The Young Firemen of Lakeville; Or, Herbert Dare's Pluck

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE STENOGRAPHER'S SUSPICIONS

  Herbert stood gazing at the slip of paper in his hand. He did not knowwhat to make of it. Then he looked up at the window whence it had beenthrown. There was no sign of life there. Whoever had tossed out themysterious message had disappeared again behind the dark shutters.

  "Well, this gets me," murmured the boy. "I wonder what it means? Is ita joke; or something serious?"

  Then another idea came to him.

  "It's written on a typewriter!" he exclaimed. "I wonder if it couldhave been done by Mort Decker? Perhaps he is in trouble there withMuchmore. Maybe the man has him locked up. Had I better tell theauthorities?"

  Then, as he looked at the message again, he had a different thought.

  "No, Mort couldn't have written it," he said to himself. "He knows howto work a typewriter, and he'd use capitals in the places where theybelong. And, besides, this message isn't finished. Whoever wrote ithad to stop before he was through. I wonder what the rest of that wordis. 'Priso--' Maybe it's meant for 'poisoned' and it's spelled wrong.I wish--"

  But the boy's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a noise at awindow over his head. Thinking the person who had thrown out themysterious message was again about to open the shutters, Bert watchedanxiously, but, instead, a window on the second floor opened and MortDecker leaned out.

  "Hello!" began Bert.

  "Hush!" exclaimed Mort, placing his fingers over his lips as anadditional signal of caution. "Get away from here, Bert; Mr. Muchmoreis coming!"

  "But," went on the boy, "I have--"

  "Don't say a word. Hurry away. I'll try to see you to-night, at thebarn. Go, before--"

  He did not finish the sentence, but hurriedly shut the shutters, andclosed the window. Bert took the hint, and glided into the woods,where he could not be observed. He gave one look back at themysterious house, and once more he saw that the window, from whichMort had looked, was open. But the stenographer did not peer forth.Instead, the face of Muchmore appeared. The man looked aroundcarefully, as if to see if anyone had been communicating with inmatesof the house. Then, apparently satisfied, as he saw nothingsuspicious, he pulled the shutters tightly together, and closed thewindow.

  "Well, things are happening in a bunch," thought Bert, as he made hisway toward the village. "First I get a queer message I can't make heador tail of, and then Mort warns me away from the house. I wonder whathe wants to tell me to-night? It must have something to do with theStockton place."

  Bert almost wished that a fire alarm might come in, so that the timewould pass more quickly. But the day dragged along, and there was nooccasion for taking out either of the engines.

  After supper, as was his custom, the young chief visited the twofire-houses, to see that both apparatuses were in readiness for a run inthe night. The tanks were kept filled, and the lanterns were lightedas soon as it grew dark.

  Bert first went to the town hall, where, in the basement, he foundVincent and several members of "Corps No. 2," as it was known.

  "Well, boys, all ready for a blaze?" asked Bert. "How's the machine,Vincent?"

  "All right, I guess. We thought we were going to have a run, a whileago."

  "How's that?"

  "Pile of shavings near Sagger's new butcher shop caught fire, and madea lot of smoke. He came running in here, and wanted us to take theengine out, but I saw it didn't amount to anything, and I didn't wantto waste a lot of chemicals on a blaze like that."

  "What did you do?"

  "We put it out with a few pails of water. He could have done the same,only he was too excited."

  "And he is the man who said the bucket brigade was good enough,"observed John Boll.

  "I guess he's changed his mind," remarked Bert. "I'm going over toCole's barn," he added. "It's my night on duty."

  Bert found Cole and several of his chums engaged in games of checkersand dominoes in the barn, which had been fitted up as much as possiblelike a fire-house. Bert greeted his chums, and then sat down, toawait, with what patience he could, the promised arrival of Mort.

  "I hope he comes," thought the boy. "I'd like to get at the bottom ofthis."

  It was nearly nine o'clock when Mort looked in at the open door of thebarn and nodded to Bert.

  "I'll be back in a little while, boys," said the young chief, as hefollowed the stenographer outside. There was an oil lamp in thedriveway leading to the street, and Bert, pausing under it, pulled outthe queer slip of paper, and showed it to Mort.

  "I thought maybe you might know something about this," he said.

  "Where did you get it?"

  "I picked it up right near where you saw me, under the window. Someone threw it out."

  "So, that's why you were there, eh? I couldn't imagine. I thought youwere trying to find out something about that house of mystery."

  "So I was. Why did you warn me away?"

  "Because, as I told you, Muchmore was right there. I happened to seeyou when I was at work, in the place he has fitted up as an office,and I didn't want you to get into trouble. You were on his privateland, and he would just as soon as not have you arrested."

  "I'm not afraid of that. But what do you make of this message?"

  Mort, who had not closely examined the paper before, started as hecaught sight of it.

  "Why, that was written on my typewriter!" he exclaimed. "I mean on theone Muchmore bought for me to use. I can tell, because the letter 'e'prints a little bit out of alignment."

  "Who wrote it?" asked Bert. "What do you make of it?"

  "I don't know who wrote it. Some one must have gone to my typewriterwhen I was away, or maybe it was done at night."

  "Could it have been the old housekeeper?" asked Bert. "Maybe she is introuble, and this looks like an appeal for aid."

  "No. Mrs. Blarcum is afraid to touch the machine. Besides, she doesn'teven know how to put the paper in."

  "Muchmore wouldn't have tossed out a message like that, I suppose?"

  "No. Besides, he knows how to work the machine, and he'd use theproper lettering. Anyhow, he'd have no occasion to do such a thing."

  "Then what can it be?" inquired Bert, much puzzled.

  "Certainly someone is in trouble," agreed Mort. "The word 'help' showsthat. Properly written the message would look like this, and on theback of the paper he wrote:

  "Help! I am a priso"

  "What's that last word?" asked Bert. "I thought it might have beenmeant for 'poison.' What do you think?"

  Mort was silent a moment. Then he exclaimed:

  "I have it! It's 'prisoner'! That's what it is!"

  "Prisoner?"

  "Yes."

  "But who could be imprisoned there?"

  "I don't know. Maybe it's a lunatic, or some poor fellow whom Muchmorehas fleeced out of all his money by gambling."

  "Then he is a gambler?"

  "Yes; but how did you know?"

  "Well, it is rumored so in the village."

  "Yes. He is a gambler, and something more. I believe he is a worsecriminal. He has had several gambling parties at his house. Men comeafter dark, in automobiles, along the private road. Sometimes theyarrive in the motor boat from the other side of the lake. They don'tpass through the village at all. Oh, I see and hear things thatMuchmore never suspects I know about."

  "But what makes you think he is a criminal?"

  "Because he has had me doing some queer work lately."

  "What kind?"

  "Making copies of old deeds and mortgages. Now, no man has deeds andmortgages copied unless he is going to dispose of property, and allthis property is in the name of Harris Stockton, his uncle. I believeMuchmore is up to some crooked game."

  "But where is Mr. Stockton?"

  "That's what I can't find out. Muchmore says he is in Europe, and Ioften write for him letters addressed to his uncle, which are directedto different cities in France and Germany. But Muchmore always mailsthem himself. I don't know where Mr. Stockton is. If I did I'd sendhi
m word of what is going on in his house, and what I suspect hisnephew is up to."

  "But what about this queer message?" asked Bert.

  "I'm sure I don't know what to say. There is some mystery about it. Iwill try and get on the track of it, but to do that I must get up onthe top floor, and that is a place Muchmore carefully guards. Perhapsyou can help me."

  "I'm afraid not, but I'll try."

  "Do," urged the stenographer. "I'll see you again, and--"

  At that instant the fire alarm began ringing, and Bert rushed back tothe barn.