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diff --git a/43263-0.txt b/43263-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f843ba5 --- /dev/null +++ b/43263-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6009 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43263 *** + +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. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43263 *** |