterious room of the hotel might have some connection with the actress' present employment, and so she ventured one rather direct question. "miss miller, you're not by chance working for ralph fergus or the hotel?" "dear me, no!" the actress denied. "whatever put such an idea in your head?" "it just occurred to me. well, good-bye." penny left the hotel and ventured out into the cold. after so much cigarette smoke, the pure air was a pleasant relief. she broke off a long icicle from the doorway, and stood thoughtfully chewing at it. "miss miller must be working for some dishonest outfit," she mused. "her talk about getting a fur coat at cost doesn't fool me one bit. if i were in her shoes i'd be more than a little worried lest i tangled with the law." a remark by the actress to the effect that the canadian border was close by had set penny's active mind to working. it was not too fantastic to believe that miss miller might be employed by an unscrupulous man whose business concerned the sale of furs obtained duty free. she had even dared hope that ralph fergus or harvey maxwell might be implicated in the dishonest affair. what a break that would be for her father if only she could prove such a connection! but the actress' outright denial that either man was her employer had put an end to such pleasant speculation. penny bent down to pick up her skis which had been left at the side of the hotel building. as she leaned over, she noticed a small object lying on top of the snow in the square of light made from one of the windows. it appeared to be a small piece of colored cardboard. curiously, penny picked it up and carried it closer to the window. the card was green. her pulse quickened as she turned it over. on its face were six engraved words: "admit bearer through the green door." chapter 13 _an unkind trick_ penny all but executed a clog dance in the snow. she knew that she had picked up an admittance ticket to the green room of the fergus hotel which some person had lost. with no effort upon her part she would be able to learn the answer to many of the questions which had plagued her. "at last i'll find out what lies behind that green door," she thought in high elation. "if this isn't the most wonderful piece of luck!" debating a moment, penny decided that it probably was too late to gain admittance that evening. mrs. downey no doubt was worried over her long absence from the lodge. she would return there, and then revisit the hotel early the next day. pocketing the precious ticket, penny set off up the mountain. it was dark before she had covered half the distance, but there were stars and a half moon to guide her. mrs. downey showed her relief as the girl stomped into the kitchen. "i was beginning to worry, penny," she declared. "whatever made it take you so long?" "i stopped at the fergus hotel and had dinner with miss miller." "were you able to get the newspapers?" "only one which i had to buy at the fergus hotel. mrs. downey, it's queer about those papers. benny smith told me there weren't any to be had, and then a few minutes later i met the airplane pilot who told me he had brought them in the same as usual. also, the fergus hotel received its usual quota." "well, that's odd." "it looks to me as if the fergus outfit has made some arrangement with the paper boy. they may be buying up all the papers." "as a means of annoying me," nodded mrs. downey grimly. "it would be in line with their tactics. but what can i do?" "i don't know," admitted penny. she pulled off her heavy boots and set them where they would dry. "we haven't any proof they're doing anything like that. it's only my idea." the door opened and jake came into the kitchen. he dropped an armload of wood behind the range. "i started work on the bob-sled run this afternoon," he remarked to mrs. downey. "got a crew of boys coming first thing tomorrow. we ought to have her fixed up by noon." "and the sleds?" "they seem to be in good condition, but i'll check everything." after the workman had gone, penny glanced questioningly at mrs. downey. "have you decided to use the run after all?" "yes, i started thinking about it after we talked together. we do need more entertainment here at the lodge. after you left i ordered jake to start work on the track. but i still am in need of experienced drivers for the sled." "you spoke of sara." "i thought i would ask her, but i doubt if her grandfather will give his consent." "i'll ski down there tomorrow and talk with her if you would like me to," offered penny. "i would appreciate it," said mrs. downey gratefully. "i hate to spare the time myself." early the next morning penny paid a visit to the bob-sled run where a crew headed by jake was hard at work. there was a stretch of straightaway and a series of curves which snaked down the valley between the pines. at the point of the steepest curve, the outer snow walls rose to a height of eighteen feet. "a sled could really travel on that track," observed penny. "does it hurt to upset?" "it might," grinned jake. "we've never had an upset on horseshoe curve. if a sled went over there, you might wake up in the hospital." penny watched the men packing snow for awhile. then buckling on her skis, she made a fast trip down the mountain to the jasko cabin. this time, having a definite mission, she went boldly to the door and rapped. there was no response until the window of the loft shot up. "hello, penny," called down sara. "i thought you had forgotten your promise. the key's in the same place." "isn't your grandfather here?" "no, he went down to pine top. isn't it glorious skiing weather? hurry and get the key. i've been cooped up here half an hour already." penny went reluctantly to the woodshed and returned with the key. she unfastened the trapdoor which gave entrance to the loft and sara quickly descended. "didn't your grandfather say anything about last time?" penny inquired anxiously. "oh, he raved because someone had trespassed. but it never occurred to him i had gone away. where shall we ski today?" "i only stopped to deliver a message, sara. i am on my way down to the fergus hotel." "oh," said the girl in disappointment. "a message from whom?" "mrs. downey. she is starting up her bob-sled run again and she wants you to help out." sara's eyes began to sparkle. "i wish i could! if only grandfather weren't so strict." "is there a chance he'll give his consent?" "oh, dear, no. but i might be able to slip away. grandfather plans to chop wood every day this week." "i doubt if mrs. downey would want you to do that." "need you tell her?" queried sara coolly. "i'll fix myself a rope ladder and get out the window. that will save you the trouble of coming here to let me in and out." "and what will your grandfather say if he learns about it?" "plenty! but anything is better than being shut up like a prisoner. you tell mrs. downey i'll try to get up to the lodge tomorrow morning, and we'll try out the track together, eh penny?" "i don't know anything about bob-sledding." "i'll teach you to be my brake boy," sara laughed. "how long will you stay at the fergus hotel?" "i haven't any idea." "then i suppose i'll have to crawl back into my cave," sara sighed dismally. "can't you even ski with me for half an hour?" "not this morning," penny said firmly. "i have important work ahead." she shooed sara back into the loft and returned the key to the woodshed. the jasko girl watched from the window, playfully shaking her fist as her friend skied away. "sara is as stimulating as a mountain avalanche," chuckled penny, "but she's almost too headstrong. sooner or later her stunts will involve me in trouble with peter jasko." in the valley below, smoke curled lazily from the chimneys of the fergus hotel. making directly for it, penny felt in her pocket to be certain she had not lost the green ticket which she had found the previous evening. "this is going to be my lucky day," she told herself cheerfully. "i feel it in my bones." reaching the hotel, penny stripped off her skis and entered the hotel lobby. maxine miller was not in evidence nor did she see any other person who likely would question her presence there. she did notice harvey maxwell sitting in the private office. his eyes were upon her as she crossed the room. however, penny felt no uneasiness, realizing that if he noticed her at all he recognized her only as a guest at the downey lodge. "second floor," she said quietly to the elevator boy. penny was the sole passenger, but as she stepped from the cage, she was dismayed to run directly into francine sellberg. the reporter greeted her with a suspicious stare. "why, hello, penny parker. what are you doing here?" "oh, just moseying around." "i can see you are!" "your room isn't on this floor, is it?" penny inquired. "no, on the fourth," francine answered before she considered her words. "looking for someone?" remarked penny with a grin. "or should i say _something_?" an elevator stopped at the landing. "going down," the attendant called, opening the door. he gazed questioningly at the two girls. francine shook her head, although she had been waiting for an elevator. turning again to penny she said with a hard smile: "i've not only been looking for something, i've found it!" "still, i don't see you rushing to reach a telephone, francine. your discovery can't have such tremendous news value." "it may have before long," hinted francine. "i don't mind telling you i am on the trail of a really big story. and i am making steady progress in assembling my facts." penny regarded the girl reporter speculatively. her presence on the second floor rather suggested that she, too, had been trying to investigate the green room, and more than likely had learned its location. but she was reasonably certain francine had gathered no information of great value. "glad to hear you're doing so well," she remarked and started on down the hall. francine fell into step with her. "if you're looking for a particular room, penny, maybe i can help you." penny knew that the reporter meant to stay with her so that she could do no investigation work of her own. "the room i am searching for has a green door," she replied. francine laughed. "i'm glad you're so honest, penny. i guessed why you were on this floor all the time. however, i greatly fear you're in the wrong part of the hotel." penny paused and turned to face her companion squarely. "why not put an end to all this nonsense, francine? we watch each other and get nowhere. let's put our cards on the table." "yours might be a joker!" "we're both interested in getting a story which will discredit harvey maxwell," penny went on, ignoring the jibe. "you've had a tip as to what may be going on here, while i'm working in the dark. on the other hand, i've acquired something which should interest you. why don't we pool our interests and work together?" "that would be very nice--for you." "i think i might contribute something to the case." "i doubt it," replied francine loftily. "you don't even know the location of the green room." "you're wrong about that. it took no great detective power to learn it's on this floor. to get inside may be a different matter." "you're quite right there," said francine with emphasis. "what do you say? shall we work together and let bygones be bygones?" "thank you, penny, i prefer to work alone." "suit yourself, francine. i was only trying to be generous. you see, i have an admittance card to the green room." "i don't believe it!" flashing a gay smile, penny held up the ticket for francine to see. "how did you get it?" the reporter gasped. "i've tried--" "a little bird dropped it on my window sill. too bad you didn't decide to work with me." penny walked on down the corridor, and francine made no attempt to follow. when she glanced back over her shoulder the reporter had descended the stairway to the lobby. "it was boastful of me to show her my ticket," she thought. "but i couldn't resist doing it. francine is so conceited." making her way to the unmarked door of the wing, penny paused there a moment, listening. hearing no sound she pushed open the door and went down the narrow hall. the guard sat at his usual post before the green door. "good morning," said penny pleasantly. "i have my card now." the man examined it and handed it back. "go right in," he told her. before penny could obey, the door at the end of the corridor swung open. harvey maxwell, his face convulsed with rage, came hurrying toward the startled girl. "i've just learned who you are," he said angrily. "kindly leave this hotel at once, and don't come back!" chapter 14 _a broken rod_ "you must have mistaken me for some other person," penny stammered, backing a step away from the hotel man. "who do you think i am?" the question was a mistake, for it only served to intensify harvey maxwell's anger. "you're the daughter of anthony parker who runs the yellowest paper in riverview! i know why he sent you here. now get out and don't let me catch you in the hotel ever again." observing the green card in penny's hand he reached out and jerked it from her. "i wasn't doing any harm," she said, trying to act injured. "my father didn't send me to pine top. i came for the skiing." secretly, penny was angry at maxwell's reference to the _riverview star_ as being a "yellow" sheet, which in newspaper jargon meant that it was a sensation-seeking newspaper. "and what are you doing in this part of the hotel?" "i only wanted to see the green room," penny replied. "i thought i would have my breakfast here." harvey maxwell and the doorman exchanged a quick glance which was not lost upon the girl. "where did you get your ticket?" the hotel man demanded but in a less harsh voice. "i picked it up outside the hotel." penny spoke truthfully and her words carried conviction. harvey maxwell seemed satisfied that she had not been investigating the wing for any special purpose. however, he took her by an elbow and steered her down the corridor to the elevator. "if you're the smart little girl i think you are, a hint will be sufficient," he said. "i don't want any member of the parker family on my premises. so stay away. get me?" "yes, sir," responded penny meekly. inwardly, she was raging. someone deliberately had betrayed her to harvey maxwell and she had a very good idea who that person might be. from now on employes of the hotel would be told to keep watch for her. never again would she be allowed in the lobby, much less in the vicinity of the green room. harvey maxwell walked with penny to the front door of the hotel and closed it behind her. "remember," he warned, "stay away." as penny started down the walk she heard a silvery laugh, and glancing sideways, saw francine leaning against the building. "you didn't spend much time in the green room, did you?" she inquired. "that was a dirty trick to play!" retorted penny. "i wouldn't have done it to you." "you couldn't have thought that fast, my dear penny." "i might tell mr. maxwell you're a reporter for the _riverview record_. how would you like that?" francine shrugged. "in that case we both lose the story. all i want is an exclusive. after the yarn breaks in the _record_, your father will be welcome to make use of any information published. so if you really want him to win his libel suit, you'll gain by not interfering with me." "you reason in a very strange way," replied penny coldly. picking up her skis she shouldered them and marched stiffly away. she was angry at francine and angry at herself for having given the rival reporter an opportunity to score against her. probably she would never tell harvey maxwell or ralph fergus who the girl actually was, sorely as she might be tempted. as francine had pointed out, her own chance of gleaning any worth while information had been lost. "it's a bitter pill to choke down," thought penny, "but i would rather have the _record_ get the story than to lose it altogether." sunk deep in depression, she tramped back to the downey lodge. the mail had arrived during her absence but there was no letter from home. "dad might at least send me a postcard," she grumbled. "for two cents i would take the next plane back to riverview." however, penny could not remain downhearted for any great length of time. why worry about francine and the silly old green room? she would forget all about it and try to have fun for a change. it was not difficult to dismiss the matter from her mind, for the following morning sara jasko came to give her a lesson in bob-sled driving. with a crowd of interested guests watching from the sidelines, they made their first exciting ride over the track. sara steered, jake operated the brake, and penny rode as sole passenger. horseshoe curve was the most thrilling point on the course. as the sled tore around it at a tremendous rate of speed, jake dug in the iron claw of the brake, sending up a plume of snow. they slackened speed perceptibly, but even so the sled climbed high on the sloping wall, and penny thought for an anxious moment that they were going over the top. the remainder of the run was mild by comparison. upon later trips penny was allowed to manage the brake, and soon became dexterous in applying it as sara shouted the command. skiers abandoned the slopes to watch the new sport. two at a time, penny and sara gave them rides and all of their passengers were enthusiastic. by the following day the word had spread down the mountain that mrs. downey's bob-sled run was operating. guests from the fergus hotel joined the throng but they were given rides only when there were no passengers waiting. "it's going over like a house afire!" penny declared gaily to mrs. downey. "i shouldn't be surprised if you take some of the fergus hotel's customers away from them if this enthusiasm lasts." "you and sara are showing folks a wonderful time." "and we're having one ourselves. it's even more fun than skiing." "but more dangerous," declared mrs. downey. "i hope we have no accidents." "sara is a skillful driver." "yes, she is," agreed mrs. downey. "there's no cause for worry so long as the track isn't icy." two days passed during which penny did not even go near the fergus hotel or to the village. as she remarked to mrs. downey, all of pine top came to the lodge. during the morning hours when the bob-sled run was in operation, a long line of passengers stood waiting. guests from the fergus hotel had few chances for rides. several of them, wishing to be on the favored list, checked out and came to take lodging at mrs. downey's place. "i can't understand it," the woman declared to penny. "last year the run wasn't very popular. i think it may have been because we had a little accident at the beginning of the season. nothing serious but it served to frighten folks." "i wonder how the fergus-maxwell interests are enjoying it?" chuckled penny. "not very well, you may be sure. this flurry in our business will rather worry them. they may not put me out of business as quickly as they expected." "at least you'll end your season in a blaze of glory," laughed penny. the weather had turned warmer. late thursday afternoon the snow melted a bit and the lowering night temperatures caused a film of ice to form over the entire length of the bob-sled run. jake shook his head as he talked over the situation with penny the next morning. "the track will be fast and slippery this morning." "a lot of folks will be disappointed if we don't make any trips," declared penny. "here comes sara. let's see what she has to say." sara studied the run, and walked down as far as horseshoe curve. "it's fast all right," she conceded. "but that will only make it the more exciting. brakes in good order, jake?" "i tested every sled last night after they were brought to the shop." "then we'll have no trouble," said sara confidently. "round up the passengers, jake, and we'll start at once." the sled was hauled to the starting line. sara took her place behind the wheel, with penny riding the end position to handle the brake. their first passengers were to be a middle aged married couple. sara gave them padded helmets to wear. "what are these for?" the woman asked nervously. "the toboggan slide isn't dangerous, is it?" "no, certainly not," answered sara. "we haven't had a spill this year. hang tight on the curves. give me plenty of brake when i call for it, penny." she signaled for the push off. they started fast and gathered speed on the straightaway. penny wondered how sara could steer for her own eyes blurred as they shot down the icy trough. they never had traveled at such high speed before. "brakes!" shouted sara. penny obeyed the order, and felt the sled slow down as the brake claw dug into the snow and ice. they raced on toward the first wide curve, and swung around it, high on the banked wall, too close to the outside edge for comfort. "brakes!" called sara again. once more the iron claw dug in, sending up a spray of snow behind the racing sled. and then there came a strange, pinging sound. for the briefest instant penny did not comprehend its significance. then, as the sled leaped ahead faster than ever and the geyser of snow vanished, she realized what had happened. the brakes were useless! a rod had snapped! they were roaring down the track with undiminished speed, and horseshoe curve, the most dangerous point on the run, lay directly ahead. chapter 15 _in the tool house_ sara, her face white and tense, turned her head for a fraction of a second and then, crouching lower, kept her eyes glued on the track. she knew what had happened, and she knew, too, that they never could hope to make the horseshoe curve. even a miracle of steering would not save them from going over the wall of ice at terrific speed. the two passengers, frozen with fright, gripped the side ropes, and kept their heads down. it did not even occur to them that they could save themselves by rolling off. for that matter, they did not realize that the brake had broken. penny, in end position, could have jumped easily, a fall into the soft snow beside the track would be far less apt to cause serious injury than an upset from the high wall of the curve. but it never occurred to her to try to save herself. there was only one slim chance of preventing a bad accident, a costly one for herself, and penny took it. as the perpendicular wall of horseshoe curve loomed up ahead, she wrapped her arm about the side rope of the sled and hurled herself off. her entire body was given a violent jerk. a sharp pain shot through her right arm, but she gritted her teeth and held on. penny's trailing body, acting as a brake, slowed down the sled and kept it from upsetting as it swept into the curve. sideways it climbed the wall of snow. it crept to the very edge, hovered there a breathless moment, then fell back to overturn at the flat side of the curve. untangling herself from a pile of arms and legs, sara began to help her passengers to their feet. "penny, are you hurt?" she asked anxiously. "that was a courageous thing to do! you saved us from a bad accident." spectators, thrilled by the display of heroism, came running to the scene. penny, every muscle screaming with pain, rolled over in the snow. gripping her wrenched arm, she tried to get to her feet and could not. "penny, you _are_ hurt!" cried sara. "it's my arm, more than anything else," penny said, trying to keep her face from twisting. "i--i hope it's not broken." willing hands raised her to her feet and supported her. penny was relieved to discover that she could lift her injured arm. "it's only wrenched," she murmured. "anyone else hurt, sara?" "you're the only casualty," sara replied warmly. "but if you hadn't used yourself as a brake we might all have been badly injured. you ought to get a hot bath as quickly as you can before your muscles begin to stiffen." "they've begun already," replied penny ruefully. she took a step as if to start for the lodge, only to hesitate. "i wonder what happened to the brake? i heard something give way." sara overturned the sled and took one glance. "a broken rod." "i thought jake checked over everything last night." "that's what he _said_," returned sara. "we'll ask him about it." the workman, white-faced and frightened, came running down the hill. "what happened?" he demanded. "couldn't you slow down or was it too icy?" "no brakes," sara answered laconically. "i thought you tested them." "i did. they were in good order last night." "take a look at this." sara pointed to the broken rod. jake bent down to examine it. when he straightened he spoke no word, but the expression of his face told the two girls that he did not hold himself responsible for the mishap. "there's something funny about this," he muttered. "i'll take the sled to the shop and have a look at it." "i'll go along with you," declared sara. "and so will i," added penny quickly. "you really should get a hot bath and go to bed," advised sara. "if you don't you may not be able to walk tomorrow." "i'll go to bed in a little while," penny answered significantly. followed by the two girls, jake pulled the sled to the tool house behind the lodge. sara immediately closed and bolted the door from the inside so that curious persons would not enter. "now let's really have a look at that brake rod," she said. "notice anything queer about it, penny?" "i did, and i'm thinking the same thing you are." "see these shiny marks on the steel," jake pointed out excitedly. "the rod had been sawed almost in two. even a little strain on it would make it break." "you're certain it was in good condition last night?" sara questioned. "positive," jake responded grimly. "i checked over both sleds just before supper last night." "let's have a look at the other sled," proposed penny. an inspection of the brake equipment revealed nothing out of order. "whoever did the trick may have been afraid to damage both sleds for fear of drawing attention to his criminal work," declared penny. "but it's perfectly evident someone wanted us to take a bad spill." "i can't guess who would try such a trick," said sara in perplexity. "did you lock the tool house last night, jake?" "i always do." "how about the windows?" inquired penny. "i don't rightly remember," jake confessed. "i reckon they're stuck fast." penny went over and tested one of the windows. while it was not locked, she could not raise it with her injured arm. sara tried without any better luck. however, as the girls examined the one on the opposite side of the tool house, they discovered that it raised and lowered readily. tiny pieces of wood were chipped from the outside sill, showing where a blunt instrument had been inserted beneath the sash. "this is where the person entered, all right," declared penny. "i can't understand who would wish to injure us," said sara in a baffled voice. "you're not known here at pine top, and i have no enemies to my knowledge." "mrs. downey has them. there are persons who would like to see her out of business. and our bob-sledding parties were growing popular." "they were taking a few guests away from the big hotel," sara admitted slowly. "still, it doesn't seem possible--" she broke off as penny reached down to pick up a small object which lay on the floor beneath the window. "what have you found?" she finished quickly. penny held out a large black button for her to see. a few strands of coarse dark thread still clung to the eyelets. "it looks like a button from a man's overcoat!" exclaimed sara. "jake, does this belong to you?" the workman glanced at it and shook his head. "not mine." "it probably fell from the coat of the person who damaged our sled," penny declared thoughtfully. "not much of a clue, perhaps, but at least it's something to go on!" chapter 16 _a puzzling solution_ penny pocketed the button and then with sara went outside the building to look for additional clues. the girls found only a multitude of footprints in the snow beneath the two windows, for the tool house stood beside a direct path to the nursery slopes. "we've learned everything we're going to," declared sara. "penny, i do wish you would get into the house and take your bath. you're limping worse every minute." "all right, i'll go. i do feel miserable." "perhaps you ought to have a doctor." penny laughed in amusement. "i'll be brake man on the bob-sled tomorrow as usual." "you'll be lucky if you're able to crawl out of bed. anyway, i doubt if i'll be able to come myself." "your grandfather?" asked penny quickly. "yes, he's getting suspicious. i'll have to be more careful." "why don't you tell him the truth? it's really not fair to deceive him. he's bound to learn the truth sooner or later." "i'm afraid to tell him," sara said with a little shiver. "when grandfather is angry you can't reason with him. i'll have to run now. i'm later than usual." penny watched her friend go and then hobbled into the lodge. news of the accident had preceded her, and mrs. downey met her at the door. she was deeply troubled until she ascertained for herself that the girl had not been seriously injured. "i was afraid something like this would happen," mrs. downey murmured self accusingly. "you know now why i wasn't very enthusiastic about using the bob-sled run." penny decided not to tell mrs. downey until later how the mishap had occurred. she was feeling too miserable to do much talking, and she knew the truth would only add to the woman's worries. "i can't say i'm so thrilled about it myself at the moment," she declared with a grimace. "i feel as stiff as if i were mounted on a mummy board!" mrs. downey drew a tub of hot water, but it required all of penny's athletic prowess to get herself in and out of it. her right arm was swollen and painful to lift. the skin on one side of her body from hip to ankle had been severely scraped and bruised. she could turn her neck only with difficulty. "i do think i should call a doctor from the village," mrs. downey declared as she aided the girl into bed. "please, don't," pleaded penny. "i'll be as frisky as ever by tomorrow." mrs. downey lowered the shades and went away. left alone, penny tried to go to sleep, but she was too uncomfortable. every time she shifted to a new position wracking pains shot through her body. "if this isn't the worst break," she thought, sinking deep into gloom. "i'll be crippled for several days at least. no skiing, no bob-sledding. and while i'm lying here on my bed of pain, francine will learn all about the green room." after awhile the warmth of the bed overcame penny and she slept. she awakened to find mrs. downey standing beside her, a tray in her hand. "i shouldn't have disturbed you," the woman apologized, "but you've been sleeping so long. and you've had nothing to eat." "i could do with a little luncheon," mumbled penny drowsily. "you didn't need to bother bringing it upstairs." "this is dinner, not luncheon," corrected mrs. downey. penny rolled over and painfully pulled herself to a sitting posture. "then i must have slept hours! what time is it?" "five-thirty. do you feel better, penny?" "i think i do. from my eyebrows up anyway." while penny ate her dinner, mrs. downey sat beside her and chatted. "at least there's nothing wrong with my appetite," the girl laughed, rapidly emptying the dishes. "at home mrs. weems says i eat like a wolf. oh, by the way, any mail?" "none for you." penny's face clouded. "it's funny no one writes me. don't you think i might at least get an advertising circular?" "well, christmas is coming," mrs. downey said reasonably. "the holiday season always is such a busy time. folks have their shopping to do." "not dad. usually he just calls up the personal shopper at hobson's store and says: 'she's five-feet three, size twelve and likes bright colors. send out something done up in gift wrapping and charge to my account.'" penny sighed drearily. "then after christmas i have to take it back and ask for an exchange." "have you ever tried giving your father a list?" suggested mrs. downey, smiling at the description. "often. he nearly always ignores it." "what did you ask him for this year?" "only a new automobile." "only! my goodness, aren't your tastes rather expensive?" "oh, he won't give it to me," replied penny. "i'll probably get a sweater with pink and blue stripes or some dead merchandise the store couldn't pawn off on anyone except an unsuspecting father." mrs. downey laughed as she picked up the tray. "i hope your father will be able to get to pine top for christmas." "so do i," agreed penny, frowning. "i thought when i wired him that harvey maxwell was here he would come right away." "he may have decided it would do no good to contact the man. knowing mr. maxwell i doubt if your father could make any sort of deal with him." "if only he would come here he might be able to learn something which would help his case," penny declared earnestly. "maxwell and fergus are mixed up in some queer business." mrs. downey smiled tolerantly. while she always listened attentively to penny's theories and observations, she had not been greatly excited by her tale of the mysterious green room. she knew the two men were unscrupulous in a business way and that they were making every effort to force her to give up the lodge, but she could not bring herself to believe they were involved in more serious affairs. she thought that penny's great eagerness to prove harvey maxwell's dishonesty had caused her imagination to run riot. "francine sellberg wouldn't be at pine top if something weren't in the wind," penny went on reflectively. "she followed ralph fergus and maxwell here. and that in itself was rather strange." "how do you mean, penny?" "fergus must have been having trouble in managing the hotel or he wouldn't have gone to riverview to see maxwell. what he had to say evidently couldn't be trusted to a letter or a telegram." "mr. fergus often absents himself on trips. now and then he goes to canada." "i wonder why?" asked penny alertly. "he and mr. maxwell have a hotel there, i've heard. i doubt if his trips have any particular significance." "well, at any rate, fergus brought maxwell back from riverview to help him solve some weighty problem. from their talk on the plane, i gathered they were plotting to put you out of business, mrs. downey." "i think you are right there, penny." "but why should your lodge annoy them? you could never take a large number of guests away from their hotel." "ralph fergus is trying to buy up the entire mountainside," mrs. downey declared bitterly. "he purchased the site of the old mine, and i can't see what good it will ever do the hotel." "you don't suppose there's valuable mineral--" "no," mrs. downey broke in with an amused laugh. "the mine played out years ago." "has mr. fergus tried to buy your lodge?" "he's made me two different offers. both were hardly worth considering. if he comes through with any reasonable proposition i may sell. my future plans depend a great deal upon whether or not peter jasko is willing to renew a lease on the ski slopes." "when does the lease expire, mrs. downey?" "the end of next month. i've asked mr. jasko to come and see me as soon as he can. however, i have almost no hope he'll sign a new lease." mrs. downey carried the tray to the door. there she paused to inquire: "anything i can bring you, penny? a book or a magazine?" "no, thank you. but you might give me my portable typewriter. i think i'll write a letter to dad just to remind him he still has a daughter." pulling a table to the bedside, mrs. downey placed the typewriter and paper on it before going away. penny propped herself up with pillows and rolled a blank sheet into the machine. at the top of the page she pecked out: "bulletin." after the dateline, she began in her best journalistic style, using upper case letters: "penny parker, attractive and talented daughter of anthony parker, while riding the tail of a racing bob-sled was thrown for a ten yard loss, sustaining numerous bruises. the patient is bearing her suffering with fortitude and anticipates being in circulation by glmlffls" penny stared at the last word she had written. inadvertently, her fingers had struck the wrong letters. she had intended to write "tomorrow." with an exclamation of impatience she jerked the paper from the machine. and then she studied the sentence she had typed with new interest. there was something strangely familiar about the jumbled word, glmlffls. "it looks a little like that coded message i found!" she thought excitedly. forgetting her bruises, penny rolled out of bed. she struck the floor with a moan of anguish. hobbling over to the dresser, she found the scrap of paper which she had saved, and brought it back to the bed. the third word in the message was similar, although not the same as the one she had written by accident. penny typed them one above the other. glmlffls glulffls "they're identical except for the third letter," she mused. "why, i believe i have it! you simply strike the letter directly below the true one--that is, the one in the next row of keys. and when your true letter is in the bottom row, you strike the corresponding key on the top row. that's why i wrote an m for a u!" penny was certain she had deciphered the third word of the code and that it was the same as she had written unintentionally. quickly she wrote out the entire jumbled message, and under it her translation. yl gfzky glulffls no train tomorrow "that's it!" she chortled, bounding up and down in bed. and then her elation fled away. a puzzled expression settled over her face. "i have it, only i haven't," she muttered. "what can the message mean? there are no trains at pine top--not even a railroad station. this leaves everything in a worse puzzle than before!" chapter 17 _strange sounds_ penny felt reasonably certain that she had deciphered the code correctly, but although she studied over the message for nearly an hour, she could make nothing of it. "no train tomorrow," she repeated to herself. "how silly! perhaps it means, no _plane_ tomorrow." she worked out the code a second time, checking her letters carefully. there was no mistake. later in the evening when mrs. downey stopped to inquire how she was feeling, penny asked her about the train service near pine top. "the nearest railroad is thirty miles away," replied the woman. "it is a very tedious journey to pine top unless one comes by airplane." "is the plane service under the control of the fergus-maxwell interests?" "not to my knowledge," returned mrs. downey, surprised by the question. "this same airline company sent planes here even before the fergus hotel was built, but not on a regular schedule." left alone once more, penny slipped the typewritten message under her pillow and drew a long sigh. somehow she was making no progress in any line. from whom had ralph fergus received the coded note, and what was its meaning? "i'll never learn anything lying here in bed," she murmured gloomily. "tomorrow i'll get up even if it kills me." true to her resolve, she was downstairs in time for breakfast the next morning. "oh, penny," protested mrs. downey anxiously, "don't you think you should have stayed in bed? i can tell it hurts you to walk." "i'll limber up with exercise. i may take a little hike down to the village later on." mrs. downey sadly shook her head. she thought that penny had entirely too much determination for her own good. until ten o'clock penny remained at the lodge, rather hoping that sara jasko would put in an appearance. when it was evident that the girl was not coming, she bundled herself into warm clothing and walked painfully down the mountain road. observing old peter jasko in the yard near the cabin, she did not pause but went on until she drew near the fergus hotel. "i wish i dared go in there," she thought, stopping to rest for a moment. "but i most certainly would be chased out." penny sat down on a log bench in plain view of the hostelry. forming a snowball, she tossed it at a squirrel. the animal scurried quickly to a low-hanging tree branch and chattered his violent disapproval. "brother, that's the way i feel, too," declared penny soberly. "you express my sentiments perfectly." she was still sunk in deep gloom when she heard a light step behind her. turning her head stiffly she saw maxine miller tramping through the snow toward her. "if it isn't miss parker!" the actress exclaimed with affected enthusiasm. "how delighted i am to see you again, my dear. i heard about the marvelous way you stopped the bob-sled yesterday. such courage! you deserve a medal." "i would rather have some new skin," said penny. "i imagine you do feel rather bruised and battered," the actress replied with a show of sympathy. "but how proud you must be of yourself! everyone is talking about it! as i was telling mr. jasko last night--" "you were talking with peter jasko?" broke in penny. "yes, he came to the hotel to see mr. fergus--something about a lease, i think. imagine! he hadn't heard a word about the accident, and his granddaughter was in it!" "you told him all about it i suppose?" penny asked with a moan. "yes, he was tremendously impressed. why, what is the matter? do you have a pain somewhere?" "several of them," said penny. "go on. what did mr. jasko say?" "not much of anything. he just listened. shouldn't i have told him?" "i am sorry you did, but it can't be helped now. mr. jasko doesn't like to have his granddaughter ski or take any part in winter sports." "oh, i didn't know that. then i did let the cat out of the bag. i thought he acted rather peculiar." "he was bound to have found out about it sooner or later," penny sighed. with a quick change of mood she inquired: "what's doing down at the hotel? any excitement?" "everything is about as usual. i've sold two fur coats. don't you think you might be interested in one yourself?" "i would be interested but my pocketbook wouldn't." "these coats are a marvelous bargain," miss miller declared. "why don't you at least look at them and try one on. come down to the hotel with me now and i'll arrange for you to meet my employer." "well--" penny hesitated, "could we enter the hotel by the back way?" "i suppose so," replied the actress in surprise. "you're sensitive about being crippled?" "that's right. i don't care to meet anyone i know." "we can slip into the hotel the back way, then. very few persons use the rear corridors." penny and miss miller approached the building without being observed. they entered at the back, meeting neither ralph fergus or harvey maxwell. "can you climb a flight of stairs?" the actress asked doubtfully. "oh, yes, easily. i much prefer it to the elevator." "you really walk with only a slight limp," declared miss miller. "i see no reason why you should feel so sensitive." "it's just my nature," laughed penny. "lend me your arm, and up we go." they ascended to the second floor. miss miller motioned for the girl to sit down on a sofa not far from the elevator. "you wait here and i'll bring my employer," she offered. "i'll be back in a few minutes." "who is this man?" inquired penny. the actress did not hear the question. she had turned away and was descending the stairs again to the lobby floor. for a moment or two the girl sat with her head against the back rest of the sofa, completely relaxed. the trip down the mountainside had tired her more than she had expected. she was afraid she had made a mistake in coming boldly to the hotel. if harvey maxwell caught her there he would not treat her kindly. as for seeing the fur coats, she had no intention of ever making a purchase. she had agreed to look at them because she was curious to learn the identity of miss miller's employer, as well as the nature of the proposition which might be made her. presently, penny's attention was directed to a distant sound, low and rhythmical, carrying a staccato overtone. at first the girl paid little heed to the sound. no doubt it was just another noise incidental to a large hotel--some machine connected with the cleaning services perhaps. but gradually, the sound impressed itself deeper on her mind. there was something strangely familiar about it, yet she could not make a positive identification. penny arose from the sofa and listened intently. the sound seemed to be coming from far down the left hand hall. she proceeded slowly, pausing frequently in an effort to discover whence it came. she entered a side hall and the noise increased noticeably. suddenly penny heard footsteps behind her. turning slightly she was dismayed to see ralph fergus coming toward her. for an instant she was certain he meant to eject her from the hotel. then, she realized that his head was down, and that he was paying no particular attention to her. penny kept her back turned and walked even more slowly. the man overtook her, passed without so much as bestowing a glance upon her. he went to a door which bore the number 27 and, taking a key from his pocket, fitted it into the lock. penny would have thought nothing of his act, save that as he swung back the door, the strange sound which previously had drawn her attention, increased in volume. it died away again as the door closed behind fergus. waiting a moment, penny went on down the hall and paused near the room where the hotel man had entered. she looked quickly up and down the hall. no one was in sight. moving closer, she pressed her ear to the panel. there was no sound inside the room, but as she waited, the rhythmical chugging began again. and suddenly she knew what caused it--a teletype machine! often in her father's newspaper office penny had heard that same sound and had watched the printers recording news from all parts of the country. there was no mistaking it, for she could plainly distinguish the clicking of the type against the platen, the low hum of the machine itself, the quick clang of the little bell at the end of each line of copy. "what would the hotel be doing with a teletype?" she mused. "they print no newspapers here." into penny's mind leaped a startling thought. the coded message in upper case letters which fergus had dropped in the snow! might it not have been printed by a teletype machine? "but what significance _could_ it have?" she asked herself. "from what office are the messages being sent and for what purpose?" it seemed to penny that the answer to her many questions might lie, not in the green room as she had supposed, but close at hand in number 27. her ear pressed to the panel, the girl made out a low rumble of voices above the clatter of the teletype. ralph fergus was talking with another man but she could not distinguish a word they were saying. so intent was she that she failed to hear a step behind her. a mop handle clattered to the floor, making a loud sound on the tiles. penny whirled about in confusion. a cleaning maid stood beside her, regarding her with evident though unspoken suspicion. chapter 18 _questions and clues_ "good morning," stammered penny, backing from the door. "were you wanting to get into this room?" "no, i never clean in there," answered the maid, still watching the girl with suspicion. "you're looking for someone?" penny knew that she had been observed listening at the door. it would be foolish to pretend otherwise. she answered frankly: "no, i was passing through the corridor when i heard a strange sound in this room. do you hear it?" the maid nodded and her distrustful attitude changed to one of indifference. "it's a machine of some sort," she answered. "i hear it running every once in a while." penny was afraid to loiter by the door any longer lest her own voice bring ralph fergus to investigate. as the cleaning woman picked up her mop and started on down the hall, she fell into step with her. "who occupies room 27?" she inquired casually. "no one," said the maid. "the hotel uses it." "what goes on in there anyway? i thought i heard teletype machines." the maid was unfamiliar with the technical name penny had used. "it's just a contraption that prints letters and figures," she informed. "when i first came to work at the hotel i made a mistake and went in there to do some cleaning. mr. fergus, he didn't like it and said i wasn't to bother to dust up there again." "doesn't anyone go into the room except mr. fergus?" "just him and george jewitt." "and who is he? one of the owners of the hotel?" "oh, no. george jewitt works for mr. fergus. he takes care of the machines, i guess." "you were saying that the machine prints letters and figures," prompted penny. "do you mean messages one can read?" "it was writing crazy-like when i watched it. the letters didn't make sense nohow. mr. fergus he told me the machines were being used in some experiment the hotel was carrying on." "who occupies the nearby rooms?" penny questioned. "i should think they would be disturbed by the machines." "rooms on this corridor are never assigned unless everything else is full up," the maid explained. pausing at a door, the cleaning woman fitted a master key into the lock. "there's one thing more i'm rather curious about," said penny quickly. "it's this green room i hear folks mentioning." the maid gazed at her suspiciously again. "i don't know anything about any green room," she replied. entering the bedroom with her cleaning paraphernalia, she closed the door behind her. "went a bit too far that time," thought penny, "but at least i learned a few facts of interest." turning, she retraced her steps to room 27, but she was afraid to linger there lest ralph fergus should discover her loitering in the hall. miss miller had not put in an appearance when she returned to the elevators. she decided not to wait. scribbling a brief note of explanation, penny left the paper in a corner of the sofa and hobbled down the stairway to the first floor. she let herself out the back way without attracting undue attention. safely in the open once more she retreated to her bench under the ice-coated trees. "i need to give this whole problem a good think," she told herself. "here i have a number of perfectly good clues but they don't fit together. i'm almost as far from getting evidence against fergus and maxwell as i was at the start." penny could not understand why the hotel would have need for teletype machine service. such machines were used in newspaper offices, for railroad communication, brokerage service, and occasionally in very large plants with widely separated branch offices. suddenly she recalled that her father had once told her mr. maxwell kept in touch with his chain of hotels by means of such a wire service. surely it was an expensive and unnecessary means of communication. the cleaning woman's information that messages came through in unintelligible form convinced penny a code was being used--a code to which she had the key. but why did maxwell and fergus find it necessary to employ one? if their messages concerned only the routine operation of the various hotels in the chain, there would be no need for secrecy. the one message she had interpreted--"no train tomorrow"--undoubtedly had been received by teletype transmission. but penny could not hazard a guess as to its true meaning. she feared it might be in double code, and that the words did not have the significance usually attributed to them. "if only i could get into room 27 and get my hands on additional code messages i might be able to make something out of it," she mused. "the problem is how to do it without being caught." penny had not lost interest in the green room. she was inclined to believe that its mystery was closely associated with the communication system of the hotel. but since, for the time being at least, the problem of penetrating beyond the guarded green door seemed unsolvable, she thought it wiser to center her sleuthing attack elsewhere. "all i can do for the next day or so is to keep an eye on ralph fergus and harvey maxwell," she told herself. "if i see a chance to get inside room 27 i'll take it." penny arose with a sigh. she would not be likely to have such a chance unless she made it for herself. and in her present battered state, her mind somehow refused to invent clever schemes. the walk back up the mountain road was a long and tiring one. finally reaching the lodge after many pauses for rest, penny stood for a time watching the skiers, and then entered the house. mrs. downey was not in the kitchen. hearing voices from the living room, penny went to the doorway and paused there. the hotel woman was talking with a visitor, old peter jasko. "oh, i'm sorry," penny apologized for her intrusion. she started to retreat. peter jasko saw her and the muscles of his leathery face tightened. pushing back his chair he got quickly to his feet. "you're the one who has been trespassing on my land!" he accused, his voice unsteady from anger. "you've been helping my granddaughter disobey my orders!" taken by surprise, penny could think of nothing to say in her own defense. after his first outburst, peter jasko ignored the girl. turning once more to mrs. downey he said in a rasping voice: "you have my final decision, ma'am. i shall not renew the lease." "please, mr. jasko," mrs. downey argued quietly. "think what this means to me! if i lose the ski slopes i shall be compelled to give up the lodge. i've already offered you more than i can afford to pay." "money ain't no object," the old man retorted. "i'm against the whole proposition." "nothing i can say will make you reconsider?" "nothing, ma'am." picking up his cap, a ridiculous looking affair with ear muffs, peter jasko brushed past penny and went out the door. chapter 19 _peter jasko serves notice_ after the old man had gone, penny spoke apologetically to mrs. downey. "oh, i'm so sorry! i ruined everything, coming in just when i did." mrs. downey sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring out the window after the retreating figure of peter jasko. "no, it wasn't your fault, penny." "he was angry at me because i've been helping sara get in and out of the cabin. i never should have done it." "perhaps not," agreed mrs. downey, "but it would have made no difference in regard to the lease. i've been expecting jasko's decision. even so, it comes as a blow. this last week i had been turning ideas over in my mind, trying to think of a way i could keep on here. now everything is settled." penny crossed the room and slipped an arm about the woman's shoulders. "i'm as sorry as i can be." with a sudden change of mood, mrs. downey arose and gave penny's hand an affectionate squeeze. "losing the lodge won't mean the end of the world," she said lightly. "while i may not be able to sell the place for a very good price now that the ski slopes are gone, i'll at least get something from mr. maxwell. and i have a small income derived from my husband's insurance policy." "where will you go if you leave here?" "i haven't given that part any thought," admitted mrs. downey. "i may do a little traveling. i have a sister in texas i might visit." "you'll be lonesome for pine top." "yes," admitted mrs. downey, "this place will always seem like home to me. and i've lived a busy, useful life for so many years it will be hard to let go." "possibly peter jasko will reconsider his decision." mrs. downey smiled and shook her head. "not peter. i've known him for many years, although i can't say i ever became acquainted with him. once he makes a stand nothing can sway him." "is he entirely right in his mind?" penny asked dubiously. "oh, yes. he's peculiar, that's all. and he's getting old." despite mrs. downey's avowal that no one was responsible for peter jasko's decision, penny considered herself at fault. she could not blame the old man for being provoked because she had helped his granddaughter escape from the cabin. "if i went down there and apologized it might do some good," she thought. "at least, nothing will be lost by trying." penny turned the plan over in her mind, saying nothing about it to mrs. downey. it seemed to her that the best way would be to wait for a few hours until peter jasko had been given an opportunity to get over his anger. the afternoon dragged on slowly. toward nightfall, finding confinement intolerable, penny ventured out-of-doors to try her skis. she was thrilled to discover that she could use them without too much discomfort. going to the kitchen window, she called to mrs. downey that she intended to do a little skiing and might be late for dinner. "oh, penny, you're not able," the woman protested, raising the sash. "it's only your determination which drives you on." "i'm feeling much better," insisted penny. "i want to go down the mountain and see sara." "it will be a hard climb back," warned mrs. downey. "and the radio reported another bad storm coming." "that's why i want to go now," answered penny. "we may be snowbound by tomorrow." "well, if you must go, don't overtax your strength," cautioned mrs. downey. penny wrapped a woolen scarf tightly about her neck as a protection against the biting wind. cautiously, she skied down the trail, finding its frozen surface treacherous, and scarcely familiar. in the rapidly gathering dusk nothing looked exactly the same as by daylight. trees towered like unfriendly giants, obscuring the path. before penny had covered half the distance to jasko's cabin, snowflakes, soft and damp, began to fall. they came faster and faster, the wind whirling them directly into her face. she kept her head down and wished that she had remained by the crackling log fire at the downey lodge. swinging out of the forest, penny was hard pressed to remember the trail. as she hesitated, trying to decide which way to go, she felt her skis slipping along a downgrade where none should have been. too late, she realized that she was heading down into a deep ravine which terminated in an ice-sheeted river below. throwing herself flat, penny sought to save herself, but she kept sliding, sliding. a stubby evergreen at last stayed her fall. she clung helplessly to it for a moment, recovering her breath. then she tried to pull herself up the steep incline. she slipped and barely caught hold of the bush to save herself from another bad fall. sharp pains shot through her side. "now i've fixed myself for sure," she thought. "how will i ever get out of this hole?" the ravine offered protection from the chill wind, but the snow was sifting down steadily. penny could feel her clothing becoming thoroughly soaked. if she should lie still she soon would freeze. again penny tried to struggle up the bank, and again she slid backwards. from sheer desperation rather than because she cherished a hope that anyone would hear, penny shouted for help. an answering halloo echoed to her through the trees. penny dared not hope that the voice was other than her own. "help! help!" she called once more. her heart leaped. the cry which came back definitely belonged to a man! and as she marveled at the miracle of a rescue, a dark figure loomed up at the rim of the ravine. a gruff voice called to her: "hold on! don't try to move! i'll get a rope and be back!" the man faded back into the darkness. penny clung to the bush until it seemed her arms would break. snow fell steadily, caking her hood and penetrating the woolen suit. then as the girl lost all awareness of time, she caught the flash of a lighted lantern. her rescuer appeared again at the top of the ravine and lowered a rope. she grasped it, wrapping it tightly about her wrist, and climbed as best she could while the man pulled from above. at last penny reached the top, falling in an exhausted heap on the snow. raising her head she stared into the face of her rescuer. the man was peter jasko. he recognized her at the same instant. "you!" he exclaimed. for one disturbing moment penny thought the old man meant to push her back down into the yawning ravine. in the yellow glow of the lantern, the expression of his face was terrifying. gaining control of himself, peter jasko demanded gruffly: "hurt?" "i've twisted my ankle." penny pulled herself up from the ground, took a step, and recoiled with pain. "let me have a look at it." jasko bent down and examined the ankle. "no bones broken," he said. "you're luckier than you deserve. any fool who doesn't know enough to keep off skis ought to be crippled for life!" "such a cheerful philosophy," observed penny ironically. "well, thanks anyhow for saving me. even if you are sorry you did it." the old man made no immediate reply. he stood gazing down at penny. "reckon i owe you something," he said grudgingly. "sara told me how you kept the bob-sled from going off the track. injured yourself, too, didn't you?" "yes." "you had no business helping sara go against my will," the old man said, his anger rising again. "i told you to stay away, didn't i?" "you did. i was sorry to disobey your orders, mr. jasko, but i think you are unjust to your granddaughter." "you do, eh?" "and you're not being fair to mrs. downey either," penny went on courageously. "she's struggled for years to make her lodge profitable, fought against overwhelming odds while the fergus interests have done everything they can to put her out of business. unless you renew her lease, she'll be forced to leave pine top." "so?" inquired the old man, unmoved. "she's fighting with her back to the wall. and now you've dealt her the final blow." "no one asked mrs. downey to come here in the first place," replied peter jasko. "or them other hotel people either. pine top can get along without the lot of 'em. the sooner they all clear out the better i'll like it." "i'm sure of that," said penny. "you don't care how much trouble you cause other folks. because of your own son's death you have taken an unnatural attitude toward skiing. you hate everything remotely connected with the sport. but it isn't fair. your granddaughter has a right to a certain amount of freedom." peter jasko listened to the girl's words in silence. when she had finished he said in a strangely shaken voice: "my son met his death going on ten years ago. it was on this trail--" "i'm sorry," penny said contritely. "i shouldn't have spoken the way i did. actually, i was on my way down the mountain to tell you i deeply regret helping sara to go against your will." "my granddaughter is headstrong," the old man replied slowly. "i want what's best for her. that's why i've tried to protect her." "i'm sure you've done what you thought was right," penny returned. "why don't you see mrs. downey again and--" "no!" said the old man stubbornly. "you can't say anything which will make me change my mind. take my arm and see if you can walk!" penny struggled forward, supported by jasko's strong arm. although each step sent a wracking pain through her leg she made no sound of protest. "you can't make it that way," the old man declared, pausing. "i'll have to fix up a sled and pull you." going back for penny's skis which had been left at the top of the ravine, he lashed them together. she lay full length on the runners, and he towed her until they came within view of the cabin. a light glowed in the window. on level ground, penny tried walking again, and managed to reach the cabin door. "you go on inside," the old man directed. "i'll hitch up the bob-sled and take you home." penny pushed open the door only to hesitate on the threshold. the room was filled with tobacco smoke. two men sat at the table, and directly behind them stood sara jasko. the girl came swiftly to the door. she gave penny a warm smile of welcome, not noticing that she had been hurt, and said anxiously to mr. jasko: "grandfather, you have visitors. mr. fergus and mr. maxwell are waiting to see you. i think it's about the lease." "i've nothing to say to them," returned the old man grimly. nevertheless, he followed the two girls into the room, closing the door against the wind and snow. the situation was an awkward one for penny. ralph fergus and harvey maxwell both stared at her with undisguised dislike and suspicion. then, the former arose, and ignoring her entirely, stepped forward to meet the old man, his hand extended. "good evening, sir," he said affably. "mr. maxwell and i have a little business to discuss with you, if you can spare us a moment." peter jasko ignored the offered hand. "i haven't changed my mind since the last time we talked," he said. "i'm not signing any lease!" penny scarcely heard the words for she was staring beyond ralph fergus at his overcoat which hung over the vacated chair. the garment was light brown and the top button, a large one of the same color, had been torn from the cloth. shifting her gaze, penny glanced at sara. the girl nodded her head slowly up and down. she, too, had made the important observation, and was thinking the same thought. there could be little doubt of it--ralph fergus was the man who had weakened the brake rod of their bob-sled! chapter 20 _visitors_ "may we see you alone, mr. jasko?" requested ralph fergus. "i don't reckon there's any need for being so all-fired private," the old man retorted, his hand on the doorknob. "if you want to talk with me speak your piece right out. i got to hitch up the team." mr. fergus and his companion, harvey maxwell, glanced coldly toward penny who had sunk down into a chair and was massaging her ankle. they were reluctant to reveal their business before her but there was no other way. "we can't talk with you very well while you're poised for flight, mr. jasko," ralph fergus said placatingly. "my friend, maxwell, has prepared a paper which he would like to have you look over." "i'm not signin' anything!" "good for you, grandfather!" muttered sara under her breath. the two men pretended not to hear. mr. maxwell took a folded document from his pocket and spread it out on the kitchen table. "will you just read this, please, mr. jasko? you'll find our terms are more than generous." "i ain't interested in your terms," he snapped. "i'm aimin' to keep every acre of my land." "we're not asking you to sell, only to lease," mr. fergus interposed smoothly. "now we understand that your deal with mrs. downey has fallen through, so there's no reason why you shouldn't lease the ski slopes to us. we are prepared to offer you twice the amount she proposed to give you." mr. jasko stubbornly shook his head. "you're taking a very short-sighted attitude," said ralph fergus, beginning to lose patience. "at least read the paper." "no." "think what this would mean to your granddaughter," interposed harvey maxwell. "pretty clothes, school in the city perhaps--" "don't listen to them, grandfather," spoke sara quickly. "i have enough clothes. and pine top school suits me." "you're wastin' your time and mine," said peter jasko. "i ain't leasing my land to anybody." "we're only asking you to sign a three-year lease--" mr. fergus argued. "can't you understand plain language?" the old man cried. "you think money will buy everything, but you got another guess coming. i've seen enough skiing at pine top and i aim to put a stop to it!" "it's no use," said harvey maxwell resignedly to his companion. ralph fergus picked up the paper and thrust it into his overcoat pocket. "you're an old fool, jasko!" he muttered. "don't you dare speak that way to my grandfather!" sara cried, her eyes stormy. "you had your nerve coming here anyway, after that trick you tried!" "trick?" "you deliberately weakened the brake rod of our bob-sled." ralph fergus laughed in the girl's face. "you're as touched as your grandfather," he said. "perhaps you can explain what became of the top button of your overcoat," suggested penny coming to sara's support. "and don't try to tell us it's home in your sewing basket!" ralph fergus' hand groped at the vacant spot on his coat. "what does a button have to do with the bob-sled accident?" inquired harvey maxwell. "it happens that we found a large brown button in the tool house at the downey lodge," replied penny. "also a little additional evidence which rather suggests mr. fergus is the one who tampered with the bob-sled." "ridiculous!" protested the hotel man. "i've not even been near mrs. downey's lodge in weeks." "i know that's a lie," said peter jasko. "i saw you goin' up that way friday night." "and you went there to damage the bob-sled!" sara accused. "you didn't care how many persons might be injured in an accident!" ralph fergus' face was an angry red. "what reason would i have for doing anything like that?" he demanded. "guests were being drawn from your hotel because bob-sledding was increasing in popularity," said penny quietly. "nothing would please you more than to put mrs. downey out of business." "aren't you drawing rather sweeping conclusions?" inquired harvey maxwell in an insolent tone. "a button isn't very certain evidence. so many persons wear buttons, you know." "i lost this one from my coat weeks ago," added ralph fergus. "it was your button we found," sara accused. peter jasko had been listening intently to the argument, taking little part in it. but now, with a quick movement which belied his age, he moved across the kitchen toward the gun rack on the wall. "let's be getting out of here," muttered harvey maxwell. he and ralph fergus both bolted out of the door. their sudden flight delighted sara who broke into a fit of laughter. "why don't you shoot once or twice into the air just to give 'em a good fright?" she asked her grandfather. the old man, shotgun in hand, had followed the two men to the door. but he did not shoot. "grandfather wouldn't hurt a flea really," chuckled sara. "at least, not unless it was trying to make him sign something." "ralph fergus acted guilty, all right," declared penny, bending down to massage her injured ankle. "but it may have been a mistake for us to accuse him." "i couldn't help it," answered sara. "when i saw that button missing from his coat, i had to say something about it." peter jasko put away his shotgun, turning once more to the door. "i'll hitch up the team," he said. "sara, get some liniment and see what you can do for miss parker's ankle." "your ankle?" gasped sara, staring at penny. "have you hurt yourself again?" "i managed to fall into the ravine a few minutes ago. your grandfather saved me." sara darted to the stove to get a pan of warm water. she stripped off penny's woolen stockings and examined the foot as she soaked it. "i suppose this will put me on the shelf for another day or so," penny observed gloomily. "but i'm lucky i didn't break my neck." "the ankle is swollen," sara said, "i'll wrap it with a bandage and that may make it feel better." with a practiced hand she wound strips of gauze and adhesive tape about the ankle. "there, how does it feel now?" "much better," said penny. "thanks a lot. i--i feel rather mean to put your grandfather to so much trouble, especially after the way i've crossed him." "oh, don't you worry about grandfather," laughed sara. "he likes you, penny." "he _likes_ me?" "i could tell by the way he acted tonight. he respects a person who stands up to him." "i said some rather unnecessary things," penny declared regretfully. "i was provoked because he wouldn't sign a lease with mrs. downey. after hearing what he said to fergus and maxwell i realize nothing will sway him." sara sighed as she helped her friend put on her shoe again. "i'm afraid not. i'll do what i can to influence him, but i can tell you now he'll never listen to me. grandfather is just the way he is, and one can't budge him an inch." peter jasko soon had the team hitched to the bob-sled. he and sara helped penny in, wrapping blankets around her so that she would be snug and warm during the ride up the mountain. "come down again whenever you can," invited sara. "only the next time don't try it after dark if you're on skis." penny glanced at the old man, but his face showed no displeasure. apparently, he no longer regarded her as an interloper. "i'll come as soon as i can," she replied. peter jasko clucked to the horses, and the sled moved away from the cabin. sara stood in the doorway until it was out of sight. during the slow ride up the mountain side, the old man did not speak. but as they came at last to the downey lodge, and he lifted her from the sled, he actually smiled. "i reckon it won't do any good to lock sara up after this," he said. "you're both too smart for an old codger like me." "thank you, mr. jasko," answered penny, her eyes shining. "thank you for everything." the door of the lodge had opened, and mrs. downey, a coat thrown over her shoulders, hurried out into the snow. not wishing to be drawn into a conversation, jasko leaped back into the sled, and with a curt, "good evening," drove away. with mrs. downey's help, penny hobbled into the house, and there related her latest misadventure. "i declare, you'll be in the hospital yet," sighed the woman. "i feel tempted to adopt mr. jasko's tactics and lock you up in your room." "i'll stay there without being locked in," declared penny. "i've had enough skiing to last me until christmas at least." in the morning she felt so stiff and battered that she could barely get out of bed. however, her ankle was somewhat better and when occasion demanded, she could hobble across the room without support. "you ought to be all right in a day or so if only you'll stay off your foot and give it a chance to get well," declared mrs. downey. "it's hard to sit still," sighed penny. "there are so many things i ought to be doing." from the kitchen window she could see the fergus hotel far down in the valley. she was impatient to pay another visit there, although she realized that after the previous evening's encounter with ralph fergus and harvey maxwell, it would be more difficult than ever to gain admittance. "somehow i must manage to get into room 27 and learn what is going on there," she thought. "but how? that is the question!" ever an active, energetic person, penny became increasingly restless as the day dragged on. during mid-afternoon, observing that jake had hitched up the team to the sled, she inquired if he were driving down to pine top. "yes, i am sending him after supplies," explained mrs. downey. "and the newspapers--if there are any." "i wish i could go along for the ride." mrs. downey regarded penny skeptically. "oh, i wouldn't get out of the sled," penny said. "is that a promise?" "i'll make it one. nothing less than a fire or an earthquake will get me out." jake brought the sled to the door, and helped the girl into it. the day was cold. snow fell steadily. mrs. downey tucked warm bricks at penny's feet and wrapped her snugly in woolen blankets. the ride down the mountainside was without event. penny began to regret that she had made the trip, for the weather was more unpleasant than she had anticipated. she burrowed deeper and deeper into the blankets. jake pulled up at a hitching post in front of pine top's grocery store. "it won't take me long," he said. penny climbed down in the bottom of the sled, rearranging her blankets so that only her eyes and forehead were exposed to the cold. she had been sitting there for some minutes when her attention was drawn to a man who was approaching from far down the street. recognizing him as ralph fergus, she watched with interest. at the drugstore he paused. as if by prearrangement, benny smith came out of the building. penny was too far away to hear their exchange of words, but she saw the boy give all of his newspapers to ralph fergus. in return, he received a bill which she guessed might be of fairly high denomination. "probably five dollars," she thought. "the boy sells all his papers to fergus because he can make more that way than by peddling them one by one. and he's paid to keep quiet about it." penny was not especially surprised to discover that the hotel man was buying up all the papers, for she had suspected he was behind the trick. "there's no law against it," she told herself. "that's the trouble. fergus and maxwell are clever. so far they've done nothing which could possibly get them into legal trouble." presently jake came out of the grocery store, carrying a large box of supplies which he stowed in the sled. "i'll get the papers and then we'll be ready to start." "don't bother," said penny. "there aren't any. i just saw ralph fergus buy them all from the boy." "fergus, eh? and he's been puttin' it out that the papers never caught the plane!" "it was just another one of his little tricks to make mrs. downey's guests dissatisfied." "now we know what he's about we'll put a stop to it!" "yes," agreed penny, "but he'll only think of something new to try." as they started back toward the downey lodge, she was quiet, turning over various matters in her mind. since mrs. downey had decided to sell her business, it scarcely seemed to matter what ralph fergus did. the sled drew near the jasko cabin and passed it, turning a bend in the road. suddenly penny thought she heard her name called. glancing back she was startled to see sara jasko running after the sled. "wait, jake!" penny commanded. "it's sara! something seems to be wrong!" chapter 21 _old peter's disappearance_ "whoa!" shouted jake, pulling on the reins. the horses brought the heavy sled to a halt at the side of the road. sara, breathless from running so fast, hurried up. "i'm worried about grandfather," she gasped out. "he isn't sick?" penny asked quickly, "no, but i haven't seen him since early this morning. he went to chop wood at hatter's place up the mountain. he expected to be back in time for lunch but he hasn't returned." "he'll likely be along soon," said jake. "oh, you don't know grandfather," declared sara, her forehead wrinkling with anxiety. "he always does exactly as he says he will do. he never would have stayed away this long unless something had happened. he's getting on in years and i'm afraid--" "jake, couldn't we go up to hatter's place, wherever it is?" penny urged. "sure. it's not far from mrs. downey's." "let me ride with you," sara requested. "i'm sorry to cause you any trouble, but i have a feeling something is wrong." "jump in," invited jake. sara climbed into the back of the sled, snuggling down in the blankets beside penny. "grandfather may have hurt himself with the ax," she said uneasily. "or he could have suffered a stroke. the doctor says he has a touch of heart-trouble, but he never will take care of himself." "we'll probably find him safe and sound," penny declared in a comforting way. jake stirred the horses to greater activity. in a short while the sled passed the downey grounds and went on to the hatter farm. sara sprang out to unlock the wooden gate which barred entrance to a narrow, private road. "i see grandfather's sled!" she exclaimed. without waiting for jake to drive through the gate, she ran on down the road. hearing her cry of alarm, the man urged his horses on. reaching the clearing, penny and jake saw sara gazing about in bewilderment. peter jasko's team had been tied to a tree and the sled box was half filled with wood. an ax lay in the deep snow close by. but there was no sign of the old man. "where is grandfather?" sara asked in a dazed voice. she called his name several times. hearing no answer, she ran deeper into the woods. jake leaped from the sled and joined in the search. penny could not bear to sit helplessly by. deciding that the emergency was equal to an earthquake or a fire, she eased herself down from the sled. steadily falling snow had obliterated all tracks save those made by the new arrivals. there was no clue to indicate whether peter jasko had left the scene of his own free will or had been the possible victim of violence. jake and sara searched at the edge of the woods and returned to the clearing to report no success. "maybe your granddad went up to hatter's place to get warm," the man suggested. "he never would have left his horses without blanketing them," answered sara. "but let's go there and inquire. someone may have seen grandfather." they drove the bob-sled on through the woods to an unpainted farm house. claud hatter himself opened the door, and in response to sara's anxious question, he told her that he had seen peter jasko drive into the place early that morning. "you didn't see him go away?" sara asked. "no, but come to think of it, i noticed a car turn into the road. must have been about ten o'clock this morning." "what sort of car?" the man could give no additional information, for he had not paid particular attention to the automobile. however, he pulled on his heavy coat and boots, offering to help organize a searching party. sara and penny remained at the farm house, but as it became evident that the old man would not be found quickly, jake returned and took the girls down the mountain to the downey lodge. "what could have happened to grandfather?" sara repeated over and over. "i can't believe he became dazed and wandered away." "i wish we knew who came in the car," said penny. "that might explain a lot." "you--you think grandfather met with violence?" "i hope not," replied penny earnestly. "but it seems very queer. did your grandfather have enemies?" "he antagonizes many folks without meaning to do so. however, i can't think of anyone at pine top who could be called an actual enemy." by nightfall the searching party had grown in size. nearly every male resident of pine top joined in the hunt for peter jasko. even the fergus hotel sent two employes to help comb the mountainside for the missing old man. sara, nearly in a state of collapse, was put to bed by mrs. downey, who kept telling the girl over and over that she must not worry. in speaking with penny, the woman was far from optimistic. she expressed a doubt that peter jasko ever would be found alive. "he may have wandered off and fallen into a crevasse." "i am inclined to think he may have been spirited away by whoever came up the private road in that car," commented penny. "i can't imagine anyone bothering to kidnap peter jasko," returned mrs. downey. "he has no money." "it does sound rather fantastic, i admit. especially in broad daylight. you didn't notice any automobile on the main road this morning did you?" "only the fergus hotel delivery truck. but i was busy. a dozen might have passed without my noticing them." at nine o'clock jake came to the lodge with a discouraging report. no trace of peter jasko had been found. the search would continue throughout the night. "which way are you going?" penny inquired as the man started to leave the house again. "up the mountain or down?" "down," he returned. "i'm joining a party at jasko's own place. we aim to start combing the woods on his farm next." "may i ride with you?" she requested. "i want to go down to the fergus hotel." "penny, your ankle--" protested mrs. downey. "i can get around on it," penny said hurriedly. "see!" she hobbled across the floor to prove her words. "and this is important. i want to see someone at the hotel." "so late at night?" "it really is important," penny declared. "please say i may go." "very well," agreed mrs. downey reluctantly. jake took penny all the way to the hotel. "shall i help you inside?" he asked. "oh, no," she declined hurriedly. "i'll make it fine from here." after jake had driven back up the road, penny limped around to the back entrance of the hotel. she stood for several minutes staring up at the dark windows of the second floor. "i believe ralph fergus and harvey maxwell know plenty about jasko's disappearance," she thought. "but how to prove it?" on the parking lot only a few steps away stood the fergus hotel delivery truck. penny hobbled over to it, and opened the rear door. she swept the beam of her flashlight over the floor. at first glance the car appeared to be empty save for several cardboard boxes. then she saw a heavy, fleece-lined glove lying on the floor half hidden by the containers. she picked it up, examined it briefly and stuffed it into the pocket of her snowsuit. "i remember peter jasko wore a glove very much like this!" she thought. softly closing the truck door, penny went back to the rear of the hotel. the lower hall was deserted so she slipped inside, and followed the stairway to the second floor. she tried the door of room 27 and discovered it was locked. "i was afraid of this," penny muttered. hesitating a moment she went on down the hall. opening another door, the one which bore no number, she saw that she was to be blocked again in her investigation. the familiar guard sat at his usual post beside the door of the green room. retreating without drawing attention to herself, penny debated her next action. unless she found a way to enter one of those two rooms of mystery, her night would be wasted. moving softly down the hall, she paused to test the door to the right of room 27. to her astonishment, it swung open when she turned the knob. the room was dark and deserted. penny stepped inside, closing the door behind her. her flashlight beam disclosed only a dusty, bare bedroom, its sole furnishing a thickly padded carpet. going to the window, penny raised it and gazed at the wide ledge which she had noted from below. if she had perfect balance, if the window of room 27 were unlocked, if her lame ankle did not let her down, she _might_ be able to span the distance! it would be dangerous and she must run the risk of being observed by persons on the grounds of the hotel. penny gazed down at the frozen yard far below and shuddered. "i've been pretty lucky in my falls so far," she thought. "but i have a feeling if i slip this time it will be my last." penny pulled herself through the window. as the full force of the wind struck her body, threatening to hurl her from her precarious perch, she nearly lost her courage. she clung to the sill for a moment, and then without daring to look down, inched her way along the ledge. reaching the other window in safety, she tried to push it up. for a dreadful instant, penny was certain she could not. but it gave so suddenly she nearly lost her balance. holding desperately to the sill, she recovered, and raised the window. penny dropped lightly through the opening into the dark room. pains were shooting through her ankle, but so great was her excitement she scarcely was aware of any discomfort. she flashed her light about the room. as she had suspected, there were two teletype machines, neither of which was in operation. a chair had been pulled up to a direct-keyboard machine similar to one penny had seen in her father's newspaper office. save for a wooden table the room contained nothing else. penny went over to the machines and focused her light upon the paper in the rollers. it was blank. "this is maddening!" she thought. "i take a big risk to get in here and what do i find--nothing!" footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway. penny remained perfectly still, expecting the person to pass on. instead, the noise ceased altogether and a key grated in the door lock. in panic, penny glanced frantically about. she could not hope to get out the window in time to escape detection. the only available hiding place was a closet. switching off her light, penny opened the door. stepping inside, she closed it softly behind her. chapter 22 _the secret stairs_ in the darkness, penny felt something soft and covered with fur brush against her face. she recoiled, nearly screaming in terror. recovering her poise and realizing that she had merely touched a garment which hung in the closet, she flattened herself against the wall and waited. the outside door opened and soft footsteps approached the wall switches. lights flashed on. a tall, swarthy man in a gray business suit blinked at the sudden flood of illumination. after a moment he stepped over to the teletype machines, and throwing a switch, started them going. sitting down to the keyboard he tapped out a message. then he lit a cigarette and waited. in a few minutes his answer came, typed out from some distant station. the man ripped the copy from the machine and read it carefully. its contents seemed to please him for he smiled broadly as he arose from the chair, leaving the teletypes still running. penny froze with fear when she heard the man stride toward the closet where she had hidden herself. instinctively, she burrowed back behind the fur garments which her groping hands encountered. the door was flung open and light flooded into the closet. however, the teletype attendant seemed to have no suspicion that anyone might be hiding there. he pressed a button on the wall and then heaved against the partition with his shoulder. the section of wall, suspended on a pivot, slowly revolved. after the man had passed through, it swung back into its original position. penny waited several minutes and then came out of her hiding place. she flung open the closet door to admit more light. "just as i thought!" she muttered. the closet, a long narrow room, was hung solidly with fur coats! "so maxine miller was working for the hotel interests after all," penny told herself. "i've stumbled into something big!" groping along the wall of the storage room, she found a switch and pressed it. again the partition revolved, revealing a flight of stairs leading downward. she slipped through and the wall slid into place behind her. the stairway was lighted with only one weak electric bulb. penny's body cast a grotesque shadow as she cautiously descended. there were so many steps that she decided they must lead to a basement in the hotel. she reached the bottom at last and followed a narrow sloping tunnel, past a large refrigerated vault which she reasoned must contain a vast supply of additional furs, and kept on until a blast of cool air struck her face. penny drew up sharply. directly ahead, at a bend in the tunnel, sat an armed guard. he was reading a newspaper in the dim light, holding it very close to the glaring bulb above his chair. penny dared go no farther. quietly retreating the way she had come, she stole back up the long stairway. at the top landing she found herself confronted with a blank wall. after groping about for several minutes, her hand encountered a tiny switch similar to the one on the opposite side of the partition. she pressed it, and the wall section revolved. letting herself out of the storage closet, penny started toward the door, only to pause as she heard one of the teletypes thumping out a message. she crossed over to the machine and stood waiting until the line had been finished and a bell jingled. the words were unintelligible in jumbled typewriting, and penny had no time to work out the code. tearing the copy paper neatly across, she thrust it in the pocket of her jacket. fearing that at any moment the printer attendant might return, penny dared linger no longer. she went to the door but to her surprise it would not open. "probably a special trick catch which automatically locks whenever closed," she thought. "the only way to get in or out is with a key, and i haven't one. that means i'll have to risk my neck again." going to the window she raised it and looked down. all was clear below. two courses lay open to her. she could return the way she had come through the hotel, or she might edge along the shelf past two other windows to the fire escape, and thence to the ground. either way was fraught with danger. "if i should happen to meet ralph fergus or harvey maxwell, i might not get away with my information," penny decided. "i'll try the fire-escape." closing the window behind her, she flattened herself along the building wall, and moved cautiously along the ledge. she passed the first room in safety. then, as she was about to crawl past the second, the square of window suddenly flared with light. for a dreadful moment penny thought that she had been seen. she huddled against the wall and waited. nothing happened. at last, regaining her courage, she dared to peep into the lighted room. two men stood with their backs to the window, but she recognized them as harvey maxwell and ralph fergus. penny received a distinct shock as her gaze wandered to the third individual who sat in a chair by the bed. the man was old peter jasko. a low rumble of voices reached the girl's ears. harvey maxwell was speaking: "well, jasko, have you thought it over? are you ready to sign the lease?" "i'll have the law on you, if i ever get out of here!" the old man said spiritedly. "you're keepin' me against my will." "you'll stay here, jasko, until you come to your senses. we need that land, and we mean to have it. understand?" "you won't get me to sign, not if you keep me here all night," mr. jasko muttered. "not if you keep me a year!" "you may change your mind after you learn what we can do," said harvey maxwell suavely. "you aim to starve me, i reckon." "oh, no, nothing so crude as that, my dear fellow. in fact, we shall treat you most kindly. doctor corbin will be here presently to examine you." "doctor corbin! that old quack from morgantown! what are you bringing him here for?" harvey maxwell smiled and tapped his head significantly. "to give you a mental examination. you are known to the good people of pine top as a very peculiar fellow, so i doubt if anyone will question doctor corbin's verdict." "you mean, you're aimin' to have me adjudged insane?" peter jasko asked incredulously. "exactly. how else can one explain your fanatical hatred of skiing, your blind rages, your antagonism to the more progressive interests? while it will be a pity to bring disgrace upon your charming granddaughter, there is no other way." "not unless you decide to sign," added ralph fergus. "we're more than reasonable. we're willing to pay you a fair price for the lease, more than the land is worth. but we want it, see? and what we want we take." "you're a couple of thievin', stealin' crooks!" peter jasko shouted. "not so loud, and be careful of your words," harvey maxwell warned. "or the gag goes on again." "which do you prefer," fergus went on. "a tidy little sum of money, or the asylum?" peter jasko maintained a sullen silence, glaring at the two hotel men. "the doctor will be here at ten-thirty," said harvey maxwell, looking at his watch. "you will have less than a half hour to decide." "my mind's made up now! you won't get anyone to believe your cock and bull story. i'll tell 'em you brought me here and held me prisoner--" "and no one will believe you," smiled maxwell. "we'll give out that you came to the hotel and started running amuck. dozens of employes will confirm the story." "for that matter, i'm not sure you don't belong in an asylum," muttered fergus. "only a man who isn't in his right mind would turn down the liberal proposition we've made you." "i deal with no scoundrels!" the old man defied them. harvey maxwell looked at his watch again. "you have exactly twenty-five minutes in which to make up your mind, jasko. we'll leave you alone to think it over." fergus trussed up the old man's hands and placed a gag in his mouth. then the two hotel men left the room, turning out the light and locking the door behind them. chapter 23 _rescue_ after the door had closed there was no further sound for a moment. then in the darkness penny heard a choked sob. moving closer to the window she tried to raise it. failing, she tapped lightly on the pane. pressing her lips close to the glass she called softly: "don't be afraid, mr. jasko! keep up your courage! i'll find a way to get you out!" the old man could not answer so she had no way of knowing whether or not he heard her words. moving back along the ledge she reached another window, and upon testing it was elated to find that it could be raised up. she climbed through, lowered it behind her and hastened to the door. quietly letting herself out, she went down the deserted hall to the next door. without a key she could not hope to get inside. for a fleeting instant she wondered if she were not making a mistake by delaying in starting after the authorities. "i never could get back here in time," she told herself. "maxwell will return in twenty-five minutes with the doctor, possibly earlier. jasko may sign the paper before help could reach him." penny was at a loss to know how to aid the old man. as she stood debating, the cleaning woman whom she had seen upon another occasion, came down the hall. the girl determined upon a bold move. "i wonder if you could help me?" she said, going to meet the woman. "i've locked myself out of my room. do you have a master key?" "yes, it will unlock most of the bedrooms." "the doors on this floor?" "all except number 27." penny took a two dollar bill from her jacket pocket and thrust it into the woman's hand. "here, take this, and let me have the key." "i can't give it to you," the woman protested. "show me your room and i'll unlock it for you." "we're standing in front of it now. number 29." the woman stared. "but these rooms aren't usually given out, miss." "i assure you number 29 is very much occupied," replied penny. "unlock it, please." the woman hesitated, and finally inserted the key in the lock. "thank you," said penny as she heard the latch click. "no, keep the two dollars. you are welcome to it." she waited until the maid had gone on down the hall before letting herself into the dark room. groping for the electric switch, she turned it on. "mr. jasko, you know me," she whispered as the old man blinked and stared at her almost stupidly. "i'm going to get you out of here." she jerked the gag from his mouth, and unfastened the cords which bound his wrists. "we don't dare go through the hotel lest we be seen," she told him. "i think we may be able to get out by means of the fire escape. if luck is only with us--" making certain that the coast was clear, penny led the old man down the hall to a room which she knew would be opposite the fire escape. she was afraid it would be locked, but to her intense relief it had not been secured. only a minute was required to cross the room, raise the window and help peter jasko through it. "i can't come with you," she said. "i have something else to do. now listen closely. i want you to go to pine top as fast as you can and bring the sheriff or the police or whoever it is that would have authority to arrest fergus and maxwell." "i aim to do that on my own account," the old man muttered. "i've got a debt to square with them." "we both have," said penny. "now this is what i want you to do. if i'm not in evidence when you get back, bring the police to the green room." "where's that?" "it's on this same floor. you go down the hall to the left, enter an unmarked door into another corridor, and finally through a green door which may be guarded. if necessary, force an entrance." "i don't know what it's all about," the old man muttered. "but i'll do as you say." "and hurry!" penny urged. she watched anxiously from the window until peter jasko had reached the bottom of the fire escape in safety. he ran across the yard, gaining the roadway without having been observed. returning once more to the main corridor, penny glanced anxiously up and down. hearing someone moving about at the far end of the hall, she went to investigate, certain that it was the cleaning woman putting away her mops and broom. "you ain't locked out again?" the maid asked as she saw penny standing beside her. "no, but i have another request. how would you like to earn some more money?" "how?" inquired the woman with quick interest. "do you have an extra costume?" "costume?" "dress, i mean. like one you're wearing." "not here." as the maid spoke she divested herself of an old pair of shoes, and setting them back against the closet wall, slipped on a pair of much better looking ones. "i'm changing my clothes now to go home." "i'll give you another two dollars if you'll lend me the outfit for the evening." "is it for a party?" the maid asked. "a masquerade," said penny. "i want to play a little joke on some acquaintances of mine." she waved another bill before the woman's eyes, and the temptation of making easy money was too great to resist. "all right, i'll do it," the maid agreed. "just wait outside until i get my clothes changed." penny waited, watching the halls anxiously lest she be observed by someone who would recognize her. soon the maid stepped from the closet, and handed over a bundle of clothing. "and here is your money," said penny. "don't mention to anyone what we've done--at least not until tomorrow." "don't worry, miss, i won't," replied the woman grimly. "i might lose my job if they caught me." after the maid had gone away, penny slipped into the closet and quickly changed into the costume. pulling off her cap, she rumpled her hair and rubbed a streak of dirt across her face. the shoes were a trifle too large for her, and their size, together with the painful ankle, made her walk in a dragging fashion. snatching up a feather duster, she went hurriedly down the hall toward the corridor which led to the green room. as always, the guard sat in his chair by the door. but this time penny had high hopes of gaining entrance. boldly, she walked over to him and said: "good evening. i was sent to tell you you're wanted in the office by mr. maxwell." "now?" he inquired in surprise. "yes, right away." "someone ought to stay here." "i'll wait until you get back." "don't let anyone inside unless they have passes," the guard instructed. penny barely could hide her excitement. it had been almost too easy! at last she was to penetrate beyond the green door! and if she found what she expected, the entire mystery would be cleared up. she would gain evidence against ralph fergus and harvey maxwell which would make her case iron-clad. from within the room, penny could hear the low murmur of voices. she waited until the guard had disappeared, and then, summoning her courage, opened the green door and stepped inside. penny found herself in an elegantly furnished salon, its chairs, davenports, carpet and draperies decorated in soft shades of green and ivory. a little dark-haired man she had never seen before, who spoke with an artificial french accent, stood talking with three women who were trying on fur coats. a fourth woman, maxine miller, sat in a chair, her back turned to penny. "now henri, i want you to give my friends a good price on their coats," she was saying in a chirpy voice. "_oui_" he agreed, bobbing his head up and down. "we say one hundred and ninety-two dollars for zis beautiful sealskin coat. i make you a special price only because you are friends of mademoiselle miller." the opening of the outside door had drawn henri's attention briefly to penny. as she busied herself dusting, he paid her no heed, and maxine miller did not give the girl a second glance. penny wandered slowly about the room, noting the long mirrors and the tall cases crowded with racks of sealskin coats. "these are smuggled furs," she thought. "this green room is the sales salon, and henri must be an employee of ralph fergus and harvey maxwell. i believe i know how they get the furs over the canadian border, too, without paying duty!" satisfied that she could learn no more by lingering, penny turned down the long corridor leading to the door which opened on the main hallway. she knew that the guard would soon discover he had been tricked and expose her. and while she had been inside the salon less than five minutes, already she had waited a moment too long. as she opened the door she saw harvey maxwell and the guard coming down the corridor toward her. retreat was out of the question. "there she is now!" said the guard, accusingly. "she told me you wanted me in the office." harvey maxwell walked angrily toward penny. "what was the big idea?" he began, only to stop short. "oh, so it's _you_? my dear little girl, i am very much afraid, you have over-played your hand this time!" chapter 24 _henri's salon_ penny sought to push past the two men, but harvey maxwell caught her roughly by the arm. "unfortunately, my dear miss parker, you have observed certain things which you may not understand," he said. "lest you misinterpret them, and are inclined to run to your father with fantastic tales, you must be detained here. now i have a great distaste for violence. i trust it will not be necessary to use force now." "let me go," penny cried, trying to jerk away. "take her, frank," instructed the hotel man. "for the time being put her in the tunnel room. i'll be down as soon as i talk with ralph." before penny could scream, a hand was clapped over her mouth. the guard, frank, held her in a firm grip from which she could not free herself. "get going!" he commanded. but penny braced her feet and stood perfectly still. from the outside corridor she had heard a low rumble of voices. then ralph fergus spoke above the others, in an exasperated, harassed tone: "this old man is crazy, i tell you! we never kept him a prisoner in our hotel. we have a green room, to be sure, but it is rented out to a man named henri croix who is in the fur business." penny's pulse quickened. peter jasko had carried out her order and had brought the police! harvey maxwell and the guard well comprehended their danger. with a quick jerk of his head the hotel man indicated a closet where penny could be secreted. as the two men tried to pull her to it, she sunk her teeth into frank's hand. his hold over her mouth relaxed for an instant, but that instant was enough. she screamed at the top of her lungs. the outside door swung open. led by peter jasko, the sheriff and several deputies filed into the corridor. ralph fergus did not follow, and penny saw him trying to slip away. "don't let that man escape!" she cried. "arrest him!" peter jasko himself overtook fergus and brought him back. "i've got a score to settle with you," he muttered. "you ain't a good enough talker to get out of this." "gentlemen--" it was harvey maxwell who spoke, and his tone was irritated. "what is the meaning of this intrusion?" "we've had a complaint," said the sheriff. "jasko here says you kept him a prisoner in the hotel, trying to make him sign a paper." "the old fellow is right in a way," replied mr. maxwell. "not about the paper. we did detain him here for his own good, and he managed to get away. i regret to say he went completely out of his mind, became violent, threatened our guests, and it was necessary to hold him until the doctor could arrive. we've already sent for doctor corbin." "that's just what i was telling them," added ralph fergus. "now let me speak my piece," said penny. "peter jasko was held a prisoner here because fergus and maxwell wanted him to sign a paper leasing his ski slopes to the hotel. that was only one of their many little stunts. fergus and maxwell are the heads of a gigantic fur smuggling business, and they use their hotels merely as a legitimate front." "your proof?" demanded harvey maxwell sarcastically. "the real truth is that i am suing this girl's father for libel. he sent her here to try to dig up something against me. she's using every excuse she can find to involve me in affairs about which i know nothing." "if you want proof, i'll furnish it," said penny. "just step into the green room where henri croix, a phony frenchman, is engaged in selling fur coats to three ladies." "there's no crime in that," declared ralph fergus angrily. "mr. croix pays the hotel three hundred dollars a month for the use of this wing. so far as we know his business is legitimate. if for any reason we learn it is not, we will be the first to ask for an investigation." "not quite the first," smiled penny, "for i've already made the request. to go on with my proof, it might be well to investigate room 27 on this same floor." "room 27 is given over to our teletype service," interrupted maxwell. "our guests like to get the stock reports, you know, and that is why we have the machines." "in room 27 you will find a storage vault for furs," penny went on, thoroughly enjoying herself. "a panel revolves, opening the way to a secret stair which leads down into the basement of the hotel. i'm not certain about the rest--" "no?" demanded maxwell ironically. "there are additional storage vaults in the basement," penny resumed. "a man is down there guarding what appears to be a tunnel. tell me, is this hotel close to the old silver mine?" "about a quarter of a mile from the entrance," replied the sheriff. "some of the tunnels might come right up to the hotel grounds." "i understand the hotel bought out the mine, and i believe they may be making use of the old tunnels. at least, the place will bear an investigation. oh, yes, this paper came off one of the teletype machines." penny took the torn sheet from her pocket and gave it to the sheriff. "i can't read it," he said, frowning. "code," explained penny. "if i had a typewriter i could figure it out. suppose we go to room 27 now. i'm positive you'll learn that my story is not as fantastic as it seems." leaving peter jasko and two deputies to guard fergus and maxwell and to see that no one left the green room, penny led the sheriff and four other armed men down the hall. in her excitement she failed to observe francine sellberg standing by the elevator, watching intently. "here are the teletype machines," penny indicated, pausing beside them. "now let me have that message. i think i can read it." studying the keyboard of the teletype for a moment, she wrote out her translation beneath the jumbled line of printing. it read: "train arrives approximately 11:25." "what does that mean?" the sheriff inquired. "we have no trains at pine top." "we'll see," chuckled penny. she showed the men the vault filled with furs, and pressed the spring which opened the wall panel. "be careful in descending the stairway," she warned. "i know they have one guard down there and possibly others." sheriff clausson and his men went ahead of penny. the guard, taken completely by surprise, was captured without a shot being fired. "now what have we here?" the sheriff inquired, peering into the dimly lighted tunnel. as far as one could see stretched a narrow, rusted track with an extra rail. "a miniature electric railway!" exclaimed the sheriff. "how far is it from here to the border?" inquired penny thoughtfully. "not more than a mile." "i've been told harvey maxwell has a hotel located in canada." "yeah," nodded the sheriff, following her thought. "we've known for years that furs were being smuggled, but we never once suspected the outfit was located here at pine top. and no wonder. this scheme is clever, so elaborate a fellow never would think of it. the underground railroad, complete with drainage pumps, storage rooms and electric lights, crosses the border and connects with the canadian hotel. fergus and maxwell buy furs cheap and send them here without paying duty." "and teletype communication is maintained just as it is on a real railroad," added penny. "fergus and maxwell must have bought up the old mine just so they could make use of the tunnels. and they wanted to get rid of mrs. downey's inn so there would be no possible danger of a leak. how large do you suppose the smuggling ring is, mr. clausson?" "large enough. likely it will take weeks to get all of the guilty persons rounded up. but i'm satisfied we have the main persons." "if i interpreted the code message right, a fur train should be coming in about eleven-thirty." "my men will be waiting," the sheriff said grimly. "i'll get busy now and tip off the canadian authorities, so they can close in on the gang from the other end of the line." "what about fergus and maxwell?" asked penny. "there's no chance they can trump up a story and get free?" "not a chance," returned the sheriff gruffly. "you've done your work, and now i'll do mine." penny started to turn away, then paused. "oh, may i ask a favor?" "i reckon you've earned it," the sheriff answered, a twinkle in his eye. "there's one person involved in this mess who isn't really to blame. an actress named maxine miller. she's only been working for the hotel a few days, and i doubt if she knows what it's all about." "we'll give her every benefit of the doubt," promised the sheriff. "i'll remember the name. miller." in a daze of excitement penny rushed back up the stairway to the green room. fergus and maxwell, henri croix, and maxine miller were in custody, all angrily protesting their innocence. the commotion had brought many hotel guests to the scene. questions were flying thick and fast. penny drew peter jasko aside to talk with him privately. "i think you ought to go to mrs. downey's lodge as soon as you can," she urged. "sara is there, and she's dreadfully worried about you." "i'll go now," the old man said, offering his gnarled hand. "much obliged for all you done tonight." "that's quite all right," replied penny. "i was lucky or i never would have discovered where those men were keeping you." the old man hesitated, obviously wishing to say something more, yet unable to find the words. "i done some thinkin' tonight," he muttered. "i reckon i been too strict with sara. from now on maybe i'll let her have a looser rein." "and ski all she likes," urged penny. "i really can't see the harm in it." "i been thinkin' about that lease, too," the old man added, not looking directly at the girl. "when i see mrs. downey tonight i'll tell her i'm ready to sign." "oh, i'm so glad!" penny exclaimed. "with the fergus-maxwell hotel out of the running, she ought to have a comfortable time of it here on pine top mountain." "thanks to you," grinned peter jasko. he offered his hand again and penny gave it a firm pressure. "i must hurry now," she said. "this is a tremendous story, and i want to telegraph it to dad before francine sellberg beats me to the jump." "sellberg?" repeated the old man. "she ain't that girl reporter that's been stayin' here at the hotel?" penny nodded. "then you better step," he advised. "she's on her way to the village now." "but how could francine have learned about it so soon?" penny wailed in dismay. "i saw her talking with one of the deputies. she was writing things down in a notebook." "she couldn't have learned everything, but probably enough to ruin my story. when did francine leave, mr. jasko?" "all of fifteen minutes ago." "then i never can overtake her," penny murmured. "this is absolutely the worst break yet! francine will reach the telegraph office first and hold the wire so i can't use it. after all my work, her paper will get the big scoop!" chapter 25 _scoop!_ penny knew that she had only one chance of getting her story through to riverview, and that was by means of long distance telephone. at best, instead of achieving a scoop as she had hoped, she would have only an even break with her rival. and if connections could not be quickly made, she would lose out altogether. hastily saying goodbye to peter jasko, penny raced for the stairway. she did not have a word of her story written down. while she could give the facts to a rewrite man it would take him some time to get the article into shape. "vic henderson writes such colorless stories, too," she moaned to herself. "he'll be afraid some fact isn't accurate and he'll jerk it out. this is the one yarn i want to write myself!" penny ran full tilt into sheriff clausson. she brought up shortly, observing that he had a prisoner in custody. "miss parker, we caught this fellow down in the tunnel," he said. "can you identify him?" "i'm not sure of his name. he works for fergus and maxwell as a teletype attendant. he may be george jewitt." penny started to hasten on, and then struck by a sudden idea, paused. addressing the prisoner she demanded: "isn't it true that there is a direct wire connection between this hotel and the one in riverview?" the man did not speak. "you may as well answer up," said the sheriff. "it's something which can be checked easily." "yes, there is a direct connection," answered the attendant. "and if i know anything about leased wires," continued penny with mounting excitement, "it would be possible to have the telephone company switch that wire right over to the _riverview star_ office. then i'd have a direct connection from here to the newspaper. right?" "right except for one minor detail," the man retorted sarcastically. "the telephone company won't make a switch just to oblige a little girl." penny's face fell. "i suppose they wouldn't do it," she admitted. "but what a whale of an idea! i could send my story directly to the newspaper, and get my scoop after all. as it is, the _record_ is almost certain to beat me." "listen!" said the sheriff. "maybe the telephone company couldn't make the switch on your say-so, but they'll pay attention to an order from me. you get busy writing that story, young lady, and we'll see what can be done." sheriff clausson turned his prisoner over to a deputy, and returned to find penny busily scribbling on the back of an envelope, the only writing paper available. together they went to the long distance telephone, and in a quicker time than the girl had dared hope, arrangements were made for the wire shift to be made. "now get up to room 27 and start your story going out," the sheriff urged. "will you need the attendant to turn on the current for you?" "no, i know how it's done!" penny declared. "you're sure the connection has been made?" "the telephone company reports everything is set. so go to it!" penny hobbled as fast as her injured ankle would permit to room 27. she switched on the light, and turned on the current which controlled the teletype machines. sitting down at a chair in front of the direct keyboard, she found herself trembling from excitement. she had practiced only a few times and was afraid she might make mistakes. every word she wrote would be transmitted in exactly that form to a similar machine stationed in the _star_ office. she could picture her father standing there, waiting, wondering what she would send. he had been warned that a big story was coming. penny consulted her envelope notes and began to tap the keys. now and then she had moments of misgiving, wondering if her work was accurate, and if it were going through. she finished at last, and sat back with a weary sigh of relief. her story was a good one. she knew that. but had it ever reached the _star_ office? a machine to her right began its rhythmical thumping. startled, penny sprang to her feet and rushed over to see the message which was slowly printing itself across the copy paper. "story received ok. wonderful stuff. can you get an interview with sheriff clausson?" penny laughed aloud, and went back to her own machine to tap out an answer. her line had a flippant note: "i'll haul him up here as soon as the 11:30 train comes in. let me talk to dad." there was a little wait and then the return message came in over the other teletype. "you've been talking with him. am sending salt sommers by plane to get pictures. sorry i didn't take you seriously when you wrote maxwell was involved in illegal business at pine top. this ought to mop up his suit against the paper. great stuff, penny! who uncovered the story?" chuckling to herself, penny went back to her keyboard and tapped: "don't ask me. i'm trying to be modest." she waited eagerly for the response and it came in a moment. "i was afraid of it. are you all right?" thoroughly enjoying the little game of questions and answers, penny once more tapped her message. "fine as silk. when are you coming to pine top? what are you going to give me for xmas? it should be something good after this." soon mr. parker's reply appeared on the moving sheet of paper. "soon. perhaps something with four wheels and a horn." penny scarcely could control herself long enough to send back: "oh, you wonderful dad! i could hug you! please make it maroon with mohair upholstery. and hang a wreath on leaping lena." sinking back in her chair, penny gazed dreamily at the ceiling. a new car! it was almost too good to believe. she knew that her father must have been swayed by excitement or else very grateful to offer such a magnificent christmas present as that. what a night of thrills it had been! within a few hours pine top would be crowded with reporters and photographers, but she had uncovered the story, and had saved her father from a disastrous lawsuit. as penny waited, her thoughts far away, one more message came through on the teletype. she tore it from the roller of the machine, and smiled as she read her father's final words: "presses rolling. first edition on the street ahead of the record. the star scores again. this is anthony parker signing off for a cup of coffee." the end transcriber's notes --replaced the list of books in the series by the complete list, as in the final book, "the cry at midnight". --silently corrected a handful of palpable typos. --conforming to later volumes, standardized on "dewitt" as the name of the city editor. a mystery story for boys the arrow of fire by roy j. snell the reilly & lee co. chicago new york copyright 1930 by the reilly & lee co. printed in the u. s. a. contents chapter page i the squad call 11 ii a running battle 23 iii talking in the dark 37 iv johnny calls the squads 48 v mysterious violence 56 vi who? and why? 65 vii in court 70 viii prisoners at the bar 77 ix clues 86 x a royal feast 94 xi sworn to stand by 101 xii from out the shadows 110 xiii a marked man 120 xiv johnny scores a knockdown 128 xv johnny finds a man 137 xvi the face that seemed a mask 147 xvii the sergeant's story 155 xviii a scream--a shot 165 xix a bullet 175 xx a card from the underworld 184 xxi the secret number 194 xxii startling transformations 202 xxiii many bullets 207 xxiv not on the program 214 xxv a wolf seeks culture 222 xxvi these are the guns 230 xxvii an arrow speeds to its mark 240 xxviii taken for a ride 248 xxix the night ride 255 xxx many perils 260 xxxi the creeping spot 267 xxxii sky high 272 xxxiii the show-down 279 the arrow of fire chapter i the squad call it was midnight. the waters of lake michigan were like glass, smooth glass, miles of it, blue-black. there was no moon. the stars burned queer bright holes in the blue-black glass. the long, low craft that glided through the water caused scarce a ripple. at the prow of this great lakes' freighter stood johnny thompson. he was gazing at the skyline of his own beloved city. three years had passed since last he had caught the rumble of that great metropolis and had seen her lights gleaming out into the night. now he was gliding slowly, surely forward--to what? his city, to be sure. but after that? mystery? romance? fresh adventure? who could say? in his three years of wandering johnny had known mystery, romance, and adventure aplenty. he had glided up dark mangrove-bordered streams at the heart of tropical america. he had crept into dungeons in the haunted castle of haiti. he had felt the call of the barren tundras and smoking mountains of british columbia and alaska. he had faced the savage, hungry wolf pack, and had matched power and prowess with the kadiak bear. ah yes, mystery, romance, adventure, had been his. and yet, as he stood there watching the skyline of the city he had known so well as a boy, as her massive buildings bulked larger and larger before him, as he saw the spire-like structures that had reared themselves skyward in his absence, as he thought of the dark, little known streets, of the hidden cellars, the underground tunnels, of the wealth, the misery, the power, the intrigue, the crime of this, his native city, he could not but feel that after all he had wandered far in vain, that even here at his own doorstep was to be found romance, thrills, adventure such as he had not known in strange lands. was he right? only time could tell. so he stood there dreaming until he felt the boat bump against the massive cement finger that is the city's municipal pier, and knew it was time to go ashore. "where'd you come from?" a well set up young man, some years his senior, asked him this question the moment his feet were on the pier. he wanted to tell the fellow it was none of his business. but he had learned caution. he looked the questioner over from head to toe. "some college fellow," was his mental comment as he took in the other's spick-and-span appearance. dressed to the minute, that's what he was. "may be a young reporter." "just came down from the north," he said quietly. "been hunting with bow and arrow." he whirled his leather cased bow about as evidence. "caught this boat at two harbors." "yeah? do you always travel that way?" "freight? why, anyway, i've never waited for a fancy boat. take the first one that will bring me where i want to go." "not a bad idea." the stranger's look changed. "going over town? bound that way myself. mind company?" "not a bit." "all the same, i wonder who he is and what business of his it is that i came from somewhere and am going somewhere else," johnny thought, as they passed through a long, low shed, and turning to the right, headed down the pier toward the city. for some time the two walked on in silence. johnny was busy studying his rather sudden friend. his smart black derby, neatly creased trousers and shining shoes contrasted oddly with the blue shirt and khaki trousers that johnny wore. but johnny had formed a habit of looking through clothes to the man. "this chap," he told himself, "is no fop. hate to meet him when he is full of fight. don't get those shoulders, that chest, that stride drinking pink tea, nor smoking through his nose. this chap's a man. hundred per cent. but why did he pick me up? try to find out." "used to live here in this city," he volunteered. "had a room with another boy in an old bat roost over beyond the wells street bridge." "i know the place," the stranger replied. "gone now. tore it down. putting up the biggest business building in the world there now." "they are?" johnny was taken aback. this city of his was too fast for him. "sure are. quite a building yours was, too. don't matter. thing's in the way. down it comes. that's the city for you." again there was a period of silence. "get a car here." the stranger stopped beside the curb. "one coming now. but where you going?" "hadn't thought much about it. lots of places in a city. one night, it don't matter." "come on down with me. like to see that thing you say is a bow. can't do much with it, can you? come along. got an extra bunk. not much. good enough for one night, though. just down here on grand. be there in ten minutes." the street car rumbled by. once more johnny marched beside his new-found friend. and march was exactly the word. "walks exactly as if he were going to war," johnny told himself. "what a queer chap! dresses like a college dude. trains like a prize-fighter. walks like a soldier. worth knowing, i'd say." when, however, they reached a dark opening between two six story buildings and the stranger said, "this is the place. we go down. watch your step. shaky old stairs," johnny experienced something very much akin to fear. he knew enough about strange cities at midnight to be on his guard. this part of the city certainly was not the best. they were near the city's water front. the river was two blocks away. between them and the water lay endless rows of warehouse slips, great dilapidated sheds, boats half sunken and rotting; all this and more. as he hesitated a truck rumbled down the deserted street. it turned to the right to enter a gap of darkness that was a door to the brick structure nearest at hand. cheered by the thought that there was someone about, he decided to risk it. moving cautiously, he followed his companion down a low flight of stairs, then passed down an uneven board walk that ran close to the walls of what appeared to be a dilapidated one story structure. once more a stair confronted them. this time they mounted upward. once at the top the stranger threw open a door and touched a switch to throw on a flood of light. johnny entered. the door was closed and locked after him. the room his eyes took in at a glance was in strange contrast to its rude exterior. softly tinted wall paper, shelves filled with books. good pictures, tasty furniture. a man's place; but neat, with the neatness that comes only at the touch of a woman's hand. "nice place," said johnny. "i like it," the other smiled. "even like where it is. know what? this shack is older than the place where you used to live! funny, ain't it? just a wooden shack. but here she stands. life's funny that way." johnny stared at his companion. his words did not affect him. it was what he did at this moment that counted most. having removed his coat, he unstrapped a belt to lay an automatic pistol on his dresser. he did all this as if it were quite the customary thing, part of his day's business. "and this," johnny told himself with an inaudible gasp, "is neither in the movies nor in the wild and woolly west." "well," he told himself a moment later, "whatever's on, i'm in for it. i'll not run." johnny was no weakling, nor was he a coward. when opportunity permitted he spent an hour or two each day punching the bag or swinging the gloves at some real companion. he was a lightweight boxer of no mean ability, as you who have read our other books will know. just at present he was at his best. boxing had been denied him, but rugged mountain trails, the camp axe, and a six foot bow had offered opportunities for training that no indoor sports could match. nor was johnny wholly unarmed. he had never in his life carried a revolver, yet in the corner where he had placed it, close at hand, was such a sturdy yew bow as might have gladdened the eye of robin hood. and beside it were six ashen arrows with points of steel keen as a razor blade. "but this," he told himself, "is chicago. my native city. my home." "you'll be feeling need of sleep," said his companion of the hour. "that's your bunk. turn in when you wish. don't mind a little music to lull you to the land of dreams?" he snapped on a radio which stood, until now quite unnoticed by johnny, in the corner. "not a bit. something soft and low," johnny chuckled, "like the murmur of a mountain stream." "no chance at this hour. jazz is all you'll get." johnny disrobed to the tune of "deep night" which seemed appropriate to the hour. when he had crept beneath the blankets, his strange host threw off the house lights, leaving only one dull golden eye, the radio's tiny dial lamp, gleaming. johnny was truly weary. the day had been long and full of the inevitable excitement of arriving. his last impression as his eyes closed and his senses drifted away was that of a great golden eye glaring at him from the dark. then, with a suddenness that set his blood racing, he was sitting up in bed wide-awake. loud, jangling, setting his ears roaring, a gong had sounded. "bam! bam! bam!" it seemed in this very room. "wha--what was that?" he stammered as the sound died away. as if in answer to his query, a voice came from the radio: "squads attention! squads 21 and 24 go to jackson and ashland at once; a drug store. robbers breaking in there." what did it mean? to johnny the whole affair was but a confusion of sensations, a mild affair of the night. before his question could be answered the words came again. "squads 21 and 24 go at once to jackson and ashland; a drug store. robbers breaking in there." then, in strange incongruity, there came again the wild, fantastic rhythm of a modern dance tune. "that," said the strange host in a quiet tone, "is a squad call. it's a thing the police have taken up. they hope to check crime that way. forty-six squad cars are waiting for the calls. two cars are at jackson and ashland now. it's a new stunt." "i should say it was," said johnny as he began to understand that the sound of the gong as well as spoken words had come from the radio. once more he settled back against his pillow. as he lay there now he kept his eyes on the profile of his host. dimly lighted as the room was, johnny seemed to read on the face of the man a look of alert expectancy which had nothing to do with jazz music. "he is listening," he told himself. "waiting for another squad call." at once questions formed themselves in his mind. why did this young man listen so intently? where lay his sympathies? with the police, or with the law breaker? if with the law breaker, was he interested in some dark doings of this night? was he listening for the call that would tell of the discovery of his band? "strong body. clear eyes. keeps himself fit. wonder if law breakers are like that. be interesting study. have to--" in the midst of his speculations he fell asleep. chapter ii a running battle the morning light shone dimly through a narrow, darkly shadowed window when johnny awoke. to the reader it may seem strange that he had slept so soundly. to the habitual wanderer a cot, a hammock, or only a hard floor is made for sleep. the places, a jungle, an arctic tundra, a shack in a city's slums are all the same to him. he sleeps where he may and leaves trouble to the morrow. so it was with johnny. his first waking thought was of his newfound friend. as he sat up and stared about him, he realized that he was alone in the room. the cot close to his own was mussed up and empty. his strange friend was gone and his automatic had passed out with him. "queer." johnny's hand went out for his trousers and his bill folder. "all there," he murmured. "mighty queer, i'd say. i--" his reflections were broken off by the squeak of a door hinge. the outer door had been opened a crack. it was closed so quickly that he caught no glimpse of the intruder. springing out of bed, he hastily drew on his clothes, then went to the corner and bathed hands and face. "ah!" he breathed, "another day. and once more a city, my native city! my home! how good it is to live!" he opened the door and stepped outside. what he saw amazed and puzzled him. the place in which he had spent the night was a plain board shack of but one room, built at the back of a lot. before it, separated from it by some ten feet of boardwalk, was a second low, wood structure. this building was three times as large as the other, but was, if anything, in a worse state of repair. these shacks had evidently been built before the street was laid, for their eaves were about on a level with the street walk. "queer place to live," he mused as his eyes, sweeping from left to right, found brick structures of considerable height on every side. "queer they'd leave such a shack standing. stranger still that anyone'd care to live here. fellow'd think--" at that instant the back door of the larger of the two wooden structures opened and a girl stepped forth. a girl of sixteen, with well rounded face and figure, big brown eyes and a disarming smile, she formed an unforgettable picture, framed as she was by the gray of decaying wood, the door frame. "hello." "hello back," said johnny. "you want some coffee? yes?" "yes," johnny grinned. "but say!" he exclaimed as she prepared to vanish. "where is he?" he nodded toward the shack he had just left. "drew? him? he is gone a long time. before the sun is up. he is gone. gone to work. what kind of work? i don't know. fine man, drew lane. you know him?" "a little." johnny studied the girl as she turned to go for his coffee. she was dark. her hair was black. her speech was not broken, but her sentences were short and crisp. "italian. born in america, perhaps," he told himself. "wonder why they live here? no neighbors; no lawn; no garden; no scenery; no nothing. only bare walls." she brought him coffee, this girl, and thin sandwiches spread with odd but delicious preserves. she set these on a small table in the room where he had spent the night. he ate in silence. "queer old world," he murmured to himself. "wonder what i should do next." opening his bill folder, he counted two hundred dollars in currency. "in chicago they wear store clothes, i guess you'd call them. better buy some, i guess." this to himself. the girl by this time was gone. leaving his duffel bag and archery equipment in the corner, he walked out of the place, boarded a street car and went rattling away downtown. twenty minutes later he was engaged in the dual task of trying on a ready made suit and convincing the clerk that he had not always lived in the "sticks." two hours later, when he boarded a car going north, he seemed quite a different person. save for the deep tan which life in the open had bestowed upon him in lavish abundance, he could scarcely have been told from any city youth. such is the transforming power of clothes. "i'll go back to that shack and see if this fellow, drew lane, has come back," he told himself. "don't want to leave without at least thanking him. queer sort of chap. wonder why he carries a gun? express messenger maybe." at that he gave himself over to a study of his fellow passengers. he was standing on the rear platform. two of the half dozen men there attracted his attention. they talked of cards and gambling. one said he had lost a "leaf" last night. what was a "leaf?" johnny couldn't even hazard a guess. the car lurched. johnny put out a hand to steady himself. it was his left hand, for he was decidedly left handed. strangely enough, one of the men cast a sharp look at his hand, then turned to his companion with a knowing wink. the other replied with a dainty pluck at his own sleeve, as if to say, "see! it's new." this last action was not lost on johnny. they took him for a hick, just because his clothes were new. he colored behind his ears. "like to give them a good swift poke," he thought. johnny could do it, too, as you probably know. but johnny was wise. he knew how to wait his time. and how very short the time is on some occasions! at grand avenue he swung about to drop off the car. suddenly there was a confused crowding about him. he felt something hard strike him in the left thigh. something snagged at his pocket. "thieves!" he thought. his hand shot down for his purse. it was gone! "so that was it! how dumb i--" "there they go! i'll get 'em." he leaped off the car and followed in hot pursuit. but what was this? now there were four. two were much younger than the ones he had seen. "what of it?" he did not slacken his pace. "get help from somewhere. can't pick my pocket in broad daylight," he panted. down an alley they raced. the two younger men had been behind at first. they were swifter of foot, were catching up with the two he had seen on the car. then of a sudden he caught his breath. the foremost young man had half turned his head. in that instant johnny recognized his host of the night before, drew lane. "the dirty dog!" he muttered, slowing up. "no wonder he carries a gun! ho well, let 'em have it. you can't get yourself shot to save a few dollars, especially when you haven't a chance to win." but what was this? another wild turn of events. having caught up with one of the men johnny had seen on the car, drew lane dealt him a blow on the chin that sent him spinning round and round, and dropped him with a crash to the ground. "what you running about?" drew lane fairly shouted. "get yourself killed." leaving him lying there, he went racing on after the other fugitive. still johnny did not understand what it was all about. only one thing was clear. one of two people had his purse. in that purse was his remaining one hundred dollars, and some odd bits of change. there was an even chance that the man lying on the stones of the alley pavement was the one. he might at any moment recover the use of his legs and vanish with the purse. johnny needed the money. having reasoned this out, he sprinted up to the spot beside the man and stood there, feet well placed, hands in position, attentive, expectant. what he expected came to pass. rolling over twice, the man put a trembling hand to his jaw and stole a furtive glance at johnny; then he crept to a position on his hands and knees closely resembling that of a racer who prepares for a hundred yard dash. "i wouldn't move, if i were you," said johnny, coming a step closer. "you are all out of breath. besides, you are in no condition to run. don't exercise enough, you don't. your clothes are all right, quite the thing, i suppose. but it's what's inside the clothes that really counts. how'd you look stripped? huh!" the man looked up at johnny out of the corner of his eye. he took in the well rounded shoulders that bulged the lines of his new coat, noted his hard clenched fist and the clear keen glint in his eye. "think you're a smart bunch, don't ya'?" he growled. "college kids!" "we're not a bunch," said johnny. "and i'm not from college. i'm just now from the sticks. some day you fellows will learn that all the boobs don't come from the sticks. mostly they don't. they live right here in the city. "as for those other fellows, i don't know their game. i only know that one of you got my money, and i want it back." "you--you don't know those other young fellows?" the man's tone sounded his surprise. then a light of cunning appeared in his eyes. "all you want is your money? well, there it is, kid." he placed johnny's purse on the cobblestones, then stole a fugitive glance to the corner round which the other three had gone. "you've got your money back. sorry i took it, kid. just a joke. joke on a country kid. ha! ha! guess i can go now." "guess you can't!" said johnny, paying no attention to the pocketbook. "say, i'll tell you!" the man exclaimed. "you're a smart kid. how'd a leaf look to you? huh? a whole leaf?" "a--a leaf?" "sure. there it is." the man drew a crumpled bill from his pocket and put it beside johnny's purse. it was a hundred dollar bill. "so that's a leaf?" johnny grinned. "i'm not much used to city talk." "i'll leave it right here," the man whined. "now can i go?" "no, you can't. not for ten grand!" johnny said. "and there's some of your crime slang right back at you. put up your filthy old leaf. they grow better ones on cottonwood trees out in the sticks. here come the rest of them." it was true. his host of the night before was returning down the alley. so, too, was a slimmer young man with a freckled irish face. between them, looking very much exhausted and quite disgusted with life, was johnny's other street car companion. "well, well!" said johnny's host, drew lane, eyeing the purse on the cobblestones. "exhibit a. right before my eyes! "that yours?" he asked, turning to johnny. "sure it is." "and these birds took it?" "sure did." "what could be sweeter? luck's with us this morning, old pard!" he patted the freckled faced irish youth on the back. "got a case. all sewed up neat and tight. "get up!" he ordered. the man on the cobblestones stood up. drew lane picked up the purse. at the same time he threw open his coat, revealing a star. it was the emblem of a city detective. "you'll get it back o.k.," he said to johnny. "here's ten till you do." he pressed a bank note into johnny's hand. "don't mind coming along, do you? need you for a witness. been looking for these birds for six weeks. now we got 'em; got 'em dead to rights!" "don't mind a bit," said johnny. "come on, you!" drew turned his prisoners about. "march! and make it snappy!" "name's lane," he said to johnny as they tramped along side by side, "drew lane. glad i found you. you've helped us to a pretty good break. fellow's record depends on how many good clean arrests he makes. "this is tom howe, my side-kicker." he grinned as he put his hand on his freckled companion's shoulder. "detectives mostly work in pairs. we've been together a good long time. lane and howe. lane and how! that's the way they say it." he chuckled. "pretty good pals, even at that." a police car was called. it arrived. lane followed one of the prisoners into a seat. howe took the other. johnny took his place by the door. they went rattling away toward the police station. at the station the prisoners were allowed to call a lawyer on the phone, then were locked up. "case'll come up in two or three days," said drew lane. "be in town that long, won't you?" "hadn't thought much about it," said johnny. "sort of interested in life, that's all. mostly stay around where life's current moves swiftest. "this," he added, "looks like a good start." "no place in the world half as interesting as this old city," said drew lane, gripping johnny's hand. "stay with us, and we'll make you a police captain. won't we, howe?" "and how!" exclaimed his partner. "looks like the real thing to me. bet he could knock your right ear off with that mit of his right now." "ever box?" drew turned to johnny. "a little." "we'll put on the gloves sometime. "say!" he exclaimed. "there's no reason why you shouldn't shack it with me for a few days. why don't you?" "i will," said johnny. "wants to keep track of me," was his mental comment. "needs me for a witness." "see you there at 6:00 p.m. here's your purse. we'll need it as evidence later. you can swear to its contents. don't let anyone get it while howe and i are not around. may not get it back." "right!" said johnny. "see you at six." chapter iii talking in the dark johnny spent the remainder of the day sight-seeing. old friends awaited him, the museum, the art institute, the state street stores. the work along the outer drive amazed and delighted him. "great city!" he mused. "do anything. no spare land for parks. make some. why not? goes and gets things, this old city does. no islands. dig some from the bottom of the lake. great, i'd say!" then his brow clouded. he recalled stories he had heard repeated. even in the far-away canadian woods men had spoken of rampant crime, gang killings, wholesale gambling and robbery in his beloved city. but at once his face brightened. "a few hundred fellows like this drew lane would fix that all up. young, ambitious, fearless college fellow, i'll bet. looks like a dude, but got real stuff in him. why not a thousand like him, fresh from college, full of ideals, ready for fight? like the men that went to france. why not? a thousand strong! the legion of youth. man! oh man!" so, sight-seeing, reminiscing, dreaming, he wandered through the day to find himself, toward eventide, wandering back to the low shack that lay at the foot of many great piles of brick, and wondered more and more that such a fellow as drew lane should choose so humble, not to say disreputable appearing, habitation. "lot of things go by opposites," he told himself. "besides, there's that girl. italian. but a beauty for all that." he was only partly right. the girl had played a part in it all, but not exactly in the way he thought. "just what you been doing with this thing?" drew asked, taking up johnny's bow, as he entered. "hunting." "what did you kill?" drew's brow wrinkled. "you couldn't kill much." "couldn't i though!" johnny drew forth an arrow and handed it to him. "exhibit a. i will ask you to examine the point." drew felt of the razor-like edge and whistled. taking up a square of pine board, johnny set it against the far end of the room. then, nocking the arrow, he sent it fleeting. the arrow struck squarely in the middle, passed quite through the board and buried itself in the wainscoting. "oh--ah!" said johnny. "'fraid i've marred your paint." "silent murder!" murmured drew. "what a spiteful little thing of power! "wouldn't be bad; not half bad," he mused a moment later. "bad for what?" johnny asked. "for an officer. catch a bunch of yeggs pulling a job. pick 'em off one by one with that bow, like the indians used to do wild turkeys. and gather them up after. never know what killed them. i say! we'll have to add you to our staff!" they laughed together, then went out to the little restaurant around the corner for their evening meal. darkness had fallen when they returned to the shack, yet drew lane did not throw on the lights at once. instead, he guided johnny to a comfortable chair. "let's just sit and talk," he said. "i like it best this way, in the dark. you tell me of the wild woods where the north begins, and i'll tell you of a city where trouble is always just around the corner!" "tell me first," said johnny quickly, "how you came to be at the pier last night and why you picked me up." "nothing easier," drew laughed. "an officer of the law is never fully off duty. tell you about some of my 'off duty' experiences some time. you'll be surprised. "you see, last night i strolled down to the pier, just for an airing. then your ship came in. thought i'd have a look at anyone who came off. an extraordinarily large number of persons enter our country in this way from canada and mexico. mighty undesirable persons, many of them. so i was on the lookout. "when i saw you i guessed you were all right. but in our business, guesses don't go. we must have facts. i got them. you were o.k." drew lapsed into silence. "but that doesn't explain why i am here now," johnny suggested. "oh! that." drew sat up. "there's a natural comradeship between certain people. if you are one of the parties you know it at once. i felt sort of related to you. liked the way your muscles bulged beneath your clothes. you had an air of open spaces about you. i wanted to know you. so here you are. regret it?" "not a bit." "nor i." so they talked. and as drew lane's voice came to him in a slow and steady murmur johnny felt a kindred spirit laying hold of his very soul. more than once, too, he felt an all but irresistible impulse to leap to his feet and dash from the room, for a steady, indistinct but unmistakable still small voice was saying to him: "this man goes into many dangers. if you travel with him he will lead you into great peril. once you have followed you cannot turn back. such is the spirit of youth, faith, romance, and love for the human race. test the steel of your soul well. if you are in the least afraid it were better that you turn back now." johnny listened and humbly vowed to follow this or any other leader whose purpose was right and whose heart was true. an hour passed. at last drew lane rose, stepped across the room and pressed a button to set a square of light dimly glowing. "like a little music?" he asked. johnny did not reply, but waiting, heard as in a dream the faint, plaintive notes of a violin creeping into the room. it rose louder and louder. then of a sudden, quite without warning, it was broken in upon by a terrible, jarring whong! clang! clang! clang! sounded a brazen gong. then a voice: "squads attention! squads 8 and 11 go to 22nd and wabash. a man robbed there." the message was repeated. then again, quite as if nothing had happened, the violin resumed its lovely melody. "that's the way it goes at that station," said drew. "funny part is that the gong sings a sweeter song to us than the violin. it's a great service, son; a great service. "of course in time we'll have our own station; broadcast the calls on a low wave-length. only people who get the squad call will be the boys in the squad cars. know how it works, don't you?" "not very well." "simple enough. someone reports a robbery, a burglary or what have you, to the police by phone. the report is relayed to headquarters. headquarters gives it the once over. is it important? out it goes on a private wire to the radio station. 'hold everything!' the radio squad report operator signals to the other studio people. then whang! whang! whang! the report goes out. "more than forty squads of police, with loud-speakers in the tops of their cars, are listening, waiting. number 9 is called. the squad car whizzes away. two minutes later they are there. burglars have laid down their tools to find themselves staring into the muzzle of an officer's gun. a bank robber has pulled off a slick daylight affair, only to walk right into the waiting arms of a detective squad summoned by the radio. i tell you it's great. "but after all," his voice dropped, "we're not getting them very fast, not as fast as we should. it's the professional criminals we don't get. we--" "there! there she goes again!" once more the squad call sounded. this time it was the robbery of a store by two men who fled in a green sedan. "you might haunt the courts for two weeks at a time and never see a professional criminal on trial," drew went on. "and yet eighty-five per cent of crimes are committed by professional criminals, men and women with records, who make a business of crime, who haven't any other occupation, who don't want any other, who wouldn't know what you meant if you asked them to settle down and live an honest life. in this city one person out of every three hundred is a professional criminal. think of it! three hundred people go to work every day, work hard, save their money, raise their children in a decent manner, look ahead to old age; and here is one man who robs them, beats 'em up, burglarizes their homes, disgraces their children. and the irony of it all is, the whole three hundred can't catch that one man and lock him up. be funny if it wasn't so tragic." "i suppose," said johnny, "it's because the city is so big." "well, perhaps." once more the young officer's voice dropped. "it's discouraging. and yet it's fascinating, this detective business. there are boys, lots of them, who think crime is fascinating. they read those rotten stories about jimmy dale and the rest, and believe them. i tell you, johnny!" he struck the table. "there never was the least touch of romance in any crime. it's mean and brutal, cowardly and small. but hunting down these human monsters. ah! there's the game! you tell of your white bears, your wolves, your grizzlies. fascinating, no doubt. but compared with this, this business of hunting men, there's nothing to it!" he took a long breath and threw his arms wide. "i believe you," said johnny with conviction. "i wish i might have a part in it all." "don't worry. you have made a good start. you are to be a witness." "that--why, that's nothing." "nothing, is it? you wouldn't say so if you had seen witnesses kidnapped, bribed, beaten, driven out of town, murdered by the gangs that all but rule us. a good witness. that's all we need, many's the time. and lacking him, the case is lost. "you won't fail us?" he said in a changed voice. "i won't fail you. when the trial comes up i'll be there." "of course." drew's tone was reassuring, "i don't want you to become unduly frightened. pickpockets don't band together much. we seldom have trouble once they are caught. it's the robbers, the hi-jackers, the bootleggers. they are the ones." a few moments later they turned in for the night. johnny, however, did not sleep at once. he had been interested in all this newfound friend had told him. he had felt himself strangely stirred. "if only i could have some real part," he whispered to himself. a few moments later he murmured half aloud, "that's it! i believe i could do that. anyway it's worth the try. do it first thing in the morning." with that he fell asleep. chapter iv johnny calls the squads it was night: ten o'clock. johnny stood atop a ten story building, looking off and down. a thousand white lights shone along an endless way. like great black bugs with gleaming eyes, countless cars glided down that glistening boulevard. to the right, shimmering waters reflected the thousand lamps. and at the edge of this water, on a yellow ribbon of sand, a host of ant-like appearing creatures sported. these were human beings, men, women and children, city cave-dwellers out for a breath of fresh air and a dip in the lake before retiring for the night. "how happy they are," he murmured to himself as their shouts of joy came floating up to him. "and how happy they should be. the great creator meant that they should be happy. and for the most part they have earned happiness, a brief hour of pure joy after a day of toil. "'one in three hundred,'" he recalled drew's words, "'one in three hundred is a crook.' "ah well," he sighed, "catching the crooks, and so making those others safer, happier, freer to enjoy their well earned rewards: that's our job. and it's a big one." these last were no idle words. only a day had passed since his long talk with the young detective, drew lane; yet even in that brief span of time he had found for himself a part in the great work, in the task of detecting crime. a very, very small part it was, but a real one all the same. he smiled as he thought of it now. in half an hour he would enter the door at his back, would pass through a rather large room in which stood all manner of band and orchestra instruments, and then would enter a veritable cubby-hole of a place. in this closet-like room was a chair, a telephone, a large police gong set on a steel post, and a microphone. when these were rightly placed there was room for johnny to squeeze himself into the chair, that was about all. here, for two hours around noon, and again two hours at midnight, it was to be his task to sit waiting for the rattle of the telephone. every jangle of that telephone was to set him into brief but vigorous action. in a word, he formed the last link between the unfortunate citizen who was being robbed, burglarized or attacked, and the police squad that stood ready to come to his aid. johnny had landed this part-time job, which he felt sure would prove more than interesting, just as he had secured all else in life, by going after it. he had spoken to drew. drew had spoken to a police sergeant. the sergeant had said a word to a captain. the captain, being just the right person, had spoken to the manager of the station. and there you are. "and here i am," johnny said to himself. "and, for the glory of the good old city i have always loved, i am going to pound that police gong as no one ever has, and to such good purpose that someone higher up will say: "'good boy! you deserve something bigger and better.'" he threw back his head and laughed. "then," he sighed, "maybe they'll make me an honest-to-goodness detective." meanwhile there was the telephone, the "mike," and the gong. he had taken his training at noon. now, from 10:30 p.m. to 12:30 a.m. he was to go it alone. as he reached the door to his cubby-hole, a tall, red-headed youth rose and stretched his cramped legs. "quiet night," he murmured. "ought to have it easy." "thanks. hope so, for the first night at least." johnny eased himself into the chair and the red-headed youth departed. a quiet night? well, perhaps. yet for johnny, all unaccustomed as he was to his new duties, it proved an exciting one. the very place itself, a great broadcasting station at night, was filled with interest and romance. the large studio before him was not in use. more than a score of instruments, horns, bass viols, cellos, snare drums, basso drums and all the rest stood there, casting grotesque shadows in the half light. beyond this, through glass partitions, he could see a young man. sitting before an elaborate array of lights, plugs and switches, this man put out a hand here, another there, regulating the controls, directing the current that carried messages of joy, hope, peace and good will to the vast invisible audiences out in the night. he was the station operator. in the studio beyond, only half visible to johnny, the men of a jazz orchestra performed on saxophones, trap drums and who can say what other instruments? "and i am now part of it all!" johnny thought to himself. "i--" but now came a buzzing sound, a red light flashed. "a call!" he exclaimed in an excited whisper. "my first night call." placing his finger on a button, he pressed it twice. this told the operator in the glass cage to stand by, ready to give him the air. "all right," he spoke into the phone, then gripped a pencil. his pencil flashed across the paper. "got you," he said quietly. "repeat." his eyes followed the lines he had written. "o.k." now, striking the gong, he spoke into the microphone: "squads attention!" his own voice sounded strange to him. "squads attention! robbers breaking in at 6330 drexel boulevard. squad 36 assigned." repeating: "robbers breaking in at 6330 drexel boulevard. squad 36 assigned." once more, save for the ticking of his watch and the faint throb of the jazz orchestra penetrating the padded walls, his cubby-hole was silent. "queer business," he murmured. he tried to picture what was happening ten miles away at 6330 drexel boulevard. burglars had been breaking in. who had reported them? he pictured neighbors looking through a darkened window, seeing the burglars prying up a window. he saw the neighbors tip-toeing to a telephone, notifying the police. "and then the chiefs call to me; my call to the squad. the burglars are inside by now. and here comes the squad. clang! clang! clang! "they are not the first arrivals. nearby residents have heard the squad call. in dressing gowns and slippers they have rushed outside. "but the burglars?" he mused, settling back in his chair. "did they get them? who knows? if they were professionals, wise to all the tricks of escape, probably not. if they were amateurs, first-timers, boys who saw romance in crime, probably they were caught. and drew says one professional is worth ten first-timers in jail. the first-timer may never repeat. the professional will never do anything but repeat. it's his business, his _profession_. and what a profession! bah! i'd rather--" again the buzz; the light. this time it was a shooting at halsted and 22nd streets. "drunken brawl." the affair did not interest him. he put it through with neatness and dispatch; then he resumed his meditations. chapter v mysterious violence it was twenty minutes past twelve o'clock, ten minutes before closing time. at this precise moment a thing happened that was destined to change johnny's whole career. it was to make him a hunter of men. at this hour the radio studio in an out-of-the-way corner on the tenth floor of a great hotel was dimly lighted and spooky. the merry-makers in the studio beyond had long since departed. that room was completely dark. so, too, was the studio nearest johnny. even the dim shadows of musical instruments had faded into nothing. two lights burned dimly, one over johnny's head, the other directly before the operator who, half asleep, sat waiting for the moment when he might cut a distant ballroom orchestra off the air and follow his fellow workers home. "no more calls tonight," johnny was thinking to himself. "quiet night, right enough; one holdup, two robberies and a shooting. ho well, it's been interesting all the same. fellow wouldn't--" no, there it was again, one more call. buzz, buzz, flash, flash. he pressed his ear to the head phone, his lips to the mouthpiece. and then, like lightning from a clear sky, things began to happen. he was struck a murderous blow on the head. he was pitched violently forward. he had a vague sensation of something resembling a microphone glancing past him, then crashing violently against the wall. other objects appeared to follow. a sudden shock of sound burst on his ears, filling the air. "shot," he thought to himself. "i'm shot!" he experienced no pain. for all that, his mental light blinked out and he knew no more for some time. in the meantime the operator in the glass cage was seeing and hearing such things as he had never so much as dreamed of. his first intimation that something was wrong was when johnny's microphone sent him a curious sound of warning. this was caused by someone grasping it in both hands. compared to the sound that followed at once, this was as nothing. had two freight engines entered the room from opposite directions and suddenly crashed they could not have produced a more deafening hubbub than that which came from the loud-speaker as the microphone, hurled by mysterious hands, crashed against the studio wall. as the operator's startled senses directed his attention to johnny's cubby-hole, and his eyes took in at a glance the full horror of the situation, he stood paralyzed with fear. his chair overturned, johnny thompson lay crumpled on the floor. a shadowy figure reached up and crushed his light as a child might a bird's egg. the same figure seized the police gong and hurled it through a window. broken glass flew in every direction. a telephone followed the gong. then, as mysteriously as he had come, the sinister figure stepped once more into the dark, leaving wreck, ruin and perhaps death in his wake. "gone!" no, not quite. one more act of violence. came a flash, a roar, and a bullet struck with a thud against the padded partition. the operator promptly dropped flat upon the floor. nor did he, being a prudent youth, rise until heavy feet came stamping up the stairs and three uniformed policemen, led by a youth in shirt sleeves, burst into the room. the young man in shirt sleeves was drew lane. from the moment johnny took his first squad call, drew had been listening in at his room. he had come to have a very great interest in johnny. "anyone of his courage, spirit and ambition, coupled with a desire to be of real service to others, will go far," he had told himself. "i'll just listen in tonight. he may make a slip or two. if he does i can set him right." johnny made no slips. in fact drew was obliged to give him credit for a steady hand and a clear head. drew had been thinking of throwing off the radio and turning in, when the crash of the wrecked microphone reached him through his loud-speaker in the shack. with a mind well trained for sudden disaster, he knew on the instant that something unusual and terrible was happening in the studio. what it was he could not guess. grasping his automatic, without waiting to draw on his coat, he had dashed out of the shack, down one rickety stairway, up another, and raced. by good chance he had run squarely into a police squad car. "step on the gas, mike!" he shouted, springing into the car. "east on grand, then north on lake shore. something gone wrong at the broadcasting studio!" the motor purred, the gong sounded as they were away at sixty miles an hour. "heard it," mike shouted above the din. "guess your young friend dropped his 'mike'!" "worse than that," drew came back. "i've heard that happen. this was different. worse! ten times worse!" that he was telling the truth you already know. and that was how it happened that drew and the squad appeared on the scene, exactly six minutes after the destroyer had completed his work of demolition. "hey! what's this? who's here?" bellowed mike o'hearne, the head of the squad, drawing his revolver and leading the way. "he--he's gone!" the terrified operator rose shakily. "who's gone?" "i--i don't know. truly i don't. but look! look what he's done!" "where's the light switch?" mike advanced into the studio, tripped over a trap drum, dropped his gun; then said some words appropriate to the occasion. "here. just a moment." the operator, who was rapidly regaining the power of his senses, touched a switch and the room was flooded with light; so, too, was johnny's cubby-hole. "they--he shot at me," stammered the operator, once more thrown into confusion at sight of johnny's still form crumpled up beneath the debris. "who shot?" demanded mike. "i--i don't know." "you don't know much. looks like they'd done for this boy here. and why, i wonder? that's always the question. why? here, give us a hand. let's get him out of here. somebody call the house doctor." relieved to find there was something definite he might do, the young operator got the doctor on the phone at once. "he'll be up right away," he reported. "hm, let's see." mike, the experienced police officer, who had examined a thousand cases, living and dead, turned johnny over carefully. "lot of blood," he muttered. "hit on the head. may come round. doctor can tell. bring some water." the operator brought a pitcher of water. mike bathed johnny's forehead, then began washing away the blood. johnny had just begun to stir a bit when the doctor arrived. a full five minutes the doctor remained bent over the prostrate form. "i hope he's going to come out of it," drew said to a husky, grizzle-haired irish sergeant named herman mccarthey. "he's a game kid, and he's got right ideas. he'll go far. this was his first night." at the end of that tense five minutes johnny sat up unsteadily. "he's reviving," said the doctor. "let's have some air." windows were thrown up. johnny opened his eyes and looked about him. "wha--where am i?" he half whispered. "right where you were," drew chuckled. he was pleased to see the boy coming round so soon. "i--i--" johnny's eyes held an uncertain light. then they cleared. "something hit me. i--i went--went down. the microphone, the telephone, every--everything went--" "that's all right," said herman mccarthey quietly. "just you take it easy. you'll be fine and dandy pretty soon. then we'll take you home in the car and you can tell us all about it. he hit you, that's clear. hit with his gun. dent of the hammer's in your scalp. an' it's goin' to stay some time. "he hit you. we don't know just why. but we'll find out, won't we, drew?" "you know we will!" "and we'll find the man, won't we, drew?" "we sure will!" "and when we do!" "and when we do!" drew lane echoed with appropriate emphasis, and a light grip on his automatic. chapter vi who? and why? half an hour later johnny and drew were back at the shack. the squad car with its load of burly policemen was gone. for a long time nothing was said. johnny's head hurt. it also ached in a most extraordinary manner. he felt sick at the stomach. life for him had gone suddenly very strange. "drew," he said at last, "that man, whoever he was, didn't give me a chance, not a single fighting chance." "of course not. they never do, those gangsters." "drew," said johnny, "i was hunting in the arctic once, stalking a polar bear all alone; following his track. he turned the tables and started stalking me. but, drew, before he struck at me with that great paw of his, he hissed like a goose." "gave you a warning," drew said quietly. "rattlesnake'd do that, too; but not a gangster. "johnny," he said, suddenly wheeling about, "you've been believing in that old saw, 'honor among thieves.' forget it. there isn't any. not a bit. "i've known them to run over a little family car, smash it in bits with a powerful truck they were using to carry illicit goods. did they stop? not much. fired shots in the air, and left little children to perish in the wreckage. honor! not a bit. i tell you it's war! pitiless war waged by monsters. and this land will not be free until they are all safely lodged in jail." again for a time there was silence. "drew," johnny spoke again, "i used to say that if a man picked my pockets or held me up and got my money, i'd say, 'you are a smart guy,' and let it go at that, but that if he hit me on the head i'd spend the rest of my life hunting him. and when i found him i'd kill him. that man hit me, drew, hit almost hard enough to kill, and without warning!" "he did," said drew, "and we are going to get him, you and i. but after we get him, i guess we'd better let the courts deal with him. justice, johnny, is an arrow, a keen pointed arrow that goes straight and fair. sometimes i think it is an arrow of fire that burns as it strikes." johnny thought that a strange expression. he was to learn more of it as the days passed. "first thing we've got to do to-morrow," said drew, "is to work out the probabilities?" "the probabilities?" "sure. you've read detective stories?" "sometimes." "know how most of 'em go? a murder. one of six men may have done the killing. this one might have, or that one. this one probably did. and this one, well, you hardly consider him at all. but in the end, it's always the one you did not suspect. it's the bunk. real life is not like that at all. you have to figure out what is probably true, and try to prove that it is true. it usually is. "take this case of yours. you are to be a kingpin witness in my case against two pickpockets. your testimony will convict them. no doubt about it. do they belong to a well organized gang? did a member of the gang try to do away with you so you could not testify? it's been done many times. "another possibility. you were about to put through a squad call. what was that call? was it important? was a big burglary in progress? was this man sent up to silence the radio and prevent the squad call? if that was the angle, was more than one major crime committed in that half hour? if so, which one was connected with the attack upon you? "once again; many a gang's activities have been interrupted, their purpose thwarted, by radio squad calls. the leader of one of these gangs may have decided to take revenge; hence the raid to-night. "so you see," he said, rising, "there are several possibilities to work out. the probability must be reached. herman mccarthey will have all the dope in the morning. he will help us work it out. he is a seasoned trooper and has a wise old head on his shoulders. meantime, you must try to recall every incident connected with the affair." "i remember one thing," said johnny. "it came to me at this very instant. i didn't see the man's face, but i saw his hand, a large dark hand, and it was deeply scarred. it had a hole in the middle of the palm." "good!" exclaimed drew. "couldn't be better. take us a long way, that will. "and now we must catch three winks. to-morrow is a big day. to-morrow you are to be our star witness." chapter vii in court johnny and drew were up at eight o'clock next morning. at 8:30 the black-haired, dark-eyed girl with smiling lips and dimpled cheeks brought in steaming coffee and some unusual but delicious pastry. drew called her rosy, and patted her on the arm. rosy's dimples deepened. who was rosy? why did she live in that other shack among the walls of brick and mortar? why did drew room in this odd place? johnny wanted to ask all these questions. realizing that their answers did not greatly concern him, he asked none of them. at ten o'clock he and drew were seated on the front bench of the "local 46," the particular court room in which their pickpocket case was to be tried. the whole scene was packed with interest for johnny. the judge in his box-like coop, the young prosecutor and the deputies standing below, the motley throng that filled the seats at his back, each waiting his turn to appear as complainant, defendant or witness, made a picture he would not soon forget. the judge was a dark-skinned man of foreign appearance. his hair was long. his eyes were large, and at times piercing. he sat slumped down in his chair. when sudden problems arose, he had a trick of bracing his hands on the arms of his chair and peering at a prisoner as a hawk might peer at a squirrel or a mouse. "he's italian," said drew. "smart man. knows his business. square, too. a good judge. lots of fun, too, if he wants to be." at this moment two names were called. two large men, respectably dressed, walked up the aisle to take their places at the high, narrow table just before the judge's stand. two officers stepped up beside them. "confidence men," whispered drew. "we all know them. haven't got a thing on them, though, i'll bet. just picked them up on suspicion. they get thousands every year from people who are looking for a chance to make easy money. they-"see! i told you. the judge is letting them go. it's not what you know that counts in court. it's what you can prove." once more the stage was set. an attractive young woman, carefully and tastefully dressed, a young man at her side, a middle-aged man of stocky build carrying a package, a young lady of the shop-girl type at his side; these four stood before the judge. "young lady," said the judge, leaning forward and adjusting his glasses as he spoke to the well dressed one, "you are charged with the theft of one dress, taken from the store of dobbs, hobson & dobbs; value $14.00. guilty, or not guilty?" "guilty," the girl murmured with downcast eyes. "it is my duty," the judge leaned forward in his chair, "to warn you that if you plead guilty i may fine you from one dollar to one hundred dollars, or send you to jail for from one day to one year. knowing this, do you still wish to plead guilty?" his tone was impressive. the girl hesitated. a short, gray-haired man stepped up and whispered in her ear. "her lawyer," explained drew. "guilty." the girl nodded her head. the evidence was presented. then the husband of the young lady spoke: "if your honor please. this is the first time this sort of thing has happened. i will give my pledge that it will not happen again." the judge raised himself on his elbows, stared through his glasses and exclaimed: "i'll see that it doesn't happen again for sixty days. the idea! a woman of your intelligence going into a store and carrying off a dress that doesn't belong to you and you don't need! why did you do it?" "i--i don't know, judge. i--i just saw it there. i--i liked it. so, the first thing i knew i was taking it away." "exactly. sixty days! sit over there." the judge pointed to a row of chairs at the right of his box; the defendant burst into tears, dabbled her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief; her young husband led her to a seat and, for the time, the affair was ended. "the judge will allow her to weep for a couple of hours," drew explained in a whisper. "meantime, his secretary in the back room will get some people on the wire and look up her record. if her record is good, he'll set his sentence aside, put her on a year's probation. probably never hear from her again. she's had about enough. "but why do they do it?" he exclaimed in a whisper. "if you were a young woman would you go through all this and carry the memory of the humiliation and disgrace through a long life for a fourteen dollar dress? you would not; nor for forty dresses! "but they do it, over and over and over. hats, belts, coats, dresses, artificial flowers. what don't they steal? and they come to court, sometimes three or four a day, to stand before the judge and weep. you'd think they'd learn, that everyone in the world would learn after awhile, everyone, except the professional shoplifter. but they don't." and now a score of young black men stood before the bench. they were accused of gambling with dice. the dice, a hook for raking them in, and a few coins were offered in evidence. "who was running this game?" the judge thundered at them. nobody knew; not even the arresting officer. "well," said the judge, "you all working?" "ya-as, sir." "got good jobs?" "ya-as, sir." "louder." the judge cupped a hand to his ear. "you all got real good jobs?" "ya-as, sir!" "all right, you can go, but we have a police benefit fund here. if you've all got real good jobs you might contribute a dollar each to that fund." the black men went into a huddle. they produced the required sum and marched out. "one of the judge's little jokes," drew smiled. "i don't see how he could live through all this low down squalor day after day if it wasn't for his jokes." "i want to tell you, johnny, i wish i could tell every boy in the land a thousand times, crime is not attractive! it is mean and low down, sordid and dirty. that's the best you can make out of it." "one more case," he whispered as he rose, "then comes ours. you wait here. i'll go get the men." chapter viii prisoners at the bar johnny will never know what that next brief trial was about. it had struck him all of a sudden that he was to play a part in the trial that was to follow. this thought set his blood racing. he was glad not to be the defendant. but as a witness his responsibility was great. for the first time in his life he was to utter words that would without doubt send a fellow human being to jail. the thought was not pleasing. "and yet it's my plain duty," he told himself. he found much consolation in that. a fresh turn of his mind for the moment crowded out all other thought. who had beaten him up the night before? was it some pal of these pickpockets? would he be able to tell from the expressions on their faces when they saw him? his head was heavily bandaged. "they could not help but notice that. perhaps they believe that their confederate made a thorough job of it," he told himself. "they may not expect to see me here at all." "ah! now's the time!" he whispered to himself. his name was being called. so, too, were the names of the two pickpockets and drew lane. "here they come." he caught his breath and half rose from his chair. as he did so, one of the two prisoners coming down the aisle caught sight of him. it was the larger of the pickpockets. for ten seconds he stood there motionless, one foot poised in midair. then his face spread in a broad grin, and he marched on up to the bar. that grin puzzled the boy. "wouldn't grin if he hadn't expected to see me," he reasoned. "but why the grin at all?" there was no further time for such thoughts. he was at the bar, between a police officer and a pickpocket. his right hand was in the air. he was being sworn to "tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me, god." it struck him all of a sudden that some witnesses these days truly needed divine help if they told the whole truth. he felt his bandaged head, and resolved to honor his oath, come what might; not only now, but always. the judge went through with the usual formalities. the prisoners were charged with the theft of a purse. guilty, or not guilty? a hook-nosed lawyer had advised a plea of guilty. "and do you wish to be tried by this court?" "yes, your honor." the prisoners were warned of the possible outcome. did they still wish to plead guilty? they did. the trial began. johnny was asked to tell his story. this he did in a straightforward manner, in spite of numerous interruptions from the lawyer for the defence. he neglected no detail of the little drama that was played by drew and howe, two pickpockets and himself on that fateful june day. "is that true?" the judge leaned forward to glower at the older of the two prisoners. "yes, your honor. but, your honor, it's the police. they--" "just a moment," the judge cut him short. "i asked you a question. you say this young man has told the truth? very well. "now you tell us what you know." he nodded to drew lane. drew said that he and his fellow detective, howe, had been riding that car line for three days, because there had been several losses by surface line riders along that line. "when we saw these two birds," he went on, "we knew we had our men. we--" "you knew them?" the judge interrupted. "it's our business to know them. we know more than three hundred pickpockets by sight." "you're too darn smart!" snarled the slighter of the two prisoners. the bailiff rapped for order. "have these men a record?" the judge asked. drew lane passed up two sheets of paper. the judge studied these with a gathering scowl. then his face lighted as he looked at drew lane. "bad ones. that right?" drew nodded. "go on. tell us what happened." "we saw them take this boy's pocketbook. they saw us and made a break for it. we nabbed them. that's all. what this boy told you is true, as far as we saw it." "it must be," agreed the judge. "they don't even deny it. "what have you got to say?" he turned a poker face toward the prisoners. the larger one answered, "it's the police, judge, and the detectives. i was goin' to tell you, judge. they won't leave us alone. we been out of the jug six months. been goin' straight." "call picking pockets going straight?" the judge flashed. "we wouldn't have done it, judge, only them college boy detectives made us." he glared at drew lane. "your honor," a flicker of a smile hovered about drew lane's mouth, "i object to being called a college kid. i've been out of college four years, and been in the service all that time." "i wouldn't," the judge leaned forward and pretended to whisper, "i wouldn't object at all if i were you. it's your greatest asset. they don't know you're a detective, these fellows, and when they do they don't take you seriously. that right?" he winked at the older pickpocket. "that was it, judge. you see, judge," the man went on, encouraged by the judge's disarming smile, "i knew this boy was a detective. i--i'd see him before, and i says to jimmy, me pal here, i says, just whispers, y' understand, 'jimmy,' i says, 'it would be great sport to grab that country boy's wad right before this college boy detective's eyes.' we done it for sport, judge, honest we did." the prisoner essayed a laugh, which turned out number one common, and scarcely that. "i see," said the judge, leaning back in his chair and appearing to think deeply. "you stole a hundred dollars from an innocent boy as a joke on a boy detective? you were getting off the car, weren't you?" "yes, your honor." "and the boy was getting off to go another way. how did you expect to get his money back to him? how did you mean to explain his loss to him?" "your honor, we--" "ah no! you didn't do it as a joke!" the judge leaned far forward. there was a glint of fire in his eye. the smile had faded from his face as a field of sunshine is blotted out by dark october clouds. "you meant to steal that boy's pocketbook. these records show that. "it didn't matter to you that this boy might be left penniless in a strange city. if it had been a poor shop-girl with two weeks' pay in her purse, the price of a well earned week's vacation, you'd have done it too. it wouldn't have meant anything to you if it had been a scrub-woman. if the money had been earned by eight hours of scrubbing six days a week, you'd have taken it just the same. "you don't want to go straight. you want to be pickpockets. that's the only occupation you have. it's the only one you'll ever have, except when you're in jail. and that's where you'll be for some time. "six months. take them away." the deputies led the prisoners down the aisle. johnny followed drew out into the bright sunshine of a beautiful june morning. "so that's the way they do it?" johnny said breathlessly. "it's the way they do it sometimes," replied drew. "you see," he went on to explain, "you are a transient witness. you are here now. but if we needed you to appear before a jury as a witness in this case four months from now, would you be in chicago?" "four months is a long time." "sure it is. ordinarily those fellows would have gone before a grand jury and been held over to the higher courts. they'd been tried by a jury and got three or four years; that is, if you were present. but the judge, knowing you were likely to leave the city, made the best of things and tried them for larceny. he gave them all he could, under the circumstances. they are out of the way for a while at least. "well, that's that!" drew said a moment later. "thanks a heap. you made our case for us. you helped us; now it's up to us to help you find the fellow who battered up your head. herman mccarthey is in the station now. let's go back and see what he's uncovered." retracing their steps, they walked once more into the lobby of the police station and waited for an up-bound elevator. chapter ix clues "it's queer the way the thing works out." sergeant mccarthey looked the two boys squarely in the eyes when drew lane asked him how he had progressed with the radio station case. meanwhile johnny was sizing up the sergeant. nothing very wonderful to look at, this sergeant mccarthey. average size he was, with a face like a hawk. his nose was too long. it was curved like a beak. shining out from behind it were two small black eyes. his head was, for the most part, bald, and he was but forty-five. "reminds me of a bald eagle," johnny told himself. to complete the picture johnny discovered an ugly scar running down the sergeant's jaw and around his neck. the sergeant had got that scar during his first year of service. a holdup man, caught in the act, had pretended to surrender. he had given up his gun, but seeing an opening, had stabbed mccarthey, half behind his back. from that time on mccarthey began earning the name of the hardest man on the force. certainly he made them "stick 'em up, and keep 'em up." for all that, there were those who knew that the sergeant had a very human side. "what do you think, drew?" he shot at the young detective. "do you think those pickpockets had their gang walk in on this boy and beat him up?" he was speaking of johnny. "tell the truth, i don't," said drew lane. "first place they laughed when they saw him. if--" "can't tell as much about a crook's laugh as you can a bullfrog's croak," mccarthey broke in. "not as much. when a frog croaks he's saying he's happy. a crook's liable to laugh when he gets ten years." "it's not just that," said drew. "you know yourself that pickpockets are sneaks; coyotes, not wolves. they may be well organized in some cities. they're not in this one." "you're right," said mccarthey, shuffling a sheaf of papers on the desk. "that possibility is about all there is to that clue. but we'll keep the sheets; you never can tell. "i work it out this way." he spread five sheets of paper on the desk. "see! this one is for your pickpocket friends who are naturally afraid of johnny as a star witness against them. we'll put it over here." he laid it aside. "but what about the squad call that was going through when the raid on the radio station was made?" drew broke in. "i'm coming to that. that's the queer part," the sergeant went on. "you see i have four sheets left. that means four possibilities. "since you insist, we'll take the call that was going through when the station was raided. you'll be surprised. that squad call was a notice that someone was breaking in over on lake shore drive. swell apartment. people all gone. when the radio failed to give the alarm, a squad was sent out from the local police station, and the burglars were caught." "oh!" johnny leaned forward expectantly. "that's what i thought," grumbled the sergeant. "but they turned out to be two kids, one about twenty, the other younger. dressed like college kids, they were, in yellow slickers decorated with hearts and kewpies; you know the sort. "but let me tell you one thing. you may lay a bet those boys never saw the inside of any college. i've been watching. we don't get many real college boys. when they're smart enough and good enough workers to get up to college, they're too smart to think they can beat the game by turning crooks." "but where did the boys come from?" johnny asked. "that's what they didn't tell," said mccarthey. "if we knew, it might throw some light on the subject. but you can see how likely it is that a bunch of kids are going to figure out that they'll get caught burglarizing an empty flat unless they send someone to beat up a radio announcer or two. and besides, if they did, who would they get to go for 'em? too dangerous. lot worse than burglarizing. "so that," he threw the second sheet aside, "looks like a doubtful chance. but we'll keep 'em all. "another queer thing." he turned to the third sheet. "not many cases go out over the air. we can handle 'em other ways. three an hour is a good many. but in that fifteen minutes when the radio station was dead, smashed to bits, there were three squad calls that did not go out, and two were mighty important. "you know that long row of warehouses just back of your shack, drew?" he turned to drew lane. "sure." "some cracksmen burst the safe in the third one from the water, ten minutes after the radio station was smashed." "that looks like a hot scent," said drew, starting forward to bend over mccarthey's sheet. "rather blind one, at that," said the sergeant. "no one saw them. a straggler heard the blast and turned in the alarm. squad came. safe was looted. birds flown. might have gone a dozen ways, rowboat, on foot, in a car. gone, that's all. got something over a thousand dollars. left nothing, not even a fingerprint." "it's too bad," sighed drew. "i'd say that was the likely case. going to blow up a safe. mighty few cases these days. since the radio gave us a lift, electric drills are cheap. radio's too quick for them. whang! goes the blast; r-ring-ring! the telephone; gong-gong! the radio; and the police squad is on the way; all too soon for the safe-cracker. "easy enough to see why they'd send an accomplice over to break up the radio!" "ah, well!" mccarthey's narrow eyes contracted. "give us time. not so many of 'em escape us. "the other case that came off in that fateful quarter of an hour was a theatre holdup on state street, just over the river; one of those quiet little affairs. two men say, 'stick 'em up! give us the swag. don't yell! don't move for a full minute, or you'll be dead!' a car. quick getaway. and there you are! "no clue. nothing to go by. one of those things that are mighty hard to trace." "and you don't think they could have had a friend--" began johnny. "who made you a call? not likely," mccarthey laughed. "little those birds fear the radio. they're too quick. no radio will ever stop 'em. they're like the army transports during the war that were too fast for the submarines. "this last sheet," he added, "i have saved for gentlemen who, on other occasions, have had their gentle business of robbing, burglarizing, bombing, safe-blowing and the like interfered with. from time to time i will enter the names here of those who show undue resentment to the radio activities of the police. "and that, boys," he concluded, once more shuffling his sheaf of papers, "appears to bring the case to date. these are the facts. draw your own conclusions." "conclusions!" johnny said as he left the office. "i only conclude that i was slugged; that my telephone was smashed; and that my head still is very sore." "give him time," said drew. "he seldom fails. in the meantime, we must do our bit." chapter x a royal feast that evening at nine o'clock johnny was given a delightful surprise. at the same time some of the questions that had been revolving about in his mind like six squirrels in one cage were solved. he had returned to the shack at six. weary from his exciting day, he had stretched himself out on his cot and had at once fallen asleep. awakened by someone entering the room, and startled by the darkness that had settled upon the place since he fell asleep, he was about to cry out in alarm when the place was flooded with light and he found drew lane smiling down upon him. "have a good rest?" he asked. "fine. and you? what luck this afternoon?" "no luck at all. but that's what one must expect. you can't get 'em every day. if you did you'd soon be out of a job. all the crooks would be behind the bars. "not that i'd care," he hastened to add. "there are a lot of occupations more congenial. if i didn't have a conscience that keeps me hunting men, i'd take up commercial aviation. there's a job for you! i can fly. have a hundred and ten hours to my credit, and never a crack-up." "think they'll ever use airplanes in hunting criminals?" asked johnny, sitting up. "might. couldn't do much right in the city. but if a gang was supposed to be leaving town; if the car they used was well marked, you could do a lot with a plane; soar about, watching a hundred roads at once." "had anything to eat?" drew asked, as johnny rose and busied himself with his toilet. "not since noon." "my treat to-night. and you'll like it. mrs. ramacciotti has some ravioli a la tuscany on the stove." "what's all that?" "you'll see. just get on your collar and tie. we'll want plenty of time for a feast before you go back there to get beaten up again. or are you going?" "think i'd stay away?" johnny gave him a look. "no, i didn't. but if i were you i'd sit with my back to the wall." "do more than that. take 'silent murder,' as you call him, along." he nodded toward the bow that stood in the corner. "too slow. better get a gun." "slow! sometime i'll show you. that studio is all of twenty-five feet long. door's at one end. my cubby-hole's at the other. let anyone try getting to me after this!" he picked up an arrow and felt its razor-like point. "silent murder," he mused. "about right, i guess." to johnny's surprise he found that the feast drew had alluded to was just ten steps from their own door. down one low flight of stairs, up another, and there they were in the shack that stood before their own and fronted the street. a large, dark-skinned woman of middle age greeted them with a smile that was genuine, and a handshake that was "all there." "this is mrs. ramacciotti," said drew. "without her and rosy this city would be a dreary place." rosy stood by the table dimpling and smiling her thanks. johnny had seen rosy before. now, however, she was dressed for the occasion, and one good look at her made him think of cool meadows, shady orchards, blushing russet apples, and all the rest. "i don't blame drew," he told himself. they were invited to take seats before a small square table covered with a cloth of snowy linen. at once a steaming platter was set before them. "but what's on the platter?" johnny asked himself. "dumplings in meat gravy?" it was far more than that. the finest of chicken meat, run through a grinder, some fine chopped veal; carrots cut fine, and who knows what else of viands and seasoning had been mixed together and used as the filling for small, turnover pies. these had been boiled for half an hour in salt water. after that they were smothered in rich gravy. a layer of meat pies, then one of gravy, then pies again until they stood a foot high on the platter. but then, who can describe ravioli a la tuscany? it is the proudest dish of italians, and they are an exceedingly proud people. for a full half hour the time was spent between small talk, and much eating. as johnny pushed back his chair with a sigh of regret, mrs. ramacciotti put her hand to her hair, and said in a sympathetic tone: "your head. what could have happened to it?" "haven't you heard?" exclaimed drew. "some gangster beat him up last night." "oh, the miserable ones!" madame spread her hands in horror. "but why? he is only a boy." "i'll tell you," said drew. he proceeded to tell of johnny's unusual adventures. "and the only thing we know," supplemented johnny at the end, "is that the man has a hole in his hand. i saw that. i--" but what was this? rosy had uttered a low scream, then had dropped into a chair. her face had gone white. "now! now!" her mother said, placing a protecting hand across her shoulder. "you see," the italian mother's face took on added character as she spoke in a low, clear, steady tone, "her papa was shot by a man. he wanted papa's money. he would give. but he not always understand. he move his hand to pocket. always he did so when he was nervous. this man shoot him--dead! rosy, she see this man. see hole in the hand. same man? what you think? mebby so." johnny and drew stared at one another. johnny was thinking, "so the man who beat me up was a murderer!" "you never told me this before," said drew, speaking to mrs. ramacciotti. "no. i did not know you then. you did not work on the case. the man, he was never found." "well," said drew as his lips drew together in a tight line, "now we know, and we have a double reason for getting the man with a hole in his hand. and we will get him. never fear." this unfortunate interruption of their party ended in a prolonged silence. in the end the two boys expressed sincere thanks for the splendid feast and begged to be excused. rosy, with an effort, summoned one of her sweetest smiles of farewell. as she stood there framed in the door, a brave little orphan of gangland's making, johnny could not help feeling that their common tragic interest in finding the man with a hole in his hand was destined to bring them very close together in the days that were to come. nor was he far wrong. chapter xi sworn to stand by johnny's return to the radio studio that night caused quite a sensation. he arrived somewhat ahead of time. the girl who presided over the switchboard, one floor lower than the studio proper, was still at her post. "gee!" she stared at him, wide-eyed. "they nearly killed you, didn't they?" "tried it, i guess," johnny admitted. "and still you came back?" "lightning never strikes twice in the same place," johnny laughed. "it does. i've seen it. very same tree. going to strike twice here, too. something tells me that. you'll see. they'll bomb this place. when those sicilians start a thing they never quit 'til they get what they want. that's what my dad says. and he knows. i'm quitting; to-morrow night's my last. dad says, 'let the police do their own work.' and that's what i say, too." "if the officers of the law were not backed up by the honest people of a great city like this," johnny replied thoughtfully, "nobody's life would be safe for a moment. in such times as these every man must do his duty." "not for me, sonny, not for me! i know where there's a safe place to work, and me for it!" johnny climbed the stairs with heavy steps, only to learn that his operator of the night before had also quit. "quit us cold," was the way bill heyworth, the sturdy night manager and chief announcer, put it. bill was thirty, or past. he was a broad shouldered scotchman with a stubborn jaw. "said he didn't want to be shot at. well," he philosophized, "guess nobody does. but somebody has to carry on here. this thing is not going to stop because the gangs want it stopped. in time, of course, the city will have a station of its own. that will let us out. but until then the squad calls will go through if we have to call upon the state militia to protect us. this city, officer and civilian, has set itself for a cleaning up. and a cleaning it shall be! "what's that?" he asked, as johnny drew forth his six foot yew bow. "a plaything, you might say," johnny smiled. "then again you might say it has its practical side. i'll demonstrate." picking up a bundle of magazines, he set them on end atop a table against the wall. the outermost magazine had an oval in the center of its cover-jacket the size of a silver dollar. johnny drew back to the end of the room, then nocked an arrow and drove it through the very center of that spot. bill heyworth whistled. he whistled again when johnny showed him that four of the thick magazines had been pierced by the arrow's steel point. "of course," said johnny, laughing low, "i don't expect ever to use it here. but i'll feel safer if you allow me to turn that chair about so i'll be facing the entrance to this studio and have this 'silent murder,' as drew lane calls it, close at hand. do i have your permission?" "with all my heart, son. with all my heart. and you'll stick?" "till they drag me out by the feet!" "two of us!" the scotchman put out a hand. johnny gripped it tight, then went to his post. * * * * * * * * the days that followed were quiet ones for johnny. there needs must be many quiet days in every life. these days, calm as a may morning, placid as a mill pond, give us strength and fortitude for those stormy periods that from time to time break upon us. but these were not uninteresting days. far from it. hours spent in a fresh environment, among new and interesting people, are seldom dull. there are few more interesting places than the studio of a great radio station. besides the never ending stream of famous ones, great authors, moving-picture actors, statesmen, musicians of high rank, opera singers, and many more, there are the regulars, those who come night after night with their carefully prepared programs planned to entertain and amuse a tired world. that he might cultivate the society of those more skilled, more famous than he, johnny arrived night after night an hour or two ahead of his schedule. he came, in time, to think of himself as one of them. and he gloried in this rich environment. bill heyworth, the night manager, was himself worthy of long study. a doughty scotchman, sturdy as an oak, dependable as an observatory clock, brave as any who ever wore kilts, a three year veteran of the great world war; yet withal, bubbling over with good humor, he was a fit pattern for any boy. quite different, yet not less interesting, were the comedy pair, one very slim, one stout, who came in every evening at ten o'clock to put on the adventures of a german street band. not all the skilled musicians were transients. the anthony trio, piano, violin and cello, might have graced the program on many a notable occasion, yet here they were, night after night, sending out over the ether their skillful renditions of the best that other times have produced in the realm of music. dorothy anthony, the violinist, a short, vivacious girl with a well rounded figure and dancing blue eyes, seemed no older than johnny himself. many a talk, gay and serious, they had, for dorothy took her outdoor adventures at second hand. she listened and exclaimed over johnny's experiences in strange lands, and insisted more than once upon his demonstrating his skill by shooting at the magazines with his bow and arrow. as for his bow, it stood so long in the corner that it seemed certain that it would dry out and become too brittle for real service in emergency. though johnny enjoyed the company of the great and the near-great, he found most satisfaction in his association with a certain humble individual who occupied a small space before the switchboard at the foot of the stairs. and that person was none other than rosy ramacciotti. since johnny had been told that rosy was in need of work, he had hastened to secure this position for her. he had thought at first, because of her father's most unhappy death, she, too, might be afraid. when he suggested this to her he was astonished by the snapping of her black eyes as she exclaimed: "me afraid? no! i am italian. did you not know that? we italians, we are many things. afraid? never!" so rosy presided at the switchboard. each night, during the hour that preceded rosy's departure and johnny's taking up of his duties, they enjoyed a chat about many, many things. nor did drew lane object; for, as he one night explained to johnny, his relations with the ramacciottis were based on little more than a charitable desire to be of service to someone. "you have heard, i suppose," he said to johnny one evening, "that there is a society that looks after the families of policemen who lose their lives in the service. that is a splendid enterprise. "there are also many societies in existence that take care of the interests of criminals and their families. that too, i suppose, is all right. "but where is the society that cares for the women and children made widows and orphans by the bullets of gangsters, burglars, and robbers? never heard of one, did you? "well, some of us fellows of the force decided to do what we could for these. "i learned of the ramacciotti family. they had inherited a small candy store and a large debt. they were paying sixty dollars a month flat rent, and going bankrupt rapidly. "i helped them sell out the store. then i found these two shacks. used to be fishing shacks, i suppose, twenty-five years ago. tried to find the owner. couldn't. so we moved in anyway. i pay for my room and morning coffee. the furniture is mrs. ramacciotti's. "i found her a small kitchen and dining room down street, where she serves rare italian dishes, ravioli a la tuscany and the like. they are doing very well, and are happy. "happy. that's it," he mused. "everyone in the world has a right to be happy. it's our duty, yours and mine, to be happy, and to do the best we can to help others to their share of happiness." "so that was how drew came to live in such a strange place, and to be interested in these unusual people." johnny thought about this for a long time after drew had gone. his appreciation of the character of this young detective grew apace as he mused. his interest in rosy and her mother also increased. chapter xii from out the shadows shortly after his discovery that the man who wrecked his broadcasting corner and beat him up was, in all probability, the robber who had murdered rosy's father, johnny visited sergeant mccarthey at the police station. as the days passed, this station was to become a place of increasing fascination for this boy who was interested in everything that had to do with life, and who had a gnawing desire to know all that is worth knowing. this day, however, his interest was centered on one question: what additional information had the sergeant secured regarding the man who had wrecked his station? "little enough, old son." the sergeant leaned back as he spoke. "visited those pickpockets in the jail. if they know anything about the affair, their lips are sealed. "as for those young chaps, caught looting a house, they promise even less. won't tell a thing about themselves; names, addresses, nothing. they're not foreigners. american stock, i'd say. it's my guess that they had nothing to do with your radio affair. they appear to be boys from out of town. some of those chaps who read cheap detective stories that make the criminal a hero. came to this city to crash into crime. got caught. and now they'll take what's given to them rather than disgrace their families. can't help but admire their grit. but the pity of it all! to think that any boy of to-day should come to look upon crime as offering a career of romance and daring! if only they could know the professional criminal as we do, could see him as a cold-blooded brute who cares only for himself, who stops at nothing to gain his ends, who lives for flash, glitter and sham, a man utterly devoid of honor who will double-cross his most intimate friend and put a pal on the spot or take him for a ride if he believes he is too weak to stand the test and not talk if he is caught." then johnny spoke. he told of the murder of rosy's father. "he did? the same man!" the sergeant sat up straight and stared as johnny finished. "the man with the hole in his hand shot rosy's father? "let me think." he cupped his chin in his hands. "i worked on that case. didn't get a clue. there was just one thing. after rosy's father had been shot, this man fired a shot into the wall. bullet's there still, i suppose. few crooks would do that. likes noise, i suppose, the sound of his gun. "you know," he explained, "we are always studying the peculiarities of bad men. it pays. you know how a poker player judges men. when his opponent has a good hand, he looks just so, from beneath his eyelashes, or his fingers drum the table, so. but if his hand is bad, and he's bluffing, he looks away, whistles a tune, does some other little thing that betrays him. "it is that way with the crook. each man has some little tell-tale action which brands each job he pulls. one man never speaks; he writes out his orders. another whispers. a third shouts excitedly. one is polite to his victims, especially the ladies. another is brutal; he binds them, gags them, even beats them. some prefer silence; some, noise. "it would seem," he sat up to drum on the desk, "that our friend with the hole in his hand likes the sound of his gun. he fired an unnecessary shot in the ramacciotti case, and one when he raided your studio. "now," he said with a sigh, "all we have to do is to search the records of crimes committed in this city and see if we can find other raids and stick-ups to lay at this man's door. of course, if the perpetrator of other crimes fired his gun needlessly, it will not prove that mr. hole-in-the-hand did it, but it will point in that direction. "that bit of research will take some time. i'll let you know what i find." "in those other cases of that night, the safe-blowing and theatre robbery, was there any unnecessary shooting?" johnny asked. "none reported. but then, of course, it is not likely that mr. hole-in-the-hand was on the scene in either case. he was busy with you. if he was in on either of these, the work was done by his gang, not by him." that night a curious and startling thing happened. this affair, as herman mccarthey agreed later, might or might not have a bearing on the problem just discussed. the detective team of drew and howe worked for the most part during the daylight hours. they were assigned to the task of detecting and arresting pickpockets. if you rode a crowded street car, attended a league baseball game, or chanced to be on the edge of a crowd drawn together on the street corner by a vender of patent medicine or unbreakable combs, you might easily sight the nifty hat and flaming tie of drew lane, the natty detective. they knew more than three hundred pickpockets by sight, did this young pair. they picked up any of these on suspicion if they were found in a likely spot, and at once haled them into court. this permanent assignment left drew with his evenings free. because of this, he and johnny enjoyed many a night stroll together. one of their favorite haunts was a slip which ended some four blocks from their shack, and extended for several blocks east until it lost itself in the waters of the lake. this narrow channel of water was lined on one side by great bulging, empty sheet iron sheds, and on the other by brick warehouses which appeared equally empty. a narrow landing extending the length of the sheds, and fast falling into decay, offered a precarious footing for any who chose to wander there. it was a spooky place, this slip at night. at the end nearest the shore, half under water, half above, a one-time pleasure yacht lay rotting away. at the far end, an ancient tug fretted at a chain that was red with rust and from time to time added to the general melancholy of the place a hollow bub-bub as it bumped the shore. one would scarcely say that a horde of gigantic red-eyed rats could add to the attractions or any place, let alone one such as this. lend it a touch of joy, they did, nevertheless. this became johnny's hunting ground. armed with his bow and quiver of arrows, he stalked rats as in other climes he had stalked wolves and bears. drew never tired of seeing his keen bladed arrow speed straight and true. there is a certain fascination about such expert marksmanship. besides, drew hated rats. he had said many times, "a great city has two scourges, professional criminals and rats. it's every honest man's duty to help rid the city of both." on this particular night johnny and drew had gone on one of their hunting trips. they had put out a lure of shelled corn during the day. game was plentiful. in the half light of the smoke-dulled moon, many a rodent whose eyes gleamed in the dark met his death. drew had tired of the sport and had walked a dozen paces down the way. johnny was lurking in the shadows, hoping for one more good shot, when he thought he heard a curious sound. this sound appeared to come from the shadows opposite the spot where drew, unconscious of any danger, walked in the moonlight. then, of a sudden, a terrifying thing began to happen. a hand and half an arm emerged from the shadows that lay against the rotting shed. in the hand was a gun. this gun was rising slowly, steadily to a position where it would be covering drew. what was to be done? johnny's mind worked with the lightning rapidity of a speed camera. should he shout a warning? there was not time. leap forward? this too would be futile. one thing remained. the movement of that hand was slow, sure. johnny's fingers were fast as the speed of light. he nocked an arrow, took sudden aim, and let fly. "silent murder" found his mark. came a low cry of surprise, then a thud. "what was that?" drew whirled about and snatched for his own gun. johnny did not dare answer. what had he accomplished? where was the hand, the gun, the man? nocking a second arrow, he crowded further into the shadows. what was to come next? his heart pounded hard against his ribs. ten seconds passed, twenty, thirty. with gun drawn, drew advanced toward him. johnny expected at any moment to hear a shot ring out. none did. once more drew demanded, "what was that?" "i-i saw a hand, half an arm, a-a gun," johnny stammered. "i shot--shot an arrow at the arm." "a hand, an arm, a gun?" drew was plainly bewildered. "the gun was aimed at you." "where?" "there. over there in the shadows." gripping his gun tight, drew threw the light of his electric torch into those shadows. "no one there," he muttered. "you were dreaming. but no. i heard something. "and look!" he cried, springing forward. "here's the gun. he dropped it. fled. thought the devil was after him. no wonder, when you hunted him with 'silent murder.' "but i say, boy!" he exclaimed, gripping johnny's hand till it hurt. "you saved my life. i'll not forget that!" "we'll just take this along," he said a moment later as he picked up a steel blue sixshooter with a six inch barrel. "a forty-five," he said, turning it over. "not a bad gun. and full of slugs. reminds me of one that nearly did for me once. tell you about it sometime." at that they turned and walked quietly away from the scene of the near tragedy. where was the intruder? gone. what of johnny's arrow? what damage had it done? perhaps the light of day would answer some of these questions. at present it was time for johnny to hasten away to his nightly vigil in the squad call corner. chapter xiii a marked man johnny's work at the studio never failed to fascinate him. the noon hours were pure routine. but at night, when squad calls came thick and fast--that was the time! an entire symphony orchestra might be crashing its way through some magnificent concerto. no matter. the squad operator spoke a few words in johnny's ear. he jotted down those words. he pressed a button twice. for one brief second the air, a thousand miles around, grew tensely silent. then _clang! clang! clang!_ and after that, johnny's voice: "squads, attention! squad 16. a shooting at madison and ashland." ah! there was power for you; a little press of a button and all the world stood by. each night brought to his ears a terse description of some new form of violence. "you'd think," he said to drew once, "that the whole city had turned criminal." "but it hasn't," drew replied thoughtfully. "only one person in three hundred is a professional criminal. don't forget that. if you want to know what that means, go somewhere and watch a turnstile. count three hundred people as they pass through. then say 'one.' big, like that. that stands for one crook. then begin all over again, and count three hundred." johnny tried that, and derived a deal of assurance from the experiment. it gave him the comforting feeling that one might have who has three hundred friends arrayed solidly behind him, row on row, while a single enemy stands across the way. but were these truly ready to stand back of law and justice? "if they are not," he told himself, "it is because of ignorance. if they do not know the truth they must be told." johnny hurried back to the shack as soon as his work was done, on the night of his curious adventure down by the slip. he had no desire to go prowling about those abandoned sheds again that night. he did wish to be abroad the first thing in the morning. he wanted to discover, if possible, how the would-be assassin had made his escape. he was also curious to discover whether or not his arrow had gone with the stranger. "i am surprised that anyone should attempt to kill me," drew said, as they started for the slip early that morning. "but isn't a police officer's life always in danger?" "why, no, i wouldn't say so. depends, of course, on your record, and the type of crooks you are assigned to. "take the matter of arresting a crook. he doesn't usually resist, unless you've caught him red-handed in crime. rather take a chance with the judge. figures you've got nothing on him anyway. and i haven't been in on anything really big. they give those things to older men. howe and i have been following pickpockets for months. that was my first and it's my last assignment as a detective so far. "pickpockets are seldom violent. sneaking is their game. they seldom pack a gun. if they do, they don't know how to use it." "that man knew his gun," said johnny with a shudder. "fairly good gun." drew had thrown the cartridges out of the revolver. he had hung it on a nail over the head of his bed. there it was destined to remain until a busy spider had spun a web about it and built him a gauzy home inside the trigger guard. for all that, neither the spider, the revolver, nor the former owner of the revolver were destined to rest long in peace. "it's plain enough," said johnny, as they reached the sheds, "why that assassin was unconscious of my presence. i had been standing silently in the shadows, a long time, looking for a rat." "well," chuckled drew, "you got one, didn't you?" "that's what i've been wondering," replied johnny. "probably i did; otherwise why did he drop the gun?" "quite so. you traded an arrow for a loaded gun. not so bad." "i still have hope of recovering my arrow. the flesh of a man's arm is a thin target. i put all i had into that shot." they found some footprints ground into the cinders where the man had stood. they discovered several breaks in the rusting sides of the shed, where he might have escaped. and yes, true to johnny's expectations, they found the arrow where it had spent its force and dropped a hundred or more feet from the spot from which it had been fired. "see!" exclaimed johnny as he picked it up. "i got him. blood on the feathers." "i never doubted that for a moment," drew said impressively. "as you suggested, the arrow must have gone through the fleshy part of his arm. "he's a marked man!" he exclaimed. "you must keep that arrow. some day, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps ten years from now, it may be needed as evidence." "why, i--" "that arrow mark will leave a scar that matches the width of your arrow blade. it will have other peculiarities that will tell straight and plain that the wound was made, not only by an arrow, but by one arrow--this one. i've seen things far more technical than that, far more difficult to prove, sway a jury and win a hanging verdict." so, in the end, the arrow was laid across two nails close to the revolver above drew's bed. and, just by way of providing an easy means of escape if escape were necessary, the spider ran a line from the thug's revolver to johnny's blood-dyed arrow. "you said something about boxing once," drew was at the door of the shack, ready to depart for his day of scouting. "how'd you like to meet me at the club this evening for a few rounds?" "be great!" johnny exclaimed enthusiastically. "you'll find me rusty, though. haven't had gloves on for a long time." "here's the address." drew wrote on a bit of paper, and handed it to johnny. "i'll meet you in the lobby at nine o'clock." "fine!" with drew gone, and only the distant rumble of the city to keep him company, johnny sat down in drew's rocking chair to think. from time to time his gaze strayed to the wall where the revolver and the arrow hung. "life," he thought, "has grown more complicated and--and more terrible. and yet, what a privilege it is to live!" for the first time since he arrived on that freighter at midnight, he felt a desire to be far, far away from this great city and all that it stood for. "power," he murmured, "great power, that is what a city stands for. great power, great weakness, great success, gigantic failure, men of magnificent character, men of no character at all; that's what you find in a city of three million people." at once his mind was far away. in his imagination he stood upon a small and shabby dock. a small and shabby village lay at the back of the dock. at his feet a dilapidated clinker-built rowboat bumped the dock. oars were there, minnows for bait, and fishing tackle. two miles up the bay was a dark hole where great muskies waved the water with their fins, where bass black as coal darted from place to place, while spotted perch, seeming part of the water itself, hung motionless, watching. "ah, to be there!" he breathed. "the peace, the simple joy of it all. to drop a minnow down there; to cast one far out, then to watch for the move that means a strike! "and yet--" he sighed, but did not finish his sentence. on the youth of to-day a great city exerts an indescribable charm. johnny would not leave this city of his boyhood days until he had conquered or had been conquered. "it's strange, all this," he mused. "wonder why that man beat me up there in the studio? wonder if sergeant mccarthey knows any more than he did. let me see. pickpockets, boy robbers, theatre holdup men, safe blowers. wonder whose accomplice that man with a hole in his hand is. who can tell?" chapter xiv johnny scores a knockdown johnny experienced no difficulty in locating drew's club. it was a fine place, that club; small, but very useful. not much space for loafing there; a lobby, that was all. a completely equipped gymnasium, showers, a swimming pool, bowling alleys in the basement, a floor for boxing and fencing. a young men's club this was, with a purpose. that purpose was set up in large letters above the desk in the lobby: keep fit. in a surprisingly short time they had undressed, passed under the showers, gone through a quick rub-down, drawn on shorts and gloves, and there they were. drew was five years johnny's senior. he was taller almost by a head, and thirty pounds heavier. it seemed an uneven match. but johnny was well built. then, too, he had a passion for boxing that dated back to his sixth year. when at that early date a boy three years his senior had taken it upon himself to put johnny in his place, johnny had emerged from the engagement bloody, tattered and victorious. for a space of five minutes these two, johnny and drew, sparred, getting up their wind and landing comfortable body blows now and then. when they sat down for a brief blowing spell, drew looked johnny over with increased admiration. he had expected to amuse this boy and get a little workout for himself. he had found that johnny was quick on his feet, that his eyes were good, and that his left carried a punch that came with the speed of chain lightning. "i was going to give you a little sermon on keeping fit," drew said after a moment of silence. "guess you don't need it." "everyone needs it." "you bet they do. hadn't been for my keeping fit, i wouldn't be here at all. come on. let's go another round." once more they sparred. this time drew seemed determined to deal johnny at least one smacker on the face. in this he was singularly unsuccessful. johnny was never there when the blow arrived. he ducked; he wove right, wove left, sprang backward, spun round. then of a sudden, something happened. in making a desperate effort to reach johnny's chin, drew exposed the left side of his face. johnny swung hard, but planned to pull the punch. drew suddenly leaned into it. johnny's blow came in with the impact of a trip hammer, just under drew's ear. drew dropped like an empty sack. he was out for the count of five. then he sat up dizzily, stared about him, caught johnny's eyes, then grinned a crooked grin that lacked nothing of sincerity as he exclaimed: "that was a darb!" half an hour later, after a second shower, the two boys sat in the small lunch room of the club, munching cold tongue sandwiches on rye, and drinking coffee. "boy!" said drew. "you should train for the ring." "doesn't interest me," said johnny. "fine thing to box, just to keep fit. but when it comes to making a business of a thing that should be all pure fun--not for me!" "guess you're right." "but tell me," said johnny. "is it hard to become a city detective?" "not so easy. many a fellow out in the sticks pounding a beat would like to be on the detective force. it's more dangerous. but you have more freedom. and you get a bigger kick out of it. if you get there quick you've got to get a break. i got a break. "queer sort of thing," he mused as one will who is about to spin a yarn. "i was off duty, dressed in knickers, driving home in my car, with a friend, from a golf game. traffic light stopped us. fellow, tough looking egg, stuck a cannon in my face and said: 'stick 'em up!'" "what did you do?" johnny leaned forward eagerly. "what would you have done?" "you weren't on duty. weren't wearing your star?" "not wearing my star, that's right. but in a way an officer of the law is never off duty. many a brave fellow has been killed because he stepped into something when he was in civilian clothes and off duty. "my friend that was with me was a real guy. he wouldn't have squawked if i had given that bad egg my money and driven on. "but you know, that's not the way a fellow's mind works. no, sir! you say to yourself, 'this guy's got the drop on me. i've got to get him. how'll i do it?'" "what did you do?" johnny's coffee was cooling on the table. "i said, 'please, mister, don't shoot me. i'm a young fellow. i don't want to die. i'll give you everything, but don't shoot!' stalling for time. see? "'all right,' he growled, 'back the car into the alley.' "he climbed into the back seat and pressed cold steel against the back of my neck. "of course i had to look through the rear window to back into the alley. that gave me an idea. i blinked my eyes as if i saw someone behind the car. he was nervous. they generally are. who wouldn't be? "he turned his head to look back. i had a small 32 in my pocket. i whipped it out and took a pot shot at him. "my hand struck the back of the seat. the gun flew up. i missed. "he whirled about and put his gun on my temple. 'you murderin' -------,' he said, and pulled the trigger three times. "the gun didn't go off." drew paused to smile. "sometimes a fellow gets a break that makes him want to believe in angels and things like that. "that gun was loaded with slugs. it had a lock on it. he had failed to release the lock. he threw away his gun and grabbed for mine. "we grappled, and i went over the seat on top of him, shouting to my friend: 'go call the police.' he went. "then we fought it out there alone. that's where keeping fit came in. he was a tough egg with a record long as your arm. he was strong. he was desperate. the 'stir' craze was on him. "'don't resist me,' i said. 'i'm an officer.' "'i'll kill you with your own gun if it's the last thing i ever do!' that was his answer. "we fought and struggled. he banged me here. he banged me there. he bit my hand to the bone. once he pressed my own gun to my head, but my finger was on the trigger. he couldn't shoot. "'pull the trigger, ------you! pull the trigger. it's on your head!' that's what he said. "a stranger heard the noise and came to look at us. "'call the police!' i yelled. 'call the police!' "you should have heard him hot-footing out of there! i tell you that was funny! "and then we bumped into the door. it flew open. we tumbled out. i got my chance. i fired one shot. i got my man. "hey, waiter!" drew called with a smile. "bring us some more coffee. this has gone cold." "of course," he said thoughtfully, "it's always too bad when a man has to die. but it was one or the other of us. he wasn't much good. they wanted him for a dozen robberies, and for shooting a policeman. "i was in the sticks walking a beat then. they gave me a job on the detective force, and i received a hundred dollars reward from one of the papers. so you see, life as a copper isn't so bad, providing you get the breaks." "yes," johnny said slowly, "providing you do." "i suppose," said drew after stirring his coffee reflectively for a time, "that i should be satisfied. and i am, reasonably so. but you know, pickpockets are very small game. it's necessary enough that they should be mopped up. but it's like hunting rabbits when there are grizzly bears about. i'd like to get in on something big. "things are going to happen in this old town. judges are getting better. the prosecutors are working harder. the honest people are waking up. one of these fine days the order will be given to break up every gang in town; bring them in or drive them out. i want to be in on that." "you will," said johnny. "they won't be able to do it without you. they need a thousand like you, a legion of youth." "you are right!" drew put his cup down with a crash. "college men. that's what they need. men may sneer at them. they needn't. i'm a college man, and i'm proud of it. "know what?" his eyes shone. "they are going to put courses in criminology in the colleges and universities. they'll do more than that. they'll teach young fellows how to be good detectives. why not? they teach them everything else. why not that?" "they will," said johnny. "and i'd like to take the course myself." chapter xv johnny finds a man that night sergeant mccarthey visited johnny in his cubby-hole by the big radio studio. "hello, boy," he said, putting out a big, brown hand for a shake. "mind if i sit down awhile? sort of like to see how the calls go out." "not a bit," johnny smiled. "glad to have company. little dull lately. robbery, shooting, burglary, shooting, holdup; that's about the way it goes. nothing really new." he laughed a short laugh. "say!" the sergeant exclaimed, "you've got to hand it to this old burg. that stuff goes out all over the country. everybody gets it. and they say, 'what a terrible town!' "but it's not a bad town. i've lived in others. i know. they're all alike. difference is, others cover it all up. we don't. you'll see. when we shout enough, the crooks will begin clearing out. you--" johnny held up a finger. he listened. he wrote. he banged his gong. then-"squads attention! squads 36 and 37. robbers in the second apartment at 1734 wabash." "that's the way it goes, is it?" said the sergeant. "pretty quick work. when we get our own station it will be snappier. and only the squad cars will get the calls. special low wave-length." for a time they sat in silence. then johnny's telephone buzzed. "another call?" mccarthey asked in a low tone. "just a report on that last call." johnny's eyes twinkled. "got 'em. got 'em four minutes after the call went out." "good work. no wonder they hate you, those crooks. this place should be guarded." "it is." johnny laid his hand on his bow. "drew told me about that thing and the way you handled it down there by the slip. wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't told me. "by the way, i've been making a little study of that man's history, the one who shot rosy's father, the one that beat you up." "find anything?" "following the hunch about his liking the sound of his gun, and the descriptions given in other robberies, i believe he's responsible for several bad bits of business. "this much we know from the case of rosy's father. he's a sicilian. a tall fellow, and heavily built. not dark for his race. got a low, narrow forehead, and blue eyes very close together. he's never been caught. probably sneaked into our country from canada or mexico. send him back where he came from if we get him. and we'll get him!" "i hope so," said johnny, with a furtive glance toward the door. "i mostly manage to keep wide awake. but it's late by the time i'm through. if i should get drowsy, and he walked in again, well--" "this place should be guarded," the sergeant repeated. "i'll suggest it." "no, don't bother." "i'll lend you a gun." "guns make such a lot of noise. old silent murder here will do as well." "guess i'd better be going." herman mccarthey rose. "got to catch my train." "train?" "yes. i live in the country. little village; one store, one church, post office, few homes. need the peace i find there to go with the rush of the city and this business of hunting crooks. it's good to wake up with a breath of dew in your nostrils, and the robins singing their morning song. nothing like it." "no," said johnny, "there isn't." he was thinking of the woods by his fishing hole in the far away north peninsula, where the song sparrows fairly burst their throats with melody. "good night," said johnny. "good night, son." the sergeant was gone. * * * * * * * * the state street police court with its humorous punch and judy judge became a place of great fascination to johnny. in the past he had dreamed of courts where trials dragged through weary months; where prisoners languished in jail; and a man might be sentenced to five years of hard labor for stealing a loaf of bread to feed a starving family. how different was this court where a pretty lady might steal a dress she did not need, and never go to jail at all. the very poor, johnny soon learned, were treated with consideration. their poverty was not forgotten. "and yet," he said to drew one day, "i can't help but feel that there would be less stealing if some of these first offenders scrubbed a few floors in the workhouse." "there are many things to be considered," was drew's reply. and then one day, as he stood in that state street court room, all eyes and ears for what was taking place, johnny made a great discovery. he found a man. this man was not brought to court. he came of his own accord, to plead the cause of another. he was not quite sober, this man; indeed there are those who would have said he was drunk. and yet he spoke with precision. though there was about him an indescribable air of youth, this man's hair was white. his face was thin. some of his teeth were gone. his clothes were well-worn, yet they showed immaculate care. his linen was clean. "shabby gentility" partly described him; but not quite. "judge," he said, tilting first on heels, then on his toes, "judge, your honor, you have a man in jail here. he was fined twenty-five dollars for being drunk." he paused for breath. "judge, your honor, he can't pay that fine. he isn't a bad man, judge. he drinks too much sometimes, judge. let him go, can't you, judge?" the man's voice took on a pleading note. "what's this man's name?" the judge studied the stranger's face. "judge, your honor, his name is robert maccain. he isn't a bad man, judge. let him go, will you, judge?" "he's a pal of yours?" "yes, your honor." "you drink with him sometimes?" "yes, your honor." "you took a little drink yesterday?" "yes, your honor." "and last night?" "and last night. yes, your honor." "how does it come you were not arrested with this pal of yours?" "your honor," again the stranger tilted backward and forward from heel to toe, "your honor, i try at all times to be a gentleman. "let him go, judge. will you?" "are you a lawyer?" the judge leaned forward to stare at him. "no, your honor. but i know more law than your swanson or darrow or--" "you should have been a lawyer. what are you?" again the stranger went up on his toes. "your honor, for seventeen years i was a detective on the police force of new york. i ranked as a lieutenant, your honor." "this fellow is a romancer," johnny whispered to an attorney who stood beside him. "he doesn't know truth from lies." "he is telling the truth," was the astounding reply. "i know him. he was rated high." the lawyer scribbled a sentence on a slip of paper. he handed it to the judge. this movement did not escape the stranger. "your honor," he pleaded, "don't let any of this get into the papers. i have a mother eighty-six years old. it would kill her." "what is your name?" "your honor, my name is newton mills." "newton mills?" the judge started, then stared in unfeigned astonishment. "you are newton mills?" "yes, your honor." "what are you doing here?" "nothing, your honor." "yes, you are!" the judge braced himself on the arms of his chair. "you're drinking yourself to death. you are breaking your mother's heart. "i'll tell you what i'll do." he reached for an order blank. "i'll send you down there with your pal. you'll have a chance to sober up." at once the face of newton mills became a study in pain. "don't do that, judge. don't do it. it will break my mother's heart. i haven't done anything bad, judge. i'll quit drinking, judge. i promise. don't do it, judge. i'll quit. i promise, judge." there had been a time when, quite a young boy, johnny thompson had made friends with a homeless dog. at another time he had found a half grown kitten starving under a barn. after much trouble he had caught the kitten. it had scratched him terribly, but he had clung to it and had carried it home to give it a chance. something of the same feeling came over him now. only this time he had found, not a dog, not a cat, but something more precious--a man. "you--your honor," he stammered, scarcely knowing what he was saying, "if your honor please, i'd like this man." "to what purpose?" the judge stared. "to give him another chance." "can you?" once more the judge leaned far forward in his chair. "drew lane is my friend. we live together. with his help i can." "done!" said the judge. "you heard what he said!" he exclaimed, turning to the astonished newton mills. "you promised to stop drinking. this young man will see that you do stop." never in all his life had johnny seen such a look of despair as came over the face of the old-time detective. he had made that promise a thousand times. he had never kept it. now here was someone with the mighty arm of the law behind him, who said, "you must!" he glanced wildly about the room, as if looking for means of escape. then with a look of utter weariness he murmured: "yes, your honor." chapter xvi the face that seemed a mask so it happened that when drew returned from work that evening he found a man in johnny's bunk, and johnny seated near him. the man was asleep, or in a drunken stupor. "i found a man," said johnny. "looks like a bum," said drew, casting a critical eye over the stranger. "he has been." "looks like he was drunk." "he is." "then why--" drew paused to stare at the stranger. "drew," said johnny, almost solemnly, "did you ever hear of newton mills?" "newton mills, the great city detective? who hasn't?" "that," said johnny dramatically, "is newton mills." "what!" drew took a step forward. "it can't be. he disappeared three years ago. he's dead. "and yet--" he stared at the face of the man on the cot. then he tore into a trunk to drag out a bundle of old photographs. one of these he studied intently for a moment. then turning to johnny, he said in a voice tense with emotion, "yes, johnny, that is newton mills. you have indeed found a man. "my god!" he exclaimed in an altered tone. "i wonder if that's the price? will i be like that in twenty years?" to this question he expected no reply. he received none. he took a seat beside the cot where the man with deep-lined face and tangled white hair was sleeping. for a long time he said nothing. silence brooded over the shack. "this man, drew lane, is an unusual person," johnny told himself. "he is so full of strange deep thoughts." this beyond question was true. he was given to actions quite as strange as his thoughts. at one time he had paid a half-dollar for the privilege of taking johnny to the top of his city's highest tower. once there, he had spread his hands wide as he exclaimed, "see, johnny! look at all that!" it was indeed an awe-inspiring sight. mile on mile of magnificent buildings. towers rising to the clouds, all the wealth and glory of a great modern city was there, spread out beneath them. "johnny," drew had said, "there are people living down there who are ashamed of their own city. they don't believe in its future. "you can't blame them too much." his voice took on a note of sadness. "the badness of it is pretty terrible. "but think, johnny! look! look and think how many men of great wealth must have believed in this city and her future. not one of those great towers could have risen a foot from the ground had not some man had faith in the city's future. "and, johnny!" he had gripped the boy's arm hard. "it's my task and yours, every young man's task, to prove to the world that the faith of those men was not misplaced. "and we will!" he had clenched his hands tight. "we'll make it the grandest, the greatest, the safest, most beautiful city the world has ever known!" he had said that. and now he sat brooding beside the form of one who, like himself perhaps in his youth, had thrown himself against the slow revolving wheel of stone that is a great city's appalling wickedness. "and now see!" he murmured, half aloud. "the lawyer who told me who he was said he was 'just a shell!'" johnny volunteered. "do you think you can make anything of just a shell?" "i don't know." drew's tone betrayed no emotion. "but who could do less than try?" "who?" johnny echoed. at that moment the souls of drew and johnny were like those of david and jonathan. they were as one. "that man," said drew as he nodded at the slight form on the cot, "was one of new york's finest. many a member of the old five point gang has felt a light touch on his arm, to turn and laugh up into those mild blue eyes. but they never laughed long. that touch became a chain of steel. the chain dragged them to a cell or to a grave. "there are people still," he rambled on, "who believe that a detective should be a man of muscle and brawn. in a fight, of course, it helps. but in these days when fighting is done, for the most part, with powder and steel, a slight man with brains gets the break. this newton mills surely did. for a long, long time he got all the breaks. but now look!" "he told the judge he had been living on fifteen dollars a week, sent by his mother," said johnny. "what could have happened?" "many things perhaps. herman mccarthey will know. i have heard him speak of newton mills. we will ask him, first thing to-morrow morning." and there, for a time, the matter rested. that night as he went to work, walking by preference down the avenue, then over the drive that fronted the lake, as one will at times, johnny received the impression that he was being watched, perhaps followed. an uncomfortable feeling this, at any time. a late hour, a deserted street, do not lessen one's mental disturbance. long ago johnny had formed two habits. while walking alone at night he kept well toward the outer edge of the sidewalk. under such conditions it is hard for a would-be assailant to spring at one unobserved. then, too, he carried one hand in his coat pocket. "for," he was accustomed to say to his friends, "who will know what i hold in that hand? it may be a small gun. if it were, i could shoot it quite accurately without removing it from my pocket. crooks are, at heart, great cowards. what one of them will face a hand in a coat pocket?" thus far in johnny's young life, not one of the night prowlers had molested him. though some sixth sense told him now that he was being followed in the shadows, he was not greatly alarmed. he merely increased his pace to a brisk walk. from time to time he looked over his shoulder. each time he saw no one. he was passing along an empty lot lined with great signboards, and had reached the center of the block when two men sprang from the shadows. not wholly unprepared for this, he gave a sudden leap to one side, then sprang forward to transform the affair into a foot race. fortunately at that moment four sturdy citizens turned a corner and advanced in his direction. this apparently was an unforeseen part of the program, for at once his would-be assailants stopped short, then turned as if to walk in the other direction. as they turned, the face of the shorter one was suddenly illumined by a light from an auto that had turned a corner. it was but a flash. then all was darkness. yet in that flash johnny had seen a man, one of those who had followed him. he was a youth with broad, slightly stooping shoulders. his face seemed a mask. his clothes were in the height of style. the light brought a flash from a diamond somewhere on his person. darkness followed. johnny walked straight ahead. he met and passed the four men, who paid him not the slightest attention. fifteen minutes later he was at his post in the radio station. there, for a time, the matter ended. of two things you may be sure. johnny walked that street no more at night, nor did he forget that youth with a face that was like a mask. chapter xvii the sergeant's story when johnny returned to the shack that night his strange guest was still asleep. a third cot had been set up in the room. understanding this, johnny crept between the fresh, clean-feeling sheets, and was soon sleeping soundly. when he awoke in the morning drew was gone. his white-haired guest, newton mills, the man he had found, was seated on his bunk, chin cupped in hands, staring at the floor. johnny lay in his bunk watching him for a full quarter of an hour. in all that time he did not move so much as a finger. this man fascinated johnny. does this seem strange? who has not dreamed of coming upon a derelict at sea; of seeing her masts broken, bridge and gunwale gone, decks awash, yet carrying on, the wreck of a one-time magnificent craft? could such a sight fail to bring to the lips an awe-inspired cry? how much more the wreck of a great man? but was this a true derelict? this was the question that pressed itself upon johnny's eager young mind. many a drifting hulk, having been found sound of beam and keel, has been towed ashore to be refitted and sail the seas once more. so, too, it is with men. thus johnny's thoughts rambled on. but what of this strange, prematurely gray man? what thoughts filled his mind at this hour? or did he think? rousing himself, johnny stepped from his bed, donned shirt, trousers and slippers to glide from the room and knock at that other door. into rosy's ready ear he whispered: "coffee for two. stout! black and strong!" a short time later as he and the one-time great detective drank hot black coffee in silence, the door opened and herman mccarthey entered. johnny understood in an instant. drew had sent him. "hello, mills!" the sergeant exclaimed heartily. "remember me, don't you? we worked together on the romeri kidnapping case. that was, let me see, twelve years ago." "romeri." the man passed a hand before his face, as one will who brushes away a cobweb. "romeri. yes, i remember the case. and you, herman mccarthey. ah yes, herman mccarthey. there were no stool pigeons in that case." "no," said herman, "there were none." conversation lagged. herman sat down to drink a cup of coffee. he sighed, got up, walked across the floor, and sat down again. "tell you what," he said at last, looking at johnny. "to-day's my day off. going out to my place at mayfair. it's quiet out there and mighty fine. to-morrow's sunday. supposing i take mills out there for the week-end. you come out sunday and stay all night. then we'll come back to town in my car, the three of us. what do you say, mills?" the white-haired man rose with the air of one who has surrendered his will; like a prisoner who receives orders from a guard. herman mccarthey read the meaning of that act, and frowned. he did not, however, say, "well, let's not go." he said nothing, but led the way. the other followed. johnny went with them to the sidewalk. there he stood and watched them board a west bound car. after that he turned about and walked thoughtfully back to the room. in his mind questions turned themselves over and over. "when is a man an empty shell? when is he a hopeless derelict?" he thought of herman mccarthey, alone out there at his country place with that terribly silent man, and was tempted to regret the steps he had taken. he ended by drinking a second cup of coffee, then falling asleep in his chair. * * * * * * * * next day johnny went out to herman mccarthey's place. he had no trouble finding the house. the town was small, only a tiny village, but filled with many stately trees. he wondered a little as he walked up the gravel path. how was his man, his derelict? would anything worth while come of this affair? he found newton mills in the same condition as when he left the shack. he talked little, always of trivial matters. he ate almost nothing. at times a haunting desire was written on his face. "been like that all the time," herman whispered to johnny. "can't tell how he'll come out. seen many like him. can't help it when you're a cop. they're like a lamp that's been burning a long time and gone dim. some, if you give them a fresh supply of oil, flare up, then burn steadily again. some don't. last spark is gone. how about him? who knows? only god knows. we must do our best." they spent the day in quiet rambles about the village and long periods of loafing on the porch. newton mills retired early. that left herman and johnny to amuse themselves; not that the strange derelict had furnished them much amusement. in his bed at least he was no longer a burden. the two, the seasoned detective and the boy, chose to sit the long evening through on the broad screened porch. the still peace of the place seemed strange to the boy whose ears had become accustomed to the rattle of elevated trains, the shouts of newsboys and the miscellaneous din of a city's streets. "it's so quiet," he said, looking away through the motionless leaves of stately trees, across the darkened lawn to the spot where the moon was rising. "yes," said herman mccarthey, "it is quiet. sometimes i like to feel that the peace of god hovers over the spot. anyway, it's the only place i'll ever live. "you know, of course, that you're supposed to live in chicago if you're on the force," he went on. "but the chief fixed that for me. it's only a rule; not a law. "the chief and i," and his tone became reminiscent, "were on the force together when we were young. we were in one fight which the chief won't forget. nor i, either. "there was a tough gang down by the river. a shooting had been reported. we got there on the double-quick; too quick perhaps. we met 'em coming up the bank, all armed. they didn't wait for words. just started in shooting. they got me in the shoulder first round. but i stood up to 'em and let 'em have it back. so did the chief. one man went down. "of a sudden the bullet i had in me made me dizzy. i spun round and went down. "the chief stood up to 'em. a dozen rounds were fired before my head cleared. when it did, i propped my eyes open just in time to see one of them bending over the chief, taking deadly aim. the chief was down with a bullet in his back. that shot never was fired." "you--you got him." it was johnny who spoke. "you said it, son." "and that," said herman mccarthey, "is why the chief lets me live where i please. "but that," he went on after a moment, "is not why i live here. of course i've always loved the quiet peace of the open country. you need it after the day's rush and noise and all the squalid fuss you endure as a police officer. somehow i have a notion that if a lot more of those city cave-dwellers lived out in places like this we wouldn't have so many to run down and put in jail. but who knows? "that's not the whole reason either." he leaned forward in his chair. "i live here because it's the place where i spent my honeymoon." "you--your--" johnny stared at him through the darkness. "yes." herman mccarthey's tone was deep. "i was married once. "no. she didn't die. just went away. they do that sometimes. she's living yet, and happy, i hope. successful too, and prosperous. buys dresses for a big store in new york, swell dresses they say. goes to paris every year and all that. ten thousand a year, maybe more. "you see," his tone became very thoughtful, "she married the wrong man. that happens too. i was only a cop, a plain ordinary policeman. perhaps she married my uniform. who knows? "i brought her out here. she wasn't happy. 'too still,' she said. "so we took a flat in the city. but she wanted what i couldn't give, kind of a society life." for a time, he stared away to the west where the first stars were appearing. then he spoke again. "i bought this place on payments. when we moved to the city i couldn't very well keep up the payments, so i let it all go; or thought i had. "but when she'd left me and gone to new york i sort of felt like i'd like to come out and see the old place--the place where i'd spent my honeymoon. "and what do you think? the man i'd bought the place from had saved it for me all that time! all i had to do was begin paying again, and it was mine. "it's things like that that make me like quiet country places. men do such things out here. perhaps they do in the city, too. but somehow i feel that a man is a bit nearer god when he sees the dew on the grass, the red in the sunset, and the gold in the moon." again he was silent for a time. "all this," he went on then, "hasn't made me bitter. it's the duty and grand privilege of most men to have a home and raise a family of youngsters. it's the duty of us all, especially of us officers of the law, to make it easy and safe for those boys and girls to grow up strong, clean, and pure. that's why an officer who doesn't do his whole duty is so much of a monster." chapter xviii a scream--a shot that particular sunday was a happy one for rosy, the bright-eyed italian girl. why not? it was her birthday. she was sixteen. what is more wonderful than being sixteen? besides, her mother had given her a new dress. it was real silk, the color of very old italian wine, this dress was, and trimmed with such silk flowers as only the skillful fingers of mother ramacciotti could form. there were other reasons for happiness. rosy's life had known misery and sadness. now she had a home; very plain, it is true, but comfortable. she had friends. were not johnny and drew her friends? many more there were at the radio studio. rosy was a favorite. her obliging interest in all that pertained to her duties, her ready smile, won many. then too, her mother had said to her that very morning, "six months more, and we will go to those so beautiful hills that are my home. your grandmother awaits us among her flowers and her vines. the white-topped alps will look down upon us from afar. ah! there is a country! italy! oh, my beloved italy!" rosy had not seen italy. her mother had painted glowing pictures of that land. oh! such pictures! who can say which one longed most for that land, mother or daughter? a gay time they had that day. drew was in for dinner. they had ravioli a la tuscany, and after that some very rare fruit cake that had come only the week before from sunny italy. so proud of her new dress was rosy, that she needs must wear it to her work. her friends, all of them, must see how very beautiful it was. so, with a smile on her lips, and a dimple in each cheek, she departed, waving goodbye. rosy, happy rosy! at the studio she was greeted with many smiles and hearty congratulations. in time, however, all her friends had passed to their work on the floor above, leaving rosy there alone. it was always a little dreary down at the foot of the stairs. only an occasional buzz at the switchboard disturbed the silence of the place. faint, indistinct, seeming to come from another world, the mingled notes of many musical instruments floated down from above. some tunes were merry; some sad. on this particular night, for no reason at all, they all reached her ears tinged with melancholy. what was it? is great happiness always followed by a touch of sadness? was a shadow of the future stretching out to engulf her? in one studio was a massive pipe organ. at 9:30 the organist, ascending to the console, left the studio door ajar. the pealing, throbbing notes of this organ drifted down to rosy. for each of us there is some musical instrument whose notes stir us with joy, another that awakens a feeling of sadness. to rosy the pipe organ carried a feeling of infinite pain and sorrow. on that tragic day, when her murdered father had been carried to his last long rest they had led her, at her mother's side, to a great dark, damp and lofty room that was a church. there for one long, torturing half hour she had listened to the most mournful tones she had ever known. the tones had come from a pipe organ. now, as she sat listening, it seemed to her that the dampness, the darkness, the gloom of that vast church were once more upon her. she shuddered. then, though the night was warm, she threw a wrap about her shoulders. her fingers trembled. "that door," she thought. "i will go up and close it." she had risen and was turning about when, of a sudden, her blood froze in her veins. directly behind the place where she had been sitting, were two men. one was half concealed by a door. his head and shoulders were within a closet. the other looked squarely at her. two things rosy's startled eyes told her at a glance. the man who looked at her was young. his face was like a mask. the other man had a hole in his hand. it was enough. without willing to do so, she screamed. it was such a long-drawn, piercing scream as one utters but once or twice in a lifetime. * * * * * * * * in the meantime, under quite different circumstances, johnny and sergeant mccarthey were discussing their latest problem, the derelict from new york. "has he told you how it all came about?" johnny asked. "no. he won't tell that. what's the use? he knows i am a detective. he knows i know all that's worth knowing." "someone has told you?" "no. they never need to. i've seen it before; too often. too often!" sergeant mccarthey's tones were sad. for some time he said no more. when he did speak it was with the voice of one who has resolved to tell much. "you're young, son," he began. "you don't know a great deal about this business of hunting down criminals. you heard mills say there were no stool pigeons used in that kidnapping case we solved?" johnny nodded. "to me that remark was significant. he hates stool pigeons. everyone does. a stool pigeon is a person who, for pay or for immunity from arrest for some crime he has committed, tells on some other person. "there are men on every police force, good men too, who believe that criminals cannot be captured without the aid of stool pigeons. "but how one must come to hate them when he is obliged to deal with them constantly. perhaps you think of stool pigeons as poor, weak-eyed, slinking creatures who can earn a living in no other way. if so, you are wrong. some are rich, some are poor, some men, some women. all are alike in two particulars. all want something; for the most part protection for some form of petty vice or crime. and they all crawl. how they do crawl! "perhaps you don't quite understand. it's using the little criminal to catch the big one. take an example. some greek runs a cheap gambling house. with card games and roulette wheels he entertains laborers and takes their money. he breaks the law. but he knows of a man who has robbed a bank. he is afraid of having his place raided, having his evil means of living taken away. he becomes a stool pigeon by informing on the robber. after that the detective uses him on many cases. "but how must the detective feel who has dealings with such a man? you can't play with snakes unless you lie down and crawl. "little by little, the thing gets you. to associate with stool pigeons you must do the things they do. you begin to drink. you do other things. you break the law. but the law forgives you, for you are working for it. "can't you see? no matter how high your ideals were in the beginning, how lofty your aims, you step down, down, down, when you deal with stool pigeons. "it was so with him." he nodded his head toward the room in which the white-haired one was sleeping. "i happen to know. when i worked with him there was no finer man on any force. a college man, born to his task, enthusiastic for it from his youth; no one promised more. but his chief believed in stool pigeons. he had a complicated, well guarded system of informers. newton mills was forced into this system. a man of sensitive nature and much native honor, he went down fast." "and you--" "i have never used a stool pigeon in my life. i never will. perhaps i am wrong. crime must be punished. it's a matter of method. i have informers, but they are all honest citizens. they tell what they know, and ask nothing in return. they are my friends. they are more than that. they are true americans. it is the duty of every honest citizen to inform the officers of the law when he learns of any flagrant violation of the law. perhaps if every citizen did his full duty, there would be no need of stool pigeons. who knows? i-"there's the telephone," he broke off suddenly. "go answer it, will you?" johnny sprang through the door and disappeared into the dark interior of the house. * * * * * * * * the young man with a face like a mask was not one of those who love the sound of his own gun overmuch. but he was, by nature, a killer. when rosy screamed, indeed even as she did so, he whirled about and, without removing his hand from his hip, fired one shot. rosy crumpled to the floor. soon a scarlet stream began disfiguring her bright new birthday dress. her eyes closed as in death. her cheeks were white with pain. when a throng of musicians and operators, electrified by rosy's scream, at last came to their senses and, led by bill heyworth, came pouring down the stairs, they found rosy lying unconscious on the floor. otherwise the place was deserted. some time later it was found that a wire had been cut in the closet back of rosy's chair. this wire ran through the closet to the studio above. it was the private wire from the central police station to the radio squad call room. chapter xix a bullet johnny thompson was not at the telephone for more than the space of one minute. when he returned to the porch where herman mccarthey sat placidly smoking, he was choked with emotion. "it's rosy," he said in a scarcely audible voice, "rosy! they have shot her!" "who?" herman sprang to his feet. "the crooks!" "where?" "at the radio station." "why?" "no one knows. a wire was cut. the private wire of the police. she was shot. no one was seen by anyone but rosy." for one distressing moment they stood there silent. then a voice came from the half darkness of the house door. "the bullet!" that voice said. "have they found the bullet?" no one answered. they were too greatly astonished. standing there in the doorway, before johnny and herman, looking like a ghost, dressed in a white bathrobe as he was, and with white hair flying, stood newton mills, the derelict detective. "i say!" his voice rose shrilly insistent. "have they saved the bullet?" "here!" said herman mccarthey a trifle shakily, "let's have a light." "there! that's better." he peered into the face of newton mills. the face was wan, ghastly. but the eyes! a fresh fire burned there. "they didn't tell you, did they?" herman said, speaking quietly to johnny. "tell me?" "the bullet." "they didn't say anything about a bullet." johnny was at a loss to know what it was all about. "you must call them," said the gray detective. "tell them to preserve it carefully." "i will call them at once." herman mccarthey's tone was that used by a subordinate officer to his chief. he went to the telephone immediately. he got drew on the phone, talked with him for a little time, then ended by saying, "we will drive in at once. yes, at once." "she's not dead. the doctor says there is hope." there was relief in his tone. "she has been conscious for a brief time. the man who fired the shot was a youth with a mask-like face." "a mask!" johnny exclaimed. "you have heard of him?" "more than that. seen him. he and another crook nearly waylaid me on the drive." "you have the best of me. i never saw him. but i fancy the fellow has a record. question is, what were the rascals about? "and the other man," he exclaimed quite abruptly, "was the man with a hole in his hand! he was the one who beat you up. matters appear to have come to a head. we will put all these together and arrive at something." "and the bullet?" it was newton mills again. "i was unable to learn anything. however, i cautioned them to save the bullet." "good!" muttered mills. "we are driving to the city at once," said herman. "shall you go with us? may i ask you to assist us in this case?" newton mills' slight form stiffened perceptibly. "i will gladly do all i can." johnny understood. he loved herman mccarthey for his generosity, his foresight, his extreme benevolence. "it may save this man mills for a great service," he told himself, "and who knows better than he how to bring these inhuman ones to justice?" in an incredibly short time newton mills was clothed and ready to go. he took the seat beside herman mccarthey. johnny sprang into the back seat. the motor purred and they were away. as they sped toward the city johnny sat hunched up in one end of the seat, the greater part of the time immersed in deep meditation. from time to time newton mills leaned over to speak to herman mccarthey. johnny caught snatches of the conversation. always it had to do with bullets. "bullets?" johnny said to himself. "what can one learn from a spent bullet?" so they sped on through the night. as the hand on the dial of the great illuminated clock that overlooked the city pointed to 1:00 they slid into grand avenue and came to a stop before the shack. as they passed the ramacciotti cottage on their way to the shack, johnny noted that the place was illumined by a single tiny lamp. "rosy is dead!" was his melancholy thought. "that is the light of the death watch." this was not true. rosy was in the hospital. her mother had gone to her bedside. that she might not be obliged to re-enter her cottage in darkness, she had left the light. drew awaited them in the shack. the tragic story was soon told. the birthday party, the new dress, the return to work, the silent house, the strange men, the hand with a hole at its center, the face that was a mask; the scream, the shot--no detail was omitted. "and now," concluded drew, "the poor girl hovers between life and death." "and the bullet?" insisted newton mills excitedly. "it has been removed. i have it. here it is." drew dropped a pellet of lead into the trembling hand of the old-time detective. johnny shuddered and turned away at sight of it. holding it between thumb and finger, as a jeweler might a pearl, newton mills examined it with a critical eye. he turned it over and over. he studied it from every possible angle. "the forceps," he commented at last, "have done harm, but not too much." "this," he said, turning it over once again, "is a precious thing." thrusting his hand in his pocket, he drew forth a small leather pouch. from this he poured a handful of coins. he put the bullet in their place, wrote a few words on a slip of paper and thrust it after the bullet. "there must be no mistake," he murmured as he drew the strings of the pouch tight and put it back into his pocket. as if to say, "money is of little consequence," he scooped up the coins and dumped them loose into another pocket. then herman mccarthey, drew, and the strangely reclaimed derelict sat down to discuss the various aspects of the case and map out plans. as for johnny, he felt a need for solitude. he left the shack, made his way to the street level, and there wandered amid the shadows that are a city street three hours before dawn. for a long time he found himself incapable of thinking in a rational manner. the whole affair had come to him with the force of a blow on the head. that such a thing could have happened in a city in a civilized country seemed incredible, monstrous. "a girl!" he fairly cried aloud, "a mere child in a birthday dress. she is at her post of duty. she sees a hand, a face. she is frightened. she screams. she is shot!" in an instant his mind was made up. he would leave this city. he would leave all cities. cities were all bad. man has made them. man is evil. god made the country. god is good. "but no!" he cried. "i will not leave. i will never, never go from this city until those monsters are trapped like the beasts they are, and punished!" calmed by the firm resolve, he returned to the shack. there he listened quietly to the council of seasoned warriors as they mapped out a campaign in which he was to have a definite part. when at last they all tumbled down upon bunks or in great chairs for a few winks of sleep, johnny's eyes did not close at once. he was still thinking of the man with the hole in his hand. he had conceived a great and, beyond doubt, a just hatred for that man. upon what was this hatred based? three counts. first, he had beaten johnny up when his back was turned. he had not given him the least shade of a fighting chance. no person had so much as attempted this before. it should not go unpunished. far mightier was the second count. this man with his accomplice, the youth of the masked face, had shot a defenseless girl, and for no better reason than that she had screamed. the shot might prove fatal. for this, whether the girl died or not, these men deserved the electric chair. third, and most important of all, based not at all upon revenge, but upon a desire for the good of all,--these were dangerous men. the man-killing tiger in his jungle is not more deadly. for this reason they must be speedily brought to justice. has anyone in all the world ever known better reasons for wishing to accomplish a given task than johnny had as he entered upon this new field of endeavor? chapter xx a card from the underworld long before johnny and his companions were awake, newsboys were shouting: "extra! extra! all about the radio studio murder!" the newspapers, as is their custom, had exaggerated a little. rosy had not been murdered. she was not dead. yet, so slender was the thread that held her once abundant life to this earth of ours, it seemed that a breath of air, a thought, might snap it, as the lightest feather may snap the spider's web. her mother, sad faced, patient, resigned to the many sorrows that fate, or what is worse than fate, crime, had bestowed upon her, sat at the girl's side. from time to time in her mind's eye she saw the sunny hills of her native land, and seemed to catch the gleam of perpetual snows on the italian alps. this vision lasted but a moment. yesterday, as she had talked with rosy, it had seemed very near, very real indeed. but now it was far away. "rosy! my rosy!" she murmured, as a stubborn tear splashed on her toil-worn hands. then, as if powerful hands suddenly seized her by the shoulder and stood her upon her feet, she rose from her chair. the tear was gone. gone, too, was the expression of pain from her face. in its stead had come a look of sudden, stubborn resolve. her eyes glistened like cold stars. she left the hospital to board a street car. at her cottage she dug deep into an ancient italian trunk. from its depths she extracted a single square of cardboard. at the center of the card was a name; in one corner an address, in another, done in red ink with a pen, was a number; that was all. with this card in her hand, she marched to drew's shack and knocked. no answer. she pushed the door open. no one there. she returned to her cottage. there, for a full half hour, she sat in silent meditation. at the end of that time she spoke aloud to the empty room: "yes, i will do it. if it is the last thing i do, that i _will_ do! "they have killed my husband, who was a good man. now they shoot my rosy, who is a good girl. yes, i will do it!" with the air of one who has formed a purpose from which she will not deviate, she thrust the card within the folds of her dress. the card was a secret token. the number on that card was a password. it belonged to the underworld. it admitted one to secret places. how had the ramacciottis come into possession of this card? who can say? when people speak a common language in a foreign land, strange things will happen. it was enough that she had the card. she meant to use it; had purposed to deliver it to drew. drew was not there. very well. she could wait. * * * * * * * * newspaper reports of the bold attack, of the ruthless shooting, roused the usually apathetic public. two thousand dollars in rewards were offered. a thousand humble men in all walks of life became, overnight, zealous detectives. "they have gone too far. this must end! we must put a stop to it all!" these were the words on every honest person's lips. but how? who were the culprits? where were they to be found? these questions could be answered best by the city's detective force. and this force, in the person of drew lane and herman mccarthey, together with those recently drafted ones, johnny thompson and newton mills, were doing their best to answer them. the chief of detectives had granted drew lane a leave of absence from his position as pickpocket hunter in order that he might work on this special case that had assumed such a personal aspect for him. the pickpockets, however, could not be neglected. it was necessary for the team of drew and howe to dissolve partnership for a time. tom howe was given another partner while drew lane joined sergeant mccarthey. they were gathered in sergeant mccarthey's office at the police station. for his broad sheets of paper the sergeant had substituted oblongs of cardboard not unlike playing cards. "here are the clues, the possibilities," he said, thumbing the cards with nervous fingers. "you will recall," he said to drew, "that when those miscreants beat johnny up in the radio studio, three cases were reported which might have a bearing on the case; that is, they happened within a half hour of the time the boy was slugged. "in the first place, let me say that this last instance, when the girl rosy was shot, appears to eliminate one possibility. you remember i had a sheet on which i proposed to record the names of those who might have wrecked the radio station on that first occasion because their criminal ventures had been interrupted in the past by radio squad calls. "that's off, i guess. this time the man with a hole in his hand was engaged in cutting wires. that's all he meant to do. the shooting was an accident. that makes it certain that he wanted the radio silent. why? he was afraid a squad call would go through. if he cut that wire the police report could not come in, and the squad call could not go out. "now here." once more he thumbed his cards, as the others leaned forward eagerly. "here are the records of last night's doings in gangland, during the half hour after rosy was shot. "card no. 1. a daring theatre holdup on state street. it was to have been a rather large affair, involving several thousand dollars. fortunately, it did not come out so well. the greater part of the money had been spirited away by the proprietor fifteen minutes before the robbers arrived. they got only about seven hundred dollars. "this robbery was pulled off by two heavy-set men of dark complexion. they made a fruitless attempt to locate the balance of the money by going to an office in the basement. had a squad call gone through they might have been caught. the cutting of those wires saved them." "the man with the hole in his hand and old mask face are their men!" johnny exclaimed impetuously. "not so fast." the sergeant held up a hand. "there was another case. a fur store was robbed. more than ten thousand dollars in furs is gone. they jimmied the back door and hauled the stuff off in a truck. "a watchman in the building adjoining saw them working. suspecting something crooked, he called the police station. had a squad call gone through, these men, too, would have been caught. they were not. "there you have it!" he leaned back in his chair. "what do you say? does our friend hole-in-his-hand belong to the holdup gang, or the fur store robbers?" "well," said drew thoughtfully, "you've got to go back to that other night when the radio station was wrecked and johnny was beaten up. there were three cases that night, weren't there?" "three. a robbery by two boys in an empty apartment, a stickup of a theatre and the dynamiting of a safe. "i think," the sergeant went on, "that we may drop the two boy robbers. they don't seem to fit into the picture. but how about the others?" "they go in pairs," drew spoke again. "two theatre stickups go together. men who dynamite safes are likely to rob a fur store. those go together. two and two." "sounds like sense." the sergeant pinned two cards together. "we'll play 'em that way. but after all, the question is, where do the radio station wreckers belong?" "with the theatre stickups," said drew. "the dynamiters and fur robbers," said johnny. "they require most time for their work." "you can't both be right," the sergeant grinned. "all i have to say is, you'll have to scurry round and find out. "this is our job. it's a mighty big one. and the reward is large. not alone the two thousand dollars, but tremendous acclaim by the people awaits your success." all this time newton mills, the veteran, had sat listening in silence. "but the bullets?" he exclaimed. "how about the bullets?" "what bullets?" the sergeant looked at him in surprise. "there was but one shot fired. you have that bullet." "on this last occasion, yes. but on other occasions, no. when the girl's father was killed a random shot was fired. when this boy was beaten up," he nodded toward johnny, "a shot was fired. these bullets doubtless remain where they lodged. you are aware of the fact that through the use of forensic ballistics we have been able to convict many criminals. the bullets in this case are likely to prove of vast importance." "and are you equipped to handle that side of the case?" asked the sergeant. "equipped?" the veteran, mills, opened his hands. they were empty. "we will need tools and instruments." "i have an expense account and access to the station equipment. you may draw upon these in my name. i will write you an order. anything else?" "one--only one more thing." newton mills appeared to hesitate. "i--i shall need an assistant. i should like this boy." again he turned to johnny. "how about it?" the sergeant's eyes were on johnny. "if i may be excused from my duties at the station," johnny said eagerly. "i'll arrange that." "so now you are fixed." the sergeant turned once more to newton mills. "we will begin work at once." the veteran left the room. he was followed by johnny. that was the manner in which johnny became the assistant of a veteran detective whom he had saved from disgrace. the enterprise promised adventures of a fresh and interesting character. johnny entered upon it with unlimited enthusiasm. chapter xxi the secret number when drew lane returned to the shack an hour later, he was treated to a great surprise. seated in his most comfortable chair was a slender girl of some eighteen summers. her hair was dark; her eyes, of the eager sort, were brown. drew had never seen her. as he entered the room she sprang up. "where is he?" she demanded. "he? who? why--" drew was astonished. "you have him locked up. they told me at the police station that you would know where he is. where is he?" her voice rose to a shrill note. "why, i--" drew's mind was in a turmoil. who was this whirlwind? whom did he have locked up? at that moment, no one. he looked into those eager eyes. he studied those high cheekbones, that sensitive mouth, and read there the answer to at least one of his questions. "why! you--you are newton mills' daughter." he sat down quite suddenly. "he--he never told us--" "that he had a daughter? he wouldn't. he's that way." her tone went cold. "sit down, won't you?" drew offered her a chair. "what's your name?" she ignored the chair, but answered his question. "joyce mills. where is my father?" "your father? the last time i saw him he was going out of a door. he's been assigned to a case, a rather big case. has to do with what he calls ballistics. he--" he came to a sudden pause. the girl's face was a study. surprise, doubt, joy, sorrow, laughter, tears; they were all there, registered in quick succession. "a case! a case!" she fairly shrieked. "and i thought he was in jail." she crumpled into a chair. "well," said drew quietly, "he might have been. but he isn't. and he's not likely to be. so you can set your heart at rest on that." having regained her self-composure somewhat, she leaned forward as if expecting to be told more. drew humored her. he told, so far as he knew it, the whole story of the downfall and the redemption of newton mills. "oh!" she breathed. "and you saved him. you and that boy!" "johnny thompson saved your father," drew smiled. "the rest of us only helped a little." she rose and advanced toward him. there is no telling what might have happened. but at this moment the subject of their conversation, newton mills himself, opened the door and entered. "joyce!" he exclaimed. "you here?" "father!" there was an indescribable touch of something in her tone that caused the tense muscles of the man's face to relax. "father, i had to come." she laid a hand on his arm. "and now you have a case, a very hard case. he has told me. i must stay and help you." "no! no! you must not!" the words came like a startled cry from the lips of the veteran detective. "but, father, i used to help you." "yes, yes. that is all in the past. this case is a dangerous one. it has to do with desperate characters. it may mean death. i cannot take you with me. you are too young." he said these last words as if he were speaking of going to the grave. dropping into a chair and cupping his chin in his hands, he sat for some time thinking. as he thought the blood vessels swelled and throbbed on his broad temples. "i have it!" he exclaimed at last, springing up. "your cousin doris mills lives in naperville. she is married. they are fine people. i haven't a doubt of it, though i have never seen them. you must go there. when this affair is over, i, too, will come. we will have an enjoyable time together." the girl, who had measured the emotions that flowed through his being, did not say, "i will go," nor yet, "i will not go." she said nothing. after opening a leather bag and fumbling about among his belongings, her father handed her an envelope. "the address is on that," he said. at once he appeared to forget her. having taken some small articles from his bag, he thrust them deep in his pocket. one was a very thin automatic pistol. one glance about the room, a halting puzzled stare at the pistol and arrow hanging over drew's bed, then he was gone. "he was always like that." there was a look of tenderness and a smile on the girl's face. she turned again to drew. "i can't thank you enough," she said. "i must find johnny thompson and thank him, too. it was terrible when father lost interest in everything, and took to forgetting in that horrible way." "he'll be all right now, i think," drew replied. "but i must help him!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet and walking the length of the room. "i must! i will!" "i am afraid," said drew in a quiet tone, "that this is no task for a girl." "girl!" she gave him a look. "i'm eighteen. as long as i can remember, i've been helping him. "when i was thirteen we went to live in the worst corner of new york. department orders for him. mother wouldn't go. grandmother is rich. she's in society. mother's in society. society folks don't go to live on a street where they're all sicilians. i went. i made him let me come. "learned the language, i did. played around with the kids. found out things. say! i found out things he'd never have learned any other way!" "maybe so." drew's tone was still quiet. "but this is not new york." she looked at him for a moment in silence. when she spoke it was with some effort. "big cities are all alike. i know!" dropping into a chair she remained silent for a time. then she said in a changed voice: "tell me about this case." because he was beginning to like this girl, drew told her. "and we'll get them," he concluded. "justice is an arrow of fire. it burns its way in time to every evil heart." joyce took in every word. then she asked a question: "where is mrs. ramacciotti?" "in the cottage just ahead of this shack." "take me there." drew led the way. the instant the girl entered mrs. ramacciotti's cottage she began talking. she spoke in italian, and mrs. ramacciotti, smiling for the first time since the tragedy, answered her in italian. "i'll leave you," said drew. "i have some things to do." "please do." the girl sat down. the two, the tall girl and the stolid italian mother, talked for a solid hour, always in italian. when they had ended, the mother said, "if you are going to this place, you will not be safe. they will kill you. unless i give you this, they are sure to murder you." she drew from the folds of her dress the square of cardboard and pointed to the secret number in red. "oh!" the girl exclaimed. "i understand. how perfectly grand!" "and, miss," mother ramacciotti ran her hand across her face, "your hair, it is dark. your eyes also. there is this which comes in bottles. fine ladies who want to seem tanned, they use it. you speak so good italian. put this on hands and face. they will think you are italian. it is better so." "thanks a lot," joyce responded, "i will." joyce mills did not go to naperville. she went instead to a drug store and then to a men's furnishing store. after that she went into a barber shop and got a hair-cut. as night began to fall upon the city, she took a car on madison street and went west. she dismounted at ashland boulevard and walked slowly toward the south. chapter xxii startling transformations some twenty blocks from the shack, in a south-westerly direction, well out of the city's business section, and just off a broad boulevard, there was a club. this was a very unusual club. entrance was by card. the man at the door was old and very wise. he had lived in sicily in the days of the mafia. the place went by the name of the "seventy club." it is not certainly known what the "seventy" stood for. there are those who said it was the club of seventy thieves. others insisted that there were more than seventy members and that not all were thieves. be that as it may, the police held no cards of admission, and were granted entrance only when accompanied by search warrants. on several occasions the police had entered. always they had found no cause for complaint. at the front of the place was a lobby and reading room; at the back, pool tables and other tables for card playing. in the center was a grill, where excellent food was served. men, for the most part of dark complexion, shot pool and shuffled cards at the back. they dined, often with ladies, in the grill and went to smoke in the lobby. the manager, a short, broad-shouldered man, with deep set, gleaming eyes, presided at a desk near the door and scrutinized all comers. to this man, on the very night of which we are speaking, there came a youth. this youth was dressed in a suit of modest gray. he wore a dark tie, a gray shirt and black shoes. he was dark complexioned with dark eyes and close cropped hair. he was very slender of build. his fingers were extremely long; his feet small. in his hand this boy bore a card. in one corner of the card was a secret number done in red ink. truth is, everyone who entered here possessed such a card, marked in just this manner. without the card, they did not enter. the manager questioned the boy in his native tongue, studying him the while. the boy replied politely in the same tongue. the manager scribbled a note, gave it to him, then nodded toward the door at the back of the lobby. the boy went back. half an hour later he might have been found dressed in a dark brown suit trimmed in gold braid, clearing dishes from the tables in the grill. he had been given a position as bus boy. the building in which the club was located rose only a single story from the ground. did it have a basement? to all appearances it did not. the heating plant was situated back of the billiard room. there were no outside entrances to the place save the one at the front. there were no stairways leading down. the grillroom possessed one slightly unusual feature. six telephone booths, standing in a row, occupied one corner of the large grillroom. one would have said that one, or at most two booths, would have sufficed for such a place. but no; here were six. and, if one judged by the number of people who entered the booths, one might have said there were not too many, for people were constantly entering and leaving them. two things were strange about these booths. they were not constructed as other booths are. true, they were just as broad and just as tall; but they contained far less glass. the windows were narrow and high. in fact, once a person was inside and had closed the door, nothing at all could be seen of him. this, one would say, was an improvement, for who wishes to be seen grinning and gesturing at a telephone, as one is forever doing? the other feature was far more startling. it was a thing you might not notice until you had dined there many times. did the new bus boy take cognizance of it on that first night of service? if one were to hazard a guess one would answer, "he probably did." that guess, however, might easily be wrong; for, during the entire evening the boy rendered faultless service. he did not drop a dish, spill a glass of water, nor do any of those things one is so likely to do when startled. the peculiarity of these six booths was that they did not always disgorge the identical persons who had entered them. now such a thing will seem strange under any circumstances. if a short dark man dressed in brown enters a telephone booth, and three minutes later a short blonde man in gray comes out, it might seem a curious circumstance. but when a short, broad, dark complexioned man in a blue suit enters and, after five minutes, a tall blonde lady in a pearl gray dress emerges, it is enough to cause the most phlegmatic person to stare. as for the guests, they paid not the slightest attention to the succession of transformations that were being made in these booths. they went right on laughing and talking, drinking coffee and munching salad, just as if nothing unusual was happening in the world. chapter xxiii many bullets for johnny thompson the events of that day were full of interest. they provided him with a whole volume of speculations. while newton mills was returning to the shack for certain articles in his kit, johnny had been sent to a seed store. there he purchased two hundred small cloth sacks. in this manner he missed meeting joyce mills. since her father did not as much as mention her name, he was not even aware of her existence. armed with a hammer and several small chisels, they went first to an unoccupied store-room. having presented his papers to the janitor, and procured the key, newton mills led the way into this dingy cavern where dust lay thick and cobwebs festooned the walls. this room had known tragedy. it was here that rosy ramacciotti had seen her father shot down. johnny fancied that if one were to brush away the dust, he might still find blood stains on the floor. he did not brush away the dust. instead he shuddered. then, so that his mind might be occupied with brighter thoughts, he set himself at the problem of picturing the place as it was before the tragedy. bright lights, gleaming show cases, boxes of candy, their colorful wrappings lending a note of cheer to the place, and behind all this, smiling, happy to be of service, rosy. "and after that," he thought, "there--" his thoughts were interrupted by newton mills, who was speaking aloud. "the cash register was about there. rosy's father had just waited on a customer. he would not be far from this spot. the man with the gun must have advanced from the door, but not too far. he would aim so. the bullet would take this direction. it lodged in that wall." during all this time the veteran detective went through a small dream which took him about from place to place. he now marched across the room at an acute angle from the door, put his hand to the wall, felt about, then uttered a low sigh of satisfaction. "the medium sized chisel, please." he held out a hand toward the boy. johnny supplied the required instrument. after prodding about, first in the plaster, then in a wooden lath at the back, the detective gave vent to a second sigh as a leaden pellet dropped into his hand. "here we have it," he murmured. "and not badly preserved. it should present no difficult problem." he placed the bullet, which had been fired at rosy's father several months before, in one of the white cloth bags. to this bag he attached a tag. he wrote a number on the tag, recorded the same number in a small notebook, and scrawled a few words beside the number; then, having placed both notebook and bag in his pocket, he turned to go. "that is all here. we will go next to your radio studio." he led the way out of the gloomy place. at the studio they searched the padded walls until they located the bullet that had been fired on the night when johnny was beaten up. this bullet was also secured, placed in a bag, labeled and recorded. "we will return to the police station." once more newton mills led the way. they spent the remainder of that day in a vacant basement room at the police station. to johnny their occupation seemed passing strange. first they filled a barrel with cotton waste. next they went to a room in the station where a great number of used arms were stored. these had been taken from hoodlums, suspects, and police characters. with his arms full of pistols of all possible descriptions, johnny returned to the basement. for four hours after that, they practiced the same bit of drama over and over. newton mills loaded a pistol and fired it at the barrel of waste. johnny retrieved the bullet from the waste. this bullet was bagged, numbered and recorded. after that a different pistol was fired, and the identical process repeated. darkness fell before they finished. as johnny left the basement he fancied that he still heard the sharp crack of small fire-arms. "we will return to the shack," said newton mills. "no. first we will go to the laboratories." they took an elevator, mounted five floors, then entered a room. the walls of the room were lined with all manner of instruments. with some of these johnny was thoroughly familiar. others were of a sort of which he knew nothing. newton mills requested the loan of two microscopes, some prisms, a curious type of camera and various odds and ends of equipment. these he wrapped in a bundle. he tucked the bundle tightly under his arm. "to-morrow," he said as they descended to the main floor, "i shall not require your services." johnny was disappointed. his curiosity had been roused by the strange occupation of that day; it had been redoubled by the package under newton mills' arm. he had hoped that the morrow would reveal the purpose of it all. "but now," he told himself with a sigh, "i am left out." during the three days that followed, newton mills never left the shack. he rigged up a curious affair made of microscopes and prisms. with this he studied bullets. bullets, bullets, and more bullets were studied, measured, compared, and studied again. he ate little, drank much black coffee, took numberless tiny photographs, sent these out to have them enlarged, then pored over the numerous enlargements, hours on end. since he had no part in this, and understood it not at all, johnny returned to the radio studio and his squad calls. in this he found slight comfort. rosy was not there. from time to time he made inquiries regarding the girl. she was holding her own, that was all. time alone would tell whether or not this bright world of sunshine and shadows, of moonlight, springtime, birds' songs, and budding flowers was to exist longer for her. chapter xxiv not on the program the new bus boy at the seventy club was making progress. the boss liked him. he had eyes in his head and a tongue in his cheek. he also knew what they were for. he did his work in an intelligent manner. he talked little and asked no questions. from time to time the boss called him to his desk. there he plied him with questions regarding their mutual friends in another city. the boy knew an amazing amount about this man's underworld friends there. on the third night the boss pressed a telephone slug into the boy's hand, and said: "go call your friend." he added a wink. the boy entered one of the six booths, closed the door firmly, slipped the slug into its place, heard it click, then felt himself slowly descending. there are those who might have cried out at this extraordinary occurrence. not this boy. he merely mumbled: "so that's it." after that he was all eyes for what was to come. he had not long to wait. having dropped some fifteen feet, in the manner of a slow elevator, his curious conveyance stopped. at the same time a door directly before him slid open. he passed out. the door closed. he found himself in a second dining room. at the back, too, there were tables for cards. but how different it all was! here was music, dancing, drinking, gambling; just such a life as the hard working members of gangland demand while off duty. from that night on, the new boy carried dishes and brushed crumbs from the tables on the floor below, this secret meeting place of gangland. did he prefer it so? who could have told? he went about his work in the same mechanical, precise manner. he talked little. he asked no questions. when the boss descended to the floor below, he rubbed his hands and seemed pleased. despite the drinks, the music, the dancing in this place, it possessed a somber air. pure unadulterated joy never comes to those who attempt to extract pleasure from that which has cost other people days of arduous toil. this is a law of nature. like the laws of the medes and persians, this law altereth not. men and women did not frequent this place for pleasure alone. we have said it was a club. men meet in their clubs for purposes of business. it was so here. that this business might be transacted in the strictest privacy, booths had been provided. it was the duty of the new boy to bring away dishes from these booths. on the second night of service here on the floor below, the boy saw a tall, broad man with the features of a southern european, but the complexion of an anglo-saxon, with close-set eyes of blue, and a mass of tumbled hair, enter the second booth from the center. he had a companion. the companion was younger than he. at times this youth's face seemed a mask; at others, when he smiled, it changed. they ordered a sumptuous feast, these two: chicken, italian style; creamed new potatoes; lobster salad; and a great black bottle. they ate in silence. as the bus boy removed the dishes, he noted the large man's hand. it appeared to give him a start. he barely avoided spilling a glass of water on the table. perhaps this was because there was a hole in the center of the man's hand. dinner disposed of, the younger man of the pair left the booth, walked out upon the floor, talked for a time to one of the entertainers, a tall blonde, then held out his hand for a dance. shortly after that he returned to the booth, poured a drink from the black bottle, then sat in the semi-darkness talking in guarded tones to his companion, him of the hole in his hand. at that instant a curious thing happened. against the wall, on the darkest side of the booth, appeared a singular phenomenon. a red arrow as long as a man's forearm was distinctly to be seen. and even as the two stared at it in astonishment, the arrow appeared to flame, as if perhaps the walls were on fire. the younger of the two men shot a startled glance at his companion. then, with fingers that trembled ever so slightly, he drew a chain that flooded the booth with light. instantly the arrow of fire vanished. the light was extinguished. the arrow did not return. once more the light was thrown on. chancing to glance down at the table, the younger gangster uttered a low exclamation, then put out a hand to grasp a note that had appeared from nowhere. holding this up to the light, he read aloud these words: "_justice is an arrow of fire. it goes straight to hearts that are evil. it burns as it strikes. no one shall escape._" the thing was done on white paper with a typewriter. for a full moment the two men stared at one another in silence. then they rose abruptly to disappear into the secret booths where one does not telephone. it is a curious fact that no man ever grows so hard, so stoical, so impervious to emotions that he fails to retain a superstitious fear of that which seems unnatural and uncanny. the flaming arrow, the mysterious note, stirred up within the hearts of these killers a sense of dread such as no display of arms, no great body of police, could ever inspire within them. this little affair most certainly was not on the program as it had been prepared by the heavy-set, stolid man who presided over the door. yet, strange to say, neither the man with a hole in his hand, nor his companion, spoke one word to the manager regarding the affair as they left the clubroom above, for the cooling air of night. the name by which the younger of these two gangsters was known was jimmie mcgowan. jimmie was not the name his mother had given him at birth. nor was mcgowan the one he had inherited from his father. his face was dark. his parents had come to america from a foreign land. this gave jimmie no occasion to be ashamed. that foreign nation has furnished the world many of her bravest warriors, her wisest statesmen, her sweetest singers. still jimmie had chosen another name. on the following night jimmie and his companion, who was named mike volpi, returned to their booth on the lower floor of the seventy club. the slender bus boy who hovered about the place did not appear to notice them. they had ordered dinner and were seated in the shadows talking when, of a sudden, the flaming arrow once more appeared on the wall. like a flash jimmie's hand threw on the light. his sharp eyes looked for a note. there was none. the need was not great. the message of the flaming arrow was burned on his brain: "justice is an arrow of fire." the two men rose without a word. they left the place without dining. they did not return. their actions spoke louder than words. they appeared to say: "here is something alarming, sinister, terrifying. are we warned or threatened? who is to stand up against such an invisible force?" was there, from time to time, about the corners of the slim bus boy's lips on that night the suggestion of a smile? who can say? chapter xxv a wolf seeks culture jimmie mcgowan was no ordinary cheap crook. that is to say, he did not deal in small change. he never picked a pocket nor snatched a purse. he did not jimmy a door to enter and carry away the silver while a family was away. he preferred to deal in matters pertaining to thousands. he did not, however, disdain a few hundreds if opportunity came his way. by all this you may be led to conclude that he belonged in a class with robin hood; that he robbed only the rich, because they were rich, and perhaps even slipped a little of his quickly secured wealth into some poor man's hand. but jimmie was no robin hood, as you must know from what follows. it chanced on a certain night that he saw a man draw a sum of several hundred dollars from his bank. the man walked away from the bank. jimmie, noting his direction, walked around the opposite corner and, by doing a double-quick down an alley, managed to meet him at a dark corner two blocks farther on. "hands up!" commanded jimmie. the man hastened to comply. but at once he began to plead with jimmie. the money was the result of two years of careful saving. he meant to use it in paying a skillful surgeon for straightening his child's spine. this child, his only son, had been a cripple since birth. but now he might be made to walk. it chanced that the man was telling the truth. but must a high class robber believe all that he hears on the street? was he to be expected to accompany the man to his home and see for himself that the truth was being told? most certainly not. at least, so concluded jimmie. he struck the man on the head, took his money and departed. the man went to the hospital. his son remained a cripple. and jimmie, being one of those persons known among his friends as a "hot sport," put on a party that very night which was the envy of all his pals. such a feast, such drinking, such dancing! well, that was jimmie. jimmie knew how to dress. never doubt that. his suits were tailor-made. his shirts were custom-made to match his suits, and his ties to match the shirts. at all times jimmie was immaculate. it pays in his line of business. a natty burglar gets fine notices in the papers. nor was jimmie entirely devoid of culture. back in his family somewhere, there had been a musical strain. at the symphony orchestra opening concert or the opera first night, unless too greatly annoyed by the troublesome police, jimmie was present. and invariably he was accompanied by a person described in the papers as a stunning blonde. the blonde was dressed in an opera cloak of dark, dark purple, trimmed in richest white fox. it was not always the same blonde. it was always the same cloak. jimmie provided that. for how is one to enjoy culture unless he has a lady on his arm? well, that was jimmie. on the night following that disagreeable affair of the flaming arrow, jimmie was not at the club, nor was he with mike volpi. instead he was out in search of culture. with a lady on his arm, he was strolling a certain park where, every summer, opera is put on in the open air. drew lane was also there. drew saw jimmie. he had never seen him before, nor even heard of him. for all this, instinct, trained by experience, said to him: "here is a crook. he has a gun." now there is one trinket which no plain citizen may carry--a gun. drew stepped up to jimmy and patted him on the back, exclaiming: "how are you, son?" that instant jimmie's face became a mask. well for him that drew was not looking at his face. instead he was watching jimmie's hands. also his own hands were busy. they were extracting a gun from a hidden pocket in jimmie's coat. "you haven't a thing on me." jimmie's tone was low. it was also the snarl of a wolf. "you can arrest me for that, but it will do you no good." drew knew he spoke the truth. a man may be fined or imprisoned for carrying a gun, but only when the officer who takes the gun has a search warrant. "i am glad to have met you, old son." drew spoke in a tone of counterfeit cordiality. at the same time he displayed a little corner of his star. "i will be glad to meet you under different circumstances." once more it was jimmie the wolf who spoke in scarcely audible tones. "no doubt you will," said drew. "and here's luck to the best man." drew lost himself in the crowd. jimmie's gun was in drew's pocket. had drew been asked just how he knew that jimmie was a crook who carried a gun, he could not have told. his reasons for taking the gun were clear enough. a snake without fangs is harmless. so, too, is a crook without a gun. the fewer guns there are in a night crowd such as this, the better. for all that, jimmie seldom mixed business with pleasure. without doubt he carried that gun for defense only. for the moment he was defenseless; quite as defenseless as his many victims. what a pity that the victims did not know this! as it was, jimmie and his companion imbibed fresh culture without further disturbance. that night when drew returned to the shack, he found the slight form of newton mills still bent over his microscope. "there you are, old timer!" drew exclaimed as he removed the clip from jimmie's gun and let it drop with a clatter on the table. "there's another little plaything for you." newton mills looked at the gun for a space of ten seconds. then, as his weary eyes became focused upon it, he seized it eagerly. "it's the type!" his words were tense. "what do you mean, the type?" "it is the type of gun from which that bullet was fired." "what bullet?" "the one that may have ended the life of your good friend rosy." "no!" "it is." "we will try it out, examine the bullet to-night. now." drew reached for the gun. "not to-night." newton mills made that old familiar gesture seeming to brush cobwebs from his face. "my eyes are gone for to-night. to-morrow will do." drew started to hang the gun on a nail beside the one that had hung there so long. newton mills took it from him and buried it deep in the bottom of a chest. he then locked the chest and hid the key. "you can never be too careful," he said quietly. "things happen when we least expect them. "by the way!" he changed the subject. "where did you get that gun?" he pointed to the one hanging close to johnny's blood-stained arrow. drew sat down and told the story of the gun and the arrow, as it was enacted that dark night on the deserted slip. newton mills drank in his every word. "it's strange i never told you about that before," said drew. "it is," agreed the veteran detective. reaching up, he took the gun from its nail and brushed away the spider's web. after that he unlocked the chest and placed this gun beside the other. without another word, he undressed and went to bed. chapter xxvi these are the guns johnny was awakened early next morning by the sound of muffled shots. drew too was awake. he was sitting up in bed, listening. the old timer's cot was empty. "wha--what is it?" johnny asked. "shots," drew replied. "where?" "in the basement of the ramacciotti cottage, i would say." this guess was correct. having awakened before dawn, newton mills had removed the two guns from the bottom of his chest, had searched in a box for cartridges, then had crept quietly out of the room. he had meant to go down to the beach and fire shots into the sand. however, having found mrs. ramacciotti in her kitchen, he had stuffed a keg with rags and had retired to her basement. there he fired three shots from the young gangster's gun and three from the one that had so long been hanging on the wall of the shack. he left the cellar, as soon as he had retrieved and labelled the bullets, and returned to the shack. "out gunning rather early," drew commented. "hey? yes. important, i'd say." newton mills seated himself at his bench, switched on a light, and at once lost himself in a study of the freshly fired bullets. at a certain time, had one chanced to observe him closely, he would have noted that intense excitement gripped him. his fingers trembled. three times he dropped the same bullet. his lips trembled as if with palsy. a few moments later he became a creature of marble calmness. turning about in his chair he stood up, stretched his arms, straightened his tie, then announced quietly: "these are the guns." "what guns?" drew looked up. "this," he said, patting jimmie mcgowan's gun, the one drew had taken the night before, "this thin automatic is the gun that fired the shot that has perhaps taken the life of rosy ramacciotti." had he exploded a bomb in the center of the room, he could not have caused greater excitement. drew leaped to his feet, overturning his chair with a crash. johnny allowed a glass of water to slip from his hand. "that gun!" drew exclaimed as soon as he had regained possession of his senses. "why! i had that man in my hands, unarmed, defenseless, last night!" "can't help that," newton mills smiled a dry smile. "bullets don't lie, not to me. "what is more--" he laid a hand on the other gun, the one that had been taken from a murderous hand on the deserted slip on the night johnny shot an arrow, "this is the gun that killed rosy's father. it is also the gun that fired the shot in the studio on the night that johnny was beaten up." the two boys stood there for some time, silent, dumfounded by such startling revelations. "since you know this much," the old timer went on at last, "you may as well know the rest. let me explain to you how it is that i can know these things with such certainty. i will explain it to you just as i would to a jury. may take a little time, but in view of the large place this new science of forensic ballistics is sure to play in future detection of crime, i am certain it will be time well spent." there was a tap at the door. mrs. ramacciotti appeared with the morning coffee. "good!" exclaimed the old timer. "coffee and bullets. what could be sweeter! "forensic ballistics," he said musingly as he sipped hot coffee, "sounds rather impossible, doesn't it? it means only this. forensic, having to do with the law; ballistics, the science of projectiles. forensic does not interest us. ballistics, for us, means the science of bullets. "now," he said, reaching for jimmie's automatic and glancing down its barrel, "you know that the barrels of revolvers are rifled; that is, there is a series of spiral grooves running through each barrel. that is done to make the bullet go straight. a smooth surface causes the bullet to tumble end over end the instant it leaves the gun." taking three small white sacks from his bench, he emptied their contents on the table before him: three bullets. displaying two of these on the palm of his hand, he asked: "are they alike?" "yes," replied drew after a moment's scrutiny. "no," said johnny. "in what way do they differ?" the detective's eyes lighted. "i don't know. let me have them." johnny studied them closely. "the grooves in one are wider than in the other," he said at last. "correct. in other words, there is one more spiral groove in the barrel of one gun than the other. so we know at once that if a bullet killed a man it could have been fired from only one of these guns. "in fact the guns are of different makes. no two manufacturers rifle their barrels in the same manner. some cut more grooves. some cut deeper grooves, and so on. "we have got this far," said the veteran detective, taking a long drink of coffee, "but that isn't very far. there are thousands upon thousands of automatics in this country, manufactured by the same company. they are of the same rifling, same caliber and all. suppose a bullet has been fired from a revolver. it has killed a man. you think you have the gun. you wish to say to judge and jury, 'i have the gun that killed the man. this is the gun. i will prove it to you by a study of bullets fired from it.' in view of the fact that there are thousands of such guns in existence, of the same caliber and manufactured by the identical machinery, are you able to prove that one particular gun fired the fatal shot?" "don't seem possible," said johnny. "it is possible, nevertheless." newton mills' eyes shone. "with the aid of a comparison microscope and micro-photography, it can be done. "in the first place, the spiral grooves in a gun are made by passing a narrow cutting die many times through the barrel. no metal has ever been found that will not wear. the cutting die wears. its edge becomes rough. you cannot see the roughness with the naked eye. a microscope reveals it. this rough cutting edge imparts just such a roughness to the spiral groove. "since the cutting die is constantly wearing, the roughness of the spiral groove of one gun, when studied under the glass, will not be exactly the same as that of any other barrel, though cut by the same machine on the same day. "now, when a soft bullet is shot from a gun, the rough edge of the groove leaves scratches upon its surface. you cannot see these scratches with your naked eye. the microscope again reveals them. "when you put two bullets fired from two guns of the same identical type under a comparison microscope, you can see them both at once and can place their scratches side by side and end to end, and you know at once that they were not fired from the same gun. "but if the scratches match perfectly, then you know that the two bullets were fired from the same gun, and no other." by this time both johnny and drew were listening with all their ears. "this study," said mills, "is sure to be of great service to the forces that make for justice. every crook has his weakness. a weakness common to many is love for a particular gun. a man has carried a gun and used it many times. it has saved his life by taking the life of another. the gun becomes his pal, his defender. he does not willingly part with it. and in this he reveals a great weakness. that gun has left its trademark, its bullets, behind. by these, man and gun may be traced. if the gun falls into the hands of the law, woe to the crook! "as you know," he turned to johnny, "we secured the bullet that wounded rosy; also the one that was fired that other time in the studio; and the one imbedded in the wall at ramacciotti's old place. "after examining these, we fired test bullets from all guns taken by the police from suspects during the past six months. "an exhaustive study of these showed that the guns from which our three bullets were fired had not been taken by the police. that was a discouraging discovery. "but now, as so often happens, just as we seemed at a standstill, drew takes a gun from a suspect; he hauls another down from the wall, and behold: here we have the very guns we seek! "the test bullets fired from the gun of drew's suspect are exactly the same as the one fired into rosy's body. the ones fired from the gun you took in such a strange manner beside that deserted slip are exactly the same as those fired by the man with the hole in his hand. i will be able to prove this to any jury by the use of enlarged photographs of the bullets. i now have evidence that will convict these two men. bring me the men!" "ah yes!" drew sighed. "that's it! catch the men!" "but we will do it!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet. "such men are a menace to any community. no decent, law abiding citizen is safe as long as they are at large. we will get them. we will! we _must_!" chapter xxvii an arrow speeds to its mark while the old time detective was making these brilliant discoveries, herman mccarthey and drew had made little progress in their endeavor to find the men in the case. they had taken to riding a squad car at night. a special car of great speed was assigned to them. this car was equipped with a loud gong. they worked only on radio squad calls. the moment a call was announced, they threw on the gas. if the case reported was within a certain distance of the place where their car was parked, they set their gong clanging and dashed away. in this manner, during a two nights' vigil, they had run down more than twenty squad calls and had learned not one thing to their advantage. they did not despair. "the fish are here," was herman's sage remark. "we may be obliged to let down the net many times. at last we will get them." on the night following newton mills' great discovery, both the old timer and johnny decided to accompany the others on their squad calls. since johnny was once more on the late squad calls at the radio station, he took with him his bow and arrows. "we'll just drop you off there later in the evening," was herman's word to him. it was well along toward midnight. they had chased down four radio calls to no purpose. it was beginning to look like another wasted night. they were parked north of the river on main street, when of a sudden there struck their waiting ears a call that promised much. "the roosevelt on main!" herman exclaimed in a breath. "that's the place they picked the night rosy was shot. same gang. came back for the rest of the roll. step on the gas!" the motor purred. the gong sounded. they were away. by some unusual chance, theirs was the first car to arrive. they had not come to a standstill before herman, drew, mills and two men in uniform were out of the car and bounding through the theatre door. "down there!" cried an excited youth in a green cap. "they went to the basement!" down the stair they plunged. in the meantime johnny, gripping his bow and arrow, and urged by who knows what instinct, raced around the building to enter an alley which ran at the back of the theatre's stage. halfway down the stairs, herman mccarthey suddenly found himself facing two stocky men. the foremost of these whipped out a gun and fired. the bullet grazed herman's cheek and lodged in a policeman's thigh. a second shot followed instantly. newton mills had gone into action. his bullet entered the robber's heart. he fell back dead. the other man turned to flee down the stairs. he was struck down by a blow from herman's gun. in the meantime, what of johnny? astonishing things were happening to him. hardly had he entered the alley than someone sprang around a corner of masonry and, without noting him, began to approach. the light of a street lamp fell on his back. johnny recognized him instantly. he had a face that was like a mask. it was jimmie mcgowan. scarcely had johnny stepped back to nock an arrow, than the other saw him. among people of his own kind this youth, jimmie mcgowan, was known as the quickest trigger in all gangland. nor was an automatic lacking. what saved johnny? one curious circumstance. as the gangster came to a halt, a weird red light, from no one will ever know where, fell upon johnny and his bow. his arrow was turned to a thing of flaming red. it was this weird light that sent cold terror to the gangster's heart. the hand that did not falter at the dealing of death was paralyzed by fear of that which could not be understood, the arrow of fire. before the gangster's hand could regain its cunning, a missile came crashing into his shoulder. it was johnny's arrow. the gun went clattering to the pavement. next instant, with the force of a tiger, johnny leaped upon mask-faced jimmie mcgowan and bore him to the ground. in the meantime herman had made fast work of the second robber. having knocked him down, he had him in handcuffs at once. as he turned the fellow over, more than five thousand dollars in currency dropped from beneath his coat. drew had noted the direction johnny had taken. as soon as possible he followed in his wake. he found johnny sitting on the chest of jimmie mcgowan. a feathered arrow protruded from jimmie's shoulder. "i got him!" exulted johnny. "i got the one we want!" "silent murder," murmured drew. "so you have. but not so fast. not another word at this time." jimmie mcgowan went to the hospital in the jail to have johnny's arrow removed. drew called the radio station and had johnny released from duty that night. then they all adjourned to the shack. "we win!" said johnny exultantly. "not so fast," said herman mccarthey. "what was this bird doing when you shot him with that arrow?" "coming down the alley. preparing to shoot me." "can you prove that he meant to shoot you?" "no. but anybody knows--" "sure. but not in court. crooked lawyers, and all that. this poor boy, meaning jimmie mcgowan, was obliged to go out at night. he carried a gun for protection. he met a stranger. the stranger attempted to massacre him with a murderous six foot bow. can't you see how they'll shape it up?" "yes, but rosy will identify him." "perhaps, if she lives. there are still grave doubts regarding her recovery. but if she does live, this boy has two faces, a smile and a mask. he will show her the smile. she must pick him from among other men. she was frightened that night. will she recall the face? well, perhaps." "but there are the bullets. they are absolute proof." "they are our best bet. we must guard them well." a little later newton mills spoke to johnny in a low tone. at the same time he pressed a package into his hand. "you keep these until to-morrow," he said. "i'm a marked man. they won't suspect you of having them. it's the bullets, the little pills that will send that man of the masked face down for life." perspiration started out on johnny's brow as he listened to these words. nevertheless, he stowed the small package deep in his innermost pocket. "they won't get them," he muttered. "none of them will." as an afterthought, he drew the package from his pocket, seated himself at a table, then wrote his name and address on the outside of the package. he then replaced it in his pocket. this was a habit of johnny's, of long standing. not for ten years had he carried a package a distance of so much as one block without first writing his name and address upon it. absent-minded people should keep their records well. johnny was, at times, absent-minded. chapter xxviii taken for a ride as often happens when men have a good piece of work well off their hands, drew lane and newton mills went to bed almost at once, and were soon fast asleep. not so johnny. he sat in a chair thinking. the room was dark. that did not matter. the men he had most feared were in prison and in the hospital. one was dead. he had not seen the dead man, nor his accomplice who surrendered. as one will, he had assumed that one of these was the man with a hole in his hand. what could be more natural? those two, the youth of the mask-like face, and he of the hole in his hand, had been together on every other occasion. as johnny thought the thing through now, the whole affair seemed clear. on the night he had been attacked in the studio, this gang had planned to rob a theatre. two had come up to silence the radio. another pair had pulled off the robbery. on the second occasion they had not dared to enter the radio studio, so had planned to cut the private wire of the police. in doing this they had frightened rosy, and shot her, either without purpose or to cover their escape. on this, the third night, they had feared to approach the radio station. without doubt they knew that now the station was strongly guarded. they had disregarded the peril of a squad call and had staged the robbery with all hands on board. in drawing these conclusions, johnny may have been partly right. in one matter he was completely wrong. the man with the hole in his hand had not been captured. as johnny was thinking of retiring he touched a pocket. the pocket gave forth a crackling sound. "a letter," he thought. "meant to mail it. forgot. may as well take it to the box now." as we have said, johnny believed the entire gang that had been troubling them were in jail. he had no fear of the dark and empty street. indeed, as he walked the two blocks that lay between the shack and the mail box, he was thinking of that dark fishing hole on the far shores of lake huron where the black bass lurk. he did not note the two men who lay in hiding beneath the shadows of the ramacciotti cottage. nor was he conscious of their presence as they pussyfooted along after him. only when he was within ten paces of the mail box did he turn his head half about, to see them out of the corner of an eye. it was with the greatest difficulty that he suppressed a start. "the bullets!" he thought. "they know. they are after the bullets." what should he do? like a flash a plan of action came to his mind. quickening his pace a little, he allowed his left hand to drop to his side, revealing the letter. at the same time his right sought the inner pocket of his coat. arrived at the mail box, he put up both hands, as one will; one to lift the metal flap, the other to drop the letter. all this was true to form, except that he dropped two parcels instead of one. as he turned about he was seized from behind. a car glided to the curb. three men sprang out. he was overpowered, gagged and thrown into the car. just as the motor purred a shadowy figure sprang from the darkness, to leap upon the spare tires which this car carried, and cling there as the car sped away. "well," johnny thought grimly, "they have me; but they won't get the bullets. the trial will go on." the next instant he received a shock. as the light from a passing auto flashed upon them, the man at the wheel of the car shifted his position and johnny saw his hand. he was the man with a hole in his hand. as the car sped swiftly westward, johnny realized that he was, in the language of gang-land, being "taken for a ride." his heart stood still. he felt a sudden chill pass over him and the terror of it all came to him. to-day, to-morrow, perhaps the next day his bullet-ridden or fire-charred body would be found beside some deserted road. that was how they did it. they were possessed of no heart, no compassion, no conscience. "dead men tell no tales." no greater falsehood was ever uttered than this. dead men have told many tales. more than once a dead man's tales have brought men to the gallows. but gangsters have not learned this. they are a stupid lot. one fact consoled johnny. these gangsters wanted something. they wanted the telltale bullets that were capable of sending their fellow gangster, him of the masked face, to the electric chair or to prison for life. these they would have at all cost. they undoubtedly expected to find them on johnny's person. "they will question me," johnny told himself. "i can stall; hold them off. they may torture me!" he shuddered and turned his thoughts to other channels. he thought of that slim, dark-eyed girl, joyce mills. drew had told him all about her. he was sure he would have enjoyed knowing her. frank, friendly, fearless, she would have made a great pal. he regretted not having seen her. had she gone to her cousin's in naperville? somehow he doubted that. she had said she could help her father; that she _would_. she had seemed very determined about this. was she trying to help? how? he had seen no sign of it. at that moment they approached the end of a street. a blank brick wall loomed darkly before them. of a sudden, above the blur of white caused by the car's lights, there appeared a spot of vivid red which formed itself into an arrow of fire, then as quickly lost form and vanished. at the same instant the car swerved sharply to the right and missed an iron post by a narrow margin. the man sitting beside the driver seized the wheel with a curse. the driver muttered something about the "arrow of fire," then settled down once more to steady driving. the thing puzzled johnny. at the same time it cheered him. he had not forgotten the words of drew lane: "justice is an arrow of fire." it seemed to him that he felt the presence of someone hovering near him, someone who cared and would help if such a thing were possible. the shadowy creature that had sprung out to attach itself to the spare tires when the car started, still clung there. chapter xxix the night ride the car sped on and on into the night. past low narrow cottages interspersed with apartment buildings, past long rows of modern apartments, across countless railway tracks, in and out among great looming factory buildings, they glided. into the open country where the air was heavy with the scent of weed dust and fresh cut grain they went, and the end was not yet. a stretch of broad paved road ended in gravel and dirt. the car bumped and swung from side to side. farmhouses, drowsy with night, flashed by them. at last, with a lurch, they swung off the road and entered a narrow lane and arrived in the back yard of a house that appeared abandoned. the grass, damp with dew, was up to their knees as they alighted. "no more likely place could be found for dark deeds!" was johnny's mental comment. once more he shuddered. still he did not wholly despair. pushing him before them, the gangsters approached the house. at the same time a dark shadow, that might have been a dog, a wolf, or a skulking human being, glided from the back of the car toward a great barn that loomed away to the right. arrived at the door of the house, the man with the hole in his hand gripped the doorknob and shook it. the door did not open. producing a small flashlight, he turned it on the door. "padlocked," he grumbled. "tony's been here. got no key." "let's go to the barn," suggested a gruff voice. without another word they turned and started for the barn. had they flashed their light against the one small window on that side of the barn, they might have seen there a frightened, staring, but determined face. when they entered the large room that had doubtless at one time been a granary, the place was deserted. had they looked carefully they might have noted that the dust on the stairway leading to the loft had recently been disturbed by fleeing feet. they did not look. their minds were concentrated upon the telltale bullets. "now, young man." it was volpi, he of the hole in his hand, who spoke. "where are them slugs?" "slugs?" said johnny. "bullets then. them bullets?" "i have no bullets. i use no gun. i shoot only with bow and arrow." "ah, yes! with those you are skillful!" volpi's words carried infinite hate. he knew what had happened to jimmie mcgowan. jimmie had been useful to him in many ways. and now, who knows? ah yes, he must have those bullets at any cost. "look here, you!" he advanced upon johnny in a threatening manner. "you know what slugs i mean. them slugs that this new york bull's been makin' evidence with. you're goin' to give 'em up!" he did not wait for johnny to give them up. he stepped up and thrust his hand into the boy's inner coat pocket. a look of blank astonishment overspread his face. when he had gone hurriedly through all the boy's pockets, he stood back to stare into johnny's face. his fingers worked convulsively. his small eyes became buttons of staring blue. it seemed that he would spring at the boy and tear him to pieces. at that instant a curious thing happened. the room, lighted as it was only by a small flashlight, was more than half in darkness. into that darkness there stole a strange red light. on the floor, at the gangster's feet, there appeared the flaming arrow of fire. "o-oof!" the man sprang back as if from a ghost. "the arrow!" he mumbled. "the arrow of fire!" as on those other occasions, even as he spoke, the apparition vanished. whatever may have been the gangster's intentions in the beginning, they had been changed by the arrow of fire. leading his men into a corner, he began to talk to them in whispers. was he recounting to them in detail the history of that mysterious arrow? no one but they will ever know. chapter xxx many perils the person who leaped upon the back of the car as it went speeding out of grand avenue, who left it only as it arrived at the abandoned farmyard, and who now found himself in the mammoth hayloft of that barn, was none other than the new bus boy of the seventy club. you may have guessed that this person was not a boy, but a girl, and that her name was joyce mills. this is true. the thought of going to naperville, of lolling about in white duck skirts on summer porches or playing tennis with well-to-do and self satisfied suburbanites had been abhorrent to her. the love of adventure was in her blood. more than that; she had come to this city with the expectation of finding her father in jail. instead, thanks to a boy, a young detective, and a sergeant of the force, she had found him free and employed as he should be at the task for which god had created him. she wanted above everything else to prove herself of service to those who had brought so much joy into her life. she wished to assist in the capture of jimmie mcgowan and his gang. this was not the first time she had masqueraded as a boy. more than once, while living in the sicilian quarters of new york, she had dyed her face brown, donned trousers and haunted dark places of crime, as a newsboy or a city waif. having secured the secret card, she had donned her disguise and had succeeded in getting herself employed at the seventy club. she had been able to shadow the gang. she had witnessed the capture of the crook, jimmie mcgowan, had learned of the intended reprisal, had ridden to the shack on the back of the gangster's car, and had seen them spying there. there had been no opportunity for warning johnny. she had ridden on the car to this deserted spot in the hope that here she might be of some service. her best course at present appeared to be that of leaving the barn and going for help. but how was this to be effected? there appeared to be but two entrances to the hayloft: the trapdoor which led to the room now occupied by the gangsters, and a large one very high up, through which in days of farming the hay had been drawn. both of these were too dangerous. the way seemed blocked. as her eyes became accustomed to the light, however, she saw a ladder leading to the very peak of the barn. it ran up one end, and was only a dozen paces from the spot where she stood. the floor was strewn with chaff. her light footsteps, as she moved toward the ladder, made no sound. with one hand on the first round of the ladder, she paused to remove her shoes and tie them about her neck. nimble as a squirrel, she darted up the ladder to the very peak of the barn. a small opening there gave her a view of the overgrown pasture that lay dizzy depths below. the moon was out. she could distinguish every detail of the scene beneath her. beyond the narrow pasture was a field of wheat in the shocks. these shocks cast dark shadows. "like so many tombstones in a cemetery," she told herself with a shudder. she measured the distance to the ground, and then shook as with a chill. "no use," she told herself. "i'm trapped." turning about, she tried to peer into the dark depths of the hayloft. as she did so, she became conscious of a beam that lay directly before her. this beam, which ran the length of the barn, was suspended by iron bars at a distance of two feet from the peak. it formed a track along which, in haying time, a car carried great bundles of loose hay to all parts of the loft. as she looked she saw that stray moonbeams lighted this track at regular intervals. "cupolas," she told herself. she had noted that curious little structures, perfect little barns, some four feet square and six feet high, had been placed along the ridge of the barn. these were in truth cupolas. their sides were made of slanting slats. these let in air, and kept out rain. they were for the purpose of ventilation. new made hay needs air. she studied this beam with dawning hope. "if i could climb out over that beam," she told herself, "i could swing up into the first cupola. i might then be able to reach the roof and at last the ground." it was uncertain, but worth the risk. gripping the beam with both her strong hands, she let go her feet and, swinging in midair, made her way hand over hand along the beam until she was beneath the cupola. now for swinging up. this seemed easy. it was difficult. was it impossible? twice she swung her legs up. twice she failed. her arms were tiring. if she failed again could she make her way back to the ladder? she doubted it. and to fall! one last desperate endeavor. a toe caught. she swung the other foot over. she clung there a moment. then, after executing a revolving motion, she lay panting atop the beam, beneath the cupola. ah! how sweet life was! how cool the air from the cupola that fanned her cheek! how good it all was! but there remained much to be done. she roused herself; dragged herself to her knees, then stood erect in the cupola. at once there came a wild and noisy whirring of wings. pigeons were sleeping there. she caught her breath. would the gangsters hear? would they find her? she wore the bus boy's brown uniform. they would understand. she would never return alive. and life was so sweet! the pigeons were gone. there came no other sound. if the gangsters had heard they had thought nothing of it. who would? the slats of the cupola fitted loosely into grooves. she had only to lift them out. she took out five and laid them down without a sound. then she crept out into the moonlight. one look told her that at the end farthest from her, the barn ended in a lean-to. the eaves of this lean-to reached within ten feet of the ground. close by these eaves was an old straw pile. "what could be sweeter?" she straddled the ridge of the roof, then hunched herself along until she was at the end. there, by clinging to the edge, she let herself down to the roof of the lean-to. down the lean-to roof she glided. then, with a spring, she landed on the straw pile. she slipped, did a somersault, then tumbled into a patch of weeds. she was just picking herself up from this patch of weeds when she caught a slight sound to her right. she looked. there was a man, a guard. he had turned. he was looking her way. without doubt he had heard a sound as she struck the straw pile. but had he seen her? her heart pounded against her ribs as she crept deeper into the mass of protecting weeds. chapter xxxi the creeping spot in the shack on grand avenue, drew lane stirred uneasily in his sleep. he awoke at last. with that feeling which so often comes to us in the middle of the night, that something is not right, he sat up in bed. he stared about him. johnny's cot was empty. he could not understand. he threw on a light. johnny was not in the room. he went to the door and looked out. he was nowhere to be seen. the creaking of the door awakened the veteran detective. "what's wrong?" he asked sleepily. "johnny's gone." "gone?" "nowhere to be seen." "gone!" newton mills sprang out of bed. he began to walk the floor. "gone! i should have warned him. that's the trouble with a boy. there are so many things he must be told. judgment; that's what a boy lacks. judgment comes only with years of experience. gone; and the bullets gone with him! they have him. they have the bullets. the case is lost!" "i wouldn't say that exactly." drew lane spoke in a quiet, even voice. "he must have left the shack for something. they must have got him. that is unfortunate. will they get the bullets? i doubt it. johnny is an unusual boy. i haven't lived with him all this time without knowing that. "and if the bullets are gone, we have a witness, rosy." "if she lives." "she must live. life is too beautiful for such a girl to part with it so soon." "and yet it has ended for many at her age." the two men fell into silence. "i'll call up headquarters," said drew at last. "the night chief will send some men over to question old mask face, who says his name is jimmie mcgowan. they'll make him tell where the gang hangs out. we'll get johnny back yet." jimmie mcgowan was one person who talked only when he chose to talk. the men from the detective bureau learned nothing of any importance from him. * * * * * * * * in the meantime joyce mills, in her bus boy costume, was creeping through the weeds down a one-time cattle lane that led away from the barn toward the wheatfield. once she reached the field, she rose on hands and knees to crawl toward a wheat shock. she was nearing the dark shadow cast by one of these shocks when a shot rang out. dropping flat in the shadows, she waited and listened, breathless. she heard the blood beating in her temples. it was like the ticking of a watch in the dark. creeping around the shock, she started toward another. she had just reached the second shadow when she heard a gruff voice say: "what you shoot at?" "something dark moving out there. dog, maybe." "wolf, maybe." "might be." again the girl's blood raced. would they come to search for her? an idea occurred to her. these shocks were like miniature tents. the bundles were long. they were set two and two, one against the other. the shocks were long. there was room for a slim person like herself to creep in there without disturbing a single bundle. no sooner thought than done. wriggling like a snake, she worked her way into the center of the shock. she lay there, head upon one arm, quite still. the day had been warm. the night air was chill. the earth beneath the shock and the shock itself were still warm. how cosy it was! what a sweet place for a few pleasant dreams. the night was well on. she felt the need of sleep. "but i must not sleep!" she whispered fiercely. "i must get away. somehow i must get to the city." for half an hour she lay there wide-awake. no further sound came to her. without doubt the dark spot had been forgotten. she crept from beneath the shock. she crawled from the shadow to another shadow, and another, until the barn was far away. at last she sprang to her feet and ran for a cornfield. once in the cornfield she was safe. the corn was above her head. ten men on horseback could not have found her there. by following a row of corn she came at last to a fence and a road. she tramped the road for an hour. then a truck driver gave her a lift. he stared at her strange costume, but thought of course that she was a boy. he was on his way to the city. did his truck carry flour, melons, green corn, or moonshine? the girl will never know because she did not ask. she curled back in one corner of the seat and went fast asleep. chapter xxxii sky high in the granary room of the abandoned farmstead, johnny was being questioned by some very angry men. "you had the slugs. you can't deny that!" volpi exclaimed with an oath. "what have you done with them? did you drop them in the car? where are they?" johnny was puzzled. what should he say? he might tell them the whole truth, that he had dropped them with his letter into the mail box back there in the city. as far as the bullets went, this would do no harm. they could not possibly return to the mail box and rifle it before the collector arrived and carried the package away. but would not this hasten his own death? once in possession of the whole truth, they would not hesitate to kill him. his reply was: "i do not know where the bullets are." in this he told the exact truth. for who can tell at what hour mail is collected from street boxes at night? or is it collected at all between midnight and 6:00 a.m.? johnny did not know. perhaps the package still lay in the box. perhaps by this time it was in a branch post office. "you don't know!" the gunman sprang at his throat. a companion pulled him back. "not so fast, mike," he grumbled. "plenty of time. he will tell." he whispered a few words in volpi's ear. volpi nodded. the man left the room. johnny thought he heard him jimmying a window to the house. no doubt he interpreted the sounds correctly. the man returned presently. then they all marched to the house, pushing johnny before them. arrived at the house, they thrust johnny unceremoniously into a dark cellar and barred the doors behind him. the place was cold and damp; full of evil smells. there were rats. he could hear them scurrying about as he made his way over the uneven floor. there were two windows. these were high up and very narrow. if he pried one of them open could he escape? the thing seemed dubious. soon enough he discovered that his captors had left nothing to the imagination. the windows were heavily barred on the outside. "been used as a prison before!" his blood went cold at the thought of the dark deeds that might have taken place in this evil smelling and gloomy hole. feeling his way back to the stairs, he crawled part way up, then sat down. he would not dare sleep because of the rats. on the stairs he was safest from them. he heard the gangsters rattling the lids of a stove. "going to cook a meal," he told himself. he did not expect to be fed. he was not. very soon he began to realize that there was something besides food in the house. there was intoxicating drink. the party became noisy. moment by moment the hubbub increased in volume until it was a revel. after that, by degrees, it subsided. "all drunk and gone to sleep," he told himself. "what a time to escape!" search as he might, he could find no means of breaking the bars of the windows. the plank door was impregnable. at last he gave up and seated himself once more on the stairs to await the dawn. what occupied his thoughts during these long hours? one might well be surprised. he was thinking of dark, shadowy forests, where the ferns grow rank and the pheasant rears her young. he was seeing a deep, blue-green fishing hole where black bass lurk and great muskies fan the water as an eagle fans the air. who can say what relief one may find, from surroundings that are terrible, by contemplating that which is beautiful, though very far away? * * * * * * * * drew lane had just returned to the shack from a disheartening search for some clue that would lead to a knowledge of johnny's whereabouts, when an apparition burst in upon him; a person he had known for a girl, but who wore torn and soiled boy's clothes, and whose complexion had turned a very dark brown. "you are joyce mills!" he stared at her in amazement. "yes," she admitted, dropping into a chair. "and i know where johnny thompson is." "you know--" "listen!" she held up a hand. in just three minutes by the clock, she had sketched the whole story. "but do you know the exact way to this farm?" drew demanded. "i--i'm sorry, i do not. i--i fell asleep. i--" "would you know the barn if you saw it?" "oh, yes. surely. it is a large red barn. the paint is old. there are three cupolas. five slats from one cupola are gone. i took them out myself." "good! here's where the police use an airplane. you're not afraid to fly?" the girl sprang to her feet. "sit down. drink this." he poured a steaming cup of coffee. "eat these." he slammed a plate of doughnuts on the table. he dashed to the phone. one call, then another, and another. joyce had just swallowed her third doughnut when drew seized her and whirled her, dirty rags and all, into a squad car. "clang! clang! clang!" went the gong. they were away. half an hour later, in an aviation suit three sizes too large for her, the girl saw the earth drifting away from her as she rose toward the fleecy clouds that floated lazily in an azure sky. * * * * * * * * that morning the mail collector on grand avenue was not a little puzzled over a package which was quite properly addressed to a johnny thompson of a certain address on grand avenue. all the package lacked was postage. the place addressed was but two blocks away. since he would be passing it in a very short time, he might easily have dropped it there. this, however, would have been contrary to postal regulations. he carried the package to a branch office. there a clerk made a record of the affair. after putting in the mail a card notifying johnny thompson that a package mailed to him without sufficient postage lay in that office, subject to his order, he threw the package in a pigeonhole and promptly forgot about it. and that, as you will know, was the package of incriminating bullets which had caused great commotion in more than one quarter. chapter xxxiii the show-down had it not been for the anxiety that filled their hearts, the airplane flight would have been an affair crowded with joy for drew lane and joyce mills. the day was perfect. a faint breeze wafted fleecy clouds about them. the fields, squares of gold and green, dotted here and there by white houses and red barns, were an ever changing picture. straight as a crow they flew for twenty miles. then swooping down low, they began to circle. with never tiring eyes joyce searched the earth beneath her for the object she sought. barns aplenty passed beneath them, but not _the_ one. joyce was beginning to despair when, upon entering their fourth great circle, she spied a barn with a gaping cupola. gripping the young detective's arm, she pointed away to the west. he understood. they circled back. the barn loomed within their view. he studied her face, read there the look of joy; then he understood again. he directed his plane at full speed back toward the city airport. an hour later, the fastest squad car in the city's service sped westward toward the suburbs and into the open country. it carried six burly detectives, one machine gun, two riot guns and four rifles. crowded between drew lane and herman mccarthey, still clad in her much damaged brown suit, rode joyce mills. * * * * * * * * at the abandoned farmhouse the gangsters, drowsy from the poison they had taken into their systems the night before, slept late. when at last they awoke, they were in a quarrelsome mood. johnny, still sitting on the stairs, hungry, thirsty, longing for sleep, heard them, and trembled. after half an hour of raving and tramping about the house, the men calmed down and appeared to hold a consultation. they approached the cellar door. as one heavy bar was thrown back, johnny dropped noiselessly to the cellar floor. "the end has come!" he told himself. at the same time he resolved to sell himself as dearly as possible. these were wicked men who richly deserved to die. the second bar was removed. the door was thrown open. mike volpi appeared on the threshold. in one hand, supported by a strap, he carried a three gallon glass jug. the jug was filled to the very top with some colorless liquid. still carrying the jug, the man made his way unsteadily down the stairs. "see here!" he spoke with the fierce growl of an angry dog as he looked at johnny through bleared eyes. "you know where them slugs are. you are going to tell!" "i do not know where they are," johnny answered in a steady, even tone. his tone angered the gangster. "har, har!" he laughed. "did you hear him? he don't know where them slugs are. well, that's good! he don't. nobody does. well then, they don't tell no stories. "no--nor you don't neither!" he turned fierce, glistening eyes on the boy. "you'll tell no tales. do you hear me? "know what's in this jug?" he laughed a fiendish laugh. "it's alki--alcohol you'd call it. alki's hard to get these days. but we don't grudge the cost. we're going to give you a mighty sweet death, we are. "some cheap ones would use kerosene. bah! kerosene stinks! "but this. how sweet it smells!" he removed the cork and put it to his nose. "mm! how sweet! pity to waste it! "but there, we ain't tight. we ain't. we'll use it, every drop! "know what?" he dropped his voice to a whisper. "there's a patch of woods over yonder a mile. forest preserve. campers make fires there. nobody notices smoke. we're going to light a torch there, a flamin' torch. you and this alki. do you understand?" johnny did understand. his heart paused. they meant to soak him in alcohol, then burn him alive. he had heard of such things, but had not believed them. "it'll be a sweet death," the half drunk man raved on. "such a sweet death. all alki, hundred per cent. a sweet--" he broke off short, to stare at the wall. his face went white. his lips remained apart. his hands began to tremble. the glass jar dropped to the floor. it broke into a thousand pieces. the alcohol filled the air with a pungent odor as it flowed across the floor. on the wall before mike volpi had appeared the arrow of fire. "the arrow of justice!" he murmured thickly. the next instant there came the sound of other breaking glass; a window was smashed from without. a voice said: "don't move! stick 'em up! quick now! we've got you covered--machine gun!" it was herman mccarthey's voice. the squad had arrived. by way of emphasis a machine gun went _rat-tat-tat_, and three bullets spat against the wall. the gunmen acknowledged a master. up went their hands. johnny was not long in securing their weapons. then they were marched, single file, out of the cellar, and each one handcuffed to a police officer. on searching the house, besides other articles they found a number of ladies' garments, all new and in original packages. these, beyond doubt, were part of the loot taken from some store. joyce mills was glad enough to accept the loan of some of these, and so embraced an opportunity to become once more a lady. the gangsters were taken to the city in the squad car. two police officers commandeered the gangster's car. there was room for johnny, drew and joyce in the back seat. so they rode happily back to town. "do you know," said drew, "i heard good news this morning. rosy is past danger." "good!" in one word johnny uttered a prayer of thanksgiving. "say!" he exclaimed. "we will get the reward, won't we? two thousand!" "between us," said drew. "my share goes toward sending rosy and her mother back to italy." "between us," drew answered again. for a time they rode on in silence. joyce mills was fumbling with something beneath her jacket. all at once there appeared on the back of the seat before them a faint red arrow. it flamed up in a peculiar manner. drew and johnny stared. joyce laughed a low laugh. "it's a trick," she explained. "i've used it before. sometimes you can do with a trick what you can't do with a cannon. you can frighten gunmen. they are very superstitious. "it is really very simple." she displayed a long black tube. "one flashlight, plus a reading glass, makes a small stereopticon. over the glass of the flashlight i pasted a black paper in which the figure of an arrow had been cut. before this i set a strip of glass. the glass is red, but is darker in some spots than others. the reading glass focuses the light so that the arrow becomes definite in form and intensely red. by moving the strip of red glass back and forth i am able to make the arrow appear to be on fire. very simple, isn't it? but it worked!" "yes," said johnny. "it worked. once it worked too well; came near causing us to crash into a wall." "so you know i rode the back of the gangster's car all the way out?" "i guessed it." joyce told johnny the rest of the story. "i think," said drew when she had finished, "that it is time we had some real women on our detective force." "give me a job," laughed joyce. * * * * * * * * two days later the seventy club was raided. this time the detective squad did not stop at the main floor. there was room for three men in each of those curious telephone booths. three times six is eighteen. each officer carried two guns. two times eighteen is thirty-six. that was too many for the gunmen and the ladies down below. they surrendered without a fight. the place was padlocked. five of the men and three of the ladies taken had been wanted for some time by the police. joyce attempted to give credit for this discovery to her father. he would have none of it. he told on her. johnny had no trouble in retrieving the package of bullets which he had entrusted to the care of uncle sam in such a strange manner. the cases against jimmie mcgowan, mike volpi and their confederates were complete. for once a well selected jury and an unimpeachable judge gave a gang of gunmen their just deserts. the reward was paid. a month later, a scene half cheerful, half sad, was enacted at the ramacciotti cottage. rosy and her mother, smiling their best to keep back the tears, walked out of the cottage for the last time. a taxicab was waiting. they were on their way to the depot, bound for italy. they were just an italian mother and daughter; simple, kindly folks, just such people as we almost all are. yet they mattered much to some; to johnny and drew, to herman mccarthey and newton mills. johnny and drew helped them into the cab, gripped their hands in a last farewell; then they turned to walk back to the shack. drew paused to lock the cottage which had been mother ramacciotti's. he had bought the furnishings. "what will you do with the cottage now?" johnny asked. "listen." drew's look was serious, sad. "we are going on a vacation, you and i, herman, newton mills, and joyce. before that vacation is over, unless conditions change, the gunmen will have provided us another widow and more orphans to fill that cottage. i mean to keep it till there are no more. god grant that the time may soon come!" a week later johnny, drew and joyce were seated in a clinker-built rowboat over a deep, dark hole that lies close to shore on the north side of lake huron. on the shore was a cabin. in a sunny spot before the cabin herman mccarthey and newton mills sat spinning yarns. for life must not be all work. man's nature demands a change. they were enjoying the change along with those who were younger. drew lane's experiences as a detective were not over. they were but well begun. the problems of enforcing the law and maintaining order in a great republic are never fully solved. they go on from year to year and from generation to generation. drew lane was destined to do his full part. and johnny thompson, as his understudy, was not to lag far behind. if you are to realize this to the full, you must read our next book entitled _the gray shadow_. * * * * * * transcriber's note: --copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text is public domain in the country of publication. --apparent typgraphical errors were corrected without note. --non-standard spellings and dialect were not changed. the efficiency expert chapter i. jimmy torrance, jr. the gymnasium was packed as jimmy torrance stepped into the ring for the final event of the evening that was to decide the boxing championship of the university. drawing to a close were the nearly four years of his college career--profitable years, jimmy considered them, and certainly successful up to this point. in the beginning of his senior year he had captained the varsity eleven, and in the coming spring he would again sally forth upon the diamond as the star initial sacker of collegedom. his football triumphs were in the past, his continued baseball successes a foregone conclusion--if he won to-night his cup of happiness, and an unassailably dominant position among his fellows, would be assured, leaving nothing more, in so far as jimmy reasoned, to be desired from four years attendance at one of america's oldest and most famous universities. the youth who would dispute the right to championship honors with jimmy was a dark horse to the extent that he was a freshman, and, therefore, practically unknown. he had worked hard, however, and given a good account of himself in his preparations for the battle, and there were rumors, as there always are about every campus, of marvelous exploits prior to his college days. it was even darkly hinted that he was a professional pugilist. as a matter of fact, he was the best exponent of the manly art of self-defense that jimmy torrance had ever faced, and in addition thereto he outweighed the senior and outreached him. the boxing contest, as the faculty members of the athletic committee preferred to call it, was, from the tap of the gong, as pretty a two-fisted scrap as ever any aggregation of low-browed fight fans witnessed. the details of this gory contest, while interesting, have no particular bearing upon the development of this tale. what interests us is the outcome, which occurred in the middle of a very bloody fourth round, in which jimmy torrance scored a clean knock-out. it was a battered but happy jimmy who sat in his room the following monday afternoon, striving to concentrate his mind upon a college text-book which should, by all the laws of fiction, have been 'well thumbed,' but in reality, possessed unruffled freshness which belied its real age. "i wish," mused jimmy, "that i could have got to the bird who invented mathematics before he inflicted all this unnecessary anguish upon an already unhappy world. in about three rounds i could have saved thousands from the sorrow which i feel every time i open this blooming book." he was still deeply engrossed in the futile attempt of accomplishing in an hour that for which the college curriculum set aside several months when there came sounds of approaching footsteps rapidly ascending the stairway. his door was unceremoniously thrown open, and there appeared one of those strange apparitions which is the envy and despair of the small-town youth--a naturally good-looking young fellow, the sartorial arts of whose tailor had elevated his waist-line to his arm-pits, dragged down his shoulders, and caved in his front until he had the appearance of being badly dished from chin to knees. his trousers appeared to have been made for a man with legs six inches longer than his, while his hat was evidently several sizes too large, since it would have entirely extinguished his face had it not been supported by his ears. "hello, kid!" cried jimmy. "what's new?" "whiskers wants you," replied the other. "faculty meeting. they just got through with me." "hell!" muttered jimmy feelingly. "i don't know what whiskers wants with me, but he never wants to see anybody about anything pleasant." "i am here," agreed the other, "to announce to the universe that you are right, jimmy. he didn't have anything pleasant to say to me. in fact, he insinuated that dear old alma mater might be able to wiggle along without me if i didn't abjure my criminal life. made some nasty comparison between my academic achievements and foxtrotting. i wonder, jimmy, how they get that way?" "that's why they are profs," explained jimmy. "there are two kinds of people in this world--human beings and profs. when does he want me?" "now." jimmy arose and put on his hat and coat. "good-by, kid," he said. "pray for me, and leave me one cigarette to smoke when i get back," and, grinning, he left the room. james torrance, jr., was not greatly abashed as he faced the dour tribunal of the faculty. the younger members, among whom were several he knew to be mighty good fellows at heart, sat at the lower end of the long table, and with owlish gravity attempted to emulate the appearance and manners of their seniors. at the head of the table sat whiskers, as the dignified and venerable president of the university was popularly named. it was generally believed and solemnly sworn to throughout the large corps of undergraduates that within the knowledge of any living man whiskers had never been known to smile, and to-day he was running true to form. "mr. torrance," he said, sighing, "it has been my painful duty on more than one occasion to call your attention to the uniformly low average of your academic standing. at the earnest solicitation of the faculty members of the athletic committee, i have been influenced, against my better judgment, to temporize with an utterly insufferable condition. "you are rapidly approaching the close of your senior year, and in the light of the records which i have before me i am constrained to believe that it will be utterly impossible for you to graduate, unless from now to the end of the semester you devote yourself exclusively to your academic work. if you cannot assure me that you will do this, i believe it would be to the best interests of the university for you to resign now, rather than to fail of graduation. and in this decision i am fully seconded by the faculty members of the athletic committee, who realize the harmful effect upon university athletics in the future were so prominent an athlete as you to fail at graduation." if they had sentenced jimmy to be shot at sunrise the blow could scarcely have been more stunning than that which followed the realization that he was not to be permitted to round out his fourth successful season at first base. but if jimmy was momentarily stunned he gave no outward indication of the fact, and in the brief interval of silence following the president's ultimatum his alert mind functioned with the rapidity which it had often shown upon the gridiron, the diamond, and the squared circle. just for a moment the thought of being deprived of the pleasure and excitement of the coming baseball season filled his mind to the exclusion of every other consideration, but presently a less selfish impulse projected upon the screen of recollection the figure of the father he idolized. the boy realized the disappointment that this man would feel should his four years of college end thus disastrously and without the coveted diploma. and then it was that he raised his eyes to those of the president. "i hope, sir," he said, "that you will give me one more chance--that you will let me go on as i have in the past as far as baseball is concerned, with the understanding that if at the end of each month between now and commencement i do not show satisfactory improvement i shall not be permitted to play on the team. but please don't make that restriction binding yet. if i lay off the track work i believe i can make up enough so that baseball will not interfere with my graduation." and so whiskers, who was much more human than the student body gave him credit for being, and was, in the bargain, a good judge of boys, gave jimmy another chance on his own terms, and the university's heavyweight champion returned to his room filled with determination to make good at the eleventh hour. possibly one of the greatest obstacles which lay in jimmy's path toward academic honors was the fact that he possessed those qualities of character which attracted others to him, with the result that there was seldom an hour during the day that he had his room to himself. on his return from the faculty meeting he found a half-dozen of his classmates there, awaiting his return. "well?" they inquired as he entered. "it's worse than that," said jimmy, as he unfolded the harrowing details of what had transpired at his meeting with the faculty. "and now," he said, "if you birds love me, keep out of here from now until commencement. there isn't a guy on earth can concentrate on anything with a roomful of you mental ciphers sitting around and yapping about girls and other non-essential creations." "non-essential!" gasped one of his visitors, letting his eyes wander over the walls of jimmy's study, whereon were nailed, pinned or hung countless framed and unframed pictures of non-essential creations. "all right, jimmy," said another. "we are with you, horse, foot and artillery. when you want us, give us the high-sign and we will come. otherwise we will leave you to your beloved books. it is too bad, though, as the bar-boy was just explaining how the great drought might be circumvented by means of carrots, potato peelings, dish-water, and a raisin." "go on," said jimmy; "i am not interested," and the boys left him to his "beloved" books. jimmy torrance worked hard, and by dint of long hours and hard-working tutors he finished his college course and won his diploma. nor did he have to forego the crowning honors of his last baseball season, although, like ulysses s. grant, he would have graduated at the head of his class had the list been turned upside down. chapter ii. jimmy will accept a position. following his graduation he went to new york to visit with one of his classmates for a short time before returning home. he was a very self-satisfied jimmy, nor who can wonder, since almost from his matriculation there had been constantly dinned into his ears the plaudits of his fellow students. jimmy torrance had been the one big outstanding feature of each succeeding class from his freshman to his senior year, and as a junior and senior he had been the acknowledged leader of the student body and as popular a man as the university had ever known. to his fellows, as well as to himself, he had been a great success--the success of the university--and he and they saw in the future only continued success in whatever vocation he decided to honor with his presence. it was in a mental attitude that had become almost habitual with him, and which was superinduced by these influences, that jimmy approached the new life that was opening before him. for a while he would play, but in the fall it was his firm intention to settle down to some serious occupation, and it was in this attitude that he opened a letter from his father--the first that he had received since his graduation. the letter was written on the letterhead of the beatrice corn mills, incorporated, beatrice, nebraska, and in the upper left-hand corner, in small type, appeared "james torrance, sr., president and general manager," and this is what he read: dear jim you have graduated--i didn't think you would--with honors in football, baseball, prize-fighting, and five thousand dollars in debt. how you got your diploma is beyond me--in my day you would have got the sack. well, son, i am not surprised nor disappointed--it is what i expected. i know you are clean, though, and that some day you will awaken to the sterner side of life and an appreciation of your responsibilities. to be an entirely orthodox father i should raise merry hell about your debts and utter inutility, at the same time disinheriting you, but instead i am going to urge you to come home and run in debt here where the cost of living is not so high as in the east--meanwhile praying that your awakening may come while i am on earth to rejoice. your affectionate father, am enclosing check to cover your debts and present needs. for a long time the boy sat looking at the letter before him. he reread it once, twice, three times, and with each reading the film of unconscious egotism that had blinded him to his own shortcomings gradually became less opaque, until finally he saw himself as his father must see him. he had come to college for the purpose of fitting himself to succeed in some particular way in the stern battle of life which must follow his graduation; for, though his father had ample means to support him in indolence, jimmy had never even momentarily considered such an eventuality. in weighing his assets now he discovered that he had probably as excellent a conception of gridiron strategy and tactics as any man in america; that as a boxer he occupied a position in the forefront of amateur ranks; and he was quite positive that out-side of the major leagues there was not a better first baseman. but in the last few minutes there had dawned upon him the realization that none of these accomplishments was greatly in demand in the business world. jimmy spent a very blue and unhappy hour, and then slowly his natural optimism reasserted itself, and with it came the realization of his youth and strength and inherent ability, which, without egotism, he might claim. "and then, too," he mused, "i have my diploma. i am a college graduate, and that must mean something. if dad had only reproached me or threatened some condign punishment i don't believe i should feel half as badly as i do. but every line of that letter breathes disappointment in me; and yet, god bless him, he tells me to come home and spend his money there. not on your life! if he won't disinherit me, i am going to disinherit myself. i am going to make him proud of me. he's the best dad a fellow ever had, and i am going to show him that i appreciate him." and so he sat down and wrote his father this reply: dear dad: i have your letter and check. you may not believe it, but the former is worth more to me than the latter. not, however, that i spurn the check, which it was just like you to send without a lot of grumbling and reproaches, even if i do deserve them. your letter shows me what a rotten mess i have made of myself. i'm not going to hand you a lot of mush, dad, but i want to try to do something that will give you reason to at least have hopes of rejoicing before i come home again. if i fail i'll come home anyway, and then neither one of us will have any doubt but what you will have to support me for the rest of my life. however, i don't intend to fail, and one of these days i will bob up all serene as president of a bank or a glue factory. in the mean time i'll keep you posted as to my whereabouts, but don't send me another cent until i ask for it; and when i do you will know that i have failed. tell mother that i will write her in a day or two, probably from chicago, as i have always had an idea that that was one burg where i could make good. with lots of love to you all, your affectionate son. it was a hot july day that james torrance, jr., alighted from the twentieth century limited at the la salle street station, and, entering a cab, directed that he be driven to a small hotel; "for," he soliloquized, "i might as well start economizing at once, as it might be several days before i land a job such as i want," in voicing which sentiments he spoke with the tongues of the prophets. jimmy had many friends in chicago with whom, upon the occasion of numerous previous visits to the western metropolis, he had spent many hilarious and expensive hours, but now he had come upon the serious business of life, and there moved within him a strong determination to win financial success without recourse to the influence of rich and powerful acquaintances. since the first crushing blow that his father's letter had dealt his egotism, jimmy's self-esteem had been gradually returning, though along new and more practical lines. his self-assurance was formed in a similar mold to those of all his other salient characteristics, and these conformed to his physical proportions, for physically, mentally and morally jimmy torrance was big; not that he was noticeably taller than other men or his features more than ordinarily attractive, but there was something so well balanced and harmonious in all the proportions of his frame and features as to almost invariably compel a second glance from even a casual observer, especially if the casual observer happened to be in the nonessential creation class. and so jimmy, having had plenty of opportunity to commune with himself during the journey from new york, was confident that there were many opportunities awaiting him in chicago. he remembered distinctly of having read somewhere that the growing need of big business concerns was competent executive material--that there were fewer big men than there were big jobs--and that if such was the case all that remained to be done was to connect himself with the particular big job that suited him. in the lobby of the hotel he bought several of the daily papers, and after reaching his room he started perusing the "help wanted" columns. immediately he was impressed and elated by the discovery that there were plenty of jobs, and that a satisfactory percentage of them appeared to be big jobs. there were so many, however, that appealed to him as excellent possibilities that he saw it would be impossible to apply for each and every one; and then it occurred to him that he might occupy a more strategic position in the negotiations preceding his acceptance of a position if his future employer came to him first, rather than should he be the one to apply for the position. and so he decided the wisest plan would be to insert an ad in the "situations wanted" column, and then from the replies select those which most appealed to him; in other words, he would choose from the cream of those who desired the services of such a man as himself rather than risk the chance of obtaining a less profitable position through undue haste in seizing upon the first opening advertised. having reached this decision, and following his habitual custom, he permitted no grass to grow beneath his feet. writing out an ad, he reviewed it carefully, compared it with others that he saw upon the printed page, made a few changes, rewrote it, and then descended to the lobby, where he called a cab and was driven to the office of one of the area's metropolitan morning newspapers. jimmy felt very important as he passed through the massive doorway into the great general offices of the newspaper. of course, he didn't exactly expect that he would be ushered into the presence of the president or business manager, or that even the advertising manager would necessarily have to pass upon his copy, but there was within him a certain sensation that at that instant something was transpiring that in later years would be a matter of great moment, and he was really very sorry for the publishers of the newspaper that they did not know who it was who was inserting an ad in their situations wanted column. he could not help but watch the face of the young man who received his ad and counted the words, as he was sure that the clerk's facial expression would betray his excitement. it was a great moment for jimmy torrance. he realized that it was probably the greatest moment of his life--that here jimmy torrance ceased to be, and james torrance, jr., esq., began his career. but though he carefully watched the face of the clerk, he was finally forced to admit that the young man possessed wonderful control over his facial expression. "that bird has a regular poker-face," mused jimmy; "never batted an eye," and paying for his ad he pocketed the change and walked out. "let's see," he figured; "it will be in tomorrow morning's edition. the tired business man will read it either at breakfast or after he reaches his office. i understand that there are three million people here in chicago. out of that three million it is safe to assume that one million will read my advertisement, and of that one-million there must be at least one thousand who have responsible positions which are, at present, inadequately filled. "of course, the truth of the matter is that there are probably tens of thousands of such positions, but to be conservative i will assume that there are only one thousand, and reducing it still further to almost an absurdity, i will figure that only ten per cent of those reply to my advertisement. in other words, at the lowest possible estimate i should have one hundred replies on the first day. i knew it was foolish to run it for three days, but the fellow insisted that that was the proper way to do, as i got a lower rate. "by taking it for three days, however, it doesn't seem right to make so many busy men waste their time answering the ad when i shall doubtless find a satisfactory position the first day." chapter iii. the lizard. that night jimmy attended a show, and treated himself to a lonely dinner afterward. he should have liked very much to have looked up some of his friends. a telephone call would have brought invitations to dinner and a pleasant evening with convivial companions, but he had mapped his course and he was determined to stick to it to the end. "there will be plenty of time," he thought, "for amusement after i have gotten a good grasp of my new duties." jimmy elected to walk from the theater to his hotel, and as he was turning the corner from randolph into la salle a young man jostled him. an instant later the stranger was upon his knees, his wrist doubled suddenly backward and very close to the breaking-point. "wot t' hell yuh doin'?" he screamed. "pardon me," replied jimmy: "you got your hand in the wrong pocket. i suppose you meant to put it in your own, but you didn't." "aw, g'wan; lemme go," pleaded the stranger. "i didn't get nuthin'-you ain't got the goods on me." now, such a tableau as jimmy and his new acquaintance formed cannot be staged at the corner of randolph and la salle beneath an arc light, even at midnight, without attracting attention. and so it was that before jimmy realized it a dozen curious pedestrians were approaching them from different directions, and a burly blue-coated figure was shouldering his way forward. jimmy had permitted his captive to rise, but he still held tightly to his wrist as the officer confronted them. he took one look at jimmy's companion, and then grabbed him roughly by the arm. "so, it's you again, is it?" he growled. "i ain't done nuthin'," muttered the man. the officer looked inquiringly at jimmy. "what's all the excitement about?" asked the latter. "my friend and i have done nothing." "your fri'nd and you?" replied the policeman. "he ain't no fri'nd o' yours, or yez wouldn't be sayin' so." "well, i'll admit," replied jimmy, "that possibly i haven't known him long enough to presume to claim any close friendship, but there's no telling what time may develop." "you don't want him pinched?" asked the policeman. "of course not," replied jimmy. "why should he be pinched?" the officer turned roughly upon the stranger, shook him viciously a few times, and then gave him a mighty shove which all but sent him sprawling into the gutter. "g'wan wid yez," he yelled after him, "and if i see ye on this beat again i'll run yez in. an' you"--he turned upon jimmy--"ye'd betther be on your way--and not be afther makin' up with ivery dip ye meet." "thanks," said jimmy. "have a cigar." after the officer had helped himself and condescended to relax his stern features into the semblance of a smile the young man bid him good night and resumed his way toward the hotel. "pretty early to go to bed," he thought as he reached for his watch to note the time, running his fingers into an empty pocket. gingerly he felt in another pocket, where he knew his watch couldn't possibly be, nor was. carefully jimmy examined each pocket of his coat and trousers, a slow and broad grin illumining his face. "what do you know about that?" he mused. "and i thought i was a wise guy." a few minutes after jimmy reached his room the office called him on the telephone to tell him that a man had called to see him. "send him up," said jimmy, wondering who it might be, since he was sure that no one knew of his presence in the city. he tried to connect the call in some way with his advertisement, but inasmuch as that had been inserted blind he felt that there could be no possible connection between that and his caller. a few minutes later there was a knock on his door, and in response to his summons to enter the door opened, and there stood before him the young man of his recent encounter upon the street. the latter entered softly, closing the door behind him. his feet made no sound upon the carpet, and no sound came from the door as he closed it, nor any slightest click from the latch. his utter silence and the stealth of his movements were so pronounced as to attract immediate attention. he did not speak until he had reached the center of the room and halted on the opposite side of the table at which jimmy was standing; and then a very slow smile moved his lips, though the expression of his eyes remained unchanged. "miss anything?" he asked. "yes," said jimmy. "here it is," said the visitor, laying the other's watch upon the table. "why this spasm of virtue?" asked jimmy. "oh, i don't know," replied the other. "i guess it's because you're a white guy. o'donnell has been trying to get something on me for the last year. he's got it in for me--i wouldn't cough every time the big stiff seen me." "sit down," said jimmy. "naw," said the other; "i gotta be goin'." "come," insisted the host; "sit down for a few minutes at least. i was just wishing that i had someone to talk to." the other sank noiselessly into a chair. "all right, bo," he said. jimmy proffered him his cigar-case. "no, thanks," declined the visitor. "i'd rather have a coffin-nail," which jimmy forthwith furnished. "i should think," said jimmy, "that your particular line of endeavor would prove rather hazardous in a place where you are known by the police." the other smiled and, as before, with his lips alone. "naw," he said; "this is the safest place to work. if ten per cent of the bulls know me i got that much on them, and then some, because any boob can spot any one o' de harness bunch, and i know nearly every fly on the department. they're the guys yuh gotta know, and usually i know something besides their names, too," and again his lips smiled. "how much of your time do you have to put in at your occupation to make a living?" asked jimmy. "sometimes i put in six or eight hours a day," replied the visitor. "de rush hours on de surface line are usually good for two or t'ree hours a day, but i been layin' off dat stuff lately and goin' in fer de t'ater crowd. dere's more money and shorter hours." "you confine yourself," asked jimmy, "to--er--ah--pocket-picking solely?" again the lip smile. "i'll tell youse sumpin', bo, dat dey don't none o' dem big stiffs on de department know. de dip game is a stall. i learned it when i was a kid, an' dese yaps t'ink dat's all i know, and i keep dem t'inkin' it by pullin' stuff under der noses often enough to give 'em de hunch dat i'm still at de same ol' business." he leaned confidentially across the table. "if you ever want a box cracked, look up the lizard." "meaning?" asked jimmy. "me, bo, i'm the lizard." "box cracked?" repeated jimmy. "an ice-box or a hot box?" his visitor grinned. "safe," he explained. "oh," said jimmy, "if i ever want any one to break into a safe, come to you, huh?" "you get me," replied the other. "all right," said jimmy, laughing, "i'll call on you. that the only name you got, mr. lizard?" "that's all--just the lizard. now i gotta be beatin' it." "goin' to crack a box?" asked jimmy. the other smiled his lip smile and turned toward the door. "wait a second," said jimmy. "what would you have gotten on this watch of mine?" "it would have stood me about twenty bucks." jimmy reached into his pocket and drew forth a roll of bills. "here," he said, handing the other two tens. "naw," said the lizard, shoving the proffered money away. "i'm no cheap skate." "come on--take it," said jimmy. "i may want a box cracked some day." "all right," said the lizard, "if you put it that way, bo." "i should think," said jimmy, "that a man of your ability could earn a living by less precarious methods." "you would think so," replied the lizard. "i've tried two or three times to go straight. wore out my shoes looking for a job. never landed anything that paid me more than ten bucks per, and worked nine or ten hours a day, and half the time i couldn't get that." "i suppose the police hounded you all the time, too," suggested jimmy. "naw," said the lizard; "dat's all bunk. de fellows that couldn't even float down a sewer straight pull dat. once in a while dey get it in for some guy, but dey're glad enough to leave us alone if we leave dem alone. i worked four hours to-day, maybe six before i get through, and i'll stand a chance of makin' all the way from fifty dollars to five thousand. suppose i was drivin' a milk-wagon, gettin' up at t'ree o'clock in the mornin' and workin' like hell--how much would i get out of dat? expectin' every minute some one was goin' tuh fire me. nuthin' doin'--dey can't nobody fire me now. i'm my own boss." "well," said jimmy, "your logic sounds all right, but it all depends upon the viewpoint. but i'll tell you: you've offered me your services; i'll offer you mine. whenever you want a job, look me up. i'm going to be general manager of a big concern here, and you'll find me in the next issue of the telephone directory." he handed the lizard his card. "tanks," said the latter. "if you don't want a box cracked any sooner than i want a job, the chances are we will never meet again. so-long," and he was gone as noiselessly as he had come. jimmy breakfasted at nine the next morning, and as he waited for his bacon and eggs he searched the situations wanted columns of the morning paper until his eye finally alighted upon that for which he sought--the ad that was to infuse into the business life of the great city a new and potent force. before his breakfast was served jimmy had read the few lines over a dozen times, and with each succeeding reading he was more and more pleased with the result of his advertising ability as it appeared in print. wanted--by college graduate--position as general manager of large business where ability, energy and experience will be appreciated. address 263-s, tribune office. he had decided to wait until after lunch before calling at the newspaper office for replies to his advertisement, but during breakfast it occurred to him there probably would be several alert prospective employers who would despatch their replies by special messengers, and realizing that promptness was one of the cardinal virtues in the business world, jimmy reasoned that it would make a favorable impression were he to present himself as soon as possible after the receipt of replies. by a simple system of reasoning he deduced that ten o'clock would be none too early to expect some returns from his ad, and therefore at ten promptly he presented himself at the want ad department in the tribune office. comparing the number of the receipt which jimmy handed him with the numbers upon a file of little pigeonholes, the clerk presently turned back toward the counter with a handful of letters. "whew!" thought jimmy. "i never would have guessed that i would receive a bunch like that so early in the morning." but then, as he saw the clerk running through them one by one, he realized that they were not all for him, and as the young man ran through them jimmy's spirits dropped a notch with each letter that was passed over without being thrown out to him, until, when the last letter had passed beneath the scrutiny of the clerk, and the advertiser realized that he had received no replies, he was quite sure that there was some error. "nothing," said the clerk, shaking his head negatively. "are you sure you looked in the right compartment?" asked jimmy. "sure," replied the clerk. "there is nothing for you." jimmy pocketed his slip and walked from the office. "this town is slower than i thought it was," he mused. "'i guess they do need some live wires here to manage their business." at noon he returned, only to be again disappointed, and then at two o'clock, and when he came in at four the same clerk looked up wearily and shook his head. "nothing for you," he said. "i distributed all the stuff myself since you were in last." as jimmy stood there almost dazed by surprise that during an entire day his ad had appeared in chicago's largest newspaper, and he had not received one reply, a man approached the counter, passed a slip similar to jimmy's to the clerk, and received fully a hundred letters in return. jimmy was positive now that something was wrong. "are you sure," he asked the clerk, "that my replies haven't been sidetracked somewhere? i have seen people taking letters away from here all day, and that bird there just walked off with a fistful." the clerk grinned. "what you advertising for?" he asked. "a position," replied jimmy. "that's the answer," explained the clerk. "that fellow there was advertising for help." chapter iv. jimmy hunts a job. once again jimmy walked out onto madison street, and, turning to his right, dropped into a continuous vaudeville show in an attempt to coax his spirits back to somewhere near their normal high-water mark. upon the next day he again haunted the newspaper office without reward, and again upon the third day with similar results. to say that jimmy was dumfounded would be but a futile description of his mental state. it was simply beyond him to conceive that in one of the largest cities in the world, the center of a thriving district of fifty million souls, there was no business man with sufficient acumen to realize how badly he needed james torrance, jr., to conduct his business for him successfully. with the close of the fourth day, and no reply, jimmy was thoroughly exasperated. the kindly clerk, who by this time had taken a personal interest in this steadiest of customers, suggested that jimmy try applying for positions advertised in the help wanted column, and this he decided to do. there were only two concerns advertising for general managers in the issue which jimmy scanned; one ad called for an experienced executive to assume the general management of an old established sash, door and blind factory; the other insisted upon a man with mail-order experience to take charge of the mail-order department of a large department store. neither of these were precisely what jimmy had hoped for, his preference really being for the general management of an automobile manufactory or possibly something in the airplane line. sash, door and blind sounded extremely prosaic and uninteresting to mr. torrance. the mail-order proposition, while possibly more interesting, struck him as being too trifling and unimportant. "however," he thought, "it will do no harm to have a talk with these people, and possibly i might even consider giving one of them a trial." and so, calling a taxi, he drove out onto the west side where, in a dingy and squalid neighborhood, the taxi stopped in front of a grimy unpainted three-story brick building, from which a great deal of noise and dust were issuing. jimmy found the office on the second floor, after ascending a narrow, dark, and dirty stairway. jimmy's experience of manufacturing plants was extremely limited, but he needed no experience as he entered the room to see that he was in a busy office of a busy plant. everything about the office was plain and rather dingy, but there were a great many file clerks and typists and considerable bustling about. after stating his business to a young lady who sat behind a switchboard, upon the front of which was the word "information," and waiting while she communicated with an inner office over the telephone, he was directed in the direction of a glass partition at the opposite end of the room--a partition in which there were doors at intervals, and upon each door a name. he had been told that mr. brown would see him, and rapping upon the door bearing that name he was bid to enter, and a moment later found himself in the presence of a middle-aged man whose every gesture and movement was charged with suppressed nerve energy. as jimmy entered the man was reading a letter. he finished it quickly, slapped it into a tray, and wheeled in his chair toward his caller. "well?" he snapped, as jimmy approached him. "i came in reply to your advertisement for a general manager," announced jimmy confidently. the man sized him up quickly from head to foot. his eyes narrowed and his brows contracted. "what experience you had? who you been with, and how many years?" he snapped the questions at jimmy with the rapidity of machine-gun fire. "i have the necessary ability," replied jimmy, "to manage your business." "how many years have you had in the sash, door and blind business?" snapped mr. brown. "i have never had any experience in the sash, door and blind business," replied jimmy. "i didn't come here to make sash, doors and blinds. i came here to manage your business." mr. brown half rose from his chair. his eyes opened a little wider than normal. "what the--" he started; and then, "well, of all the--" once again he found it impossible to go on. "you came here to manage a sash, door and blind factory, and don't know anything about the business! well, of all--" "i assumed," said jimmy, "that what you wanted in a general manager was executive ability, and that's what i have." "what you have," replied mr. brown, "is a hell of a crust. now, run along, young fellow. i am a very busy man--and don't forget to close the door after you as you go out." jimmy did not forget to close the door. as he walked the length of the interminable room between rows of desks, before which were seated young men and young women, all of whom jimmy thought were staring at him, he could feel the deep crimson burning upward from his collar to the roots of his hair. never before in his life had jimmy's self-esteem received such a tremendous jolt. he was still blushing when he reached his cab, and as he drove back toward the loop he could feel successive hot waves suffuse his countenance at each recollection of the humiliating scene through which he had just passed. it was not until the next day that jimmy had sufficiently reestablished his self-confidence to permit him to seek out the party who wished a mail-order manager, and while in this instance he met with very pleasant and gentlemanly treatment, his application was no less definitely turned down. for a month jimmy trailed one job after another. at the end of the first week he decided that the street-cars and sole leather were less expensive than taxicabs, as his funds were running perilously low; and he also lowered his aspirations successively from general managerships through departmental heads, assistants thereto, office managers, assistant office managers, and various other vocations, all with the same result; discovering meanwhile that experience, while possibly not essential as some of the ads stated, was usually the rock upon which his hopes were dashed. he also learned something else which surprised him greatly: that rather than being an aid to his securing employment, his college education was a drawback, several men telling him bluntly that they had no vacancies for rah-rah boys. at the end of the second week jimmy had moved from his hotel to a still less expensive one, and a week later to a cheap boarding-house on the north side. at first he had written his father and his mother regularly, but now he found it difficult to write them at all. toward the middle of the fourth week jimmy had reached a point where he applied for a position as office-boy. "i'll be damned if i'm going to quit," he said to himself, "if i have to turn street-sweeper. there must be some job here in the city that i am capable of filling, and i'm pretty sure that i can at least get a job as office-boy." and so he presented himself to the office manager of a life-insurance company that had advertised such a vacancy. a very kindly gentleman interviewed him. "what experience have you had?" he asked. jimmy looked at him aghast. "do i have to have experience to be an office-boy?" he asked. "well, of course," replied the gentleman, "it is not essential, but it is preferable. i already have applications from a dozen or more fellows, half of whom have had experience, and one in particular, whom i have about decided to employ, held a similar position with another life-insurance company." jimmy rose. "good day," he said, and walked out. that day he ate no lunch, but he had discovered a place where an abundance might be had for twenty-five cents if one knew how to order and ordered judiciously. and so to this place he repaired for his dinner. perched upon a high stool, he filled at least a corner of the aching void within. sitting in his room that night he took account of his assets and his liabilities. his room rent was paid until saturday and this was thursday, and in his pocket were one dollar and sixty cents. opening his trunk, he drew forth a sheet of paper and an envelope, and, clearing the top of the rickety little table which stood at the head of his bed, he sat down on the soiled counterpane and wrote a letter. dear dad: i guess i'm through, i have tried and failed. it is hard to admit it, but i guess i'll have to. if you will send me the price i'll come home. with love, jim slowly he folded the letter and inserted it in the envelope, his face mirroring an utter dejection such as jimmy torrance had never before experienced in his life. "failure," he muttered, "unutterable failure." taking his hat, he walked down the creaking stairway, with its threadbare carpet, and out onto the street to post his letter. chapter v. jimmy lands one. miss elizabeth compton sat in the dimly lighted library upon a deep-cushioned, tapestried sofa. she was not alone, yet although there were many comfortable chairs in the large room, and the sofa was an exceptionally long one, she and her companion occupied but little more space than would have comfortably accommodated a single individual. "stop it, harold," she admonished. "i utterly loathe being mauled." "but i can't help it, dear. it seems so absolutely wonderful! i can't believe it--that you are really mine." "but i'm not--yet!" exclaimed the girl. "there are a lot of formalities and bridesmaids and ministers and things that have got to be taken into consideration before i am yours. and anyway there is no necessity for mussing me up so. you might as well know now as later that i utterly loathe this cave-man stuff. and really, harold, there is nothing about your appearance that suggests a cave-man, which is probably one reason that i like you." "like me?" exclaimed the young man. "i thought you loved me." "i have to like you in order to love you, don't i?" she parried. "and one certainly has to like the man she is going to marry." "well," grumbled mr. bince, "you might be more enthusiastic about it." "i prefer," explained the girl, "to be loved decorously. i do not care to be pawed or clawed or crumpled. after we have been married for fifteen or twenty years and are really well acquainted--" "possibly you will permit me to kiss you," bince finished for her. "don't be silly, harold," she retorted. "you have kissed me so much now that my hair is all down, and my face must be a sight. lips are what you are supposed to kiss with--you don't have to kiss with your hands." "possibly i was a little bit rough. i am sorry," apologized the young man. "but when a fellow has just been told by the sweetest girl in the world that she will marry him, it's enough to make him a little bit crazy." "not at all," rejoined miss compton. "we should never forget the stratum of society to which we belong, and what we owe to the maintenance of the position we hold. my father has always impressed upon me the fact that gentlemen or gentlewomen are always gentle-folk under any and all circumstances and conditions. i distinctly recall his remark about one of his friends, whom he greatly admired, to this effect: that he always got drunk like a gentleman. therefore we should do everything as gentle-folk should do things, and when we make love we should make love like gentlefolk, and not like hod-carriers or cavemen." "yes," said the young man; "i'll try to remember." it was a little after nine o'clock when harold bince arose to leave. "i'll drive you home," volunteered the girl. "just wait, and i'll have barry bring the roadster around." "i thought we should always do the things that gentle-folk should do," said bince, grinning, after being seated safely in the car. they had turned out of the driveway into lincoln parkway. "what do you mean?" asked elizabeth. "is it perfectly proper for young ladies to drive around the streets of a big city alone after dark?" "but i'm not alone," she said. "you will be after you leave me at home." "oh, well, i'm different." "and i'm glad that you are!" exclaimed bince fervently. "i wouldn't love you if you were like the ordinary run." bince lived at one of the down-town clubs, and after depositing him there and parting with a decorous handclasp the girl turned her machine and headed north for home. at erie street came a sudden loud hissing of escaping air. "darn!" exclaimed miss elizabeth compton as she drew in beside the curb and stopped. although she knew perfectly well that one of the tires was punctured, she got out and walked around in front as though in search of the cause of the disturbance, and sure enough, there it was, flat as a pancake, the left front tire. there was an extra wheel on the rear of the roadster, but it was heavy and cumbersome, and the girl knew from experience what a dirty job changing a wheel is. she had just about decided to drive home on the rim, when a young man crossed the walk from erie street and joined her in her doleful appraisement of the punctured casing. "can i help you any?" he asked. she looked up at him. "thank you," she replied, "but i think i'll drive home on it as it is. they can change it there." "it looks like a new casing," he said. "it would be too bad to ruin it. if you have a spare i will be very glad to change it for you," and without waiting for her acquiescence he stripped off his coat, rolled up his shirt-sleeves, and dove under the seat for the jack. elizabeth compton was about to protest, but there was something about the way in which the stranger went at the job that indicated that he would probably finish it if he wished to, in spite of any arguments she could advance to the contrary. as he worked she talked with him, discovering not only that he was a rather nice person to look at, but that he was equally nice to talk to. she could not help but notice that his clothes were rather badly wrinkled and that his shoes were dusty and well worn; for when he kneeled in the street to operate the jack the sole of one shoe was revealed beneath the light of an adjacent arc, and she saw that it was badly worn. evidently he was a poor young man. she had observed these things almost unconsciously, and yet they made their impression upon her, so that when he had finished she recalled them, and was emboldened thereby to offer him a bill in payment for his services. he refused, as she had almost expected him to do, for while his clothes and his shoes suggested that he might accept a gratuity, his voice and his manner belied them. during the operation of changing the wheel the young man had a good opportunity to appraise the face and figure of the girl, both of which he found entirely to his liking, and when finally she started off, after thanking him, he stood upon the curb watching the car until it disappeared from view. slowly he drew from his pocket an envelope which had been addressed and stamped for mailing, and very carefully tore it into small bits which he dropped into the gutter. he could not have told had any one asked him what prompted him to the act. a girl had come into his life for an instant, and had gone out again, doubtless forever, and yet in that instant jimmy torrance had taken a new grasp upon his self-esteem. it might have been the girl, and again it might not have been. he could not tell. possibly it was the simple little act of refusing the tip she had proffered him. it might have been any one of a dozen little different things, or an accumulation of them all, that had brought back a sudden flood of the old self-confidence and optimism. "to-morrow," said jimmy as he climbed into his bed, "i am going to land a job." and he did. in the department store to the general managership of whose mail-order department he had aspired jimmy secured a position in the hosiery department at ten dollars a week. the department buyer who had interviewed him asked him what experience he had had with ladies' hosiery. "about four or five years," replied jimmy. "for whom did you work?" "i was in business for myself," replied the applicant, "both in the west and in the east. i got my first experience in a small town in nebraska, but i carried on a larger business in the east later." so they gave jimmy a trial in a new section of the hosiery department, wherein he was the only male clerk. the buyer had discovered that there was a sufficient proportion of male customers, many of whom displayed evident embarrassment in purchasing hosiery from young ladies, to warrant putting a man clerk in one of the sections for this class of trade. the fact of the matter was, however, that the astute buyer was never able to determine the wisdom of his plan, since jimmy's entire time was usually occupied in waiting upon impressionable young ladies. however, inasmuch as it redounded to the profit of the department, the buyer found no fault. possibly if jimmy had been almost any other type of man from what he was, his presence would not have been so flamboyantly noticeable in a hosiery department. his stature, his features, and his bronzed skin, that had lost nothing of its bronze in his month's search for work through the hot summer streets of a big city, were as utterly out of place as would have been the salient characteristics of a chorus-girl in a blacksmith-shop. for the first week jimmy was frightfully embarrassed, and to his natural bronze was added an almost continuous flush of mortification from the moment that he entered the department in the morning until he left it at night. "it is a job, however," he thought, "and ten dollars is better than nothing. i can hang onto it until something better turns up." with his income now temporarily fixed at the amount of his wages, he was forced to find a less expensive boarding-place, although at the time he had rented his room he had been quite positive that there could not be a cheaper or more undesirable habitat for man. transportation and other considerations took him to a place on indiana avenue near eighteenth street, from whence he found he could walk to and from work, thereby saving ten cents a day. "and believe me," he cogitated, "i need the ten." jimmy saw little of his fellow roomers. a strange, drab lot he thought them from the occasional glimpses he had had in passings upon the dark stairway and in the gloomy halls. they appeared to be quiet, inoffensive sort of folk, occupied entirely with their own affairs. he had made no friends in the place, not even an acquaintance, nor did he care to. what leisure time he had he devoted to what he now had come to consider as his life work--the answering of blind ads in the help wanted columns of one morning and one evening paper--the two mediums which seemed to carry the bulk of such advertising. for a while he had sought a better position by applying during the noon hour to such places as gave an address close enough to the department store in which he worked to permit him to make the attempt during the forty-five-minute period he was allowed for his lunch. but he soon discovered that nine-tenths of the positions were filled before he arrived, and that in the few cases where they were not he not only failed of employment, but was usually so delayed that he was late in returning to work after noon. by replying to blind ads evenings he could take his replies to the two newspaper offices during his lunch hour, thereby losing no great amount of time. although he never received a reply, he still persisted as he found the attempt held something of a fascination for him, similar probably to that which holds the lottery devotee or the searcher after buried treasure--there was always the chance that he would turn up something big. and so another month dragged by slowly. his work in the department store disgusted him. it seemed such a silly, futile occupation for a full-grown man, and he was always fearful that the sister or sweetheart or mother of some of his chicago friends would find him there behind the counter in the hosiery section. the store was a large one, including many departments, and jimmy tried to persuade the hosiery buyer to arrange for his transfer to another department where his work would be more in keeping with his sex and appearance. he rather fancied the automobile accessories line, but the buyer was perfectly satisfied with jimmy's sales record, and would do nothing to assist in the change. the university heavyweight champion had reached a point where he loathed but one thing more than he did silk hosiery, and that one thing was himself. chapter vi. harold plays the raven. mason compton, president and general manager, sat in his private office in the works of the international machine company, chewing upon an unlighted cigar and occasionally running his fingers through his iron-gray hair as he compared and recompared two statements which lay upon the desk before him. "damn strange," he muttered as he touched a button beneath the edge of his desk. a boy entered the room. "ask mr. bince if he will be good enough to step in here a moment, please," said compton; and a moment later, when harold bince entered, the older man leaned back in his chair and motioned the other to be seated. "i can't understand these statements, harold," said compton. "here is one for august of last year and this is this august's statement of costs. we never had a better month in the history of this organization than last month, and yet our profits are not commensurate with the volume of business that we did. that's the reason i sent for these cost statements and have compared them, and i find that our costs have increased out of all proportions to what is warranted. how do you account for it?" "principally the increased cost of labor," replied bince. "the same holds true of everybody else. every manufacturer in the country is in the same plight we are." "i know," agreed compton, "that that is true to some measure. both labor and raw materials have advanced, but we have advanced our prices correspondingly. in some instances it seems to me that our advance in prices, particularly on our specialties, should have given us even a handsomer profit over the increased cost of production than we formerly received. "in the last six months since i appointed you assistant manager i am afraid that i have sort of let things get out of my grasp. i have a lot of confidence in you, harold, and now that you and elizabeth are engaged i feel even more inclined to let you shoulder the responsibilities that i have carried alone from the inception of this organization. but i've got to be mighty sure that you are going to do at least as well as i did. you have shown a great deal of ability, but you are young and haven't had the advantage of the years of experience that made it possible for me to finally develop a business second to none in this line in the west. "i never had a son, and after elizabeth's mother died i have lived in the hope somehow that she would marry the sort of chap who would really take the place of such a son as every man dreams of--some one who will take his place and carry on his work when he is ready to lay aside his tools. i liked your father, harold. he was one of the best friends that i ever had, and i can tell you now what i couldn't have you a month ago: that when i employed you and put you in this position it was with the hope that eventually you would fill the place in my business and in my home of the son i never had." "do you think elizabeth guessed what was in your mind?" asked bince. "i don't know," replied the older man. "i have tried never to say anything to influence her. years ago when she was younger we used to talk about it half jokingly and shortly after you told me of your engagement she remarked to me one day that she was happy, for she knew you were going to be the sort of son i had wanted. "i haven't anybody on earth but her, harold, and when i die she gets the business. i have arranged it in my will so you two will share and share alike in profits after i go, but that will be some time. i am far from being an old man, and i am a mighty healthy one. however, i should like to be relieved of the active management. there are a lot of things that i have always wanted to do that i couldn't do because i couldn't spare the time from my business. "and so i want you to get thoroughly into the harness as soon as possible, that i may turn over the entire management to you. but i can't do it, harold, while the profits are diminishing." as the older man's gaze fell again to statements before him the eyes of the younger man narrowed just a trifle as they rested upon mason compton, and then as the older man looked up bince's expression changed. "i'll do my best, sir," he said, smiling. "of course i realize, as you must, that i have tried to learn a great deal in a short time. i think i have reached a point now where i pretty thoroughly grasp the possibilities and requirements of my work, and i am sure that from now on you will note a decided change for the better on the right side of the ledger." "i am sure of it, my boy," said compton heartily. "don't think that i have been finding fault with anything you have done. i just wanted to call your attention to these figures. they mean something, and it's up to you to find out just what they do mean." and then there came a light tap on the door, which opened immediately before any summons to enter had been given, and elizabeth compton entered, followed by another young woman. "hello, there!" exclaimed compton. "what gets us out so early? and harriet too! there is only one thing that would bring you girls in here so early." "and what's that?" asked elizabeth. "you are going shopping, and elizabeth wants some money." they all laughed. "you're a regular sherlock holmes!" exclaimed harriet holden. "how much?" asked compton of his daughter, still smiling. "how much have you?" asked elizabeth. "i am utterly broke." compton turned to bince. "get her what she needs, harold," he said. the young man started to the door. "come with me, elizabeth," he said; "we will go out to the cashier's cage and get you fixed up." they entered bince's office, which adjoined compton's. "wait here a minute, elizabeth," said bince. "how much do you want? i'll get it for you and bring it back. i want to see you a moment alone before you go." she told him how much she wanted, and he was back shortly with the currency. "elizabeth," he said, "i don't know whether you have noticed it or not, because your father isn't a man to carry his troubles home, but i believe that he is failing rapidly, largely from overwork. he worries about conditions here which really do not exist. i have been trying to take the load off his shoulders so that he could ease up a bit, but he has got into a rut from which he cannot be guided. "he will simply have to be lifted completely out of it, or he will stay here and die in the harness. everything is running splendidly, and now that i have a good grasp of the business i can handle it. don't you suppose you could persuade him to take a trip? i know that he wants to travel. he has told me so several times, and if he could get away from here this fall and stay away for a year, if possible, it would make a new man of him. i am really very much worried about him, and while i hate to worry you i feel that you are the only person who can influence him and that something ought to be done and done at once." "why, harold," exclaimed the girl, "there is nothing the matter with father! he was never better in his life nor more cheerful." "that's the side of him that he lets you see," replied the man. "his gaiety is all forced. if you could see him after you leave you would realize that he is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. your father is not an old man in years, but he has placed a constant surtax on his nervous system for the last twenty-five years without a let-up, and it doesn't make any difference how good a machine may be it is going to wear out some day, and the better the machine the more complete will be the wreck when the final break occurs." as he spoke he watched the girl's face, the changing expression of it, which marked her growing mental perturbation. "you really believe it is as bad as that, harold?" she asked. "it may be worse than i think," he said. "it is surely fully as bad." the girl rose slowly from the chair. "i will try and persuade him to see dr. earle." the man took a step toward her. "i don't believe a doctor is what he needs," he said quickly. "his condition is one that even a nerve specialist might not diagnose correctly. it is only some one in a position like mine, who has an opportunity to observe him almost hourly, day by day, who would realize his condition. i doubt if he has any organic trouble whatever. what he needs is a long rest, entirely free from any thought whatever of business. at least, elizabeth, it will do him no harm, and it may prolong his life for years. i wouldn't go messing around with any of these medical chaps." "well," she said at last, with a sigh, "i will talk to him and see if i can't persuade him to take a trip. he has always wanted to visit japan and china." "just the thing!" exclaimed bince; "just the thing for him. the long sea voyage will do him a world of good. and now," he said, stepping to her side and putting an arm around her. she pushed him gently away. "no," she said; "i do not feel like kissing now," and turning she entered her father's office, followed by bince. chapter vii. jobless again. from her father's works elizabeth and harriet drove to the shopping district, where they strolled through a couple of shops and then stopped at one of the larger stores. jimmy torrance was arranging his stock, fully nine-tenths of which he could have sworn he had just shown an elderly spinster who had taken at least half an hour of his time and then left without making a purchase. his back was toward his counter when his attention was attracted by a feminine voice asking if he was busy. as he turned about he recognized her instantly--the girl for whom he had changed a wheel a month before and who unconsciously had infused new ambition into his blood and saved him, temporarily at least, from becoming a quitter. he noticed as he waited on her that she seemed to be appraising him very carefully, and at times there was a slightly puzzled expression on her face, but evidently she did not recognize him, and finally when she had concluded her purchases he was disappointed that she paid for them in cash. he had rather hoped that she would have them charged and sent, that he might learn her name and address. and then she left, with jimmy none the wiser concerning her other than that her first name was elizabeth and that she was even better-looking than he recalled her to have been. "and the girl with her!" exclaimed jimmy mentally. "she was no slouch either. they are the two best-looking girls i have seen in this town, notwithstanding the fact that whether one likes chicago or not he's got to admit that there are more pretty girls here than in any other city in the country. "i'm glad she didn't recognize me. of course, i don't know her, and the chances are that i never shall, but i should hate to have any one recognize me here, or hereafter, as that young man at the stocking counter. gad! but it's beastly that a regular life-sized man should be selling stockings to women for a living, or rather for a fraction of a living." while jimmy had always been hugely disgusted with his position, the sight of the girl seemed to have suddenly crystallized all those weeks of self-contempt into a sudden almost mad desire to escape what he considered his degrading and effeminating surroundings. one must bear with jimmy and judge him leniently, for after all, notwithstanding his college diploma and physique, he was still but a boy and so while it is difficult for a mature and sober judgment to countenance his next step, if one can look back a few years to his own youth he can at least find extenuating circumstances surrounding jimmy's seeming foolishness. for with a bang that caused startled clerks in all directions to look up from their work he shattered the decorous monotone of the great store by slamming his sales book viciously upon the counter, and without a word of explanation to his fellow clerks marched out of the section toward the buyer's desk. "well, mr. torrance," asked that gentleman, "what can i do for you?" "i am going to quit," announced jimmy. "quit!"' exclaimed the buyer. "why, what's wrong? isn't everything perfectly satisfactory? you have never complained to me." "i can't explain," replied jimmy. "i am going to quit. i am not satisfied. i am going to er--ah--accept another position." the buyer raised his eyebrows. "ah!" he said. "with--" and he named their closest competitor. "no," said jimmy. "i am going to get a regular he-job." the other smiled. "if an increase in salary," he suggested, "would influence you, i had intended to tell you that i would take care of you beginning next week. i thought of making it fifteen dollars," and with that unanswerable argument for jimmy's continued service the buyer sat back and folded his hands. "nothing stirring," said jimmy. "i wouldn't sell another sock if you paid me ten thousand dollars a year. i am through." "oh, very well," said the buyer aggrievedly, "but if you leave me this way you will be unable to refer to the house." but nothing, not even a team of oxen, could have held jimmy in that section another minute, and so he got his pay and left with nothing more in view than a slow death by starvation. "there," exclaimed elizabeth compton, as she sank back on the cushions of her car. "there what?" asked harriet. "i have placed him." "whom?" "that nice-looking young person who waited on us in the hosiery section." "oh!" said harriet. "he was nice-looking, wasn't he? but he looked out of place there, and i think he felt out of place. did you notice how he flushed when he asked you what size?" and the girls laughed heartily at the recollection. "but where have you ever met him before?" harriet asked. "i have never met him," corrected elizabeth, accenting the "met." "he changed a wheel on the roadster several weeks ago one evening after i had taken harold down to the club. and he was very nice about it. i should say that he is a gentleman, although his clothes were pretty badly worn." "yes," said harriet, "his suit was shabby, but his linen was clean and his coat well brushed." "my!" exclaimed elizabeth. "he must have made an impression on some one." "well," said harriet, "it isn't often you see such a nice-looking chap in the hosiery section." "no," said elizabeth, "and probably if he were as nice as he looks he wouldn't be there." whereupon the subject was changed, and she promptly forgot mr. jimmy torrance. but jimmy was not destined soon to forget her, for as the jobless days passed and he realized more and more what an ass he had made of himself, and why, he had occasion to think about her a great deal, although never in any sense reproaching her. he realized that the fault was his own and that he had done a foolish thing in giving up his position because of a girl he did not know and probably never would. there came a saturday when jimmy, jobless and fundless, dreaded his return to the indiana avenue rooming-house, where he knew the landlady would be eagerly awaiting him, for he was a week in arrears in his room rent already, and had been warned he could expect no further credit. "there is a nice young man wanting your room," the landlady had told him, "and i shall have to be having it saturday night unless you can pay up." jimmy stood on the corner of clark and van buren looking at his watch. "i hate to do it," he thought, "but the lizard said he could get twenty for it, and twenty would give me another two weeks." and so his watch went, and two weeks later his cigarette-case and ring followed. jimmy had never gone in much for jewelry--a fact which he now greatly lamented. some of the clothes he still had were good, though badly in want of pressing, and when, after still further days of fruitless searching for work the proceeds from the articles he had pawned were exhausted, it occurred to him he might raise something on all but what he actually needed to cover his nakedness. in his search for work he was still wearing his best-looking suit; the others he would dispose of; and with this plan in his mind on his return to his room that night he went to the tiny closet to make a bundle of the things which he would dispose of on the morrow, only to discover that in his absence some one had been there before him, and that there was nothing left for him to sell. it would be two days before his room rent was again due, but in the mean time jimmy had no money wherewith to feed the inner man. it was an almost utterly discouraged jimmy who crawled into his bed to spend a sleepless night of worry and vain regret, the principal object of his regret being that he was not the son of a blacksmith who had taught him how to shoe horses and who at the same time had been too poor to send him to college. long since there had been driven into his mind the conviction that for any practical purpose in life a higher education was as useless as the proverbial fifth wheel to the coach. "and even," mused jimmy, "if i had graduated at the head of my class, i would be no better off than i am now." chapter viii. bread from the waters. the next day, worn out from loss of sleep, the young man started out upon a last frenzied search for employment. he had no money for breakfast, and so he went breakfastless, and as he had no carfare it was necessary for him to walk the seemingly interminable miles from one prospective job to another. by the middle of the afternoon jimmy was hungrier than he had ever been before in his life. he was so hungry that it actually hurt, and he was weak from physical fatigue and from disappointment and worry. "i've got to eat," he soliloquized fiercely, "if i have to go out to-night and pound somebody on the head to get the price, and i'm going to do it," he concluded as the odors of cooking food came to him from a cheap restaurant which he was passing. he stopped a moment and looked into the window at the catsup bottles and sad-looking pies which the proprietor apparently seemed to think formed an artistic and attractive window display. "if i had a brick," thought jimmy, "i would have one of those pies, even if i went to the jug for it," but his hunger had not made him as desperate as he thought he was, and so he passed slowly on, and, glancing into the windows of the store next door, saw a display of second-hand clothes and the sign "clothes bought and sold." jimmy looked at those in the window and then down at his own, which, though wrinkled, were infinitely better than anything on display. "i wonder," he mused, "if i couldn't put something over in the way of high finance here," and, acting upon the inspiration, he entered the dingy little shop. when he emerged twenty minutes later he wore a shabby and rather disreputable suit of hand-me-downs, but he had two silver dollars in his pocket. when jimmy returned to his room that night it was with a full stomach, but with the knowledge that he had practically reached the end of his rope. he had been unable to bring himself to the point of writing his father an admission of his failure, and in fact he had gone so far, and in his estimation had sunk so low, that he had definitely determined he would rather starve to death now than admit his utter inefficiency to those whose respect he most valued. as he climbed the stairway to his room he heard some one descending from above, and as they passed beneath the dim light of a flickering gas-jet he realized that the other stopped suddenly and turned back to look after him as jimmy continued his ascent of the stairs; and then a low voice inquired: "say, bo, what you doin' here?" jimmy turned toward the questioner. "oh!" he exclaimed as recognition of the other dawned slowly upon him. "it's you, is it? my old and esteemed friend, the lizard." "sure, it's me," replied the lizard. "but what you doin' here? looking for an assistant general manager?" jimmy grinned. "don't rub it in," he said, still smiling. the other ascended toward him, his keen eyes appraising him from head to foot. "you live here?" he asked. "yes," replied jimmy; "do you?" "sure, i been livin' here for the last six months." "that's funny," said jimmy; "i have been here about two months myself." "what's the matter with you?" asked the lizard. "didn't you like the job as general manager?" jimmy flushed. "forget it," he admonished. "where's your room?" asked the lizard. "up another flight," said jimmy. "won't you come up?" "sure," said the lizard, and together the two ascended the stairs and entered jimmy's room. under the brighter light there the lizard scrutinized his host. "you been against it, bo, haven't you?" he asked. "i sure have," said jimmy. "gee," said the other, "what a difference clothes make! you look like a regular bum." "thanks," said jimmy. "what you doin'?" asked the lizard. "nothing." "lose your job?" "i quit it," said jimmy. "i've only worked a month since i've been here, and that for the munificent salary of ten dollars a week." "do you want to make some coin?" asked the lizard. "i sure do," said jimmy. "i don't know of anything i would rather have." "i'm pullin' off something to-morrow night. i can use you," and he eyed jimmy shrewdly as he spoke. "cracking a box?" asked jimmy, grinning. "it might be something like that," replied the lizard; "but you won't have nothin' to do but stand where i put you and make a noise like a cat if you see anybody coming. it ought to be something good. i been working on it for three months. we'll split something like fifty thousand thirty-seventy." "is that the usual percentage?" asked jimmy. "it's what i'm offerin' you," replied the lizard. thirty per cent of fifty thousand dollars! jimmy jingled the few pieces of silver remaining in his pocket. fifteen thousand dollars! and here he had been walking his legs off and starving in a vain attempt to earn a few paltry dollars honestly. "there's something wrong somewhere," muttered jimmy to himself. "i'm taking it from an old crab who has more than he can use, and all of it he got by robbing people that didn't have any to spare. he's a big guy here. when anything big is doing the newspaper guys interview him and his name is in all the lists of subscriptions to charity--when they're going to be published in the papers. i'll bet he takes nine-tenths of his kale from women and children, and he's an honored citizen. i ain't no angel, but whatever i've taken didn't cause nobody any sufferin'--i'm a thief, bo, and i'm mighty proud of it when i think of what this other guy is." thirty per cent of fifty thousand dollars! jimmy was sitting with his legs crossed. he looked down at his ill-fitting, shabby trousers, and then turned up the sole of one shoe which was worn through almost to his sock. the lizard watched him as a cat watches a mouse. he knew that the other was thinking hard, and that presently he would reach a decision, and through jimmy's mind marched a sordid and hateful procession of recent events--humiliation, rebuff, shame, poverty, hunger, and in the background the face of his father and the face of a girl whose name, even, he did not know. presently he looked up at the lizard. "nothing doing, old top," he said. "but don't mistake the motives which prompt me to refuse your glittering offer. i am moved by no moral scruples, however humiliating such a confession should be. the way i feel now i would almost as lief go out and rob widows and orphans myself, but each of us, some time in our life, has to consider some one who would probably rather see us dead than disgraced. i don't know whether you get me or not." "i get you," replied the lizard, "and while you may never wear diamonds, you'll get more pleasure out of life than i ever will, provided you don't starve to death too soon. you know, i had a hunch you would turn me down, and i'm glad you did. if you were going crooked some time i thought i'd like to have you with me. when it comes to men, i'm a pretty good picker. that's the reason i have kept out of jail so long. i either pick a square one or i work alone." "thanks," said jimmy, "but how do you know that after you pull this job i won't tip off the police and claim the reward." the lizard grinned his lip grin. "there ain't one chance in a million," he said. "you'd starve to death before you'd do it. and now, what you want is a job. i can probably get you one if you ain't too particular." "i'd do anything," said jimmy, "that i could do and still look a policeman in the face." "all right," said the lizard. "when i come back i'll bring you a job of some sort. i may be back to-night, and i may not be back again for a month, and in the mean time you got to live." he drew a roll of bills from his pocket and commenced to count out several. "hold on!" cried jimmy. "once again, nothing doing." "forget it," admonished the lizard. "i'm just payin' back the twenty you loaned me." "but i didn't loan it to you," said jimmy; "i gave it to you as a reward for finding my watch." the lizard laughed and shoved the money across the table. "take it," he said; "don't be a damn fool. and now so-long! i may bring you home a job to-night, but if i don't you've got enough to live on for a couple of weeks." after the lizard had gone jimmy sat looking at the twenty dollars for a long time. "that fellow may be a thief," he soliloquized, "but whatever he is he's white. just imagine, the only friend i've got in chicago is a safe-blower." chapter ix. harold sits in a game. when elizabeth compton broached to her father the subject of a much-needed rest and a trip to the orient, he laughed at her. "why, girl," he cried, "i was never better in my life! where in the world did you get this silly idea?" "harold noticed it first," she replied, "and called my attention to it; and now i can see that you really have been failing." "failing!" ejaculated compton, with a scoff. "failing nothing! you're a pair of young idiots. i'm good for twenty years more of hard work, but, as i told harold, i would like to quit and travel, and i shall do so just as soon as i am convinced that he can take my place." "couldn't he do it now?" asked the girl. "no, i am afraid not," replied compton. "it is too much to expect of him, but i believe that in another year he will be able to." and so compton put an end to the suggestion that he travel for his health, and that night when bince called she told him that she had been unable to persuade her father that he needed a rest. "i am afraid," he said, "that you don't take it seriously enough yourself, and that you failed to impress upon him the real gravity of his condition. it is really necessary that he go--he must go." the girl looked up quickly at the speaker, whose tones seemed unnecessarily vehement. "i don't quite understand," she said, "why you should take the matter so to heart. father is the best judge of his own condition, and, while he may need a rest, i cannot see that he is in any immediate danger." "oh, well," replied bince irritably, "i just wanted him to get away for his own sake. of course, it don't mean anything to me." "what's the matter with you tonight, anyway, harold?" she asked a half an hour later. "you're as cross and disagreeable as you can be." "no, i'm not," he said. "there is nothing the matter with me at all." but his denial failed to convince her, and as, unusually early, a few minutes later he left, she realized that she had spent a most unpleasant evening. bince went directly to his club, where he found four other men who were evidently awaiting him. "want to sit in a little game to-night, harold?" asked one of them. "oh, hell," replied bince, "you fellows have been sitting here all evening waiting for me. you know i want to. my luck's got to change some time." "sure thing it has," agreed another of the men. "you certainly have been playing in rotten luck, but when it does change--oh, baby!" as the five men entered one of the cardrooms several of the inevitable spectators drew away from the other games and approached their table, for it was a matter of club gossip that these five played for the largest stakes of any coterie among the habitues of the card-room. it was two o'clock in the morning before bince disgustedly threw his cards upon the table and rose. there was a nasty expression on his face and in his mind a thing which he did not dare voice--the final crystallization of a suspicion that he had long harbored, that his companions had been for months deliberately fleecing him. tonight he had lost five thousand dollars, nor was there a man at the table who did not hold his i. o. u's. for similar amounts. "i'm through, absolutely through," he said. "i'll be damned if i ever touch another card." his companions only smiled wearily, for they knew that to-morrow night he would be back at the table. "how much of old man compton's money did you get tonight?" asked one of the four after bince had left the room. "about two thousand dollars," was the reply, "which added to what i already hold, puts mr. compton in my debt some seven or eight thousand dollars." whereupon they all laughed. "i suppose," remarked anther, "that it's a damn shame, but if we don't get it some one else will." "is he paying anything at all?" asked another. "oh, yes; he comes across with something now and then, but we'll probably have to carry the bulk of it until after the wedding." "well, i can't carry it forever," said the first speaker. "i'm not playing here for my health," and, rising, he too left the room. going directly to the buffet, he found bince, as he was quite sure that he would. "look here, old man," he said, "i hate to seem insistent, but, on the level, i've got to have some money." "i've told you two or three times,"' replied bince, "that i'd let you have it as soon as i could get it. i can't get you any now." "if you haven't got it, mason compton has," retorted the creditor, "and if you don't come across i'll go to him and get it." bince paled. "you wouldn't do that, harry?" he almost whimpered. "for god's sake, don't do that, and i'll try and see what i can do for you." "well," replied the other, "i don't want to be nasty, but i need some money badly." "give me a little longer," begged bince, "and i'll see what i can do." jimmy torrance sat a long time in thought after the lizard left. "god!" he muttered. "i wonder what dad would say if he knew that i had come to a point where i had even momentarily considered going into partnership with a safe-blower, and that for the next two weeks i shall be compelled to subsist upon the charity of a criminal? "i'm sure glad that i have a college education. it has helped me materially to win to my present exalted standing in society. oh, well i might be worse off, i suppose. at least i don't have to worry about the income tax. "it is now october, and since the first of the year i have earned forty dollars exactly. i have also received a bequest of twenty dollars, which of course is exempt. i venture to say that there is not another able-bodied adult male in the united states the making of whose income-tax schedule would be simpler than mine." with which philosophic trend of thought, and the knowledge that he could eat for at least two weeks longer, the erstwhile star amateur first baseman sought the doubtful comfort of his narrow, lumpy bed. it was in the neighborhood of two o'clock the next morning that he was awakened by a gentle tapping upon the panels of his door. "who is it?" he asked. "what do you want?" "it's me bo," came the whispered reply in the unmistakable tones of the lizard. jimmy arose, lighted the gas, and opened the door. "what's the matter?" he whispered. "are the police on your trail?" "no," replied the lizard, grinning. "i just dropped in to tell you that i grabbed a job for you." "fine!" exclaimed jimmy. "you're a regular fellow all right." "but you might not like the job," suggested the lizard. "as long as i can earn an honest dollar," cried jimmy, striking a dramatic pose, "i care not what it may be." the lizard's grin broadened. "i ain't so sure about that," he said. "i know your kind. you're a regular gent. there is some honest jobs that you would just as soon have as the smallpox, and maybe this is one of them." "what is it?" asked jimmy. "don't keep me guessing any longer." "you know feinheimer's cabaret." "the basement joint on wells street?" asked jimmy. "sure i know it." "well, that's where i got you a job," said the lizard. "what doing?" asked jimmy. "waiter," was the reply. "it isn't any worse than standing behind a counter, selling stockings to women," said jimmy. "it ain't such a bad job," admitted the lizard, "if a guy ain't too swelled up. some of 'em make a pretty good thing out of it, what with their tips and short changing--oh, there are lots of little ways to get yours at feinheimer's." "i see," said jimmy; "but don't he pay any wages?" "oh, sure," replied the lizard; "you get the union scale." "when do i go to work?" "go around and see him to-morrow morning. he will put you right to work." and so the following evening the patrons of feinheimer's cabaret saw a new face among the untidy servitors of the establishment--a new face and a new figure, both of which looked out of place in the atmosphere of the basement resort. feinheimer's cabaret held a unique place among the restaurants of the city. its patrons were from all classes of society. at noon its many tables were largely filled by staid and respectable business men, but at night a certain element of the underworld claimed it as their own, and there was always a sprinkling of people of the stage, artists, literary men and politicians. it was, as a certain wit described it, a social goulash, for in addition to its regular habitues there were those few who came occasionally from the upper stratum of society in the belief that they were doing something devilish. as a matter of fact, slumming parties which began and ended at feinheimer's were of no uncommon occurrence, and as the place was more than usually orderly it was with the greatest safety that society made excursions into the underworld of crime and vice through its medium. chapter x. at feinheimer's. feinheimer liked jimmy's appearance. he was big and strong, and the fact that feinheimer always retained one or two powerful men upon his payroll accounted in a large measure for the orderliness of his place. occasionally one might start something at feinheimer's, but no one was ever known to finish what he started. and so jimmy found himself waiting upon table at a place that was both reputable and disreputable, serving business men at noon and criminals and the women of the underworld at night. in the weeks that he was there he came to know many of the local celebrities in various walks of life, to know them at least by name. there was steve murray, the labor leader, whom rumor said was one of feinheimer's financial backers--a large man with a loud voice and the table manners of a duroc-jersey. jimmy took an instinctive dislike to the man the first time that he saw him. and then there was little eva, whose real name was edith. she was a demure looking little girl, who came in every afternoon at four o'clock for her breakfast. she usually came to jimmy's table when it was vacant, and at four o'clock she always ate alone. later in the evening she would come in again with a male escort, who was never twice the same. "i wonder what's the matter with me?" she said to jimmy one day as he was serving her breakfast. "i'm getting awfully nervous." "that's quite remarkable," said jimmy. "i should think any one who smoked as many cigarettes and drank as much whisky as you would have perfect nerves." the girl laughed, a rather soft and mellow laugh. "i suppose i do hit it up a little strong," she said. "strong?" exclaimed jimmy. "why, if i drank half what you do i'd be in the washingtonian home in a week." she looked at him quizzically for a moment, as she had looked at him often since he had gone to work for feinheimer. "you're a funny guy," she said. "i can't quite figure you out. what are you doing here anyway?" "i never claimed to be much of a waiter," said jimmy, "but i didn't know i was so rotten that a regular customer of the place couldn't tell what i was trying to do." "oh, go on," she cried; "i don't mean that. these other hash-slingers around here look the part. aside from that, about the only thing they know how to do is roll a souse; but you're different." "yes," said jimmy, "i am different. my abilities are limited. all i can do is wait on table, while they have two accomplishments." "oh, you don't have to tell me," said the girl. "i wasn't rubbering. i was just sort of interested in you." "thanks," said jimmy. she went on with her breakfast while jimmy set up an adjoining table. presently when he came to fill her water-glass she looked up at him again. "i like you, kid," she said. "you're not fresh. you know what i am as well as the rest of them, but you wait on me just the same as you would on"--she hesitated and there was a little catch in her voice as she finished her sentence--"just the same as you would on a decent girl." jimmy looked at her in surprise. it was the first indication that he had ever had from an habitue of feinheimer's that there might lurk within their breasts any of the finer characteristics whose outward indices are pride and shame. he was momentarily at a loss as to what to say, and as he hesitated the girl's gaze went past him and she exclaimed: "look who's here!" jimmy turned to look at the newcomer, and saw the lizard directly behind him. "howdy, bo," said his benefactor. "i thought i'd come in and give you the once-over. and here's little eva with a plate of ham and at four o'clock in the afternoon." the lizard dropped into a chair at the table with the girl, and after jimmy had taken his order and departed for the kitchen little eva jerked her thumb toward his retreating figure. "friend of yours?" she asked. "he might have a worse friend," replied the lizard non-committally. "what's his graft?" asked the girl. "he ain't got none except being on the square. it's funny," the lizard philosophized, "but here's me with a bank roll that would choke a horse, and you probably with a stocking full of dough, and i'll bet all the money i ever had or ever expect to have if one of us could change places with that poor simp we'd do it." "he is a square guy, isn't he?" said the girl. "you can almost tell it by looking at him. how did you come to know him?" "oh, that's a long story," said the lizard. "we room at the same place, but i knew him before that." "on indiana near eighteenth?" asked the girl. "how the hell did you know?" he queried. "i know a lot of things i ain't supposed to know," replied she. "you're a wise guy, all right, eva, and one thing i like about you is that you don't let anything you know hurt you." and then, after a pause: "i like him," she said. "what's his name?" the lizard eyed her for a moment. "don't you get to liking him too much," he said. "that bird's the class. he ain't for any little--" "cut it!" exclaimed the girl. "i'm as good as you are and a damn straighter. what i get i earn, and i don't steal it." the lizard grinned. "i guess you're right at that; but don't try to pull him down any lower than he is. he is coming up again some day to where he belongs." "i ain't going to try to pull him down," said the girl. "and anyhow, when were you made his godfather?" jimmy saw eva almost daily for many weeks. he saw her at her post-meridian breakfast--sober and subdued; he saw her later in the evening, in various stages of exhilaration, but at those times she did not come to his table and seldom if ever did he catch her eye. they talked a great deal while she breakfasted, and he learned to like the girl and to realize that she possessed two personalities. the one which he liked dominated her at breakfast; the other which he loathed guided her actions later in the evening. neither of them ever referred to those hours of her life, and as the days passed jimmy found himself looking forward to the hour when little eva would come to feinheimer's for her breakfast. chapter xi. christmas eve. it was christmas eve. elizabeth compton and harriet holden were completing the rounds of their friends' homes with christmas remembrances--a custom that they had continued since childhood. the last parcel had been delivered upon the south side, and they were now being driven north on michigan boulevard toward home. elizabeth directed the chauffeur to turn over van buren to state, which at this season of the year was almost alive with belated christmas shoppers and those other thousands who always seize upon the slightest pretext for a celebration. it was a noisy, joyous crowd whose spirit, harmonizing with the bright lights and the gay shop windows, infected all who came within its influence. as the car moved slowly northward along the world's greatest retail street the girls leaned forward to watch the passing throng through the windows. "isn't it wonderful," exclaimed harriet, "what a transformation a few lights make? who would ever think of state street as a fairy-land? and yet, if you half close your eyes the hallucination is complete. even the people who by daylight are shoddy and care-worn take on an appearance of romance and gaiety, and the tawdry colored lights are the scintillant gems of the garden of a fairy prince." "don't!" elizabeth pleaded. "the city night always affects me. it makes me want to do something adventurous, and on christmas eve it is even worse. if you keep on like that i shall soon be telling david to drive us up and down state street all night." "i wish we didn't have to go home right away," said harriet. "i feel like doing something devilish." "well, let's!" exclaimed elizabeth. "do something devilish?" inquired harriet. "what, for instance?" "oh, 'most anything that we shouldn't do," replied elizabeth, "and there isn't anything that we could do down here alone that we should do." they both laughed. "i have it!" exclaimed elizabeth suddenly. "we'll be utterly abandoned--we'll have supper at feinheimer's without an escort." harriet cast a horrified glance at her companion. "why, elizabeth compton," she cried, "you wouldn't dare. you know you wouldn't dare!" "do you dare me?" asked the other. "but suppose some one should see us?" argued harriet. "your father would never forgive us." "if we see any one in feinheimer's who knows us," argued elizabeth shrewdly, "they will be just as glad to forget it as we. and anyway it will do it no harm. i shall have david stay right outside the door so that if i call him he can come. i don't know what i would do without david. he is a sort of rock of ages and gibraltar all in one." through the speaking-tube elizabeth directed david to drive to feinheimer's, and, whatever david may have thought of the order, he gave no outward indication of it. christmas eve at feinheimer's is, or was, a riot of unconfined hilarity, although the code of ethics of the place was on a higher plane than that which governed the christmas eve and new year's eve patrons of so-called respectable restaurants, where a woman is not safe from insult even though she be properly escorted, while in feinheimer's a woman with an escort was studiously avoided by the other celebrators unless she chose to join with them. as there was only one class of women who came to feinheimer's at night without escort, the male habitues had no difficulty in determining who they might approach and who they might not. jimmy torrance was as busy as a cranberry merchant. he had four tables to attend to, and while the amount of food he served grew more and more negligible as the evening progressed, his trips to the bar were exceedingly frequent. one of his tables had been vacated for a few minutes when, upon his return from the bar with a round of drinks for steve murray and his party he saw that two women had entered and were occupying his fourth table. their backs were toward him, and he gave them but little attention other than to note that they were unescorted and to immediately catalogue them accordingly. having distributed steve murray's order, jimmy turned toward his new patrons, and, laying a menu card before each, he stood between them waiting for their order. "what shall we take?" asked elizabeth of harriet. then: "what have you that's good?" and she looked up at the waiter. jimmy prided himself upon self-control, and his serving at feinheimer's had still further schooled him in the repression of any outward indication of his emotions. for, as most men of his class, he had a well-defined conception of what constituted a perfect waiter, one of the requisites being utter indifference to any of the affairs of his patrons outside of those things which actually pertained to his duties as a servitor; but in this instance jimmy realized that he had come very close to revealing the astonishment which he felt on seeing this girl in feinheimer's and unescorted. if jimmy was schooled in self-control, elizabeth compton was equally so. she recognized the waiter immediately, but not even by a movement of an eyelid did she betray the fact; which may possibly be accounted for by the fact that it meant little more to her than as though she had chanced to see the same street-sweeper several times in succession, although after he had left with their order she asked harriet if she, too, had recognized him. "immediately," replied her friend. "it doesn't seem possible that such a good-looking chap should be occupying such a menial position." "there must be something wrong with him," rejoined elizabeth; "probably utterly inefficient." "or he may have some vice," suggested harriet. "he doesn't look it," said elizabeth. "he looks too utterly healthy for that. we've seen some of these drug addicts in our own set, as you may readily recall. no, i shouldn't say that he was that." "i suppose the poor fellow has never had an opportunity," said harriet. "he has a good face, his eyes and forehead indicate intelligence, and his jaw is strong and aggressive. probably, though, he was raised in poverty and knows nothing better than what he is doing now. it is too bad that some of these poor creatures couldn't have the advantages of higher education." "yes," said elizabeth, "it is too bad. take a man like that; with a college education he could attain almost any decree of success he chose." "he certainly could," agreed harriet; and then suddenly: "why, what's the matter, elizabeth? your face is perfectly scarlet." the other girl tapped the floor with the toe of one boot impatiently. "that horrid creature at the next table just winked at me," she said disgustedly. harriet looked about in the direction her companion had indicated, to see a large, overdressed man staring at them. there was a smirk on his face, and as harriet caught his eye she saw him rise and, to her horror, realized that he was advancing toward their table. he stopped in front of them with his huge hands resting on the edge of their table and looked down at elizabeth. "hello, kiddo!" he said. "what are you going to drink?" elizabeth gave the man one look such as would utterly have frozen a male from her own stratum of society, but it had as little effect upon steve murray's self-assurance as the cork from a popgun would have on the armored sides of a rhinoceros. "all right," said the man, "what's the use of asking? there's only one thing when steve murray buys. here, waiter," he yelled, pounding on the table. the nearest waiter, who chanced not to be jimmy, who was then in the kitchen, came hurriedly forward. "open up some wine," commanded murray. "come on, boys! bring your chairs over here," he continued, addressing his companions; "let's have a little party." elizabeth compton rose. "you will oblige me," she said, "by leaving our table." steve murray laughed uproariously. he had dropped into a chair next to hers. "that's great!" he cried. "i guess you don't know who i am, kiddo. you won't cop off anything better in this joint than steve murray. come on--let's be friends. that's a good girl," and before elizabeth realized the man's intentions he had seized her wrist and pulled her down into his lap. it was this scene that broke upon jimmy's view as he emerged from the kitchen with a laden tray. he saw steve murray seize the girl, and he saw her struggling to free herself, and then there was a mighty crash as jimmy dropped the tray of steaming food upon the floor and ran quickly forward. murray was endeavoring to draw the girl's lips to his as jimmy's hand shot between their faces and pushed that of the man away. with his free arm he encircled the girl's body and attempted to draw her from her assailant. "cut it, murray!" he commanded in a low tone of voice. "she isn't your sort." "who the hell are you?" cried the labor leader, releasing the girl and rising to his feet. "get the hell out of here, you dirty hash-slinger! any girl in this place belongs to me if i want her. there don't only one kind come in here without an escort, or with one, either, for that matter. you get back on your job, where you belong," and the man pressed forward trying to push jimmy aside and lay hands on elizabeth again. jimmy did not strike him then. he merely placed the palm of one hand against the man's breast and pushed him backward, but with such force that, striking a chair, steve murray fell backward and sprawled upon the floor. scrambling to his feet, he rushed jimmy like a mad bull. in his younger days murray had been a boiler-maker, and he still retained most of his great strength. he was a veritable mountain of a man, and now in the throes of a berserker rage he was a formidable opponent. his face was white and his lips were drawn back tightly, exposing his teeth in a bestial snarl as he charged at jimmy. his great arms and huge hands beat to the right and left like enormous flails, one blow from which might seemingly have felled an ox. torrance had stood for a moment with an arm still around the girl; but as murray rose to his feet he pushed her gently behind him, and then as the man was upon him jimmy ducked easily under the other's clumsy left and swung a heavy right hook to his jaw. as murray staggered to the impact of the blow jimmy reached him again quickly and easily with a left to the nose, from which a crimson burst spattered over the waiter and his victim. murray went backward and would have fallen but for the fact he came in contact with one of his friends, and then he was at jimmy again. by this time waiters and patrons were crowding forward from all parts of the room, and feinheimer, shrieking at the top of his voice, was endeavoring to worm his fat, toadlike body through the cordon of excited spectators. the proprietor reached the scene of carnage just in time to see jimmy plant a lovely left on the point of murray's jaw. the big man tottered drunkenly for an instant, his knees sagged, and, as jimmy stood in readiness for any eventuality, the other crashed heavily to the floor. towering above the others in the room suddenly came a big young fellow shouldering his way through the crowd, a young man in the uniform of a chauffeur. elizabeth saw him before he discovered her. "oh david!" she cried. "quick! quick! take us out of here!" as the chauffeur reached her side and took in the scene he jerked his head toward jimmy. "did any one hurt you miss?" "no, no!" she cried. "this man was very kind. just get us out of here, david, as quickly as you can." and, turning to jimmy: "how can i ever repay you? if it hadn't been for you--oh, i hate to think what would have happened. come out to the car and give david your name and address, and i will send you something tomorrow." "oh, that's all right," said jimmy. "you just get out of here as quick as you can. if the police happened to look in now you might be held as a witness." "how utterly horrible!" exclaimed elizabeth. "come, david! come, harriet!" david making a way for her, she started for the door. harriet paused long enough to extend her hand to jimmy. "it was wonderfully brave of you," she said. "we could never do enough to repay you. my name is harriet holden," and she gave him an address on lake shore drive. "if you will come monday morning about ten o'clock," she said, "i am sure that there is something we can do for you. if you want a better position," she half suggested, "i know my father could help, although he must never know about this to-night." "thanks," said jimmy, smiling. "it's awfully good of you, but you must hurry now. there goes your friend." feinheimer stood as one dazed, looking down at the bulk of his friend and associate. "mein gott!" he cried. "what kind of a place you think i run, young man?" he turned angrily on jimmy. "what you think i hire you for? to beat up my best customer?" "he got what was coming to him," said a soft feminine voice at jimmy's elbow. the man looked to see little eva standing at his side. "i didn't think anybody could do that to murray," she continued. "lord, but it was pretty. he's had it coming to him ever since i've known him, but the big stiff had everybody around this joint buffaloed. he got away with anything he started." feinheimer looked at little eva disgustedly. "he's my best customer," he cried, "and a bum waiter comes along and beats him up just when he is trying to have a little innocent sport on christmas eve. you take off your apron, young man, and get your time. i won't have no rough stuff in feinheimer's." jimmy shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "shouldn't i wait to see if i can't do something more for mr. murray?" he suggested. "you get out of here!" cried feinheimer, "get out of here or i'll call the police." jimmy laughed and took off his apron as he walked back to the servants' coat-room. as he emerged again and crossed through the dining-room he saw that murray had regained consciousness and was sitting at a table wiping the blood from his face with a wet napkin. as murray's eyes fell upon his late antagonist he half rose from his chair and shook his fist at jimmy. "i'll get you for this, young feller!" he yelled. "i'll get you yet, and don't you forget it." "you just had me," jimmy called back; "but it didn't seem to make you very happy." he could still hear murray fuming and cursing as he passed out into the barroom, at the front of which was feinheimer's office. chapter xii. up or down? after jimmy had received his check and was about to leave, a couple of men approached him. "we seen that little mix-up in there," said one of them. "you handle your mitts like you been there before." "yes," said jimmy, smiling, "i've had a little experience in the manly art of self-defense." the two men were sizing him up. "feinheimer can you?" asked one of them. jimmy nodded affirmatively. "got anything else in view?" "no," said jimmy. "how'd you like a job as one of brophy's sparring partners?" "i wouldn't mind," said jimmy. "what is there in it?" they named a figure that was entirely satisfactory to jimmy. "come over the day after christmas," he was told, "and we'll give you a trial." "i wonder," thought jimmy as he started for home, "if i have gone up a notch in the social scale or down a notch? from the view-point of the underworld a pug occupies a more exalted position than a waiter; but-oh, well, a job's a job, and at least i won't have to look at that greasy feinheimer all day." at ten o'clock monday jimmy was at young brophy's training quarters, for, although he had not forgotten harriet holden's invitation, he had never seriously considered availing himself of her offer to help him to a better position. while he had not found it difficult to accept the rough friendship and assistance of the lizard, the idea of becoming an object of "charity," as he considered it, at the hands of a girl in the same walk of life as that to which he belonged was intolerable. young brophy's manager, whom jimmy discovered to be one of the men who had accosted him in feinheimer's after his trouble with murray, took him into a private office and talked with him confidentially for a half-hour before he was definitely employed. it seemed that one of the principal requisites of the position was a willingness to take punishment without attempting to inflict too much upon young brophy. the manager did not go into specific details as to the reason for this restriction, and jimmy, badly in need of a job, felt no particular inclination to search too deeply for the root of the matter. "what i don't know," he soliloquized, "won't hurt me any." but he had not been there many days before the piecing together of chance remarks and the gossip of the hangers-on and other sparring partners made it very apparent why brophy should not be badly man-handled. as it finally revealed itself to jimmy it was very simple indeed. brophy was to be pitted against a man whom he had already out-pointed in a former bout. he was the ruling favorite in the betting, and it was the intention to keep him so while he and his backers quietly placed all their money on the other man. one of the sparring partners who seemed to harbor a petty grudge against brophy finally explained the whole plan to jimmy. everything was to be done to carry the impression to the public through the newspapers, who were usually well represented at the training quarters, that brophy was in the pink of condition; that he was training hard; that it was impossible to find men who could stand up to him on account of the terrific punishment he inflicted upon his sparring partners; and that the result of the fight was already a foregone conclusion; and then in the third round young brophy was to lie down and by reclining peacefully on his stomach for ten seconds make more money than several years of hard and conscientious work earnestly performed could ever net him. it was all very, very simple; but how easily public opinion might be changed should one of the sparring partners really make a good stand against brophy in the presence of members of the newspaper fraternity! "i see," said jimmy, running his fingers through his hair. "oh, well, it's none of my business, and if the suckers want to bet their money on a prize-fight they're about due to lose it anyway." and so he continued permitting himself to be battered up four or five times a week at the hands of the pussy mr. brophy. he paid back the twenty the lizard had loaned him, got his watch out of pawn, and was even figuring on a new suit of clothes. never before in his life had jimmy realized what it meant to be prosperous, since for obvious reasons young brophy's manager was extremely liberal in the matter of salaries with all those connected with the training-camp. at first it had been rather humiliating to jimmy to take the drubbings he did at the hands of young brophy in the presence of the audience which usually filled the small gymnasium where the fighter was training. it was nearly always about the same crowd, however, made up of dyed-in-the-wool fans, a few newspaper men, and a sprinkling of thrill-seekers from other walks of life far removed from the prize-ring. jimmy often noticed women among the spectators--well-dressed women, with every appearance of refinement, and there were always men of the same upper class of society. he mentioned the fact once to the same young man who had previously explained the plan under which the fight was to be faked. "that's just part of the graft," said his informant. "these birds have got next to a bunch of would-be sports with more money than brains through the athletic director of--" he mentioned the name of one of the big athletic clubs--"and they been inviting 'em here to watch brophy training. every one of the simps will be tryin' to get money down on brophy, and this bunch will take it all up as fast as they come. "the bettin' hasn't really started yet; in fact, they are holding off themselves until the odds are better. if brophy goes into the ring a three-to-one favorite these fellows will make a killing that will be talked of for the next twenty years." "and incidentally give boxing another black eye," interjected jimmy. "oh, what the hell do we care?" said the other. "i'm goin' to make mine out of it, and you better do the same. i'm goin' to put up every cent i can borrow or steal on the other guy." it was saturday, the 15th of january, just a week before the fight, that jimmy, trained now almost to perfection, stepped into the ring to take his usual mauling. for some time past there had been insidiously working its way into his mind a vast contempt for the pugilistic prowess of young brophy. "if," thought jimmy, "this bird is of championship caliber, i might be a champion myself." for, though young brophy was not a champion, the newspapers had been pointing to him for some time as a likely possibility for these pugilistic honors later. as this mental attitude grew within him and took hold of jimmy it more and more irked him to take the punishment which he inwardly felt he could easily inflict upon brophy instead, but, as jimmy had learned through lean and hungry months, a job is a job, and no job is to be sneezed at or lightly thrown aside. there was quite a gathering that afternoon to watch young brophy's work-out, and rather a larger representation than usual from society's younger set. the program, which had consisted in part of shadow boxing and bag punching by young brophy, was to terminate with three rounds with jimmy. for two rounds the young man had permitted brophy to make a monkey of him, hitting him where he would at will, while jimmy, as a result of several weeks of diligent practice, was able to put up apparently a very ferocious attempt to annihilate his opponent without doing the latter any material damage. at the close of the second round brophy landed a particularly vicious right, which dropped jimmy to the canvas. the crowd applauded vociferously, and as the gong sounded as jimmy was slowly rising to his feet they were all assured that it was all that had saved the young man from an even worse thrashing. as jimmy returned to his corner there arose within him a determination to thrash young brophy within an inch of his life after the big fight was out of the way and jimmy no longer bound by any obligations, for he realized that for some reason brophy had just gone a little too far with his rough tactics, there having been in the arrangement with the sparring partners an understanding that when a knock-down was to be staged brophy was to give his opponent the cue. no cue had been given, however. jimmy had not been expecting it, and he had been floored with a punch behind which were all the weight and brawn of the pugilist. he had long since ceased to consider what the spectators might think. so far as jimmy was concerned, they might have been so many chairs. he was merely angry at the unnecessary punishment that had been inflicted. as he sprawled in his corner he let his eyes run over the faces of the spectators directly in front of him, to whom previously he had paid no particular attention, and even now it was scarcely more than an involuntary glance; but his eyes stopped suddenly upon a face, and as recognition suddenly dawned upon him he could feel the hot blood rushing to his own. for there was the girl whom fate had thrice before thrown in his path! beside her he recognized the miss harriet holden who had been with her the night at feinheimer's, and with them were two young men. something within jimmy torrance rebelled to a point where it utterly dominated him--rebelled at the thought that this girl, whom he had unconsciously set upon a pedestal to worship from afar, should always find him in some menial and humiliating position. it was bad enough that she should see him as a sparring partner of a professional pug, but it made it infinitely worse that she should see him as what he must appear, an unsuccessful third or fourth rate fighter. everything within jimmy's mind turned suddenly topsyturvy. he seemed to lose all sense of proportion and all sense of value in one overpowering thought, that he must not again be humiliated in her presence. and so it was that at the tap of the gong for the third round it was not torrance the sparring partner that advanced from his corner, but jimmy torrance, champion heavyweight boxer of a certain famous university. but why enter into the harrowing details of the ensuing minute and a half? in thirty seconds it was unquestionably apparent to every one in the room, including young brophy himself, that the latter was pitifully outclassed. jimmy hit him whenever and wherever he elected to hit, and he hit him hard, while brophy, at best only a second or third rate fighter, pussy and undertrained, was not only unable to elude the blows of his adversary but equally so to land effectively himself. and there before the eyes of half a dozen newspaper reporters, of a dozen wealthy young men who had fully intended to place large sums on brophy, and before the eyes of his horrified manager and backer, jimmy, at the end of ninety seconds, landed a punch that sent the flabby mr. brophy through the ropes and into dreamland for a much longer period than the requisite ten seconds. before jimmy got dressed and out of the gymnasium he, with difficulty, escaped a half-dozen more fistic encounters, as everybody from the manager down felt that his crime deserved nothing short of capital punishment. he had absolutely wrecked a perfectly good scheme in the perfection of which several thousand dollars had been spent, and now there could not be even the possibility of a chance of their breaking even. chapter xiii. harriet philosophizes. when jimmy got home that night he saw a light in the lizard's room and entered. "well," said the cracksman, "how's every little thing?" jimmy smiled ruefully. "canned again," he announced, and then he told the lizard the story of his downfall, attributing the results of the third round, however, to brophy's unwarranted action at the end of the second. "well," said the lizard, "you certainly are the champion boob. there you had a chance to cop off a nice bunch of coin on that fight and instead you kill it for yourself and everybody else." "you don't think," said jimmy, "that i would have put any money on that crooked scrap." "why not?" asked the lizard, and then he shook his head sadly. "no, i don't suppose you would. there's lots of things about you that i can't understand, and one of them is the fact that you would rather starve to death than take a little easy money off of birds that have got more than they got any business to have. why, with your education and front we two could pull off some of the classiest stuff that this burg ever saw." "forget it," admonished jimmy. "what are you going to do now?" asked the lizard. "go out and hunt for another job," said jimmy. "well, i wish you luck," said the lizard. "maybe i can find something for you. i'll try, and in the mean time if you need any mazuma i always got a little roll tucked away in my sock." "thanks," said jimmy, "and i don't mind telling you that you're the one man i know whom i'd just as soon borrow from and would like the opportunity of loaning to. you say that you can't understand me, and yet you're a whole lot more of an enigma yourself! you admit, in fact, you're inclined to boast, that you're a pickpocket and a safe-blower and yet i'd trust you, lizard, with anything that i had." the lizard smiled, and for the first time since he had known him jimmy noticed that his eyes smiled with his lips. "i've always had the reputation," said the lizard, "of being a white guy with my friends. as a matter of fact, i ain't no different from what you'd probably be if you were in business and what most of your friends are. morally they're a bunch of thieves and crooks. of course, they don't go out and frisk any one and they don't work with a jimmy or a bottle of soup. they work their graft with the help of contracts and lawyers, and they'd gyp a friend or a pauper almost as soon as they would an enemy. i don't know much about morality, but when it comes right down to a question of morals i believe my trade is just as decent as that of a lot of these birds you see rolling up and down mich boul in their limousines." "it's all in the point of view," said jimmy. "yes," said the lizard. "it's all in the point of view, and my point of view ain't warped by no college education." jimmy grinned. "eventually, lizard, you may win me over; but when you do why fritter away our abilities upon this simple village when we have the capitals of all europe to play around in?" "there's something in that," said the lizard; "but don't get it into your head for a minute that i am tryin' to drag you from the straight and narrow. i think i like you better the way you are." "did you ever," said harriet holden, "see anything so weird as the way we keep bumping into that stocking-counter young man?" "no," said elizabeth, "it's commencing to get on my nerves. every time i turn a corner now i expect to bump into him. i suppose we see other people many times without recognizing them, but he is so utterly good-looking that he sort of sticks in one's memory." "do you know," said harriet, "that i have a suspicion that he recognized us. i saw him looking up at us just after that other person knocked him down and i could have sworn that he blushed. and then, you know, he went in and was entirely different from what he had been in the two preceding rounds. billy said that he is really a wonderful fighter, and there are not very many good fights that billy misses. what in the world do you suppose his profession is anyway? since we first noticed him he has been a hosiery clerk, a waiter, and a prize-fighter." "i don't know, i am sure," said elizabeth, yawning. "you seem to be terribly interested in him." "i am," admitted harriet frankly. "he's a regular adventure all in himself--a whole series of adventures." "i've never been partial to serials," said elizabeth. "well, i should think one would be a relief after a whole winter of heavy tragedy," retorted harriet. "what do you mean?" asked elizabeth. "oh, i mean harold, of course," said harriet. "he's gone around all winter with a grouch and a face a mile long. what's the matter with him anyway?" "i don't know," sighed elizabeth. "i'm afraid he's working too hard." harriet giggled. "oh, fiddlesticks!" she exclaimed. "you know perfectly well that harold bince will never work himself to death." "well, he is working hard, harriet. father says so. and he's worrying about the business, too. he's trying so hard to make good." "i will admit that he has stuck to his job more faithfully than anybody expected him to." elizabeth turned slowly upon her friend, "you don't like harold," she said; "why is it?" harriet shook her head. "i do like him, elizabeth, for your sake. i suppose the trouble is that i realize that he is not good enough for you. i have known him all my life, and even as a little child he was never sincere. possibly he has changed now. i hope so. and then again i know as well as you do that you are not in love with him." "how perfectly ridiculous!" cried elizabeth. "do you suppose that i would marry a man whom i didn't love?" "you haven't the remotest idea what love is. you've never been in love." "have you?" asked elizabeth. "no," replied harriet, "i haven't, but i know the symptoms and you certainly haven't got one of them. whenever harold isn't going to be up for dinner or for the evening you're always relieved. possibly you don't realize it yourself, but you show it to any one who knows you." "well, i do love him," insisted elizabeth, "and i intend to marry him. i never had any patience with this silly, love-sick business that requires people to pine away when they are not together and bore everybody else to death when they were." "all of which proves," said harriet, "that you haven't been stung yet, and i sincerely hope that you may never be unless it happens before you marry harold." chapter xiv. in again--out again. jimmy torrance was out of a job a week this time, and once more he was indebted to the lizard for a position, the latter knowing a politician who was heavily interested in a dairy company, with the result that jimmy presently found himself driving a milk-wagon. jimmy's route was on the north side, which he regretted, as it was in the district where a number of the friends of his former life resided. his delivery schedule, however, and the fact that his point of contact with the homes of his customers was at the back door relieved him of any considerable apprehension of being discovered by an acquaintance. his letters home were infrequent, for he found that his powers of invention were being rapidly depleted. it was difficult to write glowing accounts of the business success he was upon the point of achieving on the strength of any of the positions he so far had held, and doubly so during the far greater period that he had been jobless and hungry. but he had not been able to bring himself to the point of admitting to his family his long weeks of consistent and unrelieved failure. recently he had abandoned his futile attempts to obtain positions through the medium of the help wanted columns. "it is no use," he thought. "there must be something inherently wrong with me that in a city full of jobs i am unable to land anything without some sort of a pull and then only work that any unskilled laborer could perform." the truth of the matter was that jimmy torrance was slowly approaching that mental condition that is aptly described by the phrase, "losing your grip," one of the symptoms of which was the fact that he was almost contented with his present job. he had driven for about a week when, upon coming into the barn after completing his morning delivery, he was instructed to take a special order to a certain address on lake shore drive. although the address was not that of one of his regular customers he felt that there was something vaguely familiar about it, but when he finally arrived he realized that it was a residence at which he had never before called. driving up the alley jimmy stopped in the rear of a large and pretentious home, and entering through a gateway in a high stone wall he saw that the walk to the rear entrance bordered a very delightful garden. he realized what a wonderfully pretty little spot it must be in the summer time, with its pool and fountain and tree-shaded benches, its vine-covered walls and artistically arranged shrubs, and it recalled to jimmy with an accompanying sigh the homes in which he had visited in what seemed now a remote past, and also of his own home in the west. on the alley in one corner of the property stood a garage and stable, in which jimmy could see men working upon the owner's cars and about the box-stalls of his saddle horses. at the sight of the horses jimmy heaved another sigh as he continued his way to the rear entrance. as he stood waiting for a reply to his summons he glanced back at the stable to see that horses had just entered and that their riders were dismounting, evidently two of the women of the household, and then a houseman opened the door and jimmy made his delivery and started to retrace his steps to his wagon. approaching him along the walk from the stable were the riders--two young women, laughing and talking as they approached the house, and suddenly jimmy, in his neat white suit, carrying his little tray of milk-bottles, recognized them, and instantly there flashed into recollection the address that harriet holden had given him that night at feinheimer's. "what infernal luck," he groaned inwardly; "i suppose the next time i see that girl i'll be collecting garbage from her back door." and then, with his eyes straight to the front, he stepped aside to let the two pass. it was harriet holden who recognized him first, and stopped with a little exclamation of surprise. jimmy stopped, too. there was nothing else that a gentleman might do, although he would have given his right hand to have been out of the yard. "you never came to the house as i asked you to," said miss holden reproachfully. "we wanted so much to do something to repay you for your protection that night." "there was no use in my coming," said jimmy, "for, you see, i couldn't have accepted anything for what i did--i couldn't very well have done anything else, could i, under the circumstances?" "there were many other men in the place," replied harriet, "but you were the only one who came to our help." "but the others were not---" jimmy been upon the point of saying gentlemen, but then he happened to think that in the eyes of these two girls, and according to their standard, he might not be a gentleman, either. "well, you see," he continued lamely, "they probably didn't know who you were." "did you?" asked elizabeth. "no," jimmy admitted, "of course, i didn't know who you were, but i knew what you were not, which was the thing that counted most then." "i wish," said harriet, "that you would let us do something for you." "yes," said elizabeth, "if a hundred dollars would be of any use to you--" harriet laid a hand quickly on her friend's arm. "i wasn't thinking of money," she said to jimmy. "one can't pay for things like that with money, but we know so many people here we might help you in some way, if you are not entirely satisfied with your present position." out of the corner of his eye jimmy could not help but note that elizabeth was appraising him critically from head to foot and he felt that he could almost read what was passing through her mind as she took stock of his cheap cotton uniform and his cap, with the badge of his employer above the vizor. involuntarily jimmy straightened his shoulders and raised his chin a trifle. "no, thank you," he said to harriet, "it is kind of you, but really i am perfectly satisfied with my present job. it is by far the best one i have ever held," and touching his cap, he continued his interrupted way to his wagon. "what a strange young man," exclaimed harriet. "he is like many of his class," replied elizabeth, "probably entirely without ambition and with no desire to work any too hard or to assume additional responsibilities." "i don't believe it," retorted harriet. "unless i am greatly mistaken, that man is a gentleman. everything about him indicates it; his inflection even is that of a well-bred man." "how utterly silly," exclaimed elizabeth. "you've heard him speak scarcely a dozen words. i venture to say that in a fifteen-minute conversation he would commit more horrible crimes against the king's english than even that new stable-boy of yours. really, harriet, you seem very much interested in this person." "why shouldn't i be?" asked harriet. "he's becoming my little pet mystery. i wonder under what circumstances we see him next?" "probably as a white-wings," laughed elizabeth. "but if so i positively refuse to permit you to stop in the middle of michigan boulevard and converse with a street-sweeper while i'm with you." jimmy's new job lasted two weeks, and then the milk-wagon drivers went on strike and jimmy was thrown out of employment. "tough luck," sympathized the lizard. "you sure are the calamity kid. but don't worry, we'll land you something else. and remember that that partnership proposition is still open." there ensued another month of idleness, during which jimmy again had recourse to the help wanted column. the lizard tried during the first week to find something for him, and then occurred a certain very famous safe-robbery, and the lizard disappeared. chapter xv. little eva. early in march jimmy was again forced to part with his watch. as he was coming out of the pawn-shop late in the afternoon he almost collided with little eva. "for the love of mike!" cried that young lady, "where have you been all this time, and what's happened to you? you look as though you'd lost your last friend." and then noting the shop from which he had emerged and the deduction being all too obvious, she laid one of her shapely hands upon the sleeve of his cheap, ill-fitting coat. "you're up against it, kid, ain't you?" she asked. "oh, it's nothing," said jimmy ruefully. "i'm getting used to it." "i guess you're too square," said the girl. "i heard about that brophy business." and then she laughed softly. "do you know who the biggest backers of that graft were?" "no," said jimmy. "well, don't laugh yourself to death," she admonished. "they were steve murray and feinheimer. talk about sore pups! you never saw anything like it, and when they found who it was that had ditched their wonderful scheme they threw another fit. say, those birds have been weeping on each other's shoulders ever since." "do you still breakfast at feinheimer's?" asked jimmy. "once in a while," said the girl, "but not so often now." and she dropped her eyes to the ground in what, in another than little eva, might have been construed as embarrassment. "where you going now?" she asked quickly. "to eat," said jimmy, and then prompted by the instincts of his earlier training and without appreciable pause: "won't you take dinner with me?" "no," said the girl, "but you are going to take dinner with me. you're out of a job and broke, and the chances are you've just this minute hocked your watch, while i have plenty of money. no," she said as jimmy started to protest, "this is going to be on me. i never knew how much i enjoyed talking with you at breakfast until after you had left feinheimer's. i've been real lonesome ever since," she admitted frankly. "you talk to me different from what the other men do." she pressed his arm gently. "you talk to me, kid, just like a fellow might talk to his sister." jimmy didn't know just what rejoinder to make, and so he made none. as a matter of fact, he had not realized that he had said or done anything to win her confidence, nor could he explain his attitude toward her in the light of what he knew of her life and vocation. there is a type of man that respects and reveres woman-hood for those inherent virtues which are supposed to be the natural attributes of the sex because in their childhood they have seen them exemplified in their mothers, their sisters and in the majority of women and girls who were parts of the natural environment of their early lives. it is difficult ever entirely to shatter the faith of such men, and however they may be wronged by individuals of the opposite sex their subjective attitude toward woman in the abstract is one of chivalrous respect. as far as outward appearances were concerned little eva might have passed readily as a paragon of all the virtues. as yet, there was no sign nor line of dissipation marked upon her piquant face, nor in her consociation with jimmy was there ever the slightest reference to or reminder of her vocation. they chose a quiet and eminently respectable dining place, and after they had ordered, jimmy spread upon the table an evening paper he had purchased upon the street. "help me find a job," he said to the girl, and together the two ran through the want columns. "here's a bunch of them," cried the girl laughingly, "all in one ad. night cook, one hundred and fifty dollars; swing man, one hundred and forty dollars; roast cook, one hundred and twenty dollars; broiler, one hundred and twenty dollars. i'd better apply for that. fry cook, one hundred and ten dollars. oh, here's something for steve murray: chicken butcher, eighty dollars; here's a job i'd like," she cried, "ice-cream man, one hundred dollars." "quit your kidding," said jimmy. "i'm looking for a job, not an acrostic." "well," she said, "here are two solid pages of them, but nobody seems to want a waiter. what else can you do?" she asked smiling up at him. "i can drive a milk-wagon," said jimmy, "but the drivers are all on strike." "now, be serious," she announced. "let's look for something really good. here's somebody wants a finishing superintendent for a string music instrument factory, and a business manager and electrical engineer in this one. what's an efficiency expert?" "oh, he's a fellow who gums up the works, puts you three weeks behind in less than a week and has all your best men resigning inside of a month. i know, because my dad had one at his plant a few years ago." the girl looked at him for a moment. "your father is a business man?" she asked, and without waiting for an answer, "why don't you work for him?" it was the first reference that jimmy had ever made to his connections or his past. "oh," he said, "he's a long way off and--if i'm no good to any one here i certainly wouldn't be any good to him." his companion made no comment, but resumed her reading of the advertisement before her: wanted, an efficiency expert--machine works wants man capable of thoroughly reorganizing large business along modern lines, stopping leaks and systematizing every activity. call international machine company, west superior street. ask for mr. compton. "what do you have to know to be an efficiency expert?" asked the girl. "from what i saw of the bird i just mentioned the less one knows about anything the more successful he should be as an efficiency expert, for he certainly didn't know anything. and yet the results from kicking everybody in the plant out of his own particular rut eventually worked wonders for the organization. if the man had had any sense, tact or diplomacy nothing would have been accomplished." "why don't you try it?" asked the girl. jimmy looked at her with a quizzical smile. "thank you," he said. "oh, i didn't mean it that way," she cried. "but from what you tell me i imagine that all a man needs is a front and plenty of punch. you've got the front all right with your looks and gift of gab, and i leave it to young brophy if you haven't got the punch." "maybe that's not the punch an efficiency expert needs," suggested jimmy. "it might be a good thing to have up his sleeve," replied the girl, and then suddenly, "do you believe in hunches?" "sometimes," replied jimmy. "well, this is a hunch, take it from me," she continued. "i'll bet you can land that job and make good." "what makes you think so?" asked jimmy. "i don't know," she replied, "but you know what a woman's intuition is." "i suppose," said jimmy, "that it's the feminine of hunch. but however good your hunch or intuition may be it would certainly get a terrible jolt if i presented myself to the head of the international machine company in this scenery. do you see anything about my clothes that indicates efficiency?" "it isn't your clothes that count, jimmy," she said, "it's the combination of that face of yours and what you've got in your head. you're the most efficient looking person i ever saw, and if you want a reference i'll say this much for you, you're the most efficient waiter that feinheimer ever had. he said so himself, even after he canned you." "your enthusiasm," said jimmy, "is contagious. if it wasn't for these sorry rags of mine i'd take a chance on that hunch of yours." the girl laid her hand impulsively upon his. "won't you let me help you?" she asked. "i'd like to, and it will only be a loan if you wanted to look at it that way. enough to get you a decent-looking outfit, such an outfit as you ought to have to land a good job. i know, and everybody else knows, that clothes do count no matter what we say to the contrary. i'll bet you're some looker when you're dolled up! please," she continued, "just try it for a gamble?" "i don't see how i can," he objected. "the chances are i could never pay you back, and there is no reason in the world why you should loan me money. you are certainly under no obligation to me." "i wish you would let me, jimmy," she said. "it would make me awfully happy!" the man hesitated. "oh," she said, "i'm going to do it, anyway. wait a minute," and, rising, she left the table. in a few minutes she returned. "here," she said, "you've got to take it," and extended her hand toward him beneath the edge of the table. "i can't," said jimmy. "it wouldn't be right." the girl looked at him and flushed. "do you mean," she said, "because it's my--because of what i am?" "oh, no," said jimmy; "please don't think that!" and impulsively he took her hand beneath the table. at the contact the girl caught her breath with a little quick-drawn sigh. "here, take it!" she said, and drawing her hand away quickly, left a roll of bills in jimmy's hand. chapter xvi. jimmy throws a bluff. that afternoon mr. harold bince had entered his superior's office with an afternoon paper in his hand. "what's the idea of this ad, mr. compton?" he asked. "why do we need an efficiency expert? i wish you had let me know what you intended doing." "i knew that if i told you, harold, you would object," said the older man, "and i thought i would have a talk with several applicants before saying anything about it to any one. of course, whoever we get will work with you, but i would rather not have it generally known about the plant. there seems to be a leak somewhere and evidently we are too close to the work to see it ourselves. it will require an outsider to discover it." "i am very much opposed to the idea," said bince. "these fellows usually do nothing more than disrupt an organization. we have a force that has been here, many of them, for years. there is as little lost motion in this plant as in any in the country, and if we start in saddling these men with a lot of red tape which will necessitate their filling out innumerable forms for every job, about half their time will be spent in bookkeeping, which can just as well be done here in the office as it is now. i hope that you will reconsider your intention and let us work out our own solution in a practical manner, which we can do better in the light of our own experience than can an outsider who knows nothing of our peculiar problems." "we will not permit the organization to be disrupted," replied mr. compton. "it may do a lot of good to get a new angle on our problems and at least it will do no harm." "i can't agree with you," replied bince. "i think it will do a lot of harm." compton looked at his watch. "it is getting late, harold," he said, "and this is pay-day. i should think everett could help you with the pay-roll." everett was the cashier. "i prefer to do it myself," replied bince. "everett has about all he can do, and anyway, i don't like to trust it to any one else." and realizing that compton did not care to discuss the matter of the efficiency expert further bince returned to his own office. the following afternoon the office boy entered mr. compton's office. "a gentleman to see you, sir," he announced. "he said to tell you that he came in reply to your advertisement." "show him in," instructed compton, and a moment later jimmy entered--a rehabilitated jimmy. upon his excellent figure the ready-made suit had all the appearance of faultlessly tailored garments. compton looked up at his visitor, and with the glance he swiftly appraised jimmy--a glance that assured him that here might be just the man he wanted, for intelligence, aggressiveness and efficiency were evidently the outstanding characteristics of the young man before him. after jimmy had presented himself the other motioned him to a chair. "i am looking," said mr. compton, "for an experienced man who can come in here and find out just what is wrong with us. we have an old-established business which has been making money for years. we are taking all the work that we can possibly handle at the highest prices we have ever received, and yet our profits are not at all commensurate with the volume of business. it has occurred to me that an experienced man from the outside would be able to more quickly put his finger on the leaks and stop them. now tell me just what your experience has been and we will see if we can come to some understanding." from his pocket jimmy drew a half-dozen envelopes, and taking the contents from them one by one laid them on the desk before mr. compton. on the letter-heads of half a dozen large out-of-town manufacturers in various lines were brief but eulogistic comments upon the work done in their plants by mr. james torrance, jr. as he was reading them mr. compton glanced up by chance to see that the face of the applicant was slightly flushed, which he thought undoubtedly due to the fact that the other knew he was reading the words of praise contained in the letters, whereas the truth of the matter was that jimmy's color was heightened by a feeling of guilt. "these are very good," said mr. compton, looking up from the letters. "i don't know that i need go any further. a great deal depends on a man's personality in a position of this sort, and from your appearance i should imagine that you're all right along that line and you seem to have had the right kind of experience. now, what arrangement can we make?" jimmy had given the matter of pay considerable thought, but the trouble was that he did not know what an efficiency expert might be expected to demand. he recalled vaguely that the one his father had employed got something like ten dollars a day, or one hundred a day, jimmy couldn't remember which, and so he was afraid that he might ask too much and lose the opportunity, or too little and reveal that he had no knowledge of the value of such services. "i would rather leave that to you," he said. "what do you think the work would be worth to you?" "do you expect to continue in this line of work?" asked mr. compton. "when this job is finished you would want to go somewhere else, i suppose?" jimmy saw an opening and leaped for it. "oh, no!" he replied. "on the contrary, i wouldn't mind working into a permanent position, and if you think there might be a possibility of that i would consider a reasonable salary arrangement rather than the usual contract rate for expert service." "it is very possible," said mr. compton, "that if you are the right man there would be a permanent place in the organization for you. with that idea in mind i should say that two hundred and fifty dollars a month might be a mutually fair arrangement to begin with." two hundred and fifty dollars a month! jimmy tried to look bored, but not too bored. "of course," he said, "with the idea that it may become a permanent, well-paying position i think i might be inclined to consider it--in fact, i am very favorably inclined toward it," he added hastily as he thought he noted a sudden waning of interest in compton's expression. "but be sure yourself that i am the man you want. for instance, my methods--you should know something of them first." in jimmy's pocket was a small book he had purchased at a second-hand bookshop the evening before, upon the cover of which appeared the title "how to get more out of your factory." he had not had sufficient time to study it thoroughly, but had succeeded in memorizing several principal headings on the contents page. "at first," he explained, "i won't seem to be accomplishing much, as i always lay the foundation of my future work by studying my men. some men have that within them which spurs them on; while some need artificial initiative--outside encouragement," he quoted glibly from "how to get more out of your factory." "some men extend themselves under stern discipline; some respond only to a gentle rein. i study men--the men over me, under me, around me. i study them and learn how to get from each the most that is in him. at the same time i shall be looking for leaks and investigating timekeeping methods, wage-paying systems and planning on efficiency producers. later i shall start reducing costs by studying machines, handling material economically and producing power at lowest cost; keeping the product moving, making environment count on the balance-sheet and protecting against accident and fire." this was as far as jimmy had memorized, and so he stopped. "i think," said mr. compton, "that you have the right idea. some of your points are not entirely clear to me, as there are many modern methods that i have not, i am sorry to say, investigated sufficiently." jimmy did not think it necessary to explain that they were not clear to him either. "and now," said compton, "if you are satisfied with the salary, when can you start?" jimmy rose with a brisk and businesslike manner. "i am free now," he said, "with the exception of a little personal business which i can doubtless finish up tomorrow--suppose i come thursday?" "good," exclaimed compton, "but before you go i want you to meet our assistant general manager, mr. bince." and he led jimmy toward bince's office. "this is mr. torrance, harold," said mr. compton as they entered. "mr. bince, mr. torrance. mr. torrance is going to help us systematize the plant. he will report directly to me and i know you will do everything in your power to help him. you can go to mr. bince for anything in the way of information you require, and harold, when mr. torrance comes thursday i wish you would introduce him to everett and the various department heads and explain that they are to give him full cooperation. and now, as i have an appointment, i shall have to ask you to excuse me. i will see you thursday. if there are any questions you want to ask, mr. bince will be glad to give you any information you wish or care for." jimmy had felt from the moment that he was introduced to bince that the latter was antagonistic and now that the two were alone together he was not long left in doubt as to the correctness of his surmise. as soon as the door had closed behind mr. compton bince wheeled toward jimmy. "i don't mind telling you, mr. torrance," he said, "that i consider the services of an expert absolutely unnecessary, but if mr. compton wishes to experiment i will interfere in no way and i shall help you all i can, but i sincerely hope that you, on your part, will refrain from interfering with my activities. as a matter of fact, you won't have to leave this office to get all the information you need, and if you will come to me i can make it easy for you to investigate the entire workings of the plant and save you a great deal of unnecessary personal labor. i suppose that you have had a great deal of experience along this line?" jimmy nodded affirmatively. "just how do you purpose proceeding?" "oh, well," said jimmy, "each one of us really has a system of his own. at first i won't seem to be accomplishing much, as i always lay the foundation of my future work by studying my men. some men have that within them which spurs them on; while some need artificial initiative--outside encouragement." he hoped that the door to compton's office was securely closed. "some men extend themselves under stern discipline; some respond only to a gentle rein. i study men--the men over me, under me, around me. i study them and learn how to get from each the most that is in him. at the same time i shall be looking for leaks and investigating time-keeping methods"--he was looking straight at bince and he could not help but note the slight narrowing of the other's lids-"wage-paying systems and planning on efficiency producers." here he hesitated a moment as though weighing his words, though as a matter of fact he had merely forgotten the title of the next chapter, but presently he went on again: "later i shall start reducing costs by studying machines, handling material economically and producing power at lowest costs: keeping the product moving, making environment count on the balance-sheet and protecting against accident and fire." "is that all?" asked mr. bince. "oh, no, indeed!" said jimmy. "that's just a very brief outline of the way i shall start." "ah!" said mr. bince. "and just how, may i ask, do you make environment count on the balance-sheet? i do not quite understand." jimmy was mentally gasping and going down for the third time. he had wondered when he read that chapter title just what it might mean. "oh," he said, "you will understand that thoroughly when we reach that point. it is one of the steps in my method. other things lead up to it. it is really rather difficult to explain until we have a concrete example, something that you can really visualize, you know. but i assure you that it will be perfectly plain to you when we arrive at that point. "and now," he said, rising, "i must be going. i have a great deal to attend to this afternoon and to-morrow, as i wish to get some personal matters out of the way before i start in here thursday." "all right," said mr. bince, "i suppose we shall see you thursday, but just bear in mind, please, that you and i can work better together than at cross-purposes." chapter xvii. jimmy on the job. as jimmy left the office he discovered that those last words of bince's had made a considerable and a rather unfavorable impression on him. he was sure that there was an underlying meaning, though just what it portended he was unable to imagine. from the international machine company jimmy went directly to the restaurant where he and little eva had dined the night before. he found her waiting for him, as they had agreed she would. "well, what luck?" she asked as he took the chair next to her. "oh, i landed the job all right," said jimmy, "but i feel like a crook. i don't know how in the world i ever came to stand for those letters of recommendation. they were the things that got me the job all right, but i honestly feel just as though i had stolen something." "don't feel that way," said the girl. "you'll make good, i know, and then it won't make any difference about the letters." "and now," said jimmy, "tell me where you got them. you promised me that you would tell me afterward." "oh," said the girl, "that was easy. a girl who rooms at the same place i do works in a big printing and engraving plant and i got her to get me some samples of letterheads early this morning. in fact, i went down-town with her when she went to work and then i went over to the underwood offices and wrote the recommendations out on a machine--i used to be a stenographer." "and you forged these names?" asked jimmy, horrified. "i didn't forge anybody's name," replied the girl. "i made them up." "you mean there are no such men?" "as far as i know there are not," she replied, laughing. slowly jimmy drew the letters from his inside pocket and read them one by one, spreading them out upon the table before him. presently he looked up at the girl. "why don't you get a position again as a stenographer?" he asked. "i have been thinking of it," she said; "do you want me to?" "yes," he said, "i want you to very much." "it will be easy," she said. "there is no reason why i shouldn't except that there was no one ever cared what i did." as she finished speaking they were both aware that a man had approached their table and stopped opposite them. jimmy and the girl looked up to see a large man in a dark suit looking down at eva. jimmy did not recognize the man, but he knew at once what he was. "well, o'donnell, what's doing?" asked the girl. "you know what's doing," said the officer. "how miny toimes do the capt'in have to be afther isshuin' orrders tellin' you janes to kape out uv dacent places?" the girl flushed. "i'm not working here," she said. "to hell ye ain't," sneered o'donnell. "didn't i see ye flag this guy whin he came in?" "this young lady is a friend of mine," said jimmy. "i had an appointment to meet her here." o'donnell shifted his gaze from the girl to her escort and for the first time appraised jimmy thoroughly. "oh, it's you, is it?" he asked. "it is," said jimmy; "you guessed it the first time, but far be it from me to know what you have guessed, as i never saw you before, my friend." "well, i've seen you before," said o'donnell, "and ye put one over on me that time all roight, i can see now. i don't know what your game was, but you and the lizard played it pretty slick when you could pull the wool over patrick o'donnell's eyes the way ye done." "oh," said jimmy, "i've got you now. you're the bull who interfered with my friend and me on randolph and la salle way back last july." "i am," said o'donnell, "and i thought ye was a foine young gentleman, and you are a foine one," he said with intense sarcasm. "go away and leave us alone," said the girl. "we're not doing anything. we ate in here last night together. this man is perfectly respectable. he isn't what you think him, at all." "i'm not going to pinch him," said o'donnell; "i ain't got nothin' to pinch him for, but the next time i see him i'll know him." "well," said the girl, "are you going to beat it or are you going to stick around here bothering us all evening? there hasn't anybody registered a complaint against me in here." "naw," said o'donnell, "they ain't, but you want to watch your step or they will." "all right," said the girl, "run along and sell your papers." and she turned again to jimmy, and as though utterly unconscious of the presence of the police officer, she remarked, "that big stiff gives me a pain. he's the original buttinsky kid." o'donnell flushed. "watch your step, young lady," he said as he turned and walked away. "i thought," said jimmy, "that it was the customary practise to attempt to mollify the guardians of the law." "mollify nothing," returned the girl. "none of these big bruisers knows what decency is, and if you're decent to them they think you're afraid of them. when they got something on you you got to be nice, but when they haven't, tell them where they get off. i knew he wouldn't pinch me; he's got nothing to pinch me for, and he'd have been out of luck if he had, for there hasn't one of them got anything on me." "but won't he have it in for you?" asked jimmy. "sure, he will," said the girl. "he's got it in for everybody. that's what being a policeman does to a man. say, most of these guys hate themselves. i tell you, though," she said presently and more seriously, "i'm sorry on your account. these dicks never forget a face. he's got you catalogued and filed away in what he calls his brain alongside of a dip and--a"--she hesitated--"a girl like me, and no matter how high up you ever get if your foot slips up will bob o'donnell with these two facts." "i'm not worrying," said jimmy. "i don't intend to let my foot slip in his direction." "i hope not," said the girl. -----------------------thursday morning jimmy took up his duties as efficiency expert at the plant of the international machine company. since his interview with compton his constant companion had been "how to get more out of your factory," with the result that he felt that unless he happened to be pitted against another efficiency expert he could at least make a noise like efficiency, and also he had grasped what he considered the fundamental principle of efficiency, namely, simplicity. "if," he reasoned, "i cannot find in any plant hundreds of operations that are not being done in the simplest manner it will be because i haven't even ordinary powers of observation or intelligence," for after his second interview with compton, jimmy had suddenly realized that the job meant something to him beside the two hundred and fifty dollars a month--that he couldn't deliberately rob compton, as he felt that he would be doing unless he could give value received in services, and he meant to do his best to accomplish that end. he knew that for a while his greatest asset would be bluff, but there was something about mason compton that had inspired in the young man a vast respect and another sentiment that he realized upon better acquaintance might ripen into affection. compton reminded him in many ways of his father, and with the realization of that resemblance jimmy felt more and more ashamed of the part he was playing, but now that he had gone into it he made up his mind that he would stick to it, and there was besides the slight encouragement that he had derived from the enthusiasm of the girl who had suggested the idea to him and of her oft-repeated assertion relative to her "hunch", that he would make good. chapter xviii. the efficiency expert. unlike most other plants the international machine company paid on monday, and it was on the monday following his assumption of his new duties that jimmy had his first clash with bince. he had been talking with everett, the cashier, whom, in accordance with his "method," he was studying. from everett he had learned that it was pay-day and he had asked the cashier to let him see the pay-roll. "i don't handle the pay-roll," replied everett a trifle peevishly. "shortly after mr. bince was made assistant general manager a new rule was promulgated, to the effect that all salaries and wages were to be considered as confidential and that no one but the assistant general manager would handle the pay-rolls. all i know is the amount of the weekly check. he hires and fires everybody and pays everybody." "rather unusual, isn't it?" commented jimmy. "very," said everett. "here's some of us have been with mr. compton since bince was in long clothes, and then he comes in here and says that we are not to be trusted with the pay-roll." "well," said jimmy, "i shall have to go to him to see it then." "he won't show it to you," said everett. "oh, i guess he will," said jimmy, and a moment later he knocked at bince's office door. when bince saw who it was he turned back to his work with a grunt. "i am sorry, torrance," he said, "but i can't talk with you just now. i'm very busy." "working on the pay-roll?" said jimmy. "yes," snarled bince. "that's what i came in to see," said the efficiency expert. "impossible," said bince. "the international machine company's pay-roll is confidential, absolutely confidential. nobody sees it but me or mr. compton if he wishes to." "i understood from mr. compton," said jimmy, "that i was to have full access to all records." "that merely applied to operation records," said bince. "it had nothing to do with the pay-roll." "i should consider the pay-roll very closely allied to operations," responded jimmy. "i shouldn't," said bince. "you won't let me see it then?" demanded jimmy. "look here," said bince, "we agreed that we wouldn't interfere with each other. i haven't interfered with you. now don't you interfere with me. this is my work, and my office is not being investigated by any efficiency expert or any one else." "i don't recall that i made any such agreement," said jimmy. "i must insist on seeing that pay-roll." bince turned white with suppressed anger, and then suddenly slamming his pen on the desk, he wheeled around toward the other. "i might as well tell you something," he said, "that will make your path easier here, if you know it. i understand that you want a permanent job with us. if you do you might as well understand now as any other time that you have got to be satisfactory to me. of course, it is none of your business, but it may help you to understand conditions when i tell you that i am to marry mr. compton's daughter, and when i do that he expects to retire from business, leaving me in full charge here. now, do you get me?" jimmy had involuntarily acquired antipathy toward bince at their first meeting, an antipathy which had been growing the more that he saw of the assistant general manager. this fact, coupled with bince's present rather nasty manner, was rapidly arousing the anger of the efficiency expert. "i didn't come in here," he said, "to discuss your matrimonial prospects, mr. bince. i came in here to see the pay-roll, and you will oblige me by letting me see it." "i tell you again," said bince, "once and for all, that you don't see the pay-roll nor anything else connected with my office, and you will oblige me by not bothering me any longer. as i told you when you first came in, i am very busy." jimmy turned and left the room. he was on the point of going to compton's office and asking for authority to see the pay-roll, and then it occurred to him that compton would probably not take sides against his assistant general manager and future son-in-law. "i've got to get at it some other way," said jimmy, "but you bet your life i'm going to get at it. it looks to me as though there's something funny about that pay-roll." on his way out he stopped at everett's cage. "what was the amount of the check for the pay-roll for this week, everett?" he asked. "a little over ninety-six hundred dollars." "thanks," said jimmy, and returned to the shops to continue his study of his men, and as he studied them he asked many questions, made many notes in his little note-book, and always there were two questions that were the same: "what is your name? what wages do you get?" "i guess," said jimmy, "that in a short time i will know as much about the payroll as the assistant general manager." nor was it the pay-roll only that claimed jimmy's attention. he found that several handlings of materials could be eliminated by the adoption of simple changes, and that a rearrangement of some of the machines removed the necessity for long hauls from one part of the shop to another. after an evening with the little volume he had purchased for twenty-five cents in the second-hand bookshop he ordered changes that enabled him to cut five men from the pay-roll and at the same time do the work more expeditiously and efficiently. "little book," he said one evening, "i take my hat off to you. you are the best two-bits' worth i ever purchased." the day following the completion of the changes he had made in the shop he was in compton's office. "patton was explaining some of the changes you have made," remarked compton. patton was the shop foreman. "he said they were so simple that he wondered none of us had thought of them before. i quite agree with him." "so do i," returned jimmy, "but, then, my whole method is based upon simplicity." and his mind traveled to the unpretentious little book on the table in his room on indiana avenue. "the feature that appeals to me most strongly is that you have been able to get the cooperation of the men," continued compton "that's what i feared--that they wouldn't accept your suggestions. how did you do it?" "i showed them how they could turn out more work and make more money by my plan. this appealed to the piece-workers. i demonstrated to the others that the right way is the easiest way--i showed them how they could earn their wages with less effort." "good," said compton. "you are running into no difficulties then? is there any way in which i can help you?" "i am getting the best kind of cooperation from the men in the shop, practically without exception," replied jimmy, "although there is one fellow, a straw boss named krovac, who does not seem to take as kindly to the changes i have made as the others, but he really doesn't amount to anything as an obstacle." jimmy also thought of bince and the pay-roll, but he was still afraid to broach the subject. suddenly an inspiration came to him. "yes," he said, "i believe your accounting system could be improved--it will take me months to get around to it, as my work is primarily in the shop, at first, at least. you can save both time and money by having your books audited by a firm of public accountants who can also suggest a new and more up-to-date system." "not a bad idea," said compton. "i think we will do it." for another half-hour they discussed jimmy's work, and then as the latter was leaving compton stopped him. "by the way, you don't happen to know of a good stenographer, do you? miss withe is leaving me saturday." jimmy thought a moment. instantly he thought of little eva and what she had said of her experience as a stenographer, and her desire to abandon her present life for something in the line of her former work. here was a chance to repay her in some measure for her kindness to him. "yes," he said, "i do know of a young lady who, i believe, could do the work. shall i have her call on you?" "if you will, please," replied compton as jimmy left the office compton rang for bince, and when the latter came, told him of his plan to employ a firm of accountants to renovate their entire system of bookkeeping. "is that one of torrance's suggestions?" asked bince. "yes, the idea is his," replied compton, "and i think it is a good one." "it seems to me," said bince, "that torrance is balling things up sufficiently as it is without getting in other theorizers who have no practical knowledge of our business. the result of all this will be to greatly increase our overhead by saddling us with a lot of red-tape in the accounting department similar to that which torrance is loading the producing end with." "i am afraid that you are prejudiced, harold," said compton. "i cannot discover that torrance is doing anything to in any way complicate the shop work. as a matter of fact a single change which he has just made has resulted in our performing certain operations in less time and to better advantage with five less men than formerly. just in this one thing he has not only more than earned his salary, but is really paying dividends on our investment." bince was silent for a moment. he had walked to the window and was looking out on the street below, then he turned suddenly toward compton. "mr. compton," he said, "you have made me assistant general manager here and now, just when i am reaching a point where i feel i can accomplish something, you are practically taking the authority out of my hands and putting it in that of a stranger. i feel not only that you are making a grave mistake, but that it is casting a reflection on my work. it is making a difference in the attitude of the men toward me that i am afraid can never be overcome, and consequently while lessening my authority it is also lessening my value to the plant. i am going to ask you to drop this whole idea. as assistant general manager, i feel that it is working injury to the organization, and i hope that before it is too late--that, in fact, immediately, you will discharge torrance and drop this idea of getting outsiders to come in and install a new accounting system." "you're altogether too sensitive, harold," replied compton. "it is no reflection on you whatsoever. the system under which we have been working is, with very few exceptions, the very system that i evolved myself through years of experience in this business. if there is any reflection upon any one it is upon me and not you. you must learn to realize, if you do not already, what i realize--that no one is infallible. just because the system is mine or yours we must not think that no better system can be devised. i am perfectly satisfied with what mr. torrance is doing, and i agree with his suggestion that we employ a firm of accountants, but i think no less of you or your ability on that account." bince saw that it was futile to argue the matter further. "very well, sir," he said. "i hope that i am mistaken and that no serious harm will result. when do you expect to start these accountants in?" "immediately," replied compton. "i shall get in touch with somebody today." bince shook his head dubiously as he returned to his own office. chapter xix. plotting. the following monday miss edith hudson went to work for the international machine company as mr. compton's stenographer. nor could the most fastidious have discovered aught to criticize in the appearance or deportment of little eva. the same day the certified public accountants came. mr. harold bince appeared nervous and irritable, and he would have been more nervous and more irritable had he known that jimmy had just learned the amount of the pay-check from everett and that he had discovered that, although five men had been laid off and no new ones employed since the previous week, the payroll check was practically the same as before-approximately one thousand dollars more than his note-book indicated it should be. "phew!" whistled jimmy. "these c.p.a.s are going to find this a more interesting job than they anticipated. poor old compton! i feel mighty sorry for him, but he had better find it out now than after that grafter has wrecked his business entirely." that afternoon mr. compton left the office earlier than usual, complaining of a headache, and the next morning his daughter telephoned that he was ill and would not come to the office that day. during the morning as bince was walking through the shop he stopped to talk with krovac. pete krovac was a rat-faced little foreigner, looked upon among the men as a trouble-maker. he nursed a perpetual grievance against his employer and his job, and whenever the opportunity presented, and sometimes when it did not present itself, he endeavored to inoculate others with his dissatisfaction. bince had hired the man, and during the several months that krovac had been with the company, the assistant general manager had learned enough from other workers to realize that the man was an agitator and a troublemaker. several times he had been upon the point of discharging him, but now he was glad that he had not, for he thought he saw in him a type that in the light of present conditions might be of use to him. in fact, for the past couple of weeks he had been using the man in an endeavor to get some information concerning torrance and his methods that would permit him to go to compton with a valid argument for jimmy's discharge. "well, krovac," he said as he came upon the man, "is torrance interfering with you any now?" "he hasn't got my job yet," growled the other, "but he's letting out hard-working men with families without any reason. the first thing you know you'll have a strike on your hands." "i haven't heard any one else complaining," said bince. "you will, though," replied krovac. "they don't any of us know when we are going to be canned to give compton more profit, and men are not going to stand for that long." "then," said bince, "i take it that he really hasn't interfered with you much?" "oh, he's always around asking a lot of fool questions," said krovac. "last week he asked every man in the place what his name was and what wages he was getting. wrote it all down in a little book. i suppose he is planning on cutting pay." bince's eyes narrowed. "he got that information from every man in the shop?" he asked. "yes," replied krovac. bince was very pale. he stood in silence for some minutes, apparently studying the man before him. at last he spoke. "krovac," he said, "you don't like this man torrance, do you?" "no," said the other, "i don't." "neither do i," said bince. "i know his plans even better than you. this shop has short hours and good pay, but if we don't get rid of him it will have the longest hours and lowest pay of any shop in the city." "well?" questioned krovac. "i think," said bince, "that there ought to be some way to prevent this man doing any further harm here." he looked straight into krovac's eyes. "there is," muttered the latter. "it would be worth something of course," suggested bince. "how much?" asked krovac. "oh, i should think it ought to be worth a hundred dollars," replied bince. krovac thought for a moment. "i think i can arrange it," he said, "but i would have to have fifty now." "i cannot give it to you here," said bince, "but if i should happen to pass through the shop this afternoon you might find an envelope on the floor beside your machine after i have gone." the following evening as jimmy alighted from the indiana avenue car at eighteenth street, two men left the car behind him. he did not notice them, although, as he made his way toward his boarding-house, he heard footsteps directly in his rear, and suddenly noting that they were approaching him rapidly, he involuntarily cast a glance behind him just as one of the men raised an arm to strike at him with what appeared to be a short piece of pipe. jimmy dodged the blow and then both men sprang for him. the first one jimmy caught on the point of the chin with a blow that put its recipient out of the fight before he got into it, and then his companion, who was the larger, succeeded in closing with the efficiency expert. inadvertently, however, he caught jimmy about the neck, leaving both his intended victim's arms free with the result that the latter was able to seize his antagonist low down about the body, and then pressing him close to him and hurling himself suddenly forward, he threw the fellow backward upon the cement sidewalk with his own body on top. with a resounding whack the attacker's head came in contact with the concrete, his arms relaxed their hold upon jimmy's neck, and as the latter arose he saw both his assailants, temporarily at least, out of the fighting. jimmy glanced hastily in both directions. there was no one in sight. his boardinghouse was but a few steps away, and two minutes later he was safe in his room. "a year ago," he thought to himself, smiling, "my first thought would have been to have called in the police, but the lizard has evidently given me a new view-point in regard to them," for the latter had impressed upon jimmy the fact that whatever knowledge a policeman might have regarding one was always acquired with the idea that eventually it might be used against the person to whom it pertained. "what a policeman don't know about you will never hurt you," was one way that the lizard put it. when jimmy appeared in the shop the next morning he noted casually that krovac had a cut upon his chin, but he did not give the matter a second thought. bince had arrived late. his first question, as he entered the small outer office where mr. compton's stenographer and his worked, was addressed to miss edith hudson. "is mr. torrance down yet?" he asked. "yes," replied the girl, "he has been here some time. do you wish to see him?" edith thought that the "no" which he snapped at her was a trifle more emphatic than the circumstances seemed to warrant, nor could she help but notice after he had entered his office the vehement manner in which he slammed the door. "i wonder what's eating him," thought miss hudson to herself. "of course he doesn't like jimmy, but why is he so peeved because jimmy came to work this morning--i don't quite get it." almost immediately bince sent for krovac, and when the latter came and stood before his desk the assistant general manager looked up at him questioningly. "well?" he asked. "look at my chin," was krovac's reply, "and he damn near killed the other guy." "maybe you'll have better luck the next time," growled bince. "there ain't goin' to be no next time," asserted krovac. "i don't tackle that guy again." bince held out his hand. "all right," he said, "you might return the fifty then." "return nothin'," growled krovac. "i sure done fifty dollars' worth last night." "come on," said bince, "hand over the fifty." "nothin' doin'," said krovac with an angry snarl. "it might be worth another fifty to you to know that i wasn't going to tell old man compton." "you damn scoundrel!" exclaimed bince. "don't go callin' me names," admonished krovac. "a fellow that hires another to croak a man for him for one hundred bucks ain't got no license to call nobody names." bince realized only too well that he was absolutely in the power of the fellow and immediately his manner changed. "come," he said, "krovac, there is no use in our quarreling. you can help me and i can help you. there must be some other way to get around this." "what are you trying to do?" asked krovac. "i got enough on you now to send you up, and i don't mind tellin' yuh," he added, "that i had a guy hid down there in the shop where he could watch you drop the envelope behind my machine. i got a witness, yuh understand!" mr. bince did understand, but still he managed to control his temper. "what of it?" he said. "nobody would believe your story, but let's forget that. what we want to do is get rid of torrance." "that isn't all you want to do," said krovac. "there is something else." bince realized that he was compromised as hopelessly already as he could be if the man had even more information. "yes," he said, "there is something beside torrance's interference in the shop. he's interfering with our accounting system and i don't want it interfered with just now." "you mean the pay-roll?" asked krovac. "it might be," said bince. "you want them two new guys that are working in the office croaked, too?" asked krovac. "i don't want anybody 'croaked'," replied bince. "i didn't tell you to kill torrance in the first place. i just said i didn't want him to come back here to work." "ah, hell, what you givin' us?" growled the other. "i knew what you meant and you knew what you meant, too. come across straight. what do you want?" "i want all the records of the certified public accountants who are working here," said bince after a moment's pause. "i want them destroyed, together with the pay-roll records." "where are they?" "they will all be in the safe in mr. compton's office." krovac knitted his brows in thought for several moments. "say," he said, "we can do the whole thing with one job." "what do you mean?" asked bince, "we can get rid of this torrance guy and get the records, too." "how?" asked bince. "do you know where feinheimer's is?" "yes." "well, you be over there to-night about ten thirty and i'll introduce you to a guy who can pull off this whole thing, and you and i won't have to be mixed up in it at all." "to-night at ten thirty," said bince. "at feinheimer's," said krovac. chapter xx. an invitation to dine. as the workman passed through the little outer office edith hudson glanced up at him. "where," she thought after he had gone, "have i seen that fellow before?" jimmy was in the shop applying "how to get more out of your factory" to the problems of the international machine company when he was called to the telephone. "is this mr. torrance?" asked a feminine voice. "it is," replied jimmy. "i am miss compton. my father will probably not be able to get to the office for several days, and as he wishes very much to talk with you he has asked me to suggest that you take dinner with us this evening." "thank you," said jimmy. "tell mr. compton that i will come to the house right after the shop closes to-night." "i suppose," said elizabeth compton as she turned away from the phone, "that an efficiency expert is a very superior party and that his conversation will be far above my head." compton laughed. "torrance seems to be a very likable chap," he said, "and as far as his work is concerned he is doing splendidly." "harold doesn't think so," said elizabeth. "he is terribly put out about the fellow. he told me only the other night that he really believed that it would take years to overcome the bad effect that this man has had upon the organization and upon the work in general." "that is all poppycock," exclaimed compton, rather more irritably than was usual with him. "for some reason harold has taken an unwarranted dislike to this man, but i am watching him closely, and i will see that no very serious mistakes are made." when jimmy arrived at the compton home he was ushered into the library where mr. compton was sitting. in a corner of the room, with her back toward the door, elizabeth compton sat reading. she did not lay aside her book or look in his direction as jimmy entered, for the man was in no sense a guest in the light of her understanding of the term. he was merely one of her father's employees here on business to see him, doubtless a very ordinary sort of person whom she would, of course, have to meet when dinner was announced, but not one for whom it was necessary to put oneself out in any way. mr. compton rose and greeted jimmy cordially and then turned toward his daughter. "elizabeth," he said, "this is mr. torrance, the efficiency expert at the plant." leisurely miss compton laid aside her book. rising, she faced the newcomer, and as their eyes met, jimmy barely stifled a gasp of astonishment and dismay. elizabeth compton's arched brows raised slightly and involuntarily she breathed a low ejaculation, "efficiency expert!" simultaneously there flashed through the minds of both in rapid succession a series of recollections of their previous meetings. the girl saw the clerk at the stocking-counter, the waiter at feinheimer's, the prize-fighter at the training quarters and the milk-wagon driver. all these things passed through her mind in the brief instant of the introduction and her acknowledgment of it. she was too well-bred to permit any outward indication of her recognition of the man other than the first almost inaudible ejaculation that had been surprised from her. the indifference she had felt prior to meeting the efficiency expert was altered now to a feeling of keen interest as she realized that she held the power to relieve bince of the further embarrassment of the man's activities in the plant, and also to save her father from the annoyance and losses that bince had assured her would result from torrance's methods. and so she greeted jimmy torrance pleasantly, almost cordially. "i am delighted," she said, "but i am afraid that i am a little awed, too, as i was just saying to father before you came that i felt an efficiency expert must be a very superior sort of person." if she placed special emphasis on the word "superior" it was so cleverly done that it escaped the notice of her father. "oh, not at all," replied jimmy. "we efficiency experts are really quite ordinary people. one is apt to meet us in any place that nice people are supposed to go." elizabeth felt the color rising slowly to her cheek. she realized then that if she had thrown down the gage of battle the young man had lost no time in taking it up. "i am afraid," she said, "that i do not understand very much about the nature or the purpose of your work, but i presume the idea is to make the concern with which you are connected more prosperous--more successful?" "yes," said her father, "that is the idea, and even in the short time he has been with us mr. torrance has effected some very excellent changes." "it must be very interesting work," commented the girl; "a profession that requires years of particular experience and study, and i suppose one must be really thoroughly efficient and successful himself, too, before he can help to improve upon the methods of others or to bring them greater prosperity." "quite true," said jimmy. "whatever a man undertakes he should succeed in before he can hope to bring success to others." "even in trifling occupations, i presume," suggested the girl, "efficiency methods are best--an efficiency expert could doubtlessly drive a milk-wagon better than an ordinary person?" and she looked straight into jimmy's eyes, an unquestioned challenge in her own. "unquestionably," said jimmy. "he could wait on table better, too." "or sell stockings?" suggested elizabeth. it was at this moment that mr. compton was called to the telephone in an adjoining room, and when he had gone the girl turned suddenly upon jimmy torrance. there was no cordiality nor friendship in her expression; a sneer upcurved her short upper lip. "i do not wish to humiliate you unnecessarily in the presence of my father," she said. "you have managed to deceive him into believing that you are what you claim to be. mr. bince has known from the start that you are incompetent and incapable of accomplishing the results father thinks you are accomplishing. now that you know that i know you to be an impostor, what do you intend to do?" "i intend to keep right on with my work in the plant, miss compton," replied jimmy. "how long do you suppose father would keep you after i told him what i know of you? do you think that he would for a moment place the future of his business in the hands of an ex-waiter from feinheimer's---that he would let a milk-wagon driver tell him how to run his business?" "it probably might make a difference," said jimmy, "if he knew, but he will not know--listen, miss compton, i have discovered some things there that i have not even dared as yet to tell your father. the whole future of the business may depend upon my being there during the next few weeks. if i wasn't sure of what i am saying i might consider acceding to your demands rather than to embarrass you with certain knowledge which i have." "you refuse to leave, then?" she demanded. "i do," he said. "very well," she replied; "i shall tell father when he returns to this room just what i know of you." "will you tell him," asked jimmy, "that you went to the training quarters of a prize-fighter, or that you dined unescorted at feinheimer's at night and were an object of the insulting attentions of such a notorious character as steve murray?" the girl flushed. "you would tell him that?" she demanded. "oh, of course, i might have known that you would. it is difficult to realize that any one dining at my father's home is not a gentleman. i had forgotten for the moment." "yes," said jimmy, "i would tell him, not from a desire to harm you, but because this is the only way that i can compel you to refrain from something that would result in inestimable harm to your father." chapter xxi. jimmy tells the truth. mr. compton returned to the room before jimmy had discovered whether the girl intended to expose him or not. she said nothing about the matter during dinner, and immediately thereafter she excused herself, leaving the two men alone. during the conversation that ensued jimmy discovered that bince had been using every argument at his command to induce compton to let him go, as well as getting rid of the certified public accountants. "i can't help but feel," said compton, "that possibly there may be some reason in what mr. bince says, for he seems to feel more strongly on this subject than almost any question that has ever arisen in the plant wherein we differed, and it may be that i am doing wrong to absolutely ignore his wishes in the matter. "as a matter of fact, mr. torrance, i have reached the point where i don't particularly relish a fight, as i did in the past. i would rather have things run along smoothly than to have this feeling of unrest and unpleasantness that now exists in the plant. i do not say that you are to blame for it, but the fact remains that ever since you came i have been constantly harassed by this same unpleasant condition which grows worse day by day. there is no question but what you have accomplished a great deal for us of a practical nature, but i believe in view of mr. bince's feelings in the matter that we had better terminate our arrangement." jimmy suddenly noted how old and tired his employer looked. he realized, too, that for a week he had been fighting an incipient influenza and that doubtless his entire mental attitude was influenced by the insidious workings of the disease, one of the marked symptoms of which he knew to be a feeling of despondency and mental depression, which sapped both courage and initiative. they were passing through the hallway from the dining-room to the library, and as compton concluded what was equivalent to jimmy's discharge, he had stopped and turned toward the younger man. they were standing near the entrance to the music-room in which elizabeth chanced to be, so that she overheard her father's words, and not without a smile of satisfaction and relief. "mr. compton," replied jimmy, "no matter what you do with me, you simply must not let those c.p.a.'s go until they have completed their work. i know something of what it is going to mean to your business, but i would rather that the reports come from them than from me." "what do you mean?" asked compton. "i didn't want to be the one to tell you," replied jimmy. "i preferred that the c.p.a.'s discover it, as they will within the next day or two--you are being systematically robbed. i suspected it before i had been there ten days, and i was absolutely sure of it at the time i suggested you employ the c.p.a.'s. you are being robbed at the rate of approximately one thousand dollars a week." "how?" asked compton. "i would rather you would wait for the report of the c.p.a.'s," returned jimmy. "i wish to know now," said compton, "how i am being robbed." jimmy looked straight into the older man's eyes. "through the pay-roll," he replied. for a full minute compton did not speak. "you may continue with your work in the plant," he said at last, "and we will keep the accountants, for a while at least. and now i am going to ask you to excuse me. i find that i tire very quickly since i have been threatened with influenza." jimmy bid his employer good night, and mr. compton turned into the library as the former continued along across the hall to the entrance. he was putting on his overcoat when elizabeth compton emerged from the music-room and approached him. "i overheard your conversation with father," she said. "it seems to me that you are making a deliberate attempt to cause him worry and apprehension--you are taking advantage of his illness to frighten him into keeping you in his employ. i should think you would be ashamed of yourself." "i am sorry that you think that," said jimmy. "if it was not for your father and you i wouldn't have urged the matter at all." "you are just doing it to hold your position," retorted the girl, "and now, by threats of blackmail you prevent me from exposing you--you are a despicable cur." jimmy felt the blood mounting to his face. he was mortified and angry, and yet he was helpless because his traducer was a woman. unconsciously he drew himself to his full height. "you will have to think about me as you please," he said; "i cannot influence that, but i want you to understand that you are not to interfere with my work. i think we understand one another perfectly, miss compton. good night." and as he closed the door behind him he left a very angry young lady biting her lower lip and almost upon the verge of angry tears. "the boor," she exclaimed; "he dared to order me about and threaten me." the telephone interrupted her unhappy train of thoughts. it was bince. "i am sorry, elizabeth," he said, "but i won't be able to come up this evening. i have some important business to attend to. how is your father?" "he seems very tired and despondent," replied elizabeth. "that efficiency person was here to dinner. he just left." she could not see the startled and angry expression of bince's face as he received this information. "torrance was there?" he asked. "how did that happen?" "father asked him to dinner, and when he wanted to discharge the fellow torrance told him something that upset father terribly, and urged that he be kept a little while longer, to which father agreed." "what did he tell him?" asked bince. "oh, some alarmist tale about somebody robbing father. i didn't quite make out what it was all about, but it had something to do with the pay-roll." bince went white. "don't believe anything that fellow says," he exclaimed excitedly: "he's nothing but a crook. elizabeth, can't you make your father realize that he ought to get rid of the man, that he ought to leave things to me instead of trusting an absolute stranger?" "i have," replied the girl, "and he was on the point of doing it until torrance told him this story." "something will have to be done," said bince, "at once. i'll be over to see your father in the morning. good-by, dear," and he hung up the receiver. after jimmy left the compton home he started to walk down-town. it was too early to go to his dismal little room on indiana avenue. the lizard was still away. he had seen nothing of him for weeks, and with his going he had come to realize that he had rather depended upon the lizard for company. he was full of interesting stories of the underworld and his dry humor and strange philosophy amused and entertained jimmy. and now as he walked along the almost deserted drive after his recent unpleasant scene with elizabeth compton he felt more blue and lonely than he had for many weeks. he craved human companionship, and so strong was the urge that his thoughts naturally turned to the only person other than the lizard who seemed to have taken any particularly kindly interest in him. acting on the impulse he turned west at the first cross street until he came to a drugstore. entering a telephone-booth he called a certain number and a moment later had his connection. "is that you, edith?" he asked, and at the affirmative reply, "this is jimmy torrance. i'm feeling terribly lonesome. i was wondering if i couldn't drag you out to listen to my troubles?" "surest thing you know," cried the girl. "where are you?" he told her. "take a clark street car," she told him, "and i'll be at the corner of north avenue by the time you get there." as the girl hung up the receiver and turned from the phone a slightly quizzical expression reflected some thought that was in her mind. "i wonder," she said as she returned to her room, "if he is going to be like the rest?" she seated herself before her mirror and critically examined her reflection in the glass. she knew she was good-looking. no need of a mirror to tell her that. her youth and her good looks had been her stock in trade, and yet this evening she appraised her features most critically, and as with light fingers she touched her hair, now in one place and now in another, she found herself humming a gay little tune and she realized that she was very happy. when jimmy torrance alighted from the clark street car he found edith waiting for him. "it was mighty good of you," he said. "i don't know when i have had such a fit of blues, but i feel better already." "what is the matter?" she asked. "i just had a talk with mr. compton," he replied. "he sent for me and i had to tell him something that i didn't want to tell him, although he's got to find it out sooner or later anyway." "is there something wrong at the plant?" she asked. "wrong doesn't describe it," he exclaimed bitterly. "the man that he has done the most for and in whose loyalty he ought to have the right of implicit confidence, is robbing him blind." "bince?" asked the girl. jimmy nodded. "i didn't like that pill," she said, "from the moment i saw him." "nor i," said jimmy, "but he is going to marry miss compton and inherit the business. he's the last man in the place that compton would suspect. it was just like suggesting to a man that his son was robbing him." "have you got the goods on him?" asked edith. "i will have as soon as the c.p.a.'s get to digging into the pay-roll," he replied, "and i just as good as got the information i need even without that. well, let's forget our troubles. what shall we do?" "what do you want to do?" she asked. he could not tell by either her tone or expression with what anxiety she awaited his reply. "suppose we do something exciting, like going to the movies," he suggested with a laugh. "that suits me all right," said the girl. "there is a dandy comedy down at the castle." and so they went to the picture show, and when it was over he suggested that they have a bite to eat. "i'll tell you," edith suggested. "suppose we go to feinheimer's restaurant and see if we can't get that table that i used to eat at when you waited on me?" they both laughed. "if old feinheimer sees me he will have me poisoned," said jimmy. "not if you have any money to spend in his place." it was eleven thirty when they reached feinheimer's. the table they wanted was vacant, a little table in a corner of the room and furthest from the orchestra. the waiter, a new man, did not know them, and no one had recognized them as they entered. jimmy sat looking at the girl's profile as she studied the menu-card. she was very pretty. he had always thought her that, but somehow to-night she seemed to be different, even more beautiful than in the past. he wished that he could forget what she had been. and he realized as he looked at her sweet girlish face upon which vice had left no slightest impression to mark her familiarity with vice, that it might be easy to forget her past. and then between him and the face of the girl before him arose the vision of another face, the face of the girl that he had set upon a pedestal and worshiped from afar. and with the recollection of her came a realization of the real cause of his sorrow and depression earlier in the evening. he had attributed it to the unpleasant knowledge he had been forced to partially impart to her father and also in some measure to the regrettable interview he had had with her, but now he knew that these were only contributory causes, that the real reason was that during the months she had occupied his thoughts and in the few meetings he had had with her there had developed within him, unknown to himself, a sentiment for her that could be described by but one word--love. always, though he had realized that she was unattainable, there must have lingered within his breast a faint spark of hope that somehow, some time, there would be a chance, but after to-night he knew there could never be a chance. she had openly confessed her contempt for him, and how would she feel later when she realized that through his efforts her happiness was to be wrecked, and the man she loved and was to marry branded as a criminal? chapter xxii. a letter from murray. the girl opposite him looked up from the card before her. the lines of her face were softened by the suggestion of a contented smile. "my gracious!" she exclaimed. "what's the matter now? you look as though you had lost your last friend." jimmy quickly forced a smile to his lips. "on the contrary," he said, "i think i've found a regular friend--in you." it was easy to see that his words pleased her. "no," continued jimmy; "i was thinking of what an awful mess i make of everything i tackle." "you're not making any mess of this new job," she said. "you're making good. you see, my hunch was all right." "i wish you hadn't had your hunch," he said with a smile. "it's going to bring a lot of trouble to several people, but now that i'm in it i'm going to stick to it to a finish." the girl's eyes were wandering around the room, taking in the faces of the diners about them. suddenly she extended her hand and laid it on jimmy's. "for the love of mike," she exclaimed. "look over there." slowly jimmy turned his eyes in the direction she indicated. "what do you know about that?" he ejaculated. "steve murray and bince!" "and thick as thieves," said the girl. "naturally," commented jimmy. the two men left the restaurant before edith and jimmy had finished their supper, leaving the two hazarding various guesses as to the reason for their meeting. "you can bet it's for no good," said the girl. "i've known murray for a long while, and i never knew him to do a decent thing in his life." their supper over, they walked to clark street and took a northbound car, but after alighting jimmy walked with the girl to the entrance of her apartment. "i can't thank you enough," he said, "for giving me this evening. it is the only evening i have enjoyed since i struck this town last july." he unlocked the outer door for her and was holding it open. "it is i who ought to thank you," she said. her voice was very low and filled with suppressed feeling. "i ought to thank you, for this has been the happiest evening of my life," and as though she could not trust herself to say more, she entered the hallway and closed the door between them. as jimmy turned away to retrace his steps to the car-line he found his mind suddenly in a whirl of jumbled emotions, for he was not so stupid as to have failed to grasp something of the significance of the girl's words and manner. "hell!" he muttered. "look what i've done now!" the girl hurried to her room and turned on the lights, and again she seated herself before her mirror, and for a moment sat staring at the countenance reflected before her. she saw lips parted to rapid breathing, lips that curved sweetly in a happy smile, and then as she sat there looking she saw the expression of the face before her change. the lips ceased to smile, the soft, brown eyes went wide and staring as though in sudden horror. for a moment she sat thus and then, throwing her body forward upon her dressing-table, she buried her face in her arms. "my god!" she cried through choking sobs. mason compton was at his office the next morning, contrary to the pleas of his daughter and the orders of his physician. bince was feeling more cheerful. murray had assured him that there was a way out. he would not tell bince what the way was. "just leave it to me," he said. "the less you know, the better off you'll be. what you want is to get rid of this fresh guy and have all the papers in a certain vault destroyed. you see to it that only the papers you want destroyed are in that vault, and i'll do the rest." all of which relieved mr. harold bince's elastic conscience of any feeling of responsibility in the matter. whatever murray did was no business of his. he was glad that murray hadn't told him. he greeted jimmy torrance almost affably, but he lost something of his self-composure when mason compton arrived at the office, for bince had been sure that his employer would be laid up for at least another week, during which time murray would have completed his work. the noon mail brought a letter from murray. "show the enclosed to compton," it read. "tell him you found it on your desk, and destroy this letter." the enclosure was a crudely printed note on a piece of soiled wrapping-paper: treat your men right or suffer the consequences i. w. w. bince laid murray's letter face down upon the balance of the open mail, and sat for a long time looking at the ominous words of the enclosure. at first he was inclined to be frightened, but finally a crooked smile twisted his lips. "murray's not such a fool, after all," he soliloquized. "he's framing an alibi before he starts." with the note in his hand, bince entered compton's office, where he found the latter dictating to edith hudson. "look at this thing!" exclaimed bince, laying the note before compton. "what do you suppose it means?" compton read it, and his brows knitted. "have the men been complaining at all?" he asked. "recently i have heard a little grumbling," replied bince. "they haven't taken very kindly to torrance's changes, and i guess some of them are afraid they are going to lose their jobs, as they know he is cutting down the force in order to cut costs." "he ought to know about this," said compton. "wait; i'll have him in," and he pressed a button on his desk. a moment later jimmy entered, and compton showed him the note. "what do you think of it?" asked compton. "i doubt if it amounts to much," replied jimmy. "the men have no grievance. it may be the work of some fellow who was afraid of his job, but i doubt if it really emanates from any organized scheme of intimidation. if i were you, sir, i would simply ignore it." to jimmy's surprise, bince agreed with him. it was the first time that bince had agreed with anything jimmy had suggested. "very well," assented compton, "but we'll preserve this bit of evidence in case we may need it later," and he handed the slip of paper to edith hudson. "file this, please, miss hudson," he said; and then, turning to bince: "it may be nothing, but i don't like the idea of it. there is apt to be something underlying this, or even if it is only a single individual and he happens to be a crank he could cause a lot of trouble. suppose, for instance, one of these crack-brained foreigners in the shop got it into his head that torrance here was grinding him down in order to increase our profits? why, he might attack him at any time! i tell you, we have got to be prepared for such a contingency, especially now that we have concrete evidence that there is such a man in our employ. i think you ought to be armed, mr. torrance. have you a pistol?" jimmy shook his head negatively. "no, sir," he said; "not here." compton opened a desk drawer. "take this one," he said, and handed jimmy an automatic. the latter smiled. "really, mr. compton," he said, "i don't believe i need such an article." "i want you to take it," insisted compton. "i want you to be on the safe side." a moment later bince and jimmy left the office together. jimmy still carried the pistol in his hand. "you'd better put that thing in your pocket," cautioned bince. they were in the small office on which compton's and bince's offices opened, and jimmy had stopped beside the desk that had been placed there for him. "i think i'll leave it here," he said. "the thing would be a nuisance in my pocket," and he dropped it into one of the desk drawers, while bince continued his way toward the shop. compton was looking through the papers and letters on his desk, evidently searching for something which he could not find, while the girl sat waiting for him to continue his dictation. "that's funny," commented compton. "i was certain that that letter was here. have you seen anything of a letter from mosher?" "no, sir," replied edith. "well, i wish you would step into mr. bince's office, and see if it is on his desk." upon the assistant general manager's desk lay a small pile of papers, face down, which edith proceeded to examine in search of the mosher letter. she had turned them all over at once, commencing at what had previously been the bottom of the pile, so that she ran through them all without finding the mosher letter before she came to murray's epistle. as its import dawned upon her, her eyes widened at first in surprise and then narrowed as she realized the value of her discovery. at first she placed the letter back with the others just as she had found them, but on second thought she took it up quickly and, folding it, slipped it inside her waist. then she returned to compton's office. "i cannot find the mosher letter," she said. chapter xxiii. laid up. harriet holden was sitting in elizabeth's boudoir. "and he had the effrontery," the latter was saying, "to tell me what i must do and must not do! the idea! a miserable little milk-wagon driver dictating to me!" miss holden smiled. "i should not call him very little," she remarked. "i didn't mean physically," retorted elizabeth. "it is absolutely insufferable. i am going to demand that father discharge the man." "and suppose he asks you why?" asked harriet. "you will tell him, of course, that you want this person discharged because he protected you from the insults and attacks of a ruffian while you were dining in feinheimer's at night--is that it?" "you are utterly impossible, harriet!" cried elizabeth, stamping her foot. "you are as bad as that efficiency person. but, then, i might have expected it! you have always, it seems to me, shown a great deal more interest in the fellow than necessary, and probably the fact that harold doesn't like him is enough to make you partial toward him, for you have never tried to hide the fact that you don't like harold." "if you're going to be cross," said harriet, "i think i shall go home." at about the same time the lizard entered feinheimer's. in the far corner of the room murray was seated at a table. the lizard approached and sat down opposite him. "here i am," he said. "what do you want, and how did you know i was in town?" "i didn't know," said murray. "i got a swell job for you, and so i sent out word to get you." "you're in luck then," said the lizard. "i just blew in this morning. what kind of a job you got?" murray explained at length. "they got a watchman," he concluded, "but i've got a guy on de inside that'll fix him." "when do i pull this off?" asked the lizard. "in about a week. i'll let you know the night later. dey ordinarily draw the payroll money monday, the same day dey pay, but dis week they'll draw it saturday and leave it in the safe. it'll be layin' on top of a bunch of books and papers. dey're de t'ings you're to destroy. as i told you, it will all be fixed from de inside. dere's no danger of a pinch. all you gotta do is crack de safe, put about a four or five t'ousand dollar roll in your pocket, and as you cross de river drop a handful of books and papers in. nothin' to it--it's the easiest graft you ever had." "you're sure dat's all?" asked the lizard. "sure thing!" replied murray. "where's de place?" "dat i can't tell you until the day we're ready to pull off de job." at four o'clock that afternoon jimmy torrance collapsed at his desk. the flu had struck him as suddenly and as unexpectedly as it had attacked many of its victims. edith hudson found him, and immediately notified mr. compton, with the result that half an hour later jimmy torrance was in a small private hospital in park avenue. that night bince got murray over the phone. he told him of jimmy's sickness. "he's balled up the whole plan," he complained. "we've either got to wait until he croaks or is out again before we can go ahead, unless something else arises to make it necessary to act before. i think i can hold things off, though, at this end, all right." for four or five days jimmy was a pretty sick man. he was allowed to see no one, but even if jimmy had been in condition to give the matter any thought he would not have expected to see any one, for who was there to visit him in the hospital, who was there who knew of his illness, to care whether he was sick or well, alive or dead? it was on the fifth day that jimmy commenced to take notice of anything. at compton's orders he had been placed in a private room and given a special nurse, and to-day for the first time he learned of mr. compton's kindness and the fact that the nurse was instructed to call jimmy's employer twice a day and report the patient's condition. "mighty nice of him," thought jimmy, and then to the nurse: "and the flowers, too? does he send those?" the young woman shook her head negatively. "no," she said; "a young lady comes every evening about six and leaves the flowers. she always asks about your condition and when she may see you." jimmy was silent for some time. "she comes every evening?" he asked. "yes," replied the nurse. "may i see her this evening?" asked jimmy. "we'll ask the doctor," she replied; and the doctor must have given consent, for at six o'clock that evening the nurse brought edith hudson to his bedside. the girl came every evening thereafter and sat with jimmy as long as the nurse would permit her to remain. jimmy discovered during those periods a new side to her character, a mothering tenderness that filled him with a feeling of content and happiness the moment that she entered the room, and which doubtless aided materially in his rapid convalescence, for until she had been permitted to see him jimmy had suffered as much from mental depression as from any other of the symptoms of his disease. he had felt utterly alone and uncared for, and in this mental state he had brooded over his failures to such an extent that he had reached a point where he felt that death would be something of a relief. militating against his recovery had been the parting words of elizabeth compton the evening that he had dined at her father's home, but now all that was very nearly forgotten--at least crowded into the dim vistas of recollection by the unselfish friendship of this girl of the streets. jimmy's nurse quite fell in love with edith. "she is such a sweet girl," she said, "and always so cheerful. she is going to make some one a mighty good wife," and she smiled knowingly at jimmy. the suggestion which her words implied came to jimmy as a distinct shock. he had never thought of edith hudson in the light of this suggestion, and now he wondered if there could be any such sentiment as it implied in edith's heart, but finally he put the idea away with a shrug. "impossible," he thought. "she thinks of me as i think of her, only as a good friend." chapter xxiv. in the toils. at the office of the international machine company the work of the c.p.a.'s was drawing to a close. their report would soon be ready to submit to mr. compton, and as the time approached bince's nervousness and irritability increased. edith noticed that he inquired each day with growing solicitude as to the reports from the hospital relative to jimmy's condition. she knew that bince disliked jimmy, and yet the man seemed strangely anxious for his recovery and return to work. in accordance with jimmy's plan, the c.p.a.'s were to give out no information to any one, even to mr. compton, until their investigation and report were entirely completed. this plan had been approved by mr. compton, although he professed to be at considerable loss to understand why it was necessary. it was, however, in accordance with jimmy's plan to prevent, if possible, any interference with the work of the auditors until every available fact in the case had been ascertained and recorded. in the investigation of the pay-roll bince had worked diligently with the accountants. as a matter of fact, he had never left them a moment while the pay-roll records were in their hands, and had gone to much pain to explain in detail every question arising therefrom. although the investigators seemed to accept his statements at their face value, the assistant general manager was far from being assured that their final report would redound to his credit. on a thursday they informed him that they had completed their investigation, and the report would be submitted to mr. compton on saturday. when edith reached the hospital that evening she found jimmy in high spirits. he was dressed for the first time, and assured her that he was quite able to return to work if the doctor would let him, but the nurse shook her head. "you ought to stay here for another week or ten days," she admonished him. "nothing doing,"' cried jimmy. "i'll be out of here monday at the latest." but when edith told him that the c.p.a.'s had finished, and that their report would be handed in saturday, jimmy announced that he would leave the hospital the following day. "but you can't do it," said the nurse. "why not?" asked jimmy. "the doctor won't permit it." edith tried to dissuade him, but he insisted that it was absolutely necessary for him to be at the office when the c.p.a.'s report was made. "i'll be over there friday evening or saturday morning at the latest," he said as she bid him good-bye. and so it was that, despite the pleas of his nurse and the orders of his physician, jimmy appeared at the plant friday afternoon. bince greeted him almost effusively, and mr. compton seemed glad to see him out again. that evening harold bince met murray at feinheimer's, and still later the lizard received word that murray wanted to see him. "everything's ready," the boss explained to the lizard. "the whole thing's framed for to-morrow night. the watchman was discharged to-day. another man is supposed to have been hired to take the job, but of course he won't show up. you meet me here at seven thirty to-morrow night, and i'll give you your final instructions and tell you how to get to the plant." the c.p.a.'s were slow in completing their report. at noon on saturday it looked very much to bince that there would be no report ready before monday. he had spent most of the forenoon pacing his office, and at last, unable longer to stand the strain, he had announced that he was going out to his country club for a game of golf. he returned to his down-town club about dinner-time, and at eight o'clock he called up elizabeth compton. "come on up," said the girl. "i'm all alone this evening. father went back to the office to examine some reports that were just finished up late this afternoon." "i'll be over," said bince, "as soon as i dress." if there was any trace of surprise or shock in his tones the girl failed to notice it. at ten o'clock that night a figure moved silently through the dark shadows of an alleyway in the area of the international machine company's plant on west superior street. as he moved along he counted the basement windows silently, and at the fifth window he halted. just a casual glance he cast up and down the alley, and then, kneeling, he raised the sash and slipped quietly into the darkness of the basement. at about the same time jimmy's landlady called him to the telephone, where a man's voice asked if "this was mr. torrance?" assured that such was the fact, the voice continued: "i am the new watchman at the plant. there's something wrong here. i can't get hold of mr. compton. i think you better come down. i'll be in mr. compton's office--" the message ceased as though central had disconnected them. "funny," thought jimmy, "that he should call me up. i wonder what the trouble can be." but he lost no time in getting his hat and starting for the works. although the lizard knew that there was no danger of detection, yet from long habit he moved through the plant of the international machine company with the noiselessness of a disembodied spirit. occasionally, and just for the briefest instant, he flashed his lamp ahead of him, but though he had never been in the place before he found it scarcely necessary, so minute had been his instructions for reaching the office from the fifth basement window. the room he sought was on the second floor, and the lizard had mounted the steps from the basement to the first floor when he was brought to a sudden stop by a noise from the floor above him. the lizard listened intently. no, he could not be mistaken. too often had he heard a similar sound. some one was tiptoeing across the floor above. the lizard was in the hallway close beside the stairs when he realized the footsteps were coming toward the stairway, and a moment later that they were cautiously descending. the lizard flattened himself against the wall, and if he breathed his lungs gave forth no sound. if one may interpret footsteps--and the lizard, from the fund of a great experience, felt that he could--those descending the stairway from above him might have been described as nervous and repressed; for at least they gave the lizard the impression of one who desired to flee in haste and yet dared not do so, for fear of attracting attention by the increased noise that greater speed might entail. at least the lizard knew that those were the footsteps of no watchman, but whether it be guardian of the law or fellow criminal the lizard had no wish to be discovered. he wondered what had gone wrong with murray's plans, and, suddenly imbued with the natural suspicion of the criminal, it occurred to him that the whole thing might be a frame-up to get him; and yet why murray should wish to get him he could not imagine. he ran over in his mind a list of all those who might feel enmity toward him, but among them all the lizard could cast upon none who might have sufficient against him to warrant such an elaborate scheme of revenge. the footsteps passed him and continued on toward the foot of the stairs where was the main entrance which opened upon the street. at the door the footsteps halted, and as the lizard's eyes bored through the darkness in the direction of the other prowler the latter struck a match upon the panel of the door and lighted a cigarette, revealing his features momentarily but distinctly to the watcher in the shadow of the stairway. then he opened the door and passed out into the night. the lizard, listening intently for a few moments to assure himself that there was no one else above, and that the man who had just departed was not returning, at last continued his way to the foot of the stairs, which he ascended to the second floor. passing through the outer office, he paused a moment before the door to compton's private office, and then silently turning the knob he gently pushed the door open and stepped into the room. beyond the threshold he halted and pressed the button of his flash-lamp. for just an instant its faint rays illumined the interior of the room, and then darkness blotted out the scene. but whatever it was that the little flash-lamp had revealed was evidently in the nature of a surprise, and perhaps something of a shock, to the lizard, for he drew back with a muttered oath, backed quietly out of the room, closed the door after him, and, moving much more swiftly than he had entered, retraced his steps to the fifth window on the alley, and was gone from the scene with whatever job he had contemplated unexecuted. a half-hour later detective headquarters at the central station received an anonymous tip: "send some one to the office of the international machine company, on the second floor of west superior street." it was ten thirty when jimmy reached the plant. he entered the front door with his own latchkey, pressed the button which lighted the stairway and the landing above, and, ascending, went straight to mr. compton's office, turned the knob, and opened the door, to find that the interior was dark. "strange," he thought, "that after sending for me the fellow didn't wait." as these thoughts passed through his mind he fumbled on the wall for the switch, and, finding it, flooded the office with light. as he turned again toward the room he voiced a sudden exclamation of horror, for on the floor beside his desk lay the body of mason compton! as jimmy stepped quickly toward compton's body and kneeled beside it a man tiptoed quietly up the front stairway, while another, having ascended from the rear, was crossing the outer office with equal stealth. jimmy felt of compton's face and hands. they were warm. and then he placed his ear close against the man's breast, in order to see if he could detect the beating of the heart. he was in this position when he was startled by a gruff voice behind him. "put 'em up!" it admonished curtly, and jimmy turned to see two men standing in the doorway with pistols leveled at him. chapter xxv. circumstantial evidence. at first jimmy thought they were the perpetrators of the deed, but almost immediately he recognized one of them as o'donnell, the erstwhile traffic officer who had been promoted to a detective sergeancy since jimmy had first met him. "compton has been murdered," said jimmy dully. "he is dead." "put up your hands," snapped o'donnell for the second time, "and be quick about it!" it was then for the first time that jimmy realized the meaning that might be put upon his presence alone in the office with his dead employer. o'donnell's partner searched him, but found no weapon upon him. "where's the gat?" he asked. "whoever did this probably took it with him," said jimmy. "find the watchman." they made jimmy sit down in a corner, and while one of them guarded him the other called up central, made his report, and asked for an ambulance and the wagon. then o'donnell commenced to examine the room. a moment later he found an automatic behind the door across the room from where compton's body lay. "ever see this before?" asked o'donnell, holding the pistol up to jimmy. "if you're asking me if it's mine, no," said jimmy. "i have a gun, but it's home. i never carry it. i didn't do this, o'donnell," he continued. "there was no reason why i should do it, so instead of wasting your time on me while the murderer escapes you'd better get busy on some other theory, too. it won't do any harm, anyway." the wagon came and took jimmy to the station, and later he was questioned by the lieutenant in charge. "you say this is not your pistol?" asked the police officer. "it is not," replied jimmy. "you never saw it before?" "no, i have not." the lieutenant turned to one of his men, who went to the door, and, opening it, returned almost immediately with bince. "do you know this man, mr. bince?" asked the lieutenant. "i certainly do," said bince. "did you ever see this pistol before?" bince took the weapon and examined it. "yes," he said. "under what circumstances?" asked the lieutenant. "it was one of two that mr. compton had in his desk. this one he loaned to torrance two or three weeks ago. i was in the office at the time." the officer turned toward jimmy. "now do you recognize it?" he asked. "i haven't denied," said jimmy, "that mr. compton had loaned me a pistol. as a matter of fact, i had forgotten all about it. i do not particularly recognize this one as the weapon he loaned me, though it is of the same type. there is no way that i could identify the particular weapon he handed me." "but you admit he loaned you one?" "yes," said jimmy. "what did you do with it?" asked the policeman. "i put it in my desk within five minutes after he gave it to me, and i haven't seen it since." "you say you couldn't identify the pistol?" said the officer. jimmy nodded. "well, we can, and have. the number of this pistol was recorded when mr. compton bought it, as was the number of the other one which is still in his desk. they were the only two pistols he ever bought, according to mr. bince, and his daughter, aside from one which he had at home, which has also been accounted for. the drawer in which mr. bince saw you place this pistol we found open and the pistol gone. it looks pretty bad for you, young fellow, and if you want a chance to dodge the rope you'd better plead guilty and tell us why you did it." jimmy was given little opportunity for sleep that night. a half-dozen times he was called back to the lieutenant's office for further questioning. he commenced to realize that the circumstantial evidence was strongly against him, and now, as the girl had warned him, his entirely innocent past was brought up against him simply because his existence had been called to the attention of a policeman, and the same policeman an inscrutable fate had ordained should discover him alone with a murdered man. o'donnell made the most of his meager knowledge of jimmy. he told the lieutenant with embellishments of jimmy's association with such characters as the lizard and little eva; but the police were still at a loss to discover a motive. this, however, was furnished the next morning, when elizabeth compton, white and heavy-eyed, was brought to the station to identify jimmy. there was deep compassion in the young man's face as he was ushered into the presence of the stricken girl, while at sight of him hers mirrored horror, contempt, and hatred. "you know this man?" asked the lieutenant. "yes," she replied. "his name is torrance. i have seen him a number of times in the past year. he worked as a clerk in a store, in the hosiery department, and waited on me there. later i"--she hesitated--"i saw him in a place called feinheimer's. he was a waiter. then he was a sparring partner, i think they call it, for a prizefighter. some of my friends took me to a gymnasium to see the fighter training, and i recognized this man. "i saw him again when he was driving a milk-wagon. he delivered milk at a friend's house where i chanced to be. the last time i saw him was at my father's home. he had obtained employment in my father's plant as an efficiency expert. he seemed to exercise some strange power over father, who believed implicitly in him, until recently, when he evidently commenced to have doubts; for the night that the man was at our house i was sitting in the music-room when they passed through the hallway, and i heard father discharge him. but the fellow pleaded to be retained, and finally father promised to keep him for a while longer, as i recall it, at least until certain work was completed at the plant. this work was completed yesterday. that's all i know. i do not know whether father discharged him again or not." harriet holden had accompanied her friend to the police station, and was sitting close beside her during the examination, her eyes almost constantly upon the face of the prisoner. she saw no fear there, only an expression of deep-seated sorrow for her friend. the lieutenant was still asking questions when there came a knock at the door, which was immediately opened, revealing o'donnell with a young woman, whom he brought inside. "i guess we're getting to the bottom of it," announced the sergeant. "look who i found workin' over there as compton's stenographer." "well, who is she?" demanded the lieutenant. "a jane who used to hang out at feinheimer's. she has been runnin' around with this bird. they tell me over there that compton hired her on this fellow's recommendation. get hold of the lizard now, and you'll have the whole bunch." thus did sergeant patrick o'donnell solve the entire mystery with sherlockian ease and despatch. at jimmy's preliminary hearing he was held to the grand jury, and on the strength of the circumstantial evidence against him that body voted a true bill. edith hudson, against whom there was no evidence of any nature, was held as a witness for the state, and a net was thrown out for the lizard which dragged in nearly every pickpocket in town except the man they sought. jimmy had been in jail for about a week when he received a visitor. a turnkey brought her to his cell. it was harriet holden. she greeted him seriously but pleasantly, and then she asked the turnkey if she might go inside. "it's against the rules, miss," he said, "but i guess it will be all right." he recalled that the sheriff had said that the girl's father was a friend of his, and so assumed that it would be safe to relax the rules in her behalf. he had been too long an employee of the county not to know that rules are often elastic to the proper pressure. "i have been wanting to talk to you," said the girl to jimmy, "ever since this terrible thing happened. somehow i can not believe that you are guilty, and there must be some way in which you can prove your innocence." "i have been trying to think out how i might," said jimmy, "but the more i think about it the more damning the circumstantial evidence against me appears." "there must always be a motive for a crime like that," said harriet. "i cannot believe that a simple fear of his discharge would be sufficient motive for any man to kill his employer." "not to kill a man who had been as good to me as mr. compton was," said jimmy, "or a man whom i admired so much as i did him. as a matter of fact, he was not going to discharge me, miss holden, and i had an opportunity there for a very successful future; but now that he is dead there is no one who could verify such a statement on my part." "who could there be, then, who might wish to kill him, and what could the motive be?" "i can only think," said jimmy, "of one man; and even in his case the idea is too horrible--too preposterous to be entertained." harriet holden looked up at him quickly, a sudden light in her eyes, and an expression of almost horrified incredulity upon her face. "you don't mean--" she started. "i wouldn't even use his name in connection with the thought," jimmy interrupted; "but he is the only man of whom i know who could have profited by mr. compton's death, and, on the other hand, whose entire future would have been blasted possibly had mr. compton lived until the following morning." the girl remained for half an hour longer, and when she left she went directly to the home of elizabeth compton. "i told you, elizabeth," she said, "that i was going to see mr. torrance. you dissuaded me for some time, but i finally went today, and i am glad that i went. no one except yourself could have loved your father more than i, or have been more horrified or grieved at his death; but that is no reason why you should aid in the punishment of an innocent man, as i am confident that this man torrance is, and i tell you elizabeth if you were not prejudiced you would agree with me. "i have talked with torrance for over half an hour to-day, and since then nothing can ever make me believe that that man could commit a cold-blooded murder. harold has always hated him--you admit that yourself--and now you are permitting him to prejudice you against the man purely on the strength of that dislike. i am going to help him. i'm going to do it, not only to obtain justice for him, but to assist in detecting and punishing the true murderer." "i don't see, harriet, how you can take any interest in such a creature," said elizabeth. "you know from the circumstances under which we saw him before father employed him what type of man he is, and it was further exemplified by the evidence of his relationship with that common woman of the streets." "he told me about her to-day," replied harriet. "he had only known her very casually, but she helped him once--loaned him some money when he needed it---and when he found that she had been a stenographer and wanted to give up the life she had been leading and be straight again, he helped her. "i asked sergeant o'donnell particularly about that, and even he had to admit that there was no evidence whatever to implicate the girl or show that the relations between her and mr. torrance had been anything that was not right; and you know yourself how anxious o'donnell has been to dig up evidence of any kind derogatory to either of them." "how are you going to help him?" asked elizabeth. "take flowers and cake to him in jail?" there was a sneer on her face and on her lips. "if he cares for flowers and cakes," replied harriet, "i probably shall; but i have another plan which will probably be more practical." chapter xxvi. "the only friends he has." so it befell that the next day a well-known criminal attorney called on jimmy torrance at the county jail. "i understand," he said to jimmy, "that you have retained no attorney. i have been instructed by one of my clients to take your case." jimmy looked at him in silence for a moment. "who is going to pay you?" he asked with a smile. "i understand attorneys expect to be paid." "that needn't worry you!" replied the lawyer. "you mean that your client is going to pay for my defense? what's his name?" "that i am not permitted to tell you," replied the lawyer. "very well. tell your client that i appreciate his kindness, but i cannot accept it." "don't be a fool," said the attorney. "this client of mine can well afford the expense, and anyway, my instructions are to defend you whether you want me to or not, so i guess you can't help yourself." jimmy laughed with the lawyer. "all right," he said. "the first thing i wish you'd do is to get miss hudson out of jail. there is doubtless some reason for suspicion attaching to me because i was found alone with mr. compton's body, and the pistol with which he was shot was one that had been given to me and which i kept in my desk, but there is no earthly reason why she should be detained. she could have had absolutely nothing to do with it." "i will see what can be done," replied the attorney, "although i had no instructions to defend her also." "i will make that one of the conditions under which i will accept your services," said jimmy. the result was that within a few days edith was released. from the moment that she left the jail she was aware that she was being shadowed. "i suppose," she thought, "that they expect to open up a fund of new clues through me," but she was disturbed nevertheless, because she realized that it was going to make difficult a thing that she had been trying to find some means to accomplish ever since she had been arrested. she went directly to her apartment and presently took down the telephone-receiver, and after calling a public phone in a building down-town, she listened intently while the operator was getting her connection, and before the connection was made she hung up the receiver with a smile, for she had distinctly heard the sound of a man's breathing over the line, and she knew that in all probability o'donnell had tapped in immediately on learning that she had been released from jail. that evening she attended a local motion-picture theater which she often frequented. it was one of those small affairs, the width of a city block, with a narrow aisle running down either side and an emergency exit upon the alley at the far end of each aisle. the theater was darkened when she entered and, a quick glance apprizing her that no one followed her in immediately, she continued on down one of the side aisles and passed through the doorway into the alley. five minutes later she was in a telephone-booth in a drug-store two blocks away. "is this feinheimer's?" she asked after she had got her connection. "i want to talk to carl." she asked for carl because she knew that this man who had been head-waiter at feinheimer's for years would know her voice. "is that you, carl?" she asked as a man's voice finally answered the telephone. "this is little eva." "oh, hello!" said the man. "i thought you were over at the county jail." "i was released to-day," she explained. "well, listen, carl; i've got to see the lizard. i've simply got to see him to-night. i was being shadowed, but i got away from them. do you know where he is?" "i guess i could find him," said carl in a low voice. "you go out to mother kruger's. i'll tell him you'll be there in about an hour." "i'll be waiting in a taxi outside," said the girl. "good," said carl. "if he isn't there in an hour you can know that he was afraid to come. he's layin' pretty low." "all right," said the girl, "i'll be there. you tell him that he simply must come." she hung up the receiver and then called a taxi. she gave a number on a side street about a half block away, where she knew it would be reasonably dark, and consequently less danger of detection. three-quarters of an hour later her taxi drew up beside mother kruger's, but the girl did not alight. she had waited but a short time when another taxi swung in beside the road-house, turned around and backed up alongside hers. a man stepped out and peered through the glass of her machine. it was the lizard. recognizing the girl he opened the door and took a seat beside her. "well," inquired the lizard, "what's on your mind?" "jimmy," replied the girl. "i thought so," returned the lizard. "it looks pretty bad for him, don't it? i wish there was some way to help him." "he did not do it," said the girl. "it didn't seem like him," said the lizard, "but i got it straight from a guy who knows that he done it all right." "who?" asked edith. "murray." "i thought he knew a lot about it," said the girl. "that's why i sent for you. you haven't got any love for murray, have you?" "no," replied the lizard; "not so you could notice it." "i think murray knows a lot about that job. if you want to help jimmy i know where you can get the dope that will start something, anyway." "what is it?" asked the lizard. "this fellow bince, who is assistant general manager for compton, got a letter from murray two or three weeks before compton was killed. murray enclosed a threat signed i.w.w., and his letter instructed bince to show the threat to compton. i haven't got all the dope on it, but i've got a hunch that in some way it is connected with this job. anyway, i've got both murray's letter and the threat he enclosed. they're hidden in my desk at the plant. i can't get them, of course; they wouldn't let me in the place now, and murray's so strong with the police that i wouldn't trust them, so i haven't told any one. what i want is for you to go there to-night and get them." the lizard was thinking fast. the girl knew nothing of his connection with the job. she did not know that he had entered compton's office and had been first to find his dead body; in fact, no one knew that. even murray did not know that the lizard had succeeded in entering the plant, as the latter had told him that he was delayed, and that when he reached there a patrol and ambulance were already backed up in front of the building. he felt that he had enough knowledge, however, to make the conviction of jimmy a very difficult proposition, but if he divulged the knowledge he had and explained how he came by it he could readily see that suspicion would be at once transferred from jimmy to himself. the lizard therefore was in a quandary. of course, if murray's connection was ever discovered the lizard might then be drawn into it, but if he could keep murray out the lizard would be reasonably safe from suspicion, and now the girl had shown him how he might remove a damaging piece of evidence against murray. "you will get it, won't you?" asked the girl. "where are these papers?" he asked. "they are in the outer office which adjoins mr. compton's. my desk stands at the right of the door as you enter from the main office. remove the right-hand lower drawer and you will find the papers lying on the little wooden partition directly underneath the drawer." "all right," said the lizard; "i'll get them." "bless you, lizard," cried the girl. "i knew you would help. you and i are the only friends he has. if we went back on him he'd be sent up, for there's lots of money being used against him. he might even be hanged. i know from what i have heard that the prosecuting attorney intends to ask for the death penalty." the lizard made no reply as he started to leave the taxi. "take them to his attorney," said the girl, and she gave him the name and address. the lizard grunted and entered his own cab. as he did so a man on a motorcycle drew up on the opposite side and peered through the window. the driver had started his motor as the newcomer approached. from her cab the girl saw the lizard and the man on the motorcycle look into each other's face for a moment, then she heard the lizard's quick admonition to his driver, "beat it, bo!" a sharp "halt!" came from the man on the motorcycle, but the taxicab leaped forward, and, accelerating rapidly, turned to the left into the road toward the city. the girl had guessed at the first glance that the man on the motorcycle was a police officer. as the lizard's taxi raced away the officer circled quickly and started in pursuit. "no chance," thought the girl. "he'll get caught sure." she could hear the staccato reports from the open exhaust of the motorcycle diminishing rapidly in the distance, indicating the speed of the pursued and the pursuer. and then from the distance came a shot and then another and another. she leaned forward and spoke to her own driver. "go on to elmhurst," she said, "and then come back to the city on the st. charles road." it was after two o'clock in the morning when the lizard entered an apartment on ashland avenue which he had for several years used as a hiding-place when the police were hot upon his trail. the people from whom he rented the room were eminently respectable jews who thought their occasional roomer what he represented himself to be, a special agent for one of the federal departments, a vocation which naturally explained the lizard's long absences and unusual hours. once within his room the lizard sank into a chair and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, although it was by no means a warm night. he drew a folded paper from his inside pocket, which, when opened, revealed a small piece of wrapping paper within. they were murray's letter to bince and the enclosure. "believe me," muttered the lizard, "that was the toughest job i ever pulled off and all i gets is two pieces of paper, but i don't know but what they're worth it." he sat for a long time looking at the papers in his hand, but he did not see them. he was thinking of other things: of prison walls that he had eluded so far through years of crime; of o'donnell, whom he knew to be working on the compton case and whose boast it had been that sooner or later he would get the lizard; of what might naturally be expected were the papers in his hands to fall into the possession of torrance's attorney. it would mean that murray would be immediately placed in jeopardy, and the lizard knew murray well enough to know that he would sacrifice his best friend to save himself, and the lizard was by no means murray's best friend. he realized that he knew more about the compton murder case than any one else. he was of the opinion that he could clear it up if he were almost any one other than the lizard, but with the record of his past life against him, would any one believe him? in order to prove his assertion it would be necessary to make admissions that might incriminate himself, and there would be murray and the compton millions against him; and as he pondered these things there ran always through his mind the words of the girl, "you and i are the only friends he has." "hell," ejaculated the lizard as he rose from his chair and prepared for bed. chapter xxvii. the trial. edith hudson spent a restless night, and early in the morning, as early as she thought she could reach him, she called the office of jimmy's attorney. she told the lawyer that some new evidence was to have been brought in to him and asked if he had received it. receiving a negative reply she asked that she be called the moment it was brought in. all that day and the next she waited, scarcely leaving her room for fear that the call might come while she was away. the days ran into weeks and still there was no word from the lizard. jimmy was brought to trial, and she saw him daily in the courtroom and as often as they would let her she would visit him in jail. on several occasions she met harriet holden, also visiting him, and she saw that the other young woman was as constant an attendant at court as she. the state had established as unassailable a case as might be built on circumstantial evidence. krovac had testified that torrance had made threats against compton in his presence, and there was no way in which jimmy's attorneys could refute the perjured statement. jimmy himself had come to realize that his attorney was fighting now for his life, that the verdict of the jury was already a foregone conclusion and that the only thing left to fight for now was the question of the penalty. daily he saw in the court-room the faces of the three girls who had entered so strangely into his life. he noticed, with not a little sorrow and regret, that elizabeth compton and harriet holden always sat apart and that they no longer spoke. he saw the effect of the strain of the long trial on edith hudson. she looked wan and worried, and then finally she was not in court one day, and later, through harriet holden, he learned that she was confined to her room with a bad cold. jimmy's sentiments toward the three women whose interests brought them daily to the court-room had undergone considerable change. the girl that he had put upon a pedestal to worship from afar, the girl to whom he had given an idealistic love, he saw now in another light. his reverence for her had died hard, but in the face of her arrogance, her vindictiveness and her petty snobbery it had finally succumbed, so that when he compared her with the girl who had been of the street the latter suffered in no way by the comparison. harriet holden's friendship and loyalty were a never-ending source of wonderment to him, but he accepted her own explanation, which, indeed, was fair enough, that her innate sense of justice had compelled her to give him her sympathy and assistance. just how far that assistance had gone jimmy did not know, though of late he had come to suspect that his attorney was being retained by harriet holden's father. bince appeared in the court-room only when necessity compelled his presence on the witness stand. the nature of the man's testimony was such that, like krovac's, it was difficult of impeachment, although jimmy was positive that bince perjured himself, especially in a statement that he made of a conversation he had with mr. compton the morning of the murder, in which he swore that compton stated that he intended to discharge torrance that day. the effect of the trial seemed to have made greater inroads upon bince than upon jimmy. the latter gave no indication of nervous depression or of worry, while bince, on the other hand, was thin, pale and haggard. his hands and face continually moved and twitched as he sat in the courtroom or on the witness chair. never for an instant was he at rest. elizabeth compton had noticed this fact, too, and commented upon it one evening when bince was at her home. "what's the matter with you, harold?" she asked. "you look as though you are on the verge of nervous prostration." "i've had enough to make any man nervous," retorted bince irritably. "i can't get over this terrible affair, and in addition i have had all the weight and responsibility of the business on my shoulders since, and the straightening out of your father's estate, which, by the way, was in pretty bad shape. "i wish, elizabeth," he went on, "that we might be married immediately. i have asked you so many times before, however, and you have always refused, that i suppose it is useless now. i believe that i would get over this nervous condition if you and i were settled down here together. i have no real home, as you know--the club is just a stopping place. i might as well be living at a hotel. if after the day's work i could come home to a regular home it would do me a world of good, i know. we could be married quietly. there is every reason why we should, especially now that you are left all alone." "just what do you mean by immediately?" she asked. "to-morrow," he replied. for a long time she demurred, but finally she acceded to his wishes, for an early marriage, though she would not listen to the ceremony being performed the following day. they reached a compromise on friday morning, a delay of only a few days, and harold bince breathed more freely thereafter than he had for a long time before. mr. and mrs. harold bince entered the court-room late on friday morning following the brief ceremony that had made them man and wife. it had been generally supposed that to-day the case would go to the jury as the evidence was all in, and the final arguments of the attorneys, which had started the preceding day, would be concluded during the morning session. it had been conceded that the judge's charge would be brief and perfunctory, and there was even hope that the jury might return a verdict before the close of the afternoon session, but when bince and his bride entered the court-room they found torrance's attorney making a motion for the admission of new evidence on the strength of the recent discovery of witnesses, the evidence of whom he claimed would materially alter the aspect of the case. an hour was consumed in argument before the judge finally granted the motion. the first of the new witnesses called was an employee of the international machine company. after the usual preliminary questions the attorney for the defense asked him if he was employed in the plant on the afternoon of march 24. the reply was in the affirmative. "will you tell the jury, please, of any occurrence that you witnessed there that afternoon out of the ordinary?" "i was working at my machine," said the witness, "when pete krovac comes to me and asks me to hide behind a big drill-press and watch what the assistant general manager done when he comes through the shop again. so i hides there and i saw this man bince come along and drop an envelope beside krovac's machine, and after he left i comes out as krovac picks it up, and i seen him take some money out of it." "how much money?" asked the attorney. "there was fifty dollars there. he counted it in front of me." "did he say what it was for?" "yes, he said bince gave it to him to croak this fellow"--nodding toward jimmy. "what fellow?" asked the attorney. "you mean mr. torrance, the defendant?" "yes, sir." "and what else? what happened after that?" "krovac said he'd split it with me if i'd go along and help him." "did you?" "yes." "what happened?" "the guy beat up krovac and come near croaking me, and got away." "that is all," said the attorney. the prosecuting attorney, whose repeated objections to the testimony of the witness had been overruled, waived cross-examination. turning to the clerk, "please call stephen murray," said jimmy's attorney. murray, burly and swaggering, took the witness chair. the attorney handed him a letter. it was the letter that murray had written bince enclosing the supposed i.w.w. threat. "did you ever see that before?" he asked. murray took the letter and read it over several times. he was trying to see in it anything which could possibly prove damaging to him. "sure," he said at last in a blustering tone of voice. "i wrote it. but what of it?" "and this enclosure?" asked the attorney. he handed murray the slip of soiled wrapping paper with the threat lettered upon it. "this was received with your letter." murray hesitated before replying. "oh," he said, "that ain't nothing. that was just a little joke." "you were seen in feinheimer's with mr. bince on march--do you recall the object of this meeting?" "mr. bince thought there was going to be a strike at his plant and he wanted me to fix it up for him," replied murray. "you know the defendant, james torrance?" "yes." "didn't he knock you down once for insulting a girl?" murray flushed, but was compelled to admit the truth of the allegation. "you haven't got much use for him, have you?" continued the attorney. "no, i haven't," replied murray. "you called the defendant on the telephone a half or three-quarters of an hour before the police discovered mr. compton's body, did you not?" murray started to deny that he had done so. jimmy's attorney stopped him. "just a moment, mr. murray," he said, "if you will stop a moment and give the matter careful thought i am sure you will recall that you telephoned mr. torrance at that time, and that you did it in the presence of a witness," and the attorney pointed toward the back of the court-room. murray looked in the direction that the other indicated and again he paled and his hand trembled where it rested on the arm of his chair, for seated in the back of the courtroom was the head-waiter from feinheimer's. "now do you recall?" asked the attorney. murray was silent for a moment. suddenly he half rose from his chair. "yes i remember it," he said. "they are all trying to double-cross me. i had nothing to do with killing compton. that wasn't in the deal at all. ask that man there; he will tell you that i had nothing to do with killing compton. he hired me and he knows," and with shaking finger murray pointed at mr. harold bince where he sat with his wife beside the prosecuting attorney. chapter xxviii. the verdict. for a moment there was tense silence in the court-room which was broken by the defense's perfunctory "take the witness" to the prosecuting attorney, but again cross-examination was waived. "call the next witness, please," and a moment later the lizard emerged from the witness-room. "i wish you would tell the jury," said the counsel for defense after the witness had been sworn, "just what you told me in my office yesterday afternoon." "yes, sir," said the lizard. "you see, it was like this: murray there sent for me and tells me that he's got a job for me. he wants me to go and crack a safe at the international machine company's plant. he said there was a fellow on the inside helping him, that there wouldn't be any watchman there that night and that in the safe i was to crack was some books and papers that was to be destroyed, and on top of it was three or four thousand dollars in pay-roll money that i was to have as my pay for the job. murray told me that the guy on the inside who wanted the job done had been working some kind of a pay-roll graft and he wanted the records destroyed, and he also wanted to get rid of the guy that was hep to what he had been doin'. all that i had to do with it was go and crack the safe and get the records, which i was to throw in the river, and keep the money for myself, but the frame-up on the other guy was to send him a phony message that would get him at the plant after i got through, and then notify the police so they could catch him there in the room with the cracked safe. "i didn't know who they were framin' this job on. if i had i wouldn't have had nothin' to do with it. "well, i goes to the plant and finds a window in the basement open just as they tells me it will be, but when i gets on the first floor just before i go up-stairs to the office, which is on the second floor, i heard some one walking around up-stairs. i hid in the hallway while he came down. he stopped at the front door and lighted a cigarette and then he went on out, and i went up-stairs to finish the job. "when i gets in compton's office where the safe is i flashes my light and the first thing i sees is compton's body on the floor beside his desk. that kind of stuff ain't in my line, so i beats it out without crackin' the safe. that's all i know about it until i sees the papers, and then for a while i was afraid to say anything because this guy o'donnell has it in for me, and i know enough about police methods to know that they could frame up a good case of murder against me. but after a while miss hudson finds me and puts it up to me straight that this guy torrance hasn't got no friends except me and her. "of course she didn't know how much i knew, but i did, and it's been worryin' me ever since. i was waiting, though, hopin' that something would turn up so that he would be acquitted, but i been watchin' the papers close, and i seen yesterday that there wasn't much chance, so here i am." "you say that a man came down from mr. compton's office just before you went up? what time was that?" "it was about ten o'clock, about half an hour before the cops finds torrance there." "and then you went upstairs and found mr. compton dead?" "yes, sir." "you say this man that came downstairs stopped and lighted a cigarette before he left the building. did you see his face?" "yes, i did." "would you recognize him if you saw him again?" "sure." "look around the court-room and see if you can find him here." "sure i can find him. i seen him when i first came in, but i can't see his face because he's hiding behind the prosecuting attorney." all eyes were turned in the direction of the prosecuting attorney to see bince leap suddenly to his feet and lean forward upon the desk before him, supported by a trembling arm as he shook his finger at the lizard, and in high-pitched tones screamed, "it's a lie! it's a lie!" for a moment longer he stood looking wildly about the room, and then with rapid strides he crossed it to an open window, and before any one could interfere he vaulted out, to fall four stories to the cement sidewalk below. for several minutes pandemonium reigned in the court-room. elizabeth compton bince swooned, and when she regained consciousness she found herself in the arms of harriet holden. "take me home, harriet," she asked; "take me away from this place. take me to your home. i do not want to go back to mine yet." half an hour later, in accordance with the judge's charge to the jury, a verdict of "not guilty" was rendered in the case of the people of illinois versus james torrance, jr. mr. holden and jimmy's attorney were the first to congratulate him, and the former insisted that he come home with him to dinner. "i am sorry," said jimmy; "i should like to immensely, but there is some one i must see first. if i may i should like to come out later in the evening to thank you and miss holden." jimmy searched about the court-room until he found the lizard. "i don't know how to thank you," he said. "don't then," said the lizard. "who you ought to thank is that little girl who is sick in bed up on the north side." "that's just where i am going now," said jimmy. "is she very sick?" "pneumonia," said the lizard. "i telephoned her doctor just before i came over here, and i guess if you want to see her at all you'd better hurry." "it's not that had, is it?" jimmy said. "i'm afraid it is," said the lizard. jimmy lost no time in reaching the street and calling a taxi. a nurse admitted him to the apartment. "how is she?" he asked. the nurse shook her head. "can she see any one?" "it won't make any difference now," said the nurse, and jimmy was led into the room where the girl, wasted by fever and suffering, lay in a half-comatose condition upon her narrow bed. jimmy crossed the room and laid his hand upon her forehead and at the touch she opened her eyes and looked up at him. he saw that she recognized him and was trying to say something, and he kneeled beside the bed so that his ear might be closer to her lips. "jimmy," she whispered, "you are free? tell me." he told her briefly of what had happened. "i am so happy," she murmured. "oh, jimmy, i am so happy!" he took one of her wasted hands in his own and carried it to his lips. "not on the hand," she said faintly. "just once, on the lips, before i die." he gathered her in his arms and lifted her face to his. "dear little girl," he said, "you are not going to die. it is not as bad as that." she did not reply, but only clung to him tightly, and against his cheek he felt her tears and a little choking sob before she relaxed, and he laid her back again on her pillow. he thought she was dead then and he called the nurse, but she still breathed, though her eyes were closed. jimmy sat down on the edge of the bed beside her and stroked her hand. after a while she roused again and opened her eyes. "jimmy," she said, "will you stay with me until i go?" the man could make no articulate response, but he pressed her hand reassuringly. she was silent again for some time. once more she whispered faintly, so faintly that he had to lean close to catch her words: "miss holden," she whispered, "she is a--good girl. it is--she--who hired--the attorney for you. go to her--jimmy--when i--am gone--she loves--you." again there was a long pause. "good-by--jimmy," she whispered at last. the nurse was standing at the foot of the bed. she came and put her hand on jimmy's shoulder. "it is too bad," she said; "she was such a good girl." "yes," said jimmy, "i think she was the best little girl i ever knew." it was after nine o'clock when jimmy, depressed and sorrowing, arrived at the holden home. the houseman who admitted him told him that mr. holden had been called out, but that miss holden was expecting him, and he ushered jimmy to the big living-room, and to his consternation he saw that elizabeth compton was there with harriet. the latter came forward to greet him, and to his surprise the other girl followed her. "i discovered to-day, mr. torrance," she said, "that i have wronged you. however unintentionally it was the fact remains that i might have done you a very great harm and injustice. i realize now how very different things might have been if i had listened to you and believed in you at first. harriet told me that you were coming tonight and i asked to see you for just a moment to tell you this and also to ask you if you would continue with the international machine company. "there is no one now whom i feel i would have so much confidence in as you. i wish you would come back and take charge for me. if you will tell me that you will consider it we will arrange the details later." if an archangel had suddenly condescended to honor him with an invitation to assist in the management of heaven jimmy could not have been more surprised. he realized at what cost of pride and self-esteem the offer must have been made and acknowledgment of error. he told her that he would be very glad to assist her for the present, at least, and then she excused herself on the plea of nervous exhaustion and went to her room. "do you know," said harriet, after elizabeth had gone, "she really feels worse over her past attitude toward you than she does over harold's death? i think she realizes now what i have told her from the first, that she never really loved him. of course, her pride has suffered terribly, but she will get over that quickly enough. "but do you know i have not had an opportunity before to congratulate you? i wish that i might have been there to have heard the verdict, but really you don't look half as happy as i should think you would feel." "i am happy about that," said jimmy, "but on top of my happiness came a sorrow. i just came from edith's apartment. she died while i was there." harriet gave a little cry of shocked surprise. "oh, jimmy," she cried, laying her hand upon his arm. "oh, jimmy, i am so sorry!" it was the first time that she had ever addressed him by his given name, but there seemed nothing strange or unusual in the occurrence. "she was such a good little girl," said harriet. it was strange that so many should use these same words in connection with edith hudson, and even this girl, so far removed from the sphere in which little eva had existed and who knew something of her past, could yet call her "good." it gave jimmy a new insight into the sweetness and charity of harriet holden's character. "yes," he said, "her soul and her heart were good and pure." "she believed so in you," said the girl. "she thought you were the best man who ever lived. she told me that you were the only really good man she had ever known, and her confidence and belief in you were contagious. you will probably never know all that she did for you. it was really she that imbued my father and his attorney with a belief in your innocence, and it was she who influenced the lizard to take the stand in your behalf. yes, she was a very good friend." "and you have been a good friend," said jimmy. "in the face of the same circumstances that turned miss compton against me you believed in me. your generosity made it possible for me to be defended by the best attorney in chicago, but more than all that to me has been your friendship and the consciousness of your sympathy at a time when, above all things, i needed sympathy. and now, after all you have done for me i came to ask still more of you." "what do you want?" she asked. she was standing very close to him, looking up in his face. "you, harriet," he said. she smiled tremulously. "i have been yours for a long time, jimmy, but you didn't know it." 