AN ARROW SPEEDS TO ITS MARK
While the old time detective was making these brilliant discoveries,
Herman McCarthey and Drew had made little progress in their endeavor to
find the men in the case.
They had taken to riding a squad car at night. A special car of great
speed was assigned to them. This car was equipped with a loud gong. They
worked only on radio squad calls. The moment a call was announced, they
threw on the gas. If the case reported was within a certain distance of
the place where their car was parked, they set their gong clanging and
dashed away.
In this manner, during a two nights' vigil, they had run down more than
twenty squad calls and had learned not one thing to their advantage.
They did not despair. "The fish are here," was Herman's sage remark. "We
may be obliged to let down the net many times. At last we will get them."
On the night following Newton Mills' great discovery, both the Old Timer
and Johnny decided to accompany the others on their squad calls. Since
Johnny was once more on the late squad calls at the radio station, he
took with him his bow and arrows.
"We'll just drop you off there later in the evening," was Herman's word
to him.
It was well along toward midnight. They had chased down four radio calls
to no purpose. It was beginning to look like another wasted night. They
were parked north of the river on Main Street, when of a sudden there
struck their waiting ears a call that promised much.
"The Roosevelt on Main!" Herman exclaimed in a breath. "That's the place
they picked the night Rosy was shot. Same gang. Came back for the rest of
the roll. Step on the gas!"
The motor purred. The gong sounded. They were away. By some unusual
chance, theirs was the first car to arrive.
They had not come to a standstill before Herman, Drew, Mills and two men
in uniform were out of the car and bounding through the theatre door.
"Down there!" cried an excited youth in a green cap. "They went to the
basement!"
Down the stair they plunged.
In the meantime Johnny, gripping his bow and arrow, and urged by who
knows what instinct, raced around the building to enter an alley which
ran at the back of the theatre's stage.
Halfway down the stairs, Herman McCarthey suddenly found himself facing
two stocky men. The foremost of these whipped out a gun and fired. The
bullet grazed Herman's cheek and lodged in a policeman's thigh.
A second shot followed instantly. Newton Mills had gone into action. His
bullet entered the robber's heart. He fell back dead. The other man
turned to flee down the stairs. He was struck down by a blow from
Herman's gun.
In the meantime, what of Johnny? Astonishing things were happening to
him. Hardly had he entered the alley than someone sprang around a corner
of masonry and, without noting him, began to approach.
The light of a street lamp fell on his back. Johnny recognized him
instantly. He had a face that was like a mask. It was Jimmie McGowan.
Scarcely had Johnny stepped back to nock an arrow, than the other saw
him.
Among people of his own kind this youth, Jimmie McGowan, was known as the
quickest trigger in all gangland. Nor was an automatic lacking.
What saved Johnny? One curious circumstance. As the gangster came to a
halt, a weird red light, from no one will ever know where, fell upon
Johnny and his bow. His arrow was turned to a thing of flaming red.
It was this weird light that sent cold terror to the gangster's heart.
The hand that did not falter at the dealing of death was paralyzed by
fear of that which could not be understood, the arrow of fire.
Before the gangster's hand could regain its cunning, a missile came
crashing into his shoulder. It was Johnny's arrow. The gun went
clattering to the pavement. Next instant, with the force of a tiger,
Johnny leaped upon mask-faced Jimmie McGowan and bore him to the ground.
In the meantime Herman had made fast work of the second robber. Having
knocked him down, he had him in handcuffs at once. As he turned the
fellow over, more than five thousand dollars in currency dropped from
beneath his coat.
Drew had noted the direction Johnny had taken. As soon as possible he
followed in his wake. He found Johnny sitting on the chest of Jimmie
McGowan. A feathered arrow protruded from Jimmie's shoulder.
"I got him!" exulted Johnny. "I got the one we want!"
"Silent Murder," murmured Drew. "So you have. But not so fast. Not
another word at this time."
Jimmie McGowan went to the hospital in the jail to have Johnny's arrow
removed. Drew called the radio station and had Johnny released from duty
that night. Then they all adjourned to the shack.
"We win!" said Johnny exultantly.
"Not so fast," said Herman McCarthey. "What was this bird doing when you
shot him with that arrow?"
"Coming down the alley. Preparing to shoot me."
"Can you prove that he meant to shoot you?"
"No. But anybody knows--"
"Sure. But not in court. Crooked lawyers, and all that. This poor boy,
meaning Jimmie McGowan, was obliged to go out at night. He carried a gun
for protection. He met a stranger. The stranger attempted to massacre him
with a murderous six foot bow. Can't you see how they'll shape it up?"
"Yes, but Rosy will identify him."
"Perhaps, if she lives. There are still grave doubts regarding her
recovery. But if she does live, this boy has two faces, a smile and a
mask. He will show her the smile. She must pick him from among other men.
She was frightened that night. Will she recall the face? Well, perhaps."
"But there are the bullets. They are absolute proof."
"They are our best bet. We must guard them well."
A little later Newton Mills spoke to Johnny in a low tone. At the same
time he pressed a package into his hand.
"You keep these until to-morrow," he said. "I'm a marked man. They won't
suspect you of having them. It's the bullets, the little pills that will
send that man of the masked face down for life."
Perspiration started out on Johnny's brow as he listened to these words.
Nevertheless, he stowed the small package deep in his innermost pocket.
"They won't get them," he muttered. "None of them will."
As an afterthought, he drew the package from his pocket, seated himself
at a table, then wrote his name and address on the outside of the
package. He then replaced it in his pocket.
This was a habit of Johnny's, of long standing. Not for ten years had he
carried a package a distance of so much as one block without first
writing his name and address upon it. Absent-minded people should keep
their records well. Johnny was, at times, absent-minded.