Читать книгу The Airship Boys in the Great War; or, The Rescue of Bob Russell - De Lysle F. Cass - Страница 8

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Alan Hope spent most of the next day at the offices of the Universal Transportation Company, and was inclined to scoff at the idea of his being watched. Nevertheless he had a loaded automatic revolver tucked away in his hip pocket, and, as night drew on, his assurance began to ooze gradually, and he felt more than once to make sure that his weapon was still there ready for defense.

Ned Napier was really impressed with the threats of the mysterious German, and, though he did not arm himself as Alan had, he kept a sharp lookout for suspicious characters about him. All day long he wandered with an air of affected carelessness through the downtown shopping district, made a couple of short business calls, ate leisurely at the Ritz, and seemed to have no thought of anything but home and bed for that evening.

Buck Stewart arose early that morning, ate a hearty breakfast, and when he started out took with him what was apparently an ordinary cane, but which really was a rod of steel, encased in leather. Many reporters carry them when they are sent out on assignments into dangerous sections of the city.

Swinging his stick jauntily, he made his way first to the offices of the Herald, where a brief chat with the managing editor readily procured him permission to accompany the Airship Boys on their trip. The editor, in fact, made a regular assignment of it and cautioned Buck to take along with him plenty of pencils, notebooks and a small camera that could be swung over one shoulder with a strap.

Thus burdened, Buck again sought the street. Leaving “Newspaper Row” behind, he sauntered along, stopping now and then to look at articles in the shop windows, and finally decided to see the matinee at the Casino.

Broadway was thronged with the usual afternoon crowd of beautiful women and fashionably dressed idlers for which it is famous. The reporter shouldered his way through these, a little self-conscious of the bumping camera-box over his shoulder and the way his pockets bulged with surplus notebooks. Once a tall, plainly dressed man with a close-cropped beard bumped into him. There was a mutual exchange of apologies and the crowd soon swallowed him. Later on Buck met a fellow newspaperman in front of the Astor and stopped to chat with him. An inadvertent side glance during this conversation discovered the same bearded stranger standing just to one side of the hotel entrance, as if hesitating whether to go in or not. There was no recognition in his cold eyes as Buck’s glance caught his, but the reporter’s heart gave a little jump.

“Pshaw!” growled Buck to himself, “I’m getting to be a regular old granny! Here I see the same passer-by twice in an afternoon on Broadway and am afraid that he’s a spy waiting to sandbag me.”

His uneasiness was not thus to be laughed off though, and spoiled his enjoyment of the performance at the theatre. He scanned the audience around him narrowly to see if the bearded man was among them, and was relieved at failing to find him.

After the show Buck again wandered aimlessly through the streets. He was keenly on the alert for spies, and found merely killing time to be harder than he had thought it would be. The strain was beginning to tell on his nerves. At dusk a million lights flashed out in a dazzling array of figures and designs and the Great White Way made good its name. But Buck was tired of it by then. He strolled over to near-by Fifth Avenue, where there were fewer people to jostle him and the rattle of the streets was less distracting. He felt, for no apparent reason, increasingly sure that he was being followed.

To make sure of his suspicions Buck walked at times very slowly; at others rapidly; but he observed no suspicious “shadows.” True, there were a number of people walking behind him, but his inspection revealed nothing sinister about them.

Buck told himself that his fears were silly—that he was as bad as a girl in the dark. Still the vague dread oppressed him.

He ate in a small restaurant just off Fourth Avenue, entering the place at the same time as two other men whose dress indicated them to be shop clerks, or something of the kind. When he arose to pay his bill and leave, they did also. At the counter, one of them brushed as if accidentally against him, and Buck felt deft fingers pass swiftly over his pockets as if searching for something. Was the fellow feeling to see if Buck carried a revolver?

The reporter wondered, but said nothing to the strangers. Their faces were innocent enough and their eyes met his questioning glance candidly. Buck went on out into the night and they followed close on his heels. As he stood quietly in the doorway there, however, the men bade each other good night and parted—going in opposite directions along the street. Finally they disappeared in the darkness.

Buck was sorely perplexed. He felt absolutely certain that it was unsafe for him to be wandering about alone, yet it was several hours too early to start for Newark. Finally he decided to take in several moving picture shows as the safest way to keep out of danger. One of the men whom he had seen in the little restaurant was lounging outside of the first playhouse Buck visited. Before the films were fully run the reporter slipped out through one of the side exits into an alley.

It was so dark there that he hardly could see the ground under foot. Twenty assailants might be waiting in the gloom for aught he could tell. The reporter was not ashamed to take frankly to his heels and rush out onto the lighted street as fast as he could. He noticed that the lounger had disappeared from the theatre doorway.

Hoping now that he had thrown his unknown pursuers off the trail, Buck visited a second moving picture playhouse. There a drunken man plumped roughly down into the vacant seat next to him and tried to pick a quarrel without any excuse at all. The reporter would have taken this as rather a joke had it not been that there was no vile odor of intoxicants on this drunkard’s breath. Shoving the rough to one side, Buck hurried out of the theatre, walked quickly down the street to the next corner; crossed there to see if he was followed; turned the next corner; walked two blocks along an ill-lighted deserted side street and there jumped into a dark doorway to listen.

Yes! there was no mistake about it! He could hear the patter of running feet less than a quarter of a block behind. Ere Buck had time to flee, rubber heels on the pursuers’ shoes deadened their footfalls again and two shadowy figures appeared directly in front of his hiding place. They paused there, breathing hard, and holding a hasty conference.

“How ever did he get away from you, Hermann?” snarled the bigger of the two men to the other, whom Buck now recognized as the “drunken man” of the theatre.

“Why talk about that now that he has again eluded us?” he growled. “If only we had him here on this dark street, we could soon finish with him.”

“Yes, we must catch him at once. He must still be in the neighborhood and isn’t armed. I made sure of that in the restaurant a couple of hours ago. But anyway, he can’t go far without Otto, Wilhelm or some of the others seeing him. They are covering all of these three streets, you know.”

The man addressed as Hermann grunted his assent.

“I’m winded from that run after the fool,” said he. “Let’s sit down in this doorway and rest for a few moments.”

Buck’s heart began to beat faster. He knew that his discovery and assault were only a matter of a few seconds. The scoundrelly pair had now approached within arm’s reach of him, so without further delay the reporter swung aloft his loaded cane and brought it down in a smashing side blow on the head of the nearest man.

A Narrow Escape.

A bellow of rage and pain shocked the neighborhood into wakefulness. As the second man leaped savagely at him, Buck evaded a wicked knife stab and struck him full between the eyes with his clenched fist. The fellow reeled, jerked a pistol from his pocket and emptied it blindly at the place where his combatant had stood an instant before.

But Buck was bounding down the street as fast as his legs could carry him, his camera bumping clumsily against his back. A cross-town trolley car was clanging the bell down the next street and the breathless reporter made a running jump to catch it. Just as he did so a third man with a closely-cropped beard sprang after him from the curb. He caught the camera and gave a mighty tug at it which broke the strap, and, with the box in his hands, sent him sprawling backwards in the street. The rushing trolley car did not stop, and Buck’s extraordinary agility was all that enabled him to swing aboard safely.

“It’s a fine night, mister,” said the conductor, as he rang up the fare.

Buck answered him with the sourest of stares.