CHAPTER XIII
JIMMIE SETS A TRAP
It was well after dark when he set out from his home that night. In a leather bag he carried a strange assortment of items. An old camera with a good lens and shutter, coils of wire, some dry batteries, flashlight and flash bulbs were mingled with various types of tools.
He headed straight for the big, shadowy, abandoned house. Had John been at the hideout he most surely would have passed that way and taken him along. The old house had always inspired within him a sense of dread. “As if it were haunted,” he had said more than once. John was off on a special reporting job so there was nothing to do but go alone, for his “trap” must be set.
Arrived at the old house he paused for a moment to look and listen. If those men staged a sudden return he must be prepared for instant flight.
Hearing no sound, he applied John’s key and found himself inside the vast, echoing castle. From somewhere a bat sprang into the air to go snap-snapping away. The silence that followed seemed to speak of grandeur that was gone forever, of splendid prancing horses, high traps, liveried coachmen, and grand ladies.
“How different it must have been,” he thought to himself.
But he must be about his task. Shaking himself free of dreams he began flashing his light about the room. It at last came to rest on a framed picture, the faded print of a moonlit bay.
“That’ll do,” he told himself.
Removing the picture from its hook he pried away the board that had for so long held the picture in place, then with a sharp knife cut out the golden moon. When he returned the picture to its spot the old camera was securely attached to it. Its lens had replaced the paper moon that had done duty all too long.
“There,” he breathed.