“It might be. Don’t seem likely, though. That bullet struck the side of a steel car.”
“Might have glanced. Mighty fine evidence. Find the gun that fired this bullet and you’ve got the man. Gun scratches the bullet as no other gun would. Microscope brings out that, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does. You find the man and his gun. I’ll do the rest.” Howe gave vent to a low chuckle. “Nothing would please me more! Not a nice thing, this being shot at.”
“Kidnapers are not nice people.” Drew’s tone changed. “Fact is, they’re about the worst people in all the world. Should be shot at sunrise, every man of ’em.
“It’s not so bad,” he philosophized, “stealing diamonds. They’re only a lot of stones after all. And money. ‘Who steals my purse steals trash. ’Twas mine. ’Tis his, and has been a curse to thousands.’
“But think!” He sprang to his feet. “Think of the cowards that steal a human life, a helpless woman, an innocent child, and then send back word, ‘Money, much money, or we will take the life of this one we have snatched.’
“That—why, that’s like going into battle holding a woman before you to stop the bullets! Howe, old boy, we’ve got a task laid out for us, a man-sized task, and we’re going to do it! You see if we don’t!”
Howe smiled in a quiet way. A quiet chap, was this slender detective; quiet, but feared in the underworld as many a big blustering cop was not.
“Drew,” he said after a long silence, “why did they snatch the Red Rover?”
“Revenge, perhaps. The university has been fighting kidnapers. Think what a bold stroke it would be to carry off their super-star just a few days before the final great game of the season!”