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CHAPTER VIII

Encounter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you used to live here!”

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IX

Who Is Mr. Grey?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A very unhappy accident,” commented Ken.

“Yes, rather.”

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

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

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

“That’s a swell idea,” cried Paul.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okey, here goes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I guess not. Thank you.”

“It’s quite all right.”

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

“His name is Mr. Grey,” gasped Ken.

“What else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“Where will we get one?” inquired Ken.

“I have one home,” said Paul.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, what about her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Around the corner. The next street.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All right. We will do that.”

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