CHAPTER IX

A MOMENT OF GRIM SILENCE

“Drew, old boy, we win!”

Tom Howe put out his hand to grip his partner’s solemnly.

It had been a stirring night. Now gray dawn was creeping up the narrow canyons that are a city’s streets.

As we have seen, they had come, quite by accident, upon Greasy Thumb and his undesirable companion. They had arrested them on suspicion. But suspicion holds no man in jail.

They had found concealed weapons upon them. But well enough they knew that in this city no man could be held for such an offense unless the arresting officer had a search warrant. They had none.

For all this, a bit of glorious good fortune had come their way. In attempting to conceal or discard a small package, Greasy Thumb’s partner had bungled. Tom Howe’s eagle eye had detected the move.

He had retrieved the package. And, of all good fortune, he had found it marked with the Air Mail’s special stamp.

As he showed it to Drew, his eyes shone.

“You wouldn’t have thought they’d keep it,” Drew whispered excitedly.

“Wouldn’t?” Tom drew ten one hundred dollar bills from the envelope. “Wouldn’t they, though! It’s wonderful what they’d do for money.

“Besides,” he added after a moment, “the thing seemed safe enough. Done in the dark. No witnesses. No nothing. Clean get away.”

“Wonder where the rest of it is?” Drew mused.

“The rest?”

“You don’t think they’d do all that for one grand, a mere thousand dollars! They were after something big. Wonder if they got it.

“By the way, what became of the Air Mail pilot?”

“That’s a mystery. He’s vanished.”

* * * * * * * *

Had they but known it, that air pilot was at that moment beneath the city in that labyrinth of subways, still in pursuit of the man who had snatched the mysterious package from him.

* * * * * * * *

“What will you do with them?” Johnny Thompson broke in, poking a thumb at Greasy Thumb and his partner in crime who stood huddled sulkily in a corridor of the police court building.

“We’ll take them right to the Chief,” Drew replied cheerfully. “He’ll book them. We’ve got the goods on ’em. The world will not see them again for many a day.”

They led the prisoners to an elevator, rode up two flights, walked down a dark corridor and entered a room where a heavy-set man with beady eyes sat behind a massive desk.

This was the Chief. He looked at the youthful detectives through eyes that seemed heavy for lack of sleep.

Drew advanced in silence and placed the Air Mail envelope on the Chief’s desk.

“What’s this?” The Chief did not look up.

“Evidence.”

“Evidence!” the Chief exclaimed. “That’s what we need. The people are clamoring for convictions. We must have evidence. We—”

At that moment he looked up and his glance fell upon the cowering prisoners.

Like a pike caught on a spoon-hook, he appeared to stiffen. He continued to stare straight ahead.

At that moment a man Johnny had not noticed before, a young man with a boyish face but crafty eye, moved silently forward and whispered in the Chief’s ear.

“Where you boys been?” the Chief demanded almost savagely, as he wheeled about to face Drew and Tommy. “You know you are supposed to report to me every day. This is the fourth day. No report at all.”

“There’s our report.” Drew Lane held his ground. He pointed at the envelope on the Chief’s desk.

At that moment Johnny Thompson stole a look at Greasy Thumb and his man. The change that had come over them gave him a start. Gone were their dark and doleful looks. They seemed almost cheerful.

“If you please, Chief,” Greasy Thumb appeared to hesitate, “that’s a letter they took from me by force. I received it by Air Mail yesterday.”

“Yes, and I suppose your name is Robert Deering,” Drew Lane scoffed. Robert Deering was the name on the envelope.

The wily crook hesitated, but only for a space of seconds. “Chief,” he replied evenly, “it is. That’s my name. As you know, I have many enemies. I am living under an assumed name.”

Once more the man beside the Chief bent over to whisper in his ear. Drew Lane frowned.

“Is this all the evidence?” the Chief demanded of Drew.

“It is, except that they were near the scene of the Air Mail robbery last evening.”

“Give it back to ’em. Turn ’em loose.” The Chief’s voice had taken on a hostile, almost savage tone. “There’s no law against receiving money by Air Mail. You can’t hold a man on any such evidence. Turn ’em loose. Do you hear me? Turn ’em loose!”

“And now,” he said, after Greasy Thumb and his partner had vanished, “I’m going to put you boys where it won’t be so much trouble to report to me. From now on you’re on court room duty. No more carnivals and baseball games for you. You’re on court room duty, see?”

For one full minute by the clock Drew Lane and Tom Howe stood where they were. It was a minute of grim silence. The Chief sat staring like an angry Buddha. The young man behind him wore on his face one of those fixed smiles that never become a sign of mirth.

Johnny looked first at Drew, then at Tom in a vain attempt to understand.

At last Drew turned in silence and led the way out of the room.