Dan shook his head, and made uncomfortable by those dark boring eyes, moved a step back against the wall.
Eddie had opened the bag. Now he thrust it directly under the boy’s eyes. Dan saw then that it contained not popcorn, but a 32-caliber revolver.
“You never saw the guy before,” Eddie repeated. “If you forget—you’ll hear from me. I got a way of taking care of my friends and them that ain’t.”
Two policemen had emerged from one of the offices. Dan turned to signal to them. Before he could do so, Eddie wheeled and departed by way of the revolving doors.
“You’re Dan Carter?” one of the policemen called, noticing the boy. “They’re waiting for you.”
“That man who was talking to me!” Dan exclaimed. “Did you notice him?”
Neither of the policemen had seen Eddie.
“He threatened me,” Dan revealed. “Warned me not to identify someone in the line-up. And he had a revolver.”
Now very much interested, the policemen went outside the building to look up and down the street. Paper Bag Eddie was nowhere to be seen.
“Probably hailed a taxi and made a quick getaway,” one of the officers said. “Listen, Dan. Don’t pay any attention to what he told you. It was all bluff. You go in there and identify your man if you can.”
“I intend to,” Dan announced, his face grim. “He can’t scare me.”
“Good!” the policeman approved. “Now follow me.”
Dan was led through a series of corridors and up an elevator to an inner room. There he was introduced to Detective Jim Blackwell and Sergeant Amos Davis.
“Now in a moment, several men will walk across a lighted stage in front of you,” Sergeant Davis explained. “You’ll be behind this screen, protected from their view. Don’t say anything, but look closely at each man. If you recognize any of them, tell me later. Got it?”
Dan nodded. His heart pounded with excitement. He had made up his mind to identify the motorboat operator if he possibly could.
But he couldn’t forget about Eddie and the revolver in the paper bag. Somehow he had a feeling that the threat had not been entirely bluff.
The stage now was flooded with blinding light. One at a time, six men walked into Dan’s range of vision.
The first three he had never seen before and resembled no one he had ever known. Dan gave them scarcely a second glance.
At sight of the fourth man in the line-up, he stiffened. Although the fellow tried to look unconcerned, Dan could see that he was worried. He knew him instantly as the sailor he had seen talking to Paper Bag Eddie.
Also, he was reasonably certain that the man was the same one who had operated the motorboat.
“He’s the one!” Dan whispered.
“Sure?”
“Almost positive.”
The men in the line-up were taken away and the stage darkened. Dan then was led to an adjoining room where he was questioned as to his identification and other information.
Dan told the entire story, including his suspicions that Jabowski might be supplying the river pirates with gasoline.
He related also how Jacques had disappeared from the Cave under mysterious circumstances, the theft of the coded message, and finally, of seeing the boy again on the island.
“It gave me a real shock to see him standing there at the window,” he ended the account. “I tried to signal him, but I don’t think he saw me. After awhile, he stepped back out of sight. I figure though that Jabowski is holding him there against his will.”
“You’ve given us some good tips, kid,” the police officer praised Dan. “Maybe we’ll drop around at the island and give it a thorough going over.”
“A raid on the hotel?”
“You might call it that.”
“Whatever you do, don’t arrest any of the Cubs that are camped on the island,” Dan said anxiously.
His remark amused the officer. “You figure we can’t tell a Cub from a crook?” he chuckled.
“I didn’t mean that, sir,” Dan replied, flushing.
“We’ll look out for your friends,” the officer reassured him. “Don’t you worry.”
Orders were given for squad members to contact Mr. Manheim, the island owner, and then to proceed to the old hotel for a search of the premises.
“We’ll take you along with us, Dan,” the officer told him. “You’ll be needed to point out this boy Jacques who is being held a prisoner, you say.”
In the squad car, the boy was driven to Mr. Manheim’s office. As his accusations were repeated, the island owner bristled with anger.
“Tommy rot!” he exploded. “My man Jabowski is to be trusted completely! This boy must be out of his head! Such gratitude. And after all I’ve done for the Cubs!”
After storming about for awhile, Mr. Manheim agreed to accompany police to the island. During the swift boat ride across the river, he refused to speak to Dan.
At the Cub camp, Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father both had returned. Already they had received a report from Brad and the other boys. But to see Dan arrive with a squad of policemen was something of a surprise.
“I hope you’re making no mistake,” Mr. Hatfield remarked to the boy after he had been informed that the hotel was to be searched. “Mr. Manheim looks as angry as a hornet! If you should be wrong—”
“All the Cubs saw Jacques at the window,” Brad said, coming to Dan’s defense. “The boy must be somewhere on the island.”
While the Cubs and their leaders approached the hotel by an overland route, police made a swift motorboat descent upon the building, tying up at the old dock.
Accompanied by Mr. Manheim, they presented themselves at the front door. There was no response to their knock.
“I should have a key,” Mr. Manheim said, searching for it in his pocket. “Don’t know what became of it. I’ve not used it in six months.”
Just then an upstairs window opened and Jabowski looked down on the group.
“What d’you want?” he demanded. Then, recognizing his employer, he said quickly: “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Manheim.”
“Open the door,” the island owner ordered. “Police insist on searching the place.”
“I’ll be right down,” the caretaker replied, leaving the window.
A moment later he unlocked the front door, staring curiously at the members of the police squad.
“Sorry, our orders are to search the place,” one of the officers apologized. “Mind if we look around?”
“Go ahead,” Jabowski shrugged. “I only work here.”
By this time all the Cubs had reached the hotel. However, except for Dan, Mr. Hatfield would not allow them inside the building.
The lobby of the old hotel had been converted into a makeshift living room. Scantily furnished with a few cast-off pieces of rickety furniture, the floor was unswept and the windows dirty.
Climbing a flight of squeaky stairs, the policemen began a systematic search of the bedrooms. Nearly all were empty and unfurnished.
“Jacques was in the room to the right of the corridor,” Dan said, pointing it out.
The officer thrust open the door. A boy who had been lying on an unmade bed, quickly got to his feet. Fully dressed, he stared first at Dan and then at the policemen.
“This the boy?” the officer demanded.
“Yes, it’s Jacques,” Dan answered as the youth stood mute.
Mr. Manheim and Jabowski had followed the policemen into the bedroom.
“Your name, boy?” the police officer questioned.
“Jacques—Jacques Jabowski.”
“Jabowski? You’re related to the caretaker?”
“He’s my nephew,” Jabowski answered before the boy could speak. “Anything wrong with that?”
The police officer fixed Dan with an annoyed glance. “You didn’t mention a relationship, kid.”
“Well, I didn’t know,” Dan said in embarrassment. “That is, I’d heard Jabowski had a nephew, but I never once thought of his being Jacques. The boy was taken away from the Cave, and when I saw him here—”
“You jumped to wild conclusions,” Mr. Manheim cut in furiously.
“Jacques will tell you I take good care of him and provide him with everything he needs,” Jabowski added.
“But you’ve kept him a prisoner,” Dan accused.
“That’s not so,” Jabowski denied. He gazed hard at his nephew. “You tell ’em, Jacques. Are you held a prisoner here?”
Jacques remained silent.
“Answer up,” Jabowski ordered harshly.
“No!” the boy replied, his face sullen.
“Jacques don’t like it much here in this country,” his uncle explained. “He came over from France six months ago and is learning to speak English.”
“You see,” Mr. Manheim broke in again. “This entire situation has been misunderstood. Everything is in order here. I foolishly gave the Cub Scouts permission to camp on my island and they’ve allowed their imaginations to run riot.”
“If any mistake has been made, it was entirely mine,” Dan said. “But I can’t understand—”
He gazed at Jacques who was looking at him with a strange expression in his eyes. It seemed to Dan that the boy wanted to speak, that he was trying to make something known, and yet was afraid. Dan decided to question him.
“Jacques,” he said earnestly. “Why did you leave the Cave? Who took you away?”
“You came here of your own free will, Jacques,” his uncle replied, putting words in the boy’s mind. “Wasn’t that it? Tell the officers.”
“Yes,” Jacques replied, his eyes downcast. “Oui.”
Obviously disgusted by the turn of events, the policemen made a quick and casual inspection of other rooms in the old hotel.
“Everything seems to be in order here,” they informed Mr. Manheim. “Sorry to have caused you annoyance.”
Mr. Hatfield and Dan also apologized to the island owner. However, he was in no mood to accept an explanation or to forgive.
“I made a mistake allowing the Cubs to come here,” Mr. Manheim declared. “You’ve spread damaging rumors about the island.”
“If that’s the way you feel, we’ll leave at once,” the Cub leader replied. “An error of judgment was made, but under the circumstance, I don’t feel Dan should be too severely criticized.”
The island owner and Mr. Hatfield now stood on the sagging veranda, surrounded by Cubs. A few splatters of rain drove into their faces.
“I’ll not ask you to break camp with a storm coming on,” Mr. Manheim said. “If you’ll leave by tomorrow morning, that will be satisfactory.”
“We’ll endeavor to depart before that. I’ll contact the mainland as quickly as I can and have a launch come to pick up our equipment.”
“Suit yourselves,” Mr. Manheim shrugged. “I’m not driving you away. You’re free to stay until tomorrow morning. After that, I’ll consider it a favor if you’ll not bring the Cubs here again.”
“Rest assured we will remain away, Mr. Manheim.”
“Another thing. I’ve changed my mind about selling the camp site. You readily can see that it would never work out to have Cubs or Scouts here. There would be constant friction.”
“On that point I could give you an argument, Mr. Manheim. However, I realize you’ve made up your mind, so I’ll say no more.”
Leaving Mr. Manheim with Jabowski, the discouraged Cubs trudged back to camp with their leaders. Rain now was falling steadily, adding to the gloom of the boys.
“Brace up, Dan,” Brad said as the two sought the shelter of a tent. “It wasn’t exactly your fault.”
“Sure it was,” Dan insisted. “I’ve messed things up for fair. Mr. Hatfield’s being mighty decent about it, but I can see he’s bothered. And the Scouts will blame us for cutting them out of their camp site.”
“Who wants this old island anyhow? We’ve had plenty of trouble since we came here.”
“All caused by our own wild imagination, as Manheim puts it! Brad, Jacques was hiding the truth from the police! I’m sure of it. He’s completely under the thumb of that uncle of his.”
“Maybe so, but if we can’t prove it, what’s the good in knowing? We’ll be leaving here as soon as this rain lets up.”
Dan nodded gloomily. Already Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father were making arrangements to have a launch sent from the yacht club. The moment that the storm cleared, he knew an order would be given to strike the tents.
“Brad, if we could talk to Jacques alone, maybe we could get something out of him,” he proposed suddenly.
“Jabowski wouldn’t let us within a mile of the kid.”
“Not if he could help himself.”
Brad regarded Dan speculatively. “You’re suggesting that we try to see him when Jabowski isn’t around, Dan?”
“That’s the general idea. If we could get to him he might talk. I’ve messed things up for the Cubs and I’d like to square myself if I could.”
Brad thought over the proposal. “How’d we get to him?” he asked.
“We’d have to watch the place and sneak in whenever we got the chance.”
“I don’t think it will work,” Brad said slowly. “But I’m willing to try. Shall we tell the other Cubs?”
“Let’s not, Brad. The idea may flop. Let’s just slip away.”
“I’ll leave a note for Mr. Hatfield,” Brad said, scribbling on the page of a notebook he took from his pocket. “If anything should happen that we don’t get back right away, he might worry.”
The older boy left the message in plain view on his bed. Buttoning themselves into their slickers, the pair then quitted the tent. Unnoticed, they followed the shore for a distance, and then sliced through the dunes to the woodland surrounding Jabowski’s place.
As upon the first occasion they had viewed the old hotel, it appeared completely deserted. This time, however, the boys were not deceived.
“Jabowski and his nephew both are inside probably,” Brad said. “Our only chance is to lie in wait until we see Jabowski leave. Then we might try to get in. We’re taking a fearful chance though.”
For three quarters of an hour, the two Cubs shivered in their inadequate shelter of bushes. Rain continued to fall. During the entire time, no one entered or left the hotel.
“We can’t stick here forever,” Brad said at length. “Mr. Hatfield will be sending a searching party after us.”
“I guess my idea was a bum one again,” Dan admitted, brushing a mop of damp hair from his eyes. “Want to leave?”
“Let’s make a tour around the hotel first,” Brad said.
Keeping out of sight, the pair crept through the bushes, completely circling the old building. No one was visible at any of the windows.
Finally they came to the river. Thrusting through a particularly dense thicket, Brad abruptly halted.
“Hello?” he muttered. “What’s this?”
Progress was barred by an accumulation of brush and debris. Pulling some of it aside, Brad saw a dark opening leading back under the rise of ground.
“Gosh, Dan,” he murmured in awe. “This looks like the entrance to the old tunnel Mr. Hatfield told us about.”
“It sure does,” Dan agreed excitedly. “And someone’s found it ahead of us. The sand which blocked the entrance was dug out, and then the opening hidden with all this brush!”
“Let’s find out where it goes!”
With no thought of personal danger, the boys pulled away enough debris to permit them to squeeze through into the dark tunnel.
In years past it had been bricked over, but now water oozed through many breaks in the walls and low ceiling.
“This must lead to the old hotel,” Dan said, groping his way along the damp wall. “Maybe we’ll get in after all!”
Before the boys had gone very far they came upon four sturdy sawhorses where a boat obviously had been allowed to rest while being painted. Varnish and cans of half-used paint remained, but the boat had been removed.
“Dan, I get it all now!” Brad exclaimed. “That boat which struck Mr. Holloway’s sailing craft was painted and outfitted here in the tunnel!”
“And painted to resemble Mr. Manheim’s speedboat!”
“That’s the way I dope it, Dan. Let’s see what lies further on.”
Highly excited by their discovery, the two boys moved rapidly on down the tunnel. Presently, a series of ten stone steps led up to a small bricked room which they judged must be directly beneath the hotel.
But to the disappointment of the Cubs, the room was empty save for a few empty boxes, from which all markings carefully had been removed.
“Dan, you know what I think!” Brad exclaimed, taking care to keep his voice low-pitched so that it would not carry to the rooms above. “This room has been used for the storage of loot!”
“The furs stolen from the warehouse!”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. Why, it was a perfect set-up! The crooks snatched the stuff and made a quick dash across the river. No one became suspicious, because the boat looked exactly like Manheim’s.”
“They unloaded the boxes here, and then if police checked the boat, of course they’d find nothing!”
“Exactly! Then after the theft blew over and police weren’t watching the waterfront as closely, they moved the stuff out and disposed of it.”
“Brad, I was right after all! Jabowski is mixed up in this!”
“Maybe so, but we have no proof,” Brad brought him up short. “While we’re pretty certain in our own minds what happened, the evidence isn’t conclusive. All we have here is a few empty boxes. It doesn’t establish anyone’s guilt.”
“That’s true,” Dan admitted unwillingly. “If we went to the police with this, they’d probably give me the jolly ha-ha again.”
“Let’s see where this tunnel comes out,” Brad proposed.
Quitting the bricked room, the boys followed a dark passageway until they came to a solid oak door. It was locked.
“This is the end,” Brad whispered. “The door must enter the hotel. Jabowski may go back and forth, but he’d never admit it.”
“What do you think we should do?”
“We’ll tell Mr. Hatfield, of course. He may go to the police, but I doubt it. The Cubs already are in Dutch with Mr. Manheim. If we make any more accusations we can’t prove, he’ll have a right to be furious.”
“But this we can prove,” Dan argued. “The tunnel is here.”
“That’s the unfortunate part, Dan. It always has been here. We can’t tie a thing onto Jabowski or those other fellows unless police should catch ’em red-handed.”
“Fine chance of that!”
“They may try to pull another job. What was the date on that coded message?”
“The 24th. I remember because it’s the day of our Pack swimming meet.”
“That date may have significance,” Brad speculated. “But it’s not for us to decide. Let’s get out of here now and give Mr. Hatfield all the facts. Then he can take the responsibility.”
Dan knew that the older boy’s advice was sound and should be followed. But it was with a sinking heart that he followed Brad through the damp tunnel to the river.
He was willing to bet that neither the Cub leader nor police would favor another raid on the island. His attempt to straighten out matters had failed! Time had run out.
Through his bungling, the Cubs would lose their island camp. And there wasn’t a thing he could do.
At the “Y” swimming pool, Dan Carter and the Cubs lounged against the tiled wall, awaiting the signal for start of the long-awaited Pack meet.
The gallery was jammed with spectators, for parents and friends of both teams had turned out in large numbers to witness this decisive contest of the season. A large silver cup, to be awarded the winning Den, stood on a table in plain view of the swimmers.
“Gosh, I sure hope we can win that beautiful baby,” Midge said, gazing longingly at the trophy. “Dan, we’re depending on you to do your stuff!”
“I’ll sure try,” Dan replied, shivering in his wet suit. “But you know Ross! He’s jet propelled. Furthermore, he hasn’t forgotten how we won that last meet.”
As the boys talked, Ross himself sauntered past. He paused to hitch up his trunks and fix Dan with an amused eye.
“It’s going to be too bad for you, little shrimp,” he jeered. “This time, you won’t win on a fluke! In fact, you won’t win. Period.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Midge cut in. “Take a look at the events that have been posted.”
“What’s different about ’em?” Ross demanded suspiciously.
“The coaches got together and substituted a 75-yard free style for the 50-yard. They figure it’s a better test of swimming form. In the shorter distance, a good turn at the wall gives a fellow a big advantage.”
“No one told me about changing the distance,” Ross muttered. “I’m going to find out about this!”
The Cubs saw him arguing vigorously with his own coach and Mr. Hatfield. The two men listened to his complaint but did not change the list of scheduled events.
“It’s this way, Ross,” Mr. Hatfield explained. “The Cubs steadily have increased their endurance as well as their speed. At the beginning of the season, a 50-yard swim was a hard race for everyone concerned. Now it’s a breeze. The 75-yard freestyle is a far better test of one’s real ability.”
“Sure, I guess so,” Ross admitted, but he looked worried. Though the Den 1 coach had urged him many times to practice the longer length, he nearly always had stopped short at the end of two turns.
While waiting for the starting signal, Dan at the other end of the pool allowed his gaze to wander over the packed audience. In the back row near the door he caught a glimpse of a short little man whose sharp-featured face gave him a start.
“Midge, look over there!” he muttered, nudging his companion.
“Where?”
“He’s gone now,” Dan returned. “Slipped out through the door. For just a minute I thought—”
A shrill blast from Mr. Hatfield’s whistle drove the matter from his mind entirely. Scrambling to his feet, he lined up for the first event of the meet.
In rapid order the events were run through, the back stroke, fancy diving, the 100-yard relay race, and a breast stroke event. With only one event remaining—the 75-yard freestyle, the score stood 20 to 16 in favor of Den 2.
To win the meet the Cubs of Den 2 knew that Dan must defeat Ross for first place. But in the freestyle relay event, the Den 1 swimmer had put on a spectacular burst of speed to capture the event. The prospects looked discouraging.
“Just swim your own race, Dan,” Mr. Holloway advised as the boy went to the starting line.
The swimmers crouched above their lanes awaiting the signal. Sensing that the race would be a close one, the audience rose to its feet.
Mr. Hatfield’s revolver cracked and the swimmers were off.
Almost together Ross and Dan struck the water in flat, fast racing dives. From the start, the Den 1 swimmer took the lead.
Dan heard the groans of dismay from his teammates and instinctively increased the tempo of his thrashing legs. Then he told himself he could not hold the pace. Deliberately, he dropped back to his former rhythm.
The race would be a gruelling one at the end. He must save a little reserve for that final spurt!
At the turn, Ross was nearly two body lengths ahead of Dan, his closest competitor. Midge and a youth who swam for Den 1 were almost neck-and-neck another three feet behind.
After the second length, Ross slowed down a bit. Dan’s arms and legs now were moving with the easy precision of well-oiled machinery. Going into the final turn, the boy suddenly realized that for the first time in the race, he was a foot ahead!
The knowledge shocked him into losing the smooth rhythm of his stroke. Ross, desperate to regain the lead, spurted ahead once more.
“Come on, Dan!” his teammates pleaded. “Come on!”
Across the pool, the Cubs of Den 1 were urging Ross to give his all. Both boys put on a final thrust of speed.
Dan’s arms ached with fatigue but his breath was good. Fight, fight, fight! The words pounded through his brain and conveyed themselves to his thrashing legs. His driving arms churned the water to foam as he put forth a supreme effort.
The finish line was just ahead. As Dan surged for it with a feel of power and strength, Ross suddenly seemed to cave in. His stroke lost all rhythm, arm and leg movements became jerky.
Dan moved steadily ahead of him, touching the wall a full length ahead. The audience burst into loud applause. Midge who came in third, after Ross, also was given a big hand.
“Well, you did it, boy!” Brad declared, clapping Dan on the back. “Look at that scoreboard!”
Mr. Hatfield was writing up the chalk figures—26 to 19 in favor of Den 2.
“We’ve won the silver cup!” Chips Davis added, joining in the congratulations. “And not on any fluke either!”
His breath recovered, Ross came around to offer Dan his hand.
“You swam a dandy race and deserved to win,” he said warmly. “From now on, I’m going in for heavy practice!”
“Next year we’ll have a real race,” Dan grinned. “You gave me stiff competition this season.”
Following his teammates to the dressing room, the boy showered and scrambled into street clothes. Victory had brought a warm inner glow. He felt at peace with the world.
The feeling, however, was short lived. In leaving the dressing room, he chanced to hear Mr. Holloway and the Den 1 coach discussing prospects of obtaining Skeleton Island as a Scout camp.
“The deal’s definitely washed up,” Midge’s father told the coach. “Too bad, because the site is the best one around Webster City.”
Since the weekend when the Cubs had camped on the island, Dan had not seen Mr. Manheim or the caretaker, Jabowski. He and Brad had reported to Mr. Hatfield their discovery of the old tunnel leading under the hotel. However, the Cub leader had not considered it advisable to take the matter up.
“It’s useless to speculate on what may have happened there,” he told the disappointed boys. “To impress Mr. Manheim or the police, we need evidence. Without it, we’ll be wise to let matters rest as they are.”
Dan also had been discouraged to learn that Frisk Fagan, the motorboat operator, had been released from jail on bond. Realization that the man was at liberty gave the boy a few uneasy moments. Though he expected no trouble, he could not forget that he had been warned not to identify the man.
As Dan removed his coat from the locker, Mack came hurrying up.
“Say, you’re wanted outside,” he informed. “A man wants to talk to you.”
“Who is he, Mack?”
“Didn’t say,” the other flung over his shoulder as he went on toward the dressing room. “He’s waiting out in front of the building.”
Dan put on his coat and started for the street. By this time the main part of the “Y” building was nearly deserted of visitors.
As he stepped out onto a stone porch giving exit to the street, a little man in an overcoat pulled high around his neck emerged from the shadows. Dan recoiled.
The man was Paper Bag Eddie.
“Hello, Dan,” the other said in his purring voice. “Want to take a little ride with me?”
Dan started to retreat into the building, but Eddie blocked the doorway. The dark street was deserted except for a taxi cab.
“Don’t let out a peep or make a false move,” the man said, tapping the little paper bag he carried. “You’re coming with me.”
Taking a firm grasp upon Dan’s arm, he shoved him toward the waiting taxi cab.
The boy braced his feet and started to resist. But as he opened his mouth to let out a yell for help, Eddie jammed the paper bag into his ribs. He felt the pressure of a revolver press against his flesh.
“Don’t yip, or I’ll let you have it,” the little man said in his pleasant voice. “Just get in that taxi.”
Dan obeyed. As he slumped in the rear seat, he took a quick glance at the driver. Though the face was unfamiliar, he thought the man resembled one of the persons he had seen on the night Mr. Holloway’s motorboat had been struck. It was an ugly face, cold and unfriendly. He realized with a sinking heart that any appeal to the driver for help would be a waste of breath.
Eddie sat close beside Dan, his stubby legs stretched out in front of him.
“We have a little score to settle, Dan,” the man said, eyeing the boy narrowly. “Remember?”
The words sent an icy chill chasing down Dan’s spine. Eddie hadn’t forgotten his identification of Frisk Fagan. And this was the payoff!
“Where are you taking me?” he demanded.
Eddie merely smiled and settled back in the cab. The taxi driver, without an order, shifted gears and they sped away.
Along the brightly lighted street, Dan saw many persons he knew walking home from the swimming meet. But he was helpless to signal them or to let anyone know of his plight.
At the next corner, the taxi turned, seeking a narrow, dark street. Gradually it came to Dan that he was being driven to the waterfront. His uneasiness increased.
The cab presently pulled up not far from a familiar group of warehouses. Eddie made no move to leave the taxi. Instead, he seemed to be waiting for someone.
Within five minutes, a tapping sound was heard along the dark street. Craning his neck, Dan saw the blindman and his dog approaching the cab.
The boy’s heart leaped with hope. If only he could get word to the man, or in some manner make known his predicament!
But a moment later Dan’s hopes nose-dived. The blindman came directly to the cab. He greeted Eddie as an old friend.
“Sorry to be late,” he apologized. “You got the kid, I see.”
“Sure,” Eddie replied, lowering the cab window. “Everything set?”
“The shipment’s in, settin’ out on Dock 23 covered with canvas. All we gotta do is distract the watchman while the sawing goes on.”
As he spoke, the blindman removed his dark glasses. His eyes as they coldly appraised Dan looked perfectly normal. With a shock the boy realized that Joe Matt never had been blind.
“He’s been a spotter for the gang of river pirates!” Dan thought. “All the time he’s kept watch of shipments to learn when valuable ones go through! Hank foolishly told him everything!”
Belatedly, it occurred to him that this was the night of the 24th. The blindman had learned long ago that a valuable shipment of furs or other merchandise was to be sent through on this day.
As Dan figured it out, the boy Jacques undoubtedly had been assigned to relay the information to a member of the gang. The coded message must have referred to the shipment and was in effect “Coming through on the 24th!” But something had gone awry. Either Jacques had rebelled or had met with an accident as he crossed the river.
“That’s why the boy wouldn’t talk,” he thought. “He didn’t dare. He was afraid of what the gang would do to him.”
Dan’s meditation was cut short by a poke in the ribs from Paper Bag Eddie.
“Get out!” the man ordered. “If you do exactly as you’re told, you won’t be hurt. But don’t try any monkey business.”
Dan was forced to walk along the dock ahead of the blindman and his dog. Eddie loitered far behind.
“Now get this,” Joe Matt said. “One false move and Rudy will tear you to shreds. You’ll do exactly as I say. These are your orders: You’re to talk to Hank and keep him occupied. I don’t care what you say, just so you hold his attention. If you fail—”
“So I’m to be a decoy?”
“You’re to throw him off his guard. Just keep him away from the dock while our work goes on.”
“Work! You’re stealing another shipment of furs!”
“Right, my boy. From under Hank’s very nose too!” The blindman paused in the shadow of the warehouse. “See the stupid fool!”
The warehouseman nervously paced back and forth along the dock. Frequently he paused to glance at a pile of boxes which had been covered by a heavy canvas.
“How do you aim to get the furs?” Dan whispered. “If you make any false move, Hank will blow his whistle and the river police will be here in a flash.”
“Don’t you worry yourself, my boy. Just do as you’re told and don’t ask questions.”
The blindman gave Dan a shove, following a pace behind. At sound of his tapping cane, the warehouseman whirled around.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said in relief. “I’m a mite jumpy tonight. Guarding a valuable cargo. She’s due to be picked up in another hour. It sure will be a load off my mind.”
“Hank, I got a sliver in my hand a minute ago,” the blindman said in a half-whine intended to arouse sympathy. “Will you help me get it out?”
“Can’t see a thing out here.”
“Come inside where there’s a good light.”
The warehouseman hesitated. “I shouldn’t leave the dock—”
“Oh, it will only take a minute. You can watch the canvas from the doorway. Dan here can help you keep an eye on it.”
“My eyesight isn’t very good at night,” Dan said significantly.
The blindman’s arm pressed hard into his flesh.
“Lead me inside, Dan,” the man ordered. “That’s a good boy. You’re a real help to a poor soul without any eyes.”
The three entered the warehouse where they switched on a bright electric light. Carefully he examined the blindman’s hand.
“It’s only a little sliver,” he said. “Hardly worth bothering about. Here, I’ll get it out in a jiffy.”
With his knife he removed the tiny piece of wood.
Dan, who stood where he could see the canvas which covered the crate of furs, thought he could hear the indistinct sound of someone sawing wood. But he could see no one.
Then the explanation dawned upon him! Hours before, a boat had slipped in beneath the dock, lying in wait for this moment. Now the river pirates boldly were carving through the dock with steel braces, bits and saws!
Undoubtedly the blindman himself had given the go-ahead signal by tapping with his cane.
“Those crooks will have the box through the hole and into their boat before Hank catches on!” he thought.
Dan sidled toward the door. Rudy growled and barred his way.
Outside the warehouse, Eddie lounged against a wall, smoking a cigarette. All escape was cut off. Even if he could let Hank know what was happening, Dan knew it was too late to prevent the theft.
“Well, Dan, how did you do in the swimming meet tonight?” Hank asked, making conversation. “Give us a full account.”
“We won,” Dan answered shortly.
Again he felt Matt’s hard pressure on his arm. Knowing that he was expected to keep the warehouseman interested, he grudgingly added a few details.
From where the boy stood, he could see the high mound of canvas. Suddenly it deflated like a pricked balloon.
The river pirates had succeeded in lowering the loot through the dock hole into their boat! In another moment they would speed away unchecked.
The sight goaded Dan beyond thought of personal risk.
“Quick, Hank!” he shouted. “They’re stealing the furs!”
The watchman whirled toward the door, only to have Joe Matt’s cane crash down on his head. Hank staggered back, slowly collapsing on the floor.
When Dan would have leaped to the man’s assistance, the dog barred his way.
Joe Matt seized the boy by the arm, pushing him roughly out the door. Dan resisted with all his strength. But he was powerless in the grasp of the other.
The motorboat, loaded with the boxes and crates of furs, had emerged from beneath the dock. As it coasted alongside, the blindman shoved Dan ahead of him and down into the craft.
Frisk Fagan crouched at the steering wheel. Jabowski, his face well hidden beneath a cap, huddled beside one of the boxes which had been shoved half way into the cabin. Jacques sat slumped over in the stern of the boat.
“Hey! What’s the idea?” Frisk Fagan growled. “We can’t take that kid along. We’re overloaded now.”
“We got to take him along,” Joe Matt answered. “If we don’t, he’ll spill everything to the cops. Git going!”
Leaping down into the boat, the man bound Dan’s legs and wrists with a stout piece of cord.
“Better gag him too,” Fagan advised. “The river is swarming with cops. Three boats out watching the shore. We can’t risk having him yip at the wrong minute.”