  “The trap is set.” John repeated the words after Jimmie without realizing their full meaning. The truth is he had all but forgotten that Jimmie had laid plans to take a flashlight picture of the mysterious persons using this old house as a hideout. Even now he had only a vague impression of batteries, wires, a camera and flash bulbs. “The trap is set,” he repeated slowly. “But to spring it now might be dangerous.” “Come on,” said Jimmie. “We’ve got to get their picture.” “A picture taken in that room might go far toward convicting them,” John said slowly. “If these diamonds really were stolen they can be identified and if the men are photographed in the place the diamonds were found——” “That will get them,” Jimmie whispered eagerly. “I’ll spring the trap, you and Mary start for the hideout. We—we wouldn’t like to have them catch up with us, not with those diamonds in our hands.” “Mary will start for the hideout.” There was a note of authority in John’s voice. “I’ll go with you. When you throw the switch for the flash-picture I’ll fire off this old cannon. I’ve got a gun, you know. Or, perhaps you didn’t. Anyway, I have. Regular cannon! My uncle used it out west. They may think it’s a police trap and beat it.” “Fine!” Jimmie exclaimed. “But come on. There’s not a second to lose.” Mary faded into the night. Slipping and sliding over the drenched grass the two boys moved around the house to the spot where the switch was hidden. “Good!” Jimmie whispered hoarsely. “Switch isn’t wet at all. Should work fine.” “Listen! They’re here.” Jimmie felt John’s hand tremble on his shoulder. “Wait until you’re sure they’re inside and then——” “The flash,” Jimmie was thrilled to the very roots of his hair. They heard the rattle of a key, then the creak of a rusty hinge. “Now,” John’s whisper could scarcely be heard. At that instant the moon, coming out from behind a cloud, shone through a window bringing out three figures. They were standing in the doorway. “Great!” John murmured aloud. “Let ’em have it.” There followed a blinding flash, a loud roar, then deep, moonlit silence. This silence was broken by a sudden rush of heavy feet, then the purr of a motor. This picked up, became a pulsing roar, then faded away in the distance. “Gone! What did I tell you,” John laughed. “Cowards. Crooks are all like that. Like rats or snakes they’ll only fight when they’re cornered. “Come!” Once more he was on the move. “There may be a few more sparklers in there. No matter how they came there, whether they were stolen or are part of the old Judge’s fortune long lost to the family, we’ll gather them in.” Jimmie’s feelings were a tumult as he once again entered the old house. A score of questions crowded his busy brain. What of those diamonds? Whose were they? Had they remained long hidden in a recess of the chimney or had they recently been stolen and stored there? More important still was the picture. Was it a success? He must get that old camera at once. And he did. With this securely attached to his belt he joined John in his search for diamonds. He found three. They seemed a little queer to him as he had seen very few diamonds. Perhaps, after all, they were only imitations. This thought gave him a sinking feeling. To risk one’s life for a few bits of glass, that would be terrible. From time to time he paused to listen. What if those men came back? But they did not come. At last John rose with a sigh. “Guess we’d better call that good. I—I’m tired. We’ll sneak home. Not down the drive. That might be dangerous.” In absolute silence they tiptoed out of the place. John turned the key in the door. Then they were away. After that for a full quarter hour they went dodging and weaving about among the brush and trees. When at last they arrived at the dense clump of pines, it was on the side opposite John’s entrance. “From here we crawl,” he said in a low voice. Suiting actions to words he dropped on hands and knees to start crawling through the black caverns beneath the pines. Once again Jimmie followed. “There,” John sighed, as at last he stood up to grasp the latch to the hideout, “we’re here.” “But—but where do you suppose Mary is?” Jimmie stammered. “Here I am,” came in a whisper as the door opened. “I didn’t dare to light a lamp. I—I’m frozen.” “We’ll make a fire. Smoke won’t show in the night.” John lifted one cracked lid of the stove, took paper and wood from the box in the corner, placed it in the stove, scratched a match, and soon the crackle of a wood fire cheered the heart of the tired trio. “Look!” the girl whispered as she spread John’s newspaper on the floor, then allowed a pencil of light to play upon it. Like many white, winking eyes, the stones that men have fought and died for gleamed up at them. “Thousands of dollars worth,” Jimmie whispered. “If those men knew where we were at this moment!” “But they don’t. Thank God for that!” Mary sighed. “Listen!” Jimmie whispered. “What’s that?” A low, strange sound had reached his ears. For a full minute they stood at breathless attention. Then, as the sound, much nearer and louder now burst on their ears, they laughed. “Some old hoot-owl talking to his mate in the night,” Jimmie murmured. After that for sometime there was silence. Through the cracks in John’s stove lids the light of the fire gleamed cheerily. From time to time the dry wood popped and crackled. Other than these, no light, no sound disturbed the night. And the moments, waiting there as Jimmie did for the next move in this strange drama, were long. “We’ll bury them,” said John, rousing at last. “Bury them out under the pines.” It took no great stretch of imagination on Jimmie’s part to know that he spoke of the diamonds. Emptying his sugar bowl, John poured the handful of sparkling gems into it, replaced the lid, then led the way into the night. Without a light and with only the owl as a witness, they buried the bowl beneath a tree, and, after carefully rearranging the fallen pine-needles, stole silently back into the hideout. “They say,” suggested John, “that women brew marvelous tea. The tea kettle is hot.” Mary responded to his invitation. So, in the small hours of the night they drank a toast to the future in a steaming cup. After that Jimmie saw Mary to her train, then crept sleepily back to his own cozy bed. “Life,” he thought, “is not so bad, but all this excitement cuts into a fellow’s sleeping program.” Tired as he was he was not able to at once quiet his active brain. That picture? Had it been a success? What would it reveal? Who were those men? Had he at last taken a picture showing a real front view or profile? Would Tom Howe say the instant he saw them, “Yes, this is so and so. Boy! We’ll take them now!” Or would his face go blank at sight of them? As his mind quieted down he thought of matters farther afield. “Clues,” he thought dreamily. “How very little it takes to put a finger on the guilty man. He drops matches, lights a candle, blows it out and forgets it. He leaves through a window, his knee leaves a pattern in the dust. These little things get him. Why does he care to go on with it?” To this question he could find no answer. He was almost asleep when a sub-conscious thought working its way to the surface brought him up with a jerk wide awake once more. “Bubbles!” he whispered excitedly. “It might be that! Who knows? I’ll work that out. If only the Terror would strike again! And yet, what a wish?” At that he settled back on his pillow. Two minutes later nature’s demand for repose took him to dreamland. |
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