  “Before we can think of arresting Professor Fanely,” remarked Mr. Davis, “we must have indisputable evidence that we can put before a jury.” “But surely, Mr. Davis,” argued Osceola, “Deborah’s description of the old man—her recognition of his photograph should be sufficient to convict him.” “On the contrary,” declared Bill. “Although it has put us wise to the old buzzard, it really is no evidence at all. Am I right, Mr. Davis?” “You certainly are, Bill. We’d be hooted out of court in no time; and probably have countercharges of criminal libel brought against us by old Fanely into the bargain.” The trio had just walked back to the Bolton house. Ensconced in comfortable chairs on the side porch, they had constituted themselves a Ways-and-Means committee. Bill came back at his friend again. “You’re letting your personal feeling for Deborah enter into this, Osceola. It just can’t be done.” “But Deborah is perfectly sure. She was in the car with the man, wasn’t she? Her word—” “Is quite good enough for us, or for anyone who really knows Miss Lightfoot’s admirable character,” broke in the secret service man. He shrewdly guessed the impatience that raged beneath the young Seminole’s calm exterior. But rational discussion of the problem, and not heated argument was their object in conferring. He therefore proceeded to pour oil upon troubled waters. “You see, Chief,” he went on to explain, “this is not a case where anybody’s word, no matter who he or she may be, will count in the balance with the word of Professor Fanely himself.” “Obviously, he’d deny it—” said Bill. “Not only deny any charge preferred against him,” Mr. Davis said earnestly. “He would be sure to bring forth a cast iron alibi that no one could break. And, however illogical it might seem, in all probability his mere word would be adjudged sufficient. Think of the man’s life-long reputation—the things he has done. His name is a household word the world over. And with all that in his favor to prejudice public opinion, Professor Fanely is a Croesus. The patents on his scientific discoveries have brought him millions. And, to cap the pyramid of his fortifications, he counts as his friends the great men of both this country and Europe....” Osceola turned his dark eyes from an unseeing study of the patterned porch rug, and nodded slowly. “I begin to see our difficulties—at least, some of them. I ask your pardon, Mr. Davis, for making a fool of myself!” “Nonsense, my boy!” Davis leaned forward and patted him on the knee. “You made the natural mistake of believing we had to deal with a private individual.” “Whereas,” grinned Bill, “the professor is really a national institution!” “Exactly. We three are convinced that there is a screw loose somewhere in that great brain, but we’ve simply got to prove that. Merely saying that he is this and that would let us in for a lot of trouble, and only defeat our ends.” “Yes, I suppose so. But what can we do about this mess if nobody will believe us?” “Find out what racket old Fanely is running—and get him with the goods.” “Easier said than done, Bill. Let’s kidnap the old boy and that Kolinski guy, for choice. Leave me alone in a room with those bozos for half an hour, and I’ll come out with a couple of signed confessions. They’re a pair of third degree artists themselves. I’m fed up with all this kid glove business. And they’ve got a whole lot coming from me before we break even.” They were silent for a minute or two. Mr. Davis brought out his pipe, filled and lighted it. Tossing the glowing match over the porch rail, he turned toward the irate young chief. “But such methods will get us nowhere. And even if we were able to follow out your suggestion, I, as servant of the Federal Government, could not countenance it. Bill is right. Only by learning what is really in back of this, will we be able to apprehend the ringleader, and put him where he can do no more harm. I’m old enough to be your father, chief, and I’ve been in this business since before you were born. As you know, I first thought that we were up against a dope smuggling gang. That is how I first came onto this case.” “Then you’ve changed your mind about that?” inquired Bill. “Yes and no. Dope smuggling from Europe may be part of it—but only part. That would be small potatoes for a man of the professor’s standing and wealth. There’s something else behind all this winged cartwheel affair, and we’ve touched only the edge of it. The next move on our program is to do exactly what Bill suggests: go and find out about it. Before Miss Lightfoot put us wise to Professor Fanely, I hadn’t the least idea where to turn. Her information gives us the lead and we shall certainly take advantage of it.” Bill looked up. “The old boy has a big place in Greenwich, has he not?” “Yes. And one or more of us will be in that house of his before thirty-six hours.” “Why thirty-six hours?” This from Osceola. “Why not tonight? Greenwich is only just beyond Stamford—we can run down there in forty-five minutes by car.” “There are two very good reasons, perhaps three, why we won’t do so tonight, chief. Fanely knows that Deborah has awakened by this time from the hypodermic injection he administered. He will figure that if she really got a good look at him, and knows him to be the famous scientist whose features the magazines and newspapers have made public property, he may expect trouble in some form at Greenwich tonight. He will therefore be very much on the lookout for it. Or he may take the initiative himself, and stage another kidnapping across the road before morning. In either case, we will be much more useful in New Canaan than in Greenwich. “If his men do not come here tonight and nobody bothers him down there, the chances are, he will believe that your fiancee didn’t get such a good look at him after all. It was dark in that car last night. His vast knowledge and discoveries have been along chemical and electrical lines. It’s not likely he remembers or even knows the ability of your race to see so much better in the dark than his. So by tomorrow, when nothing happens, he’ll consider that incident closed and go about his business as usual.” “And,” said Bill, “if we take a run down to his joint tomorrow night, I may be of some use. These bandages will be off my hands by then.” “That is another point. Bill naturally wants to be in on anything we do—so you see, chief?—” “I see,” nodded Osceola. “It never struck me, either, that there might be another attack on the Dixon’s tonight. What are your plans, Mr. Davis?” “You and I will go over there in a little while. Mr. Dixon and I arranged for it earlier in the evening. We will sleep on cots in the library, and with Mr. Dixon we’ll divide the night into two-hour watches. With the three of us on hand, we can watch two hours and sleep four. The New Canaan police have two men patrolling the Dixon grounds right now. Two more relieve them at midnight and will remain on duty until daylight. And until this job is cleaned up, I’ve arranged to have a policeman on the place during the day as well.” “Very nice, very nice indeed,” remarked Bill, only half stifling a yawn. “And where, may I ask, do I come in?” Mr. Davis smiled. “Down at Greenwich tomorrow night, my boy. If anything happens across the way, you’d be no earthly use with your hands out of commission. My orders to you are to turn in and get a good rest tonight. Tomorrow when the Chief and I are making up for lost sleep, you can take your turn at duty.” “Aye, aye, sir.” Bill spoke submissively enough, but it took no great exercise of perception to realize that he was not a bit keen on that part of Mr. Davis’ plan. |
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