by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XXXIII THE SHOW-DOWN
Had it not been for the anxiety that filled their hearts, the airplaneflight would have been an affair crowded with joy for Drew Lane and JoyceMills. The day was perfect. A faint breeze wafted fleecy clouds aboutthem. The fields, squares of gold and green, dotted here and there bywhite houses and red barns, were an ever changing picture.
Straight as a crow they flew for twenty miles. Then swooping down low,they began to circle. With never tiring eyes Joyce searched the earthbeneath her for the object she sought.
Barns aplenty passed beneath them, but not _the_ one.
Joyce was beginning to despair when, upon entering their fourth greatcircle, she spied a barn with a gaping cupola.
Gripping the young detective's arm, she pointed away to the west. Heunderstood. They circled back. The barn loomed within their view. Hestudied her face, read there the look of joy; then he understood again.He directed his plane at full speed back toward the city airport.
An hour later, the fastest squad car in the city's service sped westwardtoward the suburbs and into the open country. It carried six burlydetectives, one machine gun, two riot guns and four rifles. Crowdedbetween Drew Lane and Herman McCarthey, still clad in her much damagedbrown suit, rode Joyce Mills.
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At the abandoned farmhouse the gangsters, drowsy from the poison they hadtaken into their systems the night before, slept late. When at last theyawoke, they were in a quarrelsome mood.
Johnny, still sitting on the stairs, hungry, thirsty, longing for sleep,heard them, and trembled.
After half an hour of raving and tramping about the house, the men calmeddown and appeared to hold a consultation.
They approached the cellar door. As one heavy bar was thrown back, Johnnydropped noiselessly to the cellar floor.
"The end has come!" he told himself. At the same time he resolved to sellhimself as dearly as possible. These were wicked men who richly deservedto die.
The second bar was removed. The door was thrown open. Mike Volpi appearedon the threshold. In one hand, supported by a strap, he carried a threegallon glass jug. The jug was filled to the very top with some colorlessliquid. Still carrying the jug, the man made his way unsteadily down thestairs.
"See here!" He spoke with the fierce growl of an angry dog as he lookedat Johnny through bleared eyes. "You know where them slugs are. You aregoing to tell!"
"I do not know where they are," Johnny answered in a steady, even tone.
His tone angered the gangster.
"Har, har!" he laughed. "Did you hear him? He don't know where them slugsare. Well, that's good! He don't. Nobody does. Well then, they don't tellno stories.
"No--nor you don't neither!" He turned fierce, glistening eyes on theboy. "You'll tell no tales. Do you hear me?
"Know what's in this jug?" He laughed a fiendish laugh. "It'salki--alcohol you'd call it. Alki's hard to get these days. But we don'tgrudge the cost. We're going to give you a mighty sweet death, we are.
"Some cheap ones would use kerosene. Bah! Kerosene stinks!
"But this. How sweet it smells!" He removed the cork and put it to hisnose. "Mm! How sweet! Pity to waste it!
"But there, we ain't tight. We ain't. We'll use it, every drop!
"Know what?" He dropped his voice to a whisper. "There's a patch of woodsover yonder a mile. Forest Preserve. Campers make fires there. Nobodynotices smoke. We're going to light a torch there, a flamin' torch. Youand this alki. Do you understand?"
Johnny did understand. His heart paused. They meant to soak him inalcohol, then burn him alive. He had heard of such things, but had notbelieved them.
"It'll be a sweet death," the half drunk man raved on. "Such a sweetdeath. All alki, hundred per cent. A sweet--"
He broke off short, to stare at the wall. His face went white. His lipsremained apart. His hands began to tremble. The glass jar dropped to thefloor. It broke into a thousand pieces. The alcohol filled the air with apungent odor as it flowed across the floor.
On the wall before Mike Volpi had appeared the arrow of fire.
"The arrow of justice!" he murmured thickly.
The next instant there came the sound of other breaking glass; a windowwas smashed from without. A voice said: "Don't move! Stick 'em up! Quicknow! We've got you covered--machine gun!" It was Herman McCarthey'svoice. The squad had arrived.
By way of emphasis a machine gun went _rat-tat-tat_, and three bulletsspat against the wall. The gunmen acknowledged a master. Up went theirhands.
Johnny was not long in securing their weapons. Then they were marched,single file, out of the cellar, and each one handcuffed to a policeofficer.
On searching the house, besides other articles they found a number ofladies' garments, all new and in original packages. These, beyond doubt,were part of the loot taken from some store. Joyce Mills was glad enoughto accept the loan of some of these, and so embraced an opportunity tobecome once more a lady.
The gangsters were taken to the city in the squad car. Two policeofficers commandeered the gangster's car. There was room for Johnny, Drewand Joyce in the back seat. So they rode happily back to town.
"Do you know," said Drew, "I heard good news this morning. Rosy is pastdanger."
"Good!" In one word Johnny uttered a prayer of thanksgiving.
"Say!" he exclaimed. "We will get the reward, won't we? Two thousand!"
"Between us," said Drew.
"My share goes toward sending Rosy and her mother back to Italy."
"Between us," Drew answered again.
For a time they rode on in silence. Joyce Mills was fumbling withsomething beneath her jacket.
All at once there appeared on the back of the seat before them a faintred arrow. It flamed up in a peculiar manner.
Drew and Johnny stared. Joyce laughed a low laugh.
"It's a trick," she explained. "I've used it before. Sometimes you can dowith a trick what you can't do with a cannon. You can frighten gunmen.They are very superstitious.
"It is really very simple." She displayed a long black tube. "Oneflashlight, plus a reading glass, makes a small stereopticon. Over theglass of the flashlight I pasted a black paper in which the figure of anarrow had been cut. Before this I set a strip of glass. The glass is red,but is darker in some spots than others. The reading glass focuses thelight so that the arrow becomes definite in form and intensely red. Bymoving the strip of red glass back and forth I am able to make the arrowappear to be on fire. Very simple, isn't it? But it worked!"
"Yes," said Johnny. "It worked. Once it worked too well; came nearcausing us to crash into a wall."
"So you know I rode the back of the gangster's car all the way out?"
"I guessed it."
Joyce told Johnny the rest of the story.
"I think," said Drew when she had finished, "that it is time we had somereal women on our detective force."
"Give me a job," laughed Joyce.
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Two days later the Seventy Club was raided. This time the detective squaddid not stop at the main floor. There was room for three men in each ofthose curious telephone booths. Three times six is eighteen. Each officercarried two guns. Two times eighteen is thirty-six. That was too many forthe gunmen and the ladies down below. They surrendered without a fight.The place was padlocked. Five of the men and three of the ladies takenhad been wanted for some time by the police. Joyce attempted to givecredit for this discovery to her father. He would have none of it. Hetold on her.
Johnny had no trouble in retrieving the package of bullets which he hadentrusted to the care of Uncle Sam in such a strange manner. The casesagainst Jimmie McGowan, Mike Volpi and their confederates were complete.For once a well selected jury and an unimpeachable judge gave a gang ofgunmen their just deserts.
The reward was paid.
A month later, a scene half cheerful, h
alf sad, was enacted at theRamacciotti cottage. Rosy and her mother, smiling their best to keep backthe tears, walked out of the cottage for the last time. A taxicab waswaiting. They were on their way to the depot, bound for Italy. They werejust an Italian mother and daughter; simple, kindly folks, just suchpeople as we almost all are. Yet they mattered much to some; to Johnnyand Drew, to Herman McCarthey and Newton Mills.
Johnny and Drew helped them into the cab, gripped their hands in a lastfarewell; then they turned to walk back to the shack.
Drew paused to lock the cottage which had been Mother Ramacciotti's. Hehad bought the furnishings.
"What will you do with the cottage now?" Johnny asked.
"Listen." Drew's look was serious, sad. "We are going on a vacation, youand I, Herman, Newton Mills, and Joyce. Before that vacation is over,unless conditions change, the gunmen will have provided us another widowand more orphans to fill that cottage. I mean to keep it till there areno more. God grant that the time may soon come!"
A week later Johnny, Drew and Joyce were seated in a clinker-builtrowboat over a deep, dark hole that lies close to shore on the north sideof Lake Huron. On the shore was a cabin. In a sunny spot before the cabinHerman McCarthey and Newton Mills sat spinning yarns. For life must notbe all work. Man's nature demands a change. They were enjoying the changealong with those who were younger.
Drew Lane's experiences as a detective were not over. They were but wellbegun. The problems of enforcing the law and maintaining order in a greatrepublic are never fully solved. They go on from year to year and fromgeneration to generation. Drew Lane was destined to do his full part. AndJohnny Thompson, as his understudy, was not to lag far behind. If you areto realize this to the full, you must read our next book entitled _TheGray Shadow_.
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Transcriber's note:
--Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.
--Apparent typgraphical errors were corrected without note.
--Non-standard spellings and dialect were not changed.
