2109 HOYNE STREET.
Hoyne Street was easily found. A number of blast furnaces stood so near
the house the two chums were looking for that the flames from their
tall chimneys lighted up the surroundings so brilliantly that they
were able to read the number over the door.
The house was a two-story frame structure. The gas and smoke from the
neighboring iron mills had shriveled and scorched everything in that
part of the town. Even by night, and under the glow of the furnaces,
Hoyne Street had a dismal and dreary appearance.
No. 2109 was set well back from the sidewalk. Two branching wings, in
front, made the house look like a deserted manufacturing plant. This
impression was heightened by several broken windows.
There were no lights in the windows other than the reflected glare from
the high chimneys.
"Whoosh!" muttered Carl, as he and Matt came close to the front of the
house and read the number. "Dot's der blace, Matt, aber it don'd look
pooty goot to me. Der feller vat lifs dere don'd got enough money,
I bed you, to pay for sending dot delegram. Der hen oof drouple iss
aboudt to hatch somet'ing."
"It may be," answered Matt, who likewise had a queer premonition of
trouble, "but we've come this far and I'm going to see the thing
through. If anything goes wrong in that house it will be on account of
that roll of blue prints. I'll leave the roll with you, Carl, and you
can stay outside. I won't be in the house more than fifteen minutes at
most."
"Vell, you look a leedle oudt, Matt, dot's all. Oof somet'ing goes
wrong mit you, led off a yell und I vill come gallywhooping."
"I don't think anything will go wrong with me if I haven't those papers
in my pocket."
Carl shivered.
"Chee, but der leedle fires on der chimneys iss prighdt. Somet'ing
aboudt dis blace gifs me a creepiness oof der skin. Be jeerful, be
jeerful! Don'd shday in dere longer as den minids, Matt, oder I vas
likely to t'row fits."
"I'll come out as soon as I can, Carl," answered Matt. "Don't fret. I'm
able to take care of myself in a pinch."
"Oof you see der pinch fairst, yah, I bed you! Aber oof der pinch come
ven you don'd vas looking, den vat?"
Matt laughed as he turned away, climbed a short flight of steps and
drummed on the front door. He had to rap three or four times before his
summons was answered.
A light showed itself through a fan-shaped transom over the door, and a
hand could be heard fumbling with a rusty bolt. In a minute or so the
door was drawn open and a girl stood revealed. She carried a lamp with
a smoked chimney, and one of her slender hands protected the flame from
the draft.
She was eighteen or nineteen years old, and, in spite of her coarse
calico gown, she was extremely pretty. Her prettiness, however, was
not what impressed Matt. The first thing he noticed was that the hand
shielding the lamp was trembling. Lifting his eyes to the girl's face,
he observed that she wore a frightened look.
"Does Mr. Jerrold live here?" Matt asked.
The girl stared at him; her lips moved, but no sound came through them.
Matt repeated the question.
"Y-y-yes," faltered the girl.
"My name's King," answered Matt. "Mr. Jerrold sent me a telegram and
asked me to come here to-night."
The girl leaned forward eagerly as though she would say something.
Before she could speak, if she had intended to, a sound as of some one
moving in the darkness behind her, caused her to draw back.
"Please come in," she said breathlessly.
Matt entered the hall. The girl closed the door behind him and then,
with the lamp shaking in her hand, led him into a room off the hall.
The room was evidently a parlor, although its furniture was meager and
shabby.
"Please sit down," said the girl, placing the lamp on a table. "Mr.
B--Mr. Jerrold will be here in a few moments. Would you like to read
while you're waiting?"
Matt started to decline, but the girl had already picked up a book from
the table, opened it and was handing it to him.
He looked at her in astonishment. From her frightened face his eyes
fell to the book that was quivering in her hand. There was an appeal in
her manner which caused him to take the book.
"Thank you," said he.
The book was opened at the fly leaf. On the leaf was written the
following:
"You are trapped. I would have warned you, if I could, but he would
have killed me. Now you are in the house, you can't get away. Do
whatever you are told to do and all will be well. Lay the book back
on the table, and don't let any one know what you have read here."
Matt was astounded. Trapped! And he had walked into the trap with his
eyes wide open!
Who was the girl and why had she run the risk to warn him? And what
good was her warning to do if he did not take advantage of it and make
his escape?
"Now you are in the house, you can't get away."
He read those words again, and after he had read them he looked about
the room curiously. There were two windows in the room and they were
screened with thick curtains. Matt, however, could see no one. If the
trap had been sprung where were the ones who had sprung it?
He realized that if he made an attempt to get out of the house now,
those who had entrapped him would immediately conclude that the girl
had given him a warning. Thus he would not only fail to get away, but
would bring punishment upon the girl for her attempt to help him.
"Do whatever you are told to do and all will be well."
He read that over again and made up his mind that he would follow the
advice. He laid the book back on the table, and, just at that moment,
the girl re-entered the room.
"I have read that book," said he.
"Here's a newspaper," said she.
As she held the paper in front of him she pointed to an article,
evidently intending that he should read it.
The girl was a mystery to Matt. From her manner there was no doubt
about her being anxious to do whatever she could to shield him.
Leaving the paper in his hands, she walked over to the table, opened
the book and deftly extracted the fly leaf. Then she vanished from the
room once more.
Matt drew his chair closer to the table so that he could get the full
benefit of the dim light.
The first thing he noticed was that the paper was a week old. It was a
Chicago daily. The column to which the girl had called his attention
was headed, "Burglaries Continue! Astonishing Series of Robberies in
South Chicago are Still Kept Up! Thieves Make Off With Loot and Leave
Not a Clue Behind! Police Authorities Baffled! Latest Victims Hartz &
Greer, Jewelers!"
Here followed an account dealing with a number of mysterious
burglaries, but Matt, because of the danger in which he found himself,
did not give the article the attention he would otherwise have done.
He did wonder, however, why it was that the girl had pointed out the
article to him. While he was wondering, a step sounded in the hall and
a form showed itself in the hall door.
The man was Brady!
Matt sprang up. Brady came into the room with an easy air and gave vent
to a short laugh.
He was quite a different looking man when out of his greasy
overclothes, but there was no doubting his identity. Matt's fist had
left a bruise on the side of Brady's face, and the spot was covered
with a square of court-plaster.
"Surprised?" queried Brady, dropping into a chair.
Before seating himself he was careful to draw the chair in front of the
hall door.
"Were you the one who sent me that telegram?" asked Matt.
"Guilty!" was the chuckling response. "You were expecting to meet
Jerrold, eh? I was a little in doubt as to whether you'd bite at the
bait, but took a chance. You're a mighty accommodating young fellow,
King. Why, you came all the way out here, at this time of night, just
to give Jerrold those papers! Didn't it strike you as being a little
bit queer that Jerrold should have asked you to come and see him when
it was his business to go and see you? And then, again, how did you
think Jerrold got hold of your name and address? Oh, well, you've a lot
to learn yet, my lad."
"I'm learning you pretty fast, Brady," said Matt. "You have fooled me,
but you've gained nothing by it."
"I think I have," was the other's cool reply.
"You'll not get that bundle of papers."
"No? Haven't you got them with you?"
"I left them where they'd be safe."
"Then you suspected there was something a little off-color about that
telegram?"
"Yes."
"Plucky boy! Nevertheless, you dropped into my trap, and that's the
main thing. Those papers cost me a good deal of scheming, and if you
were really thoughtful enough to leave them in a safe place, I'm mighty
sorry."
"You can search me," said Matt, "if you're not willing to take my word."
"I'll search you quick enough."
"Then hurry up; I want to get away from here."
"Those papers are not the whole of it," went on Brady. "I want to make
you a proposition, King. I need a motorist for the Hawk, and I think
you'd about fill the bill. How would five hundred a month strike you?"
"Five thousand a month wouldn't strike me. In the first place, Mr.
Brady, I don't like your methods and wouldn't work for you at any
price; and, in the next place, I am already in the employ of the
Lestrange people."
"You'll work for me all right whether you like my methods or not."
There was an ugly look in Brady's eyes and an ugly note in his voice.
"You're just the sort of youngster I need, and now that I've got a grip
on you I don't intend to let you get away."
"It takes two to make that sort of a bargain!"
Matt had edged around toward one of the windows with the intention of
making a break through the door.
Brady got up.
"What are you waiting for, Pete?" he called.
Matt turned a quick gaze about him, wondering from which direction Pete
was to appear. Then, quick as a lightning flash, the curtain behind him
gave way and fell in smothering folds over his head and shoulders. Two
brawny arms encircled him like the jaws of a vise.
He fought with all his strength, and tried to yell to Carl. But one
effort was as ineffectual as the other.
Pete and Brady had him between them, and he was utterly powerless.