Ted Strongs Motor Car

by Taylor, Edward C

  "I'm going to buy one, anyway," laughed Ted. "I don't mind being stung for a cent."

  He beckoned to a newsboy, bought a paper, and opened it.

  "What's this?" he almost shouted.

  Great black letters sprawled across the top of the page.

  "Express Messenger Found Dead," was the first line, and below it was the confirmation of Ted's belief that a great robbery had taken place. It was "Forty Thousand Dollars Taken from the Safe."

  "There's the owner of the abandoned automobile, the fellow who boarded the train with the heavy grip," said Ted to Bud, who was staring over his shoulder.

  The article following the startling headlines told the circumstances of the robbery.

  The train that entered the Union Station at six o'clock that morning had been robbed in some mysterious manner between a junction a short distance out of St. Louis, where the express messenger had been seen alive by a fellow messenger in another car. When the car was opened in the station, after being switched to the express track, the messenger was found lying on the floor of the car with a bullet through his head. The safe had been blown open and its contents rifled.

  The express company had kept silent about the murder and robbery until late in the day, when the body of the messenger was found by a reporter in an undertaker's establishment.

  As for the other details, a policeman at the Union Station said that he had noticed a man come out of the waiting room carrying a grip that seemed more than ordinarily heavy. A red motor car was waiting outside the station, and the man got into it and drove away at a fast pace. The policeman had not noticed the number on the car.

  How the robber and murderer got into the express car was a mystery, as the car was locked when it was switched into the express track, and there were no marks of a violent entry on the outside of the car.

  "What aire yer goin' ter do erbout it?" asked Bud. "Aire yer goin' ter turn over ther motor car an' give yer infermation ter ther police?"

  "Not on your life," answered Ted. "At least, not yet. I'm going to work on it a bit myself first."

  "But won't Mr. Truax tip it off?"

  "I'll warn him not to."

  "But how erbout ther feller in ther check suit what wuz so kind an' attentive ter us?"

  "He's hiding out, now that the robbery has become public. I'm not afraid of him."

  "What's ther first move?"

  "Locate and identify the car."

  Ted called Mr. Truax up on the telephone. The commission merchant had read about the express robbery, and had connected the man in the red car with it, but promised to say nothing about it until Ted had had an opportunity to unravel the mystery.

  Ted lay awake a long time that night thinking the matter over, and in the morning awoke with a plan in his mind.

  "Well, hev yer determined what ter do erbout ther red car?" asked Bud at the breakfast table. "I'm shore gittin' sore at myself fer a loafer, sittin' eround here doin' nothin' but eat an' look at ther things in ther stores what I can't buy."

  "I've got a scheme that I'm going to try," answered Ted.

  "What is it?"

  "I'm going to run that car all over this town until I get some of the train-robbing syndicate anxious about it and to following it. Then I'm going to get on to their place of doing business and their methods."

  "Wish yer luck," was Bud's cheerless comment.

  Bud had been out wandering restlessly around the streets all morning, and Ted was writing letters. When he got through he thought about the missing trunk, and concluded that he would go to the Union Station to see if it had been received.

  The words of warning in the note not to go on the street alone were clear in his memory; but this he took to mean at night, for in a crowded street in the daytime he could see no danger.

  After he had waited an hour or more for Bud, and the yellow-haired cow-puncher had not returned, Ted decided to delay no longer, and started off at a brisk walk for the station, which was six or seven blocks distant.

  His hotel being on Pine Street, he chose that for his route.

  He had walked three blocks when he stopped to watch a man who was slightly in advance of him.

  It was the fellow he had seen in the checked suit.

  He had just come out of a saloon.

  In the middle of the block he stopped to talk with another man, who looked as if he worked on the railroad, and Ted loitered in a doorway until the two separated, and the man in the checked suit continued on his way.

  A block farther on Ted observed two men standing on the corner talking. A policeman stood on the opposite corner.

  The two men on the corner Ted knew instantly for "plain-clothes men," as the headquarters detectives are called.

  He was well aware that the police by this time were on the alert to find the express robber and murderer, and knew that every available man on the city detective force was on the watch, like a cat at a rat hole.

  To capture the train robber meant a reward and promotion.

  Ted stood on the corner opposite the detectives and watched proceedings.

  When the man in the checked suit had gone about ten paces beyond the detectives, one of them started after him, and the other signaled the policeman in uniform to cross over.

  The detective called to the man in the check suit to halt, but instead of obeying he started to run.

  But he had not gone more than ten feet when he was seized by the detective, and was dragged back to the corner.

  "Take him to the box, Casey," said the detective, turning his prisoner over to the policeman.

  At that moment the two detectives were joined by a third, and they entered into an earnest conversation, drawn closely together and looking over their shoulders occasionally in the direction of the house into which the man in the checked suit was about to enter when arrested.

  "I have stumbled right into it," said Ted to himself. "The check-suit man is the spy for the train robbers, and their headquarters are in that house. The detectives are going to raid it, and I'm in on it. This certainly is lucky."

  He was glad now that he had not waited for Bud.

  The three detectives moved slowly down the street, The policeman stood on the corner holding his man, waiting for the patrol wagon.

  The scene was vividly impressed on Ted's mind, for it had happened so quickly, so easily, so quietly, and not at all like his own strenuous times when he had gone after desperadoes in his capacity of deputy marshal.

  The detectives did not notice that they were being followed by a youth, and it is doubtful if they would have paid any attention to him if they had.

  The foot of the first detective was on the lower step of the stairway leading to the door of the suspected house when suddenly a shrill whistle cut the air from the direction of the corner, and Ted turned to see the policeman strike the man in the check suit a blow with his club.

  "Curse him, he's tipped us off," said the detective. "Come on, we've got to rush them now."

  Quickly the three sprang up the steps, threw the door open, and entered a long hall.

  "Back room," said one.

  Ted was following them as closely as he could without being noticed and warned away.

  He saw a big, fine-looking policeman entering by a back door.

  "That's it," said one of the detectives, motioning to a door.

  The policeman walked boldly to the door and threw it open.

  As he did so a shot rang out, and the policeman staggered back and fell, a crimson stain covering his face.

  He was dead before he struck the floor.

  Without a word, the three detectives ran to the door, and within a moment or two at least fifteen shots were fired within the room.

  They were so many and so close together that it sounded like a single crash. Then there was silence for a few moments, followed by a few desultory shots which seemed to pop viciously after the crash that had gone before.

  It all happened so suddenly that Ted had hardly time to think,
and stood rooted to the spot until he was aroused by the cry of "Help!" in a feeble voice, and, drawing his revolver, he sprang into the room.

  As he did so, a shot rang out, and a ball sped close to his head.

  The room was so dense with suffocating powder smoke that he could not see across it, but he had seen the dull-red flash from the muzzle of a revolver and shot in that direction.

  "I'm done," he heard, followed by a deep groan.

  "Get me out of here," said a man, trying to struggle to his feet, and Ted hurried to his side. It was one of the detectives, and Ted helped him to his feet and supported him to the hall.

  "Let me down. I've got mine. Go in and help Dunnigan," said the wounded man. There was a spot, red and ever widening, on his breast.

  Ted laid him on the floor and reëntered the room. Another shot came in his direction, and missed, although he could feel the wind of it as it passed close to his head, and he returned it with two shots, and there was silence.

  The smoke had by this time cleared away somewhat, and Ted saw five men lying prone in the room.

  One of the detectives lay on his face across the bed, and Ted tried to raise him up, but he was a dead weight. Ted finally got him turned over on his back, and then he saw that the detective was dead.

  Kneeling on the floor with his head in his arms, which were thrown across a chair, was the third detective. He was breathing hard, and every time he moved the blood gushed from his mouth. He had been shot through the stomach.

  But on the other side of the bed lay three men, apparently all of them dead.

  While he was observing this there was a commotion in the hall, and a policeman rushed in, followed by a large man who wore an authoritative air.

  "Oh, this is too bad; this is too bad," he kept repeating, as he went from man to man. It was Chief of Detectives Desmond. Turning to the policeman, he said:

  "They've killed the boys, but the boys got the whole gang except two, 'Checkers' out there, and a man in the red automobile."

  CHAPTER XVI.

  THE MAN IN THE YELLOW CAR.

  A patrol wagon full of policemen had dashed up in front of the house, and they came running down the hall, followed by a horde of eager reporters, who stood aghast at the slaughter of a few minutes.

  The only participant in the fight who could talk was the detective whom Ted had carried to the hall, and he was telling the chief of detectives in whispers what had occurred.

  "That young fellow followed us in," he said, pointing to Ted. "He took me out, and then went in and finished the gang. He's a game one, he is. I don't know who he is, but, by Jove! he's a game un."

  "Who were the gang?" asked the chief.

  "'Big Bill' Minnis, 'Bull' Dorgan, and 'Feathers' Lavin," was the reply. "Checkers we caught on the corner, and the other member of the gang, Dude Wilcox, got away. I guess it was him that rode off with the swag in the automobile, but where he went we couldn't get."

  "I can tell you about that," said Ted quietly to the chief.

  Desmond looked up at him curiously.

  "Not now," he said. "Don't go. I want to talk to you after a while. Now, brace up, Tom; you're going to come out all right. The ambulance is out here, and we'll get you to the hospital."

  "It ain't no use to jolly me, chief," said the man on the floor. "I'm all in. I'm bleedin' inside. I've seen too many fellows with a shot like this ever to have any hopes. Send for my wife and a priest. I ain't afraid to go, chief, but I hate to leave Maggie like this."

  "We'll take care of her, Tom. Get that off your mind."

  "All right, chief. If you say so, I know it'll be all right. Poor girl, it's hard luck for her."

  "That's right, Tom, but brace up and don't let her see that you're worried."

  A woman's scream sounded through the hall, and a slender, girlish figure pushed its way toward the prostrate man.

  "Tom," she cried, and knelt beside him. "Are you hit? Did they get you at last?"

  "Oh, I ain't bad, Maggie," said the dying detective bravely. "The chief's going to have me sent to the hospital, and I'll be all right in a week."

  But before midnight he died.

  An hour later Ted met the chief of detectives.

  "Get into my car," said the chief, "and come down to my office, and we'll have a talk."

  In a short time they were at the Four Courts, the big central police station of St. Louis, and when they were in the chief's private office and the door barred to intruders the great detective turned inquiringly to Ted.

  "Now, who are you, and how did you happen to be mixed up in that mess?" asked Desmond.

  "My name is Ted Strong," began Ted.

  Suddenly Chief Desmond sat up straight and looked at Ted sharply.

  "Not the leader of the broncho boys, are you?" he asked.

  "The same," said Ted.

  "I know about you. What were you doing near those detectives, that you should have got in so handily?"

  "I'm a deputy United States marshal, as perhaps you know."

  Desmond nodded. "Yes, I know," he said.

  "I was working on this very case," said Ted, "and I had got hold of one end of it, and was about to follow it to a conclusion, when I saw the man Checkers on the street, and was following him. He led me to the detectives. The minute I saw them and him, I knew there would be something doing."

  "What did you know of Checkers?"

  "Nothing at all, except that he knew somehow that I was working on the express-robbery cases, and yesterday he shadowed my partner and me to East St. Louis, where we left him behind in an automobile."

  Ted then told the chief how he had come about taking possession of the red car, to which Desmond listened carefully. When Ted had finished, Desmond rose and paced the room for a minute.

  "Young man, you've got the big end of the chase," he said. "Dude Wilcox is the man who we are positive killed the messenger and got away with the swag. If it were you who found out how he got away with it, you will have got the last of the gang."

  "Is that all there is to it?" asked Ted.

  "Lord bless you, no. That's only the bunch that has been working in St. Louis. The big end of it is operating from some town farther west. There's where Dude Wilcox came from. I don't know where they make their headquarters, and it is out of my territory. I have all I can do to take care of St. Louis."

  "The government officers were of the opinion that St. Louis was headquarters."

  "That was true up to a few weeks ago, but we made it so hot for them here that they emigrated."

  "Well, there's no use in my staying here any longer. I might as well hike out west. I'm not much good in a big town, anyway. I suppose you'll have no trouble in handling Checkers without any word from me."

  "Oh, yes. But let's have Checkers up and hear what he has to say for himself."

  The chief pushed a button and presently an officer entered.

  "Go down to the hold-over and bring Checkers to me," ordered the chief.

  In less than ten minutes the officer was back again.

  "The jailer says he has no such man, chief," was the report.

  "Where is he?"

  "I'll inquire."

  Back he came in a few minutes.

  "Casey had him on the corner waiting for the wagon, sir, but in the excitement during the fight Casey let go of Checkers for a moment, and he got away."

  Ted could see that the chief was very angry, but he controlled his temper admirably.

  "Very well," was all he said.

  He turned and gave Ted a sharp look.

  "If you stay around here much longer, you'll have to look out for Checkers. He's a dangerous man, as well with a knife as with a gun."

  "I guess I can take care of him," answered Ted.

  "You look as if you could, lad," said the chief.

  After a few more minutes of conversation regarding the red motor car, during which the chief advised Ted to keep the car until he was through with it, Ted took his leave, and returned to the
hotel.

  There he found Bud pacing the floor.

  "Peevish porcupines," grunted the old cow-puncher, "but you've got yourself in up to ther neck in printer's ink."

  "How's that?" asked Ted.

  "Haven't you seen the evening papers?"

  "I've been too busy to look at them."

  "I reckon you be. Busier than a cranberry merchant. Look at this."

  Bud handed Ted a bundle of evening papers.

  Of course, the fight between the detectives and the bandits was given an immense amount of space in the extras which followed one another rapidly from the presses. In all of them were accounts of Ted's going to the rescue of the detectives, and the statement that balls from Ted's revolver had killed two of the gang.

  "Rubbish!" said Ted. "I didn't kill any bandits. I took a couple of shots at them after they had fired on me, that's all."

  "Well, yer won't be able to get away from these newspaper stories. If any of ther gang run across yer, they'll shore go after yer with a hard plank. Ye've placed ther black mark on yerself with ther gang."

  "All right. I can stand it if they can. I've got a few up my sleeve for them."

  Then Ted related exactly how the thing happened, and of his talk with Desmond.

  "And they let that fellow Checkers get away," sighed Ted. "The chief says he's the most dangerous of them all, and warned me to look out for him. Bud, I've got a hunch."

  "Let her flicker. I'm kinder stuck on yer hunches; they pay dividends right erlong."

  "The fellow in the check suit was the man who tried to stab me because I wouldn't let him see the anonymous letter. I don't know which was the real man, Checkers or the other. But there were many points of similarity between them, and when Checkers called for us to stop the automobile, it was the voice of the man who commanded me to give him the letter. Keep Checkers in your mind."

  The next morning they went out to Don Dorrington's house and got out the automobile.

  "We'll circulate around pretty well in this," said Ted, "and if Checkers is in town he'll spot us, and we may get a chance at him yet."