"Not my son!" shouted the old man. "This has gone quite far enough! Jap,
call the police, and order this mad youngster taken away."
The younger man broke into a harsh laugh and turned to those who had
just entered. Slocum and Chang Chee were whispering together, and a
dangerous looking knife showed in the hand of the false ranger.
"You hear what father says, boys," Lemon said. "Remember that."
"What is this kid doing here, anyway?" demanded Slocum.
"He came here, evidently, for the purpose of blackmailing me," Lemon
said. "He has papers stolen from the mountains--lists, he says they
are--and they should be taken from him by force."
Slocum and Chang Chee started toward the boy, but he waved them back
with his hand.
"I will lay the papers on the table," he said. "You are quite welcome to
them for the present."
"I'll take him down to the police station," said Chang. "He ought not to
be at large. Come, youngster."
"You seem to be able to talk pretty good English now," laughed Ned.
"Much better than the slang you gave out in the mountains."
"Come!" shouted the Chinaman. "You are here alone, so there is no need
of a fight. Come along!"
"We'll see about my being here alone presently," Ned said. "Anyhow, I'd
better be here alone than with any one of you in the dark streets. I
should be murdered before a block was passed. That is what you came to
Frisco for, to murder me--just as the man in the lake cavern was
murdered."
Those in the room looked at each other and remained silent. There was a
tense moment, when every person there seemed gathering for a spring,
when the lust of blood seemed in every glaring eye, but it passed.
"Where are the Chinamen you brought away from the British border?" asked
Ned of Chang Chee. "Are they in this city? Oh," he continued, as Chang
glared at him, "we knew that you were about to bring in a batch. You
usually light forest fires in order to attract the attention of the
rangers when you get ready to unload a band of Chinese on Uncle Sam.
That is Doyers street cunning, Chang!"
"You see," he went on, "we have had the good luck to discover why the
forests in Northern Idaho and Montana have been set on fire so
frequently. I don't care to say what I think of the wisdom of your
course in so attempting to hide your movements, except that it attracted
attention instead of diverting it. You firebugs might have been arrested
long ago," he continued, turning to Slocum, "but it was thought best to
wait until the head center of the whole conspiracy was in the hands of
the law. Now that this has been accomplished, I may speak."
The people standing around the boy looked into each other's faces, and
there was a movement as if to draw weapons.
"Permit me to congratulate you on the discovery of the leader of the
outlaws," the old man said with a snarl. "Perhaps you will be kind
enough to give us his name?"
"There are no objections that I know of," was the reply. "His name is
Felix Emory. You may have heard of him."
"An old acquaintance of my son Albert," the old man said.
"That is the name of the man who was so mysteriously murdered in the
Kintla lake cave," Slocum observed. "Why do you place the crime on the
dead?"
"Felix Emory," Ned said, "is not dead. He is alive at this moment--alive
and in this room!"
The young man broke into a jarring laugh and turned to the old man.
"You remember the strange resemblance between Felix and myself," he
said. "Well, it seems to have deceived this clever young man. By the
way, Slocum, why don't you take the lad to the police station? We have
no more time for him here."
Slocum and another sprang forward, but Ned opened the door with a quick
motion and stood beyond their reach.
"The man found dead in the cave," the boy said, facing the old man, "had
met with an accident in his youth. The first joint of the little finger
of the right hand was missing. Also, there was a scar over his left
eye--a trifling scar, made with a knife in the hands of a playmate. Do
you recall these marks of identification, Mr. Lemon?" he added.
The old man threw his hands to his face and stood silent for a moment
while the others looked on in perplexed silence. When he uncovered his
face again he stepped forward to the man he had called his son on
entering the room.
"Let me see your hands, Albert," he said, kindly. "Bend down so I can
see the scar on your forehead!"
"Step aside, you old fool!" the young man cried, pushing the old man
back rudely. "We have had enough of this, boys," he continued, turning
to the others. "The game is up unless we get rid of this dotard and this
boy. Why don't you get busy?"
The old man dropped into a chair and lifted his face to Ned's.
"You found my son murdered?" he asked. "Then this man Felix Emory stands
in his shoes! Even I was deceived by him! Why, he has been calling upon
me for large sums of money during the past month. He has taken
possession of my boy's rooms. Was it this man Emory who killed him?"
"We believe so," was the reply. "The proof is within reaching distance."
"Out with them both!" shouted Emory.
"Your son Albert took this man in and tried to do something for him,"
Ned went on, "and was robbed and murdered for his pains. This man Emory
was the leader of this choice band of smugglers and firebugs when he
came to your son. The band was on the point of scattering because the
officers were close on their track. They needed a man well up in the
world--a man against whom the breath of suspicion had never been
blown--to represent them in the opium market and the smuggled Chinamen
market. They sent this man Emory to your son with a proposition, and he
turned him down. Then they parted. But Albert knew too much and so he
was lured to the woods and killed, and Emory stood before the world as
your son. It was a devilish plot, great wealth being the object. If you
will look at the stubs in this check-book you will see the difference in
the hand-writing."
"I rather admire your nerve, boy," Slocum said to Ned. "You've got the
right kind of courage to stand up here and tell all this to us. You know
very well that we can never let you go out of this place alive? That
even this old man must suffer for your bit of foolish daring?"
"I'd like to have the training of that kid for a few years," Chang said.
"I could beat the world with him!"
"Well, you all know what we've got to do," Emory said, angrily. "We've
got to get rid of the boy and this old man. If we do not, there is an
end of a rather profitable business. Besides, with Albert Lemon dead, I
become his heir, with no possible chance of being identified as Felix
Emory."
"You devil!" shouted the old man. "You murderer!"
Enraged by the exclamation, Emory made a rush for the old man, but was
stopped by a voice from the doorway opening into the rear room.
"That'll be all for you!" the voice said.
It was Jimmie who stood in the doorway, smiling, and making about the
worst bow a Boy Scout ever made.
"Don't wiggle about so, gentlemen," he added, "for the men behind this
partition have you all covered with repeating rifles, and some of them
are nervous. Stand still while a friend of mine presents you with
wristlets."
Jap turned and faced the frightened group and then pointed to the wall,
near the ceiling, where a line of two-inch holes were seen, at each hole
a shining eye.
"You see," he said, "I cut those holes there to-night, so the boys
wouldn't have to lie hidden under the furniture. There's a gun behind
every one of them. And now, with your permission--"
Jimmie passed out a bunch of clattering, ringing handcuffs, and Jap
slipped them on the wrists of the prisoners. As he did so Frank came
dashing into the room, swinging his cap aloft. Ernest, Jack, Pat and Liu
were there, too, overjoyed at the great victory.
"Wow!" he cried. "Here's a wire saying that the bunch was captured at
Portland to-night, and another from Missoula says the men left in the
caverns were caught yesterday. I have the honor to report, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes Nestor," he added, with a low bow, "that the round-up is
complete."
"Our day will come directly," Emory shouted. "You haven't a word of
proof against any of us. Your story sounds all right here, but wait
until you get into court. Our lawyers will pick your yarn apart like a
rag doll. And you, Jap," he went on, turning to the servant, "when did
you turn against me?"
"There have been two instances of false personation in this case," Ned
said. "You, Emory, personated Albert Lemon, whom you murdered, and you,
Jap, personated the servant Emory brought here after he had seen you
carried out of the rooms for dead."
"Then that isn't my servant at all?" asked Emory.
"I was in the employ of Albert Lemon," answered the Jap, "when you took
him away and killed him. When you came back from the mountains you
caused me to be drugged and killed, as you supposed. But your servant
hesitated in the work. He finally turned against you, and permitted me
to come here in his stead. It was he who disclosed the hiding place of
the duplicate key. He told me, and I told Mr. Nestor."
"It is all a blackmailing conspiracy!" cried Emory.
"When Mr. Nestor came back to the city, three days ago," the servant
went on, "I was told by the man I was personating in these rooms that
the whole plot was known. He said that Mr. Nestor knew that you were not
Albert Lemon, also that I, Albert Lemon's servant, still lived. I didn't
have much to tell him when he came to me, but I told him all I knew."
"And you let him search my rooms?" cried Emory.
"Of course," was the cool reply. "He has everything required to send you
to the gallows for the murder of Albert Lemon, and everything necessary
in the case against the smugglers and firebugs, too. He found Emory's
servant," he added, facing the father, "in a Japanese tea house, and
brought him here to me after the closing scene was set for to-night. You
may talk with him if you want to. He can tell you how the murder of your
son was planned, also how the plot to kill Mr. Nestor in the mountains
was laid--here in these rooms."
Again the old man sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. It
was a severe blow to him. He had arrived in San Francisco that day,
anticipating a pleasant month with his son. And now to find him dead!
"It would be interesting," said Slocum, speaking for the first time
since the arrests, "to know just how this remarkable boy discovered the
connection between this flat and the mountain caves."
"The murder brought the clue," Ned replied. "From the first the clue led
here. And then the key without a stem, the smudge on Emory's finger, the
typewritten sheets, the machine in the mountains--oh, it was all easy
enough after the discovery that this man Emory did not know where Albert
Lemon kept his duplicate key to that desk!
"The case is ended," Ned continued, "and all the parties wanted by the
law are under arrest, so, if you don't mind, gentlemen, I'll go to bed!"
Jack, Pat, Ernest and Liu now advanced into the room and looked
smilingly at their leader.
"You can't lose us," Jack said. "If you don't mind, we'll take you back
to the Rocky Mountains for a little fun with the aeroplane. I guess
there won't be any bold bad smugglers up there to distract our attention
for a few weeks."
"And then," Jimmie cut in, "I hope you'll all go back to little old New
York. I'm hungry and thirsty, and sleepy for a walk down the good old
Bowery and the wise old White Way!"
The case against Felix Emory was so complete that he pleaded guilty on
being arraigned in court and was sentenced to the gallows. Chang
received a long sentence for his connection with the murder, and the
smugglers and firebugs were sent to prison for ten years each.
The clean-up was so complete that Ned was requested to visit Washington
and confer with the Secret Service chief regarding other cases.
"But, after all," he said, on leaving Jimmie and the other boys,
including Ernest and Liu, in New York, "I don't think I want any more
fighting forest fires assignments in the Secret Service. We'll go back
some day and look over the ground, but I don't think I'll ever be able
to get some of those rides in the air out of my mind."
THE END.
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End of Project Gutenberg's Boy Scouts in the Northwest, by G. Harvey Ralphson