A VAIN QUEST
“I guess this is the place,” thought the reporter. “It’s rather odd,
though, that they dare adopt such a sign as that openly, when they must
know we are on their track in connection with the safe-robbery. I wonder
if I’d better go in.”
The question was answered for him, as, at that instant, the door opened.
Mr. Newton saw before him a room brightly lighted. Around a table were
seated four men. In front of them was the envelope which had been
obtained by Peter at the cigar store. Peter was nowhere to be seen.
“Well?” inquired one of the men, a short, slim fellow.
“I was looking for a friend, a young man,” said Mr. Newton, rather taken
by surprise.
“Yes, we know who it was. He brought this envelope. But it’s no good.
You can’t fool us!” exclaimed a voice behind Mr. Newton, and the next
instant the reporter was shoved into the room by the man with the
gloves, who entered after him, and shut the door, which closed with a
snap.
At first the reporter was startled with the suddenness of it all, and he
was not a little alarmed. He knew he was alone, and in the power of the
gang he had sought to run down. He was also in the worst part of the
city, where cries for help might go unheeded, since there were hourly
fightings among the inhabitants, to which cries the police, if they
heard them, paid no attention.
Mr. Newton thought he had been a little hasty. However, he resolved to
put the best face on it he could, and not to seem frightened.
“Well?” asked the short, slim man again. “Now you’ve seen your friend
isn’t here, what can we do for you?”
“You might give me back the stolen deed, for one thing,” exclaimed Mr.
Newton, boldly, “and your friend Noddy might explain something in
connection with a certain safe-robbery, while as for Mr. Perkins, he
might tell what his plans are in connection with that land grab!”
There was a sudden stir among the men, as Mr. Newton said this. Two of
the men got up from their chairs, and started toward the reporter, but a
gesture from the man with the gloves restrained him. The latter then
said, slowly and deliberately:
“You think you know a heap about us, don’t you?”
“I know more than you think I do, Noddy,” said Mr. Newton, coolly.
“Well, you didn’t play this trick right,” sneered Noddy. “We haven’t
opened that envelope, but we know it doesn’t contain the agreement we
want and intend to have. To prove you that, I’ll tear it up without
opening it.”
This he did, throwing the pieces into a coal box that stood in a far
corner of the apartment.
“In the next place,” went on Noddy, “you’ve gone a little too far in
following our messenger here. We expected you would do so, however, and
made our plans accordingly. Now you’re here you may have to stay longer
than you counted on.”
“I guess not,” remarked Mr. Newton, speaking as lightly as he could,
though he confessed afterward he felt no little alarm. “Remember, we’re
in New York.”
“No! We’re not in New York! We’re in Chinatown, and that makes all the
difference in the world!” exclaimed Noddy. “Get the cords, Ned!”
The tallest of the four men rose, and went to a closet. He came back
quickly with a long, thin, but very stout rope under his arm.
“Fasten him up now!” commanded Noddy.
“Not without a fight!” exclaimed Mr. Newton. He backed into a corner,
and stood ready to defend himself. He caught sight of an iron poker near
the coal-box, and grabbed it up.
“There’s going to be some broken heads if you touch me!” the reporter
cried.
The four men, with Ned, holding the cords, in the lead, hung back.
“Don’t be afraid of him!” yelled Noddy. “You can get the better of him!”
Mr. Newton swung the poker menacingly.
“Try it yourself, if you’re so anxious to get a cracked cocoanut!”
muttered one of the men to Noddy.
Noddy made a motion as if to grapple with the reporter. But Mr. Newton,
with a sudden motion, advanced, and stood in front of his enemy. Noddy
reached his hand back toward his pocket, as if to draw a weapon. With a
quickness that could not be guarded against, Mr. Newton swung the poker
around, and brought it down on Noddy’s arm, making the fellow howl with
pain.
“You’ll pay for this!” the man yelled.
Mr. Newton took advantage of the confusion which his attack had caused.
He sprang to the door, and, with three blows from his weapon had
shattered the lock. He threw the portal open, and dashed out into the
hall.
“Stop him!” yelled Noddy.
“You’re too late!” called back the reporter.
“You’ll be sorry for this!” Noddy’s voice sounded through the
passageway, as Mr. Newton sped away. “We’ve only just begun our campaign
against your friends. Our next move will not be so easy on you!”
The noise of the blows on the door had brought a score or more of
frightened Chinese from their rooms in the building, and they crowded
into the halls and on the stairs as the reporter hurried out. This gave
Mr. Newton one advantage, for the opening of the doors made the passages
light.
In their frightened, cackling voices the Chinese sounded not unlike a
lot of scared hens and roosters. In their anxiety to see what was going
on, and perhaps in a desire to escape from what they evidently
considered a raid by the police, some of the Celestials got in Mr.
Newton’s way. He pushed through the throng, knocking some of the
Mongolians over, at which they yelled louder than before.
Out into Pell Street sped the reporter, expecting to be pursued by some
of the gang. But when he had reached the middle of the thoroughfare,
which, even at the midnight hour, was well filled with people, he saw
that no one was after him.
His sudden exit from the house, and the noise he left behind him, seemed
to attract no attention, as the people of that neighborhood were used to
all sorts of queer affairs, and it was considered impolite, in Pell
Street, to inquire too closely into your neighbor’s business.
“Well, that was a lucky and rather narrow escape,” mused Mr. Newton, as
he made his way toward the Bowery. “I guess I made a mistake in going up
against that gang alone. I’ll know better next time. I’ve failed on this
occasion, and we are as far off as ever from getting the deed, but I
have another plan.”
Thinking Larry might be anxious to know the result of his attempt, Mr.
Newton went to his friend’s house. Beyond telling him he had failed, the
older reporter did not acquaint Larry with the details of the attack and
the escape.
“What do you suppose became of Peter?” asked Larry.
“Oh, I guess he was somewhere in the house,” replied Mr. Newton. “It was
like the other houses in Chinatown, a regular rabbit warren, with half a
dozen entrances. He could go in one way, and out another. But I’ll land
’em yet.”
“What do you plan to do next?”
“To tell you the truth, I haven’t made up my mind,” Mr. Newton replied.
“I’m sort of up against a stone wall. I want to sleep over it. Then,
perhaps, I shall hit on something.”
It was now nearly one o’clock in the morning. Larry and Mr. Newton had
been standing out in front of the Dexter apartments, for Larry did not
want his mother to know about the quest, fearing she would worry over
it. So, when Mr. Newton called on him, the two had gone outside.
“We can’t do anything more now,” remarked Larry.
“No, and I guess I’ll go home, and go to bed,” said Mr. Newton. “I’m all
tired out.”
Bidding Larry good-night, Mr. Newton started off down the street. The
neighborhood was rather poorly lighted, the lamps being few and far
between. Pondering over the strange mix-up he had become involved in,
the reporter was proceeding along rather absent-mindedly.
Suddenly his attention was attracted by someone in the house opposite
him opening a window, and shouting:
“Thieves! Murder! Fire! Police!”
“That sounds like trouble,” thought Mr. Newton. “I seem to be going to
put in a full night of it.”
“Help! Help! Help!” the voice, which was that of a woman, continued to
yell. “I’m being robbed!”
Mr. Newton placed his fingers to his lips, and blew a long, shrill
whistle. He thought if there was a policeman in the neighborhood he
would hear it, and hurry to the woman’s aid. Meanwhile Mr. Newton
decided to do what he could singlehanded.
“What’s the trouble?” he inquired.
“It’s robbers!” the woman exclaimed. “They are trying to get into my
room, and steal my diamonds!”
“Are they there now?”
“They’re in the house. I heard them run downstairs, and they’re hiding
in the dining-room. Oh, please, dear, good, kind Mr. Man, won’t you save
me!”
“I don’t believe any burglars will remain around long with that
screaming going on,” thought Mr. Newton.
By this time windows all over the neighborhood were going up, heads were
poked out, and half a score of voices asked what the trouble was. One
excited man fired his revolver.
Several policemen came up on the run, and, seeing Mr. Newton, who was
the only person in the street at that time, they all made a dash for
him.
“We’ve caught you!” one of the bluecoats cried.
“So I see,” remarked Mr. Newton, calmly. “What are you going to do with
me?”
“It’ll be state’s prison for yours,” the officer went on, taking a
firmer grip of Mr. Newton’s arm.
“He isn’t the one at all!” exclaimed the woman who had given the first
alarm. “He was going to capture the burglar for me!”
“What burglar?” cried the policemen, in a chorus.
“The one in the dining-room!”
Mr. Newton rapidly explained what had happened. One of the officers took
a closer look at the reporter.
“I know him!” the bluecoat exclaimed. “He’s on the _Leader_. Come on,
boys, let’s get the burglar!”
The officers, thinking there would be a chance to distinguish
themselves, went up the steps of the house, the woman having called to
them that she would come down, and open the door. When the policemen got
inside they made a careful search all over the premises, but could find
no burglar.
“I’m sure I heard one!” the woman insisted.
“You mean you heard a noise,” corrected one of the policemen.
“Well, it was just the kind of a noise a burglar would make.”
Just then there came a series of thumps from the hall.
“There it is again!” cried the woman. “There’s the burglar!”
The officers made a rush for the passageway.