TRAILED BY RED RIDERS.
The silversmith seemed satisfied that he had effectually unseated Billy
from his highhorse position, and in cat and mouse attitude awaited
complete surrender.
"You--you dare to voice that suspicion?" gasped the boy. "We never heard
or even dreamed of such a plot, and with the coming of the shock hadn't
the least idea what caused it."
"Is it not true that the pair of you at the very moment of the explosion
were preparing to speed in aeroplanes to the rescue of at least two of
the plotters?"
Ricker smiled as he presented what appeared to him to be a poser.
"Only half a truth," cried Henri, "with the worst half added by you. We
did intend to offer Roque a saving turn in one of his own machines, for
old acquaintance sake, but not in the connection that you put it. For
even that much, I know, you have us against the wall, but let me tell
you, sir, if the worst comes to the worst we will confess our part to
our friend Colonel Malinkoff and he can weigh the testimony that the
three of us can give."
This dropped Ricker, not only to a seat on a workbench, but in point of
argument. Just back of him were the battered remains of a time-clock,
with twisted wires still attached, for the custody of which he was
responsible to the authorities, and about which, as an expert, he was
expected to report the next morning. It was a part of the infernal
machine dug out of the ruins of the war depot!
Both Billy and Henri were quick to observe that the silversmith was
about all in, so to speak, and more than willing to play quits.
The man who had missed his reckoning an hour in the setting of a spring
was not now disposed to perpetuate the error!
As the boys were about to push aside the curtain and get out into the
open, a small bell suspended from the ceiling of the workroom softly
tinkled. Ricker was on his feet in an instant and holding a finger to
his lips.
At the store entrance some rapid-fire Russian was being exchanged, and
Billy took the liberty of peeping through a slit in the drapery behind
which he was concealed. The look was a blood freezer.
Nikita, the Cossack, and the hairy clerk were having it hammer and tongs
about something, when all of a sudden the red rider unhanded one of his
heavy leather gloves and with it struck the queer shop attendant full in
the face.
Of all the malignant looks that Billy had ever seen on human countenance
the blackest was pictured in the glaring eyes of the fierce servitor,
who, retreating before the assaulting Cossack, had backed against the
counter.
Ricker, catching the drift of the quarrel in front, turned quickly, and
noiselessly pushed aside, in well-oiled grooves, a solid-back plate
case, and to the opening revealed in the wall he beckoned the boys. "He
is evidently after you, for some reason," whispered the silversmith;
"claims that he trailed you here. Is he friend or foe? Tell me quick."
Without a word, Billy and Henri classed the hunter outside as a decided
enemy by hurriedly slipping through the aperture, the case smoothly
shutting the way behind them.
It was not in the program of Ricker that his shop should be the scene of
an arrest, and, too, it was now in his interest that the boys should
escape the probe of any investigation.
Having disposed of this dangerous exhibit in his back room, the
silversmith hastened to the front to pacify, if possible, the unruly
intruder.
Ricker, showing his best professional smile, stepped between the
frowning Cossack and the enraged clerk, speaking a sharp word of warning
to the latter, and asking the former what it was that he desired.
"Ah, two boys, air drivers, you say? I know them not. Reported to be in
my shop? There cannot be good eyesight around here. Everything is open.
This way, please."
The silversmith moved backward, closely followed by the Cossack and
several others of his kind, and pulled the curtains aside, with a
sweeping gesture of invitation to search at will.
Though the keenest of trackers in the great outdoors, the red riders
were at a loss when it came to detective work within four walls. They
prodded with their lances bundles of wrapping paper in the several dark
corners of the workroom and poked their heads into all of the packing
cases, but with cunningly designed entrances into secret apartments they
had no experience.
At last, scowling and grumbling, the baffled searchers marched
themselves out of the shop. As the Cossack, Nikita, passed out the queer
clerk shook a fist at the crimson-clad back, mumbling frightful
maledictions to himself.
The silversmith assumed a busy manner, shifting the stock display on the
shelves, winding clocks, and generally bustling about as if making up
for lost time.
All this time the boys were completely shut off from every sight and
sound in the musty room behind the plate-case.
"Wonder how long this lockup is going to last, Henri?"
"Until the shutters are put up in front, I suppose, Billy."
"That's entirely too long for me," impatiently asserted the boy from
Bangor. "Let's see if there isn't some other outlet to this den."
But with all the sounding and pounding they could do, the lads found no
back way to the dismal room.
And, too, they were baffled again and again by the mechanism of the
sliding door by which they had entered.
Nothing more to do than to await the pleasure of the silversmith, and so
they awaited, hour upon hour, seated on a rickety sofa, nursing their
chins in their hands.
The one little, cobwebby window at the top of the dingy wall in front of
them no longer showed light.
Then there was a click, a faint squeak, and Ricker appeared in the
opening, cleared by the movement of the sliding case.
"Have they gone?" eagerly inquired Henri.
"Apparently so, but Hamar is out now to make sure that they have not set
a watch on the place."
"There'll be somebody else hunting for us if we don't get away pretty
soon, and that will be a squad from headquarters. The lieutenant,"
concluded Billy, "is mighty particular about the off-duty hours that the
aviators keep."
Hamar, the hairy lieutenant, had been a long time gone, and Ricker had
difficulty in persuading the boys to lay quiet until positive assurance
came that the coast was clear. With the next striking of the big clock
in the square--it was eight--Billy declared against further delay.
"I really believe that Marovitch and Salisky have returned, without
reason to the contrary have given the Cossack what they know of our
history and identified us with the last trip to Petrograd. So what's the
use of further dodging? It will all come out, and if they hitch us onto
the explosion plot--well, you can guess the rest."
Ricker squirmed in his chair. "Say," he pleaded, "hide here for a day or
two and we will find a way to get you both across the river."
"No," declared Henri. "I'm going to put it up to Colonel Malinkoff this
very night. He can, and I believe he will, save us from the fate of
spies."
"But what about me? Am I to be betrayed?"
The silversmith's right hand was buried to the wrist within the
breast-front of the loose coat he wore.
There was a muffled knock at the front door, twice repeated.
"Hamar," muttered the silversmith, lowering his hand. "Stay where you
are," he hissed to the boys. With the turning of a ponderous key the
wild-eyed servitor, hooded to the shoulders, pushed his way through the
space in the half-opened door.
"Where in Satan's name have you been?" growled Ricker.
The hairy man laughed--and it was a laugh to curdle the blood.