by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XXXII SKY HIGH
In the granary room of the abandoned farmstead, Johnny was beingquestioned by some very angry men.
"You had the slugs. You can't deny that!" Volpi exclaimed with an oath."What have you done with them? Did you drop them in the car? Where arethey?"
Johnny was puzzled. What should he say? He might tell them the wholetruth, that he had dropped them with his letter into the mail box backthere in the city. As far as the bullets went, this would do no harm.They could not possibly return to the mail box and rifle it before thecollector arrived and carried the package away. But would not this hastenhis own death? Once in possession of the whole truth, they would nothesitate to kill him.
His reply was: "I do not know where the bullets are."
In this he told the exact truth. For who can tell at what hour mail iscollected from street boxes at night? Or is it collected at all betweenmidnight and 6:00 A.M.? Johnny did not know. Perhaps the package stilllay in the box. Perhaps by this time it was in a branch post office.
"You don't know!" The gunman sprang at his throat. A companion pulled himback.
"Not so fast, Mike," he grumbled. "Plenty of time. He will tell."
He whispered a few words in Volpi's ear. Volpi nodded.
The man left the room. Johnny thought he heard him jimmying a window tothe house.
No doubt he interpreted the sounds correctly. The man returned presently.Then they all marched to the house, pushing Johnny before them.
Arrived at the house, they thrust Johnny unceremoniously into a darkcellar and barred the doors behind him.
The place was cold and damp; full of evil smells. There were rats. Hecould hear them scurrying about as he made his way over the uneven floor.
There were two windows. These were high up and very narrow. If he priedone of them open could he escape? The thing seemed dubious. Soon enoughhe discovered that his captors had left nothing to the imagination. Thewindows were heavily barred on the outside.
"Been used as a prison before!" His blood went cold at the thought of thedark deeds that might have taken place in this evil smelling and gloomyhole.
Feeling his way back to the stairs, he crawled part way up, then satdown. He would not dare sleep because of the rats. On the stairs he wassafest from them.
He heard the gangsters rattling the lids of a stove.
"Going to cook a meal," he told himself.
He did not expect to be fed. He was not.
Very soon he began to realize that there was something besides food inthe house. There was intoxicating drink. The party became noisy. Momentby moment the hubbub increased in volume until it was a revel.
After that, by degrees, it subsided. "All drunk and gone to sleep," hetold himself. "What a time to escape!"
Search as he might, he could find no means of breaking the bars of thewindows. The plank door was impregnable. At last he gave up and seatedhimself once more on the stairs to await the dawn.
What occupied his thoughts during these long hours? One might well besurprised. He was thinking of dark, shadowy forests, where the ferns growrank and the pheasant rears her young. He was seeing a deep, blue-greenfishing hole where black bass lurk and great muskies fan the water as aneagle fans the air. Who can say what relief one may find, fromsurroundings that are terrible, by contemplating that which is beautiful,though very far away?
* * * * * * * *
Drew Lane had just returned to the shack from a disheartening search forsome clue that would lead to a knowledge of Johnny's whereabouts, when anapparition burst in upon him; a person he had known for a girl, but whowore torn and soiled boy's clothes, and whose complexion had turned avery dark brown.
"You are Joyce Mills!" He stared at her in amazement.
"Yes," she admitted, dropping into a chair. "And I know where JohnnyThompson is."
"You know--"
"Listen!" She held up a hand.
In just three minutes by the clock, she had sketched the whole story.
"But do you know the exact way to this farm?" Drew demanded.
"I--I'm sorry, I do not. I--I fell asleep. I--"
"Would you know the barn if you saw it?"
"Oh, yes. Surely. It is a large red barn. The paint is old. There arethree cupolas. Five slats from one cupola are gone. I took them outmyself."
"Good! Here's where the police use an airplane. You're not afraid tofly?"
The girl sprang to her feet.
"Sit down. Drink this." He poured a steaming cup of coffee. "Eat these."He slammed a plate of doughnuts on the table.
He dashed to the phone. One call, then another, and another.
Joyce had just swallowed her third doughnut when Drew seized her andwhirled her, dirty rags and all, into a squad car.
"CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!" went the gong. They were away.
Half an hour later, in an aviation suit three sizes too large for her,the girl saw the earth drifting away from her as she rose toward thefleecy clouds that floated lazily in an azure sky.
* * * * * * * *
That morning the mail collector on Grand Avenue was not a little puzzledover a package which was quite properly addressed to a Johnny Thompson ofa certain address on Grand Avenue. All the package lacked was postage.The place addressed was but two blocks away. Since he would be passing itin a very short time, he might easily have dropped it there. This,however, would have been contrary to postal regulations. He carried thepackage to a branch office. There a clerk made a record of the affair.After putting in the mail a card notifying Johnny Thompson that a packagemailed to him without sufficient postage lay in that office, subject tohis order, he threw the package in a pigeonhole and promptly forgot aboutit. And that, as you will know, was the package of incriminating bulletswhich had caused great commotion in more than one quarter.