THE MAN IN THE GIG
Ben instantly thought of the mysterious visitor reported by their
neighbor a few evenings previous. He hurriedly slipped on a few
clothes and was down the front stairs in three jumps.
“Be careful, Ben,” Mr. Hardy called after him, also aroused by Mrs.
Hardy, and getting ready to join his son in a search for the intruder
in the yard below.
Ben unlocked the rear door and rushed out into the yard. As he passed
the back porch he grabbed up the end of a hard wood hoe handle,
broken off short and used by Mrs. Hardy to brace the screen door.
Ben’s first glance was toward his beloved flying machine. He was
immensely relieved to discover no one near it. Apparently it had
not been disturbed. The gate of the work yard stood open, and also
the door of the work shed. With a spring Ben pushed this door shut,
slipped the heavy latch, and standing on guard armed with the hoe
handle awaited the arrival of his father.
Mrs. Hardy had lit a lamp and set it in the rear window upstairs, so
that its rays might throw an illumination over the yard. When Mr.
Hardy appeared he carried the lighted cellar lantern.
“Where is the trespasser, Ben?” he inquired.
“In there, if anywhere,” said Ben, tapping lightly on the shed door
with the end of his club. “Mother says she saw a man go into the
shed.”
Mr. Hardy undid the catch while Ben stood ready for assault or
defence. His father had the lantern beyond the open doorway, and in
his usual mild and inoffensive way inquired:
“Is anybody there?”
“There doesn’t seem to be,” said Ben, peering past his father as
there was no response to the challenge.
Both entered the shed. They could not discover the slightest
indication that there had been any trespasser in evidence since they
had last visited the place, earlier in the evening. Everything was in
its accustomed place. Ben took the lantern and flashed its rays in
all the remote cluttered-up corners of the structure.
“A false alarm, I guess,” he reported finally.
“But your mother is positive that she saw a man enter the shed,”
suggested Mr. Hardy.
“Then it was some wandering tramp,” decided Ben, “and he slipped out
while I was getting down stairs. At all events, nothing appears to
have been disturbed or taken.”
They closed up the shed and returned to the house. Ben drew his bed
up close to the window of his room, to command a good view of the
rear yard. He watched without results for nearly two hours and then
fell asleep.
“We are having quite a series of midnight alarms,” remarked Mr. Hardy
at the breakfast table the next morning.
“I hope they don’t signify anything of importance,” observed Ben.
“The man with the lantern the other night, and this latest visitor
with a bag over his shoulder, are certainly mysterious.”
Ben went out to the shed and looked it over searchingly in the
daylight. Nothing was missing, so far as he could discover. As he
started to return to the house, however, he paused, stooped over and
picked up something from the floor.
It was an unfamiliar object about the size of a big breastpin. It
resembled a badge, for at the back of it was a hinged pin and a snap
catch to hold the pin in place. The front of the device consisted of
a dozen criss-cross alternate threads of copper and silver. These
were of wavy formation and resembled spider’s legs.
“How did this ever get here?” ruminated Ben. “It wasn’t here
yesterday afternoon, for it is too conspicuous to miss. Maybe our
midnight visitor with the bag dropped it.”
“Now then, for a good day’s work,” said Mr. Hardy briskly, appearing
on the scene.
“Father, do you suppose some one is trying to get us into trouble?”
“Who, for instance?”
“Well, Mr. Saxton.”
“Why should he? No, he will not disturb me as long as I keep quiet
about that suit on the patents.”
“I don’t like these mysterious night callers,” said Ben.
“They haven’t done us any harm yet.”
“But they may. Some one did visit the work shed last night.”
“How do you know that?”
Ben showed the strange pin he had found, and told his suspicions.
“You mustn’t let these things bother you, Ben,” advised his father
sensibly. “No harm has been done to our machine as yet. I intend to
lay a wire around the yard connected with a bell in the house, that
will alarm us if anybody comes near the work shed.”
“That is a good idea,” said Ben.
They were so interested in their mutual work till noon, that both for
the time being forgot their suspicions and fears.
“I’ll have to ask you to do an errand for me, Ben?” said Mr. Hardy
after dinner.
“What is that, father?”
“I need some headless screws of a certain pattern. None of the
hardware stores in town keep them. I won’t ask any favors of the
Saxton people.”
“No, no, don’t be under any obligations to Mr. Saxton, father.”
“I think you can get the screws from the Diebold works. At any rate,
you see my friend, John Earle, the superintendent at Martinsville,
and tell him what I want. If he hasn’t got them, he can probably tell
you where you can get them.”
Mr. Hardy gave Ben a sample of what he wanted. Ben started on foot
for Martinsville. He reached the Diebold plant and was received in
a friendly fashion by the superintendent. Mr. Earle asked about
his father. He drew enough out of Ben to guess that there was some
trouble at the Saxton works. He told Ben to inform his father that he
was coming over to Woodville to see him in a day or two.
“As to the screws, we haven’t got the size,” explained the
superintendent. “I am sure you can get those at Satterly’s shop, in
Auburndale. Our wagon is going there in a few minutes, and you can
ride over.”
“Thank you, Mr. Earle,” said Ben, and ten minutes afterward he was
posted on the seat of the factory wagon beside the driver. It was
six miles to Auburndale. Ben planned to return to Woodville by the
railroad.
Satterly’s was a carriage shop, and Ben found what he wanted there.
He made an inquiry as to trains, and learned that one would pass for
Woodville in about half an hour.
He strolled leisurely towards the depot, the screws in his pocket,
and was turning a street corner when a vehicle going at a good stiff
pace passed him.
It flashed by him quickly, but not until its driver was seen and
recognized by Ben.
“Hello!” exclaimed Ben. “That’s the man I saw talking with Tom
Shallock in Woodville—the man I am looking for!”
The next moment Ben changed his course, darting down the street in
hot pursuit of the man in the gig.