Mystery of the White Card

The boys were at the Morrison home waiting for Mr. Grey to appear. They had hundreds of questions to ask him and they hoped that he would clear up the mystery of the white card. But if he did not, they would be at a loss as to what to do next. They would either have to give up or commence their investigation all over again, and they were rather tired of the thing by now. Jack remarked, “I still can’t understand how we happened to come upon Mr. Grey and follow him. I don’t suppose he had anything to do with the mystery of the white card.”

“But it was you who originally began to follow him,” said Ken.

“That’s right. But now that I think of it, I can’t understand how I happened to pick on him.”

“Betty described the man who took her for a walk as tall and thin,” interposed Paul.

“Yes, but there are many tall, thin men in town,” argued Jack.

“And we came to the conclusion that the man who would start fires and steal a single book must be a maniac of some sort.”

Jack laughed. “Well, does Mr. Grey look like a maniac?” he asked.

Paul smiled and remarked, “Well, he does look rather odd, tall and thin as he is.”

“All that doesn’t get us anywhere,” said Jack.

“Well, let’s not come to any conclusions but wait until Mr. Grey comes,” remarked Paul.

“Yes, he’ll clear it all up for us.”

About ten minutes later, the government agent arrived. He looked like a changed man, dressed in a summer linen suit and his hair combed neatly back. “Hello, fellows,” he greeted as he entered.

“Hello, Mr. Grey,” returned Paul. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Well, I’ll try,” he said as he took a seat, “but I’m afraid you fellows are going to question me so much, you’ll have me standing on my head.”

“Then we’ll turn you over and sit you down again,” spoke up Jack.

“Now, Mr. Grey,” began Paul, “and by the way, is that your real name?”

“No, of course not. My name is George Wilson.”

“Well, Mr. Wilson, we are mystified by a certain little thing,” continued Paul, “and I wonder if you can clear it for us.”

“Try me and we’ll see.”

“The mystery of the white card,” Jack blurted out. “What is it all about?”

“What white card?” asked the agent mystified.

“You don’t know?” cried Ken.

The man shook his head in complete ignorance. “I’ll faint,” cried Jack, falling back in his chair and pretending that he was actually fainting.

“Tell me what it is all about,” asked the government agent. “I don’t even know what you are talking about.”

“And we thought that you could give us the solution,” commented Jack. “Now what are we going to do?”

“Will you please let me in on it?” Mr. Wilson asked for the second time.

“It’s like this,” began Paul, again explaining the whole thing, this time for the benefit of Mr. Wilson. “About ten days ago, Ken’s little sister, Betty, disappeared. Jack happened to find her all the way out on Leonard Street. Questioning her, he found that a man had bought her candy, taken her for a walk and left her there after he gave her a blank white card.”

“May I see the card?” asked Mr. Wilson.

Paul took it out of his pocket and showed it to him. The agent glanced at it and then said, “Go on.”

“Well, several days later there happened to be a fire on Water Street and I rushed into the building. To make the story short, inside that burning house I found another white card, an exact duplicate of the first one.”

“What?” asked Mr. Wilson, his curiosity now aroused. “And then what?”

“That isn’t all,” continued Paul. “The next day a robbery occurred at Professor Link’s and all that was taken was a single book out of the library. And what’s more, the same white card was left.”

“But the point of the story is,” intervened Ken, “we thought all along that you were the guilty person and that is how Jack began to follow you.”

“I!” cried the agent, aghast. “How do I come in on this?”

“Well, sir,” spoke up Jack, “it was really all my fault. After talking the thing over, we came to the conclusion that only a,—er,—a maniac sort of person would do anything like that.”

“And you took me for a maniac?” cried the agent, bursting out laughing. “That’s a good one.”

“I don’t think so,” replied Jack.

“No, I agree with you,” said Mr. Wilson. “I don’t think it’s quite the thing to be taken for a maniac. But go on.”

“Well, sir,” continued Jack, “I began to follow you. And the first night I followed you out to Waters Street, to the exact spot where the fire occurred, and ...”

“But you must be wrong,” cried Mr. Wilson, “because I don’t even know where Waters Street is.”

“You don’t know?” demanded Jack leaping out of his seat.

The other boys also were by now out of their seats and staring dumbly at Mr. Wilson. The agent said, “I remember that I was once followed by one of you, I couldn’t say who. But I shook him off quickly. Then I also remember that Paul approached me one day and asked me where Jones Street was and I told him.”

“My God!” cried Jack, “I have followed the wrong man all the time.”

“Wait a minute,” Paul said tensely. “You haven’t followed the wrong man. On the contrary. You know what?” They all looked at him curiously. “There is a man in this town who looks very much like you, Mr. Wilson, and I am convinced that he is the guilty party.”

“Now that is interesting,” commented the agent. “I should certainly like to meet him.”

“Now let me ask you this,” said Paul. “You don’t know anything about the fires nor about the robbery at Professor Link’s, do you?”

“I most certainly don’t.”

“Was it you who saved us when Jack and I were prisoners in the cellar?”

“Yes, that was me.”

“Well, wait a minute,” interrupted Ken. “Suppose you tell us how you knew that the boys were being held there and how you came to know Harriman and how you came to be a member of the gang?”

“It’s this way, fellows,” began Mr. Wilson. “I was put on this case and I followed the gang to this town. Looking around for a room I hired one over the grocery store, from Harriman. At the time I did not know that he was a member of the gang, but I soon found it out. Through him, I came upon the gang. I became friends with Harriman and did him a few favors. From then on, he trusted me. After I got on their trail, I waited to get them with the goods—that is, they were then only experimenting and not yet turning out counterfeit money. Just as soon as they ran off some fake greenbacks, I got into action.”

“How did you know, then, that we were being held in the cellar of the empty house?” asked Paul.

“You see, the gang had a room in the hotel. And I had a room next door. And when Joe came and told Moonshine Charlie of holding you prisoners, I rushed down and freed you.”

“That’s plenty funny,” commented Jack. “If it was not you whom I was following all the time, who then was it?”

“That is something I should like to know myself,” replied the agent.

“Another thing, Mr. Wilson,” said Paul. “Four days ago, I followed Harriman. On the street, I noticed you—or was it you—passing him and you nodded to each other. Now was it you or was it not you?”

“No, it could not have been me,” was the answer, “because I remember distinctly that I was at the hotel at the time listening in on Moonshine and his gang.”

“That’s right,” continued Paul. “Harriman did lead me to Main Street where he met Moonshine, Joe and Pete. But if it was not you who nodded to Harriman, then I am more convinced than ever that there is a man in this town who looks very much like you. In fact he looks so much like you that even Harriman mistook him for you.”

“Now that is very interesting,” Mr. Wilson said. “We will have to do something about it.”

“But here is something that is very suspicious, Mr. Wilson,” Paul said. “You say that at the time you were at the hotel, but you or the person that looks like you, walked out of the corner house, that is, Harriman’s house, only about fifteen minutes before the grocery store keeper himself came out. How do you figure that out?”

“You have me puzzled, Paul, if that was the case. I can’t figure it out.”

The four of them leaned back in their seats and kept quiet. The boys appeared exhausted from the ordeal. They thought that at last everything would be cleared up and now they discovered that it still remained a mystery. “At last,” muttered Jack, “we are back where we started. Hooray!” Paul sighed and kept silent. Ken asked sadly, “Now what are we going to do?”

His companions shrugged their shoulders. Mr. Wilson remarked, “I wish I knew how I could help you. But as a matter of fact, I am leaving on the midnight express.”

“That’s too bad,” said Paul. “I thought that perhaps you would stay here for several days.”

Mr. Wilson shook his head. “That is out of the question,” he answered.

“To come back to the point,” said Jack, “what do you think we ought to do, Paul?”

“About what?”

“The mystery of the white card, of course.”

“I suppose we will just have to wait and see. Perhaps we will find some clue one of these days which will solve it.”

“If we wait until the mystery is solved by itself, we will never know the solution,” was Ken’s statement.

“Too bad I can’t help you,” said Mr. Wilson as he rose to go.

They shook hands all around, the boys wishing Mr. Wilson a pleasant trip and he wishing them success in unravelling the mystery of the white card.