THE OLD HOUSE.
"Did you hear a scream, Garry?" asked Dick, as he stopped in his tracks.
"I am sure I did, Dick," answered the leader, "but I was wondering
whether it meant anything. You know this isn't the quietest and most
lamb-like part of the city, it is probably only some carousing
lumberjacks."
"Let's wait a minute or two and see if we can hear anything more,"
suggested Phil.
They waited a short time, and were about to move on, when the scream was
repeated, and the boys distinctly heard a call for help.
"All set, boys, let's see what this is all about," cried Dick, who
though fat, and sometimes inclined to take things easily, was not a bit
of a coward.
"Wait a minute, fellows, let's see what our plan is," said Garry,
hurriedly. "Remember we have no weapons, so every move must be made
carefully. There are three floors. Dick, take the top, Phil you search
the second, I'll take the ground floor. Go through the halls, listen
carefully, and at the first sign of anything, whistle three times and
the others will join whoever gives the whistle. Now, let's go!"
"One more thing," said Garry; "when you climb the stairs, step on the
end either near the wall or the balustrade, then the steps won't be so
apt to creak."
They found the front door open and made their way inside. The interior
of the house was in inky blackness.
"Careful, now," warned Garry. "Whistle at the first sign of trouble, no
matter how slight it is."
Phil and Dick sprang up the stairs, noiselessly, yet speedily. There was
not a sign of noise, all was as quiet as a cemetery at midnight.
Left alone, Garry went along the hall, stopping at each door and
listening intently. He was unrewarded until he came to the end door.
Here he thought he heard a sound of scuffling and squealing. Cautiously
he tried the door, holding a flashlight ready in his hand. As he opened
the door and stepped into the darkness, he saw the gleam of two small
eyes, then heard a frightened scampering across the floor.
Garry snapped on his flashlight and then gave a relieved laugh. The
noise had been caused by nothing more than a pair of rats, who had been
feasting on the remains of a supper on a rickety old table.
The broken bits of food, the unwashed dishes, and the empty cans showed
that someone evidently lived in the house, and only recently and
probably surrepticiously as the thick dust that lay everywhere seemed to
indicate that the house had not been regularly occupied for some time.
Garry saw a door at one side of the kitchen, for that was the room into
which he had penetrated, and carefully opened it. The door led into a
long room, with a half a dozen tables, bare of cloth, and with chairs
stacked on them.
From the appearance of this room, and judging by the big range in the
kitchen from which he had just come, Garry decided that the house was
used in the winter as a boarding house for lumberjacks.
He went back to the kitchen and opened the only other door. A cool draft
told him this was the cellar, and he listened intently, then flashing
his light, went down the steps. A few moments' investigation showed him
that there was no living person down there. The air was musty, and the
cellar seemed damp.
While Garry was examining the lower floor, Phil and Dick had gone up the
stairs. Here, too, all was quiet. Wishing Phil a hasty good luck, Dick
began the ascent of the flight that led to the third floor.
Left alone, Phil stood stockstill for a few minutes, getting his
bearings. There was a long hall from which led off ten doors, five on
either side.
Phil decided he could do nothing better than go from door to door,
listening intently at each one, then enter the room and flash his light
about, for each of the boys had provided himself with a heavy batteried
flashlamp.
He wondered where the screams could have come from, as there wasn't a
sound of anyone stirring on the floor. He could hear Dick's stealthy
footfall above him occasionally.
He listened at each door intently, and peered at them for a sign of
light creeping through a keyhole or chance crack, but his vigilance went
unrewarded.
Finally at the very last door he saw a mere speck of light through the
keyhole. He dropped to his knee and glued his eye to the keyhole. By the
flaring light of a couple of candles stuck into bottles, he could make
out the still form of a man on a cot.
The room was considerably torn up, as though a search for something had
been made.
Then a man crossed his line of vision and shook up the form on the cot.
The sleeping, or unconscious man, made no move, and the other
disappeared for a moment and then returned, bearing a small pail
containing water which he proceeded to splash vigorously on the face of
the recumbent man.
Presently this had its desired effect for the form stirred, and in a
voice hardly above a whisper the man began to speak.
Phil could not distinguish the words, but the other spoke loudly, and
Phil heard him say:
"Now listen here. You come through with that map, or I'll leave you here
to be carried out feet first!"
The old man feebly protested and Phil was about to whistle for help when
he saw the assailant rip away the old man's shirt and disclose a cloth
bag. It was the work of a second to tear this open and extract from it a
paper.
Phil could hear the chuckle of satisfaction and then he gasped, for the
old man rose from his cot and tried to grapple with the younger man, who
gave him a brutal push, throwing him back onto the cot.
Phil hesitated no longer, and so excited was he that he failed to give
the signal. Throwing open the door, he rushed into the room, and
directing the flashlight directly into the eyes of the man, partially
blinded him. At the same moment he made a grab for the paper, but
succeeded only in getting a part of it, one piece remaining in the hands
of the man.
The old man lay back on the cot gasping for breath, so could be of no
harm, nor yet of any assistance. The younger man was undersized, hardly
more than a match for Phil, who was an exceptionally strong lad, yet so
great was the evident worth of the paper, that he started for Phil,
slowly and warily.
Phil was unarmed, but a happy stratagem occurred to him. Hastily
reaching into his pocket, he drew forth a shiny pair of wire cutters,
and pointed them at the culprit, at the same time ordering him to throw
up his hands.
The momentary gleam of the polished wire cutters was enough to convince
the man that a pistol was being pointed at him, but instead of obeying
the order to hoist his hands, he made a spring for an open window,
jumped over the sill, and a bare second later, Phil heard a dull thud.
He dashed to the window and flashed his light about, to find that a very
few feet below was an ell roof, and he just caught a glimpse of the
fugitive letting himself over the edge, probably to drop into a yard
below and so make his way to freedom.
Foiled in his attempt to capture the fellow, Phil turned his attention
to the old man. He shoved the paper, the seeming cause of all the
trouble, into his hands and told him he had nothing more to worry about.
To his surprise, however, the old man weakly pushed it back to him,
saying in laborious gasps:
"Take it, boy, it's yours. I'm--going--out--a fortune in----"
His words trailed into nothingness and he dropped back, ceasing to
breathe. Startled, and a little bit frightened, Phil ran and put a hand
to his heart. There was no vibrating response.
Stuffing the paper into his jacket pocket, he ran to the door and gave
two low but distinct whistles. Hardly had he given the signal when there
was an unearthly crash and a muttered expression of disgust.
Phil made for the stairs, and was about to descend when he was joined by
Dick, who whispered sibilantly:
"Dig out of here; this is no place for us," and seizing Phil by the arm,
started down the stairway. At the bottom they found Garry extricating
himself from a heap of splintered wood and debris.
"All out in a hurry," commanded Dick.
Garry and Phil both sensed that there was danger in the air, or, at the
very least, a need for extra care, and followed the lead of Dick in
making a quick exit from the house.
They hustled down the sidewalk, and noticing an open hallway, unlighted,
Dick led the way in there.
"Not a whisper, now," he cautioned.
Hardly had they found shelter in the doorway when three men came
tumbling out of the deserted lodging house they had just left, and ran
past the hallway where the boys were crouching, finally to disappear
around a corner farther up the street.
"Say, for the love of Pete, Dick, what's all this mystery about, and who
found anything and where did the screams come from?" queried Garry,
amazed at the strange turn events had taken.
Dick was about to make a reply, when Phil interrupted.
"All our stories can wait. First we must get the police. I've just left
a dead man, and I have good reason to believe there was foul play."
"Then let's save our breath and hustle after an officer; we can compare
notes later," said Garry.
They branched off Canal Street, up through a narrow thoroughfare, more
alley than street, and soon found themselves on a well lighted business
street. Here they moderated their pace, and after a brisk walk of three
blocks, saw a policeman.
"You're the spokesman in this case, Phil, you know what this is all
about, and we don't," directed Garry.
Approaching the officer, Phil stated the case. The policeman looked at
them curiously, then appeared to be convinced of their honesty, and
turning to a police box, notified the station, asking that the night
lieutenant come at once. He told his superior where the place was, for
knowing that section of the city, thoroughly, he immediately recognized
it from Phil's description.
They made their way back, and going up the stairs, went at once to the
room. Here the police officer looked about and then asked a few
perfunctory questions of the boys.
"I guess you fellows better wait here till the lieutenant comes," he
said finally.
"Does that mean we are under arrest?" queried Garry.
"No indeed, just a formality. You see that is what I have to do in all
cases like this, but you can tell your story to the lieutenant."
They waited a few minutes and then the sound of tramping feet was heard
on the stairs and the lieutenant of the police force entered the room
followed by a man carrying a black bag, evidently a doctor and probably
the coroner.
The police officer cast a scrutinizing look over the room and then waved
the doctor to make his examination. This took only a few minutes.
"What do you find Doc?" asked the officer familiarly.
"This man was stabbed or cut some time ago, probably two or three weeks,
but the cause of his death seems to be heart failure, induced no doubt
by lack of care, improper nourishment, and a severe shock that finished
him off with his organically weak heart."
"What do you mean, stabbed or cut, accidentally?" asked the officer
gruffly.
"Not accidentally, but by a blow inflicted by someone," returned the
doctor.
"What do you chaps know about this?" he asked, turning suddenly on the
three boys. Garry opened his mouth to answer.
"We----"
"Wait till I get through talking before you are spoken to. What are you
chaps, runaways, and where did you get those clothes, steal 'em?"
A dark flush crept up under Garry's ears.
"Look here officer, you keep a civil tongue in your head, with all due
respect to your rank and authority, and before we answer any questions,
just what is our status now?" he said.
"If you mean, are you under arrest, you are!"