CHAPTER XVI

A TENSE MOMENT

When a mysterious stranger takes up his abode in any community, there is sure to be a difference of opinion regarding his true nature. To some he is certain to be a romantic figure, to others an evil menace. It was so with the “Prince.” There were those who said he was a famous young chemist working out a formula that was to be of vast benefit to all the world. There were others—and this was strange—many others who said, “He is an industrial spy! Colonel Chamberlain will find this out too late!”

But what is an industrial spy? Probably there was not one person in ten who could have told. And always the thing we do not understand is the one we fear most.

Having heard all this, Johnny, on the day following his visit to the “Prince,” buckled up his courage and walked into Colonel Chamberlain’s office.

“Hello, Johnny!” the Colonel greeted him. “What’s troubling you? Lost last week’s game? Well, you can’t win ’em all. You’ll win next time.”

“We sure will,” Johnny agreed, “but it’s not that.

“Colonel—” Johnny was sitting on the edge of his chair. “Colonel Chamberlain, what is an industrial spy?”

“An industrial spy?” The Colonel sat up. “He’s a man paid by one nation to steal industrial secrets from another nation—new inventions, new processes, new chemical inventions.

“But,” he added quickly, “if you think our J., the one you call ‘Prince,’ is an industrial spy, think again. He’s not!”

“I—I’m glad.” Johnny settled back in his place.

“But see here!” He was on his feet now. “Look at this, and this, and this.” He was dragging things from a paper bag.

“What’s it all about?” The Colonel smiled.

“I’ll tell—tell you all about it.” Johnny seemed out of breath.

When he got going, however, the things he said, the proof he gave for all the things he believed, left the good Colonel staring.

“If all you say is true—and of course it is—” the Colonel said slowly, “something should be done about it.”

He went into a brown study. He drummed the desk with his pencil.

“Tell you what,” he said at last, “Rome was not built in a day. Let’s not be in a hurry. The evidence you already possess convinces you and me. But would it convince everyone? We’ll just wait a bit and see if we cannot gather more. If those two men return they will do something else. We’ll be prepared to trap them. Let’s see if we can’t worry along until two weeks from—let’s see—” he consulted his calendar. “Yes sir! That’s the very day!”

Johnny knew he was speaking now of something strange and quite unknown to him.

“Yes sir!” the Colonel repeated, “You see if we can’t wait to spring this thing two weeks from next Saturday, after the game, the last of the season. And Johnny—” he leaned forward to whisper in the boy’s ear. “I think at that time I can tell you J.’s secret. Or—wait! Better still—I’ll have him tell it.”

“That,” said Johnny in a tone that carried conviction, “will be swell!”

A moment later he found himself once more in the street. His precious paper bag of “evidence” was securely tucked under his arm.

After taking a dozen steps he paused to look back. Strangely enough, in his mind’s eye he saw at that moment not a brick building, but an airplane landing. From the airplane two persons stepped. One slim and dark with a dyed face, and the other was Colonel Chamberlain. Then his own words to the aviator on that night several days ago, came back to him: “Looks like a jail delivery.”

“But it couldn’t have been Colonel Chamberlain!” he told himself stoutly now. “Or, if it was, it surely was all right.” He was determined not to lose faith in a friend. “‘Thine own friend and thy father’s friend forsake not,’” he whispered.

Saturday afternoon came. The day was bright and clear. A brisk breeze from the west was blowing loose papers across the diamond. “Good!” Johnny exulted to himself. “There’ll be no soaring airplane today. But that ugly pair will be up to something!” His brow wrinkled. Once again he murmured, “I wonder why.”

The fame of the “Prince” had traveled far. The fact that he would once again appear had been highly advertised. There is nothing like a first class mystery to draw a crowd. The crowd was there for sure. The bleachers were packed and all available space overflowing long before the game was scheduled to start.

The umpire had taken his place, the mysterious pitcher was moving toward the box. Johnny was staring dreamily at nothing at all, when Goggles, with a strange look on his face, came sidling up to him.

“Jo—Johnny!” He stared through his thick glasses. He fairly stammered in his excitement. “Johnny, you didn’t see tho—those men who ca—came back to g—get something out of that bun—bungalow. Wan—want to see them? Well, th—there they are! Right over there, close to Big Tim Murphy!”

“Big Tim!” Johnny’s blood ran cold. Big Tim had once been the promoter of a Sunday baseball league. Could it be that Big Tim was trying to get the ball park, that these two were his aids?

It flashed through Johnny’s mind that he might be behind the group who were seeking to get control of their ball ground. “Can it be that Big Tim has hired these men to annoy our pitcher?” he asked himself. He hated to think this. Big Tim was not like Big Bill Tyson. He had very little money and he surely was not soft and flabby. Big Tim worked. “Must give him the benefit of the doubt,” he decided.

That the strangers sitting close to Big Tim were here for no good purpose became apparent at once. Hardly had the “Prince” taken his place than they began to razz him.

If the “Prince” heard them, he made no sign. The throng that gathered that day had never seen better pitching than came from his supple arm during the first four innings of that game.

For all this, the mysterious pair became more and more personal and cutting in their shouts at that silent figure on the mound.

“They should be put off the grounds!” Goggles fumed.

“Ought to mob ’em!” Johnny agreed.

The affair came to a sudden climax as, at the end of the fourth inning the “Prince” on his way to the bench passed close to the strangers. Then it was that the larger of the two, leaning far forward, called him a name. He spoke low. It was not a pretty name. Few heard it. Johnny heard. The pitcher too must have heard, for his lips turned blue and twitched in a manner painful to behold. He did not speak. He marched straight on.

Big Tim Murphy must have heard, for, slowly lifting his great bulk from his bleacher seat, he stood towering above the two strangers.

“Look a-here!” His tone was like the low rumble of a lion. “You’ve said enough. Fact is, you’ve said a few words too much.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been watchin’ these boys with their ball game. They’re puttin’ on a good, clean, honest show.”

Johnny felt a sudden ache in his throat. Big Tim was championing their cause! Big Tim!

“As for that pitcher,” Tim went on, “I don’t know him—reckon there ain’t many here that does. But I been watchin’. He ain’t done nothin’ to you. Not a thing! Not here. If he’s done things in other places, then you go there to settle ’em. You can’t spoil these boys’ baseball game.”

“_You_ don’t look like a Sunday School scholar!” the larger man sneered.

“All right—” Tim’s voice boomed. “Just for that, you’ll apologize!”

He took a step forward. “You called that pitcher a name that in this town means an apology or a fight! You’ll beg that pitcher’s pardon. You’ve got three minutes to do it. An’ if you don’t, I’ll pop your heads together till they crack like pumpkins bustin’ on the frozen ground!”

“He’ll do it too!” Goggles whispered to Johnny.

“But two of them!” Johnny whispered.

“Don’t matter. He’ll do it.”

Tim had dragged a huge watch from his pocket. The men were silent. The whole throng was still. The chirping notes of a robin in a distant apple tree could be heard distinctly. So a moment passed.

Big Tim did not move a muscle; just stood there watching the second hand go around. So another moment passed.

“All—all right.” The larger of the two strangers wet his lips. “All right, you win. Call that fellow over. I’ll tell him.”

“Hey!” Tim roared, “You pitcher! Come over here! This fellow’s got somethin’ to say to you!”

The “Prince” came. The little ceremony was soon over. Then the game was resumed.

“Big Tim,” Johnny whispered, “Even Big Tim is with us! What a wonderful town this is!” Then a thought struck him with the force of a blow. “If only I had the thought-camera I could take a picture of what’s in those fellow’s minds.” He was away like the wind.

He was back in fifteen minutes, but the place where the strangers had been was vacant. “Gone!” he murmured as a wave of keen disappointment swept over him.

They were gone. But were they through? He doubted that. What would they do next? And why? There came no answer.

That was a red letter day for old Hillcrest. The gate receipts were wonderful. Never in the town’s history had there been so many paid admissions to a ball game. This crowd had come to see a mysterious youth pitch a ball game. They were not disappointed. The “Prince” lasted the whole nine innings. After the episode of Big Tim Murphy and the strangers, he pitched like one inspired. In the remaining innings only six men got on base and none came home. The score at the end stood 12 to 1. Again the Hillcrest rooters went wild. Once more Johnny sighed deeply as he murmured, “Only one more game, and the pennant will be won.”

That game was still nearly two weeks off. When that game was played the Hillcrest team would be back from their airplane cruise.

“Will it be a triumphant return?” he asked himself. “Will they bring home the money needed to make the ball field truly our own?” He thought of the short dark man who had seemed so determined that Irons O should not be a success. He thought of the two strangers, of the Chinaman Tao Sing, and of the Federal agents. “In that time,” he told himself, “anything may happen, just anything at all.” And, as you shall see, many things did happen.