"Step on it! Scurry around and see what it is. And keep in touch. Call up every few minutes."

Jimmy hung up the receiver and stood at the instrument in thought, holding the receiver in its hook as though he would get inspiration from the lifeless instrument. He had learned to have a profound respect for Hite's tips. Hunch or flash, whatever it was, it was undoubtedly something. He started swiftly for the hotel in Lentone, where many of the newspaper representatives congregated. If anyone among them knew of something to justify Hite's excitement, he would show it in some way. There would be a tension, a restlessness that would give the secret away.

The first look at the large group of men and women lolling on the wide verandah of the hotel convinced Jimmy that none of these knew of anything big breaking. News sleuths, do not act the way these did with something big. They are up and moving.

He went back to the police station. There was nothing new there. He called up Justice Higginbotham's camp and spoke to McGuire. There was nothing there. He called up Professor Brierly.

Jack, who answered the phone, assured him that everything was peaceful there also.

He called up the office again. This time he was connected directly with the city room. When he identified himself his eardrums were almost shattered by the howl that came over the wire:

"Flynn was murdered an hour ago!" Hite yelled.

Jimmy's body stiffened as if a live galvanic battery had been applied to it. Flynn, murdered? With guards near by, men who had been warned and ordered—Jimmy, trained as he was to disaster and tragedy in all its forms, somehow could not accept this. He said inanely:

"Flynn, murdered? Did you say Flynn, chief? Why he—"

"What the hell is the matter with you, are you drunk? Yes," the word came in a hiss. "I said Flynn, William Flynn, the member of your Tontine group we were warned to guard."

"But wasn't he guarded?"

"Yes, he was guarded. Two of his guards were in his house with him. Three were outside." Jimmy had been leaning weakly against the instrument as if for support. Now he came out of it. He was the alert newspaper man.

"How about the guards, chief? How did it happen?"

"The guards were blown to hell with him. He was picked up in each state as soon, as he crossed the border. The Federal man was with him all the time. He had to transact some important business with a nephew in Orange, New Jersey. He went there first, under guard. Then he went home, to Pleasantville. There was no one there; the house had been closed up. About three or four minutes after he got there there was an explosion that blew the entire dwelling to kindling wood. The two guards, one of them a state trooper, and one of them a Federal man, were killed with him. There wasn't enough left of him or them to put in a bushel basket.

"The police have a drag net out. All the roads, all the railroads, all the airports are guarded. The river and the water front, every wharf in New York and New Jersey is taken care of. You would think a flea couldn't get through. They've picked up hundreds of men."

"What do you want me to do, Chief?"

"I don't know, but get around, see the members of the Tontine group. Persuade Professor Brierly to come down here if he can; the plane is still up there and is at his disposal. And by the way, Jimmy, if he consents to come, unless there is something up there that needs your personal attention, come with him. You seem to be the only person who can get along with him or get anything out of him. Step on it. I'll stay here until I hear from you, at any rate."

Professor Brierly listened carefully to Jimmy's swift explosive sentences in which he transmitted the high lights of the tragedy four hundred miles away. As he had done on a former occasion, Professor Brierly acceded at once to the request that he go down by plane to view the scene of the explosion.

While Jimmy made the telephone call for the plane, the Professor was getting himself in readiness for the flight. He looked up in surprise as he saw Matthews also in the act of preparing for a journey.

"Where are you going, John?"

"Going with you, Professor. Jimmy tells me it's a cabin plane that will accommodate six or seven passengers."

Professor Brierly looked at him suspiciously. Matthews' features were etched in grave lines. The big, blond young giant looked rather grim. Jimmy looked on in surprise at this scene, which he could not understand. Professor Brierly dissented impatiently.

"Nonsense, John. What need is there for you to go?"

Matthews answered quietly: "Sorry to disagree with you, Professor, but I'm going along."

Professor Brierly, after glaring speechlessly at his adopted son, shrugged his shoulders and continued getting himself in readiness. Jimmy followed Matthews out to the porch. He asked quietly:

"What is this, Jack? I don't get it at all."

Matthews looked at him without trying to conceal his contempt.

"A hell of a bright newspaper man you are! It was Professor Brierly who pointed to the fact that Miller's and Schurman's deaths were murders. If not for that, Flynn's death might have been put down to some accident.

"I wouldn't feel at all comfortable having the old gentleman go down there alone. It's true he'll have you there, Jimmy. You're a good little man and you've got plenty of guts, but I'll feel better, lots better, if I am with him personally."

"Well, what was he sore about?"

"He's sore because he knows why I'm going and he hates to be taken care of. We had some words about his going day before yesterday. He's a cocky old guy, as you know, isn't afraid of any single thing on earth and it galls him to have me go along to play nursemaid. Well, he can just be sore. I'm not going to leave his side." He paused and then said slowly:

"Jimmy, I don't like this. I don't like it a damn bit. Birds who will play this kind of a game, with several million dollars at stake, who will plan murders like these, won't stop at anything. And there's no question about it that the Professor has interfered with their plans somewhat. I repeat, Jimmy, I don't like it a damn bit. In all those things you got him into I never had quite the same feeling I have now. I'm really afraid for him.

"Well, I'm going to be with him and I'm likely to take drastic action first and talk afterward if someone makes a suspicious move."

Jimmy soberly nodded. His absorption in the story had made him overlook this ramification of it. He could see that it was highly probable that Professor Brierly might be in as great danger as was any member of the Tontine group.

The pilot of the amphibian, when he taxied up to the wharf, told Jimmy that arrangements had been made that he land the plane on a field belonging to John Mallory, amateur sportsman and airman, whose estate was close to the home of William Flynn, at Pleasantville.



Chapter XIII

The plane dropped down out of the sky at four o'clock Monday morning, Eastern Standard time. Professor Brierly, as was his wont when traveling in a conveyance that he could not drive himself, was fast asleep. He had slept throughout the journey in spite of the roar of the whirling blades that had swept them through the skies.

A light touch on his arm woke him as they taxied to the end of the field. At its further end a man was seen pottering about the small hangar.

As the three men stepped out of the plane, two uniformed policemen approached. One of them, after looking at the ill assorted trio, addressed Professor Brierly.

"Herman Brierly?"

Professor Brierly looked up at the huge bulk of the man. He nodded, staring in puzzled silence from one to the other policeman. The spokesman for the pair said: "Will you come with us, Mr. Brierly. We—"

Jimmy's swift, keen glance took in the two men, their uniforms, their badges, their features, their shoes. He paid special attention to their shoes.

He murmured softly to Matthews:

"Good hunch of yours, Jack. Get set, they're not policemen."

Matthews slid his lanky length between Professor Brierly and the uniformed men. He interrupted their spokesman:

"What's this about, what do you want Professor Brierly for?"

The other looked at him insolently.

"I said, we want Professor Brierly, young feller."

"Yes, I heard that; I asked what you want him for."

"Well, if you want to know, he's under arrest."

"I'm still curious to know all about it," quietly said Matthews. "What's he under arrest for?"

"Listen, young feller, we was ordered to bring him in, see? And we're gonna bring him in. Now we don't want no trouble. If he comes along with us quiet like—"

Matthews' body had by this time edged the tiny form of Professor Brierly several feet away. Matthew's large form was now squarely between that of the little scientist and the two policemen. Jack interrupted:

"You don't want trouble, do you? Well, I do. I want trouble. I'm just aching and pining for trouble. If you don't want trouble you know how to avoid it. Go 'way and don't bother us—"

The other policeman was circling the pair. Jimmy interrupted at this point. Jimmy was talking in a soft low drawl. Those who knew Jimmy Hale knew that he was never as dangerous—to others—as when he spoke that way.

"Officer, this can be settled easily. You've got a warrant, of course. My friend," jerking his head toward Matthews, "is a little hot-headed. If you just show us the warrant, there won't be any trouble."

Another man in uniform had been approaching the group from a car that was parked in the road near the edge of the field. As he came nearer, he called out:

"Oh, what the hell's all this palaver about. Let's take him." He lunged for Professor Brierly, his hand outstretched.

Matthews got into motion at the same time. The third policeman did not quite reach Professor Brierly. A hard, bony fist struck him about two inches above the belt buckle. He folded up, emitting a hoarse grunt, his bulging eyes mirroring acute pain. The mate to the first fist whipped up in a short vicious arc. The man's head snapped backward. His knees wilted; he fell to the ground slowly as a tree falls; he lay there quietly.

The two other policemen had moved forward. Jimmy moved toward them. Jimmy was never quite good enough to make the varsity team in his four years at college. But he had tried for four years and he had always been on the squad. His coach had, what amounted to a phobia, in the matter of blocking. Thus Jimmy, if he learned nothing else, had learned how to block. His coach had said repeatedly that no man can become a football player unless he learn to block. He had blocked and tackled big, fast, bruising varsity players for four years. And this was a time when the flying block and the flying tackle were not barred. Jimmy had also been taught that "clipping," blocking from the rear, was dangerous to the blockee and was severely penalized.

Jimmy took a few mincing steps. His compact one hundred and fifty-eight pounds left the ground and turned sideways. Jimmy's right hip struck one of the blue coats right back of the knees at the joints. The man uttered a howl of anguish. There was a nasty snap. The man had a bad fracture that would keep him limping for the rest of his life. In falling, the man's hands flailed wildly. One of these hands struck Jimmy squarely in the eye. Jimmy got up quickly, his normally mild brown eyes blazing. He was just in time to see the finish.

The third man had reached for a gun. A long iron arm reached out, a large hand seized the hand with the weapon. Two men nearly of equal height stood facing another. The eyes of one reflected surprise, anger and disappointment. The eyes of the other were now the color of cloudy ice. They were blazing with cold ferocity. The one thing needed to drive Matthews into a murderous rage had happened: an assault on Professor Brierly. In addition to the vast respect and veneration Matthews had for the old man he had a tenderness for him such as a man has for his mother. His scientific associates would have had difficulty recognizing the budding young scientist who showed so much promise under Professor Brierly's tutelage. The pressure of the fingers increased. The fingers of the blue coated individual opened and the weapon dropped.

Matthews made a sudden movement. He released one hand but held on to the other. He was now behind the blue coated back. He had the other's arm bent across the back; he was pushing it up. He had the dangerous hammer-lock, a hold barred in amateur wrestling.

The other panted chokingly:

"Let go, damn you!"

There was no answer. The pressure increased. There was a sudden tightening of the already taxed muscles. There was a dull snap; the blue coated figure fell writhing to the ground.

The pilot, amazed at what was going on before him, had left the plane. He stood wide-eyed and white-faced at what he saw. Matthews stood there panting. A thin grin, the ghost of his usual grin wrinkled his taut features.

"Don't worry," he said, "they're not policemen."

Professor Brierly had stood by, hands clenched, eyes flashing. They had started toward the hangar from which a man was running toward them, Matthews said, banteringly:

"What do you think of the relative value of physical as against mental culture now, Professor. Know what these birds were after, don't you?"

Professor Brierly said resolutely:

"I have not changed my mind at all. I might have discussed it with them. I might have—"

"Yeah," broke in Jimmy inelegantly. "As I once heard Jack say to you, you might have slugged 'em with your culture and logic."

The old scientist glared. He burst out: "You are both—"

"Yes, Professor," interrupted Matthews, "Jimmy certainly is, all that and then some. And Professor, did you have a good look at Jimmy's left eye. Me, oh my, what a mouse. WHAT a shiner." The three fell silent. Matthew's hand fell on Jimmy's shoulder as they approached the hangar.

"I knew you were a good little man, Jimmy; I always said so. Your coach would have been proud of you if he could have seen it. You earned your letter, Jimmy." The hand increased its pressure on the shoulder, dropped, and there was no further allusion to the episode.

Jimmy went into the hangar and put in two quick telephone calls, one to his office, where the dog watch was on duty, and one to Police Headquarters in New York City. To each he told the episode of the pseudo policemen. New York police headquarters promised that they would get in touch immediately with the State police and with the Pleasantville police. His office also promised immediate action. He learned later that when the police arrived there was no sign of their assailants. But other and more pressing matters engaged the attention of Professor Brierly and the reporter; matters that drove the fight out of their minds.

A short drive took them to what had once been the home of William Flynn. They were at once admitted inside the police lines. McCall, from Canada, and Hite, from New York, had paved the way for them.

The explosion had not been as severe as Jimmy had been led to believe. Two of the lower rooms remained nearly intact and some portions of the foundation. State, county and city police were there, in uniform and in plain clothes. Even at this hour a huge crowd had gathered. Newspaper representatives from all the New York papers from nearby towns and from news-gathering bureaus, were there.

Two state troopers and one member of the Pleasantville police force had been on guard outside the house when the explosion occurred. The house was at the end of a quiet residential street. Beyond the house there was a patch of wooded ground which cut off the view from a state road running to Tarrytown, about a hundred yards deep. The house nearest to the one that had been wrecked by the explosion was two hundred yards distant.

One of the state troopers who had been on guard outside the house was present when the three men arrived. His testimony was brief.

They had come to the house about seven-thirty, daylight saving time, the night before. There were in the party seven persons, the chauffeur of the car that had taken them from the station, William Flynn, three state troopers, one Federal secret service man and a policeman from Pleasantville, who had taken the place of the New York policeman when their train arrived at the local station. The car they had taken was not a taxi, but a large public limousine, such as are used in many small towns. It held the entire party.

Mr. Flynn, a state trooper and the Federal man went into the house; the others stayed outside. About three minutes after the three men had entered the house the explosion occurred.

Professor Brierly asked the trooper:

"Where was the driver of the taxi, when this happened?"

"He was right here with us, sir. He stayed a while, talking about the murders of Mr. Flynn's friends. He seemed to know all about it."

"You say it was about three minutes after they went into the house?"

"It could not have been more than five minutes at most."

"Did you notice anybody on this street when you came, or before the explosion?"

"No, sir. We made a search afterward. You see the next five houses are closed for the summer. That means that the nearest house where there was anybody at the time is not less than three hundred yards away. There wasn't a soul on this street. After the explosion, of course, there was a mob. You'd wonder where all the people came from in such a small town Sunday evening."

"And the three men in the house were killed outright?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you look in the patch of woods over there?"

"No, sir. I didn't see the need for it and I was too busy keeping the people a safe distance away. Fortunately there was no fire."

Professor Brierly went into what was left of the house. He carefully picked his way through the broken furniture, the crumbling brick and mortar, twisted metal. Frank Hall, from the Bureau of Combustibles, was there. He was acquainted with Professor Brierly and he greeted the old scientist cordially, saying:

"There is some evidence, Professor, of a simple bomb filled with black powder. I cannot find the firing device, whatever it was. I cannot find any timing device either."

"A timing device, Mr. Hall? Suppose the explosion had occurred ten minutes earlier. It happened, if I am correctly informed, only three minutes after he came home."

"That's all right, Professor. I thought of that, but he was expected much sooner, hours sooner."

Professor Brierly nodded absently. "I see," he murmured. He was looking about him intently. Suddenly he stooped and peered at a black mark along a strip of moulding that had fallen from some part of the wrecked structure. He picked it up and examined it carefully. He showed it to Mr. Hall.

"Did you see this, Mr. Hall? Looks like a burn that might have been made by a fuse, does it not?"

"Yes, Professor, it does, but one of the peculiarities about this kind of thing is that it destroys its own evidence pretty much. If we don't know where the lighted fuse originated and where it led, it doesn't do us much good, does it?"

"That's right, but this obviously comes from an upper room, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I believe it does. But the upper rooms are gone, you see."

"And you really think, do you Mr. Hall, that there was a timing device? It seems plausible to you that men who are engaged in such desperate business would leave such a thing to the mere chance of finding their victim home at the time their device was set to go off?"

"Well, perhaps not, Professor, but what else is there?"

"Nothing, yet, Mr. Hall, but let us look about."

Professor Brierly, with Jimmy and Matthews close at his heels, went picking his way through the wreckage. He stepped outside and looked carefully among the debris. The force of the explosion seemed to have propelled a major portion of the wreckage in the direction of the backyard. It was here that Professor Brierly found a section of a papered wall with a telephone bell-box attached.

He looked long and earnestly at a spot of the paper near what had been the bottom of the box. With Matthews' help, he forced open the enameled lid, exposing the wires, binding posts, terminals and bell. From among the wires he carefully picked out a frayed piece of gray thread. He once more peered intently into the box and at the papered area of wall to which it was attached.

"John," he said, holding the thread up for the young man's inspection. "Does this properly belong to a telephone box of this type?"

Matthews looked curiously at the bit of frayed thread. He shook his head. "I can't understand what it's doing there, Professor."

"And yet, John, this bit of thread had a very definite function, a very definite and murderous function, indeed. I think I am beginning to understand. Now let us go look for a timing device."

"But you said there wasn't any timing device, Professor," protested Jimmy. "At any rate," answering the old man's glare, "that it appeared illogical that a timing device was employed."

"Nevertheless, Mr. Hale, there was a timing device, not the kind Mr. Hall had in mind, perhaps, but some timing device. The explosion you will admit was timed very accurately indeed."

He walked outside, followed by his two companions. He walked briskly toward the patch of woods. Here he entered a faint path that was evidently used by those who came to this street from the state road. He walked carefully along the edge of the woods skirting the road on which was the wrecked house. A few yards from the path he came to a cleared patch.

He stopped and looked about him. He pointed to the ground. He said:

"Trailing is one of the accomplishments that was unfortunately left out of my education. But does a man have to be an Indian to read this correctly?" He was pointing at the ground. The small cleared space was littered with cigarette butts, rolled in brown paper and what had once been a popular brand of tobacco. There were also a number of burned matches. From this patch, screened by some undergrowth, there was a clear unobstructed sight of the late William Flynn's home.

Professor Brierly continued:

"Here is your timing device, Mr. Hale. This person, presumably one person, showing commendable patience, as evidenced by the number of cigarettes, waited here. A human timing device, but a very accurate one is proved."

"But, Professor," protested Jimmy, "that would entail wires, buried wires, perhaps. Such wires would not be readily destroyed. Such—"

"Tut, Mr. Hale. You forget that it takes only a fraction of a second for an electric impulse to encircle the earth. We live in modern times. What need for clumsy wires. And yet in a sense you are right. There were buried wires.

"John," turning abruptly to his young assistant, "that path leads to a state road. See what is at the end of that road, will you. See if there is any shop or place where there is a public telephone."

John Matthews had started along the path when he turned abruptly and came back.

"Professor, I'd rather Jimmy went. We'll wait here for him." John looked grim as he said this. He looked meaningly at Jimmy. Professor Brierly laid his tiny hand on the big shoulder, in his eyes an unwonted brightness. The Nordic is not a demonstrative creature, particularly the male creature.

"You foolish boy, come on, we'll all go."

A garish filling station was diagonally opposite the path. The familiar sign of the bell indicated that a telephone was to be had inside. But the place was still closed. Professor Brierly jotted down the name on the sign. The three men returned to the wrecked house. After a perfunctory look about the scene, Professor Brierly indicated that he was ready to go. On their way to the station he asked Jimmy if he would take him up to see his city editor, Hite. Jimmy, carefully restraining a grin, gravely consented.

The man who had driven them from the hangar hearing them discuss their trip to New York, told Professor Brierly that the car, as well as the plane, was at his disposal. They therefore, drove to the city.

A quick breakfast at an all night lunch counter, a shave and massage and the old man, apparently as fresh as though he had spent the night in bed, was ready to resume his task.

On the short ride to the newspaper office, Professor Brierly's eyes fell on one of Matthews' big hands. It was an angry red and was swollen. There was instant contrition and solicitude. The old man touched the hand gently:

"What happened, John?"

"Say, Professor, look at Jimmy's eye. Ain't it a peach?"

"John, I asked you, what is the matter with your hand?"

"My hand, Professor, which—" Professor Brierly's ire was rising. "John—"

"Oh, you mean my hand, Professor. I guess I broke a metacarpal bone. That bird had a hard jaw. Too bad I didn't use my foot," he said, regretfully.

"You're a savage young man," blared the old man. "Such instincts are—"

"Shall we say—er—primitive," suggested Jimmy.



Chapter XIV

Hite rose from his seat and laid down his pipe when Jimmy led the little man into the busy city room, a mark of respect Hite rarely showed any one. After greetings were exchanged, Hite led the way into the office of the managing editor, who had not yet arrived. Seeing the little scientist seated, Hite growled:

"Well?"

"Thank you for the opportunity to investigate this, Mr. Hite. This is one of the most interesting criminal inquiries I have ever conducted."

"Were you up to Pleasantville, Professor?"

"Yes, we are coming from there now."

"Did you find anything?"

"Yes, I found this." He took from a folded slip of paper the bit of frayed thread he had found in the telephone box.

Hite looked from the bit of thread to the fine features of the man; he looked at the two young men who grinned at him. He said:

"All right, Professor, I'll bite. What is this?"

"Would you say, Mr. Hite, that this bit of thread belongs inside a properly constructed telephone box?"

When Hite still looked at him in puzzled silence, Professor Brierly, with delicate precision, using a hook on a pen knife, picked the lock of the telephone box fastened to the managing editor's desk.

"See, Mr. Hite. This box, wires, binding posts, terminals, and so forth, is identical with the box that was blown from a wall in the Flynn home in Pleasantville. On the bottom of this box you will find a number of holes; if you put your finger there you will feel them. Now, Mr. Hite, if you will examine this box carefully, you will find that there is no thread like this to be found. Indeed, you will not find any legitimate use for such a piece of thread in the box. And remember that this box locks and opens with a key owned by the man who installs the telephone. You noticed that I had to pick this lock. It looks like a screw head that opens with a screw driver, but it is not.

"Now, Mr. Hite, suppose I wanted to blow you to kingdom come with a bomb and you lived in an isolated house situated like the late Mr. Flynn's. Here is the way I might do it. There are hundreds of other safe ways but this is one of them.

"I should enter the house in your absence. I should place my bomb and run a fuse from the bomb to one of the holes in this telephone box. I should tie the clapper of the bell down in the box with a bit of weak thread, a bit of thread like this, Mr. Hite."

He held up the bit of gray thread and continued:

"I should predetermine precisely the strength of the thread with relation to the resistance offered by the tied down bell clapper. I should know exactly how many times the operator would have to ring your telephone before the thread broke, say fourteen times. I should watch you from a convenient patch of woods. When you came home I would go to the nearest telephone and call your number. At the fourteenth ring, the clapper would break loose and strike a nail that discharges a blank cartridge that I had fastened with a small wooden block. The flare from the cartridge ignites the fuse I told you about and—"

His open hands, palms upward, made an expressive gesture.

Hite was staring at him in wide-eyed astonishment, his rugged jaws clenching his corn cob pipe until his muscles on the sides of his jaw stood out in ridges. He took the pipe slowly from his mouth.

"Say, Professor, ain't you coverin' a little too much territory. Isn't that rather a bit—"

Professor Brierly exploded into wrath.

"You newspaper men!" he almost spat the words out. "You print the wildest, most improbable tales, stories that have no basis in fact or in logic. You print statements by charlatans, without taking the trouble to verify them. And here, when I give you the result of a simple scientific bit of reasoning, almost syllogistic in its scientific simplicity you—"

Hite ducked, from the storm. He sent a ferocious scowl in the direction of the two young men who were grinning behind Professor Brierly's back. He held out a large gnarled hand placatingly:

"Pardon me, Professor, but it does seem far—I mean—your logic is absolutely amazing. We who know you believe it, of course, but—"

"Oh," said the old man mollified. "You shall have proof of course. We found evidence that a person stood in sight of the house in a patch of woods. A short distance from that is a filling station, where there is a public telephone. I took the name," he handed the city editor a slip of paper with the name of the filling station.

"You have the means of finding such things out and verifying them. You have the exact time of the explosion. See if someone did not call Flynn's home at the time of the explosion without having the call completed."

Hite punched a button on the desk. To the copy boy who popped his head into the office, he roared:

"Send in Mac, George and Barney!"

Three young men came into the office, greeted Jimmy and waited. His words coming like the staccato roar of a machine gun, Hite addressed the three:

"George, a telephone call was made from this station," handing him the slip of paper, "find the number in the telephone book. The call was made last night at precisely the time that Flynn's house in Pleasantville was blown up. It might have been made from a station near there. The call was not completed, because there was no answer. Operator was asked to ring a long time. Verify this. Don't take any hooey from the telephone company that it's against the rules. It's against the rules in this office for a reporter to come back without what he was sent to get. Scram.

"Mac, you heard what I said to George. Go to the filling station I told him about. The bird who made the call hung around there a long time, probably in a car. Mebbe somebody caught the number of the car. See if someone remembers this bird who made the call. Take a taxi and tell him to step on it. If any dumb cop stops you, tell him I'll have him broke if he won't let you go. Go on, get out, what the hell you waitin' for?

"Barney, go up to Center Street and see the stuffed shirt in the Commissioner's office. If he ain't in he ought to be; a public servant ought to be at his desk by this time. It's after eight o'clock. Lookit me. Get him out of bed if you have to and ask him how long the public is going to be fed on hooey when there's such an important murder case. Ask him what the hell are the police doing on these murders besides making statements. Get going and if you don't bring in a story for the first edition I'll drop you out the window."

He turned to Professor Brierly:

"Excuse me a little while, Professor, I've got to give out some assignments." He turned to Jimmy and growled:

"Say, lissen, young feller, in the last wire you sent, you misspelt a name. How many times have I got to tell you—"

He stopped. For the first time that morning did he get a good look at Jimmy's swollen, purple eye. He whistled. His face wrinkled in what passed with him for a smile. He murmured in reverent awe:

"What a shiner, what a peach. Where did you get—"

He opened the door into the noisy city room. His roar cut through the conglomerate clatter. The room hushed.

"Hey, gang, come here quick. Lookit Jimmy. Ask him where he got it. Bet he tells each of you a different lie." The doorway was instantly filled with grinning faces. The hubbub subsided after a few minutes and Hite shooed them out of the room. He turned to Professor Brierly, his hand on the door knob.

"Oh, by the way. I had somebody chased up to Pleasantville to see about the cops who wanted to arrest you. They were all gone. The pilot up there says it was a peach of a scrap and he ought to know; he's been in some himself. Rather lucky for you, you were not alone, eh Professor? They didn't expect any one to be with you."

"It was not luck, Mr. Hite. John insisted on coming along with me. Anyone would think to hear him talk that I am unable to take care of myself, but perhaps it was fortunate after all that he and Hale were there. Don't laugh at Hale's eye; he got it in that fight."

"Huh, huh, I see. Anything I can do for you, Professor, while we're waiting for a report?"

"I should like to send some telegrams, Mr. Hite, please."

"Why, sure, wires, phones, anything. Jimmy'l help you; he knows the ropes."

The door closed behind him. Professor Brierly murmured:

"What a perfectly astonishing person. He literally takes your breath away. Is that his manner all the time, Hale?"

"No, not all the time, Professor. Usually he's worse."

The two young men left him and for the next hour and a half Professor Brierly kept several copy boys and the telephone operator on the jump. He was not disturbed. The managing editor was told who was in his office when he came in and he took a desk in the city room, where he transacted his routine morning business.

Professor Brierly was sitting at the desk mentally going over the tangled threads of the case. He was rejecting one by one the many fanciful hypotheses that imaginative newspaper writers had woven about the case. With cold, precise logic, he was fastening link to link in his strange chain of evidence. Such was his impersonal absorption in the case that the attack on him with its possible consequences, was now forgotten.

The telephone bell tinkled. Orders had been given the operator not to disturb Professor Brierly and to ring the phone in the managing editor's office only if the call was for the old scientist. He picked up the instrument; this might be the answer he was awaiting to a telegram.

He was hanging the instrument back in its pronged cradle with a shade of disappointment, when the door was thrown open. Hite came in.

"Professor, they got the bird who bumped off Schurman. The D.A. was on the phone about it, up in that camp of his. He gave orders that you be permitted to cross-examine this bird. He told 'em to hold him for you."

Professor Brierly scrambled to his feet.

"Indeed, I shall be glad to see him. How interesting."

He was taken to the office of the district attorney, where an assistant and a sergeant of police met him. Sergeant Conners, who had met Professor Brierly on previous matters, said to the scientist.

"We should 'a' had this bird sooner, but it seems he was sleepin' off a drunk somewhere and no one knew where he was. 'Fingy' Smith is his name, Professor. We got his record. His finger prints are the ones we found on the file. And he is the bird who always eats a lot whenever he does a job, specially eggs. How this bird can put away eggs is a wonder; he's a little feller, too." The monologue was cut short by the entrance of the prisoner who was chained to a burly headquarters man, accompanied by another officer in civil clothes.

'Fingy' Smith was a small, dark man who greeted the assembly cheerfully. Professor Brierly looked at him curiously. The little finger on his left hand, was missing; it had been shot away in a brawl. The lobe of his left ear was also missing. Jimmy later learned that it had been chewed off in a rough and tumble fight in a Chinese joint on the Pacific coast.

Sergeant Conners greeted him pleasantly, the assistant district attorney, somberly. He did not hold with being on pleasant terms with criminals. Conners said:

"'Fingy', this is Professor Brierly, he is gonna ask you some questions."

"How de do, Prof. I heard about ye. You got a reputash. Don't get too intimate with the dicks.

His response to Heath's steady look was a cheerful smile. Professor Brierly asked:

"Do you know what you were arrested for, Mr. Smith?"

"Naw! Somebody must be makin' a holler about a crime wave. Whenever they do that the cops get busy and make a pinch. They got it easy with a guy like me. I'll be frank with you, Prof, I got a record. But what of it? I been runnin' straight, lately."

Professor Brierly did not try to interrupt him. He was enormously interested in this first-hand contact with a prominent member of the criminal classes. He said, gently:

"I will tell you what you were arrested for, Smith. You are charged with murdering August Schurman."

Smith's mouth opened wide, as did his eyes. If this was acting it was very well done. The look of surprise faded and the smile, a little forced perhaps, was once more in evidence.

"Don't give me a laugh, Professor. You got a reputation for bein' on the level. Don't let the police bull you into lettin' 'em frame me. Me commit murder? Ask the police and if they're honest, they'll tell you I never carried a rod or anything else with me. Ain't that so, Sarge?" he asked.

The police officer merely stared at him, he did not answer.

Professor Brierly was looking intently at the prisoner. He arose and asked the prisoner to sit in a chair where he would face the light that came in from a tall window. Here, Professor Brierly stepped close to him and, in the manner of a dentist, asked him to open his mouth.

Everybody, including the prisoner, looked at the old scientist with surprise. 'Fingy' had recovered his composure by this time. He asked Professor Brierly:

"What is it, Prof, is it me tonsils or me teeth? I had me tonsils out and a tooth carpenter recently socked me a hell of a wad for fixin' up me grinders."

When the old man did not respond to this humor, he said, resignedly:

"Oh, all right, Prof, you're the doctor. I don't know what the hell this is about but—"

He threw his head back and opened his mouth wide. Professor Brierly peered intently into the mouth of the prisoner. He stepped back and said to Conners and the assistant district attorney:

"I am through with Mr. Smith; I have no further questions to ask. I should be glad, however, to stay here and—"

Conners turned to the prisoner savagely. His apparent good humor was gone. This was the kind of business he understood; he was at home cross-examining prisoners. He would show Professor Brierly how to make a crook wilt.

"'Fingy,' where was you on the night of July third and early mornin' July fourth?"

The prisoner wrinkled his brow in thought. He had regained his composure entirely, although he was not now in the jovial mood he presented when he came in.

"The night of July third? Lemme see." His brows drew together. "Well, that night, I was givin' a little party to some friends in me apartment."

"Who all was there, 'Fingy'?"

The prisoner gave the names of four men and two women, Conners jotting down the names on a slip of paper.

"That little job, o' yours four years ago in Rye, 'Fingy' you wasn't framed on that was you?"

"Well, I guess they had the goods on me all right. But what of that? I done my bit, didn't I?"

"I ain't talkin' about that, 'Fingy,' I jest wanted to get it straight. You got in like the police said and you opened the safe like they said too, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"And you ate a lotta food, didn't you, 'Fingy', some seven or eight eggs on that job?"

"Yeah, I'm always hungry on—I mean for a little guy, I can eat an awful lot and I sure do like eggs."

"Well, 'Fingy,' the guy that bumped off Schurman ate a big meal; he ate six eggs; he opened the safe like you do, he entered the apartment like you do. What you got to say about that?"

"What of it? I ain't got nothin' to say about it. I was givin' a party to some friends, I'm tellin' you. You can ask 'em."

"Yeah, we'll ask 'em all right, 'Fingy'. What time did your friends come to the party?"

"They began droppin' in about eleven o'clock."

"And where was you about two or three hours before that?"

"I was home in my apartment."

"Anybody with you there during that time?"

Smith wet his lips. His features had become drawn. He was a long time answering this question. Finally he shook his head.

"I don't remember."

"Oh, you don't remember, huh. Well, 'Fingy,' you'd better remember. You don't know how important it is for you to remember that little thing, 'Fingy'."

He walked close to the prisoner and stood huge, bulging and threatening over him.

"Do you recognize this?" He held out a small nail file wrapped in tissue.

The prisoner looked at it. He was now very much ill at ease.

"What do you mean, do I recognize it?"

"Did you ever see this before, 'Fingy'?"

"I seen thousands of nail files like this."

"Did you ever own one like it?"

"Sure, I owned dozens, what of it?"

"Well, 'Fingy,' this was found under Schurman's safe. Your finger prints is on it."

The prisoner's head jerked back as if struck a blow. He looked at the file, he reached out for it and drew his hand back. He looked with startled eyes at his inquisitor. He sat back in his chair. He sneered:

"Aw, hell, it's a frame up. How can my finger prints be on—" he sprang to his feet. "I wasn't there, I tell you, I wasn't there." The last word ended in a scream. He stood tense, rigid and fell back into his chair. He took an ornate handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his palms. He passed the handkerchief over his face.

Conners looked toward the men who had brought in the prisoner. He asked:

"Got him booked?"

"No, we're jest holdin' him."

"Take him away and book him. Charge him with the murder of August Schurman."

During the cross-examination, Professor Brierly had not once taken his eyes from the prisoner. He was staring at him with the intent absorption he gave to an interesting specimen under the microscope. As they were about to lead Smith away, Professor Brierly started forward.

"Just a moment, Sergeant, before you take him away, I'd like to have an impression of his mouth, rather his teeth, his upper and lower teeth. If there is a dentist near by—"

"His teeth, Professor. In the name of God what do you want with an impression of his teeth."

The assistant district attorney injected himself into the proceedings:

"District Attorney McCall, Sergeant, gave explicit orders that Professor Brierly be given every opportunity to make a complete examination; that he be afforded every facility—"

"Oh, all right. We'll have some dentistry. Dan, go over across the street and ask Doc Harris to come over here with the material for takin' an impression. Step on it."

When the impression had been taken, Professor Brierly said to the dentist:

"Doctor, we should like to have a model of this right away, please. It is important."

"It may not be a very good one, Professor, a stone model would be better, but it will take—"

"Yes, I know, that will take too long. Speed is essential. It will be accurate enough. Hasten the setting, please, doctor."

When the prisoner was taken away, the Sergeant turned to Professor Brierly; he said with gracious condescension:

"I dunno what that impression is for, Professor, but I guess mebbe you know what you're doin'. But we got the man who bumped off Schurman, ain't we?"

Professor Brierly took from his pocket an object that he showed to Conners:

"Do you recognize this, Sergeant?"

"Why, ain't this the apple with the teeth marks you found in Schurman's refrigerator? How could it keep like this?"

"No, it is not, Sergeant; it is a replica. Take it into your hand and you will see it is not an apple. It is a model of the apple you saw. Alphonse Poller was the brilliant scientist who devised this method of taking impressions and making models. He called it 'moulage.' The word is used either as a verb or a noun.

"Off hand, I should say that 'Fingy' Smith's teeth will not fit into the marks made in this apple. When the plaster model comes up here we will see."

"What of it?" belligerently protested Conners. "We have his fingerprints; that's good enough for me. Someone else could have taken the bite in the apple."

"Who, Sergeant, who? Who could have taken that bite? Mr. Schurman did not do it. His teeth did not fit; I looked. The teeth of the housekeeper and the maid did not do it; I looked at their teeth. All of the housekeeper's upper teeth are artificial, she wears a plate. The maid has all her own teeth.

"This model shows that the person who bit into the apple, has a two tooth bridge on the upper jaw. The left lateral incisor is attached to the left canine, the eye tooth."

"But my God, Professor, you are setting up teeth marks against fingerprints. Teeth marks, well what's the difference between teeth marks. Some may be different, but—"

"Tooth marks, Sergeant, are as distinctive as fingerprints. No two single objects in the whole wide world are alike. No two red blood corpuscles coming from the same blood stream are precisely alike. True, they may differ only microscopically, but they differ nevertheless."

"Professor," asked Jimmy, "couldn't two artificial sets of teeth be alike?"

"Of course not! While the teeth are moulded by machinery, they are set up on a model of the individual's mouth by hand. And can you conceive a human pair of hands setting up two sets of teeth precisely alike? It is unthinkable."

"But, Professor," pursued Conners, "lookit the case we got against this bird. There's his record. He always works his jobs this way; he left what we call his 'callin' card.' The large meal, the eggs the housekeeper says was missin' and last of all there's the nail file with his fingerprints.

"You heard his alibi, Professor. He spent part of the night with friends of his, other crooks. He can't account at all for the hour or two before and after Schurman was killed."

"The plaster models will be here, shortly, Sergeant. You can then see for yourself. All you say is correct but you must, before you convict him, account for the tooth marks in that apple. That is of the utmost importance, Sergeant."

The plaster models of the upper and lower teeth of the prisoner came up in a short time. Professor Brierly held out the models and the moulage to the police officer:

"Here, Sergeant, see if you can make them fit. You don't have to be a dentist to see that the teeth that bit into the apple are not the teeth of which these are models."



Chapter XV

As Professor Brierly, followed by the two younger men stepped into the busy city room, Hite held up a sheaf of telegrams that had come for the old scientist during his short absence. Professor Brierly took them as Hite said, "When you get through with these, Professor, I'll give you a message, a verbal message that I've got for you."

Professor Brierly quickly ran through the messages. He looked up:

"You know, I instituted inquiry for one Amos Brown, who is thought by some members of the Tontine group to have been the only surviving member of the group known as '14'. Several of the men told me they had reason to believe that it was he who used to send the blank sheets of paper with the number '14' on it. But inquiry showed that they had really no proof of his being alive after 1902. Subsequent to that they only got those messages to remind them of his existence.

"These telegrams inform me that Amos Brown died in 1902 on the outskirts of South Bend, Ind. But he was survived by a son and a grandson. The son, according to my informants, died about three years later. The grandson, who was also named Amos Brown, was last heard of somewhere in the New England States.

"My informants tell me that the grandson is now about thirty-five years old, if he is alive.

"So you see, there is an Amos Brown who might have inherited along with his grandfather's other possessions, his vendetta, his lifelong hatred for our Tontine group. But I am expecting more detailed information that may place this grandson definitely. Now what is the message you had for me, Mr. Hite?"

"Our man who covers headquarters, Professor, saw 'Fingy' Smith a few minutes after he was booked and charged. 'Fingy' insists on seeing you, personally."

Professor Brierly made a grimace of distaste.

"I do not like it. I do not like the atmosphere of a prison. I suppose I ought to go. If the poor man is innocent he needs help badly. He is caught in a net of circumstantial evidence that may send him to the electric chair. If I were certain he is innocent, I should not hesitate."

He bent his head in thought. After a long pause he looked up, his eyes troubled.

"I shall go, Mr. Hite. Can it be arranged?"

"Sure it can. After what McCall said, they'll not raise any obstacles to anything you want to do. I'll have Hale go along with you."

"Have you heard from your reporters about the telephone call, Mr. Hite?"

Hite's eyes gleamed. "Yep. I heard from 'em. You sure got a bull's eye then, Professor. The records show that someone called Flynn's home just about when the explosion occurred. The man in the filling station remembers that a guy called about that time. He can't give a very good description. There was no car, Professor. The man at the service station says he saw the man go into the patch of woods. He thought at the time that was because he wanted to get to the scene of the explosion. For that matter everybody in the road was trying to get there. A few minutes afterward, the man at the filling station says he saw a man wheel a motorcycle out of the woods and ride past. He kinda thought it was the same man, though he didn't take particular notice. They were all excited about the explosion. That means that the man probably had his motorcycle parked in the woods, while he was waiting for Flynn to come home.

"Does that help you, Professor?"

"No, except that it corroborates a theory I had about the matter. It merely fits in with the rest of the devilish pattern."

No difficulty was encountered when the three men came to the Tombs. Sergeant Conners was there ahead of them. He was not going to permit the prisoner to work a sympathetic gag on the old scientist. Conners realized that Brierly had considerable influence. If 'Fingy' could induce the old man to use his influence in his behalf, it would not be so easy to convict him.

'Fingy' was not pleased at the presence of the police officer. He made the best of it however. He realized that he was not in a position where he could dictate terms.

"Professor," he began, "I don't know about this taking an impression of my mouth and the other new fangled scientific bunk. But I know about you. I hear you're a straight shooter and I want to spill the whole thing to you."

He gulped painfully and after a glance at the police officer he went on:

"All the police is after is a record, see? And even the D.A.'s office is the same. When the D.A. gets you before the jury he'll do what he can to send you to the hot seat.

"Well I'm gonna give you the straight of this, Professor. Like I said, I was giving a party to some friends of mine that night. Early in the evening I get into a studd game on Second Avenue and go broke, see? Cleaned, Professor. And here's this party comin' off with some good guys and nice gals comin'.

"All I had in the apartment was about a quart and a half of gin and a little rye. Not a thing to eat, not even a slice of bread or a drop of ginger ale.

"So what do I do? I breaks into a delicatessen store and gets a load of stuff. That was just about ten o'clock, the time the papers say old man Schurman is croaked."

Sergeant Conners, who had listened with a sneer now emitted a loud snort. The prisoner cast in his direction a fleeting look of defiance. His eyes returned to Professor Brierly who had been staring at him intently, while his tale unfolded. He continued:

"I know this sounds fishy, and what I'm gonna say now sounds even more so, mebbe, but if you'll just listen to me, sir, I'll prove what I say.

"This delicatessen store is a little place on Grove Street near Eighth Avenue. Now you can think that I hears about this delicatessen store being broke in and I tells you about it because the real thief ain't comin' to the front to say he done it. You can think I can't prove it; you can think this ain't much of a alibi. But just listen, Professor. Look at this!"

He sprang from his chair and tore off his coat and vest. Conners had also sprung to his feet, but subsided when he saw that the prisoner did not contemplate violence. The prisoner in his haste to unbutton his outer shirt, ripped the buttons. He exposed his arm high up near the shoulder. He showed a ragged scar several days old.

'Fingy' continued:

"See this, Professor? When I was takin' some things from the shelves in the delicatessen store, I rips my coat and get this scratch on a nail stickin' out from the shelf. The nail is three shelves up from the floor near the last showcase on the right as you go in."

Smith stopped. He was panting as though he had been running. Sweat was streaming from his brow. He crumpled the shirt and wiped his face with it. He began slowly putting on his shirt.

Professor Brierly was not looking at the prisoner. He was looking at the police officer. In the latter's features incredulity was struggling with something else for expression. Professor Brierly snapped his fingers.

"Hale, this must be verified! John, go with him; take the nail. Wait! Get an instrument and draw a drop of blood from Smith here. Compare it with the blood you find on the nail, if you find any. And—" He whirled on the prisoner.

"Where is the coat and shirt that were torn on the nail?"

"Still up in my apartment, I guess."

"Go on, John. Get the nail and the clothes; go on to our house, make the necessary tests as soon as you can."

At Jimmy's request, before he departed on his errand to the delicatessen store, Professor Brierly was escorted to the office of the Eagle by two plainclothes men who were ordered to shoot, and shoot to kill, at the slightest suspicious movement against the old scientist.

Hite went into blazing activity when Professor Brierly recounted the result of his errand to the Tombs. Men, women and boys were sent scurrying to various sections of the city. The city editor barked an order into a telephone in response to which the tremor of the presses which shook the building, ceased.

A rewrite man tactfully got from Professor Brierly the salient features of the newest angle to the story.

Matthews was nodding his head emphatically as he came into the city room and his glance met that of his mentor.

"It fits, Professor," he was saying. "The delicatessen store was robbed about the time Smith said it was; the nail was there, the head covered with blood. There was a tear in his coat and shirt. There was some blood on the garments. The blood on the nail and the clothes are of the same type as that of Smith. It might be all Smith's."

Jimmy went to the telephone and called up a high police official, a very much harassed official, one whose peace had been very much disturbed by the activities of the remarkable old gentleman. The papers, his superiors, the D.A.'s office had been riding him unmercifully. Now, when they had a crook whom the crime fitted so well, this crazy old scientist had to come along and spoil it all with his queer doings.

Jimmy, in short crisp sentences told this individual of the latest developments of the Tontine murders. He concluded by asking:

"What are you going to do about this, Mr. Englehardt, and what are you going to do with 'Fingy' Smith?"

Mr. Englehardt completely lost his temper, which a public official should never do with a newspaper man. In a hoarse voice that was almost a scream he yelled:

"You go to hell!"

The receiver was crashed down on the hook. Jimmy heard the click. He smiled, then his eyes took on a cold dancing light as he sat down at his typewriter. The light in his eyes boded ill for Mr. Englehardt.

Hite asked Professor Brierly:

"And what now, Professor. Where do we go from here?"

"I go from here to the camp on Lake Memphremagog, Mr. Hite." The game will be played out there. I am getting some more information about young Amos Brown, grandson of the ill-famed number '14'. The latest information brings him uncomfortably close to the Higginbotham camp.

"The pattern is beginning to take shape, Mr. Hite. The pieces are beginning to fall into place. I believe that the next act in this tragedy will take place at or hear Justice Higginbotham's camp. If there is nothing further to keep me here, I should like to go back. Is Mr. Hale going to continue his vacation with me, Mr. Hite?"

There was a humorous smile in the fine deep-set eyes. The skin on the city editor's gaunt features wrinkled. He yelled:

"Hey Jimmy!" As Jimmy left his typewriter he said to the old man: "I see Jimmy is in the throes of a literary composition. He seems all het up. But he can probably go with you right away. The plane is still at your disposal."

When Hale explained what he was writing, Hite's eyes glinted.

"Too bad, Jim, I hate to deprive you of the pleasure of writing it, but the Professor wants to go. Give it to Roy, Jim. He can raise as many blisters on the hide of a politician as you can."



Chapter XVI

Jimmy was dropped off at the Higginbotham camp; the other two men went ahead to their own camp.

A wild, distracted young woman met them. Norah was standing near the edge of the water gesticulating wildly. Jack, in instant concern ran through the last few feet of shallow water. "Jack," she panted, "Tommy is gone." He stared at her stupidly. She continued wildly: "Jack," she panted, "Tommy is gone! he's gone!"

He reached her side and took her shoulders. "Get hold of yourself, sis. Tell me—"

"When he didn't get up, his usual time this morning, I didn't think anything of it. I didn't want to go up to disturb him. At eight o'clock I went up to his room, he wasn't there. Martha said she heard him outside about six o'clock, or perhaps a little earlier.

"She didn't think anything of it; he often did that. We felt he was safe, the water is too shallow to drown between here and the float. But—"

Her arms went about him convulsively and she broke into violent sobbing. She calmed herself in a moment and continued:

"I tried to reach you in New York, but you had gone. Mr. McCall advised against notifying the police. He thinks that is perhaps the worst thing we can do. He went down to the other camp and to Lentone to see what he can do. Oh, Jack—"

Professor Brierly stood wide-eyed as he heard the news. This was more than the mere solution of a problem. His little friend had become very dear to him. He looked at the expanse of water rippling and glinting in the mid-day sunlight. Then he looked up and down the shore line. The irregularity of it at this point was such that one could not see a great distance in either direction.

He stared at the growth on each side of the house. Impossible that Tommy could have penetrated more than a few yards in either direction. And Professor Brierly too, remembered that the little boy had shown a disinclination for going into the woods alone. Back of the house stretched the trail leading through the woods and fields, plowed and un-plowed, to the main road. Norah and McCall had been over that.

Professor Brierly went into the house. Norah was going about distractedly from room to room, looking in impossible places for the missing boy. Matthews had gone up the road. The young man returned shortly and they all went down to the water. Jack, his usually smiling features set in lines of care, got into the canoe and paddled slowly toward the float, his eyes fixed on the water.

Here, as was the case for some distance out, the water was so clear that the pebbly bottom was distinctly visible, with its tiny fish darting in flashing schools, from shadow to shadow.

Jack waved his hand and went roaring toward Lentone in the sea sled. This blow, he felt, coming to his sister so soon after the late tragic loss of her husband was more than one person should be called upon to bear. He went to the post office and barely glanced at the mail and newspapers the clerk handed him. He met Jimmy as he left the post office. With set face and dead tones he apprised his friend of the calamity that had visited their camp. Jimmy, in silence, too grief stricken to think of it in terms of a story, accompanied his friend to their camp.

McCall had returned without news. The group met in stony silence. Professor Brierly was absently fingering an enclosure addressed to him when he uttered an exclamation. He read it and handed it to the person nearest him, McCall. The latter read the communication aloud, all crowding in their eagerness to see it over his shoulder. There was no signature.

The boy is safe. You will hear from us. Do not communicate with the police.



The communication was on an oblong sheet of cheap notepaper, evidently torn from a scratch pad. The message was inscribed in hand printed characters. The features of the group were compounded of relief, deadly anger, hope, fear. Norah was of a sanguine disposition. She thought of other kidnappings, but she chose to dwell rather on those that ended happily. This note spelled hope. She sobbed in an access of relief, being held close in her brother's arms. Jack was clumsily and tenderly patting her shoulder, making endearing and comforting sounds.

She looked up and dried her eyes, glancing from one to the other of the four capable men in the group. A glow of confidence in their combined ability gave her new hope.

"What shall we do," she asked piteously. "Shall we do what they say or—"

The men exchanged glances. Professor Brierly finished her sentence: "Or notify the authorities?" She nodded mutely.

After a long pause, Matthews answered slowly. "Everything I can do, dear, everything I have is at your disposal and will be used to help find Tommy. But it is for you to say what we do about it."

Professor Brierly said gently:

"John voices my sentiments, Mrs. Van Orden. All I can do, all I have is at your disposal toward finding your boy. The Canadian Police are a very efficient organization. But we take a certain risk in calling in the authorities on this quest. The same, of course, applies to publicity. Mr. Hale, I am sure, will respect that. I realize that it is hard to wait because whatever traces there are may be obscured by the passage of time. On the other hand, calling in the police, with its resultant publicity, may force the kidnappers to the very step we all fear. Therefore, I am afraid that the responsibility for decision must lie with you, my dear."

The men looked in unhappy silence at the struggle the young woman was undergoing. Her features betrayed her hopes and fears. Finally twirling the plain gold band on her finger she said:

"It can do no particular harm to wait a day or two, can it? We must not do anything to—to—anger them must we? Oh, I don't know what to say!"

She turned swiftly and hurried out. The men turned toward one another in mute inquiry. Three of them were startled at what they saw in the features of Professor Brierly. Even Matthews had never seen such profound, unutterable, implacable rage as now possessed the old scientist. They were all accustomed to outbursts of wrath and impatience at stupidity or stubbornness when he was crossed; these passed quickly. Never had even Matthews, of the three who knew him best, seen the deadly anger that now blazed in the deeply sunken eyes. Professor Brierly was about to speak, but his emotion was too deep for utterance. He stammered, stopped and left the room.

When he returned shortly he said with repressed emotion:

"I can condone all kinds of property crime; they may be caused by need or greed; they may be the result of bad home influence. I can condone crimes of passion; even the laws differentiate between these and deliberate murder. But there is no mitigation or excuse for this kind of deed, a crime that takes an infant from its home and makes others suffer. I shall see to it," his words were carefully spaced and came slowly, "that-the-men-responsible-for-this-are punished." He shook his head violently as if to shake off an unpleasant picture. He held up the envelope and enclosure once more. He looked up when Norah came in dry-eyed. She stood leaning wearily against the table running her hand through her disheveled hair.

"Have you decided?" asked Professor Brierly.

"Yes, Professor, we will wait a day or two. I—I—am afraid."

A day and night spent in an agony of apprehension came to an end the following morning with the receipt of the following message:

Professor Herman Brierly:

Go home to New York, you will hear from us there.

It was printed on the same cheap notepaper. Again, as the first message, it bore the postmark of Magog. It had no signature. McCall pointed to the address on the envelope:

"Is this the way you have all your mail addressed, to the post office at Lentone or—"

"Some of the mail is addressed this way; some of it is addressed directly to me and is left in the mail box nailed up to a tree at the entrance to this trail."

"What will you do about this, Professor?"

"I ought to go, of course, but—"

"To New York?" wondered Jimmy. "You would think the kidnappers, would rather deal with you here. They run much more chance of being caught in New York than up here. It seems—"

He stopped and looked curiously at Matthews. The latter was staring intently out upon the water. Without taking his eyes from the object that engaged his rapt attention, he said tensely:

"Someone give me the binoculars, quick!"

Norah handed him the glasses. He carefully focused them and looked long and earnestly out upon the water. The three men and the young woman followed his gaze and saw only the usual scattered craft on the surface of the lake.

Matthews with a muttered exclamation, put down the glasses, snatched an automatic from a drawer in a table and raced toward the little wharf, throwing over his shoulder:

"Be back soon."

The others followed him to the lake slowly. They saw him get into the sea sled to which the outboard motor was attached, start it and go roaring off in the direction toward which he had had his glasses focused. The anxious groups watched intently.

They saw one of the bobbing craft turn and go racing toward the opposite shore in a north-westerly direction, with Matthews in pursuit.

The watchers stood there with bated breath, being quite certain that this impromptu pursuit had something to do with Tommy's disappearance. Their sea sled was fast and Matthews was adept at handling it. To their dismay they saw the distance between Matthews and the other boat widening. The pace of Matthews' boat slowed; it stopped altogether. They saw Matthews tinkering with the motor. Then they saw him take up the oar and begin paddling back laboriously.

He hailed a passing launch which towed him back to their wharf. Matthews' face was grim drawn as he reached his friends. They looked their mute inquiry.

Matthews unscrewed the motor from its place and carried it up above the water line. Then he turned to face them.

"Somebody was watching us from that boat with a pair of glasses. I caught the flash of the sun on his lenses. There was one man in the boat. I couldn't get a good look at him, he wore a floppy, big-brimmed straw hat well over his face.

"My gas gave out when I went after him. This wasn't an accident or carelessness on my part either. I filled the tank yesterday afternoon. Someone punctured the tank during the night. The puppy barked during the night but he barks a lot at nothing. See!"

He turned the motor over and pointed to a place near the bottom of the tank, where they saw a small hole with the ragged edge of the metal glinting with a freshness that the rest of the metal did not have. He continued:

"It's not a sure thing I could have caught him, if I had gas; that was a pretty fast boat, faster than this I think."

"Will you recognize the boat if you see it again?" asked Jimmy.

Matthews shook his head slowly.

"I'm not sure. There's any number of sea sleds on this lake just like it. That's not the important thing though. I should have taken the glasses along. When my gas gave out I could have had a good look at their motor. There may be a lot of boats like that but not many motors that can develop that speed. It will be a simple thing to attach that motor to another boat."

He went on with grim irony: "That's simple enough. If we had ten thousand men we could comb the thirty-odd miles of lake and examine every motor on it, thus narrowing the search down to motors capable of a speed—why are they watching, why—"

"Yes," went on McCall, "why this, and why do they want Professor Brierly to go back to New York? Why in the name of common sense New York? Is it—is it—" his features lit up. "Is it because someone is interested in seeing that Professor Brierly does not interfere in the affairs of Camp Higginbotham in the next few days?"

There was no answer. Professor Brierly's bushy eyebrows were bristling. He was staring at the faces of the group unseeingly.

Jimmy burst out:

"This is more than a mere kidnapping. With the eyes of two countries focused on this section the kidnapping can be predicated on one of two hypotheses. The kidnappers are crazy or they want Professor Brierly in New York. Mac's guess seems a good one. They want Professor Brierly away from here; that's a cinch. They—"

"Jimmy," interrupted Matthews, "are you influenced in what you say by your hope that Professor Brierly will help solve the riddle of the Tontine groups and help your story?"

He obviously was still in the grim mood that was so apparent on his return from the futile chase. Jimmy did not answer the charge. He was looking at Matthews gravely. Jack reddened under the stare.

"I'm sorry, Jim. That was rotten! But thinking of Tommy—" Jimmy nodded:

"All right, old man, forget it, you didn't say anything. But I am wondering about this request to go to New York. I can't help thinking there is something in this request that doesn't appear on the face of it." He turned to Professor Brierly: "What are you going to do, sir?" Professor Brierly looked mutely at Norah. She shook her head helplessly.

For the next twenty-four hours the group suffered that, which is hardest to bear under the circumstances, inactivity. Twenty-four hours after the receipt of the second note there came a third, on the familiar cheap notepaper. This time it was postmarked Lentone, Vermont. It read:

"Professor Brierly was told to go to New York. We will not stand any fooling. Enclosed is a sample of what we will do. If he does not start at once more will follow."



This time the note was addressed to Norah. Wrapped securely there was a small object in the strong envelope. Professor Brierly took the small object from her hand. It was a human tooth, a tooth with dried blood on it. It had the ragged roots characteristic of a baby tooth, when it comes out.

At this moment McCall stepped into the room. Norah turned to him impulsively and told him of the letter and the accompanying tooth.

"How horrible!" exclaimed McCall. "Professor, we must—"

"Yes, pretty bad," commented Professor Brierly, "something must be done, quickly. But, there is, as our friend Hale would say, something wrong with this picture. This tooth did not come from Thomas's mouth. It—"

"Not from Tommy's mouth?" repeated Norah.

"No, Mrs. Van Orden, you may be certain of that. The roots of a child's teeth undergo a certain amount of disintegration before it is ready to give place to the permanent teeth. We will not go into the mechanical and biological reasons for this destruction; it is not important. While this is a deciduous tooth, I mean a baby tooth, it is not Thomas's tooth. How old is Thomas, Mrs. Van Orden?"

"He was just four and half years old yesterday."

Professor Brierly nodded his snow white head.

"Exactly, I thought so. No baby's tooth at that age shows the amount of disintegration that this tooth shows. Depend on it Mrs. Van Orden, this tooth comes from the mouth of a child of not less than nine years of age."

The group was staring in wide-eyed astonishment. Norah asked tremulously.

"You are certain of what you say, Professor, that this is not Tommy's tooth."

"Depend on it, sis," interrupted Matthews. "Professor Brierly could not be mistaken in a thing like that. What I want to know is why—why this?"

There was an air of relief in the old scientist's demeanor. He still looked grim but he had the appearance of a man who has had a load lifted from him.

"I believe I know why. At any rate this solves one thing for us. My advice is that we notify the police of the kidnapping. I do not think we can gain anything now by keeping quiet. I am also reasonably convinced that no harm can come to Thomas unless something unforeseen happens.

"Furthermore, it is safe to say that in a short time we will solve the murders of the Tontine group. You were right, Mr. McCall and you Hale. This kidnapping is intimately bound up with those murders. I am beginning to see light. Let us notify the police," he concluded decisively.



Chapter XVII

Stark fear stalked the camp of Justice Isaac Higginbotham. By the time Professor Brierly had returned from his momentous trip to New York this fear was naked, unashamed. The men now made no attempt to dissemble.

All these men had fought; they had faced death in various forms. They could each be counted on to act like soldiers in the face of ordinary danger. It was the fear of the unknown; the dread that at any moment of the day or night they might become the victims of a deadly attack from an unknown and unexpected source that was visibly having its effect on these octogenarians.

It finally took form in a strange manner. As if by unanimous consent, they each avoided being left alone with one of their comrades. They would gather at meals or on the porch or in the large living-room, but they avoided being left in pairs.

They all took solitary walks. Some of them went out on the lake. Some of them went to Lentone or elsewhere; always alone. Whether this was sheer bravado, or some strange reaction to the psychological elements involved, no observer could determine. They apparently reached an unspoken and unannounced resolution, all of them, to stay at the camp until the murders were cleared up. Some of them went about armed, although that was merely a gesture.

To the four men who had been taken into their confidence fell the task of keeping the strange unhappy group from going mad. Even this solace was denied them during the past two days. The kidnapping of the child now took, in the minds of at least two of the men, a place equal in importance to the murders of their three comrades.

Professor Brierly now spent all of his waking moments between receiving and sending telegrams at the camp of the Tontine group. The men were gathered on the porch. There was talk, jerky sentences. Only a man finely and delicately balanced and organized as was the old scientist could have resisted the pall of gloom and dread that permeated the group.

"Any news of the little boy, Professor?" asked McGuire.

"No, none. The mother is frantic, of course. I myself am not easy in mind about it. I do not believe, however, that harm is intended the boy."

"Why don't you take the police into it, Professor," asked Judge Fletcher. "It can't be worse than it is. The Canadian police are a very efficient organization, almost as efficient as fiction makes them out to be."

"I have given it to the police this morning. We have decided there is nothing to be gained by further silence. The police now have it in hand."

"You had a note asking you to go to New York and meet the kidnappers and their representatives didn't you?"

"Why didn't you go, Professor?"

The old man, who was glad of this opportunity of taking their minds off their own tragedy even for the moment, answered slowly, his keen eyes darting from one member of the group to the other.

"It seemed to Mr. McCall and Hale, Matthews agreed with this, that the communication addressed to me was designed to take me away from here. It seems very probable that the entire kidnapping plan is closely tied up with your own deplorable affair, gentlemen."

They were looking at him with concern. He went on.

"I have had some little part in exposing the role that some person, at present unknown, had in the murders of at least three of your comrades." His keen eyes shaded by their thick lashes and eyebrows were watching intently. "It may be that the man or men we are seeking intend some more mischief, right here. They may wish me out of the way.

"They sent a deciduous tooth, a baby tooth as evidence of the lengths to which they are prepared to go to enforce their demands on me. Sending that tooth was almost ludicrous in its futility. Mrs. Van Orden was distracted, of course, until I informed her that the tooth did not come out of her son's mouth.

"Why should they have selected that boy for kidnapping, if ransom was the object? Mrs. Van Orden is a poor woman. I am comparatively so. John has no money, he is just starting life. Why did they make that futile gesture with the tooth?"

Goldberg, who was sitting near the edge of the porch, said with bitter sarcasm, pointing to the overhanging rock:

"Now there is a fine chance for a man to destroy this group. If that overhanging rock came down here while we're sitting here it would wipe out the survivors of the Tontine agreement like that!" He snapped his fingers.

"There is no danger of that, Sam," reassured Justice Higginbotham. "That has been that way since I came up here; that is about thirty-five years. I and others have expressed uneasiness over the position of that rock, but there is no danger. When—er soon, I shall have it cleared away."

Vasiliewski burst out:

"Professor, we're sitting here talking of everything except that which is uppermost in our minds. We are trying to mask our feelings. You know what we are all thinking of. Is there any hope, Professor."

Professor Brierly answered slowly, gravely.

"I have reason to believe that we will solve this—problem shortly. Habits of a lifetime prevent me from being more specific. I have learned, and paid dearly for learning, that jumping at conclusions may often prove disastrous. That is why I am not given to making guesses, surmises. I wish I could say something more definite."

"My God, Professor, do you mean to say that you suspect—"

Professor Brierly shook his head regretfully and was about to speak when Vasiliewski impulsively interrupted.

"But can't you see, Professor, that this is not a cold scientific problem, that our lives are at stake. This is a human problem, Professor."

"Assuming, Mr. Vasiliewski, that I took your view of it. Persons are prone to regard me as a thinking machine. I am not. Let us assume, I say, that I took your view of it. Just see what might happen. I might accuse the wrong man. We might even convict the wrong man. The guilty man might then go on, doing incalculable evil. Guessing is dangerous and is—fallible. Scientific induction and deductions, conclusions based on irrefutable fact, fact that can be weighed and measured, is infallible."

There was real concern in his eyes as he rose to depart.

"All I can say, gentlemen, is that I shall be able to free you from the terrible thing you fear in a very short time now."

To the scores of press representatives who hounded him for a statement he resolutely turned a deaf ear. He was besieged by a constant horde of visitors. The news hunters realized that where Professor Brierly was, was the real source of news. It had been necessary to divulge the part he had taken in the three murders. He would have denied himself to callers, either personal or to those calling on the telephone, but this was now impossible. He might miss now an important communication bearing on the murders or, what for the time was to him more important, the kidnapping.

The search went on relentlessly, the police of all the near—by cities and states taking part in the search. It soon began to be felt that the kidnapping was closely tied up with the murders of the octogenarians. It was at the request of the survivors of the Tontine group that Justice Higginbotham's camp was not molested. It was readily seen that constant surveillance by the press and police would be a highly undesirable and perhaps a very dangerous thing for the ten aged survivors.

Arrangements were, therefore, set up for periodic statements by a member of the group. The press of the country nevertheless felt free to make its own search and indulge in its own surmises and guesses.

One week after the first murder was announced it became apparent that they were no nearer a solution than they were at the beginning. Moral publications were beginning to clamor for results. The people of New York City were clamoring for results. Editors were profanely wiring their expensive representatives for results. The patience of the police and the reporters was wearing thin. During all this clamor the only thing that came from the camps over the Canadian border, from the hundreds of star reporters was—nothing. Even Jimmy was unmercifully berated for falling down on the job, Jimmy, who one short week before was praised to the skies for springing one of the greater newspaper stories in history.

It was apparent to those who were close to him that Professor Brierly was forging in silence a chain, link by link, that would bridge the gap between doubt and certainty. He was sending and receiving telegrams, without for one moment relaxing his vigilance of the Higginbotham camp and its ten old men. The evening of the day after the receipt of the last telegram, McCall in the hope of drawing the old man out said:

"My vacation ends next week, Professor. When I get back to New York I may be able to speed up things in the matter of the Schurman murder. You're staying here the rest of the summer aren't you?" he concluded innocently.

"Yes."

"Really, Professor, I know you don't like to make guesses, but this is getting on all our nerves. How near to a solution are you?"

"If I were a lawyer or a newspaper man," the old man said tartly, "I should make a guess and arrest the murderer tomorrow. But lawyers and newspaper men use a weird type of logic. That is why lawyers and newspaper men are as often right as wrong. Legal logic, particularly, is something awful to contemplate."

"Legal logic," began McCall stiffly.

"Is precisely what I said," snapped the old man. "How can you defend the logic of a judge who hands down a decision basing it on the statement that a dining car is not a railroad car. There is also the logic of a judge who handed down a decision basing it on the hypothesis that an overcoat is real estate. That is legal logic, Mr. McCall."

He paused and leaned forward earnestly.

"Truth, Mr. McCall, sometimes hangs on a very thin thread. Snap the thread and—you have something other than truth.

"It is not a mere coincidence that Boyle was arrested, charged with the killing of Miller and 'Fingy' Smith arrested, charged with the killing of Schurman. It was a vital part of the entire devilish pattern. Miller's death was a splendid imitation of suicide. The revolver was placed in his hand before rigor mortis set in leaving his fingerprints on the weapon.

"But the powder marks spoiled the picture of suicide for me. The rest was merely a matter of routine. The same was true of the Schurman affair. It was made to look to the casual observer like suicide. If you did not accept the suicide theory, you were given an alternative theory, the mode of entrance, the big meal, the eggs, the nail file with positive fingerprints. The one thing that spoiled that was the apple. Remember the apple?

"To satisfy me the murderer would have to be identified with the apple. You see arresting 'Fingy' left the apple unaccounted for. In the Miller case the murderer would have to be identified with a rope that came from a farmyard that contained a boxwood hedge, a sorrel horse, leghorn chickens, a collie dog and some other items. He would also have to be identified with a hat factory."

"What do you mean by saying that these two men were arrested charged with those murders?"

"I mean that it was a foregone conclusion that if the suicide theory was exploded, these men would be charged with the crime?"

"A foregone conclusion in whose mind, Professor?"

"In the mind of the—murderer, Mr. McCall. You see, don't you, the thin line of demarcation that lies between truth and falsehood? When the difference between the two may mean the difference between life and death it behooves me to be extremely careful. I am not holding a brief for the defendant or the state, Mr. District Attorney, I am seeking the truth."



Chapter XVIII

Jimmy had not been sleeping well nights. On this night he dreamed that he was alone in the city room of the Eagle doing the dog watch. He was reading a history of the Civil War in which was stressed the reconstruction period with its harrowing details, a period under which serious dismemberment of the country was threatened. While he was reading this, the telegraph instrument in the telegraph room kept up its intermittent tapping.

He awoke with the tapping still in his ears, as though in continuation of his dream. He lay still thinking of the eccentricities of dreams in general when the tapping of which he had been conscious in his dreams was repeated at his window. This time it did not sound like a telegraph instrument. It seemed that a number of pebbles had struck the upper window panes, the lower being open. He distinctly heard some of the pebbles strike the floor. He lay still when he was aware of a repetition of the sound.

He got out of bed and went to the window. Standing in the graying dawn was his youthful pilot, Harry Stoy. The youth was beckoning earnestly for Jimmy to come down stairs. Slipping on some clothes and a pair of soft soled moccasins Jimmy stole out of the house being careful not to awaken any of its inmates.

Harry held his finger to his mouth as a signal for silence and led the way down to the water front. Here he whispered excitedly:

"Say, Mr. Hale, I think I know where the kid is?"

Jimmy stared at the youth who was shivering with excitement.

"You mean Tommy, Harry?"

"Yeah, Tommy. Let's row out a little bit in the boat then start it where your folks can't hear the motor. Come on, Mr. Hale. Are you game?"

Jimmy grinned and tingled. His first thought was that he ought to call Jack; he decided against it. There was the danger of awakening Professor Brierly and Norah. He did not want to arouse any false hopes, the kid might be mistaken. He also did not want to lose face in the eyes of this youngster. The question of whether he was game decided him. He stole back into the house where he took from the drawer of the living-room table a loaded revolver; he decided against a shotgun or rifle.

When they got out far enough to start the motor without fear of waking up those in the house, Harry spoke. He was panting with excitement.

"This place we're goin' to Mr. Hale is about five miles up the lake, and about two miles in on the other side. There's a sort of farm up there. A guy by the name of Brown lives up there alone. He's got a small airplane there too.

"He's a nice sort of guy but he's funny, kind of, like a man who has a secret, if you know what I mean. When I heard Mr. Matthews tell what a fast motor the man had who got away from him, I kinda thought it might be this Brown, 'cause he's got a fast motor, one of the fastest on the lake.

"So I been watchin', Mr. Hale. When I seen him up in the plane, I went over there. He's got a collie dog, but no dog ever bites me, Mr. Hale, they all make friends with me and I like 'em too. I went up there late this evenin' meanin' last night, when you told me you wouldn't need me any more.

"The plane was gone and the collie was in the yard. But I made friends with the dog. The house was locked up. I clumb up the porch and there in an upstairs room I seen Tommy asleep. I was gonna take him and bring him home, but just then I heard the plane, or I thought I did.

"I hid in the woods and it wasn't the plane at all, I was mistaken. Gee, just think of it, Mr. Hale, I coulda got the kid all by myself, then I thought I better come for you. Mebbe while I was takin' the kid, this Brown might come and what could I do alone. And the kid might be hurt, see?"

A lump rose in Jimmy's throat. He was rather unnerved from the recent ordeal. He noticed that Harry did not once mention the possible danger to himself. The phrase rang in his mind: "And the kid might be hurt, see?"

Harry ran the small boat into a tiny cove where it might be hidden, both from the water and from the shore. For several hundred feet from the shore there was a clear, well-defined path running nearly straight westward through the woods.

After a short distance Harry swung off from this path; then he took several turns. He seemed to know the way. At the end of a half hour's walk, Jimmy judged they had gone about two miles. Harry put his hand on Hale's arm as a signal for caution.

Ahead of Jimmy lay a large, well-tilled and well-cared for farm. There was the loud, ringing, penetrating bark of a collie, then all was silence. Harry uttered an exclamation of disappointment. He pointed and Jimmy understood. About two hundred yards away at one end of a large level field a small plane was plainly visible in its hangar. Brown, the owner of the farm, was evidently home.

Jimmy debated swiftly and fiercely with himself on his course of action. Tommy was there; a false step and Tommy might be hurt. He might even be killed. No consideration of personal safety would have prevented Jimmy from taking immediate action. But—looming large in his mind—was a picture of the little boy and his grieving mother on the other side of the lake.

To Harry's vast disappointment, his hero, James Hale, the star reporter, turned and retraced his steps, Harry perforce following him. Harry had looked up at his hero doubtfully. He had been certain in his mind that they would return home triumphant, bearing the kidnapped boy. Gee, he could have done it himself, almost. But his hero turned tail. Feet of clay! Harry did not know the phrase, but all his thoughts expressed it very well.

The trip back was made in silence. The sun, a red, brilliant ball of fire was in their eyes as they retraced their steps through the woods. Still in silence, Harry started the boat, and pushed to its capacity of speed, the fast sea sled made short work of the five miles separating them from their camp.

Here Jimmy found that there was no need for silence. All the household was awake. Indeed, Norah, in her anxiety had not slept at all, and she said that she had heard Jimmy leave with the boy.

Matthews was restlessly pacing the short stretch of beach when the boat tied up to the wharf. Norah and Professor Brierly joined Matthews as Jimmy and Harry Stoy got out of their boat.

Harry burst out:

"Gee, Mr. Matthews, we found Tommy. We would have brought him home but Mr. Hale thought—he thought we'd better come back for help."

Three wide-eyed persons, each reflecting his emotions in his own way stared at the youth; from the youth to Jimmy. Jimmy with tight lips, explained.

"Oh, Jack, Jack, Professor," panted Norah. "Let us go, let us—" Jack did not hear. He was racing toward the shack. He returned ready for the trip, a rifle in his hand.

Professor Brierly suggested:

"The mounted police—"

"No!" Matthews shook his head emphatically. "We won't need the mounted police or any help. There's only one man."

"I shall go with you," announced Professor Brierly.

"No, Professor. We must make speed. We'll take both sea sleds, but then there's a long tramp."

"But you do not understand, John. This man's name is Brown. It is Amos Brown, the man we are looking for. I traced him up to Canada. It was only a question of a day or two before I should have found him. I must be there, John."

"Please, Professor, don't insist. This job is not for you. Tell us what to do and Jimmy and I can do what needs be done. The first thing is to get Tommy, then there will be time—"

"But there may not be time, John. Men's lives may depend on—oh, well have it your way. Hale, if you and John are insistent on acting like impulsive fools and not taking along qualified officers, see to it that you get whatever papers you can at this man's house. And for God's sake, boys, be careful. This is a dangerous man. He will be on his own ground."

The three were on their way. As the two sea sleds put off sputtering to a crescendo roar as they made a wide curving wake on the still water, McCall disturbed by the noise came to the door.

After they beached their boats in the tiny cove, Jimmy and Matthews, following Harry, alternately running and jogging, hurried along the dim trail. When Jimmy judged they had covered three-quarters of the distance they heard a ringing bark followed by a faint crack of a firearm. This was shortly followed by another. The three stood stock still for a moment and then put on an additional burst of speed. Before they came into the clearing of the farm, they heard the sound of a motor car, fading into the distance.

As the three panting figures came into the clearing they saw the tawny figure of a collie racing frantically back and forth about a dark mass lying near the house. The collie was whimpering and whining. The collie looked at the three approaching figures expectantly; it stopped its whining, leading the way directly to the thing lying near the rear door of the small farm house.

A tall figure lay there with its sightless eyes staring into the sun. A dark, red stain was widening on its shirt front.

At this moment a shrill treble yell was heard from the house. Matthews raced through the open door and bounded up the steps. Finding the door locked, from behind which the crying was coming, he stepped back. He called out:

"Stand away from the door Tommy, Uncle Jack's going to break it open."

The door flew open under the impetus of a large foot planted near the lock. A small figure rushed into his arms hugging him tightly.

"Uncle Jack! Uncle Jack! Where's Mummie? Where's Pop?"

Matthews held the small figure off and looked at him anxiously. Except that his clothes were in a state that would have sent his finicky mother frantic, the youngster did not seem the worse for wear.

"Did the man hurt you, Tommy?"

"Oh, no, Uncle Jack. He is a good man, nice man. He gimme candy, he gimme pie." The voice went prattling on as Jack carried him downstairs.

Harry Stoy with youthful enthusiasm and the morbidity often observed in the young wanted to examine the thing that lay on the ground. Jimmy, with full knowledge of police regulations and requirements, objected. He went into the house and made a careful search, taking such papers as he thought might be of use to Professor Brierly, the scientist, and to Jimmy, the newspaper man.

When Jack came with the boy, Jimmy called the telephone operator and after identifying himself he told her where he was and asked that the nearest police authorities be notified. Then the group started back for the lake.

Professor Brierly and Norah were pacing the lake front in an agony of impatience, each for a different reason. Norah ran into the shallow water several steps, the sooner to have the child in her hungry arms. Professor Brierly's eyes were burning as he waved a telegram.

As the happy group stepped ashore, Professor Brierly said:

"It was Amos Brown, of course. This wire tells me. I should have known but perhaps this is best. Tell me, was there a boxwood hedge, a collie, running water, a sorrel horse, a pear tree?"

Jimmy and Matthews looked at one another sheepishly. They had been too much absorbed in their errand to see. They both wrinkled their brows in an effort to visualize the farmyard where that thing lay, when Professor Brierly exploded into wrath.

"Oh, you futile, inane, incompetent creatures. You, John, with all your scientific training. I cannot expect anything else from Hale. A newspaper man lives on emotional sensations. They form his stock in trade, but you—" Harry Stoy interrupted:

"Professor, if you're askin' about Mr. Brown's farm all them things you mentioned are there and there's some leghorn chickens and some—"

Professor Brierly's eyes glowed approvingly. "Good boy, Harry, you not only have eyes, but you can see." He looked down and a smile broke over his tired features. Tommy had been tugging his coat demanding attention. Professor Brierly took the child in his arms and hugged him tight.

After the excitement was over he bent eagerly over the papers that Jimmy brought from Brown's farm. He was thus engaged and the others were making a fuss over Tommy when the telephone bell rang.

"For you, Professor," called Martha.

The voice that came to Professor Brierly over the wire had a break in it. In the voice it was difficult to recognize the finely modulated diction of Justice Isaac Higginbotham.