JACK PLAYS REPORTER, WITH UNEXPECTED RESULTS

Not long after Alex left Bixton to take up his duties at Foothills, Jack, at Hammerton, also received an advancement. In itself it was not of particular note, beyond an encouraging increase in salary, and a transfer from the day to the night force; but indirectly it resulted in an experience more thrilling than any Jack’s genius for tackling adventurous difficulties had yet brought him.

Wheeling by the office of the “Daily Star” one afternoon, he heard his name called, and turned his head to discover West, the reporter with whom he had made the memorable Oakton trip, hastening after him.

“Just the man I was looking for, Jack,” declared West, as the young operator wheeled to the curb. “I have a job for you.

“How would you like to tackle a bit of Black Hand investigation?”

Jack laughed. “You don’t mean it.”

“I certainly do. It’s this way,” went on the reporter, lowering his voice. “A Black Hand letter demanding money was received last week by Tommy Spanelli, of the Italian restaurant. It was mailed here; and we have the tip that last evening two foreigners were seen stealing across the old quarry turnpike, and into the woods, as though not wishing to be seen. Of course they may not be connected with this at all, but again they may; and I was put on the job to find out. The difficulty is that I am too well known. If they caught sight of me, they would be suspicious immediately.

“But they would never suspect a lad like you,” West proceeded; “and I know you could carry anything through that came along. So will you run out there and investigate for me?”

“Why, certainly. But just what shall I do?” Jack asked.

“Wheel up and down the quarry turnpike for an hour or so, then, if you have seen no one, beat around through the woods as far as the old stone quarry. And any foreigners you come upon, take a good look at. That’s all. And drop in at the office here in the morning, and report.”

“That’s easy. All right,” agreed Jack readily.

“Thank you. And keep the matter quiet, you know,” West added. “We want an exclusive story for the ‘Star’ if anything comes of it.”

“I understand. And, say,” said Jack as he turned away, “I’ll take my camera, too. I may be able to get a snap of them, if I see anyone.”

“Good idea. A picture would help to land them, if they are the fellows we want; and we could run it in the paper with our story. Go ahead, Jack, and good luck.”

Jack was not long in wheeling home and securing his folding Brownie; and a half hour later found him pedalling slowly along the quarry road near the point several miles from the city where the suspicious foreigners had been seen to enter the woods.

An hour passed, however, and he had seen no doubtful characters, and finally dismounting at the entrance to a path he knew to lead toward the old stone quarry, Jack concealed his wheel in a thicket, and set off to make an investigation in that direction.

A moment after he came to a halt with a sharp exclamation. In the path at his feet lay a murderous-looking stiletto. Picking it up, he examined it. Yes; it was of foreign make. And the still damp mud stains on the side of the blade which had lain uppermost showed it had been but recently dropped.

Apprehensively Jack cast a glance about him, almost immediately to utter a second suppressed exclamation. Emerging from the woods on the opposite side of the road was a short, dark man undoubtedly an Italian.

With beating heart Jack watched him. Was he one of the men he was looking for?

In the middle of the road the stranger halted, looked sharply to right and left, and came quickly forward. Darting from the path Jack threw himself on the ground behind a bush, and the next moment the man hurriedly passed him. He was soon out of sight, and rising, Jack placed the dagger carefully in an inside pocket, and determinedly set off after.

Half a mile he followed the Italian amid the trees. Then there appeared the light of an opening, and going forward more carefully, Jack found himself on the edge of the quarry clearing. The foreigner was hurrying along the brink of the excavation, evidently heading for a small tumble-down cabin at its farther end.

The man reached the shanty, and knocked. To Jack’s surprise the door was opened by a negro.

Wonder at this was quickly forgotten, however, for as the door closed from the woods behind Jack came the sound of voices, then an ejaculation in Italian. A moment Jack stood, in consternation, believing he had been seen. But a glance showed that the owners of the voices were yet out of sight beyond a rise, and recalling his wits, Jack ran for a nearby clump of elders.

The voices came quickly nearer. Suddenly then, for the first time Jack recalled the camera. At once came the suggestion to get a snap of the newcomers as they stepped into the clearing.

Jack glanced about him. A short distance away, and but a few feet from the path, was a low, tent-like spruce. With instant decision he made for it, drawing the camera from his pocket as he ran.

Dropping to his knees, he wormed his way beneath the tree, and through to the opposite side. Finding an aperture commanding the exit of the path, he opened and focused the camera upon it. The next moment the two Italians appeared. For the fraction of a second Jack hesitated, fearing the click of the shutter might betray him. But he took the chance, there was a crisp, low click and he had them, and they had passed on.

Chuckling with delight, Jack crept forth. What next? Looking toward the shanty, he again saw the door opened by the negro. This decided him. Replacing the camera in his pocket, he set off on a circuit through the trees that would bring him back to the clearing immediately opposite the shanty, determined if possible to reach it, and learn what was going on inside.

Without incident he made the point desired, and gazing from the cover of a bush, discovered with satisfaction that the two hundred yards separating him from his goal was dotted with small bushy spruce. More important still, on that side of the cabin were no windows.

Stooping, Jack was about to steal forth, when he paused with a new idea. It came from a stray piece of wrapping-paper lying on the ground before him.

Why couldn’t he conceal the camera in this paper, with a string tied to the shutter; approach the house, knock, ask some question, and secretly snap whoever opened the door?

To think was to decide, and at once he set about preparations. Finding some cord in a pocket, he first deadened the click of the shutter with a thread of the string, and secured a piece of it to the shutter trigger. Carefully then he wrapped the camera, open, in the paper, and with his knife cut a small hole opposite the lens, and a second and smaller hole beneath. Through the latter he fished out the trigger-string and the detective camera was complete.

Without delay Jack adjusted the parcel under his arm, holding the trigger-string in his fingers, and strode boldly forward toward the shanty. He reached it, approached the door, and knocked. From within came the sound of voices, then a heavy step. Drawing the string taut Jack moved back several paces, and pointed the opening in the package at the door.

But success was not to come too easily. The latch lifted, and the door opened only a few inches, barely showing the eyes and flat nose of the negro.

“W’at yo’ want?” he demanded.

“Would you please tell me the way out to the road?” said Jack steadily.

The negro regarded him sharply a moment, then opening the door barely sufficient to reach out a hand, pointed toward the woods, and said gruffly, “Yo’ see dat broke tree? Right out dah.”

“Which one? I see two,” declared Jack, coolly.

Impatiently the negro threw the door wide, stepped out, and pointed again. In an instant Jack had pulled the string, and from the parcel had come a soft “thugk!” “Thank you, sir,” said Jack, turning away, and inwardly chuckling at the double meaning of the words. “Thank you.”

“But look aheah, boy,” added the colored man threateningly, “doan yo’ be prowlin’ roun’ heah! Un’stan’?”

“No fear. I’ll be glad when I’m away,” responded Jack, again secretly laughing, and headed for the woods, the negro watching him until he was half way across the clearing.

Once more in the shelter of the trees, Jack determined to follow up his success by endeavoring to discover just what was taking place at the cabin. Hiding the camera in a convenient brush-heap, he made sure all was quiet, and again stole forth. Slipping quickly from shrub to shrub, he safely made the crossing, and came to a halt at the rear of the shanty.

To his ears came the sound of voices in subdued discussion. They were so muffled, however, that he could distinguish nothing, and recalling a partly open window at the front, he went forward to the corner, peered cautiously about, and tiptoed to within a few feet of it.

At once the voices came to him plainly.

“You gotta dat?”

“Stan’ in doo’way, hat in yo’ han’, upside down,” responded the colored man’s gruff voice.

Wondering, Jack drew nearer.

“At halfa da past two by da beeg clock,” continued the first speaker.

There was a pause, and the negro repeated, “At half pas’ two by dah city clock, shahp.”

Suddenly it came to Jack. At the dictation of the Italian, the negro was writing a “Black Hand” letter ordering one of their victims to display some signal to show that the demand for money would be complied with!

The Italian’s next sentence left no further doubt. “If you no giva da sign, you deada man by seex clock.”

At the words, and the fierceness with which they were uttered, Jack felt a chill run up his spine. Had he followed his immediate impulse he would have fled. But determining to learn if possible who the letter was for, he waited.

“What numbah?” asked the negro.

“Feefity-nine Main.”

The Italian restaurant! Another letter to Spanelli! The men he was after!

Jack waited to hear no more, but tiptoeing back about the corner, was off for the woods, jubilant at his success.

Indeed Jack was over jubilant so jubilant that he forgot the necessity of caution, made a short cut across an open space in full view of the shanty, and half way was brought to a sudden realization of his mistake by the creak of an opening door. In consternation he at once saw he could not reach cover before being seen, and also that did he run, the Black-Handers would understand they had been discovered.

With quick presence of mind he recognized and instantly did the one thing possible. Turning, he headed back boldly for the cabin. The next instant the three Italians came into view, immediately discovered him, and halted. Secretly trembling, but with a cool front, Jack approached them as they stood, excitedly whispering.

“Would you kindly tell me the time?” he asked.

The three men exchanged glances, then, as at a signal, stepped forward and surrounded him. “Now, whata you want?” demanded one of them sharply, thrusting his dark face close to Jack’s. Before Jack could repeat his question the shanty door opened and the negro appeared. Exclaiming angrily, he ran toward them.

“W’at he want? W’at he want now?” he demanded.

“He say, whata da time,” repeated one of the Italians.

“W’at de time? He am a spy! A spy!” cried the negro. “In de house with him!” Jack sprang back, and turned to run. With a rush the negro and one of the foreigners were upon him, and despite his terrified struggles he was dragged bodily into the shanty. There they flung him heavily into a chair, and gathered menacingly about him.

“Now boy, w’at yo’ spyin’ roun’ heah fo’? Eh?” demanded the negro fiercely.

Instinctively Jack opened his lips to deny the charge, but closed them, and remained in dogged silence. Despite his peril, he felt he could not tell a deliberate falsehood. The negro repeated the question.

“I simply asked them the time,” said Jack evasively.

With a snarl one of the foreigners caught him by the shoulders and yanked him upright. “Tie heem!” he directed, and roughly two of the others drew Jack’s hands behind him, and bound them with a cord. As one of the Italians then proceeded to tie a handkerchief about his ankles, Jack barely suppressed a cry of fright. But grimly he clenched his teeth, and not a sound escaped him as the negro then caught him up, carried him across the room, kicked open a door, and threw him upon the floor within.

For a few minutes Jack lay dazed, then turning on his side, he looked about him. By the dim light of a dusty window he saw he was in a small, roughly furnished bedroom. Before he had taken in further particulars, however, a sound of heated discussion in the outer room drew his attention.

“No, no! We can’t taka da chance!” came the voice of one of the Italians. “Not wid dat boy!”

Filled anew with terror Jack struggled to a sitting position and began straining desperately at his bonds. A moment’s effort caused his heart to sink. The knots were as taut as though made of wire.

Determinedly he continued to strain and pull, however, and presently, losing his balance, he rolled over on his side, and something hard pressed into his chest.

The dagger he had picked up! Quickly he saw the possibility of using it. Working again into a sitting position, he bent low and sought to reach inside his coat and seize the hilt of the knife with his teeth. But as often as he reached, the coat swung, and the hilt evaded him.

Jack was not to be beaten, however. Getting to his knees, he bent far over, until his head almost touched the floor, and fell vigorously to shaking himself. At the second effort the dagger slipped out to the floor. Quickly then he got a firm hold on the end of the handle with his teeth, struggled again to a sitting position, drew his knees up as far as possible, and bending low between them, began stabbing at the handkerchief about his ankles with the point of the weapon.

At the first attempt the knife barely touched the handkerchief. He tried again, and just reached it. Throwing his head far back, to gain momentum, he lunged forward with all his strength. The keen point struck the linen squarely, there was a rip and tear and his feet were free.

As the severed handkerchief fell from his ankles, the dagger, slipping from Jack’s teeth, clattered to the floor. But the noisy discussion still going on without prevented its being heard; and promptly Jack turned to the problem of freeing his hands.

As they were tied behind him, this promised to be far more difficult. Indeed Jack’s courage was beginning to fail him, when the method of freeing his ankles suggested a possibility. At once he essayed it. Rising to a kneeling position, he strained at his wrists for several minutes, then, bending far over, began working his hands down beneath him.

It seemed as though they would never come, and again and again he had to pause for breath. Desperately he continued, and suddenly at last they slipped, and were under him, directly below his knees.

Throwing himself over on his side, he once more grasped the dagger hilt in his teeth, and as he lay, carefully aimed the point between his legs at the cord about his wrists, and gave a quick, hard thrust. At the first blow he struck the cord fairly, but only half severed the strand. Again he lunged, and the next moment he was free.

The heated debate was still in progress in the outer room, and nearly exhausted though he was, Jack immediately scrambled to his feet and tiptoed to the window. To his joy he discovered it was made of a sliding frame, only fastened by a loosely-driven nail. It required but a few minutes’ work to remove this, and very cautiously he began sliding the window back.

Half way it went easily, without noise. Then it stuck. Carefully Jack put his shoulder to it. Suddenly, without warning, it gave, then stopped with a jar, and to his horror a broken pane shot from the frame and fell clattering to the floor.

From the other room came a shout and a rush of feet. In desperation Jack stepped back, and with a run fairly dove at the opening. His head and shoulders passed through, then he stuck. Behind him the door flew open. With a desperate wriggle he struggled through, and fell in a heap to the ground just as the negro reached the window and made a wild lunge for him. The next moment Jack was on his feet and off across the clearing like a hare.

The four lawbreakers were quickly out of the house in full chase. Presently there was the report of a pistol, and a shrill “wheeeu” just over Jack’s head. Ducking instinctively, but with grimly set lips, he rushed on. Again came the whine of a bullet, and again. With a final sprint Jack reached the cover of the woods in safety, darted to the brush-pile and recovered his camera, and on, straight through the trees for the spot at which he had hidden his wheel.

Love of outdoor life and sports now stood Jack in good stead. Despite the exhausting efforts of his escape, and the hard running amid the trees, over trunks and through undergrowth, he kept on at the top of his speed, and finally reached the road ahead of the nearest of his pursuers.

Rushing for his wheel, he dragged it forth, and quickly had it on the road. Not a moment too soon. As he sprang into the saddle there was a shout and a crash of bushes but a few feet from him. But throwing all his weight on the pedals, he shot away, and a moment after sped about a bend in the road and was safe.

Jack would not have been a real boy had there not been considerable pride in his voice when, entering the “Star” office the following morning, he handed West, the reporter, two small photographs, neatly mounted, and said:

“Here are the pictures, Mr. West.”

West sprang to his feet. “No! Great! Splendid!” he cried. “How did you do it, Jack?

“But here ” Pushing Jack into a chair, he dropped back into his own, and caught up a pencil. “Give me the whole story, from beginning to end. If the police round up these fellows this morning we will run it in to-day’s edition.”

This, with the aid of Jack’s snap-shots, the police did, capturing the entire band; and that afternoon’s edition of the “Star” carried a two-column story of Jack’s adventure with the Black-Handers, which, with the pictures, made what West declared “the biggest story of a month of Sundays.”