The car sped on and on into the night. Past low narrow cottagesinterspersed with apartment buildings, past long rows of modernapartments, across countless railway tracks, in and out among greatlooming factory buildings, they glided.
Into the open country where the air was heavy with the scent of weed dustand fresh cut grain they went, and the end was not yet.
A stretch of broad paved road ended in gravel and dirt. The car bumpedand swung from side to side.
Farmhouses, drowsy with night, flashed by them.
At last, with a lurch, they swung off the road and entered a narrow laneand arrived in the back yard of a house that appeared abandoned.
The grass, damp with dew, was up to their knees as they alighted.
"No more likely place could be found for dark deeds!" was Johnny's mentalcomment. Once more he shuddered.
Still he did not wholly despair.
Pushing him before them, the gangsters approached the house.
At the same time a dark shadow, that might have been a dog, a wolf, or askulking human being, glided from the back of the car toward a great barnthat loomed away to the right.
Arrived at the door of the house, the man with the hole in his handgripped the doorknob and shook it. The door did not open. Producing asmall flashlight, he turned it on the door.
"Padlocked," he grumbled. "Tony's been here. Got no key."
"Let's go to the barn," suggested a gruff voice.
Without another word they turned and started for the barn.
Had they flashed their light against the one small window on that side ofthe barn, they might have seen there a frightened, staring, butdetermined face.
When they entered the large room that had doubtless at one time been agranary, the place was deserted.
Had they looked carefully they might have noted that the dust on thestairway leading to the loft had recently been disturbed by fleeing feet.They did not look. Their minds were concentrated upon the telltalebullets.
"Now, young man." It was Volpi, he of the hole in his hand, who spoke."Where are them slugs?"
"Slugs?" said Johnny.
"Bullets then. Them bullets?"
"I have no bullets. I use no gun. I shoot only with bow and arrow."
"Ah, yes! With those you are skillful!" Volpi's words carried infinitehate. He knew what had happened to Jimmie McGowan. Jimmie had been usefulto him in many ways. And now, who knows? Ah yes, he must have thosebullets at any cost.
"Look here, you!" He advanced upon Johnny in a threatening manner. "Youknow what slugs I mean. Them slugs that this New York bull's been makin'evidence with. You're goin' to give 'em up!"
He did not wait for Johnny to give them up. He stepped up and thrust hishand into the boy's inner coat pocket.
A look of blank astonishment overspread his face. When he had gonehurriedly through all the boy's pockets, he stood back to stare intoJohnny's face. His fingers worked convulsively. His small eyes becamebuttons of staring blue. It seemed that he would spring at the boy andtear him to pieces.
At that instant a curious thing happened. The room, lighted as it wasonly by a small flashlight, was more than half in darkness. Into thatdarkness there stole a strange red light. On the floor, at the gangster'sfeet, there appeared the flaming arrow of fire.
"O-oof!" The man sprang back as if from a ghost. "The arrow!" he mumbled."The arrow of fire!"
As on those other occasions, even as he spoke, the apparition vanished.
Whatever may have been the gangster's intentions in the beginning, theyhad been changed by the arrow of fire. Leading his men into a corner, hebegan to talk to them in whispers. Was he recounting to them in detailthe history of that mysterious arrow? No one but they will ever know.