CHAPTER XXIII

BOB FORMS A RESOLUTION

The attack was so sudden and unexpected that Bob had all he could do to hold on with the remaining hand.

“Let up!” he cried.

“Not much! Off you go, Alden!”

“Help! help!” cried Bob.

He attempted to draw back on the platform, but Casco held him fast by the arm, while at the same time trying to push him away from his hold.

“What’s up?” cried the train-hand from the other car.

“Here he is! Help me!” returned Bob.

“I will.”

Casco’s face fell when he heard that Bob had help close at hand. He made another effort to push the young photographer off, and had almost succeeded when the train-hand appeared.

“By hookey!” cried the man. “Stop that, you villain!”

Just then Casco succeeded in making Bob let go his hold. But now the train-hand caught the youth by the arm, and drew him back in safety to the platform.

“There you are. It was a narrow escape.”

“Thank you!” gasped Bob. “Indeed it was.”

“So he’s safe in that car.”

“Yes.”

“Just wait till I call Jack, and we’ll bag him.”

“All right. But be careful.”

The train-hand ran off over the cars, while Bob, pistol in hand, sat down to watch for any movement Casco might make.

It was a novel situation, but it cannot be said that Bob enjoyed it.

Five minutes passed. Bob wondered how long the train-hand expected to be gone. Every second seemed ten to the young photographer.

Suddenly with a shriek of the whistle the freight train slowed up, and came very nearly to a stop. The train-hand appeared, but, instead of helping Bob, began to put on brakes as fast as possible.

“Better watch your man,” he cried. “I’ve got to obey the whistle.”

Bob did watch, and almost instantly saw Casco spring from the open car into a patch of brushwood. The scar-faced man tumbled over, but at once arose, and ran off through the darkness.

The young photographer’s first impulse was to follow. But then he reasoned that the darkness was against him, and the district was one entirely unknown to him.

“He’s gone,” he said to the train-hand as the whistle came to loosen brakes again.

“Skipped, did he?”

“Yes. What neighborhood is this?”

“We are just coming into Kentown. Here is the station.”

As the man spoke, they rolled into a long, narrow milk depot. Without waiting to see if the train would come to a stop, Bob called out a good-night and sprang off.

He met but three men at the depot, and all of these were so busy handling milk-cans that they could spare no time to hear what he might have to say.

Finally the young photographer asked if there was a constable in town, and he was directed to one Aaron Dimler, who lived but a few rods from the depot.

Bob had a hard time arousing Dimler, but once aroused the constable was eager to join the youth in a search for the scar-faced man.

“We had better walk up the track to where he jumped off the freight,” said the constable. “Then I’ll be better able to judge of the direction he took.”

So the two half-walked, half-ran up the track until Bob called a halt.

“Is this the spot?” asked the constable.

“As near as I can judge it is,” returned Bob.

“There’s a hat. Was that his?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re right about the spot. Did he start off in that direction?”

“I believe he did.”

“Then the place he would be likely to strike would be Raymond’s cross-road hotel.”

“How far is that from here?”

“Not over five minutes’ walk. If he’s reached that place, you might as well give up the hunt.”

“Why?”

“You will never learn anything from Raymond. He is a bad one, and has been in court half a dozen times.”

“I would like to know if Casco knows him?” mused Bob.

“Even if he didn’t, Raymond would befriend him, if he knew the sort of chap the man you are after was. He has sheltered more criminals than I can mention.”

“I am quite interested,” said Bob. “Come on!”

But the constable held back. The fact of the matter was that Raymond was down on him, and had threatened to make matters warm if he found Dimler around his hotel.

“We can go in the morning,” said the constable, by way of excuse.

“Casco may be gone by that time, if he is there.”

“I have no papers to search Raymond’s place. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“I believe you are afraid,” cried Bob, somewhat angrily. “I will go alone.”

He turned on his heel at once. Dimler’s brow contracted.

“Well, go on, if you’re so headstrong,” he said, and, as Bob passed out of hearing, he added: “He’ll have a fine time if he riles Raymond up, see if he don’t.”

The road was a perfectly straight one, and Bob had but little difficulty in finding the cross-road hotel Dimler had mentioned.

On the way the young photographer kept his eyes wide open for Casco, but saw nothing of the scar-faced man. Arriving at Raymond’s hotel, he found the place to consist of a long, two-story building, with an addition in the rear running down to the edge of a brook. A dim lamp, swinging from a post by the stepping-block, lit up the exterior of the hotel. A light also shone from the bar-room, and sounds of boisterous laughing reached the youth’s ears.

“They must keep the place wide open all night,” thought Bob. “I think I will take a look around before I go in.”

Having inspected the front part of the hotel, Bob passed around one side and then to the back.

Here was situated the kitchen, and, coming closer, Bob heard two persons conversing in low tones.

One was a man, evidently a stable-hand, and the other a woman-of-all-work.

“What kept you so long, Ike?” asked the woman of the man, who had evidently just come in.

“The boss wanted me to look out for the billiard-room for a while.”

“Why, where is Dick?”

“Tendin’ bar. He had to do it cos the boss had a visitor just now, an’ he had to show the feller a room.”

“A visitor this time of night? Who was it, any of the old ones?”

“That fellow was here a couple of times last week. He came in a tremendous hurry, he did.”

“Say, there is something up between the boss an’ that feller,” commented the woman, as she lit a hand-lamp and moved toward a door.

“What makes you think that, Sadie?”

“Cos he an’ the boss did a pile of whisperin’ the other night, an’ when the boss does that why----” and the woman finished with a low laugh.

“Well, it ain’t none of our affairs, Sadie.”

“That’s so, so long as we git our wages. But come on to bed.”

“I’m ready. This bein’ up half the night makes me dead tired.”

The woman passed through the door, and, after extinguishing the large lamp which hung from a bracket, the man followed her.

Bob had listened with keen interest to the conversation between the pair. One thing was settled. Jim Casco was in the house.

Now what was best to do? Bob knew of no officer whom he could summon save Dimler, and after the way that individual had acted, the young photographer did not feel disposed to ask anything further at his hands.

Bob passed back as far as the brook, and here sat down to think matters over. Several things were quite clear to him.

One was that Casco, Barker, and Grogan were in the vicinity for no good purpose.

The second was that Casco was acquainted with Raymond, and that he had called there before. This would tend to the idea that Raymond’s place was to be a sort of headquarters for the crowd of evildoers.

“I’ll shadow them, and find out what they are up to,” was Bob’s resolve.

And, when Bob made a resolution, he always stuck to it.

Presently, as Bob sat thinking, he saw a light flash from one of the upper windows of the hotel. Then a curtain was drawn down, and for a second a profile stood out on the white surface.

The profile was perfect, so perfect, in fact, that the young photographer had no difficulty in guessing its original.

The profile was that of Casco.