  It was well after dark when he set out from his home that night. In a leather bag he carried a strange assortment of items. An old camera with a good lens and shutter, coils of wire, some dry batteries, flashlight and flash bulbs were mingled with various types of tools. He headed straight for the big, shadowy, abandoned house. Had John been at the hideout he most surely would have passed that way and taken him along. The old house had always inspired within him a sense of dread. “As if it were haunted,” he had said more than once. John was off on a special reporting job so there was nothing to do but go alone, for his “trap” must be set. Arrived at the old house he paused for a moment to look and listen. If those men staged a sudden return he must be prepared for instant flight. Hearing no sound, he applied John’s key and found himself inside the vast, echoing castle. From somewhere a bat sprang into the air to go snap-snapping away. The silence that followed seemed to speak of grandeur that was gone forever, of splendid prancing horses, high traps, liveried coachmen, and grand ladies. “How different it must have been,” he thought to himself. But he must be about his task. Shaking himself free of dreams he began flashing his light about the room. It at last came to rest on a framed picture, the faded print of a moonlit bay. “That’ll do,” he told himself. Removing the picture from its hook he pried away the board that had for so long held the picture in place, then with a sharp knife cut out the golden moon. When he returned the picture to its spot the old camera was securely attached to it. Its lens had replaced the paper moon that had done duty all too long. “There,” he breathed. Tiptoeing to the door he listened again. A robin chirped sleepily to his mate. No other sound disturbed the silence of the night. After that, sometimes inside, sometimes out among the bushes at the side of the house, the boy worked busily. At last, with a heavy sigh of satisfaction he murmured: “There! Now let ’em come. The trap is set.” After locking the door he hurried home and to bed, there to dream of diamonds and silver-fox skins, of a man with a long face who tossed white balls in the air by twos, threes and fours, of safes and gold nuggets, haunted houses and pictures with cut-out moons. Then morning came and it was another day. On that day Jimmie received a glorious surprise; also, he and Tom Howe made one or two astonishing discoveries. “Package for you there,” Scottie said as Jimmie looked into the photographer’s room for a cheery “Good morning!” “For me?” Jimmie exclaimed. “Came in care of my department, insured. Must be valuable,” said Scottie, “I signed for it.” It was valuable, indeed. After removing the wrappings Jimmie found inside the latest, most elaborate and perfect camera yet made. “And a telescopic lens with a telescope for a sight!” he exclaimed. “What does it mean?” A card attached to the camera answered this question. On this card he read: “To Jimmie Drury from ‘Oggie’ Durant.” “Boy, oh boy!” Jimmie did a wild dance about the room. As he quieted down and turned back to the box from which he had unwrapped the camera something he had overlooked fell to the floor. It was a big-league baseball autographed by every member of the team. “What a day!” Jimmie exclaimed. “How will I ever work now?” But all that long day he answered to the call of: “Boy!” Down to the press rooms, up to the literary editor, across to the Woman’s Department and back to the Art Department he sped, always finding time to tell of his good luck and to receive sincere congratulations. “What I won’t do with that new camera!” he exclaimed over and over. Toward the close of that day Jimmie sat dreaming in his chair. What pictures he would take now! He would get some lulus of Oggie Durant in his next ball game. He surely would. But what of the Silent Terror? Would he be in his place razzing the millionaire pitcher? And would they get him? How many more people would hear those fateful words: “As you are?” And how many would waken once again to the light of day as he had done? “We must get him! Get him!” He clenched his fists tight. “We will. We——” He was recalled from his revery by a voice at his elbow. “Day dreaming?” It was Tom Howe, the young detective. “Yes—no, I—” Jimmie stammered confusedly. “Well, snap out of it,” said Tom. “Come on down to the Plaza. I’ve got a thing or two to tell you.” “And I’ve got something to show you,” said Jimmie, reaching for his camera. “There’s been a fresh development down there in the block where we saw those crooks stop their truck. You know the place?” said Tom. “Yes,—ah, yes,” Jimmie had a vaguely uneasy feeling that he should know more. “There’s a mysterious tapping at night,” said Tom. “As if someone were working underground, perhaps cutting a tunnel toward some vault.” “Vault,” Jimmie thought with a start, “those silver fox skins are in a vault.” He started to speak but in the end said nothing. What chance was there that this was the same location? There were thousands of city blocks. “A night watchman has been hearing it,” Tom went on. “Has heard it two nights. His firm manufactures machinery for binderies, all massive stuff. Couldn’t be after that. Question is, what are they after? That’s what we’ve got to find out. “By the way!” he exclaimed, “You remember those Alaskan matches we found on the floor?” “By the diamond safe?” suggested Jimmie. “Yes. Well, there’s a man wanted for robbing a safe full of placer gold up on Great Bear lake. Somehow he got out of the country. “Two things are strange about that.” Tom paused for emphasis. “One is that the owner of that mine has his offices right here in this city, the other is that the description of the man fits Stumps Sharpe, one of the big-time crooks I’m looking for. He has two fingers off his left hand. So has Stumps.” “Two fingers off,” Jimmie started up. “So had the man in the old house!” “Old house?” said Tom. “What man? What house?” “I haven’t had a chance to tell you,” said Jimmie. “It was like this——” He went on to tell of his strange experience with John looking into the old house at night, of the invisible man with hands of an artist or a card-shark, the four white balls, the diamonds, the bag of gold nuggets and all the rest. “And here’s the stub of the match they used,” he concluded, digging into his pocket. “Same kind of a match!” Tom became greatly excited. “That must be Stumps. What do you know about that! Using that old house for a meeting place! You and John may be a lot of help to us.” “That’s what I thought,” Jimmie agreed. “I’ve got a trap set.” “A trap?” Tom’s brow wrinkled. “Sure. We’ll get their picture. You see,” he explained eagerly, “I’ve placed flash bulbs attached to flash lights close to the door. By a switch and wires outside I can set them off without being seen. At the same time I can open the shutter to a camera hidden behind a picture.” “Keen!” said Tom. “Only you can’t pull off your stunt until the zero hour. Don’t shoot too soon or you’ll scare them away.” “I’ll wait ’till I see the whites of their eyes,” said Jimmie. “One thing more,” he added, “We found one of those gold nuggets.” “Whe—where is it?” Tom demanded. “John Nightingale has it.” “That’s great!” said Tom. “I’ll get it. Then I’ll take it to that owner of the gold mine. He’ll have samples of his placer gold. We’ll have some of it and this nugget tested. See if they’re the same gold. If it is we’ve got a case against Stumps.” “And you’ll arrest him?” said Jimmie. “No—o. Not yet,” Tom drawled. “We’ve got a strong, broad net out. We’ll gather the whole bunch in at once. You see, if we don’t——” To Jimmie the workings of a city detective was a matter of great mystery. They might have a clear case on a man but would not take him in. How strange! “Here’s the stub of a candle I found in the old house,” he said, digging once again into his pocket. “It’s rough on the bottom.” “Let me see,” Tom turned it over. “Oh! Ah! Looks as if it might be the one used in that diamond robbery. And if it is! Then the pattern of that ash tray we took from that diamond merchant’s back room is on its bottom. And that was Tungsten Tom you were looking at, back there in that old house. Boy! But you’ve been seeing things.” “And if it is you’ll take them in, Stumps and Tungsten? Two cases?” said Jimmie. “No—o. Not yet,” was Tom’s slow reply. |
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