CHAPTER X
Mr. De Lorme did not know that his stepson had escaped. When Zip discovered the empty garret he did not dare break the news to his employer. The inquiries after Dee were wholly on Zip’s own hook. He hoped to find that the boy had taken refuge with one of his chums. He could not suspect any of them knowing anything about Dee, however, after Ernest’s guiltless information. Down at the L. & N. Station! Zip smiled. The boy was thoroughly scared, after all, and had made good his escape! Somehow or somewhere he might have found out his Aunt’s address. Zip felt sure that when they wanted him they would be able to go down to the great fertile farm in the Blue Grass and find the boy.
Zip went back to the house with a light heart. He took the daily chunk of bread and set it on the attic stairs; then, for fear Mr. De Lorme might take a fancy to unlock the door and go up to see Dee, Zip took the key from the lock.
He found Mr. De Lorme in the laboratory, flushed with his labor. His keen eyes looked tired but steady as he glanced at Zip. “Well?” he interrogated.
“Nothing new,” said Zip. “Everything quiet.”
“How is the prisoner?” asked Mr. De Lorme.
“I did not bother to go up,” said Zip. “He is so sulky that I will not try to talk to him at all. I just leave his food at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Perfectly right!” said Mr. De Lorme absently as he slid a paper tube inside a small brass cylinder—and with the utmost care and a touch delicate as a jeweler’s proceeded to cap it. A heavy, thick pad of fluffy thick cotton batting covered the table and he held the cylinder close to it. Mr. De Lorme did not like to take unnecessary risks.
Zip took off his coat and arrayed himself in a tight jumper. He filled several retorts with queer-looking liquids, and fell to work. There was much to be done. The thirteenth was nearly at hand!
The whistles sounded for noon.
Up at Bill’s Ernest was rapidly outlining his part of the plans for the capture of the dynamiters. At the Aviation Field, at Camp Taylor, his little plane was “parked” ready for action. Safe in the Provost Marshal’s office, near a couple burly M.P.’s, Dee, well guarded, was waiting for the next act in his life.
At the L. & N. Station a fast express was drawing in. Among the throngs that hurried from the cars came a young clergyman, a traveling man loaded with sample cases, a couple of enlisted men, and a laborer in his blue overalls. These five lost themselves in the crowds and were gone. That they were Secret Service men picked for the difficult task of taking a dangerous gang and breaking up a lot of dynamiters, the crowd with whom they mingled did not guess, nor would they have believed if they had been told.
Up on Confederate Place the usual afternoon began with just a few variations. An understudy took Eddie’s place on the tennis courts. Frank’s father, Mr. Wolfe, drove to his office in Frank’s little flivver, and left at the curb in its stead his own powerful touring car, and Frank was engaged in his pet recreation of “tuning her up.”
Eddie and Ernest, taking a trolley, were well on their way to Camp where they expected to await developments at the Aviation Field.
Bill, whose easiest job was collecting an admiring circle of girls, went down to the Crowleys, next door to the De Lorme house, and proceeded to fascinate Elizabeth Crowley, a delicate little blonde beauty, and Virginia Rowland, whose big black eyes sparkled and whose merry laugh tinkled out at the least of Bill’s rare sallies of wit. At intervals—and of course this was part of the plan—Bill whistled lustily and once or twice yelled, “Hey, Dee!”
In the Park sat a couple of enlisted men, young fellows who soon started a bantering conversation with two girls passing. The four had a jolly time. It was not hard for the secret service men to “jolly” and keep hawk-eyes on the De Lorme house at the same time.
At the extreme point of the Park, facing the monument, was the wreck of a beautiful drinking fountain which had been shattered by a runaway automobile. The pieces of broken stone were being gathered in a pile by a workman who seemingly had no eyes for anything but his work. His overalls were roomy and loose; otherwise someone might have noticed the bulging pockets underneath where he carried two big revolvers and handcuffs, as well as heavy shackles for stubborn ankles. At the station a man with two suitcases sat patiently reading the paper, while close to his elbow a meek-looking young clergyman watched the crowds or looked at a long railroad ticket which he held in his hand.
And here and there bells in the city churches struck one!
Nothing happened. Time dragged on. The clocks struck two. Bill was worn to a frazzle. He commenced to wonder why men ever married. The girls prattled on and Bill “entered into the silence” as they talked in a chorus. He lost track of their remarks and answered so at random that Virginia demanded to know what was on his mind. At that Bill, who was trying to disguise the fact that he had a mind, braced up with a long, long story of a transaction in ginger ale and pop between himself and Eddie one night when the Community singers were at the Park.
It certainly was a long and complicated tale, and when the clocks struck three Bill was weaving uncertainly through a maze of incidents which meant as little to him as they did to his listeners.
But as the clock struck three ... Bill saw a familiar automobile approaching the De Lorme curb. Once more he cried, “Hey, Dee!” but this time he went down the steps and looked up at the De Lorme house. His young voice rang out and carried across to the Park, where the four young people on the bench had passed from jokes to a quiet conversation. One of the soldiers was telling blood-curdling tales of a front he had never seen, gas he had never been subjected to, and trenches he had only dreamed of. But he was a born talker, and his listeners shuddered and thrilled. At the call from Bill, the two soldiers glanced quickly across the street and shifted positions a little. The workman at the broken fountain, tired out, sat down on the curb and lighted a short pipe.
Then a large car drove up before the De Lorme house—a beautiful touring car. On the front seat sat a chauffeur in livery. A stunningly dressed woman and a thin man, both enveloped in large, loose dust coats, sat on the back seat. The three scanned the houses, and the man spoke to the chauffeur. He jumped out and approached Bill, who stood staring on the steps of Elizabeth Crowley’s house.
“Does Mr. De Lorme live near here?” he asked.
“Next door!” piped the two girls together.
“Thank you,” said the chauffeur, raising his cap.
The lady on the back seat smiled. The girls fluttered.
With a flourish the chauffeur opened the door, the man descended and assisted the lady to alight. Her loose cloak floated around her. She was very beautiful, and she smiled at the girls and Bill. Then she ran lightly up the steps and the two disappeared.
The chauffeur, carrying a bulky auto robe, followed them.
Bill immediately lost interest in the charming damsels who had been so attractive for two hours or more. He said, “Well, gotta skip! Goo’bye!” and ambled off toward home, whistling.
Frank, still tuning the car, gave a sigh of relief.
“Now there is a mix-up,” said Bill anxiously. “There is a car in front of the house, but it’s got a lady for one of the passengers and, say, she is some looker!”
“Them same,” said Frank sagely, “is sometimes the worst kind. On our way, brother, on our way!”
“All right,” said Bill cheerfully, and dashed into the house, returning straightway with a small bundle which he tossed into the car as he hopped in. Frank turned and they went slowly down the block. The large empty car still stood before the house as Frank drew in at the curb in front of the Crowleys. Elizabeth still sat serenely rocking, her face toward the De Lormes’. She did not intend to miss a second view of the radiant stranger.
“Hello, Elizabeth!” said Bill affably. “Care if I telephone? I’m in a hurry and hate to go back home.”
“Help yourself!” said Elizabeth. “Right in the hall.”
Bill, frantic for fear the strangers would come out before he did, called, “Taylor 5000” and when they answered, he continued, “Is this the Provost Marshal’s office? Well, I want to speak to Mr. Beezley, please. Yes, Lieut. Beezley. Oh, Ern? Get busy! Ready to start, guess. Two men and a lady; a bird! All right. Try the Dixie Highway. Goo’bye!” He hurried outside and stood talking to Elizabeth, while Frank patiently waited in the car, head down, as though he intended to stay there all day. His brilliant red-and-blue plaid cap was pulled well down, and under it keen eyes scanned the car ahead.
The workman, rising from his seat on the curb by the broken fountain, idly knocked the ashes out of his pipe and looked around for his crowbar. In the park two young soldiers said good-bye lingeringly to two reluctant girls, and with many promises for picture postals walked away.
Everything was very peaceful.
Zip came out and looked in the postbox. It was all very peaceful, very natural. He did not recognize Frank by the top of his spotty cap, but he saw Elizabeth, and nodded affably to Bill across the lawn. He was glad they were there to see the well-dressed visitors coming and going so casually. He went inside, and in a moment the lady appeared, followed by the man, and behind him the chauffeur bearing the bulky blanket.
They walked slowly down, Bill having all the acute symptoms of apoplexy. Elizabeth stared.
“She is fatter than I thought,” she said scornfully. “I thought she was real thin. And the man! What a funny, careful way he has of walking, as though he might break himself!”
“Do you think so?” said Bill. “Oh, Elizabeth, I do hope you think so! I certainly do!”
“How funny you are!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “You act as though you cared how he walks. I don’t see—”
But here something happened that took Bill a long, long time to explain away. When Elizabeth looked up, Bill was gone. The strange car had gone too, and Bill was leaping into Frank’s car and he looked as though he had forgotten every single thing about her. The strange car turned the first corner and so did Frank, but he slowed down as he reached it, and Elizabeth, angrily looking after, saw two soldiers leap on the running board and a blue-clad workman tumble into the back seat.
The strange car cut across to Fourth Street and turned down. On the side street one of the soldiers and Bill leaned out and ripped off a narrow piece of tire-tape that ran around the whole top, just at the edge. Then the workman, who made himself wonderfully at home, reached out the back window and hauled down a large piece of black oilcloth that had been lying flat on the top and that had been secured by the tire-tape.
Then for the first time someone spoke. It was the workman, and he addressed Frank. “Sure you painted that white panel good and large?” he asked.
“Sure!” said Frank. “Fact is, Ernest did it himself, and he said it would be pie to follow it. They don’t seem to be in a hurry, do they?” he added, his eyes on the strange car ahead.
“No, they won’t dare to speed up on account of the load they have. And traffic is pretty thick.”
They carried the game of follow-my-leader down through the heart of the city, stopped at the Seelbach Hotel for twenty minutes and then turned and headed for the old Dixie Highway. “It’s them, all right,” said the workman joyfully. “Wonder where they are really going?”
With a swift motion Frank swept the brilliant cap from his head, donned a black one and adjusted a pair of large goggles. He slid down in his seat and watched the car ahead.
The miles rolled by.
“Wonder what makes the guy so slow?” remarked Frank presently. “Suppose we should bust a tire?”
“Never anticipate trouble,” said the workman. “It looks to me as though they were pretty busy ahead there. I shouldn’t wonder if they might be changing their general appearance a little, but I don’t suppose we had better draw nearer.”
There was a faint humming in the air and a plane soared high above them. It was very high, but as they watched it, something white fluttered down from it, and Bill gave a sigh of relief as he saw the prearranged signal. “It is Ernest and he has seen our white panel. Now he will look after the car, I suppose, according to agreement but I declare it doesn’t seem fair to have him have all the fun. What are we going to do? Can’t we go on?” he asked.
“No, indeed,” said the workman and a soldier repeated, “No, indeed! An aviator’s luck!”
“We will turn back as soon as we come to a store where drinks are sold, or a gasoline station, or anything of the sort.”
Bill gave a deep sigh.
“No need to do that, son,” laughed the workman. “We will have 'fun’ in plenty, if you call it that. Why, what do you suppose we are going to do about those people back there in Louisville? Did you expect to let them get away so they could cook up more deviltry? I say not! We have some arrests to make on your nice respectable street, and that house to search. And we want you to have all credit of this affair, young fellow, you and your mates. If it hadn’t been for your precious wireless!”
“I wonder where they were talking the time I caught the messages,” Bill said as their car stopped at a little place where soft drinks were sold.
“The way the Bureau dopes it out,” said the workman, “is that they have a chain of short-circuit wireless stations, so they don’t have to trust anything to letters; not even to word of mouth. That is how all these frightful attacks on innocent persons are arranged so safely.”
He took out a clinking handful of shiny handcuffs and shackles and looked at them lovingly before he tossed them down in the bottom of the automobile.
“I hope if we catch him that we will be able to persuade Mr. De Lorme to talk.” he said.