THE FIREBUG’S SECRET REVEALED
“Johnny,” said Pant, as their train sped along, “what did Knobs Whittaker
have to do with that string of fires—the schools, the Zoo, and Forest
City?”
“Not a thing, I guess. It was that man with the hooked nose who set them
all.”
“You haven’t proved that.”
“That’s why we are now on our way out to the black shack by the edge of
the swamp. I think we’ll find some proof out there.”
They were on the train speeding southward toward the marsh.
“If Knobs wasn’t in with old hook-nose, why were they together in that
dive where I came near getting bumped off?” asked Pant.
“Doubtless they were acquainted. Men of the same trade, even if it’s of a
criminal nature, usually are. Birds of a feather, you know. It may be,
too, that Knobs was encouraging this other man. If the fires set by him
could keep the eyes of the police and inspectors off Knobs, then he would
have easy going.
“His big game, though, was the diamond shop. It looked easy. To plant all
those chemicals beneath his safe, to set a fire, then beat it with the
diamonds, leaving everyone to believe they were lost, seemed simple
enough. It would have been, too, if it hadn’t been my luck to hit him
behind the ear. Got that picture?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes.”
Pant took a small snapshot from his pocket and handed it to Johnny.
“Pretty good, even if it was taken under difficult circumstances,” he
said, holding it up to the light.
It was a picture of a large man wearing a mask and holding a silver cream
pitcher in his hand. It was the picture he and Mazie had taken at the
booth just before the fire started.
“Mask sort of spoils it, but I think they’ll recognize that stoop.”
“Who?”
“The people who have seen him before.”
For a time they rode in silence. Then Johnny spoke again.
“If there is any reward for all this work, Tillie McFadden gets half of
it. She gave me the first good hunch.”
“What was the hunch?”
“That the man who set the fires wasn’t in the building when they were
set.”
“You expect to prove that?”
“To-day.”
“With a mechanism?”
“No other mechanism than you’ll find in any building of consequence. Here
we are!” he exclaimed suddenly.
They were at the station near the marsh.
A half hour later found them creeping on hands and knees, making their
way from sand dune to sand dune. In his hand Johnny gripped the black
automatic he had taken from Knobs.
“One more dune,” he breathed, “then we’ll have to make a break for it.”
As he rose to creep forward again he caught sight of the roof of the
black shack.
The next moment, somewhat excited and breathless, they were dashing for
the shack.
Once within the shadow of its side they paused to calm their wildly
beating hearts. Then gripping his automatic hard, Johnny popped his head
up before the window.
“Huh!” he grunted a second later. “I thought it might be that way. Not a
soul here.”
The lock on the door was a simple one and they were soon inside.
“It’s the hook-nosed one’s shack all right,” said Johnny. “I’ve seen him
wear this long rain-coat.” He took the coat from its hook. “Bring it
along as evidence. And these.” He walked to the corner where were four
black cylinders standing on end. They were what remained of the pile he
had seen there some time before.
Handling them with great care, as if afraid they might explode, he first
wrapped them in a piece of paper he had taken from his pocket, then
buckled a strap tightly about them.
For a moment he stood looking about the cabin. Then turning toward the
door, he said:
“Come on. I think we have all that is of any value to us here.”
Once back on the beach, they did not return directly to the station, but
paused first to interview some fishermen who were mending their nets, and
then later to knock at a cabin farther down the beach.
At the cabin a woman said that a man resembling the one in the snapshot
had sometimes come to her house for milk. The fishermen were even more
positive in their identification.
“Yes sir,” said one of them, “that was his shack out there by the marsh.
I’ve often seen him. But what’s the mask for?”
“Carnival,” said Johnny.
“Oh!”
“So you think it was old Hook-nose who shot at you and went hunting you
and Mazie out here on the marsh?” said Pant as they walked on.
“I am sure of it. And I’m equally sure that he killed poor old Ben Zook.
The last evidence against him will be put to the test this afternoon in
the Fire Chief’s office at three. Will you be there?”
“I sure will.”
True to his promise, Pant was there at the appointed hour. So were Mazie
and the Fire Chief.
“Now,” said Johnny, as if about to perform some scientific experiment,
“I’ll ask you to examine this scrap of black cardboard which Ben Zook and
I found on his island after the mysterious blaze out there. Compare it
with the outer covering of the four cylinders I have here. Same material,
isn’t it, Chief?”
“I’d say it was the same.”
“Now,” said Johnny, “take a look at this telephone which I took from the
burning Zoo. As you will see, it is equipped with two pairs of wires. The
ends of the smaller wires are scorched.
“If you don’t mind, Chief, I’ll just disconnect these wires and hook them
up with your own phone.” He unstrapped the tubes and, selecting one, set
the others some distance away. “Now I will connect the other ends by
means of the screw contact points which you will see already conveniently
placed at the top of this black tube.
“Now,” he smiled, as he stepped back quickly as if expecting something
sudden, “if you will be kind enough to take down your receiver and ask
the operator to give you a ring?”
For a second the Chief hesitated, then complied with his request. At the
same time Mazie crowded herself into the most remote corner.
“Operator,” called the Chief, “give us a ring, will you?” His hand
trembled slightly as he hung up the receiver. In the room, for the space
of seconds, all was silence, a silence so complete that the buzzing of a
fly far up on the ceiling sounded distinctly.
Then came the jangle of the bell. Instantly, as if by magic, the black
tube split straight down the middle into two perfect halves, toppled
over, revealing a fan-shaped mass of tissue paper which promptly burst
into flame. So suddenly did it all happen that had not Johnny seen to it
that there was a chemical fire extinguisher right at hand, the Chief
might have found himself in the embarrassing position of being obliged to
turn in a fire alarm from his own office.
As it was, the fire was soon out. After that Johnny’s three friends sat
staring at him.
“The explanation is simple enough,” he smiled. “In the case of every fire
set by this misguided man—who was a crank and perhaps a radical as
well—he pretended to be a telephone wireman. Having in this way gotten
inside, always just at closing time, he connected his wires with the
phone, then planted a fire trap such as this in some store-room where
there was plenty of combustibles. After making sure that he was the last
one out, he left the building.
“Since everyone associated with the office knew that everyone in the
office left at a definite hour, there were no phone calls after the trap
had been set.
“At his appointed hour, ten, eleven, or twelve o’clock at night, the
firebug, by this time perhaps ten miles away, would go to some phone and
calmly call the number.
“And Bam! The telephone rings; a spark traveling down one of those fine
wires, loosens a spring that throws the trap open, tissue paper unfolds
like a fan, a taper is lighted that fires the trap, and all is prepared
for the fire alarm.”
“What a pity that so much ingenuity should be used for so dire a
purpose,” said the Chief.
“So you think this firebug is dead?”
“I know it. I have a report to that effect, and plenty of proof that he
was the man.”
“You shall have the reward. You deserve it.” The Chief turned to grasp
his hand.
It would probably not have seemed strange if Johnny Thompson, after such
strenuous experiences as these, should have decided to take a long rest.
So he did decide, but fate ruled differently. By chance, on that very
night, he walked into the shop of an old man who was a wizard at working
in wood—ebony, mahogany, teak and rosewood. He showed Johnny some marvels
and in the end told him a tale that set Johnny’s blood racing fast.
It was this tale that led the boy off on a most thrilling adventure,
which you will find recorded in our next book, “The Red Lure.”
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text—this e-text
is public domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.