  Next day the fog hung even heavier than before over the city. It was because of this, perhaps, that Jimmie witnessed a strange bit of street drama and made a new friend, all of which was to play a large part in his life in the near future. He had been sent to a publisher for a picture of an author who recently had become quite famous. The publishing house was a small concern and had its offices in an old building on a narrow street over which the elevated cars rattled and thundered. Having secured the picture Jimmie was on his way back when a figure came gliding toward him through the fog. “Like a snake,” Jimmie thought, as he watched the man approach. The man’s face, he noticed as they came closer together, matched his gait. He had the beady eyes, the long nose, and the protruding lips of a snake. Involuntarily, Jimmie looked at his ear as he passed. It was a strange ear, little and dried up like an autumn leaf. But it was not the ear of the Silent Terror. “Ears are different,” he told himself. “I’m going to start studying them.” This set him thinking of his engagement to meet Tom Howe at noon. He thought of the detective’s instructions. “Go as far as the elevator will take you. Climb two flights of stairs.” Surely a strange place to live. Then he remembered what Tom had said about his collection of ears. He was both mystified and intrigued. He would be glad when the noon hour came. With all this day-dreaming he had failed to note the figure of a huge man who moved slowly along before him. When at last he became conscious of the man he was obliged to slacken his pace to avoid running into him. The man took long, slow steps, like someone from the country. Evidently he had expected the fog to turn to rain for he wore a heavy rain coat that flapped loosely about him. Then, of a sudden, Jimmie noticed someone else. It was the snake-like man. “I’m going to meet him again,” he thought with a start. “How did he get here?” There could be only one answer to this question. The snake-man had crossed the street, had doubled on his tracks, gone racing through the fog in the opposite direction for a block or two, then had recrossed the street and was now walking back the way he had come. “But why?” Jimmie all but said these words out loud. The answer was not long in coming. As the sneaking little man came opposite the large one who lumbered on before Jimmie his hand flashed out and snatched something from the pocket of the big man’s coat. Jimmie’s lips were parted for a sharp warning when something quite unusual happened. The little man spun half around, arose in the air like an airplane taking off, then shot away into the fog to land solidly on the pavement a full fifteen feet from his starting point. A gruff voice said, “There! That will teach you to keep your hands out of other people’s pockets!” At that the big man bent over to pick up the bill-fold that had been snatched from his pocket and which, with the blow, had been knocked from the small man’s hand. Jimmie took it all in like a flash. The little fellow had tried to snatch a purse. The big man had caught him at it and knocked him into the middle of the street. “Boy, mister! That was great!” the words slipped unbidden from Jimmie’s lips. The big man whirled about. “Oh, a boy!” he smiled broadly. “But won’t you have him arrested?” Jimmie asked in surprise. “No—o, I guess not,” the big man drawled. “He’s just a dirty little cur. Guess he’ll remember this.” “But he’s a pick-pocket,” Jimmie protested. “Probably got a long record. I saw him do it. We—we could convict him.” “Yes,” the other agreed. “But see. The fog has swallowed him up.” “That’s right,” Jimmie agreed. “But say!” Jimmie was struck by a sudden idea. “This would be a peach of a story. I’m from the Press. Mind if I take your picture?” “In this fog?” The man stared at him. “Sure. My candid camera gets ’em in any weather. Just a minute.” Jimmie backed up, squinted through his finder, twisted a screw, pressed a button, then said, “Thanks, that’s great.” “Just like that,” the big man grinned. “Let me see that thing.” Reluctantly Jimmie turned over his camera. “Neat little trick,” said the man. “How much do they cost?” “A little over a hundred dollars,” Jimmie took back his treasure with a sigh of relief. “Thunder! That’s a lot for a thing you can hide in the palm of your hand,” the big man exclaimed. “Made like a watch,” said Jimmie proudly. “When you’ve got one you’ve got something. I took a picture of a fellow’s ear last night. May send him to prison.” “Well, I’d say he’d better cover up his ears,” laughed the big man. “By the way, you might like to see what was in that bill-fold.” “Sure—sure, I would,” Jimmie moved closer. “There it is.” Jimmie saw a slip of paper. “Huh!” he chuckled. “Check for a half million. Stage money, I suppose.” “Real money. Want to see me cash it? Come on. We’ll get a taxi at the next corner. Be at the bank in fifteen minutes.” With his head in a whirl the boy followed his strange new friend to the corner, entered a taxi and was whisked away. Three hours later when he started for Tom Howe’s room his thoughts were still spinning. He had stumbled on a peach of a news story for good old John Nightingale. And there was to be more; indeed, very much more than he at that moment dreamed. When, promptly at the appointed hour, he entered the building in which Tom’s room was located he found himself in one of the city’s most celebrated sky-scrapers. Like a giant needle it pierced the sky. “Two flights above the last stop,” he thought with a thrill. “Up among the pigeons, bats and stars.” In this he was not so far from being wrong. Tom’s place was a snug little spot just beneath the clock. “From this high pinnacle,” Tom said as Jimmie, having entered the room, stood staring, “I look down upon the crooked little world that is a great city. See!” he pointed at a powerful telescope resting on a tripod. “Take a squint.” Jimmie took one squint into the telescope, then gazed long and earnestly. Those spider-like creatures moving over the sidewalk seeming all arms and legs were turned once more by this magic glass into men and women. Those large black bugs crawling along the street became autos. “What I just said is more truth than fancy,” said Tom. “Fact is, in these days when I have no more pressing matters to hold my attention I train my telescope on a certain garage.” “Garage? Why?” Jimmie asked in surprise. “In that garage,” said Tom, his voice took on a note of mystery, “are stored two trucks. Under the hoods of these trucks are hidden unusually powerful motors. These trucks, I am convinced, are being held in readiness for one of the largest and boldest robberies in the city’s history.” “Wha—what will they steal?” Jimmie asked. “That’s what we don’t know,” was Tom’s surprising reply. “Then why——” “When five of the city’s most dangerous criminals are seen together and when three of them are known to have purchased these trucks, had powerful motors installed in them and stored them, it is time for the city’s detective force to be up on their toes.” “But why don’t you arrest them now?” Jimmie asked. “Got nothing on them. But we will have,” Tom paced the floor. “We will. And we’ll get them. You’ll see. All are dangerous men. Three have been charged with murder. No matter. When those trucks are loaded the police will strike and then——” “Next day’s headlines will read, ‘Tom Howe killed in gun battle,’” said Jimmie, with a dry laugh. “Perhaps,” Tom agreed. “We’re looking for a better story than that.” “Oh!” Jimmie exclaimed as his eye was caught by a large picture on Tom’s desk. “You have it.” “Yes, your shot from the hip. A fine enlargement,” Tom enthused. “Scottie sent it over an hour ago.” “Good old Scottie,” Jimmie chuckled. “He likes to kid me about my candid camera.” “Yes, but he’s beginning to believe in it,” Tom took the enlargement from the table. “You stick by Scottie. He’ll give you anything you want. Providing what you want is right and for the good of all. “Look at that picture,” he said a few seconds later. “Peach of an ear. Not another like it in the world.” They were looking at an enlargement of a picture of the Silent Terror. Perhaps the only one in existence, it was the one taken by Jimmie on the eventful night before. For a full minute they stood staring at it in silence. To Jimmie there was something about the picture that made him shudder. Is it true that some men are so evil, so terrifying by nature, that even before you have looked them in the eye you fear them? It would seem so, for Jimmie now found himself trembling from head to foot. “It’s last night,” he told himself angrily. “I’m not over that shock. I mustn’t be such a softie!” Then, that he might the sooner gain control of himself, he forced himself to recall what Tom had said to him about the man’s ear. “Wha—what’s strange about the ear?” he at last managed to ask. For an answer his host turned a small knob to open a broad, shallow cabinet. “Here,” he said, “are my ears.” “Great guns!” Jimmie exclaimed. “They look real!” “Don’t they, though!” Tom’s face beamed. “Done in wax. The exact reproduction of two hundred famous ears, many of them of crooks, living and dead. A clever little hunch-back lady, a marvelous sculptress, does them for me. “What I want you to do,” he said, “is to pick one out that exactly matches this ear of the Silent Terror.” “That should be easy,” said Jimmie. “There are so many.” “Take your time.” Smiling in a strange way the young detective sat down behind his telescope. For a full five minutes Jimmie studied those ears. From time to time Tom heard him murmur, “Nope, not quite. Not at all, in fact. Nor this. Nor that.” “Say—ee!” he exclaimed at last. “They’re all different. But then,” his voice changed, “I suppose you picked them because they’re odd.” “Not at all,” replied Tom. “If I had ten thousand ears, you’d not find two that matched.” “By the way!” he said, changing the subject, “did you ever happen to notice that your nose is crooked?” “No. And it’s not,” said Jimmie. “Take a look,” Tom handed him a glass. “What? Why! It is crooked.” Jimmie was dismayed. “If—if I were a crook they’d spot me by my nose.” “Oh, no!” Tom laughed. “Take a look at mine. It’s crooked too. There are a thousand people down there below us going to lunch. If you looked at them one after the other you’d probably find they all had noses slightly off the true. Watching them go by gets to haunt you if you look too long. “But ears,” he went back to his original subject, “people don’t fuss much with their ears. Men do not try to disguise their ears as they do their eyes and noses. That’s why I’ve taken up the study of ears. In a crowd of ten thousand I could spot the Silent Terror’s ear. Soon I shall be carrying a reproduction of it in my pocket.” “Have one made for me,” Jimmie’s tone was eager. “I will,” said Tom. “Be sure you study it well.” “I’ll be the first to spot him,” said Jimmie. “If you are so fortunate,” replied Tom. “Be on your guard. He’s a dangerous man and, as time goes on, will become more desperate. “And now,” he laughed, “classes for the morning are over. Shall we have lunch?” |
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