The Flying Boys in the Sky

“Far better than I expected; I found the place.”

“You mean where the little girl is held a prisoner?”

“Yes.”

Harvey was surprised that the detective did not show excitement over the news. He remained cool and deliberate and spoke in low-toned words as before.

“Then you saw the child?”

“No, but I sailed over the house.”

“How do you know the child is there?”

“Bohunkus, my colored companion, saw her just after we had passed and waved his cap in reply to her salutation with her handkerchief.”

“Did he see any of the men?”

“No; they kept out of sight, at least so long as we could have seen them.”

“How did your boy describe the girl?”

“He didn’t describe her,” replied Harvey, a bit chagrined over the pointed questions, “except to say she was a little girl.”

“Didn’t tell how she was dressed or how old she appeared to be? The last might have been hard to answer, but he should have noticed her apparel.”

“Probably he did, but I did not think of asking him.”

“It was hardly necessary,” remarked the detective, as if regretting his incisive queries. “Now, if you will be good enough to locate the spot I shall be infinitely obliged.”

Harvey was able to do this with so much accuracy that his friend complimented him.

“You have done remarkably well; if we succeed in restoring the child to her parents, much of the credit will be due you. I know the exact spot and can go to it without trouble.”

“Will you do so?”

“I shall make the effort, but I am in a delicate situation. You noticed those three men in the sitting-room when you were there a little while ago. Two are members of the Black Hand and are acting as scouts.”

“I set down all three as being such.”

“The blond has nothing to do with the others. He is a genuine commercial traveler for a Philadelphia clothing house and will leave to-morrow. It is the others who belong to the worst gang in the country.”

“Do you think they have any suspicion of me?”

Detective Pendar chuckled softly.

“Why should they? You have not given the first cause.”

“But they suspect you?”

“I can say I have reason to hope not; I have behaved so well and sold so much hardware stuff in this town that they ought to believe I am what I pretend to be.”

“What further help can I give you, Mr. Pendar?”

“None, so far as I see at this moment. But you mustn’t minimize your share; the location of the prison is a great and invaluable exploit of itself.”

“What will you next do?”

“It is impossible to say, so much depends upon circumstances as they develop.”

This answer was so vague that it reminded Harvey he was asking questions which he had not the right to ask. The man before him was a professional detective, whose calling required him to be secretive. While such persons often reveal their secrets in stories, they are the last ones in the world to do so in real life.

“I need not remind you,” he continued, “not to drop a hint of these matters to your colored companion.”

“I shall not forget your warning on that point. He means well, but in some respects he is as stupid as a child of five years. What do you think?” asked Harvey with a light laugh, “he asked me to start with him and the aeroplane for Africa to call on his father, Chief Bohunkus Foozleum.”

“He may make the journey yet,” was the remarkable response of the detective.

“Do you think it possible?”

“Not yet, but it isn’t safe to declare anything impossible in our twentieth century. This navigation of the air will make miraculous advancements in the next ten years. Well,” abruptly added the caller, “if the coast is clear, I must bid you good night.”

“When shall I see you again?” asked Harvey.

“Will you return to Chesterton to-morrow?”

“Is it advisable?”

“I see no objection to your doing so. If you do, and I am here, we may signal each other as before. I’ll raise my hat and scratch my head as notice that I wish to have a talk with you in your room, and you will do the same with me if necessary. Please keep your seat.”

Harvey saw the dim figure move across the room like a shadow. Pendar waited two or three minutes with his hand on the knob, as if he had heard something, though the listening youth did not detect the slightest sound. Then the door opened as noiselessly as before and he vanished into the hall, leaving the same dead quiet behind him.

Harvey waited some time before preparing for bed. Then he gave expression to his impatience with himself:

“He got everything I knew about this business from me, and I didn’t worm a single fact from him. I meant to ask his opinion of the wrecking of my machine, how father learned so early of it, what course Pendar means to follow, and lots of other things, but I know no more than before he came into the room. There’s one thing certain, he understands his business through and through, and I don’t know the a-b-c of it.”

CHAPTER XXIV

ON THE TRAIL OF THE BLACK HANDERS

Simmons Pendar had the reputation of being one of the best officers in the detective service. Several of his exploits proved that he possessed a brilliant mind, was quick in reading the vaguest clues and marvelously successful in following them up. It is not my purpose to explain by what subtle means he convinced himself that the kidnappers of little Grace Hastings had their headquarters in the extensive wilderness to the westward of the country town of Chesterton. Had he confessed the truth he would have admitted that a trifling occurrence, one of those insignificant incidents which figure oftener than is believed in important matters, gave him the key. Being human like the rest of us, he made his mistakes now and then, but felt absolutely sure he had not blundered in the present instance.

Pendar shared his secret with no one. The surety of a magnificent money reward, the glory of succeeding where others of his profession had failed, and his deep sympathy with the victims of the unspeakable cruelty, inspired him to do everything in his power to right one of the most diabolical wrongs to which society has been forced to submit in these later days.

It may be said that the greatest difficulty of all confronted the detective when he had thus located the miscreants. The letters which they sent at intervals to the afflicted family were accompanied by terrifying threats and the demand for an increase of the ransom rose until it reached the stupendous total of fifty thousand dollars. To prevent the criminals from carrying out their threats of vengeance, cunning attempts were made to convince them that the father was doing all he could to comply with their terms. The difficulty of transferring so large a sum made the delay seem reasonable if not unavoidable. In one instance, a large package of genuine bills was placed where directed, but unfortunately for the success of the scheme two carefully disguised detectives were hidden in the vicinity. They were certain they had managed the affair so skilfully that they were not suspected, but the claimants did not go forward and a day later a letter reached Mr. Hastings telling him the trick had been detected and one more repetition of anything of that nature would close all dealings between them, with the certainty that they would never see their child again. A last chance was offered him. He was to place the money in large unmarked bills inside of a traveling bag and throw it off from the rear of the midnight train on a date named, two miles west of Chesterton, at a point indicated so clearly by a pile of towering rocks that no mistake could be made. A failure to comply with this proposal would end all dealings between the kidnappers and the parent.

The night fixed upon was the one succeeding the talk which Detective Pendar held with Harvey Hamilton as related in the preceding chapter. Thus the crisis was at hand, – so near indeed that Pendar had with him the bag and its enormously valuable contents, prepared to carry out, if it could not be avoided, the plan of the miscreants. He had promised that if success was not reached by him before the hour set, he would throw off the money at the point named. Mr. Hastings assured him that if he did not make such a pledge, he himself would do so. He could not suffer the torture any longer, and his wife was already at death’s door under the pressure of the grief that was crushing her to the dust.

These frightful letters were mailed from different points, the first reaching the family from a substation in Philadelphia. The last was postmarked at Chesterton, as if the senders wished it to be known they were near the spot where the deal was to be consummated.