Chance of a Lifetime

by Grace Livingston Hill

  But there was no more time to think about it now. He had arrived at the end of the alley, just under the window at the back of the safe, and he saw to his horror that the window was wide open, and the light dancing about, just inside.

  Cautiously, he approached. If he only had an old box or something to stand on, so that he could see the situation and know just what to do. There might be more than one person inside, in which case, he would need help. He ought to have brought his little revolver along, perhaps, but he had not taken time to think when he left home, and besides, he hadn’t considered any serious danger.

  While he paused, watching the window, he heard the thud of the ledger falling, knew just what it was, saw the light go out, distinctly heard a hurried step and then the crash of the metal. That would be that stack of children’s hoes and shovels and rakes clattering together. He could almost visualize the intruder now, and knew just which way he was moving.

  Almost instantly, there appeared a dark form at the window. He could see the gleam of a white hand laid on the windowsill, as the light from the next street showed it up. The man was coming out!

  He crouched close to the wall. There was no time to signal his friends. It did not even occur to him; he was no coward. He crouched and held his breath as the intruder climbed out on the windowsill, hung an instant, and then dropped.

  But he dropped into Alan MacFarland’s arms, and they grappled together and fell, rolling over in the alley.

  Not for an instant did Alan let go his hold, though his prisoner kicked and struggled and applied even his teeth to the attack.

  Silently they rolled about the alley, Alan finally getting the upper hand and administering the good thrashing he well knew how to give, but not yet having been able to get a good glimpse of the man’s features. Suddenly the victim, in desperation, wrenched his right arm loose and, swift as lightning, gave him a smashing blow on the nose that made all the stars in the firmament flash out in bright splinters before his stunned gaze and sent him crashing down into the awful darkness in the alley, in black obliteration.

  It was Bob Lincoln who dislodged the enemy from Alan’s throat and lifted him tenderly in his arms. The enemy melted away in the darkness, but not before Keith had sighted him running and come hard on his tracks, sending forth a sharp warning whistle, which brought the officers of the law in short order. But the burglar was gone! Keith had followed at a wild speed, but when he came to the end of the alley there was no one there, and no trace anywhere of anyone in the peaceful silent darkness. He ran up and down the street in either direction but finding nothing more returned to the place where Alan was laying.

  Bob had succeeded in bringing him back to consciousness and was wiping the blood away from his face. One of the officers had a big flashlight turned on, and they were talking in low voices. Alan, his voice a little shaky, was telling how it all had happened.

  Alan presently insisted on getting upon his feet. He was all right of course. What did they think he was? A baby? Just a little punch in the nose, what was that? All he was sorry about was that the man got away.

  They went inside the store and saw the safe. It had been blown open with noiseless powder. There were papers strewn wildly about on the floor, and the little stack of children’s garden tools was lying across them. There were the day book and ledger, too, on the floor where they had fallen when the man fled. Alan shut his lips in a tight line. Who could have done it? What would his father say when he heard of this new disaster? And how much had the man been able to get away with? Was it his fault in any way? Yes, at least in part, for he never should have opened the safe with the shade up and a light inside. Besides, he now remembered he had left the iron shutters of that window, that were always closed at sundown, wide open! He hadn’t even remembered to fasten the window. It might have even been left wide open, for all he remembered. He certainly hadn’t done anything to it except to draw down the shade.

  They went home at last, back to bed, leaving the police in charge. They could find no trace of the robber anywhere.

  Alan felt a little shaky and found that he had a black eye as well as a bloody face, and many minor bruises.

  “Bob, you saved my life, you know,” he remarked, as they went up the walk to the MacFarland house.

  “Aw, cut it! Nothing of the kind!” said Bob. “I just helped out a little. You’d have been up in a second more.”

  “No,” said Alan seriously, “I was gone. He had me by the throat. I was choking to death. I remember thinking it was all over for me. You came just in time. Say, kid, this binds us close. I won’t ever forget.”

  Bob threw an impulsive arm across Alan’s shoulder.

  “That’s great of you, Mac,” he said. “Then we’ve got something on both sides to bind us. I’ll never forget either.”

  Back in the room, while Alan washed his bruises, Bob stood handling his new Bible again, admiring it, turning the pages, reading again the inscription and the names. As he came to the little reference at the bottom of the page, he studied it thoughtfully.

  “Say, Mac, what’s this down at the bottom? What does it mean? Two Timothy, two fifteen?”

  “Oh, that reference?” said Alan emerging from the towel. “That’s the groups’ text for the year. Second Timothy, two fifteen. You know the verse. ‘Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth.’ You’ll find the verse marked in the Bible, likely. Trust Sherrill Washburn for that. Here, I’ll show you.”

  Alan fluttered the leaves over and handed the Bible back, opened to the chapter. And there, sure enough, the fifteenth verse stood out, marked clearly in black lines.

  Robert read the verse over slowly, thoughtfully, and then looked up with a smile. “So, it seems I have a higher boss than old Hodge, haven’t I?” he said thoughtfully. “One that comes first. Well, if I can show myself approved unto God, I guess old Hodge oughtta be satisfied. How about it?”

  “Sure thing, Bob,” said Alan, pulling his sweater off and flinging it across a chair.

  “But say! What does this last line mean? ‘Rightly dividing the word of truth’?”

  “Oh, that means understanding how to take the Bible, which thing was written to the Jews, to the Gentiles, and to the church. Dispensations and covenants and all that. It makes a lot clearer what it all means, you know. We have Scofield’s little book to read, you know. There’s an extra copy around here, somewhere. Yes, here it is. You can take it with you, and that’ll explain. It’s only a pamphlet, so it won’t take much room, and it clears up things a lot. And by the way, here’s our course of study. I promised Sherry I’d give it to you. Stick it in the book. We want you to keep up with us, and we’ll send you the exams when they come in, and then we can all be getting a line on the same things, see?”

  Bob accepted the book and papers eagerly and would have sat down to examine them, then and there, but Alan reminded him that it was almost four o’clock, and he had less than four hours to sleep before his journey.

  “That’s all right, Mac,” said the boy, “I’ll have plenty of time on board the ship. However, you need your sleep, too. I’ll turn in now.”

  Morning came all too soon for the two young sleepers, but, nevertheless, they were alert early.

  “Say, kid, you’re some beaut!” announced Bob rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and gazing at the other boy. “Boy! You look as if you’d been in a fight for sure.”

  “Well, I don’t want any worse one,” laughed Alan. Then suddenly sobering, he sprang out of bed wildly.

  “Great cats!” he exclaimed. “I never looked to see if I brought home those papers last night.”

  He dashed wildly toward his coat, which hung in the closet, and fumbled in first one pocket and then another, finally bringing out a bundle of official-looking documents, fastened together with rubber bands.

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered! Here they are!” he exclaimed, his face breaking into joy. “Now whaddaya think of t
hat? Brought ‘em home after all, and didn’t remember a thing about it. Boy! I’m glad! Now the next thing is, is that agreement among ‘em, or did that poor fish get away with it?”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Bob looking over his shoulder at the sheaf of papers. “Was there something in that safe somebody wanted? Have you any idea who that burglar was?”

  “Well, not exactly, but there is a man trying to put something over on Dad, and I just reckoned he might be hunting some papers or something. I don’t know for sure, because I can’t ask Dad till he gets better. I’ve got to figure it out for myself. But I’d give two cents, right now, if I could go have a look into that fellow’s face before he cleared out. I don’t suppose we’ll ever get a line on him.”

  “H’m!” said Bob thoughtfully. “Wish I were staying a day or two. I’d like to help you search it out.”

  “Here’s an agreement,” said Alan thoughtfully. “Might be it.” He opened it and read, and then folded the papers away in his coat pocket again. “Guess I’ll put these in the safe deposit box in the bank this morning. Come, Bob, we’ve got to get a hustle on. You don’t want to miss that train, and we’ve several things to do before train time. We’ll just get down and eat a bite and then we can take it easy. What have you left do yet? Anything but gather up your baggage?”

  “Oh, just one or two little things,” said Bob. “It won’t take me long.”

  Alan’s mother had ordered breakfast served at once when they came down, honey dew melon, chops, fried potatoes, waffles, and amber coffee. She came smiling in as the boys sat down.

  “Why, is this a banquet, Mrs. MacFarland?” said Bob, rising and pulling back her chair. “You oughtn’t to have done it. All this! And I’m sure you don’t have breakfast at this hour every morning.”

  “You’re going on a journey,” said the smiling mother. “You’ll need a good breakfast. And besides, we’re so happy this morning, we want to celebrate. Alan, your father is really better, the doctor says. It will be a long time before he pulls back to things, but he has passed the worst, he hopes.”

  It was a happy meal, and Bob’s heart warmed with the feeling that he belonged and might help rejoice in the happiness and relief of these new friends. All too quickly, the minutes passed, and the boys started out together. But just as they went out the door, the telephone rang, and Alan was called to answer.

  “I’ll start on,” called Bob. “Meet you at the post office. How’s that? Got to leave my address or my brother-in-law will examine any letters that might come.”

  But Bob did not go at once to the post office. Instead, he sprinted back down the back street and entered the alley, the scene of the fracas the night before. He walked over the ground pretty thoroughly, examining everything, and then followed the path down among the weeds, into the fields where the fugitive disappeared. Yes, there were hasty tracks in the grass; tall weeds lying flat as if a heavy, hasty foot had crushed them, but they ended in a group of elderberry bushes down near the railroad, no sign of any footsteps beyond the bushes. He stood looking at the vague path thoughtfully a moment and then retraced his steps. He did not notice a frail young girl, with big troubled eyes, watching him from behind the back fence on the other side of the alley, until he was opposite her. And then he saw that it was Lancey Kennedy, the niece of Mrs. Corwin, who kept the millinery store on the other side of the alley and lived in a small apartment over the store. Bob didn’t know Lancey very well. She was shy and retiring, and had been in town only about a year. She had come to Rockland with her aunt after the death of her parents. But she had been in his high school class, and of course, he recognized her. She was one of the best students in the class.

  He would have passed her with a brief nod of good morning, but he saw that she was waiting to speak to him. And it suddenly struck him how lovely her eyes were, great deep brown wells. What was the matter with him this morning?

  He paused as she spoke.

  “I was waiting to speak to you. There’s something I think you ought to know,” she said, in a voice that seemed almost frightened. “Weren’t you here last night? I thought I heard them call you ‘Bob,’ and it seemed like your voice that answered.”

  “Sure, I was here,” he answered, stepping a little closer. “Did they wake you up?”

  “Why, I hadn’t been asleep,” she said. “I was worried. You see, my room is in the third story back. And just as I turned my light out, I heard a noise out here in the alley and I looked out, and I was sure I saw a man’s feet disappearing into the window of the store.”

  “The dickens! You did?” said Bob with a whistle of astonishment.

  “But I wasn’t sure at all,” said Lancey. “It is awfully dark in the alley. But I waited, and pretty soon I saw a light in the store. Sometimes I wasn’t sure but it was just the reflection of the streetlight over there on the mirror. I thought it was my imagination. Then I got so excited I didn’t know what to do. It seemed as if I ought to tell somebody, but I couldn’t get down without waking my aunt, and I knew she wouldn’t hear to my calling somebody. She would have said I was a romantic little fool. So I waited, but I guess I ought to have gone anyway. But before I got my courage up, I saw someone else come down the alley, and a man jumped out of the window, and then it all happened. I wanted to scream out but was so frightened I couldn’t make a sound, and when I got control of myself, I saw two people come running, and I heard Mr. Washburn call out, ‘Get him, Bob.’ “ And you answered, and then I knew there was no need. But I saw the man run down in those bushes, and then it was dark beyond; I couldn’t see him any longer. I knew you all were onto him so I needn’t do anything more, and I wasn’t sure but the police had got him, for they were all in a bunch when they came back. But after they had all gone, I sat there awhile, just watching that group of elderberry bushes till it seemed to move and walk up across the grass. And pretty soon I saw it really was a man moving in the darkest places across the end of our back fence. He had come right out of the bushes, or behind the bushes. He must have hid until you all went away. And he kept so close to the fence, I could only see the top of his head sometimes. He would move a few steps and then stop a long time.”

  Bob was listening in fascination, watching the girl’s sweet face, thinking with his subconscious mind how strange it was he had never noticed what pretty, delicate features she had, and that lovely oval of her pale cheeks that just now was tinged the least bit with the pink of excitement.

  “When I saw he was turning in between our store and the bakery,” went on Lancey, “I slipped out of my room and went down in the store to watch and see if he came out into the street, and just as I got in the store he went by the window. I saw he was limping, and he had no hat on. He went very slowly, watching the street each way, and finally crossed the street and went into Mrs. Brower’s boardinghouse. He had a latchkey, and he seemed a long time getting the door open, and very nervous looking each way, and once he dropped the key. I heard it ring on the door stone.”

  “Was there any light at Mrs. Brower’s?” asked Bob quickly.

  “No, not for a long time,” answered Lancey. “I watched. But just when I thought there was no use watching anymore, there came a light in the third-story back room. It has a side window that looks down on the road to their garage, and a hand pulled down the shade, quick. I could only see a hand and an arm. And then I wondered what I ought to do. I felt somebody ought to know but wasn’t sure who. So I’ve slipped out here every time I could get away to see if some of them would come back, so I could tell them without being noticed. I knew my aunt would be furious if her name got tangled up in it. And I wasn’t at all sure I ought to let it get known anyway, only to the people to whom it mattered. After the light went out, I was so cold that I went back to my room, but I couldn’t sleep all night. Do you think it is important? Do you think I should tell the police?”

  “You poor kid!” said Bob, his voice full of tenderness. “Don’t worry anymore about it. Sure I think it’s
important, but you needn’t do anything about it. I’ll tell MacFarland, and then if he wants to know more he can ask you. I’ll tell him to keep your name out of it, see? He’ll understand. He’s a prince.”

  “Oh, thank you!” said Lancey with a sigh of relief. “I was afraid my aunt would have to know about it, and she isn’t—well—it’s not easy to make her understand. She would have thought I ought not to have been watching. She would have thought I was to blame somehow.”

  “You poor kid!” said Bob again, his voice bringing the rosy color into her cheeks. “Leave it to me. I’ll try to get another chance to speak to you about it without calling the attention of the town. Could I call you up?”

  “Oh no,” said Lancey, shrinking. “My aunt would be sure to answer, or question, and be most unpleasant.”

  “All right. You just trust me. I’ll get word to you somehow. Write you a note or something. Don’t you worry. If anybody questions you, I’ll see they do it most discreetly. Thanks for giving me the dope. You sure are some detective, kid. There comes Mac’s car. See you later, if I can. So long!”

  He was going up the alley and appeared quite casually beside the car as Alan drew up at the drugstore. And the girl stood in the back garden among the hollyhocks; her bright hair blowing in little rings around her sweet face, watching the boy depart, and hearing over again his comforting voice, “Leave it to me, kid.”

  Then suddenly, into the sunshine, burst a sharp voice. “Lancey Kennedy. What on earth are you doing mooning out there in the garden at this hour? The coffeepot has boiled over and the toast has burned to a crisp. I declare! The Kennedy comes out stronger every day. Whatever do you think you’re worth in life, anyway?”

  “You sure are some detective, kid,” Bob Lincoln’s voice rang softly in her heart as she turned in dismay to go into the house.

  “And he thought it would be important, too,” she told herself as she entered the kitchen and came under the dark purple frown of her relative.