THE FIREBUG
CHAPTER I
THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
It was midnight. The room in which Johnny Thompson sat was a place of odd noises and strange flashes of light. Here in the corner a tick-ticking was followed by a yellow light that curved upward, over, then down; upward, over and down again. A gong sounded from overhead. A shadowy form moved across the floor. Instantly came the clatter of a score of instruments sounding as one and a score of yellow lights curved up, over and down; up, over and down again. After that a voice said:
“Cross and Fifty-fifth Streets. The Arlington Flats. The Arlington Flats. Cross and Fifty-fifth Streets.”
There followed twenty seconds of silence; then in a hollow tone, as if coming from the heart of a tree, there sounded the repeated words:
“Cross and Fifty-fifth Streets. The Arlington Flats. Cross and Fifty-fifth Streets.” Then again there was silence.
All this while, on a great board above and before him, Johnny saw a hundred and fifty glowing spots of light. The spots of light seemed like eyes—red, white and green eyes that stared and blinked at him. Even as he looked, two of them blinked out—a red one and a white one.
As he read the meaning of those extinguished lights he again caught the click-click from the corner and saw again the yellow light shoot up and over and down.
This time, however, he heard a voice from another corner say:
“Johnny, that’s one of yours. School at Fourteenth and Van Buren.”