CHAPTER XIX A SIMPLE TRICK
Dick's chums looked at him for a moment without speaking. He was quite cool while they were much excited.
"What's that you said?" asked Paul, thinking perhaps he had not heard aright.
"You expected him to skip out; did you?" asked Innis.
"I did," replied Dick, calmly. "That is, after he sent us on to see the view alone. I thought maybe he might wait until we got nearer to Hazelton, but he evidently got what he wanted—a good chance—and took advantage of it."
"Yes, and maybe he took something else, too!" cried Paul. "Have you looked for your papers, Dick?" and he peered into the car.
"That's so—those legal papers!" added Innis. "He was one of your uncle's agents, Dick!"
"Don't worry," said the young millionaire with a quizzical smile. "I have the papers safe," and he pulled an envelope from his pocket. "I've been carrying them there ever since I saw that broken steering knuckle," he went on.
"What in the world had the broken steering knuckle to do with it?" asked Paul.
"Because it had been deliberately smashed with a hammer, to knock his car out of commission," went on Dick. "He wanted a breakdown, and he made it to order. He knew we were coming along and would give him a lift, and he counted on getting possession of what he wanted. So I've been suspicious of him ever since. I thought it safer to carry the papers with me, and I guess I did right. Innis, just see if our road map isn't missing again."
The cadet put his hand in the flap pocket where the map was kept. His fingers came out empty.
"Cæsar's pineapples!" he cried. "It's gone, Dick!"
"Yes, and I expect Mr. Brockhurst, or whatever his name happens to be, is bemoaning his poor luck. Score another miss for Uncle Ezra."
"Be careful, though, Dick," warned Paul. "Three times and out, you know."
"That's right, old man. I've got to be careful. We'll have to adopt some new system of hiding it, I guess."
"But say, Dick, how did you get onto that fellow's curves?" inquired Innis. "You didn't tip us off."
"No, I wanted to see just how far he would go, and I didn't want him to get suspicious. I knew I had the game in my own hands as long as I held the papers. You see it was this way:
"When I first saw his stalled car I didn't think anything but that he was a fellow motorist in hard luck. But when he told that yarn about a piece of iron in the road flying up and cracking the steering knuckle I knew he wasn't telling the truth. No piece of iron could fly up with sufficient force to do that. Besides, the dent of the blow was inside, where no flying missile, unless it could turn a corner, could hit. So I deduced that a hammer had been used."
"Regular detective," laughed Paul.
"I should say so," agreed Innis.
"Well," went on Dick, "then I noticed his limp. He had a no more sprained ankle than I had."
"If he wasn't lame, he was a good actor," declared Innis.
"That's it—he really was lame!" exclaimed Dick, quickly. "It wasn't put on at all, and I knew then that he was permanently disabled, and that it wasn't from the jar of suddenly leaping out of a car."
"How could you tell that?" asked Paul.
"By his shoes. You know how a shoe will get full of wrinkles if it's walked in in a certain way for any length of time. A lame person's shoe will get wrinkles in it that no other person's would. It was that way with this man. When he limped I could see certain wrinkles on the side of his shoe, and the wrinkles had been there for some time, showing he had been lame longer than since to-day."
"Good boy!" cried Paul.
"Then I was sure I had him," resumed Dick, "and it was only a question of time when he would make a break."
"And he was playing all that time to get possession of those papers?" asked Innis.
"That's what," answered Dick, "only he got the wrong bunch. I guess I'll have to charge my road maps up to Uncle Ezra if this keeps up."
"But how did he know you were coming along the road where he disabled his car?" asked Innis. "And how could he figure out that you'd give him a lift?"
"I don't know," replied the young man, frankly. "But it might be easy enough to lay such a trap for us. You see my uncle knows our route almost as well as we do ourselves. He could tip off some unscrupulous man, and he could be on the watch for us. Our arrival in Buffalo would soon become known, for, as I've said before, this car is rather conspicuous. Then it was easy enough to figure which road we'd leave by. All that was necessary was to be in waiting, and the little trick of the disabled car did the rest."
"Only you were too sharp for him," put in Paul.
"I was lucky," was the way Dick put it. "You see he wanted to get us away from the car, and that talk about the view and the spring did it. Then he pretended he was tired out, and, as soon as we were out of sight, he hiked back to my auto, and rummaged it."
"I hope he didn't take any of our grub!" exclaimed Innis. "I have what the English call a 'rare old twist on,' I'm hungry, in other words."
"It was papers—not food—he was after," said Dick.
"But when you knew his game, and suspected what he was up to, weren't you afraid to let him go to your car, and you remain at the spring?" asked Paul.
"No, for I felt sure he wouldn't do any damage. I knew he couldn't start it, and I had the documents. Those were the only two things to worry about."
"I see!" exclaimed Innis. "Well, what's to be done next? I mean after eating," he added quickly.
"We'll have to think up a plan," remarked Dick. "I guess, too, we might change our route a bit. If Uncle Ezra's men are going to make trouble for us, let's put as many hurdles in their way as we can."
"That's what I say," agreed Paul.
They discussed this matter at length as they prepared a simple meal. Before they could decide on a change of route, however, they would need a new road map, and this Dick said he would get in the next town.
Soon they were under way again, there being no signs of Mr. Brockhurst in the neighborhood. He had probably made the best time to get out of sight; then he could take matters more leisurely.
"Though when he sees nothing but a road map in that envelope, marked 'legal papers,' he'll have a 'rare old fit,' as perhaps some of your English friends would say, Innis," and Paul smiled at his chum.
"Did you mark that road map envelope 'legal papers'?" asked Paul.
"Sure I did. I wanted to fool them. And the papers are marked 'road map,'" said Dick. "I just changed envelopes, see!"
"Then I've just thought of the best way to fool any more men your Uncle Ezra may set after us!" exclaimed Paul. "Listen, Dick. You remember that story of Edgar Allan Poe's—'The Purloined Letter'; don't you?"
"I think so—yes."
"What was it?" inquired Innis, who was not much of a reader.
"Why, Poe tells of some one who had a certain important letter which the police were after. This man was foxy, and knowing the police would search his rooms for it, he didn't hide it in any out-of-the-way place, such as the leg of a bed, or in a secret recess in the wall, for he knew the police would search there."
"Did they?" asked Innis.
"They did. But they didn't find the letter. It was right in plain sight, all the while, though."
"In plain sight?"
"Sure. This man just took an old crumpled envelope, that didn't look good enough to hold a receipted gas bill, and stuck this important letter in it. Then he jabbed it into a card rack, where everyone could see it. The police never suspected for a moment that their man would do such a simple thing, and they passed over this old envelope a dozen times. You see they were looking in the hard places, while, all the while, it was in the easiest place."
"Well, what's the answer?" asked Innis, as Paul came to a stopping place.
"Why can't Dick do the same thing?" asked his chum.
"How do you mean?" that young man wanted to know.
"Why, just get an old advertising envelope, put your papers in that, and jab it up back of that looking glass," and Paul indicated a mirror on a side of the car. "Let part of the envelope stick out, Dick, and if those men search until doomsday they'll never find it."
"I believe you're right!" Dick cried. "I'll do it."
"It will be safer than carrying the papers in your pocket," went on Paul, "for there's no telling when you may be held up, and searched. Your uncle might hire some one to pose as a road agent just to get a chance to go through your clothes."
"That's right," agreed Innis.
"But they'll never think of taking an old advertisement envelope, that looks as though it was just stuck away behind the mirror and forgotten," went on Paul.
"You're right—we'll fool 'em!" cried Dick, and at the next stopping place this simple trick was carried out.