The Galloping Ghost

  CHAPTER IV THE GHOST APPEARS

  The mysterious disappearance of Red Rodgers, or the Red Rover, as everyone knew him, caused a great commotion. Had a President been assassinatedit could not have caused a greater stir.

  Not an hour had passed after he vanished before the newspapers came outwith an extra with a story telling in detail all that was known about theaffair.

  "Red Rover," the story ran, "has never cared for crowds. Being the starof the team, he has often of late been all but mobbed by impetuousyouths, foolish old women and infatuated girls. For this reason he hadformed a friendship with the watchman at the tracks by the river wherethe trains are made up. To-night, once safely past this watchman, he wentdirectly to his berth and turned in for the night.

  "It is to be assumed that he fell asleep at once, for, though thewatchman was not two hundred yards away, he heard no outcry such as mightbe expected had the boy been surprised while asleep and gagged beforefully awake.

  "There are few clues," the story went on to state. "In their haste thekidnapers dragged a pillow from the berth. It was this pillow, standingout white in the moonlight, that attracted the watchman's attention. Thewatchman distinctly recalls hearing the sudden whir and thunder of apowerful motor shortly before making this discovery. He believes this tohave been the motor of a speed boat, and has the impression that it wentsouth.

  "Various motives have been brought forward. The Rover, some say, waskidnaped for ransom. He is the all-important factor in the game to beplayed at the end of the week. Without him Old Midway cannot hope to win.For this reason the kidnapers may have believed that a sum might beextorted from officials of the university for his return. Knowing thestand that President Lovell of Old Midway has taken against kidnapers,and the work the Crime Institute of that university has done in thisconnection, it is the opinion of those close to the president that noransom will be paid.

  "We have before us the question: Was the Red Rover kidnaped for ransom oras a retaliation for work against master criminals carried on by theuniversity? There are those who will whisper that the school against whomthe Red Rover was to have played is behind this affair. This, to anyfair-minded person, is unthinkable.

  "Sergeants Drew Lane and Tom Howe, two of the keenest young minds of thecity's detective force, have been assigned to the case. It is the hope ofthe entire city that their labors will bear fruit and that the RedRover's beloved sorrel top will be seen in the line when the line-up isformed for the greatest game of the year."

  An hour had not passed after the discovery of the crime, when thebroad-shouldered, athletic Drew Lane, with derby pushed well back on hishead, stood beside his slim, hawk-nosed partner overlooking the car yardsat the spot where the Red Rover had vanished.

  "Let's have a look inside the car," suggested Howe.

  "You look." Drew Lane turned toward the river. "If a speed boat left theriver near this spot, there'll be marks to show. May get a sure tipshowing the direction she was headed. That's important."

  Sergeant Howe swung up to the platform of the car, then slipped quietlyinside. The place seemed deserted. A double row of curtains, one oneither side, flanked the narrow, dimly lighted aisle.

  "Ready for the night. All the other players get on at the depot, Isuppose," Howe mumbled in a low monotone.

  He paused to look and listen. He had always found a sleeping car, made upfor the night, a spooky affair. Dim lights, silence, long rows ofcurtains. And behind the curtains, what? Death? Perhaps. Men have died ofheart disease in their berths. Died of a knife in the heart as well.

  "Capital place for a murder."

  Involuntarily he looked behind him. Had he caught the sound of lightfootsteps?

  There was no one in sight. "Boo! Who'd bother to bump off a citydetective!" He laughed a low, unpleasant laugh. "We're supposed to be toodumb to do anything disturbing to criminals.

  "All the same!" He straightened up with a snap. "This is a case where we_must_ win. We simply _must_! The Red Rover must be in the line-up whenthe big day comes. And it's up to Drew and me!" Howe was a loyal son ofOld Midway. Loyalty to his Alma Mater compelled him to do his best. Morethan that, Red Rodgers was the type he admired, a silent worker.

  "He works," Drew Lane had said once, with a note of admiration in hisvoice. "He's like you, Howe. He digs in and says never a word."

  "Digs in," Howe muttered. "That's what we must do; dig in hard."

  With that he went gliding down the aisle to pause before Section Nine.

  "Ah!" he breathed as he parted the curtains. "Seems I am in time. Nothingdisturbed."

  His keen, hawk-like eyes took in all at a glance. The hammock, whereclothing was deposited for the night, was gone.

  "Just yanked it down and took it, clothes and all. You might think fromthat that Red had something they wanted in his clothes. Guess not,though."

  His eyes wandered from corner to corner of the narrow space. "Coversgone. Wrapped him in them and tied him up. Need to do that. Scrapper, Redis. Take six of those soft, beer-soaked bums to hold him if he had aneven break. You--"

  He broke off to stare at the center of the lower sheet which stillremained on the bed. At its very center was a deep dent.

  "Stepped there," he told himself, "one of 'em."

  Switching on his flashlight, he examined the sheet in minute detail.

  "Not a mark," he muttered. "Take it along all the same."

  "You all goin' t' take that sheet?" The porter was at his elbow.

  "Sure am." Howe showed his star.

  "All right, Mister Police. Ah cain't stop you. But t'ain't no sort ofuse. Ain't no marks on that sheet. I examined it particular."

  "Were you here when the thing happened?" Howe's eagle eyes snapped.

  "No. Oh, no, suh! Ah don't come on 'fore half a hour ago."

  "But you weren't far away," Howe thought to himself. "Hiding in the linencloset, like as not. Bribed you, maybe. Wonder how much it would cost tobuy a porter?"

  "What's your number?" he demanded sharply.

  "Three twenty-seven." The porter's wide eyes rolled. "But hones', MisterPoliceman, I don' know nothin', nothin' at all! But you take that sheet,just take it right square along."

  "Did you find something, Sergeant?" a fresh voice broke in.

  "Just a sheet that had been stepped on." Howe looked into the frank,fearless eyes of a boy. It was Johnny Thompson. You know Johnny.

  "Gee!" Howe muttered. "I'm glad to see you! Are you in this with us?"

  "All my heart and hand!" The hand Johnny gave to Howe was as hard as arock. "This will be a night and day affair. I'm glad. That's the sort Ilike."

  "Day and night and all the time," Howe answered. "But let's get out ofhere. The section is due to move, and I've finished. Drew's scoutingaround down by the river."

  Thus, while the forces that make for evil had been whirling Red Rodgersnorthward, the forces that make for good, like faithful watch dogs, wereassembling, making ready to take up the trail, heedless of the perilsthat most certainly lurked beside the way.

  The pair had just alighted from the car when of a sudden a startlingfigure appeared before them. Rounding the end of the car it startedtoward them--a skeleton with bones bleached white, a white robe flowingbehind it! This was the form that in the dim light of the car-yardapproached them.

  With an involuntary exclamation Johnny started back. Not Tom Howe. Withthe spring of a panther he was upon the creature. Next instant he wassprawling upon the ground. He had received such a blow on the head as puthim out for the count of ten. Then, with a laugh as hollow as a voicefrom a graveyard at midnight, the skeleton set off at a long stridinggallop. He was lost from sight before Johnny could recover from hissurprise or Tom Howe could scramble to his feet.

  "A--a galloping ghost!" Johnny exclaimed, as he bent over his companion."Are you hurt?"

  "No--not much." Howe was coming round. "Hardly at all. But, man! Oh, man!What hard knuckles that ghost has!"


  "What's this? A ghost?" Once more a new voice broke in upon them.

  Johnny looked up, then scowled. He had recognized the voice of a reporterfrom the city's pink journal. He hated the paper and disliked thisreporter. But when one speaks of a ghost he needs must explain.

  Explain he did, and that with the least possible number of words.

  "A ghost! A galloping ghost on the scene of a kidnaping that is sure tocause a nation-wide search! What a scoop!" The reporter was away evenbefore Johnny had completed his meager description.

  "A galloping ghost." Johnny pronounced the words slowly as Howe, nowquite recovered, stood up beside him, then scowled. "What do you make ofthat?"

  "Not a thing," Howe answered bluntly. "But, after all, the real questionis, is this ghost for us or against us?"

  "Do ghosts always take sides?"

  "Oh, inevitably!" Howe laughed a short cackling laugh that went fartoward relieving the tension of the moment.

  "Come!" he said. "Let's see what Drew has been doing. He--

  "Watch out! Duck!" Seizing Johnny's arm with a vice-like grip, he draggedhim down.

  Not an instant too soon. There came the crack of a pistol, followed bythe dull thwack of a bullet against the side of the car just over theirheads. And after that a cold, dead silence.