by Joan Clark
Chapter XVI
THE BOOK
The newcomer limped a couple of paces into the room. His left arm andone leg were swathed in bandages.
"What price rock salt?" remarked Bill pleasantly, still reaching towardthe ceiling.
Despite her qualms, Dorothy could not help smiling. The bald man's facebecame scarlet with fury.
"Another crack like that and I'll give you a taste of something harderthan rock salt," her roared. "And when I get through with him that guywho was so free with his shotgun last night will wish he'd never beenborn!"
Bill ignored this outburst. "That gat was my only weapon," he announcedwithout rancor. "This house is in New York State, so if you want to burnin Sing Sing, shoot--I'm tired of holding up my arms."
He lowered his hands and thrust them into his trousers pockets.
The bald man looked daggers but he did not pull the trigger. Instead heturned on his partner.
"Why don't you do something, Chick?" he growled. "You know I'm laidup--oughta be in bed right now, for that matter."
"Say, Eddie," complained the burly fellow, "I'm stiff as a boardmyself--I got peppered all down my back and you know it."
"Aw, quit yer grousin'. You can still move around. Tie 'em up and we'lldump 'em somewhere till the boss gets back."
"Yeah? An' what do we use fer rope?"
Eddie scratched his head with the butt of his revolver and hobbled overto an armchair. "Stick that gat in yer pocket, Chick," he ordered as helowered himself carefully into the deep cushions. "I've got 'em covered.Beat it into the kitchen--that fat dinge in there's got plenty ofclothesline. Help yerself and tell her I'll come in an' bump her off, ifshe gets nasty!"
Chick pocketed his revolver and started to walk stiffly across the roomwhen Liza's ample figure appeared in the doorway. In her hands she borea wooden mixing bowl, brimming with cake batter. The whites of her eyesgleamed dangerously, as she glared at Chick; then she waddled into theroom and halted just behind Eddie's chair.
"I done heard what yo'all said jes' now, bald man--" She shook her headslowly from side to side and stared down at the gangster's hairlesspate. "Seems ter me you was talkin' 'bout bumpin' somebuddy!"
With his gun covering the three prisoners, Eddie was unable to look upat her. Chick undoubtedly hailed Liza's appearance as relief from thepainful necessity of a walk to the kitchen. He sat down on the edge of achair opposite Eddie and scowled at her sourly. Eddie took up theconversation with the angry woman behind him.
"That's right, nigger," he chuckled hoarsely. "We want some clothesline,to tie up these here nuisances--an' if you don't cough some up rightnow--I'll bump you off, see?"
"Reckon you got your names mixed--" Without warning Liza brought thesolid mixing bowl down upon his unprotected skull.
Eddie collapsed beneath the forceful blow and as he crumpled to thefloor, Liza flung the bowl and its contents in Chick's face. Then withan agility surprising in one so cumbersomely made, she catapultedherself at the astonished ruffian. Over went his chair and they crashedin a tangled heap of broken furniture, waving legs and cake batter.
Bill broke into a roar of laughter, but Dorothy wasted no time in beingamused at this spectacle. She dove for Bill's gun which Eddie had notbothered to retrieve. She ran over the struggling pair on the floor andheld the muzzle to Chick's head.
"Stop fighting!" she commanded. "Stop it at once--"
Chick sat up and tried to scrape the batter out of his eyes. "I ain'tfightin'," he growled, "I'm half blind and I'm fair smothered. An' if meback ain't broke it oughter be! Take that Mack truck offen my legs--Ican't move, much less put up a scrap!"
"Get up, Liza!" Dorothy had to smile at the fellow's plight. With Bill'shelp she got the stout negress planted on her feet again. Uncle Abestood guard with a poker over Eddie. That glum gentleman was heraldinghis return to consciousness with the most remarkable series of coughinggrunts.
"This sure is the craziest rough house I ever got mixed up in," laughedBill. "Old Baldy over there sounds like a French pig rooting fortruffles--"
Dorothy grinned absent-mindedly, her thoughts on the next move to bemade.
"We'll let dese two pigs burrer an' grunt down cellar," declared Liza,straightening her turban and smoothing down her apron. "Dere's a emptystoreroom down dere--it's got a strong door an' a good bolt, too. Gimmea gun, please Miss Dor'thy. Me an' Uncle Abe can 'tend ter dis whitetrash."
The negress walked over to Eddie, who stared about the room, a dazedexpression on his face.
"Git up an' come along."
Then as Eddie continued to look at her vacantly, she picked him up as ifhe were a baby and draped him over her broad shoulders.
"Yo'all go first, Liza," said Uncle Abe. He prodded Chick with the gunhe had taken from her. "Him an' me'll be right behin'."
Dorothy and Bill watched the odd procession pass from the room.
"Whew!" she exclaimed. "That was a hectic five minutes. But how did youhappen to be in here?"
"Got tired of sticking round outside, so slipped in by that window.Eddie was asleep at the time, but he woke up right afterward. Then youand Uncle Abe walked in--and you know the rest. Say, it must be Terrythese guys nabbed. Wonder what's become of Stoker and Betty?"
"Heaven only knows," said Dorothy wearily. "I'll go up and let Terry outand I think the best thing you can do is to phone the state police. WithTerry here, we've got enough on Mr. John J. Joyce to hold him, now."
"We sure have. Wonder what the J in John J. Joyce stands for?"
"Well, it will stand for Jay, Jonah and Jinx all in one, _if_ you getthe police here before he comes back and sets his men free. By the way,I may be going coo-coo with all this, but it seems to me that I keephearing shots every now and then. There's another--hear it?"
"Somebody's probably potting bunnies in the woods." Bill seemedunconcerned. "I noticed it just after I got in here. Beat it upstairsnow, and I'll hunt up a telephone."
Dorothy found the room where Terry was held prisoner by the simpleexpedient of opening each door as she came to it. The fourth door waslocked, but the key was on the outside. It was no surprise to her, uponopening it, to see her friend lying on the bed. A quick glance showedDorothy that both windows were barred.
Terry sprang up with a glad cry. "It's sure good to see _you_!" He gaveher a good-natured hug. "How in the world did you manage this?"
Dorothy told him as briefly as possible. "What I want to know," she saidin conclusion, "is how they happened to catch you napping--and what'sbecome of George Conway and Betty?"
"They didn't catch me napping," Terry retorted. "You and Bill had beengone about an hour and I expected Stoker back from taking Betty home anyminute. A Ford drove into the garage, there was a bang on the door and avoice sang out--'Let me in. It's George.' Well, I opened up and--"
"It wasn't George--" supplied Dorothy, as usual going straight to thepoint. "Joyce and his men nabbed you, of course. That's plain enough.But where are Betty and George?"
"Search me."
Bill burst into the room and stood breathless before them.
"Did you get the police?" asked Dorothy.
"Got headquarters all right. But what do you think's happened?"
"Spill it, Bill. This is no guessing bee," said Terry.
"The sergeant told me they'd had a phone call from Lewis. The old manwas frantic. Joyce and his gang were trying to break into his house. Thewhole caboodle from headquarters are up there now, rounding up John J.Joyce and Company."
"That accounts for the shots we heard," cried Dorothy. "Get on yourrubbers, Terry. We're going to hike over to Mr. Lewis's place right now.I want to be in at the finish."
"And I," added Bill, "want to find out what this mess is about!"
They raced downstairs and stopping only long enough to tell Liza andUncle Abe of this new development, set off for the Lewis propertyadjoining.
Following hasty directions given them by th
e darkies, they hurried alonga path which led them to a gate in a high wall. The gate was not lockedand they continued along the path which crossed the Lewis estate.Presently the dim shape of a large white house appeared through themist.
"Halt!" A gruff voice arrested them as they were about to ascend thesteps at the side entrance. A state trooper barred their way. "Who areyou--and what do you want?"
"We are friends of Mr. Lewis," said Dorothy. She explained thecircumstances of their arrival.
"Well, we've just sent Joyce and his men to the lockup. The whole crewof 'em. We corralled 'em proper. They'd busted into the house, you know,and it sure would have been a mixup if this fly cop that horned in onthe Joyce bunch hadn't clapped his gat to Joyce's head and held up theirgame until we got here."
"Oh, that must have been Michael Michaels--the private inquiry agent whocame to Uncle Abe's last night," said Bill. "We'd like to go in thehouse, officer."
"O.K. with me. There's some kind of a pow-wow goin' on in the livingroom. I'll take you in there."
He opened the door and led them across the square hall into the livingroom. Here they found a surprise awaiting them.
"Betty! George!" cried Dorothy. She flew across the room to her friend."I'm so glad you're safe. How did you get here?"
"Oh, darling! It's too exciting for words!" gurgled Betty as they huggedeach other. "And George was so brave--he--"
"Mr. Lewis and his chauffeur stopped our Lizzie last night," broke inStoker. "Told us Joyce and his men were likely to hold us up down theroad. So we left the Ford and came over here with Mr. Lewis. And we'vebeen here ever since."
"Listen, George!" said that old gentleman, and both girls giggled."Hadn't you better introduce your friends? This young lady in overallsis Miss Dixon, I take it?"
"She certainly is," smiled Stoker and performed the necessaryintroductions.
The other men in the room proved to be Michael Michaels and an inspectorof the state police. For a few minutes everybody seemed to be talking atonce. Bill told George and Mr. Lewis of his adventures with Dorothy,while Terry explained his capture by the Joyce gang to the inspector andMichaels.
"Listen!" said Dorothy and threw a reproving glance at the others'unsuppressed smiles--"Will somebody please tell me what Mr. Joyce hasbeen trying to steal from Stoker?"
"Why, that's so," interjected Mr. Lewis, "you have no idea, of course--"
"No, except that it's probably mixed up with that book, _Aircraft PowerPlants_, I think it's called--"
The old gentleman looked at her in unfeigned astonishment. "Listen,Michaels!" he cried. "She says this business is connected with thatbook. Pretty good guess, eh?"
"Certainly is," returned the detective. "But the book is a mystery initself, and one we haven't yet solved."
"But what _was_ Joyce after?" interrupted Bill with a show ofimpatience.
"The plans, of course," said Stoker Conway.
"But what plans?"
"The plans of my father's new aircraft engine. I knew nothing about ituntil Mr. Lewis told me last night."
"Where are the plans, and what has the book to do with them?" broke inDorothy.
"Listen, young lady," began Mr. Lewis, when Michaels the detectivestopped him with a gesture.
"Better let me tell them, sir," he suggested. "These young people have aright to know."
The old gentleman nodded approval and the detective, after biting offthe end of a cigar, continued to talk while the others grouped abouthim. "About two weeks ago," he said, "Mr. Lewis called at my New Yorkoffice. There he told me the following story. Six weeks before hisdeath, Mr. Conway came over here and told Mr. Lewis that he hadperfected plans for an aircraft motor which would develop very highpower on a very small consumption of gasoline."
"That's just what all the inventors are after now," interposed Bill.
"Why, I should say so!" cried Dorothy. "If _Wispy's_ motor didn't lap upthe gas like a thirsty camel, I'd never have been forced to land in thatwoodlot yesterday afternoon!"
"All very interesting, I'm sure--" Terry's voice was sarcastic. "But dolet's hear what Mr. Michaels is trying to tell us!"
"That's all right," smiled the detective. "Let's see--where was I? Oh,yes, the motor: well, the inventor told Mr. Lewis that his partner andsales agent had ruined him financially, and that now he was convincedthat he'd been swindled, and that Joyce was a crook. Mr. Lewis suggestedMr. Conway take the matter to the courts, and offered to advance moneyfor legal expenses. Mr. Conway said he hadn't sufficient evidence for acase; that Joyce had covered his tracks too well. Then he spoke aboutthe plans for this new motor he'd just completed. He said that Joyceknew about it and was trying to get control of the thing; but thatoutside of stealing the plans outright, Joyce could do nothing, as thepartnership had been dissolved. And at the same time he told Mr. Lewisthat he knew he was suffering from an incurable disease and could livebut a few months longer at most."
"Listen, Michaels--let me tell it," interrupted old Lewis. "You arewandering all over the place.... Your father, George, said that shouldhe have the new motor built, Joyce would undoubtedly make trouble, andhe, Conway, wanted to die in peace. He told me he was going to entrustme with the plans and would send them to me after he had made someslight changes in them. And he said that he would send me his check tocover the expense of building and exploiting the engine. 'After I'mgone, you attend to it for George,' he said. 'That boy has no mechanicalability, and he's too young to market a thing like this motor. Joyce orother wolves like him would rob him of it in twenty four hours.' Andthat, was the last time I saw John Conway alive."
The old gentleman pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose violently."He wouldn't see me when I called, nor would he mention the plans overthe phone. He died while I was in Boston on business. When I got backthe next day, I found a package from him waiting for me. Of course, Ithought it would contain the plans and his check. When I opened it up Ifound nothing but a book--_Aircraft Power Plants_, by a man named Jones.I was naturally surprised, and searched its pages from cover to cover,but found no papers of any kind. I've even read every word of it sincethen. And its pages have been tested for invisible ink. But I've had mytrouble and pains for nothing."
"I wonder why Father didn't tell me of those plans?" George remarkedrather wistfully.
"That I can't explain, my boy. As you know now, I thought you had them.Either that you had removed them from the book before it left yourhouse, or that your father had changed his mind and given them to you.Anyway, I decided to await developments. Nothing happened until Joyce,who had been in Europe since Conway's death, returned home a couple ofweeks ago. He came to see me and asked me outright if I knew anythingabout Conway's airplane motor plans. I never liked nor trusted Joyce,but I saw no harm in telling him the truth. For of course I figured thatGeorge must have set the wheels in motion for the sale of the motor longbefore. Joyce could do nothing about it at this late date."
"But to my astonishment, the man told me the motor had not beenmarketed--that he would have heard if any company had bought it. 'Eitherthat boy's got the plans,' he said, 'or Conway had two copies of thebook and sent you the wrong one--' I didn't understand how the book cameinto it and told him so. 'Conway always sent important papers throughthe mail by placing them between the pages of a book,' he assured me.'Thought they would travel safer that way.'
"Well, he changed the subject then, and left. I got nervous about whatI'd told him, and hired Michaels to watch the fellow. Michaels dug up alot of things about Joyce, and managed to get himself placed on hisstaff of roughnecks. If he could have been in two places at once, allthis trouble over at the Conway house last night would never have comeoff."
Dorothy spoke from her place on the couch beside Betty. "How did youhappen to go there last night?"
"I wanted to find out if George really had another copy of the book.Later I learned from Michaels that Joyce's men had tried to torture theboy into telling them where the plans were--and that then he intended tokidnap h
im. I was on my way over there to warn him when we met on theroad. He wanted to put young Walters wise, but I was sure the Joyce gangwouldn't hurt his friend. I had promised Michaels not to go ahead on myown hook until I saw him. Perhaps I was wrong, but I did what I thoughtwas best for George's interests. I've heard since that they just abouttore the house apart, looking for the other copy of that book!"
"Do you happen to have the copy that was sent you, here in the house?"asked Dorothy.
"Yes--right here, on the table." Michaels handed it to her.
Dorothy pored over the book for a few minutes, then laid it down. "Mr.Lewis, do you mind if I take it home with me?"
"Why, of course not--keep it as long as you wish."
"Thanks," she smiled. "Now, you gentlemen want to plan about what to dowith Joyce and Co., and Bill and I have some gas to buy and a plane tofly home. So I'll say _au revoir_ for the present!"