“Thanks,” answered Larry, as his friend went away.
All this time the dark-complexioned stranger was walking up and down the corridor. Finally he came up to Larry, and asked:
“Is your name Larry Dexter?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the reporter.
“You’re on the Leader, aren’t you?”
“That’s the paper. Why, have you got a story?”
“No,” answered the man, with a short laugh. “I don’t deal in stories, but I see you’re wide awake, always on the lookout for ’em, eh?”
“Have to be.”
“How would you like to get into some other line of business?” asked the man, coming closer, and dropping his voice to a whisper.
Larry thought the proceeding rather a strange one, but imagined the man might not intend anything more than a friendly interest.
“It depends on what sort of business,” replied the youth.
“Do you like reporting very much?” the stranger went on.
“I do, so far.”
“Isn’t it rather hard work and poor pay?”
“Well, it’s hard work sometimes, and then again it isn’t. As for the pay, I guess I get all I’m worth.”
“I’m in a position to get you a better job,” the man continued. “I’m in a big real estate firm, the Universal we call it, and we need a bright boy. I have some friends in the City Hall here, some of the aldermen, and they said you would be a good lad for the place.”
“I don’t know how the aldermen ever heard of me,” remarked Larry.
“Well, I guess you’ve been around the Hall a good bit,” the man went on. “You were at the insurance hearing, weren’t you?”
“I carried copy for one of the reporters,” said Larry.
“Well, anyhow,” resumed the stranger, “do you think you’d like to work in a real estate office? There’s plenty of chances to make money, besides what we would pay you as a salary. We could give you twenty dollars a week to start. How would that strike you?”
Larry was puzzled how to answer. The pay was five dollars a week more than he was getting, and if the man told the truth about the chance to make extra money, it might mean a good deal to the lad and his mother.
“I’ll think about it,” said the young reporter. “I’ll have to talk with my mother about it.”
“I’ve seen your mother, and she says it’s all right,” the man said, quickly. “If you want to you can come with me now, and I’ll start you in at once. You’d better come. The offer is a good one, and I can’t hold it open long.”
Now Larry, though rather young, was inclined to be cautious. It seemed strange that a man, whom, as far as the reporter knew, he had never seen before, should take such a sudden interest in him, and should even go to see Mrs. Dexter to ask if Larry could take another position. Then, too, the stranger seemed altogether too eager to get Larry to leave his position on the Leader. The man saw Larry’s hesitancy.
“I’ll make it twenty-five dollars a week,” he said. “Better come.”
“I can’t decide right away,” the boy returned. “I must see my mother.”
“Do you doubt my word?” asked the stranger somewhat angrily.
“No,” said Larry. “But even if my mother gave her permission I could not leave the Leader without giving some notice to Mr. Emberg. It would not be right.”
“Don’t worry about that,” sneered the man. “They would never bother about giving you notice if they wanted you to leave. They’d fire you in a second, if it suited them. Why should you give any notice?”
The man appeared so eager, and seemed to place so much importance on Larry’s taking the offer, that the boy became more suspicious than ever, that all was not as it should be.
“I will think it over,” said he. “If you will leave me your card I’ll write to you.”
“If you don’t take the offer at once I can’t hold it open,” said the man, in rather unpleasant tones. “However, here’s my card. If you come to your senses, and decide to work for my company, why, I’ll see what I can do for you. Though I can’t promise anything after to-day. You’ll have to take your chance with others.”
“I’ll be willing to do that if I decide to come.”
“Hello, Larry!” exclaimed a voice, and Mr. Newton came around the corner of the corridor. “You here yet?”
“I was waiting for you to come back,” replied Larry. “Mr. Emberg told me to stay, and see that nothing broke loose while you were at lunch.”
“Anything doing?”
“Not a thing.” Larry turned to see if the stranger was at his side, but, to his surprise, the man had vanished.
“What did he want?” asked Mr. Newton, with a nod of his head toward where the man had been standing.
“Why, he wanted me to leave the Leader, and take a position with some real estate firm,” answered Larry.
“Don’t you have anything to do with Sam Perkins,” said Mr. Newton.
“Is that his name?” inquired Larry. Then he looked at the card the man had given him, and read on it: “Samuel Perkins, representing the Universal Real Estate Co. Main Office, 1144 Broadway, New York. Loans and Commissions.”
“That’s who he is,” replied Mr. Newton. “What was his game this time?”
“That’s just what I was trying to puzzle out,” was Larry’s answer, as he related what the man had said.
Mr. Newton listened carefully. He nodded his head several times.
“That’s it, I’ll bet a cookie. When you go home ask your mother just what Perkins said, and let me know.”
“Why, do you think there is something wrong in his offer?”
“I can’t tell. I have my suspicions, but I’ll not speak of them until I know more. Tell me what your mother says. In the meanwhile, if Perkins comes to you again, which I don’t think he will, since he has seen me speaking to you, just put him off until you can communicate with me.”
“Do you know him?”
“Know him? I guess yes!” replied Mr. Newton. “He was mixed up in more than one boodle and land scandal with the aldermen, but we never could get enough evidence to convict him. Maybe we can this time, if he’s up to any of his tricks. Don’t forget to ask your mother all about his visit.”
“I’ll remember,” replied Larry. Then, as the City Hall was about to close for the day, they went back to the office.
That night Larry questioned his mother closely about the visit Mr. Perkins said he had paid her.
“I didn’t know his name,” said Mrs. Dexter, in telling her story. “He came to the door, and asked if you were my son. Then he said a reporter’s life was a hard one, and asked me if I didn’t think you had better get a position somewhere else. I thought he was a friend of yours, and when he said he could give you a good job in the real estate office I thought it would be a good thing, and said so.”
“Is that all, mother?”
“Well, pretty nearly. He did ask a few questions about your father.”
“What did he want to know?”
“Well, he wanted to know where we came from, where we used to live, and whether your father ever owned any land here in New York.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I said I didn’t know much about it, but that I thought your father had some papers, a deed or something, to some property in the Bronx.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He didn’t say much, only he appeared to be interested. He wanted to see the deed, but I couldn’t find it. I remember we had it one night, and I told him I thought we burned it up. Didn’t we destroy it, Larry?”
“We were going to, but, don’t you remember, I said it might be a good thing to save?” said Larry. “I have it put away.”
“I wish I had known it,” went on Mrs. Dexter. “I would have shown it to the man. He seemed very much interested in you, Larry.”
“Altogether too much,” went on Larry. “Mother, don’t trust that man. Mr. Newton knows him, and says he is almost as bad a criminal as though he had been convicted.”
“Why, I’m sure he seemed real polite,” said Mrs. Dexter. “He was very nicely spoken.”
“Those are the worst kind,” said Larry. “Don’t ever show him any of father’s old papers, particularly the deed to the land in the Bronx.”
“Why not, Larry? Is there any chance of that land ever becoming valuable? I remember your poor father saying it would never be any good. He was always sure he would never get any money out of it, as it is in the middle of a swamp. Do you think it will make us rich, Larry?”
“Hardly that, mother. In fact, it may never amount to anything. I doubt if we have even a good claim to it, as I don’t believe the taxes have been paid for a number of years.”
“Then what good is it to keep the deed? Don’t land go to the city if you don’t pay taxes?”
“Sometimes. In fact, I guess it always does. But there is some mystery about this, mother. I don’t know what it is, but I am going to find out.”
“Oh, I hope there is nothing wrong about us having the deed, Larry. I’m sure if your poor father knew there was anything wrong about it, he would never have taken the land.”
“There is not likely to be anything wrong, as far as we are concerned,” said Larry. “But, from two or three things that have happened lately, I am sure there is a mystery connected with that land. In some way we are involved, because we hold the deed. I am going to tell Mr. Newton all about it, and perhaps he can help us straighten it out.”
“Wouldn’t it be fine if the land turned out to be a gold mine,” put in Jimmy, who was listening with wide-opened eyes to what his mother and brother were talking of, and only dimly comprehending it.
“An’ diamonds and ice cream mines,” put in Mary, who was staying up past her bedtime.
“It would be fine,” said Larry. “But I think it is more likely to be a sandbank. In fact, I think the sandman has been around here lately, and has been throwing some of his dust in someone’s eyes,” and he caught Mary up in his arms, and kissed her.
“There’s no sand in my eyes,” said Jimmy, rubbing them violently, to prove the contrary.
“My, it’s getting late; it’s after nine o’clock!” exclaimed Mrs. Dexter. “Time you children were in bed.”
“I’ll undress Mary,” said Lucy, laying aside her sewing.
“I’m going to undress myself,” put in Jimmy, who was growing to be quite a lad.
Soon the two children were in the land of nod, and Lucy returned to the sitting-room, where her mother and brother were still talking.
“Do you really think this man had some hidden motive?” asked Lucy of her brother.
“I’m sure of it; or else why should he be so persistent? He evidently wanted to get possession of the deed.”
“Why do you think he offered you such a good position?” went on Lucy.
“He probably wanted to get me into his office, and then have me give him the deed, under pretense of examining it. Once he had it I guess we would never see it again.”
“Well, it’s a strange affair,” said Mrs. Dexter, with a sigh. “I hope it will be explained soon.”
“It will, sooner or later,” spoke Larry, with a confidence he hardly felt.
When Larry met Mr. Newton the next day, and told the older reporter about the conversation Perkins had had with Mrs. Dexter, Mr. Newton said:
“Things are working out the way I expected. Now, Larry, my boy, we must say nothing, and saw wood, as they say in France. If this thing pans out it will be one of the biggest deals ever undertaken. There may be something in it for your family, and there certainly will be a big story in it for the Leader.
“But we must keep very quiet. If it leaks out that we suspect something, or that we are on the track of the men I believe to be behind the matter, we will lose everything. So, first of all, guard that deed carefully. Next, tell your mother to hold no conversation with men who may call at the house to inquire about your father’s affairs. Lastly, do no talking yourself on this subject. I will work hard to stop the game I suspect they are trying to play, but I feel I need your help.”
“Do you think it involves the land my father owns, or at least the land for which we have a deed?”
“I am almost certain of it. If it is what I believe, there is much money in it.”
“For whom?” asked the lad. “I hope some of it will come my way.”
“Well, part of it may,” rejoined Mr. Newton. “But the men back of it intend the main share for themselves and the boodle aldermen and land sharps associated with them. So be on your guard, Larry. We can’t have you kidnapped again,” and Mr. Newton smiled at the recollection of the fate that once befell Larry in the early stages of his work for the Leader, in connection with the cab strike.
“I’ll watch out,” replied the young reporter.
Larry had plenty to do that day, and, having an afternoon assignment to cover—a meeting of one of the city boards—he did not reach home until rather later than usual. As he entered the apartment he heard his mother conversing with someone in the parlor, and the voice of the visitor was a strange one.
“My dear madam,” the man was saying, “I assure you everything is open and above board. We are making you an exceptionally good offer for very poor land. In fact, if I had my way, the purchase would not be made.”
“Then why talk of it?” asked Mrs. Dexter. “I am not anxious to sell. In fact, I know very little about the land.”
“A client of mine has taken a fancy to the place,” went on the man, while Larry listened, wondering who it could be. “He has authorized me to offer you two thousand dollars for the Bronx property. That is four times what it is worth, but I want to please my friend. Will you accept my offer?”
“No, she will not!” exclaimed Larry, entering the room at that moment. “Who are you, to come here making offers for land?”
“I don’t know that it concerns you,” replied the stranger, in no gentle tones. “What right have you to interfere when I am talking to this lady?” He evidently took Larry for a stranger.
“This is my son,” said Mrs. Dexter, for she did not like the man’s manner.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the stranger, who seemed at a loss what to say. “I did not know him. You are Larry, are you?”
“That’s my name. What is your business with my mother?”
The man appeared ill at ease. He twisted about on the chair, and said:
“Did you decide to take that offer a friend of mine in the real estate business made? I called to see if you had, and I was talking to your mother about it. Incidentally I mentioned that I could sell some property I hear she owns up in the Bronx. It is a small matter, hardly worth my while to bother with.”
“Then I’d advise you not to bother with it,” spoke Larry, shortly. “We can look after our own affairs, I guess.”
The man’s face flushed, and he seemed very angry. Then Larry remembered Mr. Newton’s advice to be careful of what he did or said in connection with the land.
“Of course it’s very good of you to think of my mother and myself,” said Larry, a little more politely. “But we have not decided what to do about that land, and I have made up my mind to stay on the Leader, so you may tell your friend I cannot accept his offer.”
“You had better think twice before you refuse my offer for the land,” the man went on. “As I said, it is of no value, particularly, but a friend of mine wants it. I might even offer you twenty-five hundred dollars for it, but that is as high as I can go. Will you take it?”
“I think not,” replied Larry, motioning to his mother to make no answer.
The reply seemed to make the man more angry than ever, and Larry could see him clench his fist, and grit his teeth.
“Would you mind letting me see the deed?” the stranger asked. “It is possible I have made a mistake, and that the land I am after is not that which you own. A glance at the deed will set me right.”
“I’m sorry, but we can’t let you see the deed,” spoke Larry. “I have been told to take good care of it, and not to let strangers have it.”
“But I only want to glance at it,” said the man.
“I can’t let you see it,” said the lad.
“You’ll be sorry for this,” the man exclaimed. “In less than a month you’ll be glad to take five dollars for the place, that is, provided you own it, which I very much doubt. You’ll lose the land, and then you’ll wish you had taken my offer.”
“I can’t help that,” said Larry, firmly. “We will not show you the deed, nor sell you the land at present.”
“Then you can take the consequences,” snapped the man, as he went out.
“Oh, Larry,” said Mrs. Dexter, when the sound of the stranger’s footsteps had died out down the hallway, “maybe we should have taken his offer. Twenty-five hundred dollars is a lot of money, and we are quite poor.”
“I know it, mother,” spoke the lad. “But I think there is something back of all this, or why should those men be making so many efforts to get possession of this land?”
“Maybe they want it for a special purpose, Larry.”
“I suppose they do, but they are not offering what it is worth.”
“Why, you know your father used to say it was worth very little,” said Mrs. Dexter.
“I know he did, mother, but the land may have increased in value since he had it. It must have, or those men would not come to us and make an offer. If land is poor and of no worth you have to go all around hunting for a customer, but when it is of some value customers come to you. That’s what makes me think this land will prove valuable. The men would not want it if it was only ordinary swamp.”
“I hope you are right,” said Mrs. Dexter, with a sigh, for it was hard to think of losing a chance to get what, to her, was a large sum of money. “We may hold the property a good while, providing it is not sold for taxes, and not get anywhere near that price for it, after all.”
“Of course there is a certain risk,” admitted Larry, “but I think it is worth taking. Mr. Newton thinks so, and has advised me to hold on to the deed. We must put it away carefully.”
“It is in that tin box where I have all your father’s old papers,” said Mrs. Dexter.
“I think I’ll keep the box under my bed,” spoke Larry. “I don’t suppose a burglar would take it if he saw it, but there’s no use running any chances. So I’ll hide the box.”
When he went to bed that night he carried the box with him, first looking to be sure the deed was in it. Then he placed the receptacle under his bed, away back, and close to the wall.
“If anyone wants to get that they’ll have to climb under the bed,” said Larry. “And if they do, I’m pretty sure to wake up. Then—let’s see, I wonder what I would do then?”
He paused to look about him, in search of a weapon, half smiling as he did so, since he had not the faintest idea that a burglar would enter their humble apartments.
“That club will be just the thing,” thought Larry, as he saw a heavy stick standing in the corner. It had been used as a clothes prop, for the lines that were strung on the flat roof of the tenement, and Jimmy, playing Indian, had brought it into the house that day. “This is better than a revolver,” thought Larry, placing it at the head of his bed.
Then he fell asleep, to dream of nothing more exciting than going fishing in the creek in his old home at Campton. He dreamed he was pulling a big fellow out, and that his pole broke, tumbling him backward upon the grass. He gave a great jump, which awakened him, and he saw the sun shining brightly in through his window.
“My! I must be late!” he exclaimed, jumping up. “I’ll have to hustle.”
He made a hurried breakfast, and arrived at the office a few minutes after eight o’clock, to find the place somewhat excited. A number of reporters were standing about, with copies of morning papers, but they seemed to be more interested in something else than in the journals.
“What’s up?” asked Larry, of some of the younger reporters.
“Big safe-robbery in Brown’s jewelry store,” was the answer.
“Did they get anything?”
“We haven’t heard any particulars yet,” replied Mr. Newton. “I just got the tip from police headquarters. But they think a good many thousand dollars’ worth of gold and diamond jewelry is missing. The safe is a wreck.”
Just then Mr. Emberg came in, and Mr. Newton quickly told the city editor of the robbery.
“Jump out on it,” said Mr. Emberg. “Take—let’s see—take Jones with you, and Larry also. We want a good story. I’ll send a photographer down to take a picture of the safe.”
Larry was well pleased to be assigned to help two of the best reporters on the paper. Some of the other men seemed a little envious of Larry, but, as is usual in good newspaper offices, nothing was said, and the men went out on their assignments, as given by the city editor, without a murmur, though some details were disagreeable enough.
Larry, with the two other reporters, lost no time in boarding a car for the scene of the robbery. They found a big crowd outside the jewelry store, which was located in a part of the city where persons of society and wealth did much of their shopping. A number of policemen, as well as detectives in plain clothes, were on guard in front of the establishment.
“Come, now, you’ll have to move on,” one of the bluecoats cried. “Can’t block the sidewalk. Move on. There’s nothing to see.”
“Maybe we can find a stray diamond or two,” suggested someone in the crowd, whereat there was a laugh.
“If you find any diamonds,” rejoined the officer, “hand ’em over to me, and I’ll get the reward.”
The three reporters made their way through the crowd to the front door of the store.
“Ye can’t come in here at all, at all!” exclaimed a big Irish policeman, blockading their path.
“We’re reporters from the Leader,” said Mr. Newton.
“Can’t help it if ye are editors from the Tail-Ender!” the bluecoat went on, with a smile at his own wit. “Orders are I’m t’ let not a sowl in at all, at all!”
“That’s all right, Pat,” said a sergeant of police, coming up at that juncture, and seeing how matters were. “These are not ordinary persons, you know,” with a smile at Mr. Newton and the others. “They’re reporters.”
“Well, if ye says it’s all right, it’s all right,” the policeman said to his superior. “Ye kin go in,” he added grandly to the newspaper men, as he stepped aside.
It took but a glance to show what had happened. Burglars had blown the massive door of the safe open, by using some powerful explosive. Then with tools they had pried open the inner doors, and had taken whatever suited their fancy. Larry wondered that the explosion had not wrecked the store, in the center of which the safe stood. He spoke of this to Mr. Newton.
“Those fellows used just enough explosive to crack the door, but not enough to do any damage outside,” said the older reporter.
Mr. Newton, who was in general charge of getting the story, soon made his plans. A few questions he put to one of the members of the firm who was on hand, showed him how the affair had occurred. The burglars had entered by forcing a rear window. They had placed a screen up in front of the safe, so that when the policeman on the beat looked in through the front door, as he frequently did during his rounds, he could not see the thieves at work.
“Have you a night watchman?” asked Mr. Newton of the firm member, Robert Jamison.
“Yes, and that’s the queer part of it. He claims he was chloroformed by the thieves early in the evening, or at least by one of them. We sent him home, as he is quite ill from the effects of the drug.”
“That’s a good part of the story,” said Mr. Newton. “Jones, you go down to the watchman’s house, and get all the particulars you can. Larry will stay here, and help me.”
When Jones had gone Mr. Newton made a close survey of the premises. He made a rough sort of diagram of how the thieves must have entered, and how they probably escaped. Then he told Larry to get a list of the diamonds and jewelry that had been stolen. Mr. Newton in the meantime had several talks with the police officers about the matter.
By this time quite a number of reporters from other papers had arrived, and, with the bluecoats and detectives, the store was pretty well filled. Mr. Jamison, with the assistance of one of his partners, made up a list of the stolen things, and then had his typewriter make several copies, which were distributed among the reporters, Larry getting one.
Larry could not help but think this was a rather up-to-date method of reporting, where the man who was robbed went to so much trouble for the reporters.
“He’s glad to do it,” said Mr. Newton. “You see, the thieves will try to pawn their booty, and by publishing a list of it, pawnbrokers will be on the lookout. It’s as much to his interest as it is to ours.”
After getting all the facts possible, Mr. Newton and Larry waited until Jones came back from the watchman’s house.
“Did you see him?” asked Mr. Newton, when Jones returned.
“Yes, and I got a good story.”
“Well, keep quiet about it. Maybe none of the others will think of sending down, and we’ll beat ’em.”
It appeared from the story the watchman told Jones, that, early in the evening, a well-dressed man had approached the guardian, whose name was Henderson, and started a conversation with him.
They talked for some time, and finally the stranger gave Henderson a cigar. The watchman said he preferred a pipe, and asked the stranger to wait until it could be brought from a rear room where the watchman kept it.
“Henderson went back to get it,” said Jones, in telling the story, “and the stranger followed him. The watchman was about to object, saying no one was allowed in the place after dark. But the stranger was so pleasant that the watchman was not suspicious. He followed Henderson into a sort of office in the rear, and there, while Henderson was getting his pipe, the stranger suddenly attacked him.
“He held a cloth with chloroform on, to his nose, and, though the watchman struggled and tried to cry out an alarm, the robber was too much for him. Henderson was soon left unconscious, and he thinks he must have been drugged, for he did not recover his senses for several hours. That’s all he knows. When he came to, the safe was blown open, and it was nearly morning.”
“That slick stranger, after drugging Henderson, probably stayed in the store,” said Mr. Newton, “and when the time came he admitted his confederates. After that it was an easy job for the professionals.”
“Well, I guess we’ve got everything,” continued Mr. Newton, as he prepared to go. “It will make a good story.”
The three Leader reporters had been standing near the rear window whence the robbers gained an entrance after their companion had, from within, forced the bars outward.
“What’s this?” asked Larry, stooping over, and picking up a small piece of paper. It had some peculiar blue marks on it.
“Looks as though someone had stuck their fingers in a bottle of ink, and then placed them on this paper,” said Jones.
“Let me see it,” asked Mr. Newton.
Larry handed it over. Mr. Newton took a long look. Then he smelled the paper.
“Whew!” he whistled softly. “This may give us an important clew to the burglars!”
Mr. Newton placed the paper in his pocket. Then, as there seemed to be no further news of the robbery to get at the jewelry store, the three reporters hurried back to the Leader office.
There, after Larry and Jones had written out their parts of the story, they turned them over to Mr. Newton, who was to arrange the whole article in proper shape. Larry, soon after this, was sent out on another assignment, and did not get a chance to see Mr. Newton until late that afternoon.
“What are you going to do to-night, Larry?” asked his friend, as they were about to leave for home.
“Nothing special, Mr. Newton. I don’t do any studying during the summer nights, though I guess I need it.”
“No, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” responded Mr. Newton, with a smile. “Study is a good thing, but you need recreation also. Do you want to make a call with me?”
“I guess so. Where is it?”
“To a chemist’s.”
“What’s up?” asked Larry.
“Well, don’t say anything about it,” went on Mr. Newton, in a low tone, “but we may be able to work up a clew in that burglary story.”
“You mean that safe robbery we were up to this morning?”
“That’s the one. I think the paper you found may prove of value. But I want to be sure of my ground before I go any further. So if you will come to the chemist’s with me to-night we’ll see what may develop.”
Larry didn’t see how a scrap of paper with a few blue finger-marks on it was going to be much of a clew to discover safe-blowers by, but he said nothing.
It was arranged that he was to call at Mr. Newton’s house after supper. He found the older reporter waiting for him, and they took a car.
“Of course, I needn’t tell you to keep quiet about this,” said Mr. Newton. “I haven’t said anything, even to Mr. Emberg, about it, for fear I might be mistaken, and get laughed at for my pains.”
“I’ll not say anything,” promised Larry.
In a short while they found themselves at the office of the chemist. The place was shut up, but Mr. Newton seemed to know where the scientist lived, for he rang a bell a few houses off, and, when a girl answered the door, asked:
“Is Mr. Hosfer in?”
“He is, but he’s very busy.”
“Just tell him Mr. Newton wants to see him,” said Larry, and the girl, with an air as much as to say that her errand would be fruitless, hurried off, leaving the two reporters standing on the steps.
“Not very polite,” said Mr. Newton, as they waited.
The girl was soon back.
“Mr. Hosfer will see you,” she said, with a very different air. “You must excuse me, but you see there are so many thieves about.”
“I assure you we’re not thieves,” said Mr. Newton. “The umbrellas and hats in the hall were perfectly safe.”
The girl laughed, and Mr. Newton joined in. In the midst of the merriment Mr. Hosfer, who was an old gentleman wearing iron-bowed spectacles that seemed lost under his shaggy eyebrows, shuffled into the room.
“Ah, it is my old friend of the newspaper,” he exclaimed. “What terrible scandal have you been writing up now? What horrible murder, what soul-racking suicide, what terrible mystery, what awful, terrible, horrible, monstrous, impossible tale have you been concocting, my dear friend?” And he laughed as though it was the most delightful thing in the world to have sensations of the most pronounced kind served up for breakfast, dinner, and supper.
“Nothing at all, Mr. Hosfer,” replied Mr. Newton. “We have nothing only the most ordinary news to-day.”
“Tut! tut! Nonsense! I know better,” was the reply. “I know you would not be satisfied with that. You will take a story of a little child getting lost, and make a fearful, blood-curdling mystery of it.”
For it was Mr. Hosfer’s opinion that all reporters were of the sensational class, who loved to dress simple facts up in word-garments of red and green ink. He could not seem to get over the notion, and perhaps it was because he seldom read a paper, being too busy with his many experiments.
“Well, what can I do for you?” asked the chemist, rubbing his hands. “Have you a sample of blood for me to analyze, or a dead body you want me to boil up in a test-tube? Trot it out,” and he smiled.
“I don’t know whether you will be able to help us or not,” said Mr. Newton, who had known the chemist for a long time, and who had frequently come to him for information concerning stories where chemistry played a part.
“I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee to solve impossibilities. I can’t tell what you had for breakfast by looking at your hat, as some reporters think a detective can. Besides, I’m not a detective.”
“This is strictly in your line,” said Mr. Newton, pulling the piece of paper with blue marks on it from his pocket, and holding it out to the chemist. “What is that?”
The chemist looked at it without touching it. He bent over closer, and applied his nose to it.
“It will not bite you,” said Mr. Newton.
“I know it will not,” was the answer. “But I want to get every impression I can from it before I take it into my hands. After I have handled it I cannot detect the odor as plainly, providing there is an odor, as there happens to be in this case. Now, what do you want me to do?” and he took the blue-marked paper from Mr. Newton’s fingers.
“What made those marks?” asked the reporter.
“There you go!” exclaimed Mr. Hosfer. “You think I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes. I can’t tell what made ’em at a moment’s glance. I doubt if even Sherlock Holmes could. I might make a guess, and hit it, or I might not. Probably not. I could say they were ink, or from a typewriter ribbon, or from bluing that was used at the weekly wash, or from water colors, or from oil colors, or—or some chemical. I’m inclined to think they’re some chemical, but, of course, it’s only a guess. You see, I only have one chance among a good many certainties of guessing. I must make an analysis.”
“That’s exactly what we want you to do,” said Mr. Newton. “Can you do it now?”
“Oh, I s’pose I can,” was the answer. “I can neglect all my other work to do something that will turn out to be a terrible murder, a mysterious shooting, a horrible suicide, a forgery, a child-stealing, an attempt at arson, or something worse. I can do it, I s’pose, to please you, but——”
“You will do it,” said Mr. Newton, with a laugh. “I know you’re as anxious to know what made those blue spots as I am. You’re going to find out, too.”
“Yes, I am,” said Mr. Hosfer, suddenly. “I wouldn’t do it for anyone else, but you’ve done me a number of favors, Mr. Newton, and I’d like to oblige you. Come into the laboratory.”
Followed by Larry, Mr. Newton accompanied Mr. Hosfer. The laboratory was in the rear of the house. It was a place well filled with all sorts of queer apparatus. There were rows of bottles containing oddly-colored liquids and solids, big flasks, small furnaces, pipes, odd machines, scales, an electrical apparatus, test tubes, alembics, retorts, crucibles, and all that goes to make up a chemist’s workshop.
“Now after I start to work,” said Mr. Hosfer, “I don’t want either of you to ask me a question. It bothers me, and I can’t think. When I get through you may talk all you please.”
Without more ado he started in. He tore off a small piece of the paper, and put it to soak in a tube which contained some liquid. Another piece he placed in another tube. One piece he burned, and saved the ashes from it on a tiny dish. Still another piece he covered with some white substance. All the while he kept muttering to himself, like some old philosopher in search of the secret of transmuting base metals into gold.
After a little while he took up the tube in which he had placed the piece of blue paper. He poured into it a few drops of some liquid, and the stuff in the tube changed color.
“Ah, I thought so,” muttered Mr. Hosfer.
He rapidly made a number of other experiments, going through similar performances. He tested the ashes of the paper he had burned, and even applied a small portion of them to his tongue, making a wry face as he did so.
“We are coming on,” he murmured, nodding his head at Mr. Newton and Larry. “We shall be there presently.”
Mindful of the injunction neither of the reporters spoke. They watched Mr. Hosfer with interest.
Finally the experiments were over. The chemist holding a test tube, in which was some violet-colored liquid, came toward them.
“Are you ready to hear what I have to say?”
“Say on,” spoke Mr. Newton, in half tragic tones.
“Whatever else that paper may have had on it, and I have not gone far enough to say all the things that were on it, that paper contained nitric acid in some form.”
“Are you sure of that?” asked Mr. Newton.
“Positively,” replied Mr. Hosfer.
Larry felt greatly disappointed. He had expected something that would point a clew to the burglars, and to learn that the paper had only been marked by an acid, was somewhat of a shock.
“Could nitric acid, such as is used in the explosive nitro-glycerine, produce that color?” was Mr. Newton’s next question.
“Of course it could,” said Mr. Hosfer. “I knew you were coming to some terrible explosion, some awful blowing up of innocent persons, some catastrophe, some horrible cataclysm, some terrific disturbance of the laws of nature!”
“Not quite as bad as that,” said Mr. Newton. “But tell me this: If nitric acid made those marks, and nitro-glycerine could do it, would a person handling the explosive be likely to mark a paper in that fashion?”
“Most decidedly so,” said Mr. Hosfer. “I can refer you to——”
“Never mind!” interrupted Mr. Newton. “That is all I want to know.”
“What are you going to do now?” asked the chemist.
“I am going to look for the man who made those marks on the paper,” replied the reporter.
“How can you find him?” asked Larry, in surprise.
“By looking for a man with a blue hand,” was Mr. Newton’s answer.