Paper Bag Eddie
Stung by Ross’ jibe, Dan spent much of his time the next few days at the
“Y” pool. To build endurance and smooth out his stroke, he also swam in
the river. Always on these occasions he was accompanied by Brad or
Midge’s father in a boat.
Now that the swimming meet was over, the other Cubs temporarily turned
their attention to various Den activities. Brad tried to assist Dan in
deciphering the code message which had been found in Jacques’ pocket.
However, after three days of work, he gave up in disgust.
“Maybe it isn’t a code after all,” he said, returning the paper to Dan.
“I figure those numerals must stand for letters that spell out a message.
But I can’t get the hang of it.”
“I think I’ll keep on trying,” Dan said. “Not that it will mean much if
we do puzzle out the thing. Jacques is gone, and probably we’ll never see
him again.”
“Wonder what became of that kid anyhow?” Brad mused. “It sure was funny,
finding him on the beach the way we did.”
“And he never told us his name or explained anything. I’d say there was
every indication someone came and took him away.”
“Mr. Hatfield made inquiries,” Brad added. “No one saw the boy leave the
Cave. He’s unknown in Webster City.”
Although Dan and the other Cubs had kept a close watch of the waterfront,
they had sighted no boat which resembled the one that had damaged Mr.
Holloway’s craft. Therefore, the conviction steadily grew that Mr.
Manheim’s speedboat might be the one involved.
“Mr. Manheim is well spoken of at the club,” Midge’s father told the
boys. “It would be a serious mistake if we made any accusation against
him or any of his employees. The boat has been repaired, and as far as
I’m concerned, the matter will be dropped.”
Dan and Midge said no more about the affair, but in private they often
remarked that they thought Wilson Jabowski, the caretaker on Skeleton
Island, would bear investigation.
“I hear he hasn’t worked very long for Mr. Manheim,” Dan remarked. “And
folks say that when his employer is out of town, he rides around in that
speedboat like a king.”
“Maybe if we keep our eyes open we’ll catch up with him yet,” Midge said.
“He may crack into another boat.”
On the regular Friday night meeting of the Den, the Cubs enjoyed the
beach treasure hunt which had been interrupted at the previous gathering.
Mack and Fred came off victorious, their clues leading them to the buried
chest which contained carpenter’s tools.
“The Den needs a bookcase,” Mr. Hatfield reminded the pair as they
admired their ‘find’. “We’ll expect you boys to produce something
handsome now that you have the tools.”
“We’ll do it too,” Mack promised.
With the treasure hunt over, all the Cubs gathered on the beach for a
council fire and “feed.” Mrs. Holloway passed out hot dog sandwiches,
chocolate and thick wedges of pie.
When the boys could eat no more, they stretched out on the sand, and
begged Mr. Hatfield to tell them a ghost story.
“I might tell you about the ghost of Skeleton Island,” he chuckled.
“A true story?” Dan demanded.
“It may have elements of truth,” the Cub leader replied. “Basically
though, the tale is a product of the imagination.”
“You mean you’re making up the story?” Midge asked in disappointment.
“No,” the Cub leader corrected. “I first heard about Skeleton Island as a
boy. According to the tale, it once was an old pirate stronghold. River
pirates would come upstream and hide their loot on the island.”
“Was any of it ever dug up?” Midge demanded.
“Not that I ever heard. But thirty years ago, a man’s skeleton was found
on the island. That’s how the place received its name.”
“What about the ghost?” Dan inquired.
“I’m coming to that part. The old freebooters supposedly built a tunnel
which connected some point of the beach with an old inn that was on the
island.”
“Not the hotel that’s there now?” Brad interposed. “I mean the abandoned
one that Mr. Manheim converted into the caretaker’s premises.”
“I doubt it is the same place, Brad. However, I believe that after the
old inn burned down, the present building was erected in its place. That
was at least fifty years ago.”
“And the ghost?” Red Suell reminded him.
“The ghost? Oh, yes, to be sure. The fellow, I’m told, never was very
active. On windy nights, shore residents reported seeing a white, misty
figure moving along the beach.”
“Mist—that’s probably what it was,” Brad said with a snort. “Anyone knows
there are no ghosts. I’m more interested in that tunnel. Do you think one
actually was built, Mr. Hatfield?”
“I’m inclined to think that part of the story is true, Brad.”
“Then what became of the tunnel? No one has heard of it in recent years.”
“I was asking an old timer about that only yesterday.”
“And what did he tell you?” Dan demanded, eager for additional details.
“This old salt claimed that heavy wind storms blocked off the beach
entrance to the tunnel.”
“Couldn’t it be relocated and dug out?”
“Probably, if anyone wanted to go to that much work. It would be a big
job shifting so much sand even if the entranceway could be found. I don’t
suppose Mr. Manheim ever was interested.”
“He owns the entire island, doesn’t he?” Brad asked thoughtfully. Picking
up a piece of driftwood, he fed it to the dying embers of the fire.
“That’s right,” the Cub leader agreed. “The Scouts have been dickering
with him for nearly six months to purchase a stretch of beach for their
permanent camp. They’re also considering a site two miles farther down
river.”
“Which will they take?” Chips asked. “I should think Skeleton Island
would be better, because it’s closer to Webster City.”
“So far, Mr. Manheim has asked a fairly steep price and doesn’t seem
inclined to come down,” the Cub leader replied. “The Scout director has
made two inspection trips and is well satisfied. Now he wants me to make
my recommendation.”
“You said the Cubs might go there on an over-night camping trip,” Red
reminded him.
All the Cubs waited expectantly for the answer.
“Yes, if plans work out, we’ll make it next weekend,” Mr. Hatfield
answered. “The Den fathers are planning the trip.”
The Cubs began to talk about the proposed excursion, discussing what they
would take with them to camp.
“Maybe we’ll see the ghost of Skeleton Island while we’re there!” Chips
declared hopefully. “Or find the entrance to the old tunnel!”
The Cub meeting broke up shortly after nine o’clock. Dan and Brad
remained a few minutes after the others had gone to make certain that the
last embers of the beach fire had been extinguished.
Then together, they started home, selecting a route which took them along
the deserted waterfront.
At Clinton Street, the boys turned at the corner, passing a cafe from
which issued the discordant notes of a player piano.
On the curb outside the restaurant stood a short little man, who was
munching popcorn from a paper bag. His face was sharp and weasel-like,
his eyes darting and shrewd.
The Cubs might have passed him with scarcely a second glance, had he not
been talking to another man who looked faintly familiar to Dan. The
fellow plainly was a sailor, dark of hair and with sturdy body build.
“That fellow looks like one of the men who were in the motorboat that
struck the Holloway sailboat!” Dan said in an undertone to Brad.
“Not the little one with the paper bag?”
“No, the other. I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere. Let’s watch for a
minute.”
Sliding into a shadowy doorway, Brad and Dan kept their eyes on the pair.
However, they were too far away to hear the conversation. A newsboy
noticed their interest.
“Know those guys?” he asked, sidling up to them.
Dan shook his head, hoping that the boy would move on.
“See that guy with the paper sack,” the lad continued, eager to impart
information. “Know who he is?”
Dan shook his head.
“That’s the one they call ‘Paper Bag Eddie,’” the boy said, awe in his
voice. “He’s a bad one.”
“Paper Bag Eddie?” Dan repeated, keeping his voice low. “Never heard of
him.”
“You never heard of Paper Bag Eddie? Why, he’s known to every cop in
town, but they never get much on him.”
“He’s a crook then?” Brad interposed.
“Sure, they say he’s the brains of a waterfront gang. Guess what he
carries around in those paper bags of his’n?”
“Popcorn,” said Dan.
“Guess again. He packs a revolver. Eddie loafs around the waterfront and
you hardly ever see him without his little paper bag.”
“I should think the police would pick him up for carrying a concealed
weapon,” Brad said.
“Oh, Eddie ain’t dumb enough to go around with the revolver all the time.
Mostly you’ll see him munching peanuts or popcorn, and if the cops search
him that’s what they find. But if he pulls a job, he slips the revolver
into the sack. The cops figure he only has a bag of popcorn.”
“Eddie never has been arrested?” Brad inquired.
“Oh, the cops run him in regular, but they’ve never dug up enough
evidence to convict him. Eddie’s a slick one.”
“Who is his companion?” Dan asked.
“Never saw him before,” the newsboy said indifferently. “Some sailor, I
guess.”
Apparently aware that they were under scrutiny, Paper Bag Eddie and his
company glanced briefly at the Cubs and sauntered on down the street. A
few doors farther on they entered the Green Parrot Cafe.
“Let’s get on home,” Brad urged.
Dan, however, had another idea.
“Brad, I’m dead certain that sailor with Paper Bag Eddie is the one who
was operating the motorboat when it crashed into Mr. Holloway’s
sailboat,” he insisted. “I’d like to try to pin it on him.”
“And end up in plenty of trouble. You know Mr. Holloway advised that the
entire matter be dropped.”
“Sure, I know. But that was mostly because Mr. Manheim is well known at
the club. I have a hunch he didn’t know anything about the boat accident.
And it may not have been his speed craft either.”
“Even so, I say we’re asking for trouble if we try striking up an
acquaintance with that pair!”
“We don’t have to speak to them,” Dan argued. “Why not follow them into
the cafe and take a table nearby? We might hear something interesting.”
“W-e-ll,” Brad hesitated, “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm. Okay.”
Feeling somewhat ill at ease, the two boys entered the Green Parrot. The
room was dingy and dimly lighted, its plaster walls streaked with smoke.
Only a few customers were visible.
Brad and Dan slipped into a booth diagonally opposite a table where Paper
Bag Eddie and his companion sat.
“You know your orders, Frisk,” they heard the one with the weasel-like
face say. “When you get the signal—”
He broke off as his gaze fastened upon Dan and Brad. The Cubs instantly
looked away but Paper Bag Eddie’s suspicions had been aroused.
Shoving back his chair, he walked over to the booth.
“Say, what’s the idea?” he demanded in a soft, purring voice.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Brad returned, meeting his gaze steadily.
“You followed me in here. Now you’re trying to eavesdrop.”
“This is a free country,” Brad retorted. “If my friend and I want to come
in here for a sandwich, I’d like to see you stop us!”
“You would, eh?” the man replied, his lips parting in an ugly smile. He
grasped Brad by the shoulder, pulling him half-way out of the booth. “Who
are you and what’s your game?”
Before Brad could answer, the proprietor of the Green Parrot came quickly
from the direction of the kitchen. He had seen what was happening and did
not want any trouble in his place.
“Cut it out, Eddie,” he said. “No rough stuff here.”
“Who are these kids?”
“How should I know? Never saw ’em before.”
“They were standing outside the cafe, watching,” Eddie informed the
proprietor. “When we came in, they followed. I say, throw ’em out.”
The proprietor hesitated, reluctant to antagonize either party.
“Throw ’em out!” Paper Bag Eddie repeated in a tone not to be denied.
“I’m sorry, boys,” the proprietor apologized. “I don’t want any trouble
here. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“We’ll go,” Brad said. “Come on, Dan.”
In sliding out from the booth seat, Dan bestowed another glance upon the
man Paper Bag Eddie had called “Frisk.” More than ever he was convinced
that he had not been mistaken in identifying him as the motorboat
operator.
“I’ve seen you before,” he said, halting beside the table. “You were
handling the wheel of the motorboat that struck our dinghy!”
“That’s a lie!” the florid-faced man rasped. “I never set eyes on either
of you before—and what’s more, I don’t want to again. Now if you know
what’s healthy, get out of here!”
Dan would have stood his ground, but Brad grasped his arm, pulling him
firmly along. The proprietor followed the two boys to the door.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized once more. Then in an undertone, he added:
“Don’t come back. For some reason Eddie has taken a dislike to you—and
when he’s crossed, he’s bad medicine!”