The High School Freshmen Part 29

"It takes fire to set this stuff off, doesn't it?" he asked.

"No," d.i.c.k replied. "If it's nitroglycerine in that box, a light, sharp blow might be enough to do the trick. At least, that was about what Dr. Thornton said."

Dave came back with word that the police would send some one at once.

"They asked me whom the stuff was addressed to," Dave continued, "and I had to admit that I didn't know."

"It's addressed to Simon Tripps, to be called for. Identification by letter herewith," read d.i.c.k Prescott, from the label.

"Yes; I have the letter," nodded Mr. Drowan. "It contains the signature of the party who's to call for the box. That's all the identification that's asked."

At this moment Officer Hemingway, in plain clothes, came in, followed by a policeman in uniform.

Hemingway took a look at the stuff slowly oozing out of a corner of the box.

"My bet is nitroglycerine---what the bank robbers call 'soup,'"

declared Hemingway, almost in a whisper. "All right; we'll take it up to the station house. Then we'll send for Dr. Thornton, who is the best chemist hereabouts. As soon as we get this stuff to the station house I'll hustle back and hide against the coming of Mr. Tripps. If he comes before I get back, jump on the fellow and hold him for me, no matter what kind of a fight he puts up."

Dave gazed after the retreating figures of the policemen.

"Bright man, that Hemingway," he remarked. "If Tripps shows up, we are to jump on him and nail him---no matter if he hauls out two six-shooter and turns 'em on us"

"We can grab any one man, and hold him," returned d.i.c.k, confidently.

"All we've got to do is to get at him from all sides. See here, Dave, if a fellow comes in and tells you he's Tripps, you repeat the name as though you weren't sure. As soon as we hear the name, Tom and I can jump on him from behind, and you can sail in in front. Eh, Reade?"

"It sounds good," nodded Tom. "I'll take a chance on it, d.i.c.k, with you to engineer the job."

In ten minutes Officer Hemingway was back. He stepped into a cupboard close to the counter, prepared for the coming of Tripps.

Half an hour later the police station's officer in charge telephoned that Dr. Thornton had carefully opened the box, and had declared that it contained four pounds of nitroglycerine. Nor had Dr.

Thornton taken any chances of mistake. He had taken a minute quant.i.ty of the suspected stuff out in the yard back of the station house, and had exploded it.

At a moment when the office was empty of patrons Mr. Drowan stepped into the cupboard for a moment, as though searching for something.

"How late do you stay open?" whispered Hemingway.

"Ten o'clock, usually, on Sat.u.r.day nights, but we'll keep open as late as you want, officer."

"Better keep open until midnight, then."

So they did, d.i.c.k telephoning his parents at the store to explain that he was at the express office helping Dave.

Midnight came and went. A few minutes after the new day had begun Hemingway came out of the cupboard.

"You may as well close up, Drowan," the plain clothes man decided.

"The fellow who calls himself Tripps isn't going to show up.

If he had been going to claim his box he'd have been here before this."

"You think he got scared away?" asked the night manager.

"The fellow was probably keeping watch on this office. He saw what happened, and decided not to run his neck into a noose.

You'll never have any word from Tripps."

"Isn't it just barely possible," hinted one of the clerks, "that the man wanted the stuff for some legitimate purpose?"

"A man who knows how to use nitroglycerine," retorted Hemingway, gruffly, "also knows that it's against the law to s.h.i.+p nitroglycerine unlabeled. He also knows that it's against the law for an express company to transport the stuff on a car that is part of a pa.s.senger train. So this fellow who calls himself Tripps is a crook. We haven't caught him, but we've stopped him from using his 'soup'

the way he had intended to use it."

"Wonder what he did want to do with it?" mused d.i.c.k Prescott.

"There are any one of twenty ways in which the fellow might have used the stuff criminally," replied the plain clothes man. "Of course, for one thing, it could be used to blow open a safe with.

But safecracking, nowadays, is done by ordinary robbers, and they're able to carry in a pocket or a satchel the small quant.i.ty of 'soup' that it takes to blow the lock of a safe door, or the door off the safe."

After thinking a few minutes, Hemingway went to the telephone, calling up the chief of police at the latter's home. The plain clothes man stated the case, and suggested that the story be told to "The Blade" editor for publication in the morning issue. Then, if anyone in town had any definite suspicion why so much nitroglycerine should be needed in that little city, he could communicate his suspicions or his facts to the police.

"The chief agrees to my plan," nodded Hemingway, leaving the 'phone.

"Me for 'The Blade' office."

"See here," begged d.i.c.k, earnestly, "if there's to be a good newspaper story in this, please let me turn it over to Len Spencer. He's one of our best newspaper men. He'll write a corking good story about this business---and, besides, I'm under some personal obligations to him."

"So I've heard," replied the plain clothes man, with a twinkle in his eyes. Hemingway heard a good deal in his saunterings about Gridley. He had picked up the yarn about d.i.c.k & Co., Len Spencer and the "dead ones."

"So that 'The Blade' gets it, I don't care who writes the story,"

replied the policeman, good-humoredly.

d.i.c.k swiftly called up "The Morning Blade' office. Spencer was there, and came to the telephone.

"How's news tonight?" asked Prescott, after naming himself.

"Duller than a lecture," rejoined Len.

"Would you like a hot one for the first page?" pursued d.i.c.k.

"Would I? Would a cat lap milk, or a dog run when he had a can tied to his tail? But don't string me, d.i.c.k. There's an absolute zero on news tonight."

"Then you stay right where you are for two or three minutes,"

d.i.c.k begged his reporter friend. "Officer Hemingway and some others are coming down to see you. You'll want to save three or four columns, I guess."

"Oh, now, see here, d.i.c.k-----" came Reporter Spencer's voice, in expostulation.

"Straight goods," d.i.c.k a.s.sured him. "When I say that I mean it.

And, this time, I not only mean it, but _know_ it. Wait! We'll be right down to your office."

Nor did it take Len Spencer long to realize that he had in hand the big news sensation of the hour for the people of Gridley.

Everyone in Gridley either wondered or s.h.i.+vered the next morning at breakfast table.

Four pounds of nitroglycerine are enough to work fearful havoc and mischief.