Dave Gives Points to the Chief of Police
"You clumsy bungler!" spoke Dave Darrin hotly. "Chief, I demand
the right to speak to you for a moment."
"After you're ironed and taken to the station house," snapped
Mr. Simmons.
"Chief, you're not afraid to step aside with me and listen to
about ten words?" demanded Darrin scornfully. "And if you don't---if
you go on in your bull-headed way---you'll be the scorn of the
town by morning. Why don't you hear what I've got to say, instead
of letting precious seconds slip by. Come! Over this way!"
There was something so commanding in Darrin's voice and manner
that Simmons concluded to listen for a moment.
Keeping his flash-light turned on Darrin, the chief of police
followed Dave. Darrin whispered something in the big man's ear.
In another moment the two were whispering together animatedly.
"Why didn't you come to the point before, Darrin?" demanded the
chief gruffly.
"Great Scott, didn't I, as soon as I could postpone your mania
for having me loaded down with police chains?"
"Yet how do I know you're telling me anything like the truth?"
"If I'm lying, you can find it out very quickly, can't you?" demanded
Darrin. "But come along, or you'll be too late. Oh, why do all
the biggest slow pokes in creation get appointed to the police
force?"
"Come along with me, Delmar," ordered Chief Simmons, turning to
one of his policemen. "The rest of you stay here---though you
can pass on into the open air. Then wait there for us."
"Don't you waste any time on worry, Dick," Dave called back.
Prescott laughed easily. Whatever Dave had discovered, or thought
he had, Darrin's chum was quite content now to await the result
of all that enthusiasm.
"We must not make much noise," cautioned Darrin, as he led the
way swiftly, though on tiptoe. "We don't want to scare the other
people cold until we have them cooped so that they can't get away.
But you'd better be ready, in case they're desperate enough to
try shooting!"
Up the street, to the head of another alley way, Darrin led the
swift chase.
"Now, softer than ever," he whispered, over his shoulder, without
halting.
A moment later Dave halted before two stone steps that led down
to a basement junk shop.
Just as he did so a low voice inside could be heard, saying in
barely audible tones:
"I'm so anxious to know whether Prescott fell into the trap that
I can hardly wait another minute."
"You'd better wait until morning, or you'll tumble into something
with your eyes shut, and that will mean both of us nabbed," growled
another voice.
"Do you think they found Prescott---that they believed in the
appearances against him?"
"I can't say," came the other low voice. "And I can wait. I'm
not crazy on the subject, as you seem to be."
"Explain this all over again, to us, won't you?" shouted the chief,
pushing open the door of the junk shop and striding in, backed
by the light and the revolver of Officer Delmar.
"What?" screamed Phin Drayne, then sank to his knees in the extremity
of his terror.
"Don't either of you try to put up any fight," warned the chief.
"Delmar, here are my handcuffs to put with your own. Hand me
your light, and then iron both of these fellows securely."
The owner of the junk shop, a man under thirty, dirty and low
browed, stood cowering back against a bench. The fellow looked
as though he would have fought had there been any chance to draw
a weapon. But he was gazing straight into the muzzle of the police
chief's weapon.
An instant later both prisoners had been handcuffed, and a pistol
had been taken from the clothing of each. From the junkman,
too, had been taken a ring of keys.
"One of these fit your door?" demanded Simmons.
"Yes," growled the scowling one. "The long key."
"Bring the prisoners along, Delmar," ordered the chief. "I'll
lock up here. We'll come back later for a search."
Out on the sidewalk Phin Drayne plucked up courage enough to find
his voice.
"For goodness' sake, let me go, Chief," he begged, falteringly.
"I haven't done anything, although things look against me."
"I guess we'll be able to put things enough against you," retorted
the police official mockingly.
"Think of my mother!" pleaded the wild boy. "Think of our family---one
of the most respectable in town. Think of-----"
"Oh, you're enough to make one tired," broke in Dave Darrin,
in deep disgust. "You thought of Dick Prescott when you put up
the job to have him arrested as a burglar, didn't you?"
"Why, what do you mean? I didn't do anything to Dick Prescott,"
shouted Drayne angrily, or affecting to be angry.
"Tell that to the marines," quoth Darrin contemptuously. "It
was through following on your trail, Drayne, that I discovered
the whole trick, and also knew just where to take the police to
find you."
An hour later Chief Simmons was well satisfied that he had laid
the burglar scare in Gridley.
Not that the new chief had had so very much to do with the result,
either.
The first move had been to get back to the Kahn store, where Dick
Prescott was promptly freed, with the chief's hearty apologies.
Over at the police station, by separating Drayne from his accomplice,
Bill Stevens, the junkman, and questioning each separately, the
whole story had come out, chiefly through frenzied confessions.
Phin Drayne, loafing about town, and with his pocket money nearly
cut off by his father, had formed the acquaintance of Stevens,
who, besides being a junkman, was a very fair locksmith, though
about the latter trade he had never bragged publicly.
Drayne had been ripe for any move that would place him in more
funds. So, first of all, he and Stevens had entered the commercial
establishment of Drayne, senior. There, thanks to Phin's knowledge
of the premises, they had made a very good-sized "haul."
After that the pair had operated together frequently. Stevens'
junk shop had offered a handy pace in which to hide the plunder.
Then, as time went on, and Phin heard, by chance, that Dick and
Dave were trying to catch the burglars in behalf of "The Blade,",
a plan had occurred to Phin by which he might ruin Dick utterly
in the eyes of the community.
The whole plan had been carefully laid by Stevens and young Drayne.
On this night, just after Conklin's drug store had been closed
for the night, Stevens had slipped in a key that had opened a
side door for him. Then the door was left closed but unlocked.
At that hour of the night no one was likely to notice anyone
who went in or out at the side door. And Conklin's was equipped
with a public telephone.
Then down to the alleyway had stolen the evil pair. Kahn's rear
door had been opened with false keys and left ajar. Then Phin
Drayne stole back to the junk shop, while Stevens, whose voice
could not be recognized over the wire by Dick, sent the message.
Next, back to where he could watch the alleyway, hurried Stevens,
and hid. Stevens saw Dick Prescott slip into the alleyway, then
go inside the store. That was enough for Stevens, who had slipped
back and into the drug store once more, getting the police station
on the wire and 'phoning to the chief that Gridley's burglars
had just entered Kahn's through the rear door.
Only a block and a half from Kahn's was the police station. Almost
immediately the officers were on the spot, stalking---Dick Prescott.
But, at the time when Dick left his own home and went down the
street so hurriedly Dave Darrin had been sauntering along, to
call his chum out on their nightly quest for "The Blade."
Seeing Dick move so swiftly, Darrin concluded that something
most unusual was about to happen. So Dave trailed swiftly in
the rear.
Thus it was that Darrin drew back just in time to see Bill Stevens
slipping away from a hiding place at the head of that alleyway.
"That does for Prescott," chuckled Stevens, half aloud.
"Oh, it does, does it?" silently murmured alert Dave, and now
he intently followed Stevens to the drug store, and thence back
to the junk shop. Dave's next swift move was to rush back to
Kahn's with the result already known.
"Well, did you think the folks of Gridley would continue to believe
such a charge against young Prescott?" demanded Chief Simmons
of the sneak.
"I knew some wouldn't, but I thought the whole affair would make
such a row that Prescott would never be quite able to hold up
his head in Gridley again," declared Drayne huskily. "But I thought
that it would stop his thinking of going to West Point, anyway."
"Instead of which," muttered Simmons dryly, "you'll get four
years---or more, Drayne at some place that won't be West Point."
"Oh, my father won't quite stand for that," returned Phin, a bit
more loftily. "He has money and some family pride."
"Money doesn't help much for confessed burglars," rejoined Chief
Simmons.
At that moment Heathcote Drayne, who had been roused out of bed
by a policeman, came in, so white faced that Dick and Dave felt
sorry indeed for the unhappy parent.
But Dick didn't remain to see the meeting between father and son.
Prescott and his chum hastened around to "The Blade" office.
Gladly enough would both boys have kept Phin's disgrace from
going before the public, but it was too big a story, locally,
and was bound to come out. So Dick wrote a straight account,
after which he and Dave hurried home to get the fag end of a night's
rest.
Gridley merchants lost but little, in the end, through the series
of burglaries. Most of the plunder was recovered at the junk
shop.
Bill Stevens was sent to prison for a term of eight years. Phin,
being only seventeen, was allowed to plead his youth. In his
case justice was satisfied with his commitment to a reform school
until he should be twenty-one years of age.
And so ended the story of the mysterious burglaries.