by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XX JOHNNY STRIKES FIRST
At a quarter of six next evening, at the request of the Fire Chief,Johnny was lurking in the shadows back of the building on Randolph Streetthat housed such a strange collection of commodities: chemicals,diamonds, juvenile books, novelties and Knobs, the suspected firebug.
Earlier that day a phone call had tipped off the Chief. According to thecall, Knobs Whittaker would bear a little extra watching that night.While putting little faith in this tip, the Chief had no desire toneglect the least clue which might assist in bringing to an end theseries of disastrous fires which were reflecting great discredit upon hisdepartment. Acting upon the tip he had stationed men at every point whichKnobs had been seen to frequent.
Johnny's station was this building. He had come around behind to have alook at possible exits there. Having satisfied his mind in this matter,he was about to make his way back along the wall to the street when hewas halted by the sudden sound of a truck entering the alley.
Slinking deeper into the shadows, he waited. To his surprise he saw thetruck back up at the door of the very building he was watching.
"Going to take something away," was his mental comment.
This thought was at once abandoned when he noted that the light truck wasalready loaded to capacity.
Climbing down from the seat, the driver and his assistant walked to thedoor. Finding it locked, the driver beat a tattoo on it with his fist.
"What's wanted?" demanded a voice as a head was thrust out of a window tothe left of the door.
"Open up!" growled the driver. "Got a consignment of chemicals for you."
"What you coming round this time of day for?"
"Came all the way from Calumet. Had a blow-out."
"There's no one here but me," said the young man, reluctantly unbarringthe door. "Boss is gone. Chief clerk's gone. His assistant is gone. I'monly a sort of apprentice. Haven't any authority."
"Well, we can't dump the goods in the street, can we? It's going torain."
"No, I suppose you can't," said the young man, scratching his headdoubtfully. "Suppose you'll have to dump them in here until morning.You'll have to come round then and check up on them."
"That's jake with me."
The apprentice began clearing a space at the back of the shop. Thecarters tumbled off bags and boxes, to pile them in the cleared space.After this had been done the steel night doors were closed and the truckdrove away.
"They drive as if the devil were after them," thought Johnny.
Without quite knowing why, he lingered for a time back there in thedeepening shadows and as he lingered he caught an unusual sound from oneof the rooms above.
"That's odd, sounds like something heavy being rolled over the floor; apiano, or--or maybe a safe. Wonder why anyone would be doing that thistime of the day?"
As it had grown quite dark by this time, he moved around to the front.
From the moment the matter had been called to his attention, thisbuilding with its strange assortment of occupants had held a profoundinterest for Johnny. He suspected Knobs of holding an interest in theNovelty Company, in truth suspected that floor of being his hangout. Hewas more than interested in the diamond merchant's place, too. Indeed, hefelt that somehow there must be a connection between Knobs and thediamonds.
"Perhaps he means to steal them?" he told himself now as he lingered inthe shadow of the building. "But then, there are the burglar alarms. Howis he to get around them? Well, we'll see."
An eddy of air sweeping up the street showered him with dust and paperscraps.
"Ugh," he grunted, as he made for the door of the building to escape thislittle whirlwind, "we're in for a blow; perhaps rain."
"Fiddle!" he exclaimed a moment later, "I promised to go to Forest Citywith Mazie to-night. Carnival! Last of the season. Told her I'd do it ifnothing turned up. But something has turned up, at least the Chief thinksit's going to turn up."
And just then things did turn up; at least one thing did, and not sosmall either. Treading on air, as if afraid of disturbing the spirit ofhis dead grandmother, there came tripping down the stair no less a personthan Knobs Whittaker!
"Put 'em to sleep with a brick and argue with 'em afterwards," Johnnyseemed to be hearing poor old Ben Zook saying.
Knobs was carrying a square black satchel in his hand. His right hipbulged. He did not see Johnny, who stood well back in the shadows. Justas his feet touched the ground floor, as if drawn by a rocket, Knobs shotstraight up from the floor to at last topple over in a heap. Johnny'sgood right hand had spoken. He had obeyed the instructions of old BenZook.
Knobs' sleep lasted for scarcely more than ten seconds; long enough,however, for Johnny to explore his hip pocket and draw forth anugly-looking blue automatic. When Knobs opened his eyes he looked intothe muzzle of his own gun.
The art of escape is sometimes cultivated to such a degree of perfectionthat it becomes automatic. The street door was open. With a motion thatcould scarcely be called rolling, leaping or gliding, the prostrate manwent through that door. Before Johnny could block his escape, or evenpress the trigger of the automatic, Knobs was gone. One thing was againstthe fleeing one, however; he had left his gun and his black case behind.
"Evidence here," Johnny whispered to himself. "Valuable evidence, beyonda doubt."
Then, following a rule he had laid down for himself: "Always do the thingthat's least expected," instead of following the man, he picked up theblack bag and sprang lightly up the stairs and out of sight. He did notstop at the first landing, nor the second; but continued to the third,where, after hurrying down the hall, he threw back the iron shutters ofthe hall window, tossed the bag out, and jumped to the flat roof below.After that he lost no time in making his way down a fire escape to theground.
After a hasty glance up and down the alley, he gripped the handle ofKnobs' automatic with his right hand, and carrying the black bag in hisleft, walked with a leisurely and nonchalant air down the alley and outon the side street. To all appearances the street was deserted.Apparently no one had seen him emerge from the alley. He was thankful forthat.
Hardly had he walked a dozen paces on that street when there struck hisears a cry that had grown familiar:
"FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"
"Fire!" he said to himself. "I wonder where now?" He was to know soonenough.
There is something strange about a city street. Though it be desertedfrom end to end, let one cry of "Fire!" ring out upon its desertedstillness, and within the space of thirty seconds it is thronging withpeople. It was so now. In a moment the place was swarming with people.
Johnny Thompson did not join the throng. He was far too wise for that.The black bag he carried contained something of vital interest to thatsmooth villain, Knobs. Knobs would want it back. Nor would he be alone.There might be twenty of his gang in that crowd. For them to surroundJohnny and beat him up in such a mob would be a simple enough matter. Hewould leave no chance for that. Turning, Johnny sped down an alley,crossed a street, shot down a second alley and, reaching the river, heraced along the wall that lined its banks, climbed the bridge, then tothe back of a building, paused once more to listen, then climbed thestairs to his room.
"Shook them!" he puffed as he bolted the door and carefully placed theblack bag under the bed.
His next move was to throw back the steel blinds to his own windows andto look in the direction of that building on Randolph Street that he hadjust left.
The sight that met his eyes brought an exclamation to his lips.
"Pant!" he called, "Pant! Wake up! If you want to see a fire that is one,come here!"
Tumbling from the cot where he had been sleeping, Pant stumbled towardthe window. Then he, too, stared in wonder.
"Talk about quick burners!" exclaimed Johnny. "Did you ever see anythingquicker or hotter than that?"
"No," said Pant solemnly, "I never have."
The building, filled with chemic
als, diamonds, books and novelties, was awhite hot furnace. Johnny had seen blast furnaces, open hearths, and thewhite flames of the Bessemer, but never had he seen a fiercer, hotterflame than this one. Even at this great distance it seemed to fairlyscorch his face.
"Enough chemicals in that place to stock an army for the next war," hesaid aloud.
At once he thought of the truck load of chemicals that had arrived at aquarter of six, and of the heavy rolling sound he had heard shortly afterthe truck drove away.
Never in all the history of Chicago had there been a hotter fire. Johnnycould see the firemen, forced from one position to another, fall back,back, and back again. They made no attempt to quench this white fury. Thebest they could do was to throw a water screen against the buildings nextto this to prevent disaster from spreading to the entire businessdistrict.
"Oh man!" exclaimed Pant. "Only look! Red flames, white flames, purple,yellow and blue. Must have burned its way through the crust of the earthand turned the thing into a volcano."
"Chemicals," said Johnny. He had been looking for an explosion; such anexplosion as would wreck every building in the block and perhaps crossthe river and shake bricks down upon his own head. But as the momentspassed, he began to hope that it would not come. When a quarter of anhour had worn itself slowly away and the fierce flames began to die down,he knew that it would not come, and breathed a prayer of thankfulness forthat.
"Pant, I promised Mazie and that little girl we saved from the schoolfire that we'd go out to Forest City to-night. This is the last night ofthe Carnival. It's not too late yet. There's nothing I can do about thatfire over there until it has cooled down. Want to go?"
"I don't mind," said Pant. "In fact, I'd rather like to go."
"All right. Throw on your glad rags and come on."
A little later, as Johnny locked the door on the outside, he hesitatedfor a moment. He had thought of the black bag he had thrown under thebed.
"Safe there as anywhere in the world," he told himself. "I'll break thelock and look inside to-morrow."
Then he followed Pant down the stairs.