  Supper was over in the hideout. A grand supper it had been. When time had come for bittersweet chocolate and cakes John had blown out the lamp. Only the gleams from the cracked stove-lids dancing on the wall dispelled the darkness of the room. They remained seated there for a long time, the two of them, the boy and the man. Not a word was spoken. There is companionship in silence. It was Jimmie who first broke the silence. “I heard something today about Mary Dare crowning somebody with a chair,” he said. “What was it?” “She crowned him, all right,” John chuckled. “They had to take six stitches in his scalp. Had it coming too, that fellow did. Mary’s good! Trouble is,” his voice took on a worried note, “she’s too blamed good. Get herself killed if she don’t look out.” “But what happened?” Jimmie insisted. “The office got a tip that a twelve-year-old girl was chained up in a basement somewhere on the west side; chained like a dog. The Police were about to look into it. “Mary hopped right into a cab and beat the police to the spot, which sometimes isn’t such a hard thing to do.” John chuckled dryly. “Well, when Mary gets there and sees that child with wrists and ankles black and blue, looking at her wild-eyed, she just hunts up a rock and cracks the lock as if it was a walnut. “And just then—” John paused. “Then what?” Jimmie demanded eagerly. “Just then that man, father of the child, came in. He was a big brute and was furious. He’d chained the girl because she didn’t always obey him. Yes, she’d been there all day, and she’d stay all night if he chose. This was his house. That sort of talk, you know.” John drew in a deep breath. “Then what?” Jimmie leaned forward in his chair. “Mary stood up for the girl. The man made a pass at her. Mary grabbed a heavy chair and told him to stand off or she’d crown him. He stepped in and she made good—smashed the chair over his head.” “Good stuff!” Jimmie exclaimed. “That’s Mary,” John sighed. “Regular red-head. But all I’ve got to say is, she’s usually on the right side of every argument.” Once again he lapsed into silence. “John,” said Jimmie after a time, “did you go to college?” “College?” John started. “Oh! Sure!” “Graduate?” “Yes, of course. Most people who get anywhere at all these days do, I guess. “Worked my way,” he added after a brief pause. “You did? Was it hard?” Jimmie asked. “No—o. Not hard. In fact, I think it was the softest four years of my life. Work four or five hours a day, play and study the rest. What more could you ask?” “I’m going to work my way through college,” Jimmie declared. “You are?” There was surprise in John’s voice, surprise and a new note of respect. “But I thought maybe——” “That my father would send me? Most boys expect that, I guess. But I—well, I’d rather work,” Jimmie replied modestly. “Well, old son,” John rumbled, “in that case you’ll have to learn how to choose.” “Choose? Choose what?” “Between things you might do. There are a lot of things in college. First there’s work. You say you don’t want to dodge that. Then there’s study, which you can’t dodge. Then there’s sports, football, baseball, tennis, everything. After that there’s social life, which means more or less, girls. “I’m no beauty,” John laughed low, “but for every laddy there’s a lassie, and I might have gone in for that. But I didn’t. You have to choose. Choose—” his voice trailed off. “I played baseball some,” he went on after a time. “Still can swing a fair to middling racket in tennis. Learned to beat a typewriter and did a stretch on the college paper. That’s how I got to be the way I am now, I guess. I——” He broke off short to listen intently. “Thought I heard a car,” he murmured. “Must have been mistaken.” “Did you like it?” Jimmie asked after a pause. “Like what?” John groped for a thought. “Oh, college? Sure. It was a grand life. It’s not so much what you learn in classrooms that counts. It’s rubbing minds with bright men. Some of the professors are smart, some of your fellow students are too. You talk and argue and discuss and that way you learn to think. You—— “That is a car!” He sprang to his feet. “Coming right up the circular driveway. Thundering queer, I’d say, this time of night! Come on!” Gripping a flashlight he let himself out noiselessly into the moonless night. Jimmie followed closely at his heels. “We’ll just keep to the shadows,” John whispered. “Probably nothing unusual. But you never can tell. May be one of the owners of the old place coming out to pick up some antique. Lord knows the place is full of ’em. “Look out,” his whisper rose. “There’s a rather deep rut right here. Now we’ll get up to that big lilac bush. “It’s not like the Starks to come out here at this time of night,” he went on in that low whisper. “Not like ’em to come at all, for that matter. When I’ve talked to them about the place they’ve always sort of acted as if it were haunted. Still, probably there’s nothing to this. Have a look all the same, and those people in the car’ll be none the wiser unless——” “Look out now,” he warned. “Don’t go that way. I’ve noticed that lights from cars flash across here. Let’s scoot along these bushes.” So, with his breath coming short and quick Jimmie followed across the grass-grown, bush-entangled estate. “Now,” John breathed at last, “we’ll slip up to that big elm and have a look——” “They’re inside,” Jimmie whispered. “See that faint gleam of light in the big, old library.” “That’s right,” John pressed the boy’s arm hard. “Dim light. That looks a little queer. Not a flashlight, too steady for that. Candle probably. Would you bring a candle to such a place if you had a right to be there?” “Guess not,” said Jimmie, as a chill ran up his spine. Just then some hoot owl in a pine let out a prodigious laughing hoot. Jimmie jumped. John laughed low. “Nerves,” he whispered. “We all have ’em.” “Come on,” he led the way in the dark. “The window to the right is almost covered by ivy and there’s a stone seat beneath it just high enough to stand on.” One more breathless moment and they were at the window looking in. There were three men in the room, Jimmie could see that at once. Only two faces could be seen. The third was entirely in the shadows but his hands beneath the light could be seen plainly. It was an unusual light, the stub of a candle with a small copper shade which fitted over it. The hands of the man who could not be seen were unusual hands. Long, slender, white and flexible, they might belong to a writer, a musician, a painter, or a card-shark. The hands were doing strange things. They were disappearing, one at a time, and coming back into the light bringing each time probably from a pocket, something resembling a large egg. “May be real eggs,” Jimmie thought. “Blown eggs of some rare bird.” He did not believe this. One thing was sure, the gleaming white balls were handled with the care usually bestowed upon rare eggs. Jimmie did not like the faces he saw. They had hard eyes that gleamed like glass balls. One man was short and stout, the other tall and thin with a beak-like nose. The short man began to speak. The tall one hushed him up. Then he started to speak. He, in turn, was interrupted by the invisible owner of the hands. After that, one by one, the egg-like things were returned to their former place. Jimmie knew there were beads of perspiration on his nose. He felt cold all over. It was strange standing there seeing much but understanding nothing. The trio sat down. The hands disappeared. The third man was still invisible. There was more talk, quite a lot of it, none of which was heard by Jimmie and John. Then other hands appeared, the hands of the short, stout man. “Two fingers gone on his left hand,” Jimmie whispered. “Good eyes, boy,” John whispered back. The hand with two fingers gone opened a small bag and spread it flat. “A leftie,” John whispered. “Gold,” whispered Jimmie as something on the flattened bag gleamed yellow beneath the candle. “Looks like nuggets,” said John. “How strange.” The slender, bony hand of the slim man appeared. As the right hand was opened and spread flat on the table there came a flash of light. “Diamonds,” said John. Instantly Jimmie thought of the recent diamond robbery. “John!” he whispered. “What I wouldn’t give for my candid camera and three flash bulbs.” “You’d get us both shot,” said John. “Probably,” Jimmie agreed. “But I’ll tell you what! I’ll set a trap here. If they come back again I’ll get them.” “A trap? How?” “Tell you later. Look!” Jimmie’s whisper rose shrill. “There are three pairs of hands. The man we can’t see gets the gold and diamonds.” “It’s a split,” said John. “Or he’s been offered a risky job and is accepting his pay in advance.” “Look out!” Jimmie warned. “They’re coming out. Duck. Their car light may shine on us.” Their car light did not shine on them because there was no light. The powerful motor purred, then the big car slid away into the night like a black ghost. “We’ll go in and have a look,” said John. “I have a key. “Big, clumsy, old-fashioned affair, this lock,” he muttered as he thrust the heavy brass key into the lock. “No bother at all for even a common house breaker. “There,” he pushed the door open. For a full moment they stood there listening. “Gone for good,” said John, snapping on his flashlight. “For this time at least,” Jimmie amended. He was thinking of the trap he meant to set. “People nearly always leave clues,” said John, flashing his light about. “Matches,” said Jimmie. “They must have lit that candle. “Let’s have a little light on the floor. “Yes!” He bent over. “Here’s the stub. Looks—why! Say, it looks for all the world like the matches we found on Tom Howe’s last case. It would be funny——” He did not finish, for his eyes had caught a gleam from the table. John had seen it too. He pounced upon the thing. “A gold nugget!” Jimmie exclaimed. “Must have rolled off that sack when it was flat. See! It’s almost round.” He held it to the light. “That gold may have been stolen,” John went on as he stowed the bit of gold in his purse. “If it was you could tell what mine it came from by examining this nugget.” “How?” Jimmie asked in surprise. “By its color.” John began flashing his light about. “The gold from each mine is a different shade of yellow. Some is almost red. It’s the other metal mixed with it, copper, silver, and the like. “Well,” he sighed, “guess that’s about all.” “One more thing,” said Jimmie. “They left their stub of a candle. Here it is.” “Oh, that,” said John with a gesture. “Rough on the bottom,” said Jimmie as he thrust the candle into his sweater pocket. “What do you say we call it a day?” said John. “These night prowls get me down.” “O. K.,” said Jimmie. “Lead the way.” |
|
