TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.

—The transcriber of this project created the book cover image using the front cover of the original book. The image is placed in the public domain.

BANNER BOY SCOUTS
MYSTERY

THE BANNER
BOY SCOUTS
MYSTERY

By

GEORGE A. WARREN

☆

THE WORLD SYNDICATE
PUBLISHING–.COMPANY
CLEVELAND.————NEW YORK

Published 1937 by
The World Syndicate Publishing Co.

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

BANNER BOY SCOUTS
MYSTERY

CHAPTER I

Lost

“Ken! Ken Armstrong! Dinner is ready.”

“I’m coming, Mother,” he called from his room upstairs.

Hurriedly he finished brushing his hair and raced downstairs to the dining room. His father was already at the table and waiting for the children to take their places. Mrs. Armstrong in the meanwhile was adding the finishing touches in setting the table. “Before you sit down, Ken,” his mother told him, “will you please go out and call Betty. She must be outside somewhere playing.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Ken obeyed and went outside to look for his younger sister, who was five years old. It was a day in the latter part of August, warm, clear. Stepping out on the porch, he called out, “Betty! Betty!”

There was no answer. Ken looked in the yard, then in the garage where she sometimes climbed into the back of the car and amused herself playing with her doll. But she was not there either. Ken walked across the street and rang the Smiths’ doorbell. Mrs. Smith herself answered and Ken asked, “Is Betty here, Mrs. Smith?”

She shook her head. “No,” she answered. “She was playing with my little Helen until about an hour ago, when she left.”

“Thank you,” Ken said and walked away. On the sidewalk, he paused to think of all the places where she might be. Ken walked further down the street and stopped at the Morrison home. Paul answered the doorbell. “Hello, Ken,” he called.

“Hello, Paul. Is Betty here playing with your little brother?”

“Why, no, Ken. Pete has been at the park all day and has just returned.”

“That’s strange,” muttered Ken.

“What’s strange?”

“I can’t seem to find her.”

“Oh, you’ll find her,” Paul assured his friend. “She may be playing with little Karliner across the street.”

“That’s right. I didn’t think of it. Thanks, Paul.”

“So long, Ken. Don’t forget the meeting tonight.”

“I won’t,” Ken called back over his shoulder. He went across the street to the Karliner home and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Karliner opened the door. “Is Betty here?” he asked.

“No,” answered the youthful woman. “Betty and Karl had a childish quarrel this morning and they quit playing together.”

“Until tomorrow,” remarked Ken, laughing.

“Yes, no matter how much they quarrel the children always come together again,” she said, also laughing.

“And it is a good thing they do,” added the boy.

“Yes. And in that respect, grown ups would do well to take after children.”

“You are right, Mrs. Karliner.” Ken edged away from the doorway. “You will excuse me, but I have to find Betty.”

The woman smiled and closed the door. Ken walked back toward his own house. He was puzzled and couldn’t think where else his younger sister might be. Usually she was somewhere in the neighborhood. If she wasn’t in her own yard, she could always be found either at the Morrisons, the Smiths or the Karliners. But today she wasn’t at any one of those places. As he entered his own yard, Ken thought of one other place where she might be. Around the corner was a small park where Mrs. Armstrong very often took the child to play. Perhaps she had gone there with some other child. Ken thought he better run over there in a hurry before his mother became worried. However, there were only a few children there because it was dinner time. And no Betty. He walked through the playground twice. No sign of his sister.

For the first time, Ken became anxious. Of course, she was not lost, he thought to himself. But where could she be? Slowly he walked home without coming to any definite opinion. Stepping onto the porch noiselessly, he hesitated to enter the house. If he told his mother he could not find Betty, she might become frightened. He conceived another idea. Walking around to the side of the house, he peeked through the window into the dining room. Seeing that his mother was not there, he knocked on the window and motioned for his father to come outside. Mr. Armstrong came out onto the porch. “What’s the trouble, Ken?” he asked.

The boy tried hard not to look anxious. “Dad, I can’t seem to find Betty,” he whispered.

Mr. Armstrong was a tall, heavy set man. He tugged at his close cropped mustache and muttered, “You can’t seem to find her, eh? Did you look everywhere?”

“I did.”

“At the Morrisons?”

“Yes. I was also at the Smiths, the Karliners and at the park, Dad. She was not at any one of those places.”

“Hmm!” mused Mr. Armstrong. “She must be somewhere around, Ken. Let us first search the yard thoroughly.”

Together they looked over the yard and then the garage. But the child was not there. Finally they stopped their search. “You say that you were to the park, at the Morrisons, the Smiths, the Karliners?” asked Mr. Armstrong.

“Yes, Dad.”

“Can you think of anywhere else she might be? Do you know of any other child she occasionally plays with?”

Just then Mrs. Armstrong came out onto the porch and called, “Ken, John, what are you doing out here when you are supposed to be at the dinner table? And where is Betty?”

Mr. Armstrong walked slowly over to his wife and said, “Now, Edna, don’t you become upset. It seems that Betty is nowhere where she usually plays. Do you know of any other child she sometimes plays with and with whom she might be now?”

Mrs. Armstrong became very pale. “Were you to the Karliners, Ken?” she queried anxiously.

“Yes, mother.”

“Now don’t you become alarmed, Edna. The child is somewhere around. But she may have walked off alone somewhere or she might be playing at some house.”

“Were you to the Johnsons?” Mrs. Armstrong asked. Ken shook his head. “Then run over and see. And if she is not there, stop in at the McKinlys.”

Ken was off at a run. The Johnson home was at the end of the street. Junior himself opened the door and Ken bent down to question the child. “Is Betty here?” he asked.

The little boy shook his head and muttered, “Nah.” Mrs. Johnson came to the door and he asked her the same question. “Why, no,” she replied. “She never comes. I would like very much for her to come and play with Junior, but she never does. I guess it is a little too far away for her.”

Ken was anxious to be off. “Yes, I guess so,” he answered. “Excuse me.” And he was off.

The McKinly home was across the street. But she was not there either. Ken walked away deeply concerned. Returning home he found his parents awaiting him, their faces drawn and worried. At the news that the child was neither at the Johnsons nor the McKinlys, Mrs. Armstrong clenched her fingers. Her husband stood up. “She must have walked off somewhere,” he said. “I’ll notify the police and have them search for her.”

“Wait a minute, Dad,” cried Ken. “Perhaps she is in her room.”

Without losing a second, he dashed up the stairs. A minute later he was coming down slowly. By the expression on his face the parents could tell that she was not in her room. Mr. Armstrong walked to the foyer where the telephone was and they could hear him calling the police and giving a detailed description of the child. She was five years old, blonde hair and blue eyes, weighed between forty-five and fifty pounds and was about twenty-six or twenty-seven inches tall. His task completed, he returned to the dining room. He put an arm around his wife’s shoulder and said, “Now, don’t worry, Edna. The child most likely has walked off by herself and she will be found. You will have her again in half an hour.”

Ken jumped out of his chair and dashed out of the house. He ran over to the Morrison home and called Paul. Drawing his friend aside, he whispered, “Paul, call the troop together. We cannot find Betty and we have to make a search for her.”

“That’s too bad,” replied Paul. “I’m sure no harm has come to her and we will find her.”

The two boys walked off to call the boys together. Some of the Boy Scouts lived in the immediate neighborhood while the others were reached by telephone. Practically every one of them knew Betty by sight, but just to make sure a description of her was passed around. Within ten minutes the entire Stanhope Troop No. 1 was out on the streets and searching for the child. In the meanwhile the police had also sent out an alarm and were combing the town to find Betty. The news had spread and many townspeople had joined in the search.

For the next half hour every nook and corner of the town was ransacked. Many a little girl was stopped and asked if her name was Betty Armstrong. But always it was a shake of the head and the word no. Suddenly the news spread that the search was off and that the child was safely home. Ken, who was with Paul, sprinted home. The two boys burst into the house and found Betty sitting very calmly at the table having her dinner. Quite innocently she shook a finger a her big brother and scolded him. “You’re late,” she told him. “Mama is angry if you come late for dinner.”

The two boys, hot and out of breath as they were, couldn’t resist laughing at the innocent humor of the child. “Where were you?” Ken demanded.

Just then Mr. Armstrong came in. Seeing his missing child at the table, he sighed with relief. Mrs. Armstrong came in from the kitchen and said, “You men better have your dinner right away, before it gets spoiled.”

Paul moved away, saying, “I will wait for you upstairs, Ken, in your room.”

“Jack is also upstairs,” mentioned Mrs. Armstrong. “He found the child and brought her home.”

Paul walked upstairs while Mr. Armstrong turned to his wife and asked, “Where did he find her?”

“On Leonard Street.”

“So far away!” exclaimed Ken. “Leonard Street is at the edge of the town.”

“Yes.”

“What was she doing there?” asked Mr. Armstrong.

“Who knows?” his wife exclaimed.

Ken turned to his younger sister. “What were you doing so far away from home?” he demanded.

“Don’t bother the child now,” asserted his mother. “Let us eat now. You can ask her all the questions you want later or tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The family settled down to their meal and for the present tried to forget the anxiety and worry the child had caused them.

As soon as he could get away from the table, Ken did so and raced upstairs. Dashing into his room, he called out, “Hello, Jack.”

“Hello, Ken. I hear Betty gave you a bad scare.”

“And how!” added Paul. “The only ones we did not have searching for her were the marines, and only because there are none in Stanhope.”

“Yes, that is just what I want to ask you about, Jack. How did you come to find her?” asked Ken.

“I was out that way visiting Bud Menninger. You know him, don’t you, Ken?”

“Yes, he is the fellow who wants to join our troop, isn’t he?”

“That’s right,” answered Jack. “Well, I was riding home on my bicycle when I happened to notice Betty walking along, all by herself. I was so surprised, I wouldn’t believe my eyes at first. I couldn’t imagine what she would be doing so far away from home. At any rate, I jumped off my bike and approached her and then I saw that it was really her. She was sucking a large peppermint stick.”

“Sucking a peppermint stick!” exclaimed Ken. “Who gave it to her?”

“That is just the point. I asked her and she replied that a man gave it to her.”

“A man!—”

Paul interrupted. “Don’t interrupt, Ken,” he said. “Listen to the rest of the story. It is mighty interesting.”

“All right, I won’t interrupt. Go on.”

“Well, I questioned her a little more,” continued Jack, “and she told me that she was walking home from the Smiths when a man stopped her and asked if she wanted some candy. Like a child, she couldn’t refuse. So he took her by the hand and he bought her that peppermint stick she was sucking.”

“Then what?” Ken asked eagerly.

“From further questioning, it seems that after he bought her the candy, they just kept on walking. I looked her over closely and saw that she was not all frightened or hurt in any way. So it seems that the man who took her walking, did not harm her in the least.”

“But how come he left her at the edge of the town all by herself. A man must be crazy to do a thing like that.”

“Now that is a clue,” spoke up Paul. “An ordinary man would not do a thing like that.”

“Clue!” exclaimed Ken, surprised. “What sort of clue? What are you talking about?”

“Let me finish,” urged Jack. “As I was talking to her, I noticed that she kept one hand behind her back. I asked her why and she just shrugged her shoulders. I looked and I saw that she was clutching a card in her little fist. I asked where she got it and she told me that the man gave it to her before he left her. I asked her to give it to me and she did. Here it is.”

Jack held up the white card, three inches by two inches. The boys huddled together, examining it. “Why, it is just a plain, blank, white card!” exclaimed Ken.

“That’s right. But what is the meaning of it?” asked Jack.

There was no answer. The three boys were mystified. The whole story sounded very odd and the card made it all the more perplexing. “From all the evidence at hand,” remarked Paul, “I am convinced that there must be something wrong with the man who walked off with the child.”

“But that’s just it,” exploded Ken. “If there is something wrong with the man, he must be found out and put away into an asylum. He can’t be permitted to roam the streets and walk away with children.”

“And if Paul’s suggestions are correct,” added Jack, “God knows what other tricks he might be up to and what damage he may be doing.”

“Now let’s think this out calmly and logically,” said Paul. “First did you ask Betty to describe the man?”

“I did,” replied Jack. “But all she would say was that he was tall and very kind to her.”

“There are many tall men in town. That is no clue,” said Ken.

Paul rose. “We certainly have to look into the matter and see what we can do.”

“What can we do?” asked Ken. “As far as I know there are no crazy people in Stanhope and only a lunatic would do a thing like that.”

“We have about an hour before the meeting,” suggested Jack. “Suppose we go down to Leonard Street and look around.”

Just then Mr. Armstrong came in. “Hello, Jack,” he greeted.

“Hello, Mr. Armstrong.”

He saw that the boys seemed to be on the verge of leaving and he said, “I hope I am not keeping you boys from going on your way.”

“Well, we were preparing to leave, but—” that from Ken.

“I merely want to ask Jack about his finding Betty.”

Jack repeated his story, leaving out the part about the white card. For a while there was silence. Mr. Armstrong mused. Finally he said, “It must have been some man who knows the family and bought her some candy.”

“But why should he leave her at the end of the town to walk back alone,” demanded Ken.

Mr. Armstrong shrugged his shoulders wearily. “I can’t understand that myself,” he said. “But the fact remains that the child was not harmed. Which leads us to the conclusion that the man must have been a friend.”

The boys had no desire to argue with the older man and so they left it at that. In the street, Ken asked, “Why did you leave out that part about the white card, Jack?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” was the answer. “I figured that if I told him about it, he would give it over to the police, and then it would get into the newspapers and then everybody would know about it. And the guilty man, even if he is crazy, would know better than to do anything to give himself away. As it is, nobody knows, except the three of us, and by a little quiet work we may track the culprit down.”

“I think you did right,” spoke up Paul.

“That is to be seen,” added Ken skeptically.

The boys walked down to Leonard Street and Jack pointed out the exact spot where he came upon Betty. The neighborhood was one occupied mostly by the poorer people of the town. Of course, there was nothing to be found in the way of clues. They walked all around the neighborhood and noticed the various shacks and empty lots but did not come across any man that was tall and kindly looking. At last they decided to give up the search and go to a meeting of their boy scout troop, the Red Fox Patrol.

All the other boys—Nuthin’, The Carberry twins, William and Wallace, Bobolink, Bluff—were already there when the three arrived. Pressed for information, Jack for the third time re-told his story.

CHAPTER II

Fire!

Several days passed and although the boys had not forgotten the incident, they did nothing to look for the culprit. The only evidence they had was the white card and the information that the man was tall.

It was about five-thirty and the boys were coming from the baseball field. Paul and William, walking ahead, turned into Water Street, and the rest of the boys followed them. At about the middle of the street, they suddenly heard the weird cry, “Fire! Help! Fire!”

The boys stopped in their tracks and looked around to find where the cry was coming from. Paul began to run and the boys followed him. They came upon a two story frame house. Dense clouds of smoke came billowing out of the doorway. Paul turned to the one nearest him, who happened to be William, and ordered, “Call the Fire Department! Hurry!”

William set off at a run. Paul, followed by the other boys, ran to the back of the house. He cried, “A couple of you try to find buckets and water. The others stick around and form a water brigade until the firemen come.”

Pushing open the back door, he dashed into the house. He noticed that the smoke was dense at the front door. Just as he turned to run up the stairs, tongues of flames shot out of the smoke. The thought came to him that the fire had started at the front door. But how? Why? At the front door, of all places.

He raced upstairs and threw open the first door that he came upon. No one there. He dashed for the next room. An old man and woman, in their late seventies, if not older, were rushing back and forth, picking up things and dropping them. They were so bewildered, they did not know what to do. As Paul dashed in, they rushed at him and clung to his arms. They were absolutely speechless; they did nothing but tremble. Paul shook them off and rushed to the window, threw it open and cried to the boys below, “Get a ladder! Get a ladder!”

He looked for the firemen but they had not yet arrived. Every second seemed to him an hour. He saw the boys scatter in a frantic search for a ladder. The five minutes that elapsed to procure a ladder seemed like an age. At last Bobolink came running up with a ladder and he placed it under the window. But it was too short, and Paul cried, “Get something to stand it on. A box. Anything.”

Bobolink scurried to find something upon which to stand the ladder. A minute later he returned with a soap box. The ladder was stood on the box and several of the boys supported it. Paul helped the old woman through the window onto the ladder. “One of you boys climb up and help her down.”

He saw the boys hesitate. Evidently they thought that the ladder would not hold. In the meanwhile, the woman, trembling and bewildered, almost fell from the ladder. Bluff raced up and directed the woman’s legs, rung by rung. The old woman at last descended and collapsed in Ken’s arms. Paul turned to the old man. “Is there anybody else in the house?” he asked briskly.

The old man nodded his head vigorously. “Downstairs,” his trembling lips mumbled. “A baby in a crib.”

“Which room?”

The old man’s teeth chattered so violently that he could not speak. Again Paul demanded to know which room the child was in but the old man could not talk. He almost hurled the man through the window as he helped him to gain a footing on the ladder. Without waiting another instant, Paul dashed out of the room and down the stairs which by now were crackling with flames. The last couple of steps were so badly burned that he had to jump. He scurried about wildly and at last found what he was searching for—a pail of water. Dipping his handkerchief into it, he clasped the wet rag over his mouth and nostrils. Layers of heavy smoke whirled all about him. He walked along the wall and listened carefully. An infant’s wailing came to his ears and he searched frantically for the door. Finding it at last, he threw it open and stepped in quickly. He brought in with him a dense cloud of smoke. He moved blindly about the room, directed only by the cries of the infant. He stumbled against the crib and clasped the child to him. Smoke entered his lungs and he began to cough. He felt choked and was sure he was going to collapse before he managed to get out. He heard a shattering crash. Someone had broken the window and he ran to it. He felt someone take the child from him and direct him to the broken window. Someone lifted him almost bodily through the window and the next moment he fainted.

About fifteen or twenty minutes after the alarm had been sent in, the Volunteer Fire Brigade came clanging down the street. Immediately they pulled out the hose and set to work. Captain Bob was there. It was he who had helped Paul through the window. About a minute after Paul had been taken out of the house, there was a terrible shattering and crackling. From all sides of the house streaks of flame spurted forth, until the whole building was enveloped in a sheet of flame.

Paul came to and opened his eyes to find his father bending over him. “Are you all right, fellow?” Dr. Morrison asked.

Paul sat up and blinked his eyes. He nodded. “I’m all right, Dad. What are you doing here?”

“Just happened to come along.”

His father helped him to his feet and he found the boys crowding around him. “How do you feel?” asked William.

Paul nodded. Ken remarked, “Some fire eater you are.”

He smiled and turned to watch the firemen fighting the blazing structure. “What happened to the old couple?” he asked.

“They are all right,” answered Nuthin’. “They wouldn’t have been, though, if it hadn’t been for you.”

Bobolink added, “The child would surely have perished if not for you, Paul.”

Just then a policeman came and pushed them all back. Some moments later the front door fell in with a shattering thud. The firemen poured gallons of water into the blaze but it did not seem to help. The fire ate through the wooden house and ten minutes later one of the walls collapsed. A groan rose up from the watching crowd and some turned their heads away. As the wall collapsed tongues of flame and dense smoke came shooting out. Some of the firemen retreated and then returned to continue their struggle with the blaze.

Another wall caved in and eventually the roof of the house came crashing down. Captain Bob realized that further effort was futile and he ordered his firemen to just stand around and let the fire burn itself out. Soon the house was a heap of ashes and smoldering pieces of wood. The firemen left and the crowd dispersed.

CHAPTER III

Paul Looks Into the Matter

Jack was sitting on the Morrison porch. It was about eight o’clock in the evening of the same day. Ken came walking up through the yard. “Hello, Ken.”

“Hello, Jack. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for Paul.”

Ken came onto the porch and sat down beside his friend. “Did Paul call you too?” he asked.

“That’s right. He told me over the telephone that he had something important to talk over.”

“He told me the same thing. I wonder what it is.”

“Perhaps it is something about the fire.”

“Well, let’s not guess, but wait for Paul to tell us instead.”

Several minutes later, Paul came out. “Hello, fellows,” he called.

“Hello, Paul.”

“Hello, Paul. What is it you have to tell us?” asked Jack.

“Let’s go where we will have some privacy,” answered Paul.

Paul led them into the garage and the three boys piled into the back of the car. “Now,” said Ken, “you can tell us without anyone overhearing us. Don’t keep us in suspense any longer or we will collapse of curiosity.”

“First tell us how you feel,” spoke up Jack. “Any after effects from the smoke?”

“I feel perfectly all right,” was the answer. “Now, this is what I want to talk to you about.”

“Yes, what is it all about?”—that from Ken.

“Jack,” began Paul, “do you still have that white card? You know the one I mean.”

“Of course. I still have it, certainly. What about it?”

“Will you show it to me?”

Jack began to look through his pockets. Finally he confessed, “I guess I don’t have it with me. I must have left it home, in my other coat pocket.”

“What about the card?” asked Ken.

“Only this,” replied Paul gravely. And he showed them the card. “Is it the same card?” he asked.

Jack examined it very closely. “To me it appears as though it is the very self-same card. How did you get it?”

“Now listen closely,” whispered Paul. The other two boys leaned over. “I rushed down the burning stairs to find the room in which the child was. Well, I was groping along the wall with my hands because I couldn’t see a thing. I came upon the door and I moved my hand up and down trying to find the knob when I came upon something sticking in the doorway. Without thinking any further, I grabbed it and shoved it into my pocket.” Paul paused to add emphasis to his forthcoming statement. “And that thing was this card,” he concluded.

The boys gasped. “This card!” exclaimed Jack.

“Are you sure?” asked Ken.

“Absolutely positive,” asserted Paul.

“But how did it get there?”

“That is something I don’t know and which I would very much like to know.”

For about a minute the boys sat there in silence, overcome with amazement. Jack jumped out of the car. “Come on, fellows,” he called.

“Where to?” asked Paul.

“To my house. I want to find that card.”

Jack was so excited, he had difficulty in restraining himself from running. The other boys kept up with him, walking briskly. At the Stormways home, Jack rushed up the steps of the porch. “You wait here,” he called over his shoulder to his companions.

Two minutes later he came rushing out of the doorway. “Here it is,” he cried, waving the white card.

The two cards were compared; they were identical in every respect. “This is getting to be serious,” whispered Ken.

“Terribly serious,” added Ken. “We must do something about it. The man must be absolutely crazy.”

“Crazy is not the word,” said Paul. “Dangerous is more fitting. If he is permitted to roam the streets without being stopped, only God knows what damage he will do and what crimes he may commit.”

“But what can we do?” Jack questioned anxiously. “Our suspicions are only a hunch. These cards may only be an accident.”

“No,” said Paul, shaking his head. “My opinion is that this is no accident but the work of a distorted mind.”

The boys sat down on the porch. At a loss as to the meaning of it all, they remained silent. Paul whispered, “I’ll tell you what we can do, though.”

“What?”

“Let’s go over and see Captain Bob.”

“What for?” queried Ken.

“I want to ask his opinion on the origin of the fire.”

“Well, that won’t hurt any,” remarked Jack.

The three boys set off. Captain Bob himself opened the door for them and led them into the living room. Turning to Paul, the Captain said, “You are the boy that dashed into the burning building this afternoon, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but it was really nothing.”

Captain Bob sat himself down and pointed the boys to seats. “Well,” he drawled, “you are a modest boy. But if it hadn’t been for you, the old folks and the child would have burned to cinders.”

“If I had not entered, one of the other boys would have,” he answered. “We were the first on the scene, you know.”

“Yes, so I understand. But what is it I can do for you boys?”

Paul leaned forward in his chair. “Captain Bob,” he said, “we came over to ask you your opinion on the origin of the fire.”

“Just what do you want to know?”

Paul hesitated, not knowing exactly how to put his question. He said, “What I want to know, Captain, is whether you think the fire was—er,—an accident, or whether you think someone started the fire.”

“You are asking very serious questions,” replied Captain, knitting his brows.

“Yes, I know, but I am very much interested and—”

“May I ask why you should be interested?” asked the old man shrewdly.

“It’s only because,—er,—when I dashed into the building, I noticed something very odd about the fire.”

“Just what do you mean?”

“Well, as we ran up to the house, we noticed smoke pouring out of the front door. I dashed inside by the back door and then I saw that most of the smoke and fire seemed to be at the threshold of the front door. Now that is very odd.”

“Yes, you are quite right, my boy,” answered Captain Bob. “As a matter of fact, the front door caved in first. However, I came to the fire a little too late to really judge the cause or origin of the fire. But it did seem to me that there was something odd about the whole thing.”

“Was there anything about the fire that would lead you to believe that it was an accident or perhaps—er,—otherwise?” asked Paul, pressing his point.

Captain Bob scratched his chin thoughtfully and said, “My dear boy, you are asking some very serious questions that may get you into trouble.”

Paul insisted. “Just the same, would you form an opinion?”

“No, I really couldn’t because, as I said before, I came to the fire too late. I had no chance to look into the cause of the fire and now that the house is a heap of ashes, the chances of finding any clue is very slight. Suppose you tell me your opinion, my boy.”

“To be quite frank, Captain, I think that the fire was started by some pyromaniac.”

The Captain sat up in his chair. “What makes you think so?” he demanded suddenly.

Paul hesitated. He did not want to give himself away. “Just a hunch,” he replied.

Captain Bob sank back into his chair. For what seemed a very long time there was absolute silence. The Captain seemed to be musing over something and the boys had nothing more to say. Paul rose and his friends did likewise. “Thank you, Captain Bob,” said Paul. “I guess we will be going now.”

Escorting them to the door, the Captain said, “Don’t thank me. I am glad you came.” He hesitated. “And,—er,—don’t you go around talking about a pyromaniac, my boy. It may get you into trouble.”

“I won’t, Captain,” promised Paul.

“Goodnight, boys.”

“Goodnight, Captain Bob.”

The boys walked along for some few steps in silence. Ken spoke up. “That talk with the captain didn’t help much, did it, Paul?”

“No, very little. But I have now become more convinced than ever that the fire was the work of a mentally distorted person.”

“You count me in on that,” added Jack. “I certainly agree with you. But what can we do about it, that is the problem.”

“Doesn’t seem as if we can do anything for the present,” muttered Ken.

“Guess you’re right,” answered Paul thoughtfully. A moment later he added, “Tomorrow let us try and obtain a better description of the man from your sister, Betty, Ken. If she can tell us a few things on how he looks and the sort of clothes he wears, that would help a lot.”

“It certainly would,” agreed Ken. “We will try it tomorrow.”

“Yes. In the meanwhile there is nothing else we can do tonight. So I am for going home,” announced Paul.

“Same here.”

“Me too.”

The boys separated and went home. The following morning, they met again at Ken’s home. Taking Betty out into the yard, the boys tried to get some information from her about the man who had taken her for a walk and then deserted her at the end of the town. But the child had already forgotten him entirely and their efforts were in vain.

CHAPTER IV

Detectives

That afternoon, William went to the Stanhope Free Public Library to return a book. Walking in back of the room in search of a good novel, he came upon Paul hunched over a stack of newspapers. “What are you up to now, Paul?” he asked in a whisper.

“Tell you later.”

“A mystery, huh?” William joked.

Paul smiled and waved his friend away. “Leave me alone now,” he said, “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“Very well.”

William walked away and Paul returned to his stack of newspapers. He spent almost three hours going through the papers of the past two months. Tired, he decided to stop there. Besides, he was quite satisfied with the information he had obtained. He left the library and walked home. On the way he stopped to call for Ken but did not find him in. Crossing the street to his own home he found Jack, Ken and William on the porch waiting for him. “Well, what is the secret?” cried William. “Tell us.”

Paul motioned to the boys to follow him and he led them to the garage where they would be assured of privacy. The boys found boxes on which to sit and they gathered around Paul. “Well, what is it?” asked Jack.

“I have spent about three hours in the library this afternoon,” Paul informed them “and—”

“William told us that already,” interrupted Ken.

“I have been going through the newspapers for the past weeks,” continued Paul.

“What for?” asked Jack.

“I was looking up the fire reports. In the past two months there have been four fires, one each two weeks or so.”

“What about it?” Jack wanted to know.

“Can’t you fellows see for yourselves?” asked Paul, irritated by their indifference. “Don’t you think that in a small town such as this, a fire every two weeks is very much above the average?”

“Say,” cried Ken, “you have hit upon something. Come to think of it, that is a pretty high average.”

“But what has that to do with the story?” asked Jack.

“Simply this,” answered Paul. “Under normal conditions, there would not be such frequent fires. In other words, all the fires of the past two months may or may not have been caused accidentally.”

“You don’t think yesterday’s fire was an accident?” questioned William.

“No,” was Paul’s categorical answer.

William raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was not acquainted with the facts of the case as the other boys were. “What therefore is the conclusion?” asked Jack.

“It is evident,” returned Paul. “For the past two months at least one fire, or more has been started by a maniac.”

“This thing is becoming worse and worse,” commented Ken.

“Yes,” Paul said gravely, “the situation is very serious and it is up to us to do something.”

“Why is it up to us?” asked William. But just as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew the answer.

“Because,” was Paul’s answer, “we are the only ones who seem to be acquainted with the situation and our suspicions are quite definite.”

“Don’t you think it might be wise to acquaint the police with our suspicions?” inquired Ken.

“I am against doing anything of the sort,” stated Jack. “If we do that, there will be a public scandal. It will be in every newspaper in town and the culprit, whoever he is, will become wary. As it is, we may come upon him by surprise.”

“I agree absolutely,” commented Paul.

“What is our job going to be?” asked William, eager to do something as soon as possible.

“For the present there is only one thing we can do,” said Paul. “We will talk the whole matter over with the boys of the patrol. We are all pretty close friends and we can act as a group. The thing we have to insist upon is secrecy on the part of all the boys and to be always on guard.”

“That alone is not enough,” added William. “I suggest that we also have the boys patrolling the streets, so that in case of anything, they will be Johnny-on-the-spot.”

“That is something we will have to discuss with the rest of the boys,” asserted Paul. “In the meanwhile, suppose we notify the fellows to come to a meeting tonight after supper. Do you think it is all right?”

“Yes, I think that is a very good idea,” commented William. The other boys agreed and it was decided to meet in Ken’s garage.

That evening at about seven, the boys began to congregate in Ken’s garage. They came by one’s and two’s. Fifteen minutes later they were all there except Jack. The boys were curious as to the reason for the meeting and they wanted to start without waiting for the missing member but Paul refused. He suggested that someone run over to call Jack. Bluff volunteered. They waited about five minutes and the messenger returned saying that Jack was not home. Paul remarked, “I wonder where he could have gone?”

Nuthin’ said, “He will most likely be here any minute. In the meanwhile let’s get going.”

“Yes, let’s do that,” echoed Wallace.

Urged on by the other boys, Paul finally consented and the meeting was called to order. Paul then outlined the situation for them, told them the pros and cons of the problem and in conclusion said, “There is one more thing I want to tell you. In going through the newspaper files for information on the fire reports, I noticed that there seemed to be about two weeks difference between fires. In other words, since the last fire was yesterday, we have about two weeks in which to act. The thing for us to do now is not to talk about it to anyone outside of this group and to be always on guard. If we don’t track this maniac down, God knows what damage he is liable to do.”

For a short while there was silence. Nuthin’ grinned and remarked, “What you want us to do, Paul, is for us to become detectives.”

Nuthin’ meant it as a joke but Paul took it seriously. “That is just what I want you to do,” he asserted gravely. “We must all become detectives and find this man.”

“But the information we have is so slight. We really have no clues to work on,” protested Bobolink.

“That is very true,” replied Paul, “but we must do the best we can.”

A little later, the meeting was officially adjourned, but no boy ventured to leave. Their curiosity was aroused by Jack’s not coming to the meeting and they waited around. Paul felt anxious, though he had no reason to be. To Ken, who was sitting beside him, he whispered, “I wonder what happened to Jack!”

Ken shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t imagine. He promised to be here. And he is not home either.”

“That’s just it,” countered Paul. “The fact that he is not home implied that he was on the way over here. But something must have happened on the way to keep him from coming to the meeting.”

“We can go over and see if he is home now.”

“That is a good idea. Let’s go.”

Ken and Paul rose and the other boys did likewise. In a group they walked over to Jack’s house. Ken went in while all the others remained outside. A minute later he emerged and motioned that the missing boy was not home. The boys were disappointed and a few of them became worried. Bobolink commented, “This is becoming serious. We ought to look for him.”

Paul turned the idea down. “You fellows better go home,” he said, “and don’t worry. Jack has a right to go wherever he pleases and if he did not show up at the meeting, there must be a good reason for it.”

“But where could he have gone,” Nuthin’ asked anxiously. “After all, something may have happened to him.”

Paul, though he was anxious himself, made believe that there was nothing to worry about and laughed at the suggestion that something might have happened to Jack. “Most likely he went to see someone or something like that,” he remarked casually. “Nothing serious could have happened to him.”

“Besides, he is the sort of fellow who can take care of himself,” added Ken.

“And what’s more,” argued Paul again, “we don’t know where to look for him. And if we spread an alarm, his folks will become worried and that is something we certainly don’t want.”

“No, I guess you are right, Paul,” agreed Nuthin’.

Several of the other boys nodded and showed willingness to agree with Paul’s idea that they all go home. They walked along as a group until one by one the boys fell out to go home. Finally only Paul and Ken were left. The two boys walked side by side and Paul seemed exceedingly quiet and preoccupied with his thoughts. Ken hesitated to break in upon his friend, but finally he asked, “What are you so quiet and thoughtful about?”

“I wasn’t really thinking of anything,” the other replied.

“We may as well go home, like the others,” suggested Ken.

“No, let’s not do that. Suppose we walk down Main Street a bit. To tell you the truth, I am a bit worried about Jack.”

“Worrying won’t help any,” Ken wisely remarked.

The boys walked down Main Street and then retraced their steps. At Paul’s house, they silently sat down on the steps of the porch and remained like that, neither one uttering a sound.

CHAPTER V

A Suspicious Individual

Now let us see what really happened to Jack. He left his home with the intention of going to the meeting. As he walked along, deeply occupied with his thoughts, he suddenly became conscious of a certain individual that had just passed. Jack turned on his heel and stared at the retreating back of the individual. The man was tall and thin—gaunt; he wore a cap and a jacket and pants that hung like sacks upon him. Jack tried to think what it was about the individual that attracted his attention and he concluded that it was something wild about his appearance, about his bearing. He began to follow the man, sorry that he did not get a good look at the man’s face.

Jack went over the situation in his mind. He wanted to go to the meeting and if he did not come, the boys might feel badly. On the other hand, there was something very suspicious about the person he was following. The man appeared to be very excited, or anxious; he seemed to be very much on the alert, turning his head this way and that way, as though searching for something. Jack felt sorry that he could not get a good look at the man’s face. Perhaps he could do it now, he thought, by walking ahead then walking back toward him; or possibly by hiding in some doorway and obtaining a close view of him as the man passed. But on second consideration, he thought it better not to do that. The man might get a good look at him and remember his face, which would put him at a disadvantage.

Jack decided merely to follow and see what would happen. Twice the man turned around and looked back; Jack decided to cross over to the other side of the street. His heart pounded and he became nervous and excited. He followed, keeping his eyes glued to the back of the suspicious character. The man kept shifting his head in all directions, staring at people, at houses, at everything; his eyes seemed to bore right into things.

The man turned into John Street, usually a deserted street with only several old houses on it. Jack quickly removed the light sweater he was wearing and formed it into a small package under his arm. If the man had noticed him, the fact that he now appeared in a white shirt, carrying a package under his arm, would make the man think him a different person. The man continued walking rapidly with Jack hot on his trail. The street was very poorly lit and Jack was forced to shorten the distance between the man and himself, though he still kept to the wrong side of the street. Coming to a lonely house set on a large plot, the man suddenly dashed behind the wall. Jack felt his excitement increase. He was only sorry that Paul or one of the boys were not with him; not that he felt afraid but for the sake of companionship. He had a weird, creepy feeling to be following a man on a deserted, dark street.

Jack kept on walking as though nothing happened. He made believe that he didn’t see anything unusual. His head square on his shoulders, he kept a careful watch out of the corner of his eye. He saw a large rock on the lot he was passing and immediately he threw himself behind it. Looking from the side of his shelter, he watched the house across the street. Possibly five minutes passed and nothing happened. To him it seemed like hours. At last the man he had been following showed himself at the corner of the house. Warily, the man stuck his head out and looked in all directions. In spite of the distance between them, the man’s wild appearance, his ghostly form outlined in the dark, made Jack shiver; a cold chill ran down his spine.

At last the man came forth and walked away in the direction from which he had come. Waiting until he thought it was safe for him to follow, Jack then rose and sprinted forward until he was within about five yards of his man, who no longer shifted his head back and forth wildly but, instead kept looking straight ahead of him. Jack was glad of that because it made it easier following.

At Main Street, the man turned right. Jack followed and became more convinced that his suspicions were well founded. Beyond any doubt there was either something wrong with the man or else he was a fugitive of some sort, trying to get away. The man turned into Water Street and Jack felt a cold chill break out. Instantly it flashed upon him that the suspicious fire of the previous day had occurred on Water Street. Was the man returning to the place of his crime? Or was he on his way to perpetrate another crime, perhaps set flames to another house in the same neighborhood?

His head turned straight ahead of him, the man walked on briskly. Jack followed. Closer and closer they came to the house that had burned down. When they were within about ten yards of it, the man suddenly stopped in his tracks and very slowly turned around. In the nick of time, Jack dashed into a shadow and was out of sight. The man hesitated and then very slowly approached the heap of ashes and sticks of wood that were once a house. Jack hid himself, watching him closely, wondering what he was up to. Seeing the man approach the heap of ashes, Jack’s emotions got so strong that he could barely control himself. “Easy!” he mumbled to himself. “Take it easy now!”

He flattened himself out on the ground and watched his man who sat down on the bare earth as though in grief. The man’s shoulders heaved and soon Jack heard sobs of genuine sorrow. Jack could not help feeling sorry for the poor chap. He wondered what was wrong with him, that might have caused him to set fire to the house. For by now, Jack was no longer in any doubt as to the man’s guilt.

For some time the man sat there, hunched over, his body trembling and sobbing bitterly. At last he got on his knees and crept forward to the heap of ashes. Picking up a handful, he let the dust slide through his fingers. Five or six times he repeated this action. Finally he took out of his pocket a handkerchief, spread it out on the ground, and piled several handfuls of ashes on it; then gathering the ends together, he made a knot and put the package under his arm. Rising, he looked around and then walked off in the direction of Main Street.

Just as soon as he thought it was safe, Jack was up and following. What was the most reasonable thing to do, he tried to figure out. Should he notify the police? Should he run off and talk it over with Paul or Ken? Or should he do nothing and just follow. Unable to determine what would be his most reasonable action, he continued to follow the man and thought of nothing else.

A block before Main Street, he saw his man suddenly disappear into the side street. Becoming frantic at the thought of losing him, Jack sprinted up to the corner. He saw his man flattening out against the wall of the corner building. Jack hid behind a parked car. Was the man aware of being followed? Jack tried to think whether he had at any moment shown himself. His deliberations were cut short by the man stepping forth again and continuing on his way. Pursuer and pursued turned left on Main Street. The man increased his pace, stretching out his long legs. However, Jack had no difficulty in following. Clear across the town the two went, back to John Street into which the man turned. Jack hesitated for a second before crossing the street. There was something funny about being led back to this deserted street. Could it be possible that he was being led into a trap of some sort? Chucking his anxiety and doubt to the winds, he crossed the street to follow, but by then the man had disappeared. He walked up and down the street but the man did not return.

Jack returned to Main Street. “Whew!” He wiped the perspiration off his brow. That was some night, some chase, he thought to himself. The next moment he felt a pang of regret for having lost track of his man. However, it could not be helped and it would be useless to worry over it. Now that he had a pretty good picture of the individual—even though he had not seen the face—Jack felt certain that he would come upon him again. In the meanwhile he thought it best to go over and see Paul.

Paul and Ken were sitting on the steps of the porch. Side by side, in silence, each mused over his thoughts. Paul noticed someone approach the gate. The next moment he was on his feet and running to meet his chum. “Jack!” he cried, “where have you been?”

Ken also ran up. “Hey!” he spoke harshly, “you had us in stitches. What is the idea of disappearing like that and where have you been?”

Jack smiled. “I am sorry I had you fellows worried,” he said. “But wait until I tell you what happened to me.”

“What?” demanded Paul impatiently.

“Let’s sit down first; I’m tired.”

The boys sat down at the rear of the porch, so as not to be disturbed. Jack told his story and Paul and Ken listened gravely, interrupting every once in a while for some detailed information. They sat so closely together, listened so attentively to the narrative, that an outsider seeing them would have taken them for conspirators. In a sense they were that: they were conspiring on how to capture and rid the neighborhood of a maniac. When Jack had at last concluded, Ken let out a long whistle. Paul whispered, “That proves all my suspicions.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ken. “Let’s re-consider the whole situation. Both of you seem to have the impression that the man is a maniac, crazy. But how do you know that he didn’t contrive the whole thing just to put on a show for Jack’s sake? How do you know what the man was up to? He might have realized that he was being followed and to mislead Jack, he performed a mighty interesting show. We don’t know whether this man is guilty of burning down that house and before we are sure of it, let’s not pass judgement.”

There was silence. Those statements provided plenty of food for thought and all three of them knitted their brows. Paul said, “What you say is true, Ken. Of course, we must not pass judgement hastily. However, somehow I feel that my suspicions are correct.”

Jack nodded. “I feel the same way about it,” he offered as his opinion.

“At any rate,” argued Ken, “let’s wait and see. You say that you would recognize him if you saw him again—”

“Absolutely,” asserted Jack interrupting. “I could pick him out of a million men.”

“Very well, then. In that case, we will watch out for him. In the meanwhile, I suggest that the first thing tomorrow morning we go over to Water Street and examine the place. Perhaps we will find some sort of clue, his footprints if nothing else.”

“It’s too bad we can’t go there tonight,” said Jack.

“No. For one thing, it is too late. And secondly if someone noticed us there tonight, we would be under suspicion. And that would make everything perfect.”

“That’s settled, then,” remarked Ken as he rose. “I am going home. Coming, Jack?”

“Yes. Goodnight, Paul.”

“Goodnight. See you fellows tomorrow morning.”

“Righto!”

CHAPTER VI

The Spy

The following morning, immediately after breakfast, the three boys met and set off for Water Street. At the scene of the fire, Jack pointed out the approximate spot where the man had sat and wept. Searching for footprints, they found many, most of them indistinct and smudged. They continued their search for other possible clues but found none. In the midst of their searchings, however, Paul looking up thought he saw a flitting shadow duck behind a fence across the street. Making believe that he saw nothing, he bent over and continued his investigations; however, he had his eyes glued to the spot. And sure enough, he saw a head protrude. He was amazed. Was it possible that someone was spying on them? Was it possible that the person Jack had followed the evening before had now turned around and was following them?

He called the two boys over. Pretending that he was explaining to them the outline of a footprint, he told them in a few words, of his discovery. “Don’t look now,” he warned his friends; “and don’t both look at the same time.”

Ken joked, saying, “I hope this thing hasn’t got you so that you are beginning to see things.”

“Don’t be funny,” remarked Paul seriously. “Suppose you fellows move off now. Keep an eye on the spot I pointed out to you and don’t give yourselves away.”

The boys separated and pretended to be absorbed in their investigations. They kept this up for about five minutes and then Paul called them and they walked away. “Well?” he asked anxiously.

Jack nodded. “You are right,” he whispered. “I also saw the head protruding from behind the fence watching us.”

“What about you, Ken? Did you see anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I am not as eagle-eyed as you two. I saw nothing suspicious.”

“But I saw him watching us several times,” insisted Paul.

“I saw him only once,” added Jack.

“Well, you two may be right and I wrong,” commented the third companion.

“Who do you think it could be?” asked Jack. “And what do you think his purpose is?”

“How should I know?”

“Do you think it is that man I followed last night?”

Paul hesitated for a moment then shook his head. “No, and I will tell you why. The person you followed last night was tall and gaunt. This individual appeared to me to be about average height and robust. I could tell that from the shadow.”

“Shall I turn around and see if we are being followed?” asked Ken.

“No, don’t do that,” warned Paul. “He might catch on that we know we are being followed. I have a better plan.”

“What?”

“When we get to Main Street, you, Ken, will turn right, wave to us, make believe as though you are saying goodbye. Jack and I will turn left and pretend that we are going home. But instead of actually walking off, Ken, you will dash into a doorway and watch to see if anyone is following us.”

“And if there is?” asked Ken.

“Then you will follow him, naturally,” was Paul’s answer.

“And if there is not?”

“Then you will take a roundabout route and meet us in my house in about half an hour.”

“All right. I’ll do that.”

At Main Street, the group parted, one boy walking off in one direction, while the other two headed in the opposite direction. Ken, just as soon as he parted from his companions, walked to the second store from the corner, a haberdashery, and stared at the window display. Actually, however, his eyes were roaming elsewhere and he was carefully watching the corner. Some people came out of Water Street, but by the look on their faces, by their general appearance and by the fact that they seemed to know exactly which way their direction lay, Ken knew that it was not any one of them. Suddenly he caught his breath. A robust man of medium height emerged from the street and paused at the corner. He wore a light jacket and a Panama hat, the brim pulled down over his forehead.

After standing hesitantly on the corner, he turned left, seemingly bent on following Paul and Jack. Ken crossed the street and followed. The chase continued for several blocks, the man increasing his pace and Ken doing likewise. The two boys were just ahead, crossing Chestnut Street. As the man came to the corner, he turned. Ken stopped at a corner store and looked at the window display. He watched the man walk to the middle of the block and then turn into the yard of a private house. Ken scratched his head and wondered.

The two boys were awaiting him. As Ken came up the walk to the porch, Paul asked, “Well?”

Ken nodded meaningfully and the two boys were re-assured of their suspicions. Joining his companions, he muttered, “This man hunt is getting me. I’m afraid that before it is all over I am going to go crazy.”

“Why? What’s the matter?” inquired Jack.

“Do you know who was following us?” Ken put the question very gravely and looked from one boy to the other.

“Who?”

“Captain Bob.”

The announcement came as a shock, almost overwhelming them. Each boy searched the face of the other for some meaning or understanding. But all of them were just as puzzled. Paul repeated the name, “Captain Bob! But why should he follow us?”

Ken shrugged his shoulders. “Are you sure it was he?” questioned Jack, his demeanor grave and serious.

“I am absolutely positive. After all, I know the man. It’s true I didn’t see his face—”

Paul jumped. “You didn’t see his face!” he exclaimed. “Then how do you know it was he? You might be mistaken.”

Ken shrugged his shoulders. “Very possible,” he said, “but I am pretty sure I am not mistaken. To begin with, I know the man and I can recognize him without seeing his face. And secondly, I watched him walk down Chestnut Street and enter a house at about the middle of the street. That is where he lives, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but are you sure he walked into his own house—that is, Captain Bob’s house?” demanded Paul.

“Well, no, I didn’t follow him all the way to his home; I watched from the corner. But just the same I am pretty sure that it was Captain Bob.”

There was silence. The boys could not understand why the Captain should follow them. “Well, I’ll be!” exclaimed Jack. “This thing is getting beyond me and I am losing my patience.”

“Now don’t get excited,” cautioned Paul. “And keep quiet for a couple of minutes. I am trying to think of something.”

“Think of what?” asked Ken.

“Of what he said to us when we were over to see him,” was the answer.

“What about it?”

Paul leaned over toward his two companions. “Now look, fellows,” he began. “There is one particular thing he told us that comes back to me now very distinctly. You remember how just as we were leaving, he said to us, ‘Don’t you go around talking about a pyromaniac; it may get you into trouble.’ Remember him saying that?”

Jack nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

“Same here,” added Ken, “now that you call our attention to it. But what about it? He meant it for our own good.”

“Of course,” said Paul, “I am not doubting his sincerity. But, Captain Bob is much shrewder than we give him credit for, that’s the point.”

“How do you mean?” inquired Jack.

“We came over to talk over with him the fire, didn’t we?” continued Paul. “Well, remember that he didn’t seem to have a very definite opinion though he did feel that there was something odd about the cause or origin of the fire.”

“Well, what’s your point?” demanded Ken, his curiosity aroused.

“Only this,” said Paul, “that since we told him of our own doubts about the fire and that since we told him we suspected a pyromaniac, he immediately came to the conclusion that we knew more than we were telling him. And in order to find out what we may know about the fire, he is following us.”

“Sounds logical to me,” muttered Jack.

Ken shook his head. “It may sound logical,” he said, “but somehow I am not convinced. How should he know we were going out to Water Street this morning? And he would have to watch the house of any one of us three all morning to follow us. And why should he pick this morning to follow us?”

Paul smiled at his friend’s naive questions. “To begin with,” he said, “how do we know he has not been following us since that night we spoke to him? But I am under the impression that his following us is just an accident.”

“An accident!” echoed Jack. “Explain yourself.”

“I will if you don’t interrupt. My impression is that he was coming to Water Street this morning also to search for some clues to the fire. But when he saw us there, he naturally watched us to see what we were up to and then followed us.”

Ken shook his head in a gesture of disbelief. Jake, on the other hand mused quietly, trying to untangle the whole situation, but unable to find a starting point. Finally he asked, “Do you think he will continue to follow us, Paul?”

“Can’t tell. He may and he may not.”

After a short time of silence, Jack rose and suggested, “Well, let’s go home for lunch.”

“That’s a bully idea,” cried Ken. “I didn’t realize how hungry I am.”

“All right, I’ll see you boys later,” said Paul.

That evening, immediately after supper, Paul went across the street to call for Ken. As the two boys walked down the street, Paul whispered, “We are being followed.”

Ken gasped. “Captain Bob!” he exclaimed in a hushed tone of voice.

“Don’t know. But for the last half hour I noticed that someone was hovering about the house. And as we came out and walked away, I noticed a form slink out of the shadows and follow us.”

“What do you think we ought to do?”

“I have an idea.” And he whispered some instructions to his friend.

Ken nodded. “And then what?” he asked.

“Leave the rest to me.”

When the two boys arrived in front of Jack’s home, Paul spoke up rather loudly, “I guess I’ll walk down the block and call Nuthin’. I’ll be back in about five minutes.”

“All right,” answered Ken just as loudly. “Jack and I will wait for you.”

Ken entered the yard while Paul walked off straight ahead. Turning in at the end of the street, he set off at a run around the block.

Returning to the same street at the other end, he hovered close to the wall of a building and looked everywhere to detect the hiding place of the spy. Suddenly he caught his breath. He detected a slight movement behind a fence at the other side of the street, several houses below. He crossed to the other side and walked ahead. Sure enough, a man stepped out and came toward him. As they met, Paul greeted, “Hello, Captain Bob.”

The man grunted and was going to pass on, but Paul instantly got into his way. The man stopped, “Huh?” he muttered. “Did you speak to me?”

“I said hello, Captain Bob.”

“Hello yourself. Now let me see, your face seems to be familiar, but I can’t seem to remember your name.”

“Paul Morrison.”

“Oh, yes, yes. You are the boy who dashed into the burning house and—”

Paul interrupted. “Yes, that’s right; you know me.” What a poor actor the man was, Paul thought. He certainly couldn’t get away with pretending that he didn’t know him. His heart pounded and perspiration gathered on his brow. He was debating with himself what his approach should be. Would it be best merely to imply that Captain Bob’s spying was a known fact to them or should he put it frankly to the old man and see what he would say. Paul steeled himself. Very suddenly, trying to take the man off his guard, he said, “Captain Bob, I am very much surprised that you should be following us.”

The old man straightened up. “What was that you said? Following you? What for? Why should I be following you, tell me that.”

“That is something you should tell me,” he replied respectfully. “But you spied on us this morning on Water Street and then followed us as far as Chestnut Street. And just now you were following us again.”

It was really too dark to tell, but Paul felt that the old man had turned red and became confused. “My dear boy,” he mumbled angrily, “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You shouldn’t say that, Captain Bob. If I wasn’t positive, I wouldn’t accost you like this.”

After a moment of tense silence, the captain laughed. “Well, my boy,” he said, “you are right, but I promise not to do it any more.”

“Thank you. But if you don’t mind, I wish you would tell me why you are following us.”

Captain Bob replied gravely, “You see, my boy, there have been too many fires in this town lately. And when you and your friends came and talked to me about the fire the other day, I became a little suspicious. I tried to,—er,—get as much information out of you as I could, but somehow I felt that you were not telling me everything. So I thought I would check up on you.”

A feeling of relief swept over Paul. He wanted to jump into the air and shout for joy. Even though he was a modest boy, he had to pat himself on the back; thus far, all his suspicions and deductions had been correct. He would certainly make a good detective. The captain was waiting for him to say something and he commented, “But we really don’t know any more than we told you, Captain Bob. If there is anything the boys and I can do to help you, such as help check up on your suspicions—that is if you have any—we would be glad to do so.”

The old man chuckled. “You are a smart one, my boy. I know that you have something up your sleeve. But never mind.”

Paul felt his face going red. He must not give anything away, he thought. Out loud, he said, “But really, Captain, we don’t. We don’t know as much as you do, if as much.”

“Well, never mind. And,—er,—forget about my following you. I meant no harm.”

“I’m sure of that,” replied the boy. “And it is perfectly all right.”

“Good night, my boy.”

“Good night, Captain Bob.”

Paul watched the man disappear around the corner. And just as he started to cross the street, two figures darted out toward him, “Well?” cried Ken.

Paul put a finger to his lips. “Sh!” he cautioned.

The boys retreated to Jack’s garage where Paul told his companions the story. Just as soon as the narrative was completed, Ken cried, “The sly old fox! You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he continues to spy on us.”

“That is just what I was going to say,” agreed Paul. “He is a very shrewd man and I am positive that he suspects somehow.”

“You don’t mean to say that he suspects us of setting fire to that house?” inquired Jack seriously.

“No, not setting fire to the house,” answered Paul smiling. “That is ridiculous and we must give him more credit than that. My impression is that he suspects us of knowing something about it which we are holding back from him. And that happens to be true.”

“Providing, of course, that our suspicions are correct,” argued Ken, still a bit doubtful.

“Well, of course, under those conditions.”

“What do you think our next move should be?” questioned Jack.

“Let’s go to the movies,” suggested Ken.

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Jack.

“Why not?” reasoned Paul. “Captain Bob won’t follow us tonight any more—”

“Which makes it safe for us to go to the movies,” joked Ken.

The boys laughed. “Seriously, though,” said Paul, “there is nothing else for us to do tonight. That man was abroad last night, and it is reasonable to assume that he won’t do any more prowling around tonight.”

“I agree with that wholeheartedly,” said Ken. “Let’s go to the movies.”

CHAPTER VII

The Robbery

The following morning, at the breakfast table, Paul happened to glance at the front page of the Stanhope Herald which Dr. Morrison was reading. At the bottom of the page, boxed off, was a story with the headline PROFESSOR LINK’S HOUSE ROBBED. Paul became quite upset and found it difficult to eat his cereal. However, he controlled himself and did not show any untoward interest in the newspaper. His father finished breakfast first, and he laid down the paper and left for his office. Paul gulped down his milk, picked up the paper and went out on the porch.

The story was that someone had broken into Professor Link’s home and had stolen a valuable, early edition of “Colonial History.” Nothing else was taken, except that the thief had strewn many of the books on the floor. The theory was that the thief had entered by an open window in the library.

Ken came dashing across the street and up to the porch. “Hey, Paul!” he cried, “did you read the story in the morning paper?” Paul held up the paper. “So you know already?”

Jack came. “Well, what do you think of the robbery?” he asked bluntly. “I had a feeling we should not have gone to the movies last night.”

“What could we have done?” asked Ken.

“We might have come upon him and possibly frustrated his plan.”

“So!” exclaimed Ken. “You think that ‘he’ did it? Pretty soon you will have every crime under the sun charged up against him.”

“I don’t think we could have done anything,” commented Paul. “The paper says that the robbery occurred any time after about midnight, when the professor says he left his library to go to bed.”

“But we might have come across him sometime before and followed him. Then we might about have judged what he was up to.” Thus argued Jack.

“Maybe yes and maybe no,” was Paul’s pert statement.

“Paul,” demanded Ken, “you don’t mean to tell me that you really believe this man, this so-called maniac, committed the robbery, do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Tell me, how do you figure it out?”

“It’s very simple,” was Paul’s answer. “Only one book was stolen. Of course, the book was an old edition and valuable, but valuable only to a man like Professor Link. In actual money, the book is worth perhaps ten or fifteen dollars; but if the thief was going to sell it, he wouldn’t get more than four or five dollars for it.”

“Yes,” added Jack, “there were more valuable things in the room, if the thief had been interested in stealing something valuable. That is in itself enough to show that the thief, whoever he was, was either a maniac or one who was interested in obtaining only that book and nothing else. But an ordinary, normal man, would not break into a house to steal something like that.”

“Maybe,” remarked Ken doubtfully, “but—”

Paul interrupted, saying, “Let’s go over to Bobolink and get him to go over to Professor Link. He is Bobolink’s grandfather, isn’t he?”

“Yes. Let’s do that.”

The boys wended their way to Bobolink’s home and luckily found him still in. He was glad to see them, and commented, “I was just going to call you fellows.”

“What for?”

“I thought that perhaps you might be interested in accompanying me to my grandfather’s home.”

“That’s why we came for you,” Jack informed him.

“Good. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Professor Link who lived alone except for a woman who cooked and kept house for him, was a retired college professor and an authority in colonial history. He occupied a small, private house of his own and spent his time writing books on the history of the early pioneering days.

His three companions behind him, Bobolink rang the bell. The housekeeper opened the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Hix,” greeted Bobolink. “Is my grandfather in?”

Mrs. Hix answered, “He is in the library.”

The boys filed in and Bobolink knocked on the library door. “Come in,” someone called.

The boys entered. Mr. Link was a gray haired man of about sixty with a warm smile, who was very friendly to young people. “Hello, Gramps,” greeted Bobolink.

“Hello, fellows,” returned the professor. “What are you doing here?” he asked curiously.

“Just thought we would pay you a visit,” his grandson informed him.

“That’s very nice of you, but I wonder what is behind it. Sit down, boys.”

The walls of the room were lined with books. And it appeared that the mess that the thief had caused was all cleaned up. “What about that robbery, Gramps?” asked Bobolink.

Paul was walking around the room, pretending to be looking at the books. Actually he was searching for something. He paused to hear the professor’s answer to the question. “Not much harm done.”

“Was it a valuable book?” asked Jack.

“Not so particularly valuable; a book on colonial history.”

“Isn’t it rather odd that the thief should take that particular book and nothing else?” asked Paul casually.

Professor Link pursed his lips. “Rather,” he answered. “If he had been out to steal, he could have found more valuable things to take. He might even have found some money in the drawer of my desk, if he had looked.”

“But nothing else was touched?” Paul asked the question and was anxious to hear the answer. “No. Nothing else seems to have been taken.” Bobolink and Ken discussed with the professor the state university to which they were going, entering as freshmen in September. Paul walked around the back of the desk. He glanced down into the waste-paper basket. His heart almost stopped still. He picked something out of the basket and said to the professor, “Do you mind if I use this to copy down the name of a book?” Professor Link looked at the card. “Not at all. Where did you get it?”

“In the waste basket.” Paul turned the card to show that it was blank on both sides.

The boys stared at Paul and at the white card. “Here is some clean paper,” the professor said, and pushed forward a white pad. “And here is a pencil,” he added.

“This is perfectly all right,” asserted Paul. Picking up the pencil, he pretended that he was copying down the title of a book.

The boys were eager to get out, yet they could not very well show haste without making the professor suspicious. So they lingered for an additional twenty minutes, discussing colleges and college life. At last they escaped. As soon as they were outside the door, Bobolink opened his mouth to ask a question. But Paul cautioned him. “Sh! Let’s wait until we are further away from the house.”

Some distance away, Bobolink finally asked his question. “What was that card you picked out of the basket?”

Paul took it out of his pocket and showed it to them—a white card, blank on both sides, and three by two inches. “You have your card, Jack?” asked Paul. “Mine is home.”

“Yes, here it is.” And he produced it.

The cards were compared; they were identical. “Well, now what do you think of that!” exclaimed Bobolink.

“In every case,” whispered Paul seriously, “the same person. This is becoming terrible.”

“Yes,” agreed Ken. “I’m coming to look at it from your point of view. And from now on we have to take it more seriously and do something.”

“What can we do?” asked Bobolink.

“You know what?” remarked Paul. “If I didn’t think we would be laughed at, I would tell the police.”

“Aw, go on,” said Ken. “If all the evidence you have is the white card and the fact that Jack followed a suspicious looking person, they would think that you were either crazy or trying to put something over.”

“That’s the trouble,” asserted Paul. “In that case it is up to us to solve the mystery and put an end to it.”

“Well said,” commented Bobolink, “but how are we going to do it?”

CHAPTER VIII

Encounter

The boys did not know what to do nor how to do it. But they were determined to put an end to the mystery. And shortly, too. If the man was permitted to roam the streets of the town freely, God knows what damage he might eventually do and what crimes he might have up his sleeve. He might lead away another child, he might commit more robberies, he might put the torch to a house full of sleeping persons, he might do anything. He had to be caught; upon that the boys were firmly convinced.

That evening, Jack came to Paul and said, “Listen, I’m going to tell my mother that I am having supper at your house tonight. But instead, I am going down to Jones Street and nose around a bit.”

“That’s a good idea. But suppose I go with you.”

“No, I would rather go down alone. It is too difficult for two people to be hiding together, darting in and out, and all that.”

“You are right, Jack. Be careful, though. Don’t get into any trouble. I feel guilty letting you go alone.”

“Oh, don’t talk like an old woman.” The boys laughed at that. “I can take care of myself. I have done it before.”

“Very well, go ahead. But I want you to come back and tell what happens.”

“All right. But if nothing happens, I won’t come. I will go home instead.”

Thus it was agreed and the two boys parted. Half an hour later, Jack was at the corner of Main and Jones Streets. It was still daylight and Jack had the opportunity to look the neighborhood over. It was a poor and deserted neighborhood, not far from the edge of the town. The first building on the corner was an old wooden house. At the street level was a grocery store, and the floor above looked as though it were occupied by a family.

Alongside this building was an empty lot, as was true of the opposite corner. Further on, intermittently on both sides of the street were one or two family wooden homes. Jack walked up and down the block twice. There were some women on several of the porches and a number of children played on the empty lots. He decided to take up a position at the corner of Jones and Main Streets, but it was still light and he didn’t want to arouse any suspicion. So it became a problem as to how to spend the hours until dark.

First he walked up and down the block several times, then went around the block twice until he was afraid that people in the neighborhood might become suspicious of him. Then he walked up Main Street and back again. It seemed to him that the day would never end. He crossed the street to the empty lot and walked to the farthest corner of it. Picking out a comfortable place to sit down, where he would not be noticed, he tried to watch the corner so as to see everyone who passed.

The minutes dragged on endlessly. What is the matter, Jack asked himself. Time usually passes so quickly; before you turn around the day is gone. And now—He shifted in his seat and found the ground hard to sit on. Staring vaguely at the house on the corner, at the few people that passed up and down, many thoughts came to his mind. The uppermost thought in his mind was, what might be wrong with this man, the maniac? It was something he wished he knew, as he had always been interested in trying to figure out what made people do the things they did.

But that thought soon slipped his mind and was replaced by another one—that of going to college. Another three weeks and the summer vacation would be over and Ken, Bobolink, Paul and he would be on their way to the state university. What was college life like, he wondered. There were sports, of course. Ken would make a swell swimmer and Paul would most likely join the football squad. As for himself, he would try basketball. Then there were the fraternities. He had heard a lot about Greek letter clubs. But he was not going to bother much with any outside activities; he was going to study to be a doctor. So was Paul. And it took a lot of study to become a doctor.

He was staring rather aimlessly. His dreaming helped to pass the time away. It was already almost dusk. Suddenly he was electrified. He jumped to his feet and then he dropped to the ground again. A tall individual had just then emerged from the door of the corner house. Bending low, he ran to the corner and caught sight of the retreating back of his man. A cold chill ran down his spine. He was certain of his man. There was the same height, the same baggy clothes and that wild appearance. The man kept shifting his head in all directions; his eyes seemed to be everywhere, staring at people, at houses, at everything.

Jack followed closely. It was still not quite dark and he hoped he would not be stopped by anyone. He was rather glad when the man turned into York Street. It was a quiet, residential street and instantly Jack feared what the man might be up to. Was he bent on starting a fire in one of the fine houses on the street? But his fears were in vain because the man kept on walking, almost reaching the tracks. Repeating his gestures of the day before, the man suddenly stopped and very slowly turned around on his heel. Jack had just enough time to dash behind a fence. The man entered the yard and then walked behind the house. Jack ran up and hid himself behind a tree almost directly across from the house. Looking closely, he noticed that the house appeared to be unoccupied. There were no lights in the windows and there was nothing to indicate that anyone lived there. The man reappeared and entered the house by the front door. He just walked in without using any key, or breaking in the lock. There was something suspicious about the house. If it were unoccupied, it should be locked. If a family did live there, there would be some light in the windows; and probably the maniac would not enter so assured of his safety.

It seemed to Jack that the man was in the house a long time. He decided on a dangerous tactic. Quickly, noiselessly, he sprinted across the street, jumped the fence and ran to the side of the house. Cautiously, he moved to see if there was a back door; he found it on the other side of the house. Putting his hand on the knob, he turned it and pushed, but the door wouldn’t open; it was locked. He moved toward the front again, to watch for the exit of his man. Every second was an eternity. His heart pounded wildly and if he had not controlled himself, he would have trembled, not so much from fear as from anxiety and excitement.

He flattened himself out against the wall and remained stationary, not daring to make a noise. Suddenly he felt long, bony fingers grab him by the shoulder and wheel him around. His blood went cold and he could almost feel his hair standing on end. “So!” the man grunted under his breath. “What are you doing, following me, eh?” Jack cowered before the great height towering over him. He saw that the man had a rising forehead, bushy eyebrows and deep eye sockets. What impressed him most, however, were the man’s sunken cheeks and his wild eyes, which were dark and brilliant.

For almost a minute, Jack was paralyzed and couldn’t talk. Eventually he muttered, “No—no—I—I’m not following you.”

“Yes, you are,” accused the man. “You have been following me for two weeks now and I want you to stop it.”

Jack heaved a sigh of relief. The man was crazy. But was he dangerous, he wondered. Would he attack him. He was on guard against an attack. “Why, no, Mister, I’m not following you. Why should I? I don’t even know you.”

“You lie!” screamed the other. “You lie! You do know me and I know you.”

Jack thought he had better be quiet and polite with his assailant. A good, sound argument might get him out of his predicament, he thought. “I am sorry, Mister,” he said, “but I repeat that I don’t know you. If you know me, as you say you do, then what is my name.”

Still holding on to Jack’s shoulder, the man scratched his chin. “Now let me see,” he mumbled to himself. “What is your name?” He mused, then he snapped his fingers and announced, “I know. It’s Jack.”

The boy gasped. How could that man know him, know his name. What was he to do? He wished he had never known about this thing, had never followed this man and had never got into this situation. Controlling himself, he asked, “What is my family name?”

“Barrows!” the man snapped back. “Barrows, that’s it.”

“You are wrong,” contradicted Jack. “My name is Ed Smith.”

“No,” insisted the man, “you are Jack Barrows. And I demand to know why you are following me.”

“But I am not following you. You are mistaken.”

“Then what are you doing here?” The man’s voice now boomed. “Tell me that!”

“I used to live in this house,” fabricated unhappy Jack. “I once used to live here,” he repeated, “and I was just looking around.”

“So you used to live here!”

The man lifted his free arm and swung. Jack ducked. The arm crashed against the wall, the man screamed with pain and Jack wrenched himself free. The man lunged for him. Jack side-stepped and stuck his foot out; his victim tripped and stretched himself out on the ground. Without waiting or looking back, Jack was off. He jumped the fence and dashed down the street. Rounding the corner, he stopped to consider why he was running. He stood nonchalantly and waited for his man to appear. But the mysterious individual was not forthcoming. He waited five more minutes and still he did not appear.

He came around the corner again and crossed to the other side of the street. Walking slowly and cautiously, he came to the tree opposite the house. Taking shelter, Jack looked across. A wave of pity swept through him at the scene he saw. On the very same spot, almost where he fell, the man was now sitting up and his shoulders were trembling. From all appearances, the man was sobbing bitterly, as though his heart were breaking.

Who is this man, Jack asked himself. And what is the matter with him? What had ever happened to him to cause him to become what he was. Jack asked himself all those questions but had no answers. He determined to find out. He must find out, he thought to himself.

Jack looked at his watch and saw that it was almost nine o’clock. He realized that he was terribly hungry. He decided not to wait around any more but to go home. On the way he remembered that he had promised Paul that he would come over and tell him if anything had happened. But he did not feel like it at the moment and he went straight home and called Paul on the telephone.

CHAPTER IX

Who Is Mr. Grey?

Paul and Ken were listening attentively to Jack’s story of what had happened the night before. Paul commented, “It’s really a pity. What we have to do is to catch him in the act as soon as possible and have him arrested. Then something might be done for him.”

“What could be done for him?” asked Ken.

“Oh, I don’t know. Most likely he would be put into an asylum. That would be best, too, I guess.”

Jack showed his companions the house to which he followed his man the night before. There was nothing much to see there. The place was empty and unoccupied. But strangely, the front door was open. They entered and searched about. All the rooms were empty and dusty. In the hall again Paul noticed some scraps of paper in one corner. He looked at them but thought nothing suspicious of it. He sniffed the air and then shook his head.

Outside again, they walked calmly off. “No clues here, it seems,” muttered Ken.

“No,” asserted Paul. And again he thought of the scraps of paper but the next moment dismissed them from his mind. “What seems to bother me most,” he added, “is how he came to suspect that he was being followed?”

“I don’t think he really suspected,” said Jack. “My opinion is that he came upon me by accident.”

“A very unhappy accident,” commented Ken.

“Yes, rather.”

“I should think so,” remarked Paul. He shook his head doubtfully. “Yet somehow I can’t quite believe it. Of course, you’re most likely right, but—”

He broke off his sentence in the middle, not quite decided upon his opinion. Jack thought out loud. “I wonder who this man is and what is wrong with him?”

“You say there is a grocery store at the corner house, is that right?” The boys stopped and Jack nodded. “Then,” continued Ken, “let’s go down there and inquire in a roundabout way in the store. They might know him.”

“That’s a swell idea,” cried Paul.

“Yes, I think so too,” added Jack. “Let’s do it.”

They walked down to Jones Street. A very short distance before they arrived at their destination, they stopped to decide upon their plan of action. “Exactly how are we going to do it?” asked Jack.

“One of us will have to go inside and make a purchase, then ask about a tall dark-complexioned man.”

“I guess one of you two better go in. They may have noticed me around here and they might get suspicious.”

“I will go in,” offered Ken. “But what am I to say?”

“Just ask if they know a tall, dark man living somewhere in the neighborhood,” instructed Paul.

“But if they ask me what I want him for, what am I to say?”

“Make up some kind of story, anything. Say that you were told that he was a plumber, or something like that, and that you want him to do a job.”

“All right, I’ll go in. Where are you fellows going to be?”

“We will be right here. And when you come out, just keep walking straight ahead as if you don’t know us.”

“Okey, here goes.”

Ken walked off and came to the store. He hesitated, looked around, pretending that he was not certain it was the right place. He entered. He noticed that a middle-aged woman was alone in the store. She came out from behind the counter and asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Er—excuse me,” he said, “but I am looking for a tall, dark man. I was told that he lives in this neighborhood somewhere.”

“I know a tall, dark man,” she answered, speaking softly. “What is it you want him for, may I ask?”

“I was told he was a carpenter and looking for work and—”

“It couldn’t be Mr. Grey. He is not a carpenter. You couldn’t mean him.”

“No, I guess not. Thank you.”

“It’s quite all right.”

Ken left the store much excited. He walked briskly till he came upon the boys. They fell in alongside of him. “Well?” asked Paul.

“His name is Mr. Grey,” gasped Ken.

“What else?”

“That’s all. The woman did not tell me any more.”

“But the name alone is not enough,” cried Jack. “What does he do? Where does he live?”

“I couldn’t ask her such questions,” Ken defended himself. “She would become suspicious and tell me nothing.”

“Let’s not argue,” cautioned Paul. “At least we have his name, that’s something. Did the woman in the store seem to know him?”

“Yes. I should imagine from the way she spoke that she knew him well.”

“She didn’t mention anything, else?” asked Jack.

“No.”

The boys walked silently along for some while. Paul snapped his fingers. “You know what?” he cried. “Let’s look him up in the town directory.”

“Where will we get one?” inquired Ken.

“I have one home,” said Paul.

The boys hurried to the Morrison home and Paul brought out the town directory. It didn’t help them any. There were three Greys. One was a pharmacist, the second was a butcher and the third a lawyer. They put the book down and Jack muttered, “That’s not much of a help.”

“No. It’s very possible that he has only recently moved into town,” commented Paul.

“Now that is an idea,” remarked Ken. “The reason he is so little known must be because he is a newcomer around here.”

“But how does that help us any?” asked Jack.

“Well, it’s good to keep it in mind,” asserted Ken.

“What do you say we go down to that neighborhood again?” asked Jack, “and just look around. Perhaps we can find some person who knows something.”

“It’s all right with me,” was Paul’s comment.

The three boys shuffled off the porch and walked down Main Street again. At Jones Street, they could find no other stores in the immediate neighborhood where they might enter and obtain some information. They walked back and forth several times, but their searches were futile. One of them suggested that they quit and go home and the others assented. Passing on the other side of the street, the three of them kept their eyes on the store. A woman emerged. Ken grasped Paul by the arm. “Look,” he said, “there’s the woman leaving the store.”

“Well, what about her?”

“Don’t you understand?” demanded Ken. “She is the woman I spoke to when I entered the store.”

“That’s right,” cried Jack. “If she is leaving, someone else must be in the store. I am going in. Perhaps I can obtain some information.”

Paul held on to his chum who was on the point of walking off. “No,” he said. “I’m going in. You may have been noticed around here before and it would look suspicious. Both of you just keep walking back and forth and don’t attract attention. I am going in.”

Jack and Ken continued walking along Main Street while Paul crossed over to the store and entered. A customer was at the counter and Paul pretended to be looking around. The customer left and the man, evidently the proprietor, remained behind the counter, waiting for Paul to give his order. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.

Paul picked up a small box of chocolate crackers and deposited a nickel on the counter. The man picked up the coin and rang it up on the register. “Excuse me, Mister, but it seems that a certain Mr. Grey lives in this neighborhood and....”

Paul did not finish his sentence. He scrutinized the man’s features and concluded that the proprietor of the grocery was a shrewd, hard, and unsympathetic individual. He must be careful of every word, he told himself. The man drawled, “Now let me think.” He scratched his chin and pretended that he was trying to remember an individual by the name of Mr. Grey. “What is it you want of him?” he asked.

“Well, you see,” Paul began, “my mother heard that he was a carpenter and she wants some work done.” That was bad, he thought to himself. It was the same story that Ken had used and if his wife told him that some boy was in looking for a carpenter, the man was sure to become suspicious. But he was obliged now to stick to his story. He continued, “So she sent me around here to try and find him.”

“Where do you live?” the grocery man asked him.

“Around the corner. The next street.”

“I don’t remember ever seeing you around in the neighborhood.”

Paul realized that he was in a predicament and he had to get himself out of it. “We just moved in, two weeks ago,” he answered.

The man scratched his chin again. “Isn’t that strange?” he muttered. “I haven’t heard of anyone moving in or out of the neighborhood within the past two weeks.” He paused and eyed Paul who felt his face going red. “Well, at any rate, I am sorry but I don’t know any Mr. Grey around here.”

Paul moved away from the counter. “Thank you,” he said.

“It’s quite all right. Tell your mother to come in here sometime and do her shopping. I like to know the people in the neighborhood.”

“I will.”

Paul was glad to escape from the store. He had never before realized how difficult it is to obtain information from people. Joining his companions, he laughed good naturedly. “What’s the joke?” asked Jack.

“The old so and so!” he exclaimed. “He got more out of me than I got out of him.”

“You mean you didn’t find out anything?” Jack was serious and anxious.

Paul shook his head. “Not a thing. The old man beat around the bush and finally confessed that he didn’t know anyone by the name of Mr. Grey.”

“And you fellows accused me of not obtaining enough information,” Ken joked. “At least I found out what his name is.”

The boys were discouraged. “Now what?” asked Jack in a tone of hopelessness.

His companions did not know what to do next and rather than talk about it, they walked along silently. They came to the street on which Jack lived and he said he was going home. Ken said, “No, don’t do that. It’s early yet.”

“Oh, I thought I would go home and putter around with my dad’s car; it needs some work done on it.”

“I’ll tell you what,” commented Ken. “Let’s go over and speak to your father, Paul. He is a doctor and knows a lot of people in town. Perhaps he might tell us something.”

Paul shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, we can do that. But I don’t think he has many patients in this neighborhood.”

“And if he doesn’t know,” continued Ken, “we might go over and see Chief of Police Bates. He knows me and I am sure we could get to see him.”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t think we ought to see Chief Bates. He might ask us a lot of questions, worm the story out of us and then laugh at us or call us crazy kids.”

“We might at least try your father,” insisted Ken.

“All right. We will do that.”

But Dr. Morrison did not know either. He mentioned John Grey, the pharmacist, Walter Grey the butcher and W. J. Grey the lawyer. Those were all the Greys he knew. But the boys knew that themselves. They were stumped.

CHAPTER X

Stumped!

It was shortly after lunch time and Paul was doing an errand for his father. Walking down Main Street, he stopped at a stationery store to look at the window display. His attention was attracted by someone coming out of the store. He caught his breath. The man was tall, gaunt, with ill fitting clothes hanging like sacks on him. “Mr. Grey!” he thought to himself.

Not hesitating, Paul followed. He wanted to get a good look at the man’s face, but how was he going to do that? He thought fast. Increasing his pace, he walked past the man. At the corner, he pretended that he was lost and was looking for something. He waited for Mr. Grey to come up. Approaching the man, he said, “Excuse me, sir. But can you tell me where McDougal Street is? You see, I am a stranger in this town.”

Paul looked up at the great height towering over him. He was very much excited and kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Mr. Grey answered softly, “I’m sorry, son, but I really don’t know.”

Paul pretended that he was disappointed. The man’s sunken cheeks, long nose and deep sockets, were imprinted in his mind. But it was Mr. Grey’s eyes that bore into him. Those eyes! he thought to himself, he would never forget them. They were dark, brilliant, wild. He became conscious that he was staring very awkwardly at the man and that Mr. Grey was waiting for him to say something. He said, “You see—er—I am looking for Grey’s Pharmacy.”

The man repeated to himself, “Grey’s Pharmacy! I am sorry, but I don’t think I know where it is.”

On the spur of the moment, Paul said, “And then I have to go down also to John and Main Streets. Can you tell me where that is?”

Paul thought that the man would show some sign of interest at the mention of the words Grey and John Street. But he was disappointed. Mr. Grey was quite calm and not at all disturbed by those words. He answered softly, “Yes, I can tell you where John Street is. You walk straight down Main Street; you can’t miss it. It is quite a walk though; almost a mile.” He hesitated for a second and looked down the street. “There is the car coming,” he continued. “You can take it and get off at John Street.”

“Thank you,” murmured Paul and stepped aside to let the man pass on. He watched Mr. Grey, walk away. Remembering that he still had the errand to do for his father, he was undecided whether to follow or not. Shaking his head, he turned and walked off.

Completing the errand for his father, he ran off to the stationery store. He entered. A young man behind the counter asked, “What can I do for you?”

Paul showed him a blank, white card. “Have you got any cards like that?” he asked.

The young man behind the counter took the card, fingered it and answered, “Yes, we have them. How many do you want?”

“I need ten,” said Paul.

The young man stopped as he was pulling out a box from one of the shelves, and replied, “I’m sorry. The cards are twenty-five cents a hundred and we don’t sell less than a package of a hundred.”

“Never mind, then,” announced Paul and walked out of the store.

Paul felt cheerful; he seethed with excitement. Now he was getting somewhere, he thought. Upon reflection he realized that he was nowhere nearer to a solution of the mystery than he was before. Yet he could not dispel his feeling of excitement.

He felt someone touch him on the arm and Paul turned around. “Hello, Captain Bob,” he called.

“Hello, yourself, my boy,” was the reply. “What are you doing just now?”

“Nothing much. I am at your disposal, if you want me to do something for you,” he offered.

“No, I don’t want you to do anything for me,” and the captain shook his head. “I merely want to have a few words with you.”

“That’s all right with me. What is it you want?”

“Let’s first move away from the main thoroughfare,” remarked Captain Bob, smiling. “We may get knocked over by all these people rushing past us.”

They walked away a short distance into Cherry Street. Paul was curious to know what the captain had to say to him. He was on his guard, though. The old man was clever and shrewd and if he thought he was going to obtain information from him, he was mistaken. Paul steeled himself and asked, “Is this all right? I guess we can talk here without being disturbed.”

Captain Bob nodded. “Yes, I think so, too,” he answered. “What I want to ask you, my boy, is how are you getting along with solving that mystery of yours?”

Paul gasped. He didn’t think the man would put it up to him so bluntly. “What mystery?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound as though he were surprised at the question.

“Now, now,” commented the old man. “Never mind beating around the bush. Let’s be honest with each other. I suppose you know that I am also interested in finding the culprit who is responsible for starting that fire?”

“That is news to me,” replied Paul. “I didn’t think you had any suspicions about the cause of the fire.”

“Well, you know I did. And what’s more, I also know that you and your friends are doing a lot of detective work. I just want to know how you are getting along and whether you have come upon any substantial clues.”

Paul smiled, feeling slightly guilty. “As a matter of fact,” he answered, “we have not been doing much lately at all. And ...” he paused to suspend the effect of the remark. “And we don’t know any more now than we did when we spoke to you about it.”

“Tsk, tsk.” Captain Bob appeared angry. “I guess we will just have to wait and see what happens.”

“If there is anything my friends and I can do,” began Paul.

The captain cut him short. “Never mind,” he said, “never mind. Goodbye.”

Captain Bob walked off. Paul smiled to himself and went home. All afternoon he brooded over his problem. The mystery continued to be a mystery to him. He wondered what Captain Bob was up to, whether he was still following him and his friends and also whether the old man was conducting an investigation of his own. His father came up the steps of the porch. “What are you brooding about, son?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing much,” was the answer. “Just thinking.”

Dr. Morrison looked askance at his son. “Well,” he commented, “let’s hope you are really thinking and not pretending you are thinking.”

“W-w-what was that you said?” gasped Paul.

But Dr. Morrison laughed softly and walked into the house. Paul got out of his seat and walked off. Jack was busy tinkering with his father’s car. He looked up and called out, “Hello, Paul. Anything new?”

Paul sat down on the box of tools. “A little,” he answered nonchalantly.

Jack wiped his greasy hands. “What do you mean.”

“I saw Mr. Grey.” Jack opened his eyes wide and stared at his friend. “And I spoke to him, too,” he added.

Jack sat down on the running board. “Well, go on, tell me. What happened?” he asked anxiously.

Paul related the events. Jack listened attentively. Finally he muttered, “So! Does all that help any?”

Paul shrugged his shoulders. “Very little. But at least I now have a good idea of the sort of person he is.” A pause. “Captain Bob spoke to me,” he announced.

“What does he want? How did you see him?”

“He stopped me in the street. He wants to know what we are doing and how we are getting along.”

“A shrewd, clever fellow, that Captain Bob,” was Jack’s appraisal. “He is aware that we know something which we won’t tell him and he is trying to get it out of us.”

“I was wondering,” remarked Paul, “whether it wouldn’t be better to tell him and see what happens.”

“What good will that do?”

“None that I can see, but ...”

“But what?”

“Nothing. Let’s forget that angle of it and think what to do?”

“I know what I am going to do,” announced Jack.

“What?”

“The same as I did last night. I am going to follow Mr. Grey.” He eyed his companion. “And you?” he asked.

“I haven’t decided yet. Guess I’ll go home now.”

CHAPTER XI

A Hunch

Paul, however, did not go home. On the way he changed his mind and went to the library instead. He went to the back of the room and pored over the newspaper files of the past few months. About an hour later he left the library. He had a hunch which gave him a new track to work on. He had a slip of paper in his hand and he looked on the writing on it several times until he memorized it. Then he tore the slip of paper into minute scraps and disposed of it.

Immediately after supper, he went out of the house and walked off. He had a definite destination in mind. At Corral Street, which was two blocks from Water Street, he set about looking for a particular number. That led him about half a mile away from the place of the former fire, which coincided with his hunch. He came upon the number he was looking for. The house was a two story dwelling, set away from the sidewalk. At the gate was a sign:

JONES & JONES
REALTORS
HOUSE FOR RENT

Paul walked around the block and looked over the neighborhood. It was a similarly poor section of the town. Coming back to the empty house, he sneaked into the yard and walked to the rear of the house. Unable to find a good location from which he could watch anyone approaching or entering the house, he retreated a short distance and took up a position behind the gate and sheltered by some shrubbery. From his vantage point, he could not only see anyone approaching the house, but also keep a sharp watch at those passing along the street.

It was already dusk. Paul settled himself, getting as comfortable as possible. There was nothing else to do but wait and see. Perhaps his hunch was a good one, and on the other hand, perhaps a very poor one, he thought to himself. At any rate, he had nothing to lose by going through with it.

Time dragged on. He watched the sky become grayer and darker. The moon rose and the first star came out. Night came on gradually. In spite of himself, he began to fidget and become impatient. Was something going to happen or wasn’t it? He went over in his mind the hunch that he had and tried to figure out how reasonable it was. At least to himself it appeared reasonable. He wondered, however, what Jack or Ken might think of it. It was no use doing that, he told himself, because he had not spoken to them about it. The next moment he was sorry he hadn’t done it. Two heads, three heads are always better than one and they might have seen things about this which had not occurred to him. He felt his eyelids become heavy and tired and he closed his eyes for a second. Only a second. He had to keep watch, he told himself. But even though he fought against it, he did fall sound asleep as he waited. He dreamed a hodge podge in which Mr. Grey, Captain Bob, Ken and Jack were all setting fire to a house, laughing gleefully. When he awoke he felt ashamed of himself for not keeping the watch.

He took up his position again and resumed his watching. How could he fall asleep like that, he asked himself. And he flushed with embarrassment to have committed such an act. For all he knew, somebody may have been here and was gone again. He looked at his watch. Nine o’clock. He had been sleeping for almost an hour. He held his breath and listened. Nothing. For about five minutes he watched the house and the street. Except for an occasional bypasser, nothing happened. He crept out of his hiding and looked all around the house. Nothing seemed to have happened, nobody seemed to have been there. Calling himself a fool, he decided to give up his watch and to go off.

He walked along and meditated upon his foolish hunch. Is it a foolish one, though, he asked himself. If nothing happened tonight, does that mean that there is no basis for my suspicion? Is it not possible that something may happen tomorrow night, or the night after? He stopped in his tracks and thought, suppose something should happen there now, just after I left? For a second he felt that he should turn around and take up his vigil again. He took several steps ahead but then turned around and walked back.

He came to the house. From across the street, he let his eyes roam about the place to see if anything might have happened. Nothing stirred. All seemed to be still and quiet. He went around the block, skipped across a fence and came up from the back of the house. Moving along noiselessly, he crept along the yard. He had made up his mind to go once again all around the house and investigate. Suddenly he caught his breath and flattened himself on the ground, midst the wild tall grasses. He saw a shadow coming around the corner of the house. The man, for such it was wore dark clothes and a slouch hat pulled down over the forehead. Like a shadow, the man moved along the wall. Every few seconds he stopped and looked and listened. There was something familiar about that man, Paul thought. He held his breath and watched, his eyes glued to the moving figure. The next instant he smiled to himself.

The man came to the front of the house, quickly ran across and disappeared behind the wall. Paul got off the ground and sprinted forward. Ducking around the corner of the house, he saw the back of the man, who seemed to be hesitating, undecided as to his next course of action. Paul moved forward on tiptoes. Coming up from behind, he touched the man, who jumped as though touched by an electric spark, “It’s only I, Captain Bob.”

He smiled. The old man stared into his face and for several seconds was speechless. “You—you certainly gave me a scare, boy,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry,” apologized Paul, “but I thought it was so funny to find you groping around here that—”

Captain Bob grabbed him by the arm and pulled him around to the back of the house. Shaking a finger under the boy’s nose, he muttered, “You! You young upstart! Scaring me like that and thinking it’s funny.” His severity melted and he smiled. “I should imagine it would be funny,” he said, “but what brings you here, my boy?”

Paul smiled. He had not yet gotten over the humor of the situation. “I imagine that we both came here on the same hunch,” he informed the captain.

“How do you know that my hunch is the same as yours? Tell me that.”

“Suppose you tell me your hunch and I’ll tell you mine, Captain Bob,” he said. “And I’ll wager they are both the same.”

“I asked you first,” replied the old man. “If it is the same, I won’t hesitate to say so.”

“Well,” began Paul, “I happened to be looking through the newspaper files of the last two months and I noticed that three out of the last four fires occurred at houses belonging to the Jones and Jones realty company. The papers also mentioned several addresses of other houses of theirs, and I picked this one to look things over.”

“But why should there be anything suspicious about that?” asked the shrewd old man.

“I thought that possibly somebody had a grudge against the realty company or against one of the Joneses. So I thought I might as well do a little investigation.”

Captain Bob wobbled his head. “You young pups!” he muttered. “There is no getting away from you. Did I hear you say that you want to be a doctor?”

“Yes. I am going away to college in September. Jack and I, both of us are going to study to be doctors.”

“Well, I don’t know about your friend Jack, but I think you ought to study to be a detective.”

“Then I guessed?” cried Paul.

“You certainly did,” was the answer. “And let’s walk away before someone sees us. You go first and wait for me at the end of the street.”

Paul obeyed. He sprinted across the yard and over the fence and walked away. Two minutes later, Captain Bob joined him and he related to the old man his experience of that night and how he had already walked off and then returned. “I thought for a while that the hunch was a very poor one,” he concluded.

“No,” answered the captain. “On the contrary, it was a most logical one. Have you done any more investigations along this line?”

Paul became wary. He realized that again Captain Bob was trying to elicit information from him. He shook his head. “Not much,” was his answer.

“Well, just keep it up. Perhaps if we continue we may yet catch the culprit.”

“I hope so,” remarked Paul.

Soon after they separated, Captain Bob saying that he was going home and Paul seriously intended to do the same. In front of his own home, he paused and leaned against the gate. Ken crossed the street and came up to him. “Say, where have you been all evening?” inquired the latter.

“Oh, just following up a hunch of mine.”

“What sort of hunch?”

“Tell you about it later. Did you see Jack?”

“No and he isn’t home either because I went over to call him.”

Paul leaned against the fence and mused. The wind pushed a piece of paper against his leg. Bending down to pull it away, he suddenly remembered something. “Come on,” he said to his friend.

“Where to?” asked Ken.

“To that house which Jack showed us this morning.”

“What for? It is kind of late, too. Almost ten o’clock.”

“We will be back shortly. Come on.”

CHAPTER XII

A Bump on the Head

That same night Jack was impatient to be through with supper, and immediately after, he left his house and hiked down to Jones Street. He didn’t know exactly what to expect, nor was he sure that anything at all was going to happen. He thought that it would be best to stick around and if Mr. Grey came out of his hiding, to follow him. It was now four days after the fire on Water Street and something was bound to happen in the immediate future. But what, or how, or when, was still a mystery to him.

Jack took along with him a brown sweater. He thought that if there was any need for it, he would put it on, and thus be able to change his appearance, if only slightly. He had the sweater wrapped up in a package under his arm. That too would make a slight difference in his appearance—first carrying a package and later being without one.

He took the same position as the day before and he did not have to wait long for darkness to come. It was already dusk when he came to Jones Street. Just as soon as it was dark enough, he changed his place by coming forward and hiding behind the chassis of a wrecked car. That secured for him a better view of the street as well as the corner.

Watchful waiting—that was his task. But how long? Wasn’t Mr. Grey ever coming out? Was he to be disappointed tonight? He glanced at his watch; it was five minutes after nine. He saw the stars come out one by one in the sky and the moon come up on the horizon. In the street and around the corner there seemed to be very little activity. People passed up and down but he was not interested in them. Soon he saw the grocery man emerge and lock up his store.

Jack waited and watched, counting each minute. Time hung heavy on his hands. He began to wish, as he had the day before that he had never bothered with it at all, but the next instant he thought differently. He was in it and he meant to stick it through; he would not give it up just because he was impatient. It was quite possible, he thought to himself that Mr. Grey would not attempt one of his usual jaunts through the town. After all, one could not expect things to happen every night. It was quite possible that Mr. Grey had become suspicious, that he had actually become aware that he was being followed. Anything was possible, he thought to himself.

Ten minutes passed, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes—and still nothing happened. Gradually, Jack became convinced that Mr. Grey was not coming out tonight. Suddenly it occurred to him that perhaps he had come too late. He remembered that the day before Mr. Grey had ventured forth at about six-thirty. And tonight he had not arrived there until about seven-thirty. He nodded to himself and thought that no doubt he had come too late. But what to do now and where to look first? He certainly could not just walk around town and look for his man; that would probably be futile. He debated with himself whether to go to Water Street, to the site of the last fire or to go to the house where he had followed Mr. Grey the night before. He decided on the latter course and off he went.

Peace and darkness shrouded the house. Jack walked up and down several times on the wrong side of the street. Then, growing bold he dashed across the street and into the yard. Not thinking it wise to approach the house, he crept noiselessly along the fence and all around the yard. There seemed to be not a soul around; except for the wind, nothing else seemed to stir. He approached the wall of the house and tried to peek into a window. But it was dark and, naturally, he saw nothing.

Cautiously, Jack approached the front of the house. Suddenly he stopped and held his breath. He heard a slight rumbling noise. He listened closely. Again the same noise. “Mice or rats,” he told himself. He moved forward again then, flattening himself out against the wall, he waited. A woman passed down the street. He took out his searchlight which he was now glad he had brought, and moved forward again to the front of the house. Putting his hand on the knob, he turned it and the door opened slightly. Wondering how it was that the hinges, probably rusty, did not squeak, he pushed the door wider open.

He flashed his light on and stepped quickly into the hall and closed the door behind him. He threw a beam of light on the papers which Paul had pointed out to him; they were still there, in the same spot and untouched. Again he thought he heard a slight rumbling noise. Backing up close against the wall, he listened. Yes, there it was again. Rats or mice, he thought to himself. For a fraction of a second he hesitated. What was he doing in here, he asked himself. Did he expect to find Mr. Grey in the house? If so, what would he do if he did? Beside, Paul, Ken and he had been in the house only that morning.

Brushing aside all the doubts in his mind, he tiptoed along the hall. He passed one door, the second door. He retraced his steps and threw a beam of light upon the stairway. Suddenly he felt a sharp blow on the back of his head. His knees gave way and before he crashed to the floor, he sensed a figure fleeing past him and out through the door. As he fell to the floor he saw a million colored stars converging upon his eyes. Innumerable distorted thoughts flashed through his mind. Then darkness and he knew no more.

Jack opened his eyes and through a haze saw two figures hovering over him. He reached to the back of his head and writhed with pain. Somebody was bending over him and talking but he could not understand what he was saying; it sounded like buzzing in his ears. He closed his eyes and relaxed. Very suddenly he sat up and looked around. He rubbed his eyes, then the back of his head; he felt a large bump there and touching it made him shiver with pain. “How are you, old boy?” somebody was asking him.

The person bending over him, murmured softly, “How do you feel, Jack old boy?”

The mist before his eyes cleared and in the darkness he made out Paul on his knees in front of him and a short distance away, Ken. He turned his head and he noticed that he was in the open. “W-w-where am I?” he asked, his face distorted with pain as he touched the bump on the back of his head.

“You’re all right,” Paul assured him. “Just tell me how you feel. Any broken bones?” he asked, smiling.

Jack felt himself all over, and answered, “No, I guess not.” Looking into his friend’s smiling face, he also grinned, “Just where am I and what happened to me?” he asked curiously.

“What happened to you, I don’t know; you will have to tell us that. But I can tell you where we are. We are in the yard of—”

“Yes, I know,” interrupted Jack. He now remembered the house, where he had been socked on the head. Rising to his feet, he felt a little wobbly. Paul supported him. “Let’s go away from here,” he said dejectedly.

Paul laughed. “Nobody will attack us,” he said.

They walked off. Jack was flanked on either side by Paul and Ken. After a short silence, Jack asked, “How did you come to be there? And tell me what happened, will you?”

“You’d better tell us what happened,” asserted Ken. “We found you there stretched out horizontally. Some bump you have, too.”

Jack touched the wound and groaned with pain. “It’s nothing much,” said Paul. “You’ll live a long time yet.”

Paul and Ken laughed. But Jack couldn’t see what was so funny. Ken said, “Come on, tell us what happened.”

“That’s just it,” protested Jack, “I wish I knew myself. The last thing I can remember is that I got an awful wallop on the back of the head and sock! I was out.”

“Who was that person we saw running away from the house?” asked Paul.

Jack stopped in his tracks. “Running away!” he exclaimed. “Who? What? When?”

“Ken and I,” Paul explained, “were coming up the street. We were about ten feet from the house, when we saw somebody dash out of the yard and down toward the other end of the street. We thought there might be something wrong so we investigated.”

“And we found you,” added Ken.

“He must have been the fellow who socked you on the head,” concluded Paul.

“Well, why didn’t one of you go after him?” demanded Jack.

“Somebody had to take care of you, didn’t they?” questioned Paul.

“By then it was too late,” added Ken.

Jack began to walk back toward the house. “Come on,” he said, “we’re going back and see what happened.”

“What for?” asked Paul. “We looked and didn’t see a thing.”

Jack felt his pockets. “Besides,” he added, “my flashlight must be somewhere there in the hall.”

“No. Here it is,” said Ken, taking it out of his pocket.

But Jack insisted on going back to the house and they did. Ken was left outside on guard while the other two entered the house. They found the first door in the hall open. The dust on the floor was stirred by many footprints but there was nothing else visible in the room. The two returned to the hall and searched but they found nothing. “I wonder who it was that socked me like that?” muttered Jack.

“It’s no use wondering because you can only guess,” asserted Paul. “My own opinion is that some stray individual happened to be in here when you entered and just as your back was turned, he hit you on the head and escaped. That’s all.”

“But why? Why?” demanded Jack. “And what was he doing here?”

“How should I know? And since there is nothing else we can do here, let’s go.”

Joining Ken, they walked off and went home.

CHAPTER XIII

Discovery

Ken was saying, “It is rather strange that somebody should have been in that house when it is supposed to be empty and deserted.”

“But why?” demanded Paul. “Being empty and unoccupied, anybody might walk in and look around.”

“Very true,” commented Jack, “but why should he sock me, that’s something I can’t understand.” He put his hand behind his head and winced with pain. “Suppose,” he continued, “some person does stray into the house and while he is there I enter. Does that mean that he has to bang me on the head and run away? It is not logical. There must be something to it.”

“You may be right,” conceded Paul, “but somehow it doesn’t strike me so. By the way, did I tell you fellows how I ran into Captain Bob last night and almost scared him to death?”

“No,” cried Ken. “Tell us.”

Paul narrated his last night’s adventure. The boys laughed heartily at the thought of Captain Bob being scared out of his wits. He also told them that the captain had also had the same hunch as he. Then he asked, “What do you fellows think of it?”

Jack merely shrugged his shoulders, manifesting his lack of opinion. Ken, however, said, “It sounds quite logical to me.”

“Logic does not always prove anything,” remarked Paul.

Jack jumped out of his seat and snapped his fingers. “I have an idea,” he cried.

“Tell us,” said Ken.

“What is it?” asked Paul.

“It is something I couldn’t exactly explain; it’s just something I feel—a hunch. Come on, we’re going back to that empty house.”

“But what for?” demanded Paul. “We have been there several times and we have found no clues or anything.”

“Well, we’re going back and look again.”

Jack disappeared into the house and a minute later came out carrying his flashlight and as baseball bat. “What is the bat for?” asked Ken.

“Just in case of anything,” was the answer. “I’m not taking chances any more.”

The boys rocked with laughter, Jack joining in. “You think you’re going to hit somebody with that thing?” questioned Ken, still laughing.

“I suppose the fellow who hit you is waiting there for you to even things up,” commented Paul.

“You fellows can laugh all you want,” said Jack, “but I’m taking it along just the same. Come on.”

They were on their way. Jack said, “Paul, you and I are going into the house, while you, Ken, are going to hide outside and give us the usual signal in case you see somebody suspicious coming up the street or about to enter the house.”

“And what are we going to do?” asked Paul.

“You and I are going into that first room and investigate. If there is anything to be found, somehow I feel convinced that it will be found in that room. I have only one reason for it. When I was hit on the head I had my back to that door. Therefore the person who hit me came out of that room.”

“That sounds reasonable,” remarked Paul. “But I, on the contrary, have no illusions about finding any clues there. It seems to me that we went over every inch of ground in that room.”

“You are wrong, Paul,” contradicted Jack. “All we did was merely look around. We did not make a real search of the room.”

The boys came to the house. All three of them made sure of a good location for Ken to hide and keep watch. When that was done, Paul and Jack entered the house and closed the door behind them. “Now,” whispered Jack, “Let’s open the door of this first room and examine it.” Jack did so and swung the door back and forth on its hinges. “Notice something?” he asked his chum.

“I most certainly do, Jack. This is very suspicious.”

“What is it you notice?” asked Jack.

“Why, the movement of the door swinging on its hinges; it’s noiseless. Isn’t that what you mean?”

“Yes. The hinges must be well oiled and that is why I did not hear when the door was opened and I was hit on the head. Under normal circumstances, the hinges should be rusty and there should be plenty of squeaking every time the door is swung open.”

“You are right, Jack. But I still don’t see what your hunch is.”

“Let’s just wait and see. I don’t know exactly what it is myself yet. I can only make a wild guess. Let’s go into the room.”

They entered and closed the door behind them. They had no use for their flashlights because the room had a window in each corner wall, and it was now early morning, about ten o’clock. “Notice another thing,” remarked Jack. “The windows—they are all in perfect shape.”

“That’s right, but that is nothing extraordinary. It is possible that the last tenant had moved out only recently.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter so much. Shall we first thoroughly go over the walls or the floor?”

Paul looked about for several seconds before he answered. “I think we had better do the floor first.” They looked down. “You know,” continued Paul, “I am somehow beginning to get a hunch like you have. I can’t exactly explain it, but—”

Jack interrupted, crying enthusiastically, “Do you really mean that? Because then—”

Paul held up a finger to his lips and cautioned, “Sh! Not so loud. Walls have ears, you know, and all that.” Both of them crouched down. “Do you notice something odd about the dust on the floor?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Jack. “I noticed it the first time we were here but I forgot to mention it. There seems to be very little dust on this floor compared to the other rooms.”

“That is right. Now you begin at the other end of the room and I will begin at this end of the room. Examine every single plank of wood and see if it lifts out of the floor.”

“That was my intention exactly,” whispered Jack. “You are getting on to my hunch perfectly.”

Paul by now had become excited with the new turn of events and he was eager to be doing something. “Less talk and more work,” he snapped at his friend briskly.

Jack smiled and moved away to his end of the floor. The boys partitioned the floor in half and set to work with zest. They ran their hands over the floor and tested each plank. Despite their eagerness and rapid movements, it took them a long time. The two of them must have been working close to an hour, and Paul was occupied now in front of the window when he hissed across the room, “Jack, I have it!”

Paul flushed with excitement. Jack raced across the room and joined his friend. Paul had discovered a removable piece of wood about six inches long by about three inches wide. He held it up in his hand. “Now!” he whispered. He plunged his hand into the opening and pulled. But too much effort was not necessary, the trap door opened easily. Jack was ready to rush right down, but Paul, ever prudent and careful, grabbed him by the arm and restrained him. “Wait a moment,” he whispered. “Let’s make sure of things.”

Paul went to the window and peeked out. He located Ken and saw the boy on guard, his eyes roaming everywhere and on the alert. Jack had in the meanwhile gone out into the hall. Paul now joined him and together they looked through the house to make sure whether anyone was in there or was watching them. Reassured at last, they returned to the room and again pulled up the trap door. There were stairs leading down, but it was dark below and Jack flashed on his light. From every appearance it looked like an ordinary cellar. Paul whispered, “All right, let’s go down. I’ll go first.”

Jack nodded and his chum began to descend the stairs. He followed, gripping his bat in his hand. Becoming conscious of the weapon, he smiled to himself remembering how his friends joked at his taking it along. Now, in case of anything, it would be very useful.

Paul, who carried the flashlight, reached the bottom of the stairs and waited for his chum. Jack joined him. Together they followed the beam of light around the room. At one side was a printing press and quite a bit of printing paraphernalia; in the center of the room was a table and several chairs; against the walls were several boxes, a jacket and a cap hung on a nail and from the ceiling there extended an electric bulb. Jack whispered, “What do you make of it all?”

Paul shrugged his shoulders. Again he threw a beam of light all around the room. Satisfied with what he saw, he turned and motioned to his friend that they leave. Jack shook his head. “No,” he whispered, “let’s see exactly what they have here.”

“Not now,” was the whispered reply. “Some other time.”

He began to mount the stairs and Jack followed. They closed the trap after them and replaced the piece of wood. Paul went over to the window and peeked out. And it was a lucky thing that he did. Locating Ken on the spot they had left him, he noticed the guard put his fingers to his lips and whistle. But they could not hear the whistle because both the door to the house and the door to the room were closed. Grabbing Jack by the arm, he cried, “Hurry!” and dragged him out of the room. In the hall they just managed to duck under the stairs as the door opened and by the sound of the footsteps the boys guessed that two men had entered. They heard a gruff voice mutter, “All right, we’ll do it.”

The next instant they heard the second door open and close. Venturing out from their hiding place, they listened carefully to the opening of the trap door, one man descending, then the second man descending and then, plop, the trap door closing again. The boys looked at each other. Paul smiled while Jack wiped the perspiration off his forehead with a muffled sigh of relief. Paul opened the door noiselessly and they stepped out into the open. At a sign from Paul, Ken was in an instant over the fence and away. A moment later Jack and Paul were out of the yard and running down the street.

They joined Ken at the end of the street. The two boys did not dare to speak until they were some distance away from the empty house. Finally, Jack, who couldn’t restrain himself any more, heaved a very audible sigh of relief and exclaimed, “Boy! Was that a close shave! I’m so nervous, my hands are shaking.”

“What happened?” asked Ken who could see that something important had transpired.

“Let’s not talk now,” said Paul. “Wait until we get someplace where we can’t be overheard.” He looked from one of his friends to the other. “Don’t look so curious and excited,” he added. “Let’s discuss some ordinary topic. Did you fix your dad’s car, Jack?”

Jack looked at his chum and burst out laughing. Paul looked as calm and unconcerned as though nothing had happened. “I’m glad to see you fellows enjoying your fun,” remarked Ken. “But I wish you would tell me the joke so I could also enjoy it and laugh.”

That set both Jack and Paul laughing. “Pardon us, Ken,” said Paul. “But there really is nothing to laugh about. That’s the joke. But we will tell you all about it right away.”

CHAPTER XIV

A New Turn of Events

Jack stopped dead in his tracks. His two friends also stopped and faced him. “What is it?” asked Paul.

“I was just wondering,” answered Jack, “whether we shouldn’t go back there, watch until those two leave and then go down there again.”

“Go down where?” asked Ken; they had not yet told him of the cellar they had discovered.

Paul shook his head. “No,” he said. “We have had enough for one day. And then, I want some time to think this thing over and try to piece everything together. Let’s go to Ken’s garage where we can have some privacy.”

“You really think we shouldn’t go back?” asked Jack.

“Yes, I’m convinced.”

“Don’t mind me,” said Ken as the three of them continued walking. “I’m only an ornament among the three of us.”

“Don’t be so impatient,” said Paul. “Wait. We’ll tell you everything.”

They came to Ken’s garage and sat down on boxes. Paul related what had happened. Several times Ken gasped in astonishment. When the story was finally ended, Paul commented, “But what puzzles me is how all the incidents fit together. The fires, Mr. Grey, Jack getting bumped on the head, Captain Bob, where do all these facts fit in?”

“As far as Captain Bob is concerned, you can leave him out of it,” commented Jack. “No matter what it is all about, I’m quite sure he is an innocent party.”

“Yes,” said Ken. “As chief of the fire department he naturally would be interested in why there are an unusually large number of fires.”

“All right, suppose we agree that Captain Bob is out of it,” said Paul, “what about all the other facts. How does Mr. Grey fit in, for example?”

“Yes, how does he fit in?” asked Ken. “Isn’t it possible that what you stumbled on today has nothing to do with all the other incidents?”

“It may sound all right,” remarked Jack, “but I don’t think so. For example, by now I am convinced that the fellow who hit me came out of that cellar.”

“But why should he run away?” questioned Paul. “Why couldn’t he have made you a prisoner, as that would be a more natural thing to do?”

“Perhaps,” argued Jack. “But if he had, he would have had to take me down in the cellar. Now suppose he blindfolds me, still I might hear something they say. I might escape and inform the police. My opinion is that he hit me and ran away, hoping that the blow on the head would scare me so that I would never return.”

His two companions nodded. “Suppose we accept that as the real reason. Where does everything else fit in? What are they doing with a printing press down there? They shouldn’t have to hide that.”

“But the mere fact that they are hiding it is proof that they are doing something illegal,” commented Ken.

His two companions repeated the word, “Illegal! Illegal!”

Jack began to walk up and down, his chin in his hand and deep in thought. The other two were also silent and thinking hard. Jack picked up an old newspaper from the floor. Suddenly he dropped the paper, jumped high into the air and cried frantically, “I have it! I have it!”

His two friends leaped out of their seats, and ran up to him. “Well!” demanded Paul, for once impatient and curious. “What is the answer?”

“The answer is,” whispered Jack and then paused, “Counterfeiters!” he whispered.

Ken jumped into the air enthusiastically. “That’s right!” he cried. “That’s right!”

Paul smiled with satisfaction. Putting an arm around Jack, he said, “It sounds very reasonable. Counterfeiters have to use a printing press. And counterfeiters do something illegal and therefore have to hide.” He nodded his head. “Sounds very logical.”

They returned to their seats. “But,” continued Paul, “even if we grant the fact that they are counterfeiters, how do all the other incidents fit in? The fires and Mr. Grey for example?”

“Must they fit in?” inquired Ken.

“They don’t have to,” was Paul’s reply, “but I have a notion that they do.”

Jack nodded and agreed with his chum. “I feel the same way about it,” he said. “It is very possible that what we have discovered today has absolutely nothing to do with the fires or Mr. Grey. But somehow I have a feeling that there is some connection. But I can’t say what.”

“But if there is some sort of a connection between all these facts, how do you think they fit in?” asked Paul.

Jack shook his head. Ken said, “Suppose we begin from the very beginning. I mean from the time you came upon the house, Jack. Now, was it not Mr. Grey who led you to the house?”

“Yes. And then he sneaked around in the back and scared me half to death.”

“All right. Now if he had anything to do with the counterfeiters do you think he would have led you to that very house he wants you to keep away from? If he were a member of that gang of counterfeiters and he knew you were following him, don’t you think he would lead you to some other part of town?”

Paul said, “That may sound logical, but the opposite may also sound logical. For example, if we concede that the fellow who hit Jack on the head and then ran away did it to frighten him so that he would keep away from there, why can’t we say the same thing about Mr. Grey? Is it not possible that Mr. Grey knew he was being followed and purposely led Jack to that very house, then sneaked up behind him to frighten him so that he would never return? Isn’t that very plausible?”

“Say,” cried Jack, “if what you say is true, that fellow certainly made a mistake.”

“And how!” echoed Ken.

“Now if we know all that,” continued Paul, “that makes Mr. Grey a member of the gang of counterfeiters.”

“But what about the fires? And leading Betty away. And those white cards, what about them? And the robbery at Professor Link’s?”

The boys looked at each other very glumly. “The whole thing is like a crazy jigsaw puzzle,” muttered Paul.

“Telling me!” mumbled Ken. “It has already given me a headache. The thing worries me so, I can’t sleep nights.”

The boys laughed at the manner in which Ken said it. “You have to sleep,” remarked Jack. “Otherwise how are we going to solve this jigsaw puzzle of a mystery?”

The boys sat around and brooded. Three minds with one thought—how to solve the mystery; how all the details fitted into the general picture. They were so silent and lost in thought that they were not at all aware of Ken’s little sister Betty approaching and regarding them with surprise. She stood rooted in one spot and stared at her brother and his two friends. Finally she couldn’t bear it any longer. She opened her mouth wide and cried suddenly, “Boo!” The boys jumped as though they were shot. Reassured again, they smiled heaving sighs of relief. “Mother says you should come to dinner,” she said.

“Dinner!” exclaimed Ken. “Is it time for dinner already?”

All three simultaneously looked at their watches. “My, how time flies,” mumbled Jack. “Twelve-thirty already.”

Mrs. Armstrong came to the porch and called, “Betty!”

“I’m right here, Mother,” cried the child. And she ran to the porch.

“Did you find Ken?”

“He is at the garage. And Jack and Paul too.”

“Tell them all to come in; lunch is ready.”

The boys entered the house. Paul and Jack telephoned home that they were having lunch with Ken. At the table, in the midst of the meal, Jack almost choked as he thought of something. “Hurry up, fellows,” he whispered. “I’ve just thought of something important.”

“Can’t you at least eat without thinking?” mocked Ken.

“Yes, take it easy,” was Paul’s advice.

“Choke easy, you mean,” corrected Ken.

“Stop all that talk,” spoke up Jack, “and hurry up and finish. I want to get out and talk this thing over.”

As soon as they were through with their meal, the boys retreated to the garage again. “Now what is it?” asked Paul.

“It is something that I thought of just as soon as we got into the cellar,” replied Jack, “but it slipped my mind and I forgot to mention it.”

“Well, what is it?” asked Ken. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“It’s this. When we descended the stairs into the cellar, Paul, it occurred to me that if the police cornered the gang of counterfeiters in that cellar, how would they manage to escape?”

“They wouldn’t,” was Ken’s opinion.

“Suppose you were one of the gang, wouldn’t you think of such a possibility and make sure of an exit, of a means of escape?”

“Certainly.”

“Then that means, that probably there is another entrance or exit into that cellar.”

“That’s right,” said Paul. “I’m glad you thought of it. It is something we should have thought of at once.”

“Oh I wish you didn’t,” said Ken, pretending that he was in tears, “because that only adds another item in the puzzle to solve.”

“Which isn’t going to be very easy.”

“No, it certainly won’t.”

“Let’s come down to earth now,” remarked Jack, “and think in terms of action. What are we going to do now? What should be our plan of action from now on? Can you think of anything, Paul?”

For a short while, there was silence. At last Paul ventured to suggest, “We might, for example, give up following Mr. Grey; at least temporarily. Then we have to watch that house and get to know the men entering and leaving and determine as well as we can who the members of the gang are.”

“I was just thinking of something,” remarked Ken. “Do you remember, Paul, how hostile the grocery man was and how he squirmed out of giving you any information about Mr. Grey?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well, it just occurred to me, that the man must know something if he is so anxious to conceal it.”

“Hmm!” muttered Jack.

“Another thing,” continued Ken. “Isn’t it true, Jack, that each time you followed Mr. Grey, it seemed to you that he emerged from that corner house, the house in which the store is situated?”

“That’s right. What are you driving at?”

Ken scratched his head. “I feel this way about it,” he said, “that most likely that corner house is owned or at least rented by the grocery man. Now if Mr. Grey comes out of that house, he must live there.” His two companions leaned forward and listened to him attentively. They suspected that what he was saying might be very valuable. He continued, “Therefore, if Mr. Grey lives in that house, the grocery man must know him; under ordinary circumstances, he would have no reason to say that he didn’t know Mr. Grey. It therefore follows that either he knows that Mr. Grey is a crook or possibly he himself is somehow involved in the situation.”

The boys gasped. The reasonableness and logic of Ken’s statement was beyond question. Yet how true was it? If it were true, another missing link was being added to the already complicating puzzle. “Then why,” asked Jack, “should the woman have mentioned the name Mr. Grey when you entered the store and asked for information Ken?”

Paul answered, “That’s simple. If we assume that what Ken said is true, the grocery man’s wife knows nothing of her husband’s operations and very innocently gave away the name.”

“Yes, that’s right,” agreed Ken.

“That only makes it worse,” muttered Jack.

Again the group became silent. They would hit upon an idea, discuss it rapidly and then they would brood for a while. Jack leaped to his feet. “Let’s do something,” he cried.

Paul rose. “I for one,” he said, “am going home and I suggest you do the same. That will calm us down. Then we will meet again after supper and—do something.”

CHAPTER XV

Following Up Their Clues

Jack was restless, excited. The mystery had him upset. While Paul and Ken each went to their respective homes, Jack loitered along Main Street. Not that he hoped to do anything or come upon any clues; he merely didn’t feel like going home. He walked down as far as Jones Street and again investigated the neighborhood. Returning to the corner, he went into the store and on the pretense that he was buying a small box of chocolate wafers, he let his eyes wander about the place. But there was nothing especial to see; it was the same as any other ordinary grocery. The woman was in the store and she appeared to be a mild sort of person. Considering it unwise to ask any questions or seek any information from her, he paid for his wafers and left.

He munched as he walked along. Thinking hard for some plan of action, he couldn’t come to any definite decision. Finally he concluded that Paul was right—he should go home and let the matter rest for a while. Quickening his pace, he walked home and busied himself with tasks about the house.

After supper, the three boys met at Paul’s home. They sat down on the porch and waited for someone to speak first. Paul finally spoke up and said, “Right now, I think, we have to look into two angles of the situation. One of us should go down to Jones Street and watch the grocery man. The other two should go back to that empty house and see what happens there.”

“How about you going down to Jones Street?” asked Jack. “You spoke to the grocery man and you know what he looks like.”

“That suits me. You and Ken, in the meanwhile, will watch the empty house.”

“How about that other angle of yours, Paul? The one about watching out for a fire at some house owned by the Jones and Jones real estate company,” commented Ken. “I think it’s a good hunch that we ought to follow up.”

“I think we can drop it for tonight at any rate and see what happens,” answered Paul. “Let’s go.”

They walked off the porch and headed for Main Street. “So long,” called Paul, and waved.

“Good luck,” returned Jack.

“We’ll be seeing you,” said Ken.

Jack and Ken walked off together. “It’s a little early yet, don’t you think?” asked Ken.

Jack looked at his watch; it was not quite seven-thirty. “Yes,” he answered. “But we will go down there anyhow and see.”

They walked past the house as though they were ordinary pedestrians. Coming to the railroad tracks, they turned around and walked back through the street on which the back of the house faced. It was eight o’clock now but it was still daylight. So they decided to walk around the block once more and as far as the railroad tracks. As soon as it became dusk, they returned to the house and took up different positions. Jack hid himself directly behind the fence overlooking the front of the house; Ken, on the other hand, picked out a hiding place at the rear of the house. The two were thus able to keep a watch all around the house and at the same time be within reach of each other in case of necessity.

The boys watched the sky become gray and the stars come out; the moon crept out of the horizon and night descended. Perfectly still, noiseless, inconspicuous, the two kept guard. Every once in a while, people passed up and down the street, and immediately Jack was on the alert, anxious, impatient. But nothing happened and time dragged along. Suddenly he heard the sound of a soft whistle and he turned his head to locate Ken. Again the same soft whistle. Jack looked all around him, then, very cautiously, he crept over to his friend. Ken had his ear to the ground. Jack whispered, “What’s up?”

Ken motioned for his friend to put his ear to the ground and Jack did so. He flattened himself out and glued his ear to the ground. A slight trembling of the earth came to his ears, accompanied by a steady, muffled sound. For about five minutes both boys put their ears to the ground and listened. Ken, although he guessed what it was, whispered, “What do you think it is?”

“The printing press.”

Ken nodded. “I thought so too.”

Jack whispered, “When did you first hear that sound?” he asked.

“It seemed to begin only a short while ago.”

The boys were silent, thinking hard. If the press had been operating only a short while, then it was most logical to conclude that whoever was in the cellar had come there recently, within the last thirty, forty, fifty minutes. Yet the boys had been on guard for a full hour and as far as they knew, no one had entered the house by the front door. Jack, therefore, became more firmly convinced that there was another door somewhere; that the cellar could be reached and left perhaps some distance away from the house. Jack whispered, “I’m going back.”

Ken nodded. His friend crept away and again he was alone. Each one in his own hiding place, they watched and waited, but nothing happened. Overhead was the blue sky with the moon and the stars. All around them was darkness. Their waiting and watching was in vain—at least so it seemed.

Another hour passed and still nothing happened. Ken lay with his ear to the ground and occupied himself with listening to the hissing sound that came out of the earth. Jack watched and waited but not a thing stirred. He became restless and chafed with impatience. Finally he wiggled over to Ken and also put his ear to the ground. Still that hissing sound and the trembling of the earth. Ken whispered, “They must be working hard down there.”

Jack nodded and kept silent. Together they lay flat on the ground and listened. Again it was Ken who whispered, “What do you say, you think we ought to go? There is nothing doing here.”

“No, let’s wait a short while more. I wonder what Paul is doing.”

“Same here. I hope at least he has found something interesting to do. This doing nothing is killing me.”

Jack felt the same way about it. As a matter of fact, Jack was of more impatient nature than Ken, but he felt it upon himself to urge his friend on. “Take it easy and don’t lose your patience,” he whispered back. “A thing like this takes time you know; plenty of time.”

Again they fixed their ears to the ground. They remained like that for a short time. Suddenly they pushed their ears deeper into the ground. In the darkness, they looked at each other. “Do you hear what I hear?” whispered Ken.

“Yes, nothing.”

“That’s right. They must have stopped the printing press.”

“Yes. Now what?”