THE PURSUIT IN THE DARK
Day followed day but that bird of prey did not appear. "A watched pot
never boils," said Henry at last, trying to conquer his impatience; and
he turned his mind from the task of following the automobile driver to
the even more difficult task of securing one of the dollars. For
sooner or later the wireless patrol would have to procure one of these
mysterious coins. But Henry could see no way to accomplish that end
without alarming the quarry. Day after day the little patrol discussed
the question. It was useless to think of securing a coin from the man
on the cliff, from the grocer's boy, or from the grocer himself; for
none of the three had possession of the coins very long after they were
marked. And what became of the coins after they left the grocer's
hands could as yet be only guessed at.
Again and again, as the days passed, the members of the wireless patrol
discussed the secret of the dollars, but nowhere could they find even
the suggestion of a solution. Slowly time dragged on. Day followed
day. The watch grew monotonous and tiresome. There were no signs of
hostile activity in the hawk's nest and the secret service had no
suspicious telephone conversations to report. It required all their
resolution to keep the young scouts at their task of listening in.
They even began to think that they had been detected and that the
activities of the spy in the hawk's nest were ended.
Then, one afternoon, galvanizing them to sudden action, came a cryptic
message from the secret service, announcing that the Federal Sugar
Company could use experienced refiners at once. Henry took the
message, and recalling what Captain Hardy had told the woman when they
went to see the motor-cycle, at once guessed its meaning. He ran to
Captain Hardy and repeated it.
"You guessed rightly," said Captain Hardy. "Hereafter we, too, have to
use code messages, and we just carried out the spy idea about sugar.
This message is to warn us that transports are sailing. Go to your
stations, boys."
Lew flew back to the wireless. Roy and Willie hustled down to the pine
grove. Henry, his heart beating fast, hurried away to his motorcycle
station.
For a long, long time nothing happened. Then a line of transports came
into view. Presently the spy appeared at his window, sweeping the
channel with his powerful glasses. For several moments he studied the
passing ships carefully, then withdrew from the window and was lost to
sight. In a very few moments the scouts saw the grocer's boy, with his
basket and a few small packages, enter the house, then hurry away. Roy
trailed him directly to the grocery store, but did not enter.
Henry, meantime, impatient, like Paul Revere, "to mount and ride,"
stood peering out of a tiny window of the garage, awaiting the expected
motor-car. In his eagerness minutes seemed like hours. As time passed
and no motorcar came, he began to believe that none would come, that
the spies had learned of the trap set for them, and that they had
discontinued their work or devised some new plan of operation. So
impatient did Henry become that he could hardly refrain from running
into the street to see if any motor-cars were approaching. At last his
anxiety was relieved. He heard the regular beating of a motor climbing
the hill. Then as he glued his eye to the tiny window the familiar
car, a powerful roadster, with its top raised, rolled by. Again Henry
tried to catch the number and failed. Then he knew that the
dust-covered license number was not dust covered by accident. Quickly
he noted the treads of the tires, and the shape of the wheel hubs,
axles, and springs, so that he could identify the car. Then it passed
from his sight.
And now his anxiety suddenly grew a hundredfold. Always before, the
car had returned the way it came. Suppose that this time it should go
back by another route and he should miss it. He could not endure the
thought. Quickly he opened the door and peered forth. The driver was
just turning his car, as he had always done before. The matter was
settled. He would pass Henry's hiding place on his return. Quickly
Henry shut the door and waited with what patience he could command.
for what seemed like an hour he waited. His pulse beat fast with
excitement. He could hardly compel himself to stand quietly by his
window and wait. The old fear that the motorist had gone away by some
other route returned and began to torture him. He wanted to run out
into the street and assure himself that the car was still in sight.
And then, when it seemed he could endure the suspense not a second
longer, he heard the purring of a motor, and the car he was waiting for
slid quietly by and began to descend the hill toward the ferry.
At once a new fear sprang up in Henry's heart. Suppose the motor-cycle
wouldn't go. Suppose he should be so slow as to miss the ferry-boat.
Desperately he flung open the door and trundled his motor-cycle out to
the street. The roadster was only a block ahead of him. Speedily
Henry pushed the cycle along the road. The motor began to bark and
Henry leaped to the saddle. In another instant he was speeding after
the roadster and was already so near it that he had to jam on his brake
to avoid coming up to it. Near the ferry there was more traffic and
Henry felt relieved. He dropped back a little distance and was almost
completely hidden from the roadster by the carts and cars between them.
So they proceeded to the ferry, the suspected driver bringing his
roadster to a halt near the front of the ferry-boat just as Henry,
following a string of wagons and carts, reached the other end of the
craft. Then the whistle blew and the boat pulled out into the Bay.
But Henry had now no eyes for the sights in the harbor that had
formerly so fascinated him. His entire attention was centred on the
roadster. The driver of the roadster remained in his seat, calmly
looking out over the Bay. Henry stood his machine against a post and
sought a position near by where he was sheltered from the spy's
observation by a huge coal truck, but where he could himself distinctly
see the roadster by peering through the spokes of the truck wheels.
Again he made a mental inventory of the distinguishing features of the
car he was following. And before the ferry-boat reached Manhattan he
could have passed a perfect examination as to the appearance of the
roadster.
It was already dusk when the boat slid into its slip, and the heavy
clouds overhead gave promise of a dark night. Henry was thankful. Up
Broadway he followed the roadster at a safe distance, then up Park Row,
and so to the Brooklyn Bridge. Across this magic structure, one
hundred and fifty feet above the surface of the water, Henry continued
to follow the roadster. The great buildings, piled skyward in huge
masses, were twinkling with a million lights. Boats were coming and
going on the stream below. Electric cars followed one another across
the bridge in endless procession. Elevated railway trains thundered
past unceasingly. Up-stream shone the fairy lights of the other
bridges that span the East River. The Navy Yard lay in full view. But
the scene that at other times Henry would have found entrancing, now he
scarcely noticed. He had eyes for one thing only--the rolling
motor-car ahead of him and the red eye that now glowed at its rear.
He turned on his light and at a safe distance followed the roadster,
which was heading due east. They passed the business portions of
Brooklyn. They left Prospect Park behind them. They traversed a
region of apartment-houses. Then came less thickly settled districts,
with block after block of private residences, each in its own little
yard. And so they proceeded to the very outskirts of the city, where
houses gave place to vacant lots and vacant lots were succeeded by open
fields. Darkness had come. Traffic had grown less and less. Now
there were no sheltering vehicles between himself and the roadster. A
great fear of discovery sprang up in Henry's heart. He switched off
his light, risking arrest, and rode on in the darkness. Occasionally
he passed under a lone street lamp. And now he understood why his
machine was enameled black instead of being nickel finished. It gave
back no answering gleam when beams of light fell upon it. It was made
for just the secret sort of work it was doing now. For, with his motor
completely muffled, his lamp extinguished, Henry was now riding through
the night like a dark shadow.
Long before this, Henry had slipped the proper map from its case and
had followed his route as far as he was able to see. Though his eyes
could no longer pierce the darkness, Henry knew that he was passing
through a lonely, undeveloped section of land. Dimly he glimpsed tiny
bits of woodland here and there. The lonely lights Henry occasionally
saw were the lamps in isolated farmhouses. He could no longer tell
exactly where he was, though he knew the road he was following. But he
had watched his speedometer closely and he knew he was traveling about
twenty miles an hour. He was keeping pace with the motor-car, but
riding several hundred yards behind it. So they continued for a long
time.
Suddenly the motor-car swung round a curve and vanished from sight.
Henry knew the car had rounded a curve because he saw the lights swing.
A minute later as he was about to reach the curve himself, he heard the
rapid beating of hoofs and a team of horses came tearing round the bend
and charged straight at him. Evidently the driver had lost control of
them and it flashed into Henry's mind that they had been frightened by
the roadster ahead. But he had no time to think of anything. The
frantic animals bore down on him like an express-train. Quick as
thought Henry turned sharply to the right and threw on his power. The
horses were almost upon him. The driver glimpsed him, cursed him
savagely for having no light, and gave a powerful heave on the reins.
The horses swerved in one direction as Henry shot in the other, missing
them by less than a foot. Before he could straighten his machine
again, it had left the road and was plunging over the rough surface of
a field.
Henry jammed his brake on so suddenly that it toppled him from the
saddle, but neither he nor the machine was injured. He turned the
motor-cycle about and headed for the road. And now his hair almost
stood on end. In the darkness he could dimly see some great lumber
piles, as large as houses. He had all but crashed into them at high
speed. Now he understood why the roadster's light had disappeared when
the car turned the curve. It had been hidden by these great lumber
piles. Rapidly Henry ran back to the road. He knew the motor-car
would now be far ahead of him. He should have to hasten to overtake
it. He ran along the highway, pushing his machine, and leaped to the
saddle when the engine began to explode regularly. Then he turned the
curve and peered ahead into the darkness. The road seemed to lie
straight before him, but the motor-car had utterly vanished.
For a moment Henry rode on, almost bewildered. Then he looked rapidly
about him. No farmhouse was in sight to which the motorcar might have
gone. No light gleamed anywhere. But he could dimly see trees here
and there. And he made out a wooden fence lining the left side of the
road.
"Lucky I didn't shoot in that direction when I met that team," muttered
Henry. "I'd have gone clear through that fence." He dismounted, set
his machine up, and took out his pocket torch. Holding it close to the
road, he began to examine the highway. "There are the marks of his
rear tires," he muttered.
And thankful indeed was the puzzled scout that he had learned so well
at Camp Brady to observe carefully. He mounted his wheel and rode a
few hundred yards further. Then he examined the road again. He found
the tracks he was searching for. He rode on and dismounting, found in
two places the telltale marks. But the third time he examined the
highway there were no marks of the roadster's tires visible.
"He left the road between this point and the last stop," murmured Henry.
He went back a hundred feet and searched. There were no tire marks.
Another hundred feet showed no prints in the dust. But the third
hundred revealed the wheel marks. "Ah!" said Henry, "he turned off
close by."
He set his wheel against the fence and went forward, following the
prints with his light, which he shaded carefully and held close to the
road. Within fifty feet the marks turned straight off to the left.
The car had passed from the highway through a gap in the fence, into an
open field. What the field was like Henry could only conjecture. He
dared not flash his light around to see.
He ran back and got his machine, then followed the wheel prints into
the field. They did not show readily on the grassy surface, and soon
he had lost them altogether. At first a sense of fear clutched at his
heart. He recalled his leader's words as to the dangerous nature of
this duty. Here he was in exactly the lonely situation his captain had
foreseen, by himself, and with no means of defense. The enemy he was
trailing had disappeared. He might be a mile distant or he might be
waiting for his pursuer, behind the nearest tree. Henry shivered with
fear and stood irresolute. But the feeling passed when he realized
that he had lost the trail, that his quarry had escaped him, that he
had failed his captain. A wave of remorse swept over him. The sense
of fear left him entirely, and he bent all his energies to the task of
finding the motor-car. He hid his wheel in a thicket that he might
work faster, pausing only to snatch from it the metal cane fastened to
the frame.
Cautiously he glided forward, crouching as he moved, and taking
advantage of every rock and bush he could see to screen himself. He
held his breath and listened. Now he crept forward a foot at a time.
Now he advanced swiftly for yards. He worked his way to the right and
the left. But nowhere could he see what he was searching for, and no
betraying sound came out of the thick blackness.
"It's no use," he said to himself bitterly, after he had searched for a
quarter of an hour. "I have lost him, and if I am not careful I'll
lose his message as well."
Near by he could dimly discern a tall stump. He ran over to it and on
it laid his map, a pencil, his electric torch, his knife, the wires
that he had been carrying in his pocket, and the giant fountain pen.
Grasping the tip of his cane he gave a sharp tug and an inner lining
slid outward. From this he drew out a third length, and from that a
fourth. His metal cane was in reality an extension rod, not unlike a
telescoping fishing-rod. It was fully ten feet long. In its curved
handle was a small opening, like a keyhole. Into this Henry jammed the
bayonet connection that terminated one of the wires. The other end of
the wire he thrust into a like opening in the side of his big fountain
pen. Into the opposite side of his pen he fastened one end of his
second wire, attaching the other end of this wire to his knife, which
he thrust deep into the earth. Then, raising the extended cane aloft
with his left hand, he put the point of his fountain pen to his right
ear and listened. The mysterious articles that the secret service had
supplied constituted a complete wireless receiving set. He could catch
any message sent from a point within six or eight miles.
He was not a moment too soon. Hardly had he gotten the fountain pen
adjusted before there came a crackling in his ear. He rested his cane,
upright, against the stump, and began to tune his instrument by sliding
the cap of the fountain pen in and out. In a second he had tuned it
perfectly. The sounds came to him with startling clearness.
"He's near at hand," muttered Henry.
He seized his pencil and wrote down on his map the letters that were
sounding in his ear. Then with frantic haste he disconnected his
instrument, telescoped his extension cane, and gathered up the
different articles and thrust them into his pockets. As rapidly as he
could pick his way, he went back to his hidden machine. He fastened
the metal cane in place, and got everything ready for a quick start.
Suddenly a faint purring noise came to his ears. "Ah!" muttered Henry,
"he's started his motor. He's off in that direction. What shall I do?"
His first impulse was to run at speed toward the purring motor, and to
try to locate exactly the position of the hidden wireless station. But
discretion showed him that was not wise. The spy might turn his lights
on at any moment and Henry would be caught. Then everything was lost.
"I must make sure I can find the place in the daytime," muttered Henry.
Carefully he gauged the sound, deciding whence it came. "He's right
off there," he said. And with his heel he made a long mark in the
turf, pointing straight toward the sound.
Almost before he finished, the sound grew louder and Henry knew the car
was advancing. He shrank back into the thicket, dragging his
motor-cycle with him. An instant later the roadster rolled softly
past, not more than fifty feet distant. In a moment more the car had
reached the fence and turned into the highway. Its lights suddenly
flashed out and the car went bowling down the road toward Brooklyn.
Henry leaped from the thicket and ran toward the highway, pushing his
motor-cycle before him. He paused at the opening in the fence, and
with his knife smoothed a space on one of the posts and marked a cross
on it with his pencil. Then he ran to the highway, started his motor,
and was soon flying down the road in pursuit of the roadster. And as
he had come, so he returned, with lights out, until Brooklyn was
reached and the streets were once more alive with traffic.
At a safe distance he followed the unsuspecting motorist and saw him
turn into a private yard in Flatbush. Instantly Henry dismounted,
thrust his wheel behind a hedge that fenced a private residence, and
gained a position where he could watch the spy's house. He saw the spy
close and lock his garage and enter the house. Stealthily Henry
approached and noted the house number. At the corner he got the name
of the street. Then he hurried back to his hidden motor-cycle and was
soon flying back to his comrades at the eagle's nest.