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CHAPTER XVII

Parental Admonitions

Jack and Ken commenced their search for any sign of Paul. But everything was still and dark and there wasn’t a sign of human life anywhere about. After about twenty minutes of futile searching, the two boys decided to leave and go to Jones Street. Coming to the corner, Ken noticed a lonely figure hovering against a wall a short distance away. He called his friend’s attention to it and Jack said, “Most likely a drunk. But let’s go and see. It may be someone needing assistance.”

As they neared the figure, both boys remarked that there was something familiar about it. Jack began to feel a little uneasy about that lonely figure leaning against the wall and he walked faster, Ken at his side. Soon they were both running. “It’s Paul!” screamed Jack, almost hysterically.

The two friends ran over to Paul and caught hold of him on either side. “Paul! Paul!” whispered Jack frantically. “How are you? What happened to you?”

Paul shook his head, trying to shake away the mist from his eyes and the dullness out of his head. Ken whispered, “Let’s take him right home, Jack. Don’t bother him with questions now.”

Jack nodded and agreed. He was almost in tears at the helpless sight of his chum. Putting their arms around their friend, they started to lead him home. Very gradually, Paul regained his balance and self assurance. “All right,” he muttered, “I can walk by myself now.”

But just as soon as the boys removed their supporting arms, Paul tottered and almost fell. Jack immediately put an arm around his shoulder. A short while later, Paul finally walked by himself. “Some mess I got myself into,” he mumbled.

Jack smiled, happy that his friend was all right again. “Now don’t talk,” he said. “Save your energy.”

Paul grinned to himself thinking of how nearly he got away. They came to his house and Jack whispered, “How will we wake your father up? It’s quite late already.”

“What do you want to wake him up for?” inquired Paul.

“He has to treat your head, fellow. You’re all bloody and messy.”

“Don’t bother him, Jack. I’ll wash up myself and let him see it tomorrow.”

“Nothing doing,” insisted Jack. “You have to be taken care of by a doctor right away. And it’s better your father does it than anyone else.”

“All right, but don’t tell him what happened. Just say I fell.”

Jack ran up the step to the porch and rang the night bell. About two minutes later, Dr. Morrison, in his pajamas and bath robe, answered the door. Seeing who it was, he exclaimed, “Why, Jack, is there anything wrong?”

Jack thought for a few seconds what to say. “Er, Dr. Morrison,” he began, “don’t be alarmed but er—”

The doctor was impatient and he cried, “Well, well?”

“You see, Paul was hurt and—”

“Where is he?” was the direct and decisive question. “I thought he was in his room and asleep long ago.”

They went around to the back of the porch. The doctor looked at Paul’s wound and said, “Let’s go into the office and I’ll fix you up.” The boys followed. At the door the doctor turned to them and said, “You go home, fellows; it’s late.”

Jack compressed his lips and gritted his teeth. He wanted to ask if the wound was serious or if there was anything he could do to help. But the doctor seemed not to want them around. He waited until Paul and his father entered the house and closed the door. Ken whispered, “All right, Jack, let’s go. There is nothing more we can do here.”

Crossing the street, they separated and each went home to sleep and to think over everything that happened that evening.

Early in the morning, Jack got ready to leave his home. His mother called to him and asked, “Where are you going so early? Aren’t you going to wait for breakfast?”

But Jack shook his head, kissed his mother on the cheek and ran out of the house. He was anxious to see Paul, and, as it was too early to ring the bell, he walked back and forth like a sentinel in front of the Morrison house. Counting every minute, he finally decided at eight-thirty sharp, that it was all right to ring the bell now. He knew that Dr. Morrison’s office hours began at nine, and that usually he had his breakfast between eight-fifteen and a quarter of nine. His heart beat wildly as he heard footsteps coming to open the door. “Good morning, Jack,” Mrs. Morrison greeted him. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Morrison. I just want to see Paul.”

“Paul is a little tardy in getting out of bed this morning,” she told him as they entered the dining room. “Have a seat. He ought to be down any minute.”

“Good morning, Dr. Morrison.”

“Good morning, Jack. Did you have breakfast yet?”

“Breakfast!” Jack clasped his hand to his forehead. “I completely forgot about it.”

Dr. Morrison laughed heartily, but his wife couldn’t see the joke and she exclaimed, “You forgot to have breakfast! Is there anything wrong with you?”

Dr. Morrison laughed and Jack shook his head. “No,” he replied meekly. “I guess I wasn’t hungry.”

“You’re going to have breakfast right now,” insisted Mrs. Morrison. “Sit here,” she ordered the boy and then she went to the kitchen.

Dr. Morrison shrewdly remarked, with a twinkle in his eye, “If you can forget your breakfast, Jack, I can imagine what happened last night.”

Jack moved to the edge of his seat. “How is he?” he inquired anxiously. “Hurt bad?”

“Oh, I guess he will live to get into plenty of more trouble. Nothing to worry about.”

Mrs. Morrison returned and placed silverware and a plate in front of Jack. “Your bacon and eggs will be ready right away,” she said. “In the meanwhile, have this orange juice.”

Just then Paul came downstairs. He was smiling and looked as though nothing had happened. “Good morning, everybody,” he called cheerfully.

His greetings were returned. Kissing his mother on the cheek, she noticed the bandage on the back of his head. “What happened?” she demanded.

“Nothing, Mother. I just fell, that’s all.”

She looked at her husband who was smiling. “Nothing much,” he muttered to re-assure her.

“I wonder,” she said skeptically.

Paul and Jack looked at each other and grinned guiltily. “Well, sit down,” remarked Dr. Morrison, addressing his son.

Weighed down by a guilty conscience, the boys ate their breakfast in silence. Jack waited for Paul to finish. They noted with dismay that Dr. Morrison, although through with his morning meal, sat by the table and read the paper. Paul said, “I’m ready, Jack, let’s go.”

Dr. Morrison rose with the boys and took them under the arm. “Where to?” he asked.

Paul squirmed. “Just out to the porch,” he answered.

“Are you in any particular hurry? Something very important to talk about?”

“No,” his son answered hesitantly.

“That’s fine. Do you mind coming into my office for a couple of minutes?”

Jack thinking that Dr. Morrison meant only Paul, drew away. But the doctor said to him, “You, too, Jack. Come along.”

Dr. Morrison sat down at his desk and pointed the boys to chairs. For a moment there was silence. “Well,” remarked the doctor, “now tell me what this is all about.”

The boys fidgeted. “What what’s about, Dad?”

“Now don’t pretend ignorance,” commented the doctor. “You know very well what I mean.”

Paul turned to his companion and said, “You tell him, Jack.”

Jack felt himself getting hot all over and becoming red in the face. “No, you tell him yourself, Paul.”

Dr. Morrison smiled at their uneasiness. Paul said, “Dad, I don’t want to tell you any falsehoods and I can’t tell you now what it is all about. You wouldn’t understand. Please don’t ask me.”

“I don’t want to pry into your personal affairs and have you tell me things you don’t want,” said Dr. Morrison, “but getting a bump on the head like that is very serious.” He paused and the boys kept silent. The doctor continued, “I have treated a number of such cases and I can testify to the fact that the bumping was done by an expert.”

“It really isn’t much,” Paul assured his father. “And I promise to be more careful in the future.”

“All right, son. You had better be—and you, too, Jack—if you want to keep a whole head on your shoulders.”

“Yes, Dad.”

Grinning, the boys rose and left the office, with Dr. Morrison shaking his head and wondering what they were up to now.

CHAPTER XVIII

False Alarm!

Ken was sitting on the steps of the porch. He jumped up as he heard the door open. “Hello, fellows,” he cried.

“Hello, Ken. You’re lucky; you always get away with things.”

“What’s the trouble this time, Paul?”

“My dad just had us up at the bar and almost made us tell.”

“You can’t do that. Not yet, at any rate.”

“For the present we got away with it,” remarked Jack.

They went across the street to Ken’s garage where they would have the privacy they wanted. Seating themselves on boxes in a circle, Jack heaved a sigh, then said, “Well, Paul, now you can tell us everything that happened.”

Paul grinned mischievously. He leaned forward and whispered, “I found out their secret entrance to the cellar.”

“You mean it!” exclaimed Jack.

“That’s perfect!” cried Ken.

“It’s in the house to the rear of the empty house.”

“I had a suspicion it would be something like that,” commented Jack. “What sort of a house is it?”

“It was dark and there was not much chance to see anything. By the way,” he asked, “whose idea was it to suspect the grocery man?”

“Mine,” answered Ken. “Was I wrong?”

“On the contrary, you were right and you deserve a medal as a fine detective. That man is one of the gang.”

“You don’t say! Well, come on, tell us about it.”

Paul commenced at the very beginning and related all that had happened to him the previous night. Completing his narrative, Jack muttered, “So! That’s the way things stand.”

“Yes. Now you tell me what happened to you two last night.”

“In one word,” replied Jack, “nothing.”

“Tell him about the printing press,” suggested Ken.

“Well, yes, but that wasn’t much. By putting our ears to the ground, we could hear very slightly the printing press going.”

“On the contrary. You should have been able to hear it very well,” commented Paul.

“Come to think of it,” remarked Jack, “you’re right. They must have muffled the noise of the machine somehow.”

“They are certainly going in for it in a big way,” said Ken.

“It seems that they are,” Paul replied. “Now, if we can get a couple of things straightened out, we can tell the story to the police and have the gang arrested.”

“I think we ought to wait a while,” suggested Jack. “It is a little too soon yet.”

“Yes. From every indication,” commented Paul, “it seems that they are on the alert. We have to catch them at a moment when they are off their guard and make sure that every one of them happens to be there.”

“There are also a couple of more things that we have to check up on. For example, we still don’t know how Mr. Grey fits into the picture and—”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” interrupted Paul. “Following the grocery man, he and Mr. Grey passed each other and nodded. Whatever that meant I don’t know, but it establishes beyond a doubt that they know each other and that Mr. Grey is in with the crowd.”

“That’s very interesting to know,” said Jack enthusiastically. “But in that case, how are we going to explain his past behavior?”

“I don’t know,” answered Paul. “But there is no doubt that there is some connection between his past behavior and what we are up against now.”

“Yes,” muttered Jack, “I’d give a penny to know exactly how those fires and the robbery fit into the puzzle.”

“Eventually, we will solve that,” remarked Paul. “I have a notion how they fit in but—”

“Tell us!” exclaimed Ken.

“I would rather not; it sounds foolish and I may be mistaken. Besides, I couldn’t very well substantiate my argument. But what we have to decide now, is what we are going to do next, what our plan of action is going to be.”

“Do you have any suggestion?” asked Jack.

“My opinion is that we ought to keep away for a couple of days. That would make them think that they have scared us away. It will also make them a little careless and things will be easier for us to accomplish.”

“All right. Now suppose we do play dead, so to speak, for two days; then what?” asked Ken.

“Well, we still have to go down to the cellar for a second time and establish definitely what’s going on there.”

“And we still have to locate the exact position of their secret tunnel—for it must be that,” added Jack.

Paul nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It would be a simple thing to bore a tunnel connecting the two cellars.”

“But how are we going to determine how the fires and the robbery at Professor Link’s fit into the picture?” asked Ken.

“For that we will have to wait and see how things turn out,” explained Paul. “It may be very possible that those incidents have nothing to do with it all.”

“But those were the very things that we began to investigate,” insisted Ken.

“Yes, and now look what it got us into,” remarked Jack.

Suddenly the air was rent by the screech of the fire siren. The boys leaped to their feet and began to race down the street. “But it isn’t time yet for another fire,” protested Paul.

“What do you mean, it isn’t time yet?” questioned Ken.

“I told you about it. From the reports in the papers, it seemed there was a fire approximately every ten to fourteen days.”

“Well, maybe this is a real fire,” suggested Jack.

“Perhaps.”

At Main Street, the boys saw the fire engine, a brand new one the town of Stanhope had recently acquired, come racing madly down the street. People were lined up along the sidewalk watching the engine pass. “Where’s the fire?” Paul asked someone.

The man shrugged his shoulders and answered, “I don’t know.”

Paul asked someone else. But nobody seemed to know where the fire was. Jack suggested that they run down the street, in the direction the fire engine went, and perhaps they would come upon it. The boys agreed and they fell into a trot. On the way, they stopped every once in a while to inquire as to the location of the fire. But nobody seemed to know. “That’s strange,” muttered Jack.

“What’s strange?” asked Ken.

“That no one should know where the fire is.”

About a quarter of a mile down, they saw the fire engine returning. The firemen waved to people as they passed. One of the firemen shouted to a friend at the curb, “False alarm!”

“Did you hear that?” asked Jack, turning to his friends.

“Yes,” answered Paul, “I heard it. I’m just wondering.”

“Wondering about what?”

“Just thinking of something.”

The boys began to walk back. For a while they were silent. “By golly!” exclaimed Paul, slapping his right fist into his palm. “I wouldn’t be surprised if—”

He stopped to think for a second. “If what?” asked Ken.

“If that gang,” continued Paul, “were not responsible for the false alarm.”

“How do you mean?” asked Jack.

“Pretty soon,” commented Ken, “you will have that gang responsible for everything that happens in this town.”

“But listen to this,” explained Paul. “Suppose they want to move something, do you think they want any witnesses?”

“No, but—”

“But when you hear the fire siren, people start running to the fire, there is a commotion, no one would pay any attention to something being moved in or out of a house. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” agreed Ken hesitantly, “but—”

“How about going over there and looking around?” suggested Jack.

“No,” insisted Paul. “We said we would play dead for two days and we are going to do it.”

“All right, you win.”

CHAPTER XIX

Captured!

The two days were up. Jack and Ken, waiting for Paul, sat idly about at the latter’s garage. It was early morning, about nine o’clock and the day was clear and warm. Soon Paul appeared and he sat down near his friends on a box. “All right, fellows,” he said, “what’s to be our first move?”

“Go down to the cellar,” suggested Jack. “It’s early morning and probably no one will be there. We will have at least a couple of hours in which to look around.”

“Yes, and perhaps we will find the secret door,” added Ken.

“Let’s go, then,” said Paul.

Jack picked up the baseball bat and followed. “Again you’re bringing along your bat,” remarked Paul.

“Sure. It may come in handy.”

“You’re right. It might not be a bad idea for Ken and I also to take along some sort of weapon.”

They stopped and looked around. Finding a stray broom handle, Ken sawed it into three pieces and Jack discarded his bat. Putting their weapons out of sight, they walked off. “How will we manage it?” asked Ken.

“We will do it the same as last time,” suggested Paul. “You will stay outside and keep a careful watch while Jack and I will go down. Is that agreeable?”

Ken nodded. “It’s all right with me.”

Before they reached the empty house, Jack suggested that they take a look at the house in its rear, where no doubt the secret door was situated. His companions thought it was a good idea and they proceeded to do so.

Ken took his place at one corner and Paul, by walking around the block, took his place at the opposite corner. When all was ready, Jack very innocently walked down the street on the wrong side. The house under suspicion was a one family brick building with a stoop leading up to the front door; at the ground level were noticeable the small windows of the cellar. From all appearances, the house was occupied; there were curtains in the windows, several flower pots were distributed on the small porch and a rubber hose lay on the ground not far from the house.

As Jack reached the corner, he took over Ken’s place and the latter strolled nonchalantly up the street, noticing everything within sight of the house. The boys got together again and discussed their impressions of the house. “Very innocent looking as far as I could see,” remarked Ken.

“Don’t let that fool you,” asserted Paul.

The boys proceeded to the empty house. Careful not to be seen as they entered the yard, they put their ears to the ground to find out whether the printing press was in motion. Satisfied that everything was quiet below as far as they could judge they prepared for action.

Ken took his place prepared to watch, while Jack and Paul moved off and entered the house. Closing the door quietly behind them, they entered the first room on their right. Moving very cautiously, they approached the spot where the trap door was supposed to be. But at first they could not find the small piece of wood that came out of the floor. Both boys frantically hunted for that piece of wood. After about fifteen minutes of digging their nails into the floor in wild search, Jack at last came upon it and lifted it out of the floor.

Paul lifted the trap door and began to descend. Their hearts were aflutter with excitement. What awaited them below? Would they come to trouble? Would they come to grips with the gangsters? Both boys had had a taste of their medicine, but that didn’t discourage them nor were they intimidated. Grasping firmly their short sticks, they walked down the steps.

It was dark below, and that was a good sign. Each of the boys carried a flashlight and lit up their way. Jack closed the trap door over his head and followed Paul. At the bottom of the stairs, Paul waited for his friend. A beam of light went all around the room and came to rest on the table. About five or six bills lay sprawled on the wooden table. Jack whispered, “Look.”

Paul nodded. Together they approached the table and looked at the money bills. There were two fives, two tens and a twenty dollar bill. “Counterfeit,” whispered Paul.

Jack picked one up and slipped it into his pocket. They returned to the end of the room and began a thorough search, working from one end of the room to the other. There were several pieces of clothing, many rags, various packages, and other things, such as tools and machinery about which they knew nothing. They paused to examine the printing press very carefully. They moved on. Jack whispered, “Let’s try to find the secret door.”

Paul nodded. “It must be over the other way,” he whispered back.

They proceeded to the other end of the cellar. A beam of light moved back and forth over the wall, but no sign of a door. They tapped and groped at the wall but with no success. Suddenly their hearts fell. The faint noise of footsteps on the other side of the wall came to them. Their minds were in a whirl. What were they to do? Were they to be captured? If so what would happen to them? They already had a taste of what the gang did to anyone spying on them. What would they do now? All these thoughts flashed through their minds in an instant. Paul whispered, “Hide.”

Paul dived behind a bunch of rags and pulled several of the rags over him. But Jack was not so quick. At his corner, there was no ready hiding place for him to run to. And he was still looking for one as the electric light flashed on and part of the middle of the wall was pushed open. In a flash, he noticed how the door worked; the handle of the door was pushed through on the other side, and thus a means was left for an exit; but on leaving, if the handle was pulled in, whoever was in the cellar was either imprisoned or had to use the trap door in the empty house.

As the door was thrown open, the two gangsters whom Paul had noticed with the fat fellow and the grocery man, stepped forth. Seeing Jack, one of them whipped a revolver out of his hip pocket. The second one, however, grabbed his mate by the arm and exclaimed, “Don’t shoot. He is only a kid.”

Advancing to Jack, the second one demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Jack held his breath and tried not to look in the direction where his chum was hiding. “Just happen to be here,” he answered, his heart in his mouth, wondering what they would do to him.

The gangster became angry and boisterous. “I know you happen to be here,” he cried as he gave the boy a shove that sent him sprawling. “But how do you happen to be here, that’s what I want to know.”

Jack picked himself up. The first man, with his gun still in his hand, mumbled to his companion, “Wait a minute, Pete, somebody else may be here. Let’s look around.”

“Okey, Joe. Keep this fellow covered while I look around.”

He took his gun out of his pocket and let his eyes wander about the cellar. He spied the bundle of rags. Levelling the gun at it, he cried, “If you’re hiding there behind the rags, you better come out or I’ll shoot.”

Paul thought he had better not take any chances and slowly he rose, with his hands above his head. Joe cried, “I think that’s the guy the boss and I caught the other day and I socked him.”

Pete demanded, “Are there any more of you in here?”

Paul shook his head. Out of the corner of their eyes, the boys glanced at each other. Both were pale and tense, but not frightened. Pete raised his fist threateningly and scowled, “If you’re lying, I’ll knock your block off.”

Paul said, “If you don’t believe me why don’t you look around and see for yourself.”

That seemed to satisfy the gangster and he lowered his arm. “What are you doing here?” he again demanded.

“We came upon the trap door by accident,” replied Paul undaunted, “and we thought we would look and see what it was all about.”

“You’re sure you don’t know any more than that?”

“What could we know that you don’t want us to know?” asked Paul.

Pete lunged out and hit Paul on the cheek. “That’ll teach you not to get fresh,” he hissed.

“What’ll we do with them?” asked the gangster named Joe, addressing his mate. “You think we ought to dump them?”

“No,” was the snarling reply. “We’ll tie them up and leave it to the boss to do with them as he pleases.”

“What for?” demanded Joe. “They’re a couple of rats and we ought to get rid of them.”

“They’re kids,” argued Pete. “We dump them and you’ll have the cops on our tail.”

“The cops don’t need to know.”

“Never mind. Tie them up and don’t argue.”

The two gangsters faced each other and it seemed that they might get into a quarrel. “I say dump them,” shouted Joe.

“And I say no,” snarled back Pete.

Jack and Paul watched them face each other, leveling their guns. The boys thought it would be good luck if they did fight and kill each other. But in that case there would be shooting and they needed safe places to run to. However, Joe, the weaker of the two, gave in and muttered, “Okey. We’ll tie them up.”

Tearing some rags into strips, Joe tied the boy’s hands and feet and their own handkerchiefs were used to put around their mouths. The job completed, they were tossed into the corner. Pete, who was watching the procedure, now said, “All right. Now grab those two packages and take them to the boss. And ask him what to do with these kids.”

“And what are you gonna do?” Joe asked with malice.

“I’m going to stay here and keep an eye on these kids.”

“That’s all right with me,” said Joe. He went to the other end of the cellar and picked up two packages wrapped in plain brown paper. Nodding to his mate, he called, “Okey, I’ll be going now.”

“And don’t take all day coming back,” snarled Pete.

Joe was gone. Pete brought over a chair and leaned it against the wall. Sitting down, he took a penknife out of his pocket, placed his gun in his lap and began to clean his fingernails. “It’s too bad you kids have to pry into things you shouldn’t,” he muttered, addressing himself to the boys without looking at them. “It ain’t healthy. You’re liable to get bumped off one of these days and then where will it get you?” He paused for a moment to think and scratch his head. “Mind your own business is my motto,” he continued. “If everybody would mind their own business, everything would be all right. As it is, people get into the trouble, like you kids, when you shouldn’t.”

He stopped talking. With their hands tied behind their backs, the boys worked feverishly to loosen their bonds. But they had to work without being suspected by their captor. And what’s more, Joe had done a good and expert job. The bonds were tied so strongly they could barely move their wrists.