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CHAPTER X

Stumped!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need ten,” said Paul.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What good will that do?”

“None that I can see, but …”

“But what?”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

CHAPTER XI

A Hunch

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

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

JONES & JONES

REALTORS

HOUSE FOR RENT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I guessed?” cried Paul.

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so,” remarked Paul.

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

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

“What sort of hunch?”

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

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

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

“Where to?” asked Ken.

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

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

“We will be back shortly. Come on.”

CHAPTER XII

A Bump on the Head

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And we found you,” added Ken.

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

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

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

“By then it was too late,” added Ken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joining Ken, they walked off and went home.