THE MAN IN THE YELLOW CAR.
A patrol wagon full of policemen had dashed up in front of the house,
and they came running down the hall, followed by a horde of eager
reporters, who stood aghast at the slaughter of a few minutes.
The only participant in the fight who could talk was the detective whom
Ted had carried to the hall, and he was telling the chief of detectives
in whispers what had occurred.
"That young fellow followed us in," he said, pointing to Ted. "He took
me out, and then went in and finished the gang. He's a game one, he is.
I don't know who he is, but, by Jove! he's a game un."
"Who were the gang?" asked the chief.
"'Big Bill' Minnis, 'Bull' Dorgan, and 'Feathers' Lavin," was the reply.
"Checkers we caught on the corner, and the other member of the gang,
Dude Wilcox, got away. I guess it was him that rode off with the swag in
the automobile, but where he went we couldn't get."
"I can tell you about that," said Ted quietly to the chief.
Desmond looked up at him curiously.
"Not now," he said. "Don't go. I want to talk to you after a while. Now,
brace up, Tom; you're going to come out all right. The ambulance is out
here, and we'll get you to the hospital."
"It ain't no use to jolly me, chief," said the man on the floor. "I'm
all in. I'm bleedin' inside. I've seen too many fellows with a shot like
this ever to have any hopes. Send for my wife and a priest. I ain't
afraid to go, chief, but I hate to leave Maggie like this."
"We'll take care of her, Tom. Get that off your mind."
"All right, chief. If you say so, I know it'll be all right. Poor girl,
it's hard luck for her."
"That's right, Tom, but brace up and don't let her see that you're
worried."
A woman's scream sounded through the hall, and a slender, girlish figure
pushed its way toward the prostrate man.
"Tom," she cried, and knelt beside him. "Are you hit? Did they get you
at last?"
"Oh, I ain't bad, Maggie," said the dying detective bravely. "The
chief's going to have me sent to the hospital, and I'll be all right in
a week."
But before midnight he died.
An hour later Ted met the chief of detectives.
"Get into my car," said the chief, "and come down to my office, and
we'll have a talk."
In a short time they were at the Four Courts, the big central police
station of St. Louis, and when they were in the chief's private office
and the door barred to intruders the great detective turned inquiringly
to Ted.
"Now, who are you, and how did you happen to be mixed up in that mess?"
asked Desmond.
"My name is Ted Strong," began Ted.
Suddenly Chief Desmond sat up straight and looked at Ted sharply.
"Not the leader of the broncho boys, are you?" he asked.
"The same," said Ted.
"I know about you. What were you doing near those detectives, that you
should have got in so handily?"
"I'm a deputy United States marshal, as perhaps you know."
Desmond nodded. "Yes, I know," he said.
"I was working on this very case," said Ted, "and I had got hold of one
end of it, and was about to follow it to a conclusion, when I saw the
man Checkers on the street, and was following him. He led me to the
detectives. The minute I saw them and him, I knew there would be
something doing."
"What did you know of Checkers?"
"Nothing at all, except that he knew somehow that I was working on the
express-robbery cases, and yesterday he shadowed my partner and me to
East St. Louis, where we left him behind in an automobile."
Ted then told the chief how he had come about taking possession of the
red car, to which Desmond listened carefully. When Ted had finished,
Desmond rose and paced the room for a minute.
"Young man, you've got the big end of the chase," he said. "Dude Wilcox
is the man who we are positive killed the messenger and got away with
the swag. If it were you who found out how he got away with it, you will
have got the last of the gang."
"Is that all there is to it?" asked Ted.
"Lord bless you, no. That's only the bunch that has been working in St.
Louis. The big end of it is operating from some town farther west.
There's where Dude Wilcox came from. I don't know where they make their
headquarters, and it is out of my territory. I have all I can do to take
care of St. Louis."
"The government officers were of the opinion that St. Louis was
headquarters."
"That was true up to a few weeks ago, but we made it so hot for them
here that they emigrated."
"Well, there's no use in my staying here any longer. I might as well
hike out west. I'm not much good in a big town, anyway. I suppose you'll
have no trouble in handling Checkers without any word from me."
"Oh, yes. But let's have Checkers up and hear what he has to say for
himself."
The chief pushed a button and presently an officer entered.
"Go down to the hold-over and bring Checkers to me," ordered the chief.
In less than ten minutes the officer was back again.
"The jailer says he has no such man, chief," was the report.
"Where is he?"
"I'll inquire."
Back he came in a few minutes.
"Casey had him on the corner waiting for the wagon, sir, but in the
excitement during the fight Casey let go of Checkers for a moment, and
he got away."
Ted could see that the chief was very angry, but he controlled his
temper admirably.
"Very well," was all he said.
He turned and gave Ted a sharp look.
"If you stay around here much longer, you'll have to look out for
Checkers. He's a dangerous man, as well with a knife as with a gun."
"I guess I can take care of him," answered Ted.
"You look as if you could, lad," said the chief.
After a few more minutes of conversation regarding the red motor car,
during which the chief advised Ted to keep the car until he was through
with it, Ted took his leave, and returned to the hotel.
There he found Bud pacing the floor.
"Peevish porcupines," grunted the old cow-puncher, "but you've got
yourself in up to ther neck in printer's ink."
"How's that?" asked Ted.
"Haven't you seen the evening papers?"
"I've been too busy to look at them."
"I reckon you be. Busier than a cranberry merchant. Look at this."
Bud handed Ted a bundle of evening papers.
Of course, the fight between the detectives and the bandits was given an
immense amount of space in the extras which followed one another rapidly
from the presses. In all of them were accounts of Ted's going to the
rescue of the detectives, and the statement that balls from Ted's
revolver had killed two of the gang.
"Rubbish!" said Ted. "I didn't kill any bandits. I took a couple of
shots at them after they had fired on me, that's all."
"Well, yer won't be able to get away from these newspaper stories. If
any of ther gang run across yer, they'll shore go after yer with a hard
plank. Ye've placed ther black mark on yerself with ther gang."
"All right. I can stand it if they can. I've got a few up my sleeve for
them."
Then Ted related exactly how the thing happened, and of his talk with
Desmond.
"And they let that fellow Checkers get away," sighed Ted. "The chief
says he's the most dangerous of them all, and warned me to look out for
him. Bud, I've got a hunch."
"Let her flicker. I'm kinder stuck on yer hunches; they pay dividends
right erlong."
"The fellow in the check suit was the man who tried to stab me because I
wouldn't let him see the anonymous letter. I don't know which was the
real man, Checkers or the other. But there were many points of
similarity between them, and when Checkers called for us to stop the
automobile, it was the voice of the man who commanded me to give him the
letter. Keep Checkers in your mind."
The next morning they went out to Don Dorrington's house and got out the
automobile.
"We'll circulate around pretty well in this," said Ted, "and if
Checkers is in town he'll spot us, and we may get a chance at him yet."
"What do you want with him?"
"I'm depending on him to lead us to headquarters."
For an hour or more they rode about the town, making the machine as
conspicuous as possible.
"Bud, we're being followed," said Ted, nodding toward a yellow car that
had been in evidence oftener than mere chance made possible.
"Yep. I've had him spotted fer some time," answered Bud.
"Why didn't you say something about it?" Ted laughed at Bud's silence.
"Oh, I knew that you were on to it, too," was the characteristic reply.
"What do you suppose he's chasing us for? He must know that he can't
harm us."
"He don't want us. He wants that red car. It's a beautiful piece of red
evidence against him an' his gang. Yer see, it's ther best kinder a
clew."
"Right again. But he needn't think he can steal it, for he can't."
They put the car up during the middle of the day.
"We'll let it rest for a while," said Ted, as they ran it into a public
garage. "This evening we'll take it out again, and if we're followed
then we'll be sure that it is Checkers, and that he is on our trail."
It was seven o'clock when they trundled forth again.
A bright moonlight night made motoring highly enjoyable, and after they
had run about for a couple of hours Bud got out, saying that he was
tired of the sport, and would return to the hotel, and leave Ted to take
the machine back to Don Dorrington's basement.
They had been followed by the yellow car again, but in going through
Forest Park they had managed to give their trailer the slip among the
intricate roads and bypaths, and had seen nothing of him for half an
hour.
As soon as Ted had let Bud out, he hit up the speed, for the boulevard
was comparatively free of traffic, and he fairly spun along to the
western part of the city.
Cutting off the boulevard, he entered upon a side street to make a short
cut to Dorrington's house.
He noticed, as he turned into the side street, a light-colored car
standing close to the curb as he passed, but so many cars were standing
in front of houses here and there that he paid no attention to it.
But he had no sooner passed than the light-colored car glided after him
noiselessly. Ted's own machine was making so much noise that he was not
aware of the presence of another car until it was abreast of him, and so
close that he could reach out his hand and touch it.
He thought the car was trying to pass him close to the curb, and started
to turn out to give it more steerage room.
"Sheer off, there," he called, "until I can get out of here."
Suddenly something wet struck him in the face. He gave a gasp, as a
fearful suffocating pain filled his head and lungs, and he sank down
into the bottom of the car, insensible.
At the same instant the man in the other car reached over and throttled
the red car, then stopped his own.
Leaving his own car in the middle of the road, he leaped into the red
car and gave her her full head.
In half an hour the red car had left the city and was speeding along a
smooth country road in the moonlight.
Ted still lay in a stupor in the bottom of the car, and the only sound
that came from him was an occasional gasp as his lungs, trying to
recover from a shock, took in short gulps of air.
It was midnight before the red car slowed down.
Ahead in the moonlight rose the black bulk of a building.
It presented the appearance of a country house of some pretensions.
The house was dark. Not a light appeared at any of the windows.
The red car approached it cautiously, running into the deep shadow cast
by a high brick wall. A dog on the other side of the wall barked a
warning.
The man in the red car whistled softly in a peculiar way.
A window was raised somewhere, and the whistle was answered by another.
In a few minutes there was the sound of a man walking on a graveled
path, then the creak of rusty iron and a gate swung open.
"All right?" asked a voice at the gate.
"You bet. Got them both," answered the man in the red machine.
"Bully for you. Run her in."
The red machine, with Ted still lying in the bottom, ran into a large
yard, and the gate was closed again, and the car was stopped in front of
the house.
"Come, help me carry him in," said the man in the car. "He'll be coming
around all right in a few minutes, then we may have some trouble with
him, for he's the very devil to fight."
Ted was dragged out of the car in no gentle manner, and carried into the
house, which was unlighted save where the moonlight shone through the
windows.
"Into the strong room with him," said the man of the house.
Ted was carried into a room and dumped upon a lounge. Then a light was
struck, and both men bent over the prostrate form of the leader of the
broncho boys.
Both of them started back.
"Whew! You must have given him an awful dose, Checkers," said the man of
the house.
"Had to do it, Dude. If I hadn't, I'd never got him here, that's a
cinch."
"Well, get his gun off before he comes to."
Ted was stripped of his weapons, a glass of water was thrown into his
face, and he began to regain consciousness.
He had been shot down with an ammonia gun, and the powerful alkaloid gas
had almost killed him. For a long time he breathed in gasps, but his
splendid constitution pulled him through.
When they saw that he was recovering, the two men left the room, after
examining the iron-barred windows, and as they went out they locked and
barred the door behind them.