AT LAST, THE TERROR'S PICTURE
"That--" Tom Howe spoke slowly, with a suggestion almost of awe in his
voice, "That is the most remarkable picture I have ever seen. In fact,
the thing it reveals is almost unbelievable."
He paused to cast a sweeping glance at his companions. Not one of them,
Tom, John, or Jimmie, said a word. They were waiting for the revelation
they all knew must come.
Down deep inside himself, Jimmie was the most excited of them all, for
the picture which Tom held with fingers that trembled was the one taken
by the old camera set as a trap in the abandoned mansion. What story did
it tell? He could only wait with the rest.
Scottie had done the picture and pronounced it first class. They had
gathered, the four of them, in a small, secret room for a look at it.
Naturally, Tom had the first good look.
"That man," Tom pointed a pencil, "the one in the center, is the Silent
Terror."
"The Terror! Terror! Silent Terror!" they echoed.
"Not a doubt about it," Tom was emphatic. "It's a halfside view. Look at
that ear! There's only one of its kind in the world. See for yourself."
After placing a flat box containing a wax reproduction of an ear on the
table, he held a magnifying glass before the picture.
One look was enough to convince them. "It is! It is!" They were agreed.
"But what--" Jimmie could not go on. Instead he sat staring in
astonishment.
"What is he doing in such company?" John asked. He had recognized in one
of the others the notorious Sharpe.
"The others," said Tom, "are Stumps Sharpe and Tungsten Tom. There can
be but one answer to that question. These professional crooks read about
the Silent Terror and decided that he had something they wanted, silent
death for those who opposed them. So they hunted him up and struck some
sort of a bargain with him."
"And we saw them at it!" Jimmie exclaimed, recalling the night he and
John had watched this terrifying trio in the old mansion.
"And I had a gun on me," John groaned aloud.
"I'm glad you didn't use it," said Tom. "We'll get them and all their
pals. If we don't send them up for trying to get away with those silver
fox skins we'll take them for that diamond robbery. You've got the
proof, the diamonds," he turned to John.
"Oh, no you won't," was John's surprising reply.
"Why--what--" they all turned upon him.
"I took the diamonds over to the man whose safe was robbed," he
explained. "He said the diamonds we took from the old house were very
nice stones, very fine indeed, and worth a lot of money. But--" he
heaved a sigh, then added, "he'd never seen them before."
"Never seen----"
"They were cut in an old-fashioned manner that belongs to another
generation," John went on. "It seems more than probable that the
eccentric old Judge hid them there many years ago.
"So--o," he concluded, "I've filed them away in a vault for future
reference."
"Then," said Tom, "we'll get that gang with the goods on them, the night
they come after those furs. Only--" deep lines appeared on his face.
"That will be taking a desperate chance. If the Terror puts deadly
poison in his silent messengers, his bubbles, you know, the city will be
obliged to employ some new detectives on the morning after.
"Let me see," he puzzled for a moment. "I would throw a guard about the
place now only they might get wise. No, I'll watch that garage. The
truck will give them away."
"And tonight," Jimmie said, "I'll try for a picture from across the
street."
"That--why, yes, I guess that will be O. K." said Tom. "Even if they see
you they won't suspect anything. A boy can go anywhere."
And so the party broke up.
Late that night Jimmie made his way to that dark and forbidding section
of the city in which the tapping had been heard.
Assured by the watchman of the near-by factory that the tapping was
going on again, he took his place well in the shadows behind a window.
His watch was long. Twice he fell asleep to awake with a start. To keep
himself awake he set himself wondering about many things. There was the
ball game that would be played day after tomorrow. Would the Bubble Man
be there? Or, would Tom Howe get him before that? There was the reward.
He wished he might get in on that. It would pay for his first year at
college. People said it was best not to work the first year. Yet he must
work unless----
Was his watch to be futile? Was his theory all wrong? Did those men
enter some other way? He took to studying the windows, the tall
first-story windows, the coal chute and all other possible entrances.
Repair work was going on in the street, had been for days. A new water
main was being laid. A cave-in had delayed the work. The place was
boarded up to hold the earth in place. Seemed like streets in this city
were always torn up. Seemed like----
Once again he fell asleep to wake with a start. This wouldn't do. Dawn
was approaching. A milk wagon lumbered down the street. Those men would
leave with the dawn.
Rising, he began pacing the floor. He had kept this up for a quarter of
an hour when he stopped dead in his tracks to stare in astonishment.
Then he reached for his new camera with the telescopic lens.
What had happened? Two of the boards in that street embankment had been
lifted aside. A man dressed in a workman's garb, was coming out. Jimmie
guessed he was no ordinary workman. Waiting until his full profile was
exposed, the boy snapped his picture twice. Not much light, but perhaps
enough for a sort of shadow picture.
Another man came out, another and yet another. The boards were replaced.
The three men marched down the street. There was in their walk more of a
lockstep than the slow slouch of tired workmen.
Jimmie went down to drink a steaming cup of coffee, then to sleep for
two hours in a big, soft chair.
After that he burst into Scottie's studio to place a film on his table
and exclaim:
"Develop those, Scottie. They'll make us famous."
"Like fun they will!" Scottie laughed.
Nevertheless he did develop them, and, mere shadow pictures taken at
dawn though they were, Tom Howe recognized them at once as pictures of
Piccalo, the Pipe, Stumps Sharpe, and Black Dolan.
"MY PALS!" he exclaimed. "I have a direct tip that the job is to be
pulled tonight and I have a feeling that we shall all meet in the alley
by that fur storage place by the moonlight."
"And the Bubble Man," suggested Jimmie.
"We haven't got him yet," Tom frowned. "I set a watch but someone must
have tipped him off. I feel sure enough that he's got a supply of his
infernal bubbles with him. Question is, what kind of gas is in 'em,
sleeping or killing?"
"Perhaps we'll get him at the ball game tomorrow," Jimmie suggested.
"We'll get him tonight or he'll get us," Tom flashed back grimly.