CHAPTER XXIV Trapped!
With Judy still at the wheel, the Beetle crawled down the last hill andinto the valley that held the small city of Farringdon. They stopped atDr. Bolton’s house on Grove Street only to find it deserted.
“Mother may have gone over to Dry Brook Hollow to get our house readyfor us, but Dad should be here. He has office hours from six to eight inthe evening,” Judy said in a worried voice, “and it’s almost six o’clocknow.”
“We made good time. You must be tired. Let’s drive right home to DryBrook Hollow,” Peter suggested. “Someone is sure to be there. TomorrowI’ll report at the resident agency and get my assignment. Lawson knowsme. The SAC may want someone else to do the footwork.”
The SAC, Judy knew, was the Supervising Agent in charge of the nearestfield office. There were fifty or more such offices scattered throughoutthe country, and every one of them had been advised to be on the lookoutfor Clarence Lawson as well as for Clarissa. In the smaller citiessurrounding the field offices the men worked out of resident agencieslike the one recently set up in Farringdon, but they were stillresponsible to the SAC who, in turn, was responsible to the chiefhimself. It awed Judy when she thought of all the complicated machinerythat had been set in motion to see that no harm came to one girl. Itmade her proud, too, that Peter was part of it.
“Would you mind?” she asked him as they drove on over the next hill anddown into Dry Brook Hollow. “I mean, would you mind very much if DavidTrent or some other more experienced agent got the assignment?”
“A little,” Peter admitted. “I’d rather like to bring Lawson in myself.If only he hasn’t used Clarissa as bait for a trap—”
“Oh, Peter! That’s what I’ve been thinking. Could it be—mind control?There seem to be so many ways of doing it. There’s brain washing, andhypnotic suggestion, and high-pressure selling, and all the frighteningnew inventions for getting ideas into a person’s subconscious mindwithout his knowledge or consent. It scares me when I think of thepossibilities—”
“There are possibilities for good as well as evil,” Peter told her.“Another type of mind control has been used to reform prisoners, and itseems to work. Their pillows talk to them—”
“What do you mean?” asked Judy. “Oh—” she interrupted herself, “there’sa man turning down our road. Maybe it’s just as well he didn’t see us.”
“We can drive down the North Hollow road, take that short-cut throughthe woods, and head him off. Want to?” asked Peter.
“It seems silly,” she admitted, “but I think I do want to. Look, Peter!”Judy exclaimed a few minutes later, as she stopped the car and they bothclimbed out. “Someone’s broken a path through here. It should be easy tohead him off. I’ll run ahead and meet him before he gets to the bridge.”
“Wait!” Peter called, but Judy was already running. As she passed herhouse she thought she heard someone else call to her. Lights blazed fromalmost every window, so she knew her mother must be there.
Just before she reached the bridge Judy slowed down and caught herbreath before she approached the oncoming stranger. He was taking histime, apparently in no hurry to reach the house.
“Hi!” Judy called out bravely. “Are you on your way to our house?”
“Greetings and salutations!” said the stranger, bowing politely. “I’mPastor Valentine. You must be Judy. My daughter, Clarissa, has invitedme to your party. I believe you know her.”
“Yes, I know her,” Judy said, “but I’m not giving a party. Or am I?”
For a moment she almost believed the man was the real Pastor Valentine.But in the next moment the terrifying realization swept over her. He wasClarence Lawson! She smiled at him, trying to conceal her terror.
“It must be a surprise party. Well, I’m—surprised. I’ll walk the rest ofthe way with you, Pastor Valentine, and introduce you to my guests.”
She didn’t ask if Clarissa was among them. She could only hope Peter hadreached the house in time to telephone for help. The man, walking besideher, was the picture of gentlemanly dignity until, suddenly, a blackshape darted in front of them.
“What’s that?” he exclaimed, losing a little of his dignity.
“It’s my cat. Don’t you like cats, Mr. Law—I mean Pastor Valentine?”
Judy had let the name slip out. She could have bitten her tongue for it.The man dropped his polite mask and snarled, “I hate cats. They’reunlucky, especially black ones.”
It was a temptation to tell him that this particular black cat wasunlucky only for criminals, but Judy resisted the urge as Lawson,recovering his poise, turned and said, “I’m sorry for the outburst, butI’m allergic to cats.”
“My cat’s the same way,” Judy retorted. “He’s allergic to some people.”
“My dear! You will never make friends saying things like that. We dowant to be friendly, don’t we?” he asked in placating tones. “After all,I am the father of a young lady who seems very fond of you.”
“Is she?” asked Judy. “Then perhaps you can tell me where the young ladyis.”
“She’s with her mother,” was his clipped answer. “Now, if you willexcuse me, I must be going—”
“Aren’t you coming to my party? You must live near here,” Judy ventured.“I notice you were walking.”
“Good for the constitution,” he replied and began to walk away moreswiftly.
“Wait!” cried Judy. She couldn’t let him escape. It had been a mistaketo run and meet him in the first place. And she should never have spokento him in the way she did. Now he was nearly to the bridge. Should sheturn back or follow him and try to persuade him to return?
Judy had forgotten, for the moment, that Peter was part of anorganization far better equipped to deal with criminals than she was. Hewas armed, for one thing, and she was not. She had just decided tofollow Clarence Lawson when suddenly, with a snarl of rage, he whirledaround toward her. Judy saw the gleam of a gun in his hand.
“You’d never use that!” she gasped, terrified.
He wasn’t given time to answer. It was growing dark, but she could see afigure loom up behind him and whip the gun from his hand. Scufflingsounds followed. Judy heard a thud and then a splash.
“Peter!” she gasped. He had appeared from behind her. “That—that wasLawson, the man you want—”
“You mean the man we’ve got. There’s a good hiding place under thebridge,” Peter continued as two policemen emerged with a dripping Lawsonbetween them. “We walked into a trap all right, but it was set for aprisoner who can use one of those talking pillows I was telling youabout.”