THE VANISHING CHINAMAN
On his way home Johnny met Goggles. “Great work, Goggles!” he exclaimed
with enthusiasm. “That stunt of yours sure drew a crowd.”
“Ye-a,” Goggles said with a drawl. “There was a time, though, when it
looked as if the old ump and I’d be mobbed. That Fairfield bunch played a
mean trick on us. Ought to be thrown out of the League.”
“Oh I don’t know.” Johnny paused for thought. “You couldn’t prove a
member of their team did it. We licked ’em good and plenty. That should
be enough. Anyway, they don’t stand high in the League. Centralia—there’s
the team we’ve got to watch out for!”
“Say!” Goggles’ big eyes bulged. “I think Hop Horner and I have got a new
pitcher for you.”
“A new pitcher?” Johnny stared. “What’s the matter with the ‘Prince’?”
“Nothing. Only—” Goggles’ voice dropped to a low, mysterious note, “this
pitcher’s different.”
“He’ll have to go some if he’s as different as the ‘Prince.’”
“You’ll be surprised! Tell you what.” The young inventor’s tone changed.
“You know that open space out in the center of the pine grove?”
“Yes, sure.”
“Meet me there day after tomorrow about two in the afternoon. I—I’ll
bring this—this er—pitcher round. Let—well, sort of let him throw over a
few.”
“All right, I’ll be there. But I don’t see—” Johnny looked up. Goggles
was gone.
“Now what’s he up to!” Johnny muttered as he turned toward home.
“I’ll wander over to that Chink spice shop,” he told himself with sudden
resolve. “See if Tao Sing’s there.” He felt in his pocket. Yes, the
latest think-o-graph of the wise Wung Lu’s thoughts was there. He would
give it to Tao Sing and then go right home.
“You want Tao Sing?” the clerk behind the counter asked as Johnny entered
the shop.
“Sure.”
“No can do.” The Chinaman showed all his yellow teeth in a broad grin.
“Tao Sing gone velly fast, velly far, mebby not come back velly quick.”
He laughed a dry mirthless laugh.
“Oh!” Johnny’s eyes swept the place nervously.
“I—maybe I’ll come back some other time.” As he slid out of the place
Johnny barely escaped bumping into two slim young men who had an air of
watchful waiting about them.
“Federal agents, like as not,” was the thought that struck him all of a
heap. Experience had taught him that the best detectives of today were
likely to be young, slender and quick. These were of that sort.
Finding himself still free, he hurried away.
“Perhaps I ought to tell them,” he thought. And then, a moment later,
“Tell them what?” What, indeed? What did he know about Tao Sing that
Federal agents should know? Little enough, that was certain. “Know he
wants to salt down some of Wung Lu’s wisdom,” he chuckled. Then of a
sudden it occurred to him that the sort of knowledge he had secured from
Wung Lu’s thoughts might not be that which wise men would record in a
book of Chinese philosophy.
“Like to read just one of them,” he told himself. He fingered the small
metal box in his pocket. “I can’t,” he sighed. “It’s all Chinese.”
Next morning Johnny, Doug, and old Professor George went to the bank and
drew out a thousand dollars. “Whew! What a lot of money!” Doug whispered.
They carried it to Big Bill Tyson’s office.
“Here it is, William,” Professor George squeaked in his high-pitched
voice. “Here’s your first payment on the baseball grounds.”
“Fine! Fine!” Big Bill’s eyes shone as if he were truly glad. And perhaps
he was. Big Bill loved money. “Here’s the contracts you’ll have to sign.”
He wheeled about in his swivel chair. “One for you and one for me. Don’t
mind signin’ with them, do you Professor? Mere matter of form. Boys are
under age, you know.”
“No. I’ll sign the contracts, William.” The aged professor’s smile was a
fine thing to see. “I’m always glad to help the boys out. And William,
I’m proud to see that you’re willing to do your part.”
Big Bill’s eyes squinted in a strange way.
“Oh! Yes!” His voice seemed unusually loud and a trifle off key like the
dong of a cracked bell. “Yes, Professor, you and I must help the boys out
when we can. Here—you sign right there, all three of you. And then this
one.”
He stood up when all had signed. “Well boys, I wish you luck.” Just then,
strangely enough, a cloud passed over the sun. It left Big Bill’s face in
a shadow that to Johnny’s keen imagination seemed a mask. A moment later
they were out in the open air and the sun had escaped from behind the
cloud.
That evening Johnny got out the two strange objects he had taken from the
deserted bungalow—the battery and the bright tube. He studied them a long
time, screwing them together and unscrewing them many times. “I’d like to
know,” he murmured. “Those were the men who flew over the ball field, I
am sure of that. They had these. Wonder if Goggles still has those two
powders. Hope he has.” With that he hid the battery and tube along with
the thought-camera at the bottom of his trunk.
“Oh Johnny! Come in here a minute.” It was old C.K. the editor who called
to Johnny from his door next day.
“Just thought I’d tell you,” C.K. said as Johnny took a seat in his
office, “that, mebby you didn’t know it, but Big Bill Tyson drove a sharp
bargain with you boys and old Professor George yesterday.”
“A—a sharp bargain!” Johnny stared. “We didn’t pay too much did we?”
“N—no. The price is a fair one,” C.K. drawled. “But!” He sat straight up.
“How you boys going to raise four thousand dollars in sixty days?”
“Four thou—”
“That’s the contract you signed. Doug showed it to me yesterday. Didn’t
say anything to him about it. Wanted to think it over.
“Of course—” he sank back in his chair, “you boys can’t be held for it,
but the contract is binding. Four thousand dollars in sixty days, five
thousand more in three years—that’s the way it reads. And, as it stands
Professor George is stuck for it. He signed you know. He’s got a little
house and a few investments. I figure it will about clean him out. Tough,
I’d say!”
“Why! I—it can’t happen!” Johnny exploded. “Big Bill tricked us!”
“Guess that’s right,” C.K. agreed. “Too bad! But a contract is a
contract.”
“Four thousand dollars!” Doug groaned when Johnny told him of it. “And to
think good old Professor George will have to suffer for our blunder! Of
course he wouldn’t suspect Big Bill. Professor George is so honest and
kind himself, he’d never suspect a trick. Johnny, we’ve just got to do
something.”
“Sure we have,” Johnny agreed. “But just think! Four thousand in sixty
days!”
“Four thousand. Sixty days,” Doug repeated after him. This was followed
by a vast silence.