CHAPTER VIII. BIG PRINT
In the Cosmic Club Mr. Algernon Spofford was a figure of distinction.Amidst the varied, curious, eccentric, brilliant, and even slightlyunbalanced minds which made the organization unique, his was the onlywholly stolid and stupid one. Club tradition declared that he had beenadmitted solely for the beneficent purpose of keeping the more egotisticmembers in a permanent and pleasing glow of superiority. He was veryrich, but otherwise quite harmless. In an access of unappreciatedcynicism, Average Jones had once suggested to him, as a device for hisnewly acquired coat-of-arms, "Rocks et Praeterea Nihil."
But the "praeterea nihil" was something less than fair to Mr. Spofford,with whom it was not strictly a case of "nothing further" besides his"rocks". Ambition, the vice of great souls, burned within Spofford'spigeon-breast. He longed to distinguish himself in the line of endeavorof his friend Jones and was prone to proffer suggestions, hints, andeven advice, to the great tribulation of the recipient.
Hence it was with misgiving that the Ad-Visor opened the door of hissanctum to Mr. Spofford, on a harsh December noon. But the misgivingswere supplanted by pleased surprise when the caller laid in his hand aclipping from a small country town paper, to this effect:
RANSOM--Lost lad from Harwick not drowned or harmed. Retained for ransom. Safe and sound to parents for $50,000. Write, Mortimer Morley, General Delivery, N. Y. Post-Office.
"Thought that'd catch you," chuckled Mr. Spofford, in greatself-congratulation. "'Jones'll see into this,' I says to myself. 'If hedon't, I'll explain.' Somethin' to that, ay?"
Average Jones looked from the advertisement to the vacuous smile ofMr. Algernon Spofford. "Oh, you'll explain, will you?" he said softly."Well, the thing I'd like to have explained is--come over here to thewindow a minute, will you, Algy?"
Mr. Spofford came, and gazed down upon a dispiriting area of rain-sweptstreet and bedraggled wayfarers.
"See that ten-story office building across the way?" pursued AverageJones. "What would you do if, coming in here at midnight, you were tosee twenty-odd rats ooze out of that building and disperse about theirbusiness?"
"I--I'd quit," said the startled promptly.
"That's the obvious solution," retorted "but my question wasn't intendedto elicit a brand of music-hall humor."
Spofford contemplated the building uneasily. "I don't know what you'reup to, Average," he complained. "Is it a catch?"
"No; it's a test case. What would you do?"
"I'd think it was Billy-be-dashed queer," answered Spofford withprofound conviction.
"You're getting on," said Jones tartly. "And next?"
"Ay? How do I know? What're you devilin' me this way for?"
"You wouldn't call a policeman?"
"No," said Spofford, staring.
"You wouldn't hustle around and 'phone Central?"
"Bosh!"
"Yet if any one told you you hadn't the sense a policeman, you'd resentit."
"Of course, I would!"
"Well, Jimmy McCue, the night special, who patrols past the corner,saw that very thing happen a few nights ago at the Sterriter Building.Knowing that rats don't go out at midnight for a saunter, two dozenstrong, he began to suspect."
"Suspect what?" growled Spofford.
"That there must be some abnormal cause for so abnormal a proceeding.Think, now, Algy."
"I've heard of rats leavin' a sinkin' ship. The building might have beensinkin'," suggested the visitor hopefully.
"Is that the best you can do? I'll give you one more try."
"I know," said Spofford. "A cat."
"On my soul," declared Average Jones, gazing at his club-mate withincreased interest, "you're the most remarkable specimen of invertedmentality I've ever encountered. D'you think a cat habitually rounds uptwo dozen rats and then chivies 'em out into the street for sport? McCuedidn't have any cat theory. He figured that when rats come out of aplace that way the place is afire. So he turned in an alarm and saved atwo hundred and fifty thousand dollar building."
"Umph!" grunted Spofford. "Well, what's that got to do with theadvertisement I brought you?"
"Nothing in the world, directly. I'm merely trying to figure out, in myown way, how a mind like yours could see under the surface print intothe really interesting peculiarity of this clipping. Now I know thatyour mind didn't do anything of the sort. Come on, now, Algy, who sentthis to you?"
"Cousin of mine up in Harwick. I wish you weren't so Billy-be-dashedsharp, Average. I used to visit in Harwick, so they asked me to get youinterested in Bailey Prentice's case. He's the lost boy."
"You've done it. Now tell me all you know."
Spofford produced a letter which gave the outlines of the case. BaileyPrentice's disappearance it was set forth, was the lesser of twosimultaneous phenomena which violently jarred the somnolent New Englandvillage of Harwick from its wonted calm. The greater was the "Harwickmeteor." At ten-fifteen on the night of December twelfth, the streetsbeing full of people coming from the moving picture show, there wasa startling concussion from the overhanging clouds and the astoundedpopulace saw a ball of flame plunging earthward, to the northwest ofthe town, and waxing in intensity as it fell. Darkness succeeded. But,within a minute, a lurid radiance rose and spread in the night. Theaerial bolt had gone crashing through an old barn on the Tuxall place,setting it afire.
Bailey Prentice was among the very few who did not go to the fire. Takenin connection with the fact that he was fourteen years old and verythoroughly a boy, this, in itself, was phenomenal. In the excitementof the occasion, however, his absence was not noted. But when, on thefollowing morning, the Reverend Peter Prentice, going up to call hisson, found the boy's room empty and the bed untouched, the secondsensation of the day was launched. Bailey Prentice had, quite simply,vanished.
Some one offered the theory that, playing truant from the house whilehis father was engaged in work below stairs, he had been overwhelmed andperhaps wholly consumed by a detached fragment from the fiery visitant.This picturesque suggestion found many supporters until, on theafternoon of December fourteenth, a coat and waistcoat were found onthe seashore a mile north of the village. The Reverend Mr. Prenticeidentified the clothes as his son's. Searching parties covered the beachfor miles, looking for the body. Preparations were made for the funeralservices, when a new and astonishing factor was injected into thesituation. An advertisement, received by mail from New York, with stampsaffixed to the "copy" to pay for its insertion, appeared in the localpaper.
"And here's the advertisement," concluded Mr. Algernon Spofford,indicating the slip of paper which he had turned over to Average Jones."And if you are going up to Harwick and need help there, why I've gottime to spare."
"Thank you, Algy," replied Average Jones gravely. "But I think you'dbetter stay here in case anything turns up at this end. Suppose," headded with an inspiration, "you trace this Mortimer Morley through thegeneral delivery."
"All right," agreed Spofford innocently satisfied with this wild-gooseerrand. "Lemme know if anything good turns up."
Average Jones took train for Harwick, and within a few hours was rubbinghis hands over an open fire in the parsonage, whose stiff and cheerlessaspect bespoke the lack of a woman's humanizing touch for the ReverendMr. Prentice was a widower. Overwrought with anxiety and strain,the clergyman, as soon as he had taken his coat, began a hurried,inconsequential narrative, broke off, tried again, fell into aninextricable confusion of words, and, dropping his head in his hands,cried:
"I can't tell you. It is all a hopeless jumble."
"Come!" said the younger man encouragingly. "Comfort yourself with theidea that your son is alive, at any rate."
"But how can I be sure, even of that?"
Average Jones glanced at a copy of the advertisement which he held. "Ithink we can take Mr. Morley's word so far."
"Even so; fifty thousand dollars ransom!" said the minister, and stoppedwith a groan.
"Nonsense!" said Average Jones hear
tily. "That advertisement counts fornothing. Professional kidnappers do not select the sons of impecuniousministers for their prey. Nor do they give addresses through which theymay be found. You can dismiss the advertisement as a blind; the secondblind, in fact."
"The second?"
"Certainly. The first was the clothing on the shore. It was put there tocreate the impression that your son was drowned."
"Yes; we all supposed that he must be."
"By what possible hypothesis a boy should be supposed to take off coatand waistcoat and wade off-shore into a winter sea is beyond my poorpowers of conjecture," said the other. "No. Somebody 'planted' theclothes there."
"It seems far-fetched to me," said the Reverend Mr. Prentice doubtfully."Who would have any motive for doing such a thing?"
"That is what we have to find out. What time did your son go to his roomthe night of his disappearance?"
"Earlier than usual, as I remember. A little before nine o'clock."
"Any special reason for his going up earlier?"
"He wanted to experiment with a new fishing outfit just given him forhis birthday."
"I see. Will you take me to his room?"
They mounted to the boy's quarters, which overlooked the roof of theside porch from a window facing north. The charred ruins of a barnabout, half a mile away were plainly visible through this window.
"The barn which the meteor destroyed," said the Reverend Mr. Prentice,pointing it out.
One glance was all that Average Jones bestowed upon a spot which, fora few days, had been of national interest. His concern was insidethe room. A stand against the wall was littered with bits of shiningmechanism. An unjointed fishing-rod lay on the bed. Near at hand were asmall screw-driver and a knife with a broken blade.
"Were things in this condition when you came to call Bailey in themorning and found him gone?" asked Average Jones.
"Nothing has been touched," said the clergyman in a low voice.
Average Jones straightened up and stretched himself languidly. His voicewhen he spoke again took on the slow drawl of boredom. One might havethought that he had lost all interest in the case but for the thoughtfulpucker of the broad forehead which belied his halting accents.
"Then--er--when Bailey left here he hadn't any idea of--er--runningaway."
"I don't follow you, Mr. Jones."
"Psychology," said Average Jones. "Elementary psychology. Here's yourson's new reel. A normal boy doesn't abandon a brand-new fad when heruns away. It isn't in boy nature. No, he was taking this reel apartto study it when some unexpected occurrence checked him and drew himoutside."
"The meteor."
"I made some inquiries in the village on my way, up. None of thehundreds of people who turned out for the fire, remembers seeing Baileyabout."
"That is true."
"The meteor fell at ten-fifteen. Bailey went upstairs before nine. Allowhalf an hour for taking apart the reel. I don't believe he'd have beenlonger at it. So, it's probable that he was out of the house before themeteor fell."
"I should have heard him go out of the front door."
"That is, perhaps, why he went out of the window," observed AverageJones, indicating certain marks on the sill. Swinging his feet over, hestepped upon the roof of the porch, and peered at the ground below.
"And down the lightning rod," he added.
For a moment he stood meditating. "The ground is now frozen hard," hesaid presently. "Bailey's footprints where he landed are deeply marked.Therefore the soil must have been pretty soft at the time."
"Very," agreed the clergyman. "There had been a three-day downpour, upto the evening of Bailey's disappearance. About nine o'clock the windshift to the northeast, and everything froze hard. There has been nothaw since."
"You seem very clear on these points, Mr. Prentice."
"I noted them specially, having in mind to write a paper on themeteorite for the Congregationalist."
"Ah! Perhaps you could tell me, then, how soon after the meteor's fall,the barn yonder was discovered to be afire?"
"Almost instantly. It was in full blaze within very short time after."
"How short? Five minutes or so?"
"Not so much. Certainly not more than two."
"H'm! Peculiar! Ra-a-a-ather peculiar." drawled Average Jones."Particularly in view of the weather."
"In what respect?"
"In respect to a barn, water-soaked by a three-day rain bursting intoflame like tinder."
"It had not occurred to me. But the friction and heat of the meteoritemust have been extremely great."
"And extremely momentary except as to the lower floor, and the fireshould have taken some time to spread from that. However, to turn toother matters--" He swung himself over the edge of the roof and wentbriskly down the lightning rod. Across the frozen ground he moved, withhis eyes on the soil, and presently called up to his, host:
"At any rate, he started across lots in the direction of the barn. Willyou come down and let me in?"
Back in the study, Average Jones sat meditating a few moments. Presentlyhe asked:
"Did you go to the spot where your son's clothes were found?"
"Yes. Some time after."
"Where was it?"
"On the seashore, some half a mile to the east of the Tuxall place, anda little beyond."
"Is there a roadway from the Tuxall place to the spot?"
"No; I believe not. But one could go across the fields and through thebarn to the old deserted roadway."
"Ah. There's an old roadway, is there?"
"Yes. It skirts the shore to join Boston Pike about three miles up."
"And how far from this roadway were your son's clothes found?"
"Just a few feet."
"H'm. Any tracks in the roadway?"
"Yes. I recall seeing some buggy tracks and being surprised, because noone ever drives that way."
"Then it is conceivable that your son's clothes might have been tossedfrom a passing vehicle, to the spot where they were discovered."
"Conceivable, certainly. But I can see no grounds for such aconjecture."
"How far down the road, in this direction, did tracks run?"
"Not beyond the fence-bar opening from the Tuxall field, if that is whatyou mean."
"It is, exactly. Do you know this Tuxall?"
"Hardly at all. He is a recent comer among us."
"Well, I shall probably want to make his acquaintance, later."
"Have a care, then. He is very jealous of his precious meteor, andguards the ruins of the barn, where it lies, with a shot gun."
"Indeed? He promises to be an interesting study. Meantime, I'd like tolook at your son's clothes."
From a closet Mr. Prentice brought out a coat and waistcoat of the"pepper-and-salt" pattern which is sold by the hundreds of thousands thewhole country over. These the visitor examined carefully. The coatwas caked with mud, particularly thick on one shoulder. He called theminister's attention to it.
"That would be from lying wet on the shore," said the Reverend Mr.Prentice.
"Not at all. This is mud, not sand. And it's ground or pressed in. Hasany one tampered with these since they were found?"
"I went through the pockets."
Average Jones frowned. "Find anything?"
"Nothing of importance. A handkerchief, some odds and ends ofstring--oh, and a paper with some gibberish on it."
"What was the nature of this gibberish?"
"Why it might have been some sort of boyish secret code, though it washardly decipherable enough to judge from. I remember some flamboyantadjectives referring to something three feet high. I threw the paperinto the waste-basket."
Turning that receptacle out on the table, Average Jones discovered inthe debris a sheet of cheap, ruled paper, covered with penciled words inprint characters. Most of these had been crossed out in favor of otherwords or sentences, which in turn had been "scratched." Evidently thewriter had been toilfully experimenting toward some elegance
or emphasisof expression, which persistently eluded him. Amidst the wreck and ruinof rhetoric, however, one phrase stood out clear:
"Stupendous scientific sensation."
Below this was a huddle and smudge of words, from which adjectivesdarted out like dim flame amidst smoke. "Gigantic" showed in its entityfollowed by an unintelligible erasure. At the end this line was thelegend "3 Feet High." "Verita Visitor," appeared below, and beyond it,what seemed to be the word "Void." And near the foot of the sheetthe student of all this chaos could make faintly but unmistakably,"Marvelous Man-l--" the rest of the word being cut off by a broad blacksmear. "Monster 3 Feet." The remainder was wholly undecipherable.
Average Jones looked up from this curio, and there was a strangeexpression in the eyes which met the minister's.
"You--er--threw this in the--er--waste-basket." he drawled. "In whichpocket was it?"
"The waistcoat. An upper one, I believe. There was a pencil there, too."
"Have you an old pair of shoes of Bailey's," asked the visitor abruptly.
"Why, I suppose so. In the attic somewhere."
"Please bring them to me."
The Reverend Mr. Prentice left the room. No sooner had the door closedafter him than Average Jones jumped out of his chair stripped to hisshirt, caught up the pepper-and-salt waistcoat, tried it on and buttonedit across his chest without difficulty; then thrust his arm into thecoat which went with it, and wormed his way, effortfully, partly intothat. He laid it aside only when he had determined that he could getit no farther on. He was clothed and in his right garments when theReverend Mr. Prentice returned with a much-worn pair of shoes.
"Will these do?" he asked.
Average Jones hardly gave them the courtesy of a glance. "Yes," he saidindifferently, and set them aside. "Have you a time-table here?"
"You're going to leave?" cried the clergyman, in sharp disappointment.
"In just half an hour," replied the visitor, holding his finger on thetime-table.
"But," cried Mr. Prentice, "that is the train back to New York."
"Exactly."
"And you're not going to see Tuxall?"
"No."
"Nor to examine the place where the clothes were found?"
"Haven't time."
"Mr. Jones, are you giving up the attempt to discover what became of myboy?"
"I know what became of him."
The minister put out a hand and grasped the back of a chair for support.His lips parted. No sound came from them. Average Jones carefully foldedthe paper of "gibberish" and tucked it away in his card case.
"Bailey has been carried away by two people in a buggy. They werestrangers to the town. He was injured and unconscious. They still havehim. Incidentally, he has seriously interfered with a daring and highlyingenious enterprise. That is all I can tell you at present."
The clergyman found his voice. "In heaven, Mr. Jones," he cried, "tellme who and what these people are."
"I don't know who they are. I do know what they are. But it can do nogood to tell you the one until I can find out the other. Be sure of onething, Bailey is in no further danger. You'll hear from me as soon as Ihave anything definite to report."
With that the Reverend Mr. Prentice had to be content; that and a fewdays later, a sheet of letter-paper bearing the business imprint of theAd-Visor, and enclosing this advertisement:
WANTED--3 Ft. type for sensational Bill Work. Show samples. Delivery in two weeks. A. Jones, Ad-Visor, Court Temple, N. Y. City.
Had the Reverend Mr. Prentice been a reader of journals devoted to theart and practice of printing he might have observed that message widelyscattered to the trade. It was answered by a number of printing shops.But, as the answers came in to Average Jones, he put them aside, becausenone of the seekers for business was able to "show samples." Finallythere came a letter from Hoke and Hollins of Rose Street. They wouldlike Mr. Jones to call and inspect some special type upon which theywere then at work. Mr. Jones called. The junior member received him.
"Quite providential, Mr. Jones," he said. "We're turning out somesingle-letter, hand-made type of just the size you want. Only part ofthe alphabet, however. Isn't that a fine piece of lettering!"
He held up an enormous M to the admiration of his visitor.
"Excellent!" approved Average Jones. "I'd like to see other letters; A,for example."
Mr. Hollins produced a symmetrical A.
"And now, an R, if you please; and perhaps a V."
Mr. Hollis looked at his visitor with suspicion. "You appear to beselecting the very letters which I have," he remarked.
"Those which--er--would make up the--er--legend, 'Marvelous Man-LikeMonster," drawled Average Jones.
"Then you know the Farleys,"' said the print man.
"The Flying Farleys?" said Average Jones. "They used to do ascensionswith firework trimmings, didn't they? No; I don't exactly know them. ButI'd like to."
"That's another matter," retorted Mr. Hollins, annoyed at havingbetrayed himself. "This type is decidedly a private--even asecret-order. I had no right to say anything about it or the customerswho ordered it."
"Still, you could see that a letter left here for them reached them, Isuppose."
After some hesitation, the other agreed. Average Jones sat down tothe composition of an epistle, which should be sufficiently imperativewithout being too alarming. Having completed this delicate task to hissatisfaction he handed the result to Hollins.
"If you haven't already struck off a line, you might do so," hesuggested. "I've asked the Farleys for a print of it; and I fancythey'll be sending for one."
Leaving the shop he went direct to a telegraph office, whence hedispatched two messages to Harwick. One was to the Reverend PeterPrentice, the other was to the local chief of police. On the followingafternoon Mr. Prentice trembling in the anteroom of the Ad-Visor's. Withthe briefest word of greeting Average Jones led him into his privateoffice, where a clear-eyed boy, with his head swathed in bandagessat waiting. As the Ad-Visor closed the door after him, he heard thebreathless, boyish "Hello, father," merged in the broken cry of theReverend Peter Prentice.
Five minutes he gave father and son. When he returned to the room,carrying a loose roll of reddish paper, he was followed by a strangecouple. The woman was plumply muscular. Her attractive face was bothdefiant and uneasy. Behind her strode a wiry man of forty. His chiefclaim to notice lay in an outrageously fancy waistcoat, which wasill-matched with his sober, commonplace, "pepper-and-salt" suit.
"Mr. and Mrs. Farley, the Reverend Mr. Prentice," said Average Jones inintroduction.
"The strangers in the wagon?" asked the clergyman quickly.
"The same," admitted the woman briefly.
The Reverend Mr. Prentice turned upon Farley. "Why did you want to stealmy boy away?" he demanded.
"Didn't want to. Had to," replied that gentleman succinctly.
"Let's do this in order," suggested Average Jones. "The principalactor's story first. Speak up, Bailey."
"Don't know my own story," said the boy with a grin. "Only part of it.Mrs. Farley's been awful good to me, takin' care of me an' all that. Butshe wouldn't tell me how I got hurt or where I was when I woke up."
"Naturally. Well, we must piece it out among us. Now, Bailey, you wereworking over your reel the night the meteor fell, when--"
"What meteor? I don't know anything about a meteor."
"Of course you don't," said Average Jones laughing. "Stupid of me. Forthe moment I had forgotten that you were out of the world then. Well,about nine o'clock of the night you got the reel, you looked out of yourwindow and saw a queer light over at the Tuxall place."
"That's right. But say, Mr. Jones, how do you know about the light?"
"What else but a light could you have seen, on a pitch-black night?"counter-questioned Average Jones with a smile. "And it must have beensomething unusual, or you wouldn't have dropped everything to go to it."
"That's what!" corroborated the boy. "
A kind of flame shot up from theground. Then it spread a little. Then it went out. And there were peoplerunning around it."
"Ah! Some one must have got careless with the oil," observed AverageJones.
"That fool Tuxall!" broke in Farley with an oath. "It was him gummed thewhole game."
"Mr. Tuxall, I regret to say," remarked Average Jones, "has left forparts unknown, so the Harwick authorities inform me, probably foreseeinga charge of arson."
"Arson?" repeated the Reverend Mr. Prentice in astonishment.
"Of course. Only oil and matches could have made a barn flare up, aftera three-days' rain, as his did. Now, Bailey, to continue. You ran acrossthe fields to the Tuxall place and went around--let me see; the wind hadshifted to the northeast--yes; to the northeast of the barn and quite adistance away. There you saw a man at work in his shirt."
"Well-I'll-be-jiggered!" said the boy in measured tones. "Where were youhiding, Mr. Jones?"
"Not behind the tree there, anyway," returned the Ad-Visor with achuckle. "There is a tree there, I suppose?"
"Yes; and there was something alive tied up in it with a rope."
"Well, not exactly alive," returned Average Jones, "though the mistakeis a natural one."
"I tell you, I know," persisted Bailey. "While Mr. and Mrs. Farley wereworkin' over some kind of a box, I shinned up the tree."
"Bold young adventurer! And what did you find?"
"One of the limbs was shakin' and thrashin'. I crawled out on it. Iguess it was kind o' crazy me, but I was goin' to find out what was whatif I broke my neck. There was a rope tied to it, and some big thing upabove pullin' and jerkin' at it, tryin' to get away. Pretty soon, Mr.and Mrs. Farley came almost under me. He says: 'Is Tuxall all ready?'and she says: 'He thinks we ought to wait half an hour. The street'llbe full of folks then. Then he says: 'Well, I hate to risk it, but maybeit's better.' just then, the rope gave a twist and came swingin' over onme, and knocked me right off the limb. I gave a yell and then I landed.Next I knew I was in bed. And that's all."
"Now I'll take up the wondrous tale," said Average Jones. "The Farleys,naturally discomfited by Bailey's abrupt and informal arrival, were in aquandary. Here was an inert boy on their hands. He might be dead, whichwould be bad. Or, he might be alive, which would be worse, if they lefthim."
"How so?" asked the Reverend Mr. Prentice.
"Why, you see," explained Average Jones, "they couldn't tell how muchhe might have seen and heard before he made his hasty descent. He mighthave enough information to spoil their whole careful and elaborateplan."
"But what in the world was their plan?" demanded the minister.
"That comes later. They took off Bailey's coat and waistcoat, perhapsto see if his back was broken (Farley nodded), and finding him alive,tossed his clothes into the buggy, where Farley had left his own, andcompleted their necessary work. Of course, there was danger that Baileymight come to at any moment and ruin everything. So they worked at topspeed, and left the final performance to Tuxall. In their excitementthey forgot to find out from their accomplice who Bailey was.Consequently, they found themselves presently driving across countrywith an unknown and undesired white elephant of a boy on their hands.One of them conceived the idea of tossing his clothes upon the sea-beachto establish a false clue of drowning, until they could decide what wasto be done with him. In carrying this out they made the mistake whichlighted up the whole trail."
"Well, I don't see it at all," said Farley glumly. "How did you ever getto us?"
Average Jones mildly contemplated the mathematical center of hisquestioner.
"New waistcoat?" he asked.
Farley glanced down at the outrageous pattern with pride.
"Yep. Got it last week."
"Lost the one that came with the pepper-and-salt suit you're wearing?"
"Damn!" exploded Farley in sudden enlightenment.
"Just so. Your waistcoat got mixed with the boy's clothes, which are ofthe same common pattern, and was tossed out on the beach with his coat."
"Well, I didn't leave a card in it, did I?" retorted the other.
"Something just as good."
"The ad, Tim!" cried the woman. "Don't you remember, you couldn't findthe rough draft you made while we were waiting?"
"That's right, too," he said. "It was in that vest-pocket. But it didn'thave no name on it."
"Then, that," put in the Reverend Peter Prentice, "was the scrawlednonsense--"
"Which you--er--threw into the waste-basket," drawled Average Jones witha smile.
"Those were not Bailey's clothes at all?"
"The coat was his; not the waistcoat. His waistcoat may have fallen outof the buggy, or it may be there yet."
"But what does all this talk of people at work in the dark, and arson,and a mysterious creature tied in a tree lead to?"
"It leads," said Average Jones, "to a very large rock, much scorched,and with a peculiar carving on it, which now lies imbedded in the earthbeneath Tuxall's barn."
"If you've seen that," said Farley, "it's all up."
"I haven't seen it. I've inferred it. But it's all up, nevertheless."
"Serves us right," said the woman disgustedly. "I wish we'd never heardof Tuxall and his line of bunk."
"Mystification upon mystification!" cried the clergyman. "Will some oneplease give a clue to the maze?"
"In a word," said Average Jones. "The Harwick meteor."
"What connection--"
"Pardon me, one moment. The 'live thing' in the tree was a captiveballoon. The box on the ground was a battery. The wire from the batterywas connected with a firework bomb, which, when Tuxall pressed theswitch, exploded, releasing a flaming 'dropper.' About the time the'dropper' reached the earth Tuxall lighted up his well-oiled barn. AllHarwick, having had its attention attracted by the explosion, and seenthe portent with its own eyes, believed that a huge meteor had firedthe building. So Tuxall and Company had a well attested wonder from theheavens. That's the little plan which Bailey's presence threatened towreck. Is it your opinion that the stars are inhabited, Prentice?"
"What!" cried the minister, gaping.
"Stars--inhabited--living, sentient creatures."
"How should I know!"
"You'd be interested to know, though, wouldn't you?"
"Why, certainly. Any one would."
"Exactly the point. Any one would, and almost any one would pay money tosee, with his own eye the attested evidence of human, or approximatelyhuman, life in other spheres. It was a big stake that Tuxall, Farleyand Company were playing for. Do you begin to see the meaning of the bigprint now?"
"I've heard nothing about big prints," said the puzzled clergyman.
"Pardon me, you've heard but you haven't understood. However, to go on,Tuxall and our friends here fixed up a plan on the prospects of a richharvest from public curiosity and credulity. Tuxall planted a big rockunder the barn, fixed it up appropriately with torch and chisel andsent for the Farleys, who are expert firework and balloon people, tocounterfeit a meteor."
"Amazing!" cried the clergyman.
"Such a meteor, furthermore, as had never been dreamed of before. If youwere to visit Tuxall's barn, you would undoubtedly find on the boulderunderneath it a carving resembling a human form, a hoax more ambitiousthan the Cardiff Giant. He carted the rock in from some quarry and didthe scorching and carving himself, I suppose."
"And you discovered all that in a half-day's visit to Harwick?" askedthe Reverend Mr. Prentice incredulously.
"No, but in half-minute's reading of the 'gibberish' which you threwaway."
Taking from the desk the reddish roll which he had brought into the roomwith him, he sent the loose end of it wheeling across the floor, untilit lay, fully outspread. In black letters against red, the legend glaredand blared its announcement:
MARVELOUS MAN-LIKE MONSTER!
"Those letters, Mr. Prentice," pursued the Ad-Visor, "measure just threefeet from top to bottom. The phrase 'three feet high' which so puzzled
you, as combined with the adjectives of great size, was obviously aprinter's direction. All through the smudged 'copy,' which you threwaway, there run alliterative lines, 'Stupendous Scientific Sensation,''Veritable Visitor Void' and finally 'Marvelous Man-l--Monster.' Onlyone trade is irretrievably committed to and indubitably hall-marked byalliteration, the circus trade. You'll recall that Farley insensiblyfell into the habit even in his advertisement; 'lost lad,' 'retained forransom' and 'Mortimer Morley.' Therefore I had the combination circusposter, an alleged meteor which burned a barn in a highly suspiciousmanner, and an apparently purposeless kidnapping. The inference wasas simple as it was certain. The two strangers with Tuxall's aid, hadprepared the fake meteor with a view to exploiting the star-man. Baileyhad literally tumbled into the plot. They didn't know how much he hadseen. The whole affair hinged on his being kept quiet. So they tookhim along. All that I had to do, then, was to find the deviser of thethree-foot poster. He was sure to be Bailey's abductor."
"Say," said Farley with conviction, "I believe you're the devil's firstcousin."
"When you left me in Harwick," said the Reverend Peter Prentice, beforeAverage Jones could acknowledge this flattering surmise, "you said thatstrangers had done the kidnapping. How did you tell they were strangersthen?"
"From the fact that they didn't know who Bailey was, and had toadvertise him, indefinitely, as 'lost lad from Harwick.'"
"And that there were two of them?" pursued the minister.
"I surmised two minds: one that schemed out the 'planting' of theclothes on the shore; the other, more compassionate, that promulgatedthe advertisement."
"Finally, then, how could you know that Bailey was injured andunconscious?"
"If he hadn't been unconscious then and for long after, he'd haverevealed his identity to his captors, wouldn't he?" explained theAd-Visor.
There was a long pause. Then the woman said timidly:
"Well, and now what?"
"Nothing," answered Average Jones. "Tuxall has got away. Mr. Prenticehas recovered his son. You and Farley have had your lesson. And I--"
"Yes, and you, Mr. Detective-man," said the woman, as he paused. "Whatdo you get out of it?"
Average Jones cast an affectionate glance at the sprawling legend whichdisfigured his floor.
"A unique curio in my own special line," he replied. "An ad which neverhas been published and never will be. That's enough for me."
There was a double knock at the door, and Mr. Algernon Spofford burstin, wearing a face of gloom.
"Say, Average," he began, but broke off with a snort of amazement."You've found him!" cried. "Hello, Mr. Prentice. Well, Bailey, alive andkicking, eh?"
"Yes; I've found him and them," replied Average Jones.
"You've done better than me, then. I've been through the post-officedepartment from the information window here to the postmaster-general inWashington, and nobody'll help me find Mortimer Morley."
"Then let me introduce him; Algy, this is Mortimer Morley; in lessprivate life Mr. Tim Farley, and his wife, Mrs. Farley, Mr. Spofford."
"Well, I'll be Billy-be-dashed," exploded Mr. Spofford. "How did youwork it out, Average?"
"On the previously enunciated principle," returned Average Jones witha smile, "that when rats leave a sinking ship or a burning buildingthere's usually something behind, worth investigating."