CHAPTER XXV
--TOM ON THE TRAIL--CONCLUSION
"Donneer! Donner!"
At the mention of that startling word, Tom Barnes was instantly convinced that he had made a great discovery; in fact, he was satisfied that he had at last discovered one of the "spooks" of Station Z.
Donner had been a mystery. The owner of the satchel was quite mysterious in appearance. As Tom tried to help him to his feet, he noticed that the man wore a wig and enormous whiskers. They were false, for the fall had sent them quite awry.
"Donner," Tom had learned, was quite a common word in Germany. It was equivalent to our own "Thunder!" Tom, however, had never heard the word used outside of his wireless experience. To hear it used now by a suspicious individual in the very city where Harry Ashley was supposed to be, suggested strangely to Tom that the odd individual before him might be the erratic amateur operator, who had been sending out messages referring to a runaway boy, one Ernest Warren, with "sun, moon and stars tattooed on his left shoulder."
"Are you hurt, sir?" inquired Tom.
The man who had so narrowly escaped destruction seemed to be more frightened than grateful. He hurriedly adjusted his facial disguise and looked about him to see if he was especially observed. Then he shouted hoarsely, with a despairing look at the scattered contents of the satchel:
"My baggage--quick, get it!"
Tom hurriedly collected the articles. He was amazed at their oddness and variety. There were one or two articles of clothing, and besides these, two old-fashioned horse pistols, an ancient dirk, four or five wigs, and as many false beards and moustaches. The odd collection suggested an actor with a limited stage outfit.
The minute Tom handed the satchel to the man with its contents restored, the latter made a wild dash down the street. Tom was bound that he would not lose sight of him, and followed fast on his heels.
He came upon the fugitive posted in a doorway and anxiously gazing beyond its shadows along the street. Tom paused near to him.
"Can I be of any use to you, sir?" he asked, eager to keep up an acquaintance he felt sure would lead to some definite results.
"Is anyone following me or watching me?" inquired the man breathlessly.
"Not at all," responded Tom reassuringly. "Everybody is running to the fire."
"Ah, that is good, most good!" exclaimed the man in a relieved tone. "The troubles--all at once. I am all turned around. You are a good honest boy," he added, scanning Tom critically. "You would not bring troubles to a poor old man?"
"Not I," declared Tom.
"You would help him?"
"I would be glad to," said Tom, delighted at getting more closely into the confidence of his companion.
"Then you shall earn a dollar. See, I am a stranger in the city. You must direct me--to that address."
The speaker fumbled in a pocket and produced a card which he handed to Tom. It bore an address, and below it the words: "Go to section 4. Wait for Brady."
"What luck!" breathed Tom ardently. "This man is certainly the mysterious operator, and he is going to see one of the men who kidnapped Harry Ashley."
It took about twenty minutes to reach the address indicated on the card. Tom pointed out the restaurant to his companion, who gave him a dollar bill. Then with a brusque nod and a searching glance all about him, he entered the restaurant.
Tom crossed the street and reached a sheltering doorway. His eyes were fixed on the restaurant. What should he do next? He had almost decided to recross the street, enter the place and attempt to get nearer to the object of his interest, when a man came around the corner.
"It's Brady--it is the man I saw at Rockley Cove," declared Tom.
Brady wore a hat pulled well down over his face. His manner was hurried and furtive, like that of a person suspicious of every passer-by. He bolted quickly into the restaurant.
"I must do something now--something worth while," breathed Tom hurriedly. "There can be no doubt in the world that those two men have met here to do something about Harry. They may go away by some other exit. I'll do it."
These last words announced a definite decision on the part of Tom, as his eye fell upon a policeman in uniform standing at the nearest street corner. Tom approached him, full of his plan.
"Officer," he said politely, "do you ever arrest a person without a warrant?"
"I'd arrest me own brother on suspicions if he deserved it," announced the man in uniform bluntly.
"I am in trouble," said Tom rapidly, "and I wish you would help me."
"Spake out, me lad," directed the big bustling officer.
"A friend of mine, a boy, has been kidnapped. One of the men who carried him away is in that restaurant yonder. If you will only take him and the man with him to the police station, I am sure I can convince you that they both deserve arrest."
Tom briefly narrated the story of the kidnapping.
"Come on, me lad," ordered the policeman. "It's a case for the captain. Sure I'll take them in the act. This'll get in the newspapers, and Officer Lahey's name along with it. Show me the rascals, me young friend, and I'll do the rest."
Tom entered the restaurant, the officer following him. At one side of the place there were half a dozen partitioned-off compartments. As they neared the fourth one of the tier Tom heard the man he had brought there speak out:
"I will only pay the five hundred, as I promised."
"It's five thousand, or you never see the boy again."
"I arrest both of yez!" here announced the policeman, stalking into the compartment, and placing a hand on the shoulder of each of the two men, who arose in alarm to their feet.
"What's this?" snapped out Brady.
"Resisting an officer of the law, are yez?" shouted the policeman, as Brady tried to escape his clutch, and he shaking the culprit till his teeth chattered,
"Donner! I am lost!" gasped the other prisoner.
"I say----" protested Brady anew.
"Shut up!" ordered the policeman. "You'll have a chance to explain to the captain at headquarters."
"Aha!" hissed Brady, as, pulled out into the main room, he for the first time observed Tom. Evidently he recognized him, for a sullen, surly look came into his crafty face.
At the door of the restaurant the policeman paused.
"Go to the second corner, lad," he directed Tom, "and tell officer Moore his partner needs his assistance."
Tom did as directed, and five minutes later the prisoners were led down the street, each in the charge of a stalwart guardian of the law.
When the party reached the station, the first policeman beckoned to Tom and led him to the office of the police captain. Tom told his story in a simple direct way. The captain came out and looked first at the grotesque figure and affrighted face of the big man, and then at Brady.
"Ah, it's you, is it?" exclaimed the police official, with a start of recognition. "Circus Jake."
"I think you are mistaken," muttered Brady, in a surly tone.
"Oh, no, I'm not. If you think so, I'll just send for your picture from the Rogues' Gallery, and go over a few records. Lahey, keep your eye close on this fellow till I need him. You two come with me."
The speaker led Tom and the man with the big satchel into his private office, and beckoned both of them to seats after closing the door.
"Now then, young man," he directed Tom, "tell your story before this man."
Tom began at the commencement of the Donner incident, and followed it up to its present climax. All through the recital, as reference was made to Harry Ashley, the old man started, ejaculated, grimaced and groaned.
"Ah, he was not Harry Ashley, he was Ernest Warren, the son of my benefactor, my friend! Did he ever say that I, Blennerhassett, abused him?"
"He never said anything about you, for we did not know that he was Ernest Warren," explained Tom.
"Now, then, for your story, Mr. Blennerhassett, if that is your name," spoke the police captain.
The old man looked flustered and frightened. He cast an apprehensive glance out at the street, an appealing one at the captain.
"The Czar of Russia shall not be told?" he at length articulated.
"The Czar of Russia?" repeated the official, with a mystified stare. "What has he got to do with it?"
"Everything," declared Blennerhassett, with a groan. "You will not advise the spies of foreign governments?" he persisted, very seriously.
The captain evidently concluded that he was dealing with a lunatic, for he said indulgently:
"Surely not."
"And no notoriety in the newspapers, so that I might be trailed down by assassins?"
"Not a word, provided you tell the truth."
The old man began his story, which was an interesting one. It seemed he had been a Russian spy, and a price was set on his head. A fugitive, he chanced to meet in Germany the father of Ernest Warren. The latter was very kind to him. Mr. Warren was a civil engineer engaged on some large public work. He took sick and died. He had learned to trust Blennerhassett as a loyal friend, and had given him all his money with directions to repair to the United States and take personal charge of Ernest.
The latter, it seemed, was one of the heirs to an estate in litigation. It was to the interest of others after the fortune to have him disappear. Not only to protect Ernest, but also because he was fearful the Russian government might hunt him down personally, Blennerhassett had made his new home in an isolated old house about fifty miles up the coast from Rockley Cove.
He never explained to Ernest the cause of this seclusion and mystery. The lad had rebelled against such a solitary life, had run away after accidentally destroying five hundred dollars by fire, and Blennerhassett, not daring to come out openly, had surreptitiously visited a nearby wireless station when its operator was absent, and under cover had tried to communicate with the outside world.
He had incidentally come across Brady, and had started him on a search for the runaway, promising a five hundred dollar reward for finding him. The day before the present one a demand had come from Brady for five thousand dollars to be brought to Springville at once, or the boy would never be returned.
"The five hundred dollars Ernest burned up was his own money," explained Blennerhassett. "I love him as my own son. All I ask is that I find him."
The police captain opened the door of his office and called out into the station main room.
"Bring that man in here," he directed; and Brady slouched into the private office.
"Now then," said the captain, "short and sweet's the word for you. Think we don't know you, eh? I suppose you're not the man who advertised a set of parlor furniture by mail for fifty cents, and a yard of silk for a quarter, and a plan to save your gas bills for a dollar, and how to kill cockroaches for a dime?"
"That's old," growled the discomfited Brady.
"Why," explained the police official, "he sent a toy set of furniture to investors, and a yard of sewing silk, told them to save their gas bills on a file, and advised them to get a board and a club and whack the roaches. Now, sharp and brisk. You've kidnapped this man's charge. I'll send two officers with you to your partner to give him up. Produce him, and you go free. Otherwise I'll telegraph all over the country to find out your latest schemes, and lock you up for abduction and extortion in the meanwhile."
"I've done my work for this old man," blurted out Brady.
"Yes," assented Blennerhassett, "and the price was to be five hundred dollars, not five thousand dollars. I'll pay the five hundred."
"All right," muttered Brady, "I'll give in."
"And I'll go with him to see that the boy is all right," said Blennerhassett.
Brady was released later, for the old man returned to the police station within an hour. Harry Ashley, or Ernest Warren, as his real name was, came in his company.
There was a joyful meeting between Tom and his friend. It was made still more happy when Ernest was informed that the estate in which he was interested had been settled, and his share was some twenty thousand dollars.
The guardian and his ward accompanied Tom back to Rockley Cove as guests at the Barnes homestead. Tom at once repaired to the wireless station. He put his excitable chum in transports of delight when he announced the success of his search for the stolen Harry Ashley.
"Had some visitors here this afternoon," announced Ben. "Mart Walters and young Aldrich came along. Aldrich was hot and furious to know if you had used his launch. Just as I explained to them that you had, and thereby saved Grace Morgan's life, and they toned down a little, along came Grace herself. She overheard their squabbling, and turned her back on them and wouldn't speak to them. They sneaked away."
"Oh, Grace was here?" said Tom, trying to look only ordinarily interested.
"She was," replied Ben sprightly, "and spent a pleasant hour. She made me tell her all about the way we telegraph. She even made me teach her certain dots and dashes. Hello! why, there's a call from my home wireless outfit."
The receiver began to buzz and click. Tom looked suspiciously at his comrade.
"T-o-m B-a-r-n-e-s, y-o-u a-r-e m-z m-x m-y h-e-r-o. A-u-n-t B-e-r-t-h-a w-a-n-t-s t-o s-e-e y-o-u. G-r-a-c-e," came the message.
"H-m," commented Tom, flushing as his chum chuckled audibly. "Up to tricks, are you? What are you laughing at?"
"Why," smiled Ben seriously, "I was just thinking what a whole lot the Morgan family think of you, Tom!"
It took two full weeks for Rockley Cove and its vicinity to get over the courageous exploit of Tom Barnes in saving the passengers and crew of the _Olivia_.
Bill Barber shared in the general commendation. He appeared on the streets of the village, chipper, ambitious and well dressed, with the great desire of his life, a full-blooded bulldog, at his heels.
He boasted proudly that he had given Bert Aldrich a receipt in full for the eleven dollars and seventy-five cents, in lieu of the use of the _Beulah_ the night of the big storm.
"I told him I could loan him a few dollars if he was so hard up he couldn't get along," chuckled Bill, jingling some coins in his pocket.
The steamship company sent a substantial reward to both Tom and Bill, and offered the latter a good position on their line, which he accepted promptly.
Bert Aldrich sneaked away from Rockley Cove with his crack launch, without being even permitted to say good-by to Grace; and Mart Walters remained in the back of the books of that offended little lady for a long time to come.
Tom became a regular visitor at the Morgan home. His ability as a wireless operator had attracted the attention of headquarters, where he was offered a good position.
Even his parents were willing that he should accept it, and for two years Tom worked his way up to an inspectorship, taking a technical evening course in a college at New York City.
A new expert operator was put in charge at Station Z, but Ben was still retained as a helper. Ernest and old Blennerhassett settled down at Rockley Cove, and after a year at school the old Harry Ashley got an appointment as a regular man at the tower. Blennerhassett gradually worked out of his foolish fears of foreign enemies.
Both Ben and Ernest were fascinated with the wireless business, and the frequent visits of Tom along the circuit encouraged them.
Tom spent nearly half his time at Rockley Cove. He was a regular visitor at the Morgan home. One morning Ben came into the tower with a happy smile on his face. He went at once to the instrument and called headquarters.
"Why so cheerful, Ben?" inquired Ernest.
"Message."
"Yes, I know, but what is its purport?"
"Mr. Morgan wishes me to send a society announcement to the New York press."
"Indeed?"
"Exactly--the engagement of our sweet little friend, Grace, to our old time chum, Tom Barnes, the young wireless operator of Rockley Cove."
THE END
THE WEBSTER SERIES
By FRANK V. WEBSTER
Mr. Webster's style is very much like that of the boys' favorite author, the late lamented Horatio Alger, Jr., but his tales are thoroughly up-to-date.
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