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CHAPTER XXVII

Mystery of the White Card

The boys were at the Morrison home waiting for Mr. Grey to appear. They had hundreds of questions to ask him and they hoped that he would clear up the mystery of the white card. But if he did not, they would be at a loss as to what to do next. They would either have to give up or commence their investigation all over again, and they were rather tired of the thing by now. Jack remarked, “I still can’t understand how we happened to come upon Mr. Grey and follow him. I don’t suppose he had anything to do with the mystery of the white card.”

“But it was you who originally began to follow him,” said Ken.

“That’s right. But now that I think of it, I can’t understand how I happened to pick on him.”

“Betty described the man who took her for a walk as tall and thin,” interposed Paul.

“Yes, but there are many tall, thin men in town,” argued Jack.

“And we came to the conclusion that the man who would start fires and steal a single book must be a maniac of some sort.”

Jack laughed. “Well, does Mr. Grey look like a maniac?” he asked.

Paul smiled and remarked, “Well, he does look rather odd, tall and thin as he is.”

“All that doesn’t get us anywhere,” said Jack.

“Well, let’s not come to any conclusions but wait until Mr. Grey comes,” remarked Paul.

“Yes, he’ll clear it all up for us.”

About ten minutes later, the government agent arrived. He looked like a changed man, dressed in a summer linen suit and his hair combed neatly back. “Hello, fellows,” he greeted as he entered.

“Hello, Mr. Grey,” returned Paul. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Well, I’ll try,” he said as he took a seat, “but I’m afraid you fellows are going to question me so much, you’ll have me standing on my head.”

“Then we’ll turn you over and sit you down again,” spoke up Jack.

“Now, Mr. Grey,” began Paul, “and by the way, is that your real name?”

“No, of course not. My name is George Wilson.”

“Well, Mr. Wilson, we are mystified by a certain little thing,” continued Paul, “and I wonder if you can clear it for us.”

“Try me and we’ll see.”

“The mystery of the white card,” Jack blurted out. “What is it all about?”

“What white card?” asked the agent mystified.

“You don’t know?” cried Ken.

The man shook his head in complete ignorance. “I’ll faint,” cried Jack, falling back in his chair and pretending that he was actually fainting.

“Tell me what it is all about,” asked the government agent. “I don’t even know what you are talking about.”

“And we thought that you could give us the solution,” commented Jack. “Now what are we going to do?”

“Will you please let me in on it?” Mr. Wilson asked for the second time.

“It’s like this,” began Paul, again explaining the whole thing, this time for the benefit of Mr. Wilson. “About ten days ago, Ken’s little sister, Betty, disappeared. Jack happened to find her all the way out on Leonard Street. Questioning her, he found that a man had bought her candy, taken her for a walk and left her there after he gave her a blank white card.”

“May I see the card?” asked Mr. Wilson.

Paul took it out of his pocket and showed it to him. The agent glanced at it and then said, “Go on.”

“Well, several days later there happened to be a fire on Water Street and I rushed into the building. To make the story short, inside that burning house I found another white card, an exact duplicate of the first one.”

“What?” asked Mr. Wilson, his curiosity now aroused. “And then what?”

“That isn’t all,” continued Paul. “The next day a robbery occurred at Professor Link’s and all that was taken was a single book out of the library. And what’s more, the same white card was left.”

“But the point of the story is,” intervened Ken, “we thought all along that you were the guilty person and that is how Jack began to follow you.”

“I!” cried the agent, aghast. “How do I come in on this?”

“Well, sir,” spoke up Jack, “it was really all my fault. After talking the thing over, we came to the conclusion that only a,—er,—a maniac sort of person would do anything like that.”

“And you took me for a maniac?” cried the agent, bursting out laughing. “That’s a good one.”

“I don’t think so,” replied Jack.

“No, I agree with you,” said Mr. Wilson. “I don’t think it’s quite the thing to be taken for a maniac. But go on.”

“Well, sir,” continued Jack, “I began to follow you. And the first night I followed you out to Waters Street, to the exact spot where the fire occurred, and …”

“But you must be wrong,” cried Mr. Wilson, “because I don’t even know where Waters Street is.”

“You don’t know?” demanded Jack leaping out of his seat.

The other boys also were by now out of their seats and staring dumbly at Mr. Wilson. The agent said, “I remember that I was once followed by one of you, I couldn’t say who. But I shook him off quickly. Then I also remember that Paul approached me one day and asked me where Jones Street was and I told him.”

“My God!” cried Jack, “I have followed the wrong man all the time.”

“Wait a minute,” Paul said tensely. “You haven’t followed the wrong man. On the contrary. You know what?” They all looked at him curiously. “There is a man in this town who looks very much like you, Mr. Wilson, and I am convinced that he is the guilty party.”

“Now that is interesting,” commented the agent. “I should certainly like to meet him.”

“Now let me ask you this,” said Paul. “You don’t know anything about the fires nor about the robbery at Professor Link’s, do you?”

“I most certainly don’t.”

“Was it you who saved us when Jack and I were prisoners in the cellar?”

“Yes, that was me.”

“Well, wait a minute,” interrupted Ken. “Suppose you tell us how you knew that the boys were being held there and how you came to know Harriman and how you came to be a member of the gang?”

“It’s this way, fellows,” began Mr. Wilson. “I was put on this case and I followed the gang to this town. Looking around for a room I hired one over the grocery store, from Harriman. At the time I did not know that he was a member of the gang, but I soon found it out. Through him, I came upon the gang. I became friends with Harriman and did him a few favors. From then on, he trusted me. After I got on their trail, I waited to get them with the goods—that is, they were then only experimenting and not yet turning out counterfeit money. Just as soon as they ran off some fake greenbacks, I got into action.”

“How did you know, then, that we were being held in the cellar of the empty house?” asked Paul.

“You see, the gang had a room in the hotel. And I had a room next door. And when Joe came and told Moonshine Charlie of holding you prisoners, I rushed down and freed you.”

“That’s plenty funny,” commented Jack. “If it was not you whom I was following all the time, who then was it?”

“That is something I should like to know myself,” replied the agent.

“Another thing, Mr. Wilson,” said Paul. “Four days ago, I followed Harriman. On the street, I noticed you—or was it you—passing him and you nodded to each other. Now was it you or was it not you?”

“No, it could not have been me,” was the answer, “because I remember distinctly that I was at the hotel at the time listening in on Moonshine and his gang.”

“That’s right,” continued Paul. “Harriman did lead me to Main Street where he met Moonshine, Joe and Pete. But if it was not you who nodded to Harriman, then I am more convinced than ever that there is a man in this town who looks very much like you. In fact he looks so much like you that even Harriman mistook him for you.”

“Now that is very interesting,” Mr. Wilson said. “We will have to do something about it.”

“But here is something that is very suspicious, Mr. Wilson,” Paul said. “You say that at the time you were at the hotel, but you or the person that looks like you, walked out of the corner house, that is, Harriman’s house, only about fifteen minutes before the grocery store keeper himself came out. How do you figure that out?”

“You have me puzzled, Paul, if that was the case. I can’t figure it out.”

The four of them leaned back in their seats and kept quiet. The boys appeared exhausted from the ordeal. They thought that at last everything would be cleared up and now they discovered that it still remained a mystery. “At last,” muttered Jack, “we are back where we started. Hooray!” Paul sighed and kept silent. Ken asked sadly, “Now what are we going to do?”

His companions shrugged their shoulders. Mr. Wilson remarked, “I wish I knew how I could help you. But as a matter of fact, I am leaving on the midnight express.”

“That’s too bad,” said Paul. “I thought that perhaps you would stay here for several days.”

Mr. Wilson shook his head. “That is out of the question,” he answered.

“To come back to the point,” said Jack, “what do you think we ought to do, Paul?”

“About what?”

“The mystery of the white card, of course.”

“I suppose we will just have to wait and see. Perhaps we will find some clue one of these days which will solve it.”

“If we wait until the mystery is solved by itself, we will never know the solution,” was Ken’s statement.

“Too bad I can’t help you,” said Mr. Wilson as he rose to go.

They shook hands all around, the boys wishing Mr. Wilson a pleasant trip and he wishing them success in unravelling the mystery of the white card.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Again the White Card

All of the following day the boys wandered about trying their best to form some definite opinion about the mystery of the white card so that they might act upon it. But however they discussed the situation, they could come to no conclusion nor hit upon any new clue. In desperation, they gave it up for the present and decided to let events take their course; perhaps something might turn up in several days or weeks that would give them a clue which they could follow with some chance of clearing up the situation.

Two days later, something did happen, but it only helped to complicate things further. Paul was walking along Main Street when he heard an automobile horn and he turned around to see who it was. A police car pulled up to the curb and Walters waved to him. “Hey, there, fellow,” he called. “Come on, get in.”

Paul got into the car. “Hello, Walters,” he said, “anything up?”

“Yes,” said the detective. “I have a very baffling case to solve and when I saw you walking along, I thought I might ask you to help me.” They both laughed and the detective added, “Are you bent on going any place in particular?”

“Well, I was going to the library. But I have plenty of time.”

“That’s fine. Then you can drive along with me for a while. I hate to drive all by myself with no one to talk to.”

“I don’t mind,” said Paul. “Where are you driving to?”

“That’s just it. No place in particular.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” said the detective, “we got a report about fifteen minutes ago that a car was stolen.” He brought a slip of paper out of his pocket and gave it to Paul. “Here,” he said, “look at it and then keep your eyes open. We will begin at one end of the town and ride through street by street. It may be that the owner parked it somewhere and forgot the place.”

Paul looked at the slip of paper. He read, “Ford … four door sedan … license number S 91 52.”

For a while they rode along talking of various things. They rode down one street and up the next street. Walters related some experiences of his as a detective. Finally he remarked, “By the way, the oddest thing happened to me yesterday. I was walking along and suddenly I noticed a man that was the exact image of George Wilson, the government agent. I was so astonished, I couldn’t imagine him being in town when two days ago I saw him off on the train.”

“Did you stop him?” demanded Paul excitedly. “Did you see where he went?”

The detective said, “Why, no. That’s just it. I closed my eyes for a second because I thought they were deceiving me. When I opened them again, he was gone.”

“Now isn’t that the worst of luck,” said Paul. “He is just the man we are looking for.”

“What did he do?” asked Walters. “What do you want him for?”

“We need him to clear up the mystery of the white card. We think he is the missing link in the puzzle.”

“That’s right,” remarked the detective. “I think I remember you telling me something about this white card mystery. Did you do anything about it?”

“No. And that is why we are looking for this man.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, our original clues led up to our following this man. But we got him mixed up with the government agent and that is how we happened to come upon the counterfeit gang. Well, sir, after all that was cleared up, we questioned Mr. Wilson but he didn’t know anything about the white card and then we knew we were up the wrong tree.”

“In other words,” said the detective, “as far as I can figure it out, you are back where you started and now you are looking for him again.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I wish you luck. Maybe if you keep it up long enough, you will come across another gang of crooks. But this time finish the job yourself.”

“I don’t think we will be able to do that,” returned Paul smiling. “You see, Jack, Ken and I are leaving for college in two weeks.”

“We will have to do something about that,” said the detective. “I will tell the chief to move the police headquarters to the college or have him move the college here. Which would you prefer?”

“Neither one. When I get to college, I won’t have much time for anything except study.”

“What are you going to study?”

“Jack and I are going to study to be doctors.”

“Your father is a doctor, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a very respectable profession. I wish I had gone to college and studied a profession.”

“Aren’t you satisfied with being a detective?”

“Oh, I’m satisfied all right but I guess it’s like the saying, that when you’re one thing you always want to be something else.”

They were crossing Main Street and Paul spied Ken walking along. Hailing his friend, the detective pulled up to the curb and Ken got into the car. “Where are you two going?” he asked.

“Just going for a ride,” said the detective. “Want to come along?”

“Sure, why not. I have nothing in particular to do right now. I was on my way for a swim, but this is all right.”

“Well, keep your eyes open for a Ford four door sedan, license number S 91 52. Walters is looking for it,” said Paul.

“Stolen?”

“No,” said the detective, “just removed by the wrong party.”

“By the way,” spoke up Paul, “Walters here has come across the mystery man of the white card, the man that looks like Mr. Wilson.”

Ken leaned forward eagerly. “You mean it?” he cried. “Did you arrest him, Walters?”

“No. I didn’t want to bother,” the detective replied.

“Didn’t want to bother!”

“He is kidding you,” said Paul. “The man looks so much like Mr. Wilson that he couldn’t believe his own eyes. Well, he closed them for a second, and when he opened them again, the man was gone.”

“Just like a detective!” cried Ken.

“What do you mean?” asked Walters.

“To close your eyes to things.”

For several seconds there was silence, then Walters burst out laughing. “That’s a good one,” he cried, “I’ll have to remember it.”

“Well, what are we going to do now?” asked Ken.

Paul shrugged his shoulders and didn’t answer. For a short while they rode along in silence. Suddenly, both Ken and Paul cried simultaneously, “Look!”

About ten yards ahead of them was a Ford sedan with the license number S 91 52 parked at the curb. Walters swung over to the curb and pulled up directly behind the Ford car.

CHAPTER XXIX

Mystery Solved

The three of them jumped out of the car and approached the Ford. Walters looked it over, checked the license number and said, “This is it, all right.”

Ken threw open the door next to the steering wheel. “Hey, Paul, Walters,” he cried, “come here, quick.”

He was joined by his friend and the detective. “Look,” he muttered and pointed at the driver’s seat.

They looked. There on the seat lay a white card. Walters grabbed it and turned it over on both sides. It was a plain, white, blank card. “Can you beat that!” gasped Walters.

Paul took his own card out of his pocket and gave it to Walters. “Here,” he said, “compare the two.”

The detective made the comparison and announced, “Identical.”

Ken burst out laughing. The detective asked angrily, “What are you laughing at, you young pup?”

“Now it’s your mystery,” answered the boy. “You look for him and the next time you see him don’t close your eyes.”

“Trying to be smart,” countered the detective, grinning. “Well, I’ll have to start looking for him all right.”

Walters searched the front and the rear of the car but he found nothing suspicious. His investigation completed, he asked Ken to get into the Ford and follow him. The detective drove back to police headquarters where the stolen car was parked and the owner of it was notified.

Ken and Paul walked out of the police headquarters in high spirits. There was no particular reason for it but they thought it quite humorous that Walters was now involved in the mystery of the white card. And Ken didn’t seem to get tired of repeating, “From now on, perhaps he will get out of the habit of closing his eyes.”

And after he said it, he would laugh, assured that it was a very good joke. Paul said, “Forget it for a while. Which way are you going?”

“Which way are you going?”

“Well, I was on the way to the library when Walters picked me up. So I guess I will continue my trip to the library.”

“That suits me,” said Ken, “I’ll go along.”

Whistling, chatting, they walked along Main Street when Ken suddenly saw something that made him quickly alert.

Paul was eyeing a window display as he walked. He felt his arm pinched and he uttered a muffled cry. “Hey!”

Ken muttered, “Shsh! Look!”

Across the street was the man who looked so much like Mr. Wilson! The boys gasped. He was standing in the doorway of a three story apartment house. The ground floor was occupied by a haberdashery on one side and a shoe store on the other. The mystery man, with his wild, maniacal appearance, glanced both ways, then he walked off, heading north. Paul cried, “Come on. I’ll take care of him, Ken. You run into the hall of the building and see what he may have been up to.”

Ken rushed into the hall. He searched frantically and at last he found under the stairs a bundle of rags evidently soaked in gasoline or kerosene, in flames. The wall and the back of the stairs were already beginning to smolder. By some luck, there happened to be a pail of dirty water at the other end of the hall. He grabbed it and dashed the water on the fire. The flames were out in a moment. With the rags soaking wet, he wiped it across the smoldering wood.

Holding on to the rags, he ran outside and looked at the number of the building. At the curb he found a sheet of newspaper which he wrapped around the wet rags. And to make sure he did not forget the address, he wrote it down.

In the meanwhile, Paul had approached the man and took him under the arm. “Do you mind if I walk along with you?” he asked.

“Oh, no, no. No, not at all.”

“My name is Paul. What is yours?”

“Who, me? I have no name.”

“That’s too bad,” said Paul. “I thought everybody had a name.”

“Everybody except I,” was the answer.

Paul was at a loss what to do or say. On the spur of the moment, he remarked, “There is a man who wants to see you. I will take you to him.”

“That is very nice of you. Where is he?”

“Straight ahead, down Main Street.”

“That’s fine. Let’s hurry, because I don’t want to keep him waiting. I don’t like to keep people waiting.”

Just then Ken came running up and took the man by the other arm. Together they led the man to police headquarters and into the detectives’ room. Walters was there and as soon as he saw the boys and the man, he jumped to his feet. “Where did you get him?” he cried.

“He was looking for you,” said Ken, “so we thought we would bring him here.”

“Stop kidding, will you, and tell me what it’s all about?” demanded the detective.

The man stood there very innocently looking from one to the other. Ken removed the covering of paper from the rags and showed it to Walters. Paul said, “We saw him come out of the hall of a building....”

“357 South Main Street is the correct address,” said Ken, interrupting. “That bunch of rags was in flames and the wall and the stairs were already beginning to smolder.”

“And so we brought him here,” concluded Paul.

The detective turned to the man. “What’s your name?” he demanded.

The man shrugged his shoulders and opened his arms in a gesture of complete ignorance. “Did you try to start a fire just before at 357 South Main Street?” the detective again asked.

But the man kept his mouth shut, grinned and would say nothing. The detective was growing red in the face. Paul said, “You ought to have him examined by a doctor.”

“Where do you live?” asked Walters.

But questioning him was futile and a waste of breath and effort. The man either would not, could not, or just did not understand enough to answer the simple questions. Walters searched him. In his right coat pocket was found a bunch of white cards. Paul and the detective took out their cards and compared them to the bunch. “Identical,” muttered Walters.

“Hooray!” cried Ken. “The white card mystery is solved.”

The man grinned sheepishly. Walters continued searching him. In the other pockets they found more white cards, various odds and ends such as pieces of string, a pocket knife, several pencils, shoe strings and an empty wallet with a name and address. Paul read, “Jerome Walsh, 321 Applebury Street.”

“Let’s run down there,” suggested Ken.

The detective nodded. “Yes, we’ll do that. First I will have him examined by a doctor.”

Walters took the man by the arm and led him out. The boys waited and two minutes later he returned. “What did you do with him?” asked Ken.

“I gave him over to one of the men to take care of. Let’s go,” said Walters.

They went to the back of the building and got into a police car. Ken plopped into the rear seat and began to laugh uproariously. “What’s the joke?” asked the detective.

“I don’t think you will appreciate it.”

“Take a chance, let’s hear it.”

“What I was laughing at,” said Ken, “is how much it helps when you keep your eyes open.”

“Aw, keep your mouth shut,” cried the detective, and the next moment he was himself enjoying the humor of it.

The car sped through the town and soon pulled up in front of 321 Applebury Street. It was a boarding house. Walters rang the bell and a middle aged woman answered the door. “Does a man by the name of Jerome Walsh live here?” asked the detective.

“Why, yes,” answered the woman hesitantly. “He isn’t in just now, though.”

Walters showed his badge and told her who he was. “That’s all right,” he said. “Take us up to his room.”

“Did he do anything wrong?” asked the woman.

“We just want to search his room,” said Walters.

“And he is such a harmless man,” mused the woman.

They followed the woman to the second floor and she showed them into a small, neatly kept room. The detective and the boys entered. On a little table were several books. Paul examined them. “Look,” he cried, “Professor Link’s book.”

Ken grabbed the volume and looked at it. Inside was the professor’s name. “So,” he mumbled, “the mystery at last is solved.”

The detective searched the room and found many small items that had been no doubt stolen from any number of places. Turning to the woman, he asked, “What do you know about this man, Jerome Walsh?”

“I don’t know anything about him,” she answered meekly. “He has been boarding with me for almost a year. Once a month a man comes, I think it is his brother, and pays for his room and board. Tell me, Mister detective, did Mr. Walsh do anything wrong?”

“Plenty,” was the answer. “Is there supposed to be something wrong with him mentally?”

“I don’t know,” the woman replied. “Every once in a while he acts strangely, but as far as I know, he is harmless.”

“What sort of strange things would he do?” asked Paul.

“Well, he would sometimes talk to himself, sometimes he would go out walking all night long—little things like that.”

The detective said, “The next time this man, his brother or whoever he is, comes to pay his room and board, I want you to call me. In the meanwhile, Mr. Walsh is not coming back here any more.”

“But what did he do?” the woman asked frantically.

“He tried to set a house on fire and he stole an automobile this morning,” the detective told her.

“Which is not all,” added Paul. “Do you have the address of this man who visits him?”

“Why, yes, I think I do; I think I must have it somewhere downstairs.”

“Let’s go down, then,” said Walters.

Downstairs, the woman searched for about ten minutes until at last she found the address and gave it to the detective. “Very good,” he muttered. “We will send for him.”

They left. Ken turned to Paul and said, “Let’s run over to Jack’s and tell him. He’ll drop dead when he hears it.”

“Yes,” said Paul, “let’s do that.”

Walters dropped them off in front of the Stormways home. Paul waved and called, “So long, Walters.”

“So long.”

“Keep your eyes open,” called Ken.

The detective smiled. “And you watch yourself,” he called back and drove off.

The two boys ran into the house, looking for their friend. Mrs. Stormways told them that he was at the garage and they ran out of the house again. Jack waved to them, his hands grimy with grease; he was working on his dad’s car. “Hey!” cried Ken, “the mystery has been broken wide open.”

“You mean....”

Jack stared at his friends with his mouth open. He couldn’t believe it. Paul smiled and said, “That’s right, the mystery is solved.”

“And without me,” moaned Jack, “How could you finish up the whole thing without me! Tell me all about it.”

The boys related how it had all happened. Jack looked very miserable as he listened to the story. His great regret was that he had not been in on the exciting final clearing-up of the mystery.

“It’s all right Jack, next week we’ll start college and we’ll forget all about the Mr. Grey’s and white cards and counterfeiters. We’ll have to put our minds on how to learn all of the hard subjects we’re going to take.” Paul tried to be consoling.

“Yes, Jack, and you can start solving a mystery as soon as we get there. The mystery I mean is this—how are we going to work hard and get good grades, and still play football, go to dances and have a good time? Figuring that out will give you a good tough sleuthing job,” Ken said.

Jack was quite cheerful by now.

“If we can have as good a time at college together as we have here in Stanhope,” he said, “We will be lucky. But I’m rather tired of summer and the town. I get a thrill every time I think of getting on the train Monday.”

“So do I,” Ken added. “We’ve had plenty of adventures since the troop has been together, and we will have plenty more.”

“Sure we will,” said Paul, “And I’m going home and help my mother pack my clothes right now. If I don’t watch her she will only put in my best clothes and leave out things like football sweaters and old pants.”

And with that all three boys started eagerly for home.