RETRIBUTION.
Their frightful peril lasted only a few seconds. Although the
machine still swayed like a ship laboring among surges, it struck
more tranquil air, and with its graceful spiral motion lightly
touched the ground, ran to the edge of the clearing and stopped with
its front rigger within a few feet of a huge oak on the edge of the
open space.
It was still spinning forward when Detective Pendar leaped from his
seat, and without a word to Harvey Hamilton, who, of course, had
shut off the motor, dashed away on a run through the wood, making
for the spot among the rocks where the pile of lumber and rails
disclosed the headquarters of the kidnapping gang. He had not yet
seen one of them, but knew they whom he sought were there.
Before he reached the spot he caught sight through the treetops of
the monoplane of Professor Morgan heading for the same point.
Recognizing him he uttered an impatient exclamation.
“He’s going to mix in and spoil everything.”
As easily and noiselessly as a soaring eagle, the circling machine
came to a rest directly over the ramshackle structure. The wonderful
“uplifter” was spinning under the monoplane and held it motionless
over the exact spot, at a height of barely a hundred feet.
Detective Pendar in a frenzy of excitement leaped into the scant
open space, where he was in sight of the aviator, who, as he had
done in a former instance, stood erect, with a large oblong object
in his hand to which he was about to apply a lighted match. Reading
his purpose, Pendar shouted:
“Don’t do that! You’ll kill the little girl!”
Professor Morgan did not seem to hear him, or, if he did, paid no
attention.
“Don’t, Professor! You will kill the child!”
The man now called down from his elevation:
“Don’t be alarmed! She is not there!”
“I know she is,” insisted Pendar, drawing his revolver. “If you drop
that bomb I’ll shoot you!”
The tall, ungainly figure remained upright. He had lighted the fuse
which was spitting flame. He still held it in his hand and was
carefully sighting with the purpose of making it fall where he
wished.
“I tell you the girl is _not_ there, but the men are! Put up that
pistol or I’ll throw the bomb at you and send you to kingdom come
with them!”
The naturally cool-headed detective was beside himself. The calm
assurance of the crank overhead stayed his hand. He did not know
what to do and therefore did nothing.
“Stand back!” warned the aviator; “or you’ll catch it too!”
The words were yet in his mouth, when an object eight or ten inches
in length, two or three inches in diameter and of a dull gray color,
left his hand and dived downward. The fuse was smoking and the bomb
turned end over end several times before it alighted on the warped
boards which served for a roof to the structure. It lay there for a
brief interval, during which it jerked to the right and left, as a
spurting hose will do when no one is holding it, then it toppled
over and dropped through a gap in the boards.
The next instant there was muffled, thunderous report, and rocks,
rails and splintered wood flew in every direction, as if from the
mouth of Vesuvius. The bomb had exploded with terrific force, and a
noise that stunned the spectator, who caught a glimpse of something
resembling a huge bird which darted toward him. A rail, as if fired
from a modern siege gun, whizzed within a few inches of his head and
skittered among the branches behind him.
[Illustration: THE BOMB HAD EXPLODED WITH TERRIFIC FORCE.]
In those terrifying moments the detective saw another sight,—one
that held him dumfounded for a brief interval. Among the flying
debris was the form of a man, which shot upward for fifty feet,
turning over, passed above the head of Pendar and fell among the
trees, where it lay still and motionless.
A second man came rolling like a log rushing down hill and settled
to rest a few paces in front of the shocked spectator. His clothing
was on fire in a dozen places. Rousing himself, the officer snatched
off his coat, and hurriedly wrapped it about the wretch, who lay
still, moaning with pain.
But in the midst of the fearful scene, Simmons Pendar glanced around
in quest of that which he dreaded to see above everything else in
the world. Harvey Hamilton had identified the stolen child and how
could she escape that awful explosion? But she was not to be seen,
and with relief unspeakable he decided that Professor Morgan was
truthful in his declaration. Paying no heed for the moment to the
man at his feet, the detective looked upward and shouted:
“Where is she?”
There was no reply, for Professor Morgan was not there, or at least
was beyond hearing or replying to the question. Having accomplished
that which he had in mind to do, he had set his silent machine again
in motion, and was fast vanishing in the direction of the town of
Chesterton.
Relieved of his great fear, Pendar stooped over the form at his
feet. To his amazement the man seemed to have suffered only trifling
injuries. The enwrapping of the coat had put out the incipient
flames and the fellow came as easily to his feet as if rising from
sleep. He said something to the detective in his own language, which
was not understood. Pendar reached out and taking his scorched
garment quietly put it on himself, but in the act of doing so he
gave proof of his professional deftness by slipping a pair of
handcuffs on his prisoner before he suspected the trick. He
struggled desperately to free himself, and unable to do so, tried to
strike his captor with the irons which clasped his wrists. But all
that remained possible was to try to run away, and the detective was
prepared to defeat an attempt of that nature.
That the fellow understood English became clear the next minute,
when Pendar drew his revolver from his hip pocket and addressed him:
“If you try to run off I’ll shoot you!”
“Me no run off,” replied the man, cowering with fear. Probably his
meekness was pretense with a view of gaining an advantage over his
captor.
“Where is that little girl you stole from her home in Philadelphia?”
The prisoner shrugged his shoulders and shook his head:
“Me no understand.”
“Yes, you do; answer before I fire!”
And the weapon was leveled with the muzzle within a few inches of
the man’s face, which was contorted by terror.
“Don’t know,” he hastened to say.
Detective Pendar was enraged enough to shoot him. With a dreadful
sinking of hope the officer asked himself whether there was to be a
miscarriage of justice after all. Grace Hastings was neither within
the shanty nor anywhere near it when Professor Morgan blew it up
with his bomb. Could it be that the abductors had discovered their
danger before that time and removed the little one to a safe
retreat, or could it be——
He dared not finish the question. One thing was clear: the
negotiations that had been carried on for so many days were now
ended, and could never be renewed. The friends of the child had
proved their determination not to pay the ransom demanded, and no
more communication could be held between them and the kidnappers.
Humanity seemed to demand that attention should be given to him who
was hurled among the trees in the rear by the explosion; but in the
intensity of his chagrin and wrath, Detective Pendar decided that,
as he was already past help, time would be wasted upon him. Although
the garments of the prisoner showed faint wisps of smoke here and
there, the fire was gradually dying out and he was in no danger from
that cause. His captor compressed his lips with the resolution to
force the truth from the wretch. Surely he could throw light upon
the disappearance of the child, and the detective was resolute in
his purpose of forcing him to do so.
“What is your name?” was the first question of the master of the
situation, who, noticing the other’s shrug and hesitation, added:
“You needn’t pretend you don’t understand me. What is your name, I
repeat?”
“Alessandro Pierotti,” was the answer.
“Who was the man that was blown into the wood behind me?”
“Giuseppe Caprioni.”
To test the truthfulness of the fellow Detective Pendar now demanded
the name of the other member of the group that had loitered during
the last few days about the hotel in Chesterton. Pierotti gave it
correctly, and his questioner was convinced that all were right.
“That makes three. Who were the others connected with you?”
“No more,—that all.”
The detective did not believe this, aware as he was of the fearful
penalties that are visited by members of the Black Hand upon those
who betray their associates. He wondered in fact why Pierotti had
not tried to deceive him as to the names. It may have been because
he believed the truth was at the command of this captor. That others
were connected with his crime was a certainty, but this was not the
time nor place in which to probe the matter.
“How long did you have the little girl in this part of the country?”
The frightened prisoner wrinkled his brow in thought.
“A week,—almost—not quite.”
“Where is she now?”
“Went off—she play—she soon come back.”
This statement was perplexing and Pendar did not understand it.
“When did she go?”
“One—two—tree hour; she soon come back,” he repeated.
“Who went with her?”
“No one—she go with herself; she not go far.”
“Which way?”
Pierotti pointed in the direction of the cabin of Uncle Tommy
Waters. The path which has been mentioned as dimly marked, took
another course before joining the main trail which branched off from
the highway a little way out from Chesterton.
While it seemed improbable that a captive like Grace Hastings would
have been permitted anything in the nature of freedom at so critical
a time, the detective decided to act upon the statement.
“Lead the way, Pierotti; I shall walk behind you; if you try to slip
off, or I find you have deceived me, _look out_!”