CHAPTER XVI THE BRANDED BULLET
To inform you that Drew Lane made his escape from a perilous positionwhile the Galloping Ghost was doing his bit would be to waste words.There are times, of course, when it is an officer's duty to stand hisground and shoot it out with the outlaws who chance to cross his path.This was not one of those times. Drew Lane went for reinforcements. Thathe did not return in time was an unavoidable misfortune. He was obligedto content himself with turning in a detailed report of the affairtogether with an accurate description of the individuals who composed theband.
"I'd know that little fellow with the fiery eyes anywhere," he said toTom Howe, as he sat at his desk. "His scar marks him if nothing elsedoes.
"But those three fellows that look just alike. Suppose they scatter.How's a fellow to tell which is which? Clever, I call it. Suppose one issuspected of a stick-up. Suppose he's put in the 'show up' on Sundaymorning. Then suppose the victim says: 'That's the man.' But suppose theother two are in the line and the victim says again and yet again:'That's the man.' And each time he's seeing a different one. Which of thethree will be tried and convicted?"
"There'd be a mix-up," Tom grinned.
"Sure would.
"But look, Tom." Drew placed a thing of blue steel on the table. "Here'sthe automatic that the little fellow with fiery eyes dropped. He's thesort that shoots on sight. He may have done some shooting right here intown. It might just happen that you've got a bullet in your collectionthat came from his gun."
"Might at that." Tom took the gun. "Quite a collection of bullets I'vegot right now. There's the one that stopped Patrolman O'Malley down bythe Stock Yards. There's the one that passed through the Chink's heartand landed in a wall down in Chinatown. Six or seven more. I'll try itout. Want to come along, Johnny?"
Johnny Thompson dropped the book he was reading. "I'll be glad to!"Anything that had to do with scientific crime detection might claim thisboy's attention, be it day or night.
Tom Howe and Johnny dropped down to the basement where a bullet might befired into a barrel of sawdust without disturbing the guests of thehotel. Drew finished his report, dispatched it by a messenger and then,having extinguished his lamp of gleaming white light, switched on one offaint blue that gave the whole place an air of spooky mystery. It wasthus that he could best think out the problems which lay directly beforehim.
"A whole day gone," he told himself. "And what have we? A bed sheet takenfrom a sleeping car. An invisible footprint on that sheet. But whosefootprint? Shall we ever know? A bullet."
He spread out a sheet of paper to examine it afresh. "A second messagefrom the dead," he murmured. "At least from the Galloping Ghost. Prettyhard-fisted ghost at that. Knocks Tom down; then when he is gone, digs abullet from some post or railway tie, and presents it for our inspection.He says here that the bullet is the one fired at Tom out there by the RedRover's sleeping car. 'Find that man.' And then--sure, find him if youcan!
"But this jack-knife business," he mused on. "The Ghost says one of thekidnapers has the whittling habit, that while waiting for Red to fallasleep he sat on a pile of ties and whittled at a soft stick. A knifeblade, he says, when examined under a microscope shows someirregularities on its edge, even the sharpest of 'em. I suppose that'sright. But what of it?"
He sat for some time in a brown study from which he emerged with a startand a low exclamation:
"Something to it! What? Might be a lot! I'll have to get Tom digging intothat. He and his microscope have solved many a baffling crime."
Once again he settled back into meditation. "Speed boat tied up far downthe river. Airplane hangar nearby. Police have searched all buildingsnear there. No result. Looks like an airplane job. Spirited away in anairplane. What could be simpler? Wonder if the night mechanic at theairport knows anything? If he does, like as not he wouldn't tell.
"One thing sure!" He brought his chair down with a bang. "We've got toget action, and get it quick!"
Seizing the evening paper he scanned its front page. GHOST GALLOPS AGAINwas sprawled across the front page. And below, RED ROVER STILL MISSING.POLICE HAVE NOTHING TO REPORT.
"Well--" Drew smiled grimly. "Hold your horses. We may report somethingyet."
Again he read, in smaller type: "The public is aroused by this daringcrime. A large purse is being raised as a reward for the return of theRed Rover. The Midway coach is game. He is drilling his team hard in theface of almost certain defeat."
"Too bad!" Drew shook his head. "Probably his last great game. They sayhe is to retire at the close of this season. Everything was set for aglorious victory. And now this! The plans wrecked by a gang of outlawswho deserve nothing but to die horribly. And here we are doing our best,working night and day, following blind trails, getting nowhere. We--"
He broke short off as a fist banged the door and a voice demanded:
"Open up! Let me in!"
It was Johnny. As a bringer of good news he had outstripped Tom Howe.
"Drew! Drew!" he panted. "That's the gun!"
"What gun is which gun?" Drew grinned in spite of himself.
"That bullet fits that gun."
"Which bullet fits what gun? Sit down and tell me about it." He pushedhim into a chair.
After a breathing spell Johnny was able to tell a connected story. He andTom Howe had gone to the basement and had fired three bullets from thegun Drew had picked up on the floor of the place where, for a very goodreason, he had eaten no supper. Having fired the bullets into sawdust,they had picked them out and had examined them under the microscope.
"You know how it is," he went on. "Every gun barrel has microscopicdefects on the inside. These leave their marks on the bullet. The bulletleft by the Galloping Ghost apparently struck the steel car a glancingblow and then entered a block of wood. One side was flat, but the othershowed its marking clearly. And the scratches on that bullet, four ofthem, clearly marked, exactly matched the ones fired from the gun youtook from that little fellow with a branded forehead and fiery eye."
"They did!" Drew dropped in a heap on a chair. "So that was the man! AndI had him, had him in my hands! And I let him go! What a break!"
Johnny, as he recalled the circumstances, was not sure whether Drew hadhad the little man or the little man and his gang had had Drew; but hesaid nothing.
"We'll get 'em. We'll get 'em yet!" Drew came to his feet with a bound."Get the Chief on the wire. He'll send out a drag-net. A mob like thatcan't cruise about this city without being caught. They're marked men,every one of them!"
Was he right? Only time would tell.