A STRANGE OFFER
“Robbed!” cried Mrs. Dexter. “I hope no one has taken my gold breastpin
and my ring!”
“I hope they didn’t take my book of fairy stories!” came from Jimmy.
“Do you mean thieves have been in here during the fire?” asked Lucy, as
she sat down on a chair in the kitchen.
“That’s what I mean,” replied Larry. “The box of papers, in which the
deed to the Bronx land was kept, is gone.”
“Perhaps you took it out with you, in your excitement,” suggested Mrs.
Dexter.
“No,” replied Larry. “I know we have been robbed. The more I think of it
the more I believe the fire was only a make-believe one, started to
scare us so we would get out and give the thief a chance to work.”
Mrs. Dexter could hardly credit this, but Larry insisted he was right.
The firemen went through the building to make sure there were no lurking
sparks, and some of them said the blaze had amounted to nothing more
than a small bit of rubbish on fire in the cellar, which confirmed
Larry’s belief.
He said nothing more to his mother, however, as she was much excited
over the fire. Soon they returned to bed, though Mary and Jimmy were the
only ones who slept much afterward, as the others were too nervous.
Larry was much puzzled. That bold and daring men were plotting against
the welfare of himself and his relatives he had little doubt. He was
convinced that the blaze was only started for the purpose of giving
someone an opportunity of getting possession of the deed.
“If they go to such lengths to get it, there must be something very
valuable about it,” thought Larry.
Long and earnestly he thought over the matter. He recalled the man who
had rushed into their apartments to notify them of the fire, and his
suspicions grew that he had heard his voice somewhere before.
“I wonder if he could be someone whom I have been to see to get a story
for the paper,” thought Larry.
He reviewed as well as he could the men he had called on since he had
been a reporter. None of them seemed to fit.
“I know!” the lad exclaimed to himself, as he tossed on his bed in the
darkness; “he’s the man who came up while I was talking to Peter. He’s
the man who kept his gloves on when he came to see mother. He’s the
blue-handed man!”
Once he had established this fact to his satisfaction, Larry’s mind
worked quickly. That there was some connection between the blue-handed
man’s operations, the safe-robbery, and the theft of the deed, Larry had
no doubt.
“Things are getting into a strange mix-up,” thought the young reporter.
“As soon as I think I am on the track of one part of the mystery it gets
all tangled up with another part. I would like to catch that blue-handed
man. Then, I believe, I would have one of the safe-robbers, I might get
the deed back, and learn what is behind this land matter. It might make
us wealthy. I wish it would.”
Finally, after much thinking over of the problems without result, Larry
dropped off into a doze. When he awoke it was broad daylight, and the
only thing to remind him of the night’s excitement was a heavy odor of
smoke in the rooms. The whole house smelled as though someone had been
curing hams in it.
Larry made a hasty breakfast, for it was getting late. Before he started
for the office he made a search of the rooms, hoping against hope that
he might come across the box of papers. But it was nowhere to be seen.
He crawled under the bed, and lighted a match.
There in the dust, close to the wall, was the mark where the box had
stood. Close by was a small, dark object.
“I wonder what that is,” thought Larry.
He reached for it. It was soft. Wonderingly he carried it to the light
and examined the article. It was a man’s glove.
“I don’t remember losing any of mine,” he thought.
He looked at the glove more closely. It was too large to have ever
fitted his hand. He turned it inside out. To his surprise the lining was
streaked with blue, and there was a peculiar odor.
“This was worn by the blue-handed man!” whispered Larry, excitedly. “He
has been here! There is no doubt now but that he took the box! I will
save this for evidence in case I ever catch him!”
Larry had a number of assignments that day, taking him to various parts
of the city. He had to attend a brief session of a church society, then
he had to get an obituary of a well-known business man, next he had to
cover a session of a subcommittee of the Board of Aldermen, and finally
he was sent to see a man who offered to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge
backward, provided some other person would jump with him, for a wager.
So Larry was rather tired out when afternoon came, and the _Leader_ had
gone to press for the last edition. He wanted a chance to tell Mr.
Newton what had happened, and ask his advice.
“Now what would you do?” asked Larry, when he had finally told the older
reporter about the fire.
“I wouldn’t do anything,” replied Mr. Newton. “That is, right away. If
you go to the police, which is the most natural thing to do, in case of
a robbery, these men—for I am sure now that there is a gang of them—will
know it very shortly. In some mysterious way the thieves learn what the
police know almost as soon as the authorities find things out
themselves.”
“What would you do then?” asked Larry.
“I’d just keep quiet,” was the answer. “The thief, or thieves, are
waiting to see what you will do. If you can fool them, so much the
better. They must be desperate, or they would not venture to take the
deed. To make any use of it they must forge signatures, and that is a
risky proceeding.
“I am beginning to see what they are up to. I heard a rumor the other
day of a plan that will enormously increase real estate values up in the
Bronx section. It may be that the gang is behind this. Now while they
have an advantage over you in that they have the deed, there is a
certain element of risk in it for them. Deeds are bad things to monkey
with.”
“What do you think they’ll do?” asked Larry.
“Wait and see,” replied Mr. Newton. “I am in the dark, just as much as
you are. We can only wait. It may be that they took the deed in order to
gain some hold over you, to force you to do what they want, and sell
them the property.”
“Do you think there is any connection between the man who was in to see
my mother—the man who took the deed—and the man who was in the
safe-blowing gang?” asked Larry, anxious to know how sound his own
theories were.
“I think the same man is concerned in all three transactions. The thing
to do now is to catch him. If we do we can have him arrested on
suspicion of the safe-robbery, and then we can work up the land matter.
But wait a few days before you do anything, and if anything new turns
up, let me know.”
The next day Mr. Newton was sent out of town on an assignment. Larry,
too, had his hands full, for several reporters were on vacations, and it
meant doubling up all around. One afternoon, chancing to look over the
“personal” advertisement column of the paper, he saw the following:
“BLUE.—If return of document is desired from the fire, L. had better
insert personal, making arrangements to sell land. Otherwise will
suffer. Address, Mr. Hand.”
“That’s rather odd,” thought Larry. “It almost seems as if it was meant
for me, and as if it was put in by the blue-handed man.”
The more he looked at it the more certain he was that some one of the
gang had become afraid to try and use the deed illegally, and had taken
this means of frightening him and his mother into complying with the
gang’s wishes.
“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.”