THE SHADOW PASSES
On the fifth day the doctor granted Johnny permission to dress and move
about his room. But under no circumstances was he to “leave the room or
transact important business.”
“As if I had important business to transact!” Johnny laughed to himself.
For all that, he sat a long time in a brown study. There are times for
all of us when we appear to feel the shadows of tremendous events
hanging over us. It was so now with Johnny. For some time he had been on
the trail of something big. His old pal, Curlie, was under the shadows.
He had broken the postal regulations; had opened a registered mail sack
and had removed three valuable packages. One package, perhaps the most
valuable of all, was missing. Until this was found, Federal operators
would dog his trail. In time he might lose his position and his standing
as a pilot.
Closely connected with this, as it seemed to Johnny, was the disgrace
and shelving of Drew Lane and Tom Howe.
“If only we could find that man who lost an ear, the one Curlie and that
girl saw,” he told himself. “If we could get him to talk; if we could
bring him and Greasy Thumb with all his gang into court, we’d show some
people up!” Without really meaning to, he thought of the Chief and of
that whispering reporter from _The World_.
“And in time we will get that man!” he told himself with conviction.
“We’ll find the crown jewels of Russia, if that is what the package
truly contained. That will clear Curlie.
“And when certain people are properly shown up, there will be a new deal
all around. Then Drew and Tom will be happy again. They will be back
downtown, close on the heels of every crook who dares to show his face.”
He was still thinking of these coming events which appeared to cast
their shadows before them, when the regular evening shadows began to
fall.
It was at this hour that one who was very welcome indeed darkened the
door of the shack and said, after a low bow:
“May I come in?”
“You need never ask,” Johnny exclaimed, as he recognized the caller.
“The latch string is always out and the door stands always ajar for
you!”
It was Joyce Mills. She took a seat in silence. For fully five minutes
neither spoke. Silence is the test of true friendship. A superficial
friendship is often filled with much clatter and many words without
meaning. Only the tightest, truest bond of friendship grows stronger
during a long period of eloquent silence.
“Johnny,” the girl spoke at last, “I miss my father terribly. Where can
he have gone? Why can’t you find him for me?”
“Tell you what!” Johnny leaned forward with a smile. “You find the man
who stole a registered package from Curlie Carson, and I will find your
father.”
“Done!” The girl put out a slim hand. Johnny gripped it hard.
Newton Mills, this girl’s father, as you probably know, had for many
years been one of New York’s best known city detectives. The life of
such a man is hard. To catch criminals it is necessary to live the life
they live, or so it has always been believed. This means long hours in
dark and doubtful places at night. At times it means drinking and even
drugs. The life had demoralized Newton Mills at last.
Johnny had found him a derelict. He had pulled this derelict to port and
had for a time at least rendered it seaworthy. Newton Mills had once
more worked wonders.
Now he was gone. He had vanished one fine morning without word or sign.
That had been many days ago.
As he sat there now with Joyce Mills, the great detective’s capable
daughter, so near him, Johnny thought of the times they had enjoyed
together. Kindred spirits they had been.
“I must find him!” he said, thinking aloud.
“Yes, Johnny, you must!” The girl’s tone carried an appeal.
“But tell me.” She brightened. “What sort of a man am I to look for—this
one who snatched the registered package?”
“That man? Why, somehow Curlie’s got the notion that he’s rather short
and round shouldered, with curly hair and one ear missing. Queer
business, that ear. Uncommon, I’d say.”
“Yes, it is,” the girl replied quite calmly. “Lost it trying to hold
some one up, I believe. The man resisted. This holdup fellow was pushed
off. The car started. He was caught in the fender and dragged a long
way. Tore his ear right off.”
Johnny stared at her in astonishment. “So he’s a friend of yours?”
“Not quite that.
“Of course,” she added thoughtfully, “it may not be the same man. Not
likely to be two men like that in the world, though.
“And Johnny.” She leaned forward eagerly. “If I find him I can make him
talk!
“You may not know it, but every truly great detective holds certain men
absolutely within his power. Newton Mills, my father, was a great
detective. This man with but one ear is a man who fears him more than
death. And I am the daughter of Newton Mills. It is only necessary that
I whisper in his one good ear, and every secret of your old friend
Greasy Thumb, yes, and of your whispering reporter and your Chief of
uncertain character, will lie before you like an open book.
“And Johnny, I will find him!” She rose to go.
“More power to you!” Johnny, too, stood up.
“But Johnny!” A sudden thought seized her. “That was not the man who set
off the bomb in the tunnel!”
“No,” said Johnny. “That was quite another person, a wild-eyed man with
tangled hair.”
“That,” laughed the girl, “is next to no description at all. I know a
hundred such.
“All the same, who knows but that these radicals lost their faith in the
postal service at the last moment and decided to take matters in their
own hands? Who will say that they might not have hired an airplane that
night to bring Curlie down? There are plenty for hire. I am told that
big crooks leave the city often in airplanes. Who knows but that it was
their man who trailed Curlie and took the package from him? His
identification of the man is far from complete.”
“But there is the note to Grace Palmer saying that the one-eared man is
the man.”
“Might not mean a thing. You have no notion of the length those crooked
ones will go in order to cast suspicion on one enemy or throw another
off the track. Perhaps in this case they feel they have succeeded in
doing both.”
“You told me a few days ago that you had been mixing a little with the
radicals.”
“I have.”
“Believe in their stuff?” Johnny asked anxiously.
“No. They can’t think straight. No use following people like that.”
“But you’re still in good standing with them?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then why not keep an eye on that angle of the case? Go to a meeting.
Listen to their talk. They may let something slip. If one of their
members took the package from Curlie, you may find it out. If they did
not get the package there will be more and more of a row about it, I’d
say. They should be like a nest of disturbed bumble-bees.”
“That’s a good hunch. I’ll follow it up. I’ll get your man, be it one or
the other.
“And Johnny,” the girl’s tones became almost solemn as her thoughts
returned to her missing father, “you must not forget your share of the
contract.”
“I will not forget. For the sake of Newton Mills and his wonderful
daughter, I will not.”
The girl flushed. Nevertheless, she put out a hand, and they entered
into a handclasp that was the seal of a pledge.
Then the tall, slim, dark-eyed daughter of Newton Mills, keen as a razor
and hard as steel, marched down one rickety stairway and up another, and
was gone.
Half an hour later it was quite dark. Johnny as he sat there alone with
no lights, thought he heard those rude stairways creak. Creeping
noiselessly to the window, he looked out. The light was very uncertain.
But through the shadows he saw a tall figure, dressed all in gray, pass
up one stairway and down the other. This the figure repeated twice, then
vanished into the night.
“The Gray Shadow passes,” Johnny murmured, then shuddered, he knew not
why.