During this brief conversation between Harvey Hamilton and Detective Pendar, the prisoner stood slightly to one side with his bare head bent and his face looking like that of some baffled imp of darkness. Not only had he lost his pistol and stiletto, but his hands were useless to him. The weapons seemed not to have been on his person at the moment of the explosion, for his captor had seen nothing of them. Pendar looked at the woman.

“Have you a clothesline?”

“Of course I have, and I need it too,” was the reply.

“Let me have it and I’ll pay you enough to buy three new ones.”

“That sounds sensible; what do you want to do with it?” asked Mrs. Waters, pleased with the chance of driving a good bargain.

“I wish to bind this scamp so fast that he will never be able to free himself.”

“‘Cording to what you tell me you oughter put it round his neck; I’ll give you all the help I can; yes, you can have the rope,” and she walked into the kitchen to bring the article, which, although knotted in several places, must have been fifty feet long.

“In there!” commanded the detective, motioning to Pierotti, who slouched through the door, the frightened little girl backing away and staring at him. Sullen, revengeful, but helpless, the Latin submitted to every indignity unresistingly. Pendar was an adept at such work and wound the rope in and out and around, again and again until every foot of it had been utilized, and the prisoner was bound so effectually that had he been one of the famous Davenport brothers he would have been unable to loosen his bonds.

“Now, Mrs. Waters,” said the officer when he had completed his work, “you needn’t have any fear of him.”

“Fear of him!” repeated the woman with a sniff; “do you think the like of him could scare me? Do you see that poker?” she asked, pointing to the iron rod with the curved end leaning against the wall of the fireplace; “if he dares so much as open his mouth to speak to me, I’ll break it over his head.”

“A sensible idea!” exclaimed Harvey Hamilton; “don’t forget it, and I hope he will give you an excuse for doing what you have in mind.”

Man and youth stepped outside, where the latter waited for his friend to make clear his intentions.

“The thing I am most anxious to do,” said the detective, “is to reach the nearest telegraph office as quickly as I can, that I may send a message to Horace Hastings and his wife with the news that will raise them from the depths of despair to perfect happiness.”

“It will take us only a few minutes to reach Chesterton with the aeroplane.”

“True, and we can carry the little girl with us. Besides, I sha’n’t be satisfied until I have the nippers on the one still at large. Let us be off, for you have no idea how eager I am to send the tidings to the parents of Grace.”

When the little one learned that she was about to be taken home to see her papa and mamma, she clapped her hands and danced with joy. She kissed Peggy good-bye, made the child promise to come and see her in her home in the distant city and then told Mr. Pendar she was ready.

Naturally she was timid when informed that she was to take a ride with the big bird, and she clung to her protector, who carefully adjusted himself with her in his lap. She promised not to stir or even speak while on the way. Harvey had headed his machine toward the longest stretch of open ground, and set the propeller revolving. Then he dashed forward, sprang into place and grasped the levers. The biplane was already moving at a rapidly accelerated pace over the withered grass, and at the proper point rose clear and sailed away to the eastward. The tiny passenger stared and tried to hold her breath when she realized that she was far above the treetops, but she gave not the slightest trouble to her friends.

The distance to Chesterton was so brief that it seemed our friends had hardly left the earth when they began coming down again. An easy landing was made in the open space in front of the hotel and Pendar lifted Grace out.

“Now you will go with me,” he said, grasping her hand and hurrying down the main street to the telegraph office, which was several blocks from the hotel. “Harvey, you will look after your machine and I shall soon rejoin you.”

It would be hard to describe the blissful joy with which the detective seized one of the yellow telegraph blanks and wrote these words, addressed to Horace Hastings:

“I have Grace with me, perfectly well and unharmed. She asks me to give her love to papa and mamma and to say that she is coming home just as quickly as she can. As I shall be needed here for some time yet, perhaps you would better come for her. One of the kidnappers is dead, one a prisoner, and I hope soon to have the third.”

Brief as was the absence of the detective from the hotel, the interval had been sufficient for a terrifying situation to develop. A larger crowd than usual gathered at sight of the little girl sitting on the lap of the man supposed to be a commercial traveler, and when the two hurried down the street, there were eager inquiries as to what it meant. An instinctive feeling of caution led Harvey to make evasive answers, for he feared to tell the truth to the excited crowd; but he could not falsify and was pressed so hard that he was literally forced to give the facts. The little girl, who had walked down the street with the supposed commercial traveler, was Grace Hastings, kidnapped some time before in Philadelphia, and the man who had her in charge was one of the most famous detectives in the country.

The story sounded so incredible that for a minute or two it was not believed. Every member of the group had read of the unspeakable crime, and their feelings were stirred to the depths. Parents especially were insistent that no punishment was too severe for the authors of the cruel wrong.

“And one of them was that fellow who fired his pistol at the detective when he was starting off with you in your flying machine?” demanded a red-faced listener.

Harvey nodded.

“He was; where is he now?”

“Yes; where is he?”

A dozen glanced in different directions. Could they have laid hands on the miscreant his life would not have been worth a moment’s purchase.

“I saw him hurrying down the street, right after the flying machine left,” explained a large boy on the edge of the crowd.

“Where was he going?” demanded the first speaker.

“I didn’t ask him and I don’t ’spose he’d told if I had.”

“But you’ve got one of ’em?” said another man to Harvey.

“Yes; one was killed by the explosion, but the other wasn’t hurt to any extent.”

“Where is he?”

“Safely bound in the house of Uncle Tommy Waters.”

Uncle Tommy was in the group, somewhat back, chewing hard and listening to the absorbing relation. He had not yet spoken, but did not allow a word to escape him. The instant the last remark was made, he stopped chewing, pushed nearer the young aviator and asked:

“Did you say he’s in my house?”

“Yes, bound fast in a chair and under the watchful eye of your wife.”

“Do you mean to tell me that consarned critter is a-settin’ in my parlor this minute and talking love to Betsey?” roared the wrathful Uncle Tommy, in a still higher voice.

“I don’t think he is trying to make love to your wife; if he does, she has the poker at hand and she told me she would use it if he gave her the least excuse.”

The weather prophet boiled over. Ignoring the youth who had given the infuriating news, he addressed the crowd:

“Do you hear that, folks? That limb of Satan is a-settin’ in my front parlor and Betsey hasn’t any one with her! It’s the most outrageous outrage that was ever outraged. Do you ’spose I’m goin’ to stand it?”

“What will you do about it?” asked a neighbor tauntingly.

“What will I do ’bout it? I’ll show him. He’s one of the varmints that stole that sweet innercent child. Let’s lynch him!”

The proposal struck fire on the instant. Nothing is so excitable as an American crowd, and an impetuous leader can do anything with it. A dozen voices shouted:

“That’s it! lynch him! lynch him! come on, boys! we’re together in this.”

The last words were uttered by a tall, middle-aged farmer without coat or vest. He had a clear, ringing voice, as if born to command. In a twinkling he was at the head of the swarm which was increasing in numbers every minute, with every one ardent to carry out the startling proposal first made by Uncle Tommy Waters.

Harvey Hamilton was alarmed. It has been shown that he had not a shadow of sympathy for the criminal, who was bound in the cabin of the weather prophet, but he knew the detective’s sentiments. He had left the prisoner behind in order to save him from the very fate that now threatened, and which had been precipitated by the truth the youth saw no way of holding back from them.

Standing beside his silent machine, Harvey shouted:

“You mustn’t do that! It is contrary to law; the courts will punish him; leave him to them!”

“Yes,” sneered the leader, halting long enough to exchange a few words; “he won’t be in jail more than three months when he’ll be pardoned or they’ll let him out on parole; it’ll cost money to convict him and we’ll save the State the expense.”

“You are mistaken; there is too much resentment over this Black Hand business to show any mercy to the criminals.”

“That’s what’s the matter with this crowd; come on, boys!”

The mob was moving off, when Detective Pendar, still holding the hand of Grace Hastings, came hurrying from the street to the front of the hotel. He read the meaning of what he heard and saw, and raised his hand for attention.

“I appreciate your feelings, my friends, but you mustn’t stain the fair name of Pennsylvania by such an illegal deed as you have in mind. The law will punish these men. Here is the little child, and you can see she has not been harmed in the least.”

It was an unfortunate appeal. The sight of the frightened girl and the knowledge that she was the victim of a most cruel wrong, roused the fury of the men to a white heat. The protesting detective was swept aside like chaff, and the whole party broke into a run for the home of Uncle Tommy Waters, with the weather prophet himself in the lead.