“All we ask,” he grumbled. “Oars? Ah, yes! There they are. Now to tip her over.”
This he accomplished without a sound. The oars dropped silently into their places. He was in the act of pushing the boat into the black hole of water when a blood-curdling scream, coming from the shore side, froze every drop of blood in his veins.
“They—they got her!” he gasped. “And after all this!”
For a space of many seconds his heart stood still. Then it raced like an engine without a governor.
“They’ve got her. Will they keep her? We’ll see!”
Red’s fighting blood was up. And could Red fight? Ask the boys of the gridiron. Count them as they go down before him; one, two, three. Yes, Red could fight. He could fight steel and had; could fight hard opponents on the gridiron. And as for these kidnapers—dirty dogs, buzzards, beasts in human form—he’d show ’em!
* * * * * * * *
It was at this same hour that Tom Howe received a visitor, and a very curious specimen of humanity he was. You will need to become well acquainted with him, as he plays an important role in our story. That is one of the jolly features of this life we live; on life’s stage the humblest individual can, and often does, play an important role.
This visitor, who knocked timidly on the young detective’s door just as he was dressing, was known all up and down the river front as “The Rat.” I say he was known; the truth is that he was known to but a few. As a sort of compensation, those few knew him very well. Tom Howe knew him well.
He had a curious occupation, did the Rat. He found out things that people wished to know. And his particular province was the river. He never left it save to deliver a message. At night, in a narrow boat, little more than a canoe and painted dark gray inside and out, he might have been seen cruising up and down the river. Or rather, he was not likely to be seen; his craft and his dirty, dull-colored garb blended in with breakwaters, with piles and all manner of dark and shadowy places.