CHAPTER VI
The Spy
The following morning, immediately after breakfast, the three boys met and set off for Water Street. At the scene of the fire, Jack pointed out the approximate spot where the man had sat and wept. Searching for footprints, they found many, most of them indistinct and smudged. They continued their search for other possible clues but found none. In the midst of their searchings, however, Paul looking up thought he saw a flitting shadow duck behind a fence across the street. Making believe that he saw nothing, he bent over and continued his investigations; however, he had his eyes glued to the spot. And sure enough, he saw a head protrude. He was amazed. Was it possible that someone was spying on them? Was it possible that the person Jack had followed the evening before had now turned around and was following them?
He called the two boys over. Pretending that he was explaining to them the outline of a footprint, he told them in a few words, of his discovery. “Don’t look now,” he warned his friends; “and don’t both look at the same time.”
Ken joked, saying, “I hope this thing hasn’t got you so that you are beginning to see things.”
“Don’t be funny,” remarked Paul seriously. “Suppose you fellows move off now. Keep an eye on the spot I pointed out to you and don’t give yourselves away.”
The boys separated and pretended to be absorbed in their investigations. They kept this up for about five minutes and then Paul called them and they walked away. “Well?” he asked anxiously.
Jack nodded. “You are right,” he whispered. “I also saw the head protruding from behind the fence watching us.”
“What about you, Ken? Did you see anything?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I am not as eagle-eyed as you two. I saw nothing suspicious.”
“But I saw him watching us several times,” insisted Paul.
“I saw him only once,” added Jack.
“Well, you two may be right and I wrong,” commented the third companion.
“Who do you think it could be?” asked Jack. “And what do you think his purpose is?”
“How should I know?”
“Do you think it is that man I followed last night?”
Paul hesitated for a moment then shook his head. “No, and I will tell you why. The person you followed last night was tall and gaunt. This individual appeared to me to be about average height and robust. I could tell that from the shadow.”
“Shall I turn around and see if we are being followed?” asked Ken.
“No, don’t do that,” warned Paul. “He might catch on that we know we are being followed. I have a better plan.”
“What?”
“When we get to Main Street, you, Ken, will turn right, wave to us, make believe as though you are saying goodbye. Jack and I will turn left and pretend that we are going home. But instead of actually walking off, Ken, you will dash into a doorway and watch to see if anyone is following us.”
“And if there is?” asked Ken.
“Then you will follow him, naturally,” was Paul’s answer.
“And if there is not?”
“Then you will take a roundabout route and meet us in my house in about half an hour.”
“All right. I’ll do that.”
At Main Street, the group parted, one boy walking off in one direction, while the other two headed in the opposite direction. Ken, just as soon as he parted from his companions, walked to the second store from the corner, a haberdashery, and stared at the window display. Actually, however, his eyes were roaming elsewhere and he was carefully watching the corner. Some people came out of Water Street, but by the look on their faces, by their general appearance and by the fact that they seemed to know exactly which way their direction lay, Ken knew that it was not any one of them. Suddenly he caught his breath. A robust man of medium height emerged from the street and paused at the corner. He wore a light jacket and a Panama hat, the brim pulled down over his forehead.
After standing hesitantly on the corner, he turned left, seemingly bent on following Paul and Jack. Ken crossed the street and followed. The chase continued for several blocks, the man increasing his pace and Ken doing likewise. The two boys were just ahead, crossing Chestnut Street. As the man came to the corner, he turned. Ken stopped at a corner store and looked at the window display. He watched the man walk to the middle of the block and then turn into the yard of a private house. Ken scratched his head and wondered.
The two boys were awaiting him. As Ken came up the walk to the porch, Paul asked, “Well?”
Ken nodded meaningfully and the two boys were re-assured of their suspicions. Joining his companions, he muttered, “This man hunt is getting me. I’m afraid that before it is all over I am going to go crazy.”
“Why? What’s the matter?” inquired Jack.
“Do you know who was following us?” Ken put the question very gravely and looked from one boy to the other.
“Who?”
“Captain Bob.”
The announcement came as a shock, almost overwhelming them. Each boy searched the face of the other for some meaning or understanding. But all of them were just as puzzled. Paul repeated the name, “Captain Bob! But why should he follow us?”
Ken shrugged his shoulders. “Are you sure it was he?” questioned Jack, his demeanor grave and serious.
“I am absolutely positive. After all, I know the man. It’s true I didn’t see his face—”
Paul jumped. “You didn’t see his face!” he exclaimed. “Then how do you know it was he? You might be mistaken.”
Ken shrugged his shoulders. “Very possible,” he said, “but I am pretty sure I am not mistaken. To begin with, I know the man and I can recognize him without seeing his face. And secondly, I watched him walk down Chestnut Street and enter a house at about the middle of the street. That is where he lives, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but are you sure he walked into his own house—that is, Captain Bob’s house?” demanded Paul.
“Well, no, I didn’t follow him all the way to his home; I watched from the corner. But just the same I am pretty sure that it was Captain Bob.”
There was silence. The boys could not understand why the Captain should follow them. “Well, I’ll be!” exclaimed Jack. “This thing is getting beyond me and I am losing my patience.”
“Now don’t get excited,” cautioned Paul. “And keep quiet for a couple of minutes. I am trying to think of something.”
“Think of what?” asked Ken.
“Of what he said to us when we were over to see him,” was the answer.
“What about it?”
Paul leaned over toward his two companions. “Now look, fellows,” he began. “There is one particular thing he told us that comes back to me now very distinctly. You remember how just as we were leaving, he said to us, ‘Don’t you go around talking about a pyromaniac; it may get you into trouble.’ Remember him saying that?”
Jack nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
“Same here,” added Ken, “now that you call our attention to it. But what about it? He meant it for our own good.”
“Of course,” said Paul, “I am not doubting his sincerity. But, Captain Bob is much shrewder than we give him credit for, that’s the point.”
“How do you mean?” inquired Jack.
“We came over to talk over with him the fire, didn’t we?” continued Paul. “Well, remember that he didn’t seem to have a very definite opinion though he did feel that there was something odd about the cause or origin of the fire.”
“Well, what’s your point?” demanded Ken, his curiosity aroused.
“Only this,” said Paul, “that since we told him of our own doubts about the fire and that since we told him we suspected a pyromaniac, he immediately came to the conclusion that we knew more than we were telling him. And in order to find out what we may know about the fire, he is following us.”
“Sounds logical to me,” muttered Jack.
Ken shook his head. “It may sound logical,” he said, “but somehow I am not convinced. How should he know we were going out to Water Street this morning? And he would have to watch the house of any one of us three all morning to follow us. And why should he pick this morning to follow us?”
Paul smiled at his friend’s naive questions. “To begin with,” he said, “how do we know he has not been following us since that night we spoke to him? But I am under the impression that his following us is just an accident.”
“An accident!” echoed Jack. “Explain yourself.”
“I will if you don’t interrupt. My impression is that he was coming to Water Street this morning also to search for some clues to the fire. But when he saw us there, he naturally watched us to see what we were up to and then followed us.”
Ken shook his head in a gesture of disbelief. Jake, on the other hand mused quietly, trying to untangle the whole situation, but unable to find a starting point. Finally he asked, “Do you think he will continue to follow us, Paul?”
“Can’t tell. He may and he may not.”
After a short time of silence, Jack rose and suggested, “Well, let’s go home for lunch.”
“That’s a bully idea,” cried Ken. “I didn’t realize how hungry I am.”
“All right, I’ll see you boys later,” said Paul.
That evening, immediately after supper, Paul went across the street to call for Ken. As the two boys walked down the street, Paul whispered, “We are being followed.”
Ken gasped. “Captain Bob!” he exclaimed in a hushed tone of voice.
“Don’t know. But for the last half hour I noticed that someone was hovering about the house. And as we came out and walked away, I noticed a form slink out of the shadows and follow us.”
“What do you think we ought to do?”
“I have an idea.” And he whispered some instructions to his friend.
Ken nodded. “And then what?” he asked.
“Leave the rest to me.”
When the two boys arrived in front of Jack’s home, Paul spoke up rather loudly, “I guess I’ll walk down the block and call Nuthin’. I’ll be back in about five minutes.”
“All right,” answered Ken just as loudly. “Jack and I will wait for you.”
Ken entered the yard while Paul walked off straight ahead. Turning in at the end of the street, he set off at a run around the block.
Returning to the same street at the other end, he hovered close to the wall of a building and looked everywhere to detect the hiding place of the spy. Suddenly he caught his breath. He detected a slight movement behind a fence at the other side of the street, several houses below. He crossed to the other side and walked ahead. Sure enough, a man stepped out and came toward him. As they met, Paul greeted, “Hello, Captain Bob.”
The man grunted and was going to pass on, but Paul instantly got into his way. The man stopped, “Huh?” he muttered. “Did you speak to me?”
“I said hello, Captain Bob.”
“Hello yourself. Now let me see, your face seems to be familiar, but I can’t seem to remember your name.”
“Paul Morrison.”
“Oh, yes, yes. You are the boy who dashed into the burning house and—”
Paul interrupted. “Yes, that’s right; you know me.” What a poor actor the man was, Paul thought. He certainly couldn’t get away with pretending that he didn’t know him. His heart pounded and perspiration gathered on his brow. He was debating with himself what his approach should be. Would it be best merely to imply that Captain Bob’s spying was a known fact to them or should he put it frankly to the old man and see what he would say. Paul steeled himself. Very suddenly, trying to take the man off his guard, he said, “Captain Bob, I am very much surprised that you should be following us.”
The old man straightened up. “What was that you said? Following you? What for? Why should I be following you, tell me that.”
“That is something you should tell me,” he replied respectfully. “But you spied on us this morning on Water Street and then followed us as far as Chestnut Street. And just now you were following us again.”
It was really too dark to tell, but Paul felt that the old man had turned red and became confused. “My dear boy,” he mumbled angrily, “You don’t know what you are talking about.”
“You shouldn’t say that, Captain Bob. If I wasn’t positive, I wouldn’t accost you like this.”
After a moment of tense silence, the captain laughed. “Well, my boy,” he said, “you are right, but I promise not to do it any more.”
“Thank you. But if you don’t mind, I wish you would tell me why you are following us.”
Captain Bob replied gravely, “You see, my boy, there have been too many fires in this town lately. And when you and your friends came and talked to me about the fire the other day, I became a little suspicious. I tried to,—er,—get as much information out of you as I could, but somehow I felt that you were not telling me everything. So I thought I would check up on you.”
A feeling of relief swept over Paul. He wanted to jump into the air and shout for joy. Even though he was a modest boy, he had to pat himself on the back; thus far, all his suspicions and deductions had been correct. He would certainly make a good detective. The captain was waiting for him to say something and he commented, “But we really don’t know any more than we told you, Captain Bob. If there is anything the boys and I can do to help you, such as help check up on your suspicions—that is if you have any—we would be glad to do so.”
The old man chuckled. “You are a smart one, my boy. I know that you have something up your sleeve. But never mind.”
Paul felt his face going red. He must not give anything away, he thought. Out loud, he said, “But really, Captain, we don’t. We don’t know as much as you do, if as much.”
“Well, never mind. And,—er,—forget about my following you. I meant no harm.”
“I’m sure of that,” replied the boy. “And it is perfectly all right.”
“Good night, my boy.”
“Good night, Captain Bob.”
Paul watched the man disappear around the corner. And just as he started to cross the street, two figures darted out toward him, “Well?” cried Ken.
Paul put a finger to his lips. “Sh!” he cautioned.
The boys retreated to Jack’s garage where Paul told his companions the story. Just as soon as the narrative was completed, Ken cried, “The sly old fox! You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he continues to spy on us.”
“That is just what I was going to say,” agreed Paul. “He is a very shrewd man and I am positive that he suspects somehow.”
“You don’t mean to say that he suspects us of setting fire to that house?” inquired Jack seriously.
“No, not setting fire to the house,” answered Paul smiling. “That is ridiculous and we must give him more credit than that. My impression is that he suspects us of knowing something about it which we are holding back from him. And that happens to be true.”
“Providing, of course, that our suspicions are correct,” argued Ken, still a bit doubtful.
“Well, of course, under those conditions.”
“What do you think our next move should be?” questioned Jack.
“Let’s go to the movies,” suggested Ken.
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Jack.
“Why not?” reasoned Paul. “Captain Bob won’t follow us tonight any more—”
“Which makes it safe for us to go to the movies,” joked Ken.
The boys laughed. “Seriously, though,” said Paul, “there is nothing else for us to do tonight. That man was abroad last night, and it is reasonable to assume that he won’t do any more prowling around tonight.”
“I agree with that wholeheartedly,” said Ken. “Let’s go to the movies.”
CHAPTER VII
The Robbery
The following morning, at the breakfast table, Paul happened to glance at the front page of the Stanhope Herald which Dr. Morrison was reading. At the bottom of the page, boxed off, was a story with the headline PROFESSOR LINK’S HOUSE ROBBED. Paul became quite upset and found it difficult to eat his cereal. However, he controlled himself and did not show any untoward interest in the newspaper. His father finished breakfast first, and he laid down the paper and left for his office. Paul gulped down his milk, picked up the paper and went out on the porch.
The story was that someone had broken into Professor Link’s home and had stolen a valuable, early edition of “Colonial History.” Nothing else was taken, except that the thief had strewn many of the books on the floor. The theory was that the thief had entered by an open window in the library.
Ken came dashing across the street and up to the porch. “Hey, Paul!” he cried, “did you read the story in the morning paper?” Paul held up the paper. “So you know already?”
Jack came. “Well, what do you think of the robbery?” he asked bluntly. “I had a feeling we should not have gone to the movies last night.”
“What could we have done?” asked Ken.
“We might have come upon him and possibly frustrated his plan.”
“So!” exclaimed Ken. “You think that ‘he’ did it? Pretty soon you will have every crime under the sun charged up against him.”
“I don’t think we could have done anything,” commented Paul. “The paper says that the robbery occurred any time after about midnight, when the professor says he left his library to go to bed.”
“But we might have come across him sometime before and followed him. Then we might about have judged what he was up to.” Thus argued Jack.
“Maybe yes and maybe no,” was Paul’s pert statement.
“Paul,” demanded Ken, “you don’t mean to tell me that you really believe this man, this so-called maniac, committed the robbery, do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Tell me, how do you figure it out?”
“It’s very simple,” was Paul’s answer. “Only one book was stolen. Of course, the book was an old edition and valuable, but valuable only to a man like Professor Link. In actual money, the book is worth perhaps ten or fifteen dollars; but if the thief was going to sell it, he wouldn’t get more than four or five dollars for it.”
“Yes,” added Jack, “there were more valuable things in the room, if the thief had been interested in stealing something valuable. That is in itself enough to show that the thief, whoever he was, was either a maniac or one who was interested in obtaining only that book and nothing else. But an ordinary, normal man, would not break into a house to steal something like that.”
“Maybe,” remarked Ken doubtfully, “but—”
Paul interrupted, saying, “Let’s go over to Bobolink and get him to go over to Professor Link. He is Bobolink’s grandfather, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Let’s do that.”
The boys wended their way to Bobolink’s home and luckily found him still in. He was glad to see them, and commented, “I was just going to call you fellows.”
“What for?”
“I thought that perhaps you might be interested in accompanying me to my grandfather’s home.”
“That’s why we came for you,” Jack informed him.
“Good. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Professor Link who lived alone except for a woman who cooked and kept house for him, was a retired college professor and an authority in colonial history. He occupied a small, private house of his own and spent his time writing books on the history of the early pioneering days.
His three companions behind him, Bobolink rang the bell. The housekeeper opened the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Hix,” greeted Bobolink. “Is my grandfather in?”
Mrs. Hix answered, “He is in the library.”
The boys filed in and Bobolink knocked on the library door. “Come in,” someone called.
The boys entered. Mr. Link was a gray haired man of about sixty with a warm smile, who was very friendly to young people. “Hello, Gramps,” greeted Bobolink.
“Hello, fellows,” returned the professor. “What are you doing here?” he asked curiously.
“Just thought we would pay you a visit,” his grandson informed him.
“That’s very nice of you, but I wonder what is behind it. Sit down, boys.”
The walls of the room were lined with books. And it appeared that the mess that the thief had caused was all cleaned up. “What about that robbery, Gramps?” asked Bobolink.
Paul was walking around the room, pretending to be looking at the books. Actually he was searching for something. He paused to hear the professor’s answer to the question. “Not much harm done.”
“Was it a valuable book?” asked Jack.
“Not so particularly valuable; a book on colonial history.”
“Isn’t it rather odd that the thief should take that particular book and nothing else?” asked Paul casually.
Professor Link pursed his lips. “Rather,” he answered. “If he had been out to steal, he could have found more valuable things to take. He might even have found some money in the drawer of my desk, if he had looked.”
“But nothing else was touched?” Paul asked the question and was anxious to hear the answer. “No. Nothing else seems to have been taken.” Bobolink and Ken discussed with the professor the state university to which they were going, entering as freshmen in September. Paul walked around the back of the desk. He glanced down into the waste-paper basket. His heart almost stopped still. He picked something out of the basket and said to the professor, “Do you mind if I use this to copy down the name of a book?” Professor Link looked at the card. “Not at all. Where did you get it?”
“In the waste basket.” Paul turned the card to show that it was blank on both sides.
The boys stared at Paul and at the white card. “Here is some clean paper,” the professor said, and pushed forward a white pad. “And here is a pencil,” he added.
“This is perfectly all right,” asserted Paul. Picking up the pencil, he pretended that he was copying down the title of a book.
The boys were eager to get out, yet they could not very well show haste without making the professor suspicious. So they lingered for an additional twenty minutes, discussing colleges and college life. At last they escaped. As soon as they were outside the door, Bobolink opened his mouth to ask a question. But Paul cautioned him. “Sh! Let’s wait until we are further away from the house.”
Some distance away, Bobolink finally asked his question. “What was that card you picked out of the basket?”
Paul took it out of his pocket and showed it to them—a white card, blank on both sides, and three by two inches. “You have your card, Jack?” asked Paul. “Mine is home.”
“Yes, here it is.” And he produced it.
The cards were compared; they were identical. “Well, now what do you think of that!” exclaimed Bobolink.
“In every case,” whispered Paul seriously, “the same person. This is becoming terrible.”
“Yes,” agreed Ken. “I’m coming to look at it from your point of view. And from now on we have to take it more seriously and do something.”
“What can we do?” asked Bobolink.
“You know what?” remarked Paul. “If I didn’t think we would be laughed at, I would tell the police.”
“Aw, go on,” said Ken. “If all the evidence you have is the white card and the fact that Jack followed a suspicious looking person, they would think that you were either crazy or trying to put something over.”
“That’s the trouble,” asserted Paul. “In that case it is up to us to solve the mystery and put an end to it.”
“Well said,” commented Bobolink, “but how are we going to do it?”