“Those words ‘blue’ and ‘hand’ are certainly put in so that I will see them,” thought Larry. “They must know we are on their track, yet they are very daring to come out so openly about it. I wonder what I had better do?”
The next day he showed the advertisement to Mr. Newton. The latter was interested at once. He made inquiries at the business office of the paper to learn who had brought the personal in. There he met with a snag, for it had been sent in by mail, with stamps inclosed sufficient to pay for one insertion. This was frequently done with small advertisements.
Mr. Newton had the letter hunted up which accompanied the advertisement, but this gave no clews, as it was typewritten, as was the advertisement itself.
“They’re up to date, at any rate,” the older reporter said.
“What shall we do?” asked Larry, again.
“Put an answering personal in,” replied Mr. Newton. “Here, I’ll write it. We’ll see if we can’t beat them at their own game.”
He scribbled down a few words on a slip of paper, glanced over it, changed it slightly, and read:
“HAND.—L. will do as you wish. Say where and when matter can be closed and deed returned. BLUE.”
“That ought to fetch them,” said Mr. Newton. “Now we’ll put it in the paper, and wait for results.”
They did not have a long delay. The day following the insertion of the personal by Mr. Newton, Larry received a letter. It was typewritten, and came to his house. It was short, and directed him, if he wished to get the deed back, to sign a certain agreement which was inclosed in the missive, and leave the agreement in a cigar store, the address of which, Larry noted, was the same as the one in front of which he had met Peter Manton.
As for the agreement it was a short one, in which Larry promised, in consideration of receiving certain valuable property, to convey, by a warranty deed, to certain persons to be named hereafter, a tract of land in the Bronx.
“Put the agreement in an envelope, and send it back to them,” advised Mr. Newton, when he was told of the matter. “I think we can catch the scoundrels. Even if you filled out the paper I doubt if it would stand in law, but we will not take that chance. Just leave it blank, put it in an envelope, and leave it in the cigar store. Ask no questions, and leave the rest to me.”
“When shall I do it?” asked Larry.
“Let me see,” mused Mr. Newton. “I’ll have to lay my plans carefully. I guess to-morrow night would be a good time. We’ll write another personal, and put it in the paper to-morrow, telling the gang the document will be in the cigar store.”
“Then when they come to get it we’ll have a policeman on hand, and arrest whoever comes for it,” said Larry. “That’s the idea, isn’t it?”
“Not exactly.”
“I would think that was the thing to do.”
“You don’t know these chaps, Larry. If we arranged to have a detective on guard, ready to grab whoever claimed the paper, the gang would learn of it in some way, and they would never come near the place. We will have to be foxier than that. We’ll have to do the watching ourselves, or rather I will. I believe none of the gang knows me. I’ll arrange to be in the cigar store to-morrow night, and I’ll follow whoever calls for the paper.”
So it was arranged. The document, unsigned, was placed in the envelope which the men behind the land plot had sent to Larry. He took it to the cigar store. The proprietor of the place kept a sort of private post-office, and had a number of boxes in which he kept mail or other things for his customers who preferred doing business that way rather than through the government agency.
Larry handed the envelope to the man. The young reporter wanted to ask who Mr. Hand was, and where he lived, but he refrained, for he thought the cigar man would probably refuse to answer, or else say he did not know.
That evening Mr. Newton stopped in the store to get a cigar. He thought the proprietor eyed him rather sharply, but Mr. Newton was used to meeting all sorts of persons in his capacity as a reporter, and did not mind being stared at. He tried to engage the proprietor in conversation, but the cigar dealer was not in a very pleasant mood, and answered shortly.
“I promised a friend I would meet him here this evening,” said the reporter. “Have you any objections to me waiting in your store?”
“Well, I don’t like people hanging around,” was the rather ungracious answer. “This place is small, and I need all the room there is to do business.”
“My friend might want to buy a box of cigars,” said Mr. Newton.
“Oh, of course, if he’s coming here in the way of trade,” said the cigar man, “I’ve no objections to your waiting, but as a general thing I don’t like it.”
He tried to be polite, but it was hard work. He even got a chair for Mr. Newton to sit on, but all the time the cigar man seemed nervous and ill at ease. He kept watching the door, as though he expected someone to come in who would object to the reporter’s presence.
An hour passed, and there was no sign of the blue-handed man or any messenger from him. Several persons called, and got letters or packages from the boxes, but the document which Larry had placed in the envelope in accordance with the instructions contained in the personal, was not disturbed.
“I wonder if they are suspicious,” thought the reporter. “They may have someone on the watch, or the proprietor may have sent them word that a stranger is in the store, and advising them to be cautious. However, I’ll wait a while longer.”
Another hour passed, and it was getting on to eleven o’clock. Mr. Newton was about to give up his vigil as fruitless, when a youth entered, went quickly up to the box, and took out the envelope. Mr. Newton screened his face with a newspaper, but looked over the top of the sheet to see who the messenger of the mysterious gang was.
“Well, if it isn’t Peter Manton, who used to be a copy boy on the Leader!” thought Mr. Newton. “Well, of all things! To think of him being mixed up with that gang!”
He was so surprised that he forgot to keep the paper up in front of his face, and lowered the sheet. After getting the letter from the box, Peter glanced over in the corner where Mr. Newton sat. He recognized the reporter at once, and seemed much startled on beholding him.
Shoving the envelope containing the blank agreement into his pocket, Peter hurried out of the store.
“I must get after him!” thought Mr. Newton. He purchased a few cigars from the storekeeper to make some compensation for his long use of the chair, and, murmuring something about his friend probably having been detained, hurried from the place after Peter.
As soon as he got outside he looked up and down the street to see in what direction the former copy boy had gone. At first he could catch no glimpse of him. There were only a few persons on the thoroughfare, however, and soon Mr. Newton’s trained eyes picked out the youth hurrying along on the opposite side of the street.
“He’s trying to get away,” thought Mr. Newton, as he stepped out briskly. “But I’ll trail him.”
If Mr. Newton could have seen the figure of a short, stout man glide out from the shadow of the cigar store, as he himself left the place, and follow after him, he might not have felt so easy in his mind about his ability to catch Peter. The man, taking after Mr. Newton, moved rapidly along, taking care to keep well in the shadows. His hat was pulled down low over his face, and on his hands were a pair of new gloves.
“You’re trying a smart trick,” the man muttered, as he shadowed Mr. Newton, “but I guess we’re on to your game. It’s a good thing I sent the boy instead of going myself.”
Meanwhile the double chase continued. Peter hurried on, obeying the instructions he had received. He crossed several streets, and made his way to that part of New York known as Chinatown, in the neighborhood of Pell and Mott streets, the place of the slums and opium joints.
After him came Mr. Newton, who kept as close behind the lad as was possible without detection. After Mr. Newton came the man wearing a new pair of gloves.
“It’s a good thing Larry didn’t undertake this thing alone,” thought Mr. Newton. “The chase is leading into a dangerous part of town. But it’s just the place where I’d expect the gang to have its headquarters.”
“I hope he doesn’t give up until he gets where I want him to,” murmured the man with the gloves. “If he doesn’t we’ll show him a thing or two, and I guess he’ll not be so fond of monkeying with other people’s affairs after this,” and he smiled in a cruel sort of way that boded no good to Mr. Newton.
Peter was playing his part well. He must have known he was being followed, yet he gave no sign. If Mr. Newton had not been so intent on the chase, he might have noticed that the former copy boy was not going as fast as would have a messenger on a somewhat dangerous mission. Peter was only leading the reporter on.
The boy swung into the Bowery, which at this hour of midnight was ablaze with lights, and crowded with people. Mr. Newton had some trouble keeping the youth in sight, but by shortening the distance between himself and Peter, he managed to get glimpses of him now and again. Finally Peter turned into Pell Street. He walked on past several houses, and came to a halt in front of a Chinese store. In the windows were all sorts of queer things that the Celestials use for food.
There were vegetables like cucumbers, pickled watermelon rind, sweetened ginger root, Lichi nuts, sunflower seeds, pickled eggs, dried sharks’ fins, the pith of bamboo shoots, ready for eating, bottles of rice wine, odd-shaped dishes, and many chopsticks. It was a Chinese grocery.
At the left of the main entrance was a smaller one leading up a flight of stairs. In the hallway a lamp, shaded by red paper on which were some Chinese characters, gave a faint illumination.
With a careful look about him, as if to see whether he was followed, Peter entered the hallway, and began to mount the stairs. Mr. Newton hesitated. He might be running into a trap if he went in. Though he knew he was in New York, and that there were police officers close at hand, he realized that often many crimes were committed in Chinatown that never reached the police.
But he wanted very much to find out what sort of a gang was behind the mysterious operations that had involved the Dexter family, and which gang also seemed to be mixed up in the safe-robbery.
“I think I’ll chance it,” thought Mr. Newton.
He paused a few seconds, as if to look at the things in the grocery window. Instead of observing them, however, he was carefully looking around to see if there were any suspicious characters in the neighborhood.
He did not see the man with the gloves, for that individual, as soon as he had seen the reporter stop in front of the building Peter entered, had hidden himself in a nearby doorway.
“Here goes!” exclaimed Mr. Newton to himself, as he entered the hallway.
It was quite dark, in spite of the lamp. He went up the first flight, and found himself in a narrow hall, from which several doors opened.
“I wonder which room he went into,” thought the reporter. “I can’t knock at all of them and ask. Few of the Chinese understand English when you want ’em to.”
He decided to go to the top floor, and get an idea of the layout of the place, before making any inquiries. So he continued up the next flight of stairs. The floor above was like the second, except that the portal of one room was open. Going past it Mr. Newton peered inside. He saw two solemn-faced Chinese playing a card game, and smoking long-stemmed pipes.
“I guess he’s not in there,” thought Mr. Newton. “I’ll try the next floor.”
Up he went, listening now and then to see if he was being followed. He could hear no footsteps, and there was good reason for it, as the man with the gloves, who had glided into the hallway a few seconds after Mr. Newton had entered, had slipped over his heavy shoes a pair of large felt slippers that made no sound.
“He’s walking right into the trap!” said the man with the gloves. “We’ll have him now.”
Mr. Newton reached the top hall. He saw a number of doors. At the end of the corridor, in front of one portal, there burned a dim hanging-lamp.
“I’ll see what’s in there,” the reporter mused.
He reached the door. He was about to knock when he happened to glance up.
He was startled to see confronting him, painted on a panel of the door, a large blue hand.
“I guess this is the place,” thought the reporter. “It’s rather odd, though, that they dare adopt such a sign as that openly, when they must know we are on their track in connection with the safe-robbery. I wonder if I’d better go in.”
The question was answered for him, as, at that instant, the door opened. Mr. Newton saw before him a room brightly lighted. Around a table were seated four men. In front of them was the envelope which had been obtained by Peter at the cigar store. Peter was nowhere to be seen.
“Well?” inquired one of the men, a short, slim fellow.
“I was looking for a friend, a young man,” said Mr. Newton, rather taken by surprise.
“Yes, we know who it was. He brought this envelope. But it’s no good. You can’t fool us!” exclaimed a voice behind Mr. Newton, and the next instant the reporter was shoved into the room by the man with the gloves, who entered after him, and shut the door, which closed with a snap.
At first the reporter was startled with the suddenness of it all, and he was not a little alarmed. He knew he was alone, and in the power of the gang he had sought to run down. He was also in the worst part of the city, where cries for help might go unheeded, since there were hourly fightings among the inhabitants, to which cries the police, if they heard them, paid no attention.
Mr. Newton thought he had been a little hasty. However, he resolved to put the best face on it he could, and not to seem frightened.
“Well?” asked the short, slim man again. “Now you’ve seen your friend isn’t here, what can we do for you?”
“You might give me back the stolen deed, for one thing,” exclaimed Mr. Newton, boldly, “and your friend Noddy might explain something in connection with a certain safe-robbery, while as for Mr. Perkins, he might tell what his plans are in connection with that land grab!”
There was a sudden stir among the men, as Mr. Newton said this. Two of the men got up from their chairs, and started toward the reporter, but a gesture from the man with the gloves restrained him. The latter then said, slowly and deliberately:
“You think you know a heap about us, don’t you?”
“I know more than you think I do, Noddy,” said Mr. Newton, coolly.
“Well, you didn’t play this trick right,” sneered Noddy. “We haven’t opened that envelope, but we know it doesn’t contain the agreement we want and intend to have. To prove you that, I’ll tear it up without opening it.”
This he did, throwing the pieces into a coal box that stood in a far corner of the apartment.
“In the next place,” went on Noddy, “you’ve gone a little too far in following our messenger here. We expected you would do so, however, and made our plans accordingly. Now you’re here you may have to stay longer than you counted on.”
“I guess not,” remarked Mr. Newton, speaking as lightly as he could, though he confessed afterward he felt no little alarm. “Remember, we’re in New York.”
“No! We’re not in New York! We’re in Chinatown, and that makes all the difference in the world!” exclaimed Noddy. “Get the cords, Ned!”
The tallest of the four men rose, and went to a closet. He came back quickly with a long, thin, but very stout rope under his arm.
“Fasten him up now!” commanded Noddy.
“Not without a fight!” exclaimed Mr. Newton. He backed into a corner, and stood ready to defend himself. He caught sight of an iron poker near the coal-box, and grabbed it up.
“There’s going to be some broken heads if you touch me!” the reporter cried.
The four men, with Ned, holding the cords, in the lead, hung back.
“Don’t be afraid of him!” yelled Noddy. “You can get the better of him!”
Mr. Newton swung the poker menacingly.
“Try it yourself, if you’re so anxious to get a cracked cocoanut!” muttered one of the men to Noddy.
Noddy made a motion as if to grapple with the reporter. But Mr. Newton, with a sudden motion, advanced, and stood in front of his enemy. Noddy reached his hand back toward his pocket, as if to draw a weapon. With a quickness that could not be guarded against, Mr. Newton swung the poker around, and brought it down on Noddy’s arm, making the fellow howl with pain.
“You’ll pay for this!” the man yelled.
Mr. Newton took advantage of the confusion which his attack had caused. He sprang to the door, and, with three blows from his weapon had shattered the lock. He threw the portal open, and dashed out into the hall.
“Stop him!” yelled Noddy.
“You’re too late!” called back the reporter.
“You’ll be sorry for this!” Noddy’s voice sounded through the passageway, as Mr. Newton sped away. “We’ve only just begun our campaign against your friends. Our next move will not be so easy on you!”
The noise of the blows on the door had brought a score or more of frightened Chinese from their rooms in the building, and they crowded into the halls and on the stairs as the reporter hurried out. This gave Mr. Newton one advantage, for the opening of the doors made the passages light.
In their frightened, cackling voices the Chinese sounded not unlike a lot of scared hens and roosters. In their anxiety to see what was going on, and perhaps in a desire to escape from what they evidently considered a raid by the police, some of the Celestials got in Mr. Newton’s way. He pushed through the throng, knocking some of the Mongolians over, at which they yelled louder than before.
Out into Pell Street sped the reporter, expecting to be pursued by some of the gang. But when he had reached the middle of the thoroughfare, which, even at the midnight hour, was well filled with people, he saw that no one was after him.
His sudden exit from the house, and the noise he left behind him, seemed to attract no attention, as the people of that neighborhood were used to all sorts of queer affairs, and it was considered impolite, in Pell Street, to inquire too closely into your neighbor’s business.
“Well, that was a lucky and rather narrow escape,” mused Mr. Newton, as he made his way toward the Bowery. “I guess I made a mistake in going up against that gang alone. I’ll know better next time. I’ve failed on this occasion, and we are as far off as ever from getting the deed, but I have another plan.”
Thinking Larry might be anxious to know the result of his attempt, Mr. Newton went to his friend’s house. Beyond telling him he had failed, the older reporter did not acquaint Larry with the details of the attack and the escape.
“What do you suppose became of Peter?” asked Larry.
“Oh, I guess he was somewhere in the house,” replied Mr. Newton. “It was like the other houses in Chinatown, a regular rabbit warren, with half a dozen entrances. He could go in one way, and out another. But I’ll land ’em yet.”
“What do you plan to do next?”
“To tell you the truth, I haven’t made up my mind,” Mr. Newton replied. “I’m sort of up against a stone wall. I want to sleep over it. Then, perhaps, I shall hit on something.”
It was now nearly one o’clock in the morning. Larry and Mr. Newton had been standing out in front of the Dexter apartments, for Larry did not want his mother to know about the quest, fearing she would worry over it. So, when Mr. Newton called on him, the two had gone outside.
“We can’t do anything more now,” remarked Larry.
“No, and I guess I’ll go home, and go to bed,” said Mr. Newton. “I’m all tired out.”
Bidding Larry good-night, Mr. Newton started off down the street. The neighborhood was rather poorly lighted, the lamps being few and far between. Pondering over the strange mix-up he had become involved in, the reporter was proceeding along rather absent-mindedly.
Suddenly his attention was attracted by someone in the house opposite him opening a window, and shouting:
“Thieves! Murder! Fire! Police!”
“That sounds like trouble,” thought Mr. Newton. “I seem to be going to put in a full night of it.”
“Help! Help! Help!” the voice, which was that of a woman, continued to yell. “I’m being robbed!”
Mr. Newton placed his fingers to his lips, and blew a long, shrill whistle. He thought if there was a policeman in the neighborhood he would hear it, and hurry to the woman’s aid. Meanwhile Mr. Newton decided to do what he could singlehanded.
“What’s the trouble?” he inquired.
“It’s robbers!” the woman exclaimed. “They are trying to get into my room, and steal my diamonds!”
“Are they there now?”
“They’re in the house. I heard them run downstairs, and they’re hiding in the dining-room. Oh, please, dear, good, kind Mr. Man, won’t you save me!”
“I don’t believe any burglars will remain around long with that screaming going on,” thought Mr. Newton.
By this time windows all over the neighborhood were going up, heads were poked out, and half a score of voices asked what the trouble was. One excited man fired his revolver.
Several policemen came up on the run, and, seeing Mr. Newton, who was the only person in the street at that time, they all made a dash for him.
“We’ve caught you!” one of the bluecoats cried.
“So I see,” remarked Mr. Newton, calmly. “What are you going to do with me?”
“It’ll be state’s prison for yours,” the officer went on, taking a firmer grip of Mr. Newton’s arm.
“He isn’t the one at all!” exclaimed the woman who had given the first alarm. “He was going to capture the burglar for me!”
“What burglar?” cried the policemen, in a chorus.
“The one in the dining-room!”
Mr. Newton rapidly explained what had happened. One of the officers took a closer look at the reporter.
“I know him!” the bluecoat exclaimed. “He’s on the Leader. Come on, boys, let’s get the burglar!”
The officers, thinking there would be a chance to distinguish themselves, went up the steps of the house, the woman having called to them that she would come down, and open the door. When the policemen got inside they made a careful search all over the premises, but could find no burglar.
“I’m sure I heard one!” the woman insisted.
“You mean you heard a noise,” corrected one of the policemen.
“Well, it was just the kind of a noise a burglar would make.”
Just then there came a series of thumps from the hall.
“There it is again!” cried the woman. “There’s the burglar!”
The officers made a rush for the passageway.
The sounds increased in loudness. There seemed to be a struggle going on in the hall, which was dark, and Mr. Newton, hearing the scuffle, thought perhaps he might get a burglar story after all.
“I’ve got him!” cried one of the policemen.
The words were followed by a long drawn-out and plaintive howl.
“Here’s the burglar!” exclaimed another bluecoat, as he and his companions entered the dining-room, where the woman had lighted the gas.
The officer held up a big cat, whose head was fast inside a milk pitcher. The animal, in search of a drink, had stuck its nose into the receptacle, and had been caught. In its efforts to free itself it had thumped the pitcher over the floor, producing the sounds which had alarmed the woman.
“Why, it’s my Teddy!” the woman exclaimed. “I wonder how I will ever get the pitcher off.”
“I’ll show you,” replied a bluecoat. With a blow of his club he broke the pitcher without hurting the cat, which, as soon as it was released, ran, and hid under the table.
“I’m sure I’m much obliged to all of you,” the woman said. “I was sure I was going to be murdered by a burglar.”
“We’re sorry it wasn’t one,” said one of the officers. “I mean,” he hastened to add, “not wishin’ ye any harm, of course, mum, but we’d like the chance of catchin’ a burglar, seein’ as how times is a little dull.”
Laughing among themselves the policemen filed out. In the meanwhile quite a crowd had gathered outside, for the rumor had spread that a woman had been robbed and murdered, and scores of neighbors had hastily dressed and come out.
“Here they come!” several persons exclaimed, as the officers came out. “Where’s the burglar?”
“We left him there,” replied one of the policemen. “He lives there. His name is Mr. Thomas Cat.”
“Oh!” a score or more exclaimed, much disappointed. Then, after hearing all the particulars, they went back to bed.
Mr. Newton remained to get the woman’s name, as he intended to write up a funny story of the burglar scare. It was past two o’clock when he reached home, and he slept so soundly that he was late getting to work next morning. However, Mr. Emberg said nothing, when told of the cat episode, and told the reporter to take his time, and turn out a good account of the “burglar.”
Larry, as did the other reporters, had a busy time of it that day. There were several fires, a number of accidents, and a shooting case. Mr. Newton had scarcely a chance to speak to his friend, and Larry was anxious for the last edition to get under way, so he might inquire whether Mr. Newton had thought up any new plan to get back the deed and bring the safe-robbers to justice.
When the last forms had gone to the stereotypers, and no other news remained to go into the paper, unless something big, necessitating an extra, should occur, Larry found a chance to ask:
“Well, Mr. Newton, have you thought of a plan?”
“I have,” was the answer. “It occurred to me only a little while ago. I think it’s a pretty good one.”
“What is it?”
“It involves another visit to our chemist friend, Mr. Hosfer,” replied Mr. Newton. “I think we’ll enlist his aid in this case. He’s a sort of amateur detective among his other accomplishments.”
So that evening they went to the chemist’s house. They found him in the midst of his bottles and test tubes, working away, while a most unpleasant odor pervaded the laboratory.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” called the chemist, as Larry and Mr. Newton entered. “I can’t seem to get this mixture just right.”
“It seems plenty strong enough,” remarked Mr. Newton, holding his handkerchief to his nose. “What in the world is it?”
“Something with which to take out inkstains. Do you object to the smell?”
“Well, it isn’t exactly what you would call a perfume,” said Mr. Newton.
“It’s got to be strong, you know,” said Mr. Hosfer. “Otherwise it would not work. But I’ll stop for a while, and talk to you. I suppose you have some horrible, mysterious, sensational, blood-curdling, hair-raising, nerve-racking case on your hands. Oh, you reporters are the most terrible fellows in the world! Living amid blood and thunder, it’s a wonder to me you ever sleep,” and laughing heartily, in strange contrast to his rather exciting language, Mr. Hosfer came forward, and shook hands with them.
“The smell don’t come off,” he said, with a smile.
“I wish some of it would go out,” remarked Mr. Newton. “Can’t you open a window or—or make some other odor take its place? It smells like a skunk factory in here.”
“Wait, I’ll fix it,” replied the chemist. From several bottles he poured a mixture into a glass. This he stirred up, and then put into an atomizer. He sprayed the stuff all around the apartment, and soon a most agreeable odor was noticeable in the air of the room.
“That’s better,” came from Larry. “What is it?”
“An imitation of violet perfume,” answered Mr. Hosfer.
“It smells like the real thing,” ventured Mr. Newton.
“Well, it’s like most perfumes. Very few of them ever see the flowers they’re named after,” commented the chemist. “Now what horrible happening brought you here?”
“It isn’t exactly horrible,” replied Mr. Newton, “but I’ll admit it’s something of a mystery, and it may develop into a sensational case.”
“I knew it!” exclaimed Mr. Hosfer. “You couldn’t keep away from sensationalism and terrible things if you tried. Now tell me all about it. I like excitement.”
“You remember me coming here with that blue paper?” asked Mr. Newton.
“Sure. The one with nitro-glycerine stains on it.”
“That’s the one. Well, now I want you to find something that will take those stains from a man’s hand.”
“I guess that would be hard work. Those acid stains go in pretty deep, and stay until the skin wears off, as I told you.”
“Well, you have something that will pretty nearly take them out, haven’t you?”
“Oh, I guess I could find some chemical that would make them fade out somewhat.”
“That’s what I want you to do. When you find it you’re going to put an advertisement in the paper stating that you can remove all sorts of stains from hands and faces. In short, you’re going to become a sort of skin doctor for a while,” said Mr. Newton.
“What’s it all about?” asked the chemist.
Then Mr. Newton told Mr. Hosfer the main facts in connection with the safe-robbery, and the theft of Larry’s deed. He related how they had gotten on the track of the blue-handed man, but how the quest for the deed had failed.
“I’m afraid if we cause his arrest we will never see the deed again,” said Mr. Newton. “Besides we really have no evidence that would stand in court if they got a clever lawyer to defend Noddy, as he is called. We must work without the aid of the authorities for the present. We want to get the deed back first. Then we want some clews to the others concerned in the safe-robbery, and, last, I want to get on the track of the land operators, for I am sure there is a big swindle going on there that concerns the Board of Aldermen.”
“How can I help you by becoming a skin doctor?” asked the chemist.
“In this way,” replied the reporter. “We will put the advertisement in the paper. Unless I am very much mistaken it will be seen and read by Noddy, the blue-handed man. I am sure he would only be too glad to get rid of the stains, and so save himself the trouble of wearing gloves. Besides, he knows we are after him, and that his hands offer a rather easy mark of identification.”
“But he could go to some other doctor who makes a business of removing stains from hands and faces,” suggested Mr. Hosfer.
“Yes, he could, but I don’t believe he will. I have no doubt he has thought of that plan, but, you see, the trouble is he wants to keep under cover. If he went to an ordinary doctor he might be asked embarrassing questions, such as how the stains came on his hands. This might lead to unpleasant results. No, Noddy wants to keep under cover, and we’ll respect his wishes, at least for a while.”
“We’ll put in the advertisement about you,” Mr. Newton went on, “that all cases are strictly confidential, and that no questions are asked. That will catch Noddy, and he’ll walk into our trap.”
“What will I do when I get him?” asked the chemist. “Preserve him in alcohol?”
“I think we’ll make no attempt to capture him,” said Mr. Newton. “That is, at first. If he calls at your laboratory use some of the preparation which you are to make, on his hands. Don’t make it very strong, and take only a little of the stain off. Tell him he will have to come again. In this way he can be induced to pay several visits to you.”
“In the meanwhile I can be working my end of the game. Have all the visits at night. Tell him you can treat him at no other time. That will give me a chance to be on hand. I’ll follow him when he leaves here, and I may be able to get on the track of the deed.”
“It sounds like a good scheme,” commented the chemist. “I’ll get right to work on the stain-removing mixture.”
“And I’ll look after the advertisement,” said Mr. Newton.
“Suppose a lot of people come to have stains removed?” suggested Mr. Hosfer. “What am I to do?”
“Why, remove the stains, of course,” replied Mr. Newton. “You may to be able to make a lot of money out of this.”
“I’ll lose a lot of valuable time,” said the chemist. “But never mind, I’ll do it to help you out.”
The next day there appeared in several papers an advertisement to the effect that the celebrated chemist, Mr. Hosfer, would remove stains of all kinds from the hands or face for a moderate sum. All cases were to be treated in strict confidence, and no questions were to be asked, it was stated.
“There, that ought to catch him,” said Mr. Newton, as he read it over.
It was several days before he was able to pay Mr. Hosfer a visit again. When he and Larry called on the chemist they found him busier than ever in his laboratory.
“Did he come?” asked Mr. Newton.
“Did he come?” repeated Mr. Hosfer. “Say, I’m sorry I ever consented to this. I’ll bet I’ve removed stains from a hundred hands in the last two days! I’m nearly exhausted by the business.”
“But did Noddy come?”
“I’ll tell you all about it,” said Mr. Hosfer, laying aside a test tube, and sitting down in a chair.
“I had no idea,” the chemist continued, “how many people there were in New York who had stains that they desired removed from their hands or faces. It’s astonishing, that’s what it is. Men and women came here, covered with ink, or else marked with acids and chemicals, and wanted me to make ’em look nice again so they could go to a dance, or appear in public. Mothers brought their sons and daughters, all marked up from playing with paint or something else, and wanted me to make ’em right again.”
“But did Noddy come?” insisted Mr. Newton.
“Wait, I’m coming to that,” replied Mr. Hosfer, “but I have to tell it in my own way. After about a hundred ordinary people had called on me, I began to think our trap was a failure, since the bird we wanted did not come. In the meanwhile I had used up about ten dollars’ worth of chemicals removing stains.”
“Didn’t any of them offer to pay you?” asked Larry.
“Not a one,” replied the chemist, sadly. “I guess they thought this was a dispensary for the poor. Well, never mind that. But last evening, just as I was about to close up the shop, there came a ring at the bell, and in came a man, who, the minute I set eyes on him, I knew to be the person we wanted.”
“It was Noddy, eh?” asked Mr. Newton.
“That’s who it was. He had on a pair of gloves, and he seemed quite nervous. He wanted to know if it was all straight about the advertisement, and I told him it was. That I wouldn’t ask any questions, but would remove any stains he might have, and only charge him a small sum.”
“What did he say?” asked Mr. Newton.
“Said he didn’t care what it cost. Then he pulled off his gloves, and showed me the bluest pair of hands you ever saw. The moment I saw ’em I knew he was our man. But I didn’t say anything.”
“Is he coming again?” asked Mr. Newton, anxiously.
“This very evening,” replied Mr. Hosfer. “I used a weak solution of acid, and only took part of the stain off. I told him he would have to come back for three evenings, and he promised to be here about nine o’clock to-night!”
“It’s almost that now,” observed Larry. “We’d better get out of the way.”
“That’s so,” remarked Mr. Newton. “Now this is my plan. Have you some place where you can hide us, Mr. Hosfer?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, I want to follow Noddy when he goes from here. I think I can do it with better success than I did in the case of Peter. I must find out where he lives, since I am convinced he has the deed in his possession.”
“You and Larry can go into the next room,” said the chemist. “You can hear everything that goes on in here, and when Noddy starts to leave, after I have treated him, you can be all ready to follow. He’ll never see you.”
“That’s a good idea,” spoke Mr. Newton. “We’d better go in now. He may be along at any moment.”
They had hardly entered the room opening off from the laboratory when there came a knock at the door, and Noddy entered.
Through a crack in the portal Mr. Newton watched the blue-handed man. Noddy seemed ill at ease. He still wore his gloves, but he took them off soon after entering the laboratory.
“Now we’ll try the second application,” Larry and Mr. Newton heard Mr. Hosfer say. “This will almost do the trick.”
“I hope you’ll soon be done,” Noddy said. “I’m getting tired of wearing these gloves around. You see,” he volunteered, “I spilled some bluing on my hands as I was helping my wife with the wash, and it looks rather bad; that’s the reason I want to get rid of it.”
“I’ll soon fix you,” remarked Mr. Hosfer, paying no attention to the explanation Noddy offered.
The chemist applied several solutions to Noddy’s hands, and, under his treatment, the blue color faded somewhat. The chemist knew it could not be taken out entirely, but he did not consider it his place to tell the man so. It was a case of wits being matched against wits, and the chemist favored the side of justice.
“That’s all I can do for you to-night,” Mr. Hosfer remarked at length, speaking in loud tones, so Mr. Newton, in the next room, could hear him. “Come to-morrow or next day.”
“I wish you could finish with me,” remarked Noddy. “I want to get rid of this stain, and go away.”
“I’m doing the best I can,” replied Mr. Hosfer. “Yours is a bad case.”
“It’s a good deal worse than you think,” muttered the man.
A few minutes later Noddy left the house. Mr. Newton was close after him, trailing him along the half-deserted streets. Larry had been left behind, with instructions to await the older reporter’s return.
For a number of blocks Mr. Newton had no trouble in keeping after Noddy. The suspected safe-robber wore a light hat, which was conspicuous among the throng of people on the thoroughfares, most of whom had on dark headgear.