The Arrow of Fire

  CHAPTER XV JOHNNY FINDS A MAN

  That night Sergeant McCarthey visited Johnny in his cubby-hole by the bigradio studio.

  "Hello, boy," he said, putting out a big, brown hand for a shake. "Mindif I sit down awhile? Sort of like to see how the calls go out."

  "Not a bit," Johnny smiled. "Glad to have company. Little dull lately.Robbery, shooting, burglary, shooting, holdup; that's about the way itgoes. Nothing really new." He laughed a short laugh.

  "Say!" the sergeant exclaimed, "You've got to hand it to this old burg.That stuff goes out all over the country. Everybody gets it. And theysay, 'What a terrible town!'

  "But it's not a bad town. I've lived in others. I know. They're allalike. Difference is, others cover it all up. We don't. You'll see. Whenwe shout enough, the crooks will begin clearing out. You--"

  Johnny held up a finger. He listened. He wrote. He banged his gong.Then--

  "Squads attention! Squads 36 and 37. Robbers in the second apartment at1734 Wabash."

  "That's the way it goes, is it?" said the sergeant. "Pretty quick work.When we get our own station it will be snappier. And only the squad carswill get the calls. Special low wave-length."

  For a time they sat in silence. Then Johnny's telephone buzzed.

  "Another call?" McCarthey asked in a low tone.

  "Just a report on that last call." Johnny's eyes twinkled. "Got 'em. Got'em four minutes after the call went out."

  "Good work. No wonder they hate you, those crooks. This place should beguarded."

  "It is." Johnny laid his hand on his bow.

  "Drew told me about that thing and the way you handled it down there bythe slip. Wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't told me.

  "By the way, I've been making a little study of that man's history, theone who shot Rosy's father, the one that beat you up."

  "Find anything?"

  "Following the hunch about his liking the sound of his gun, and thedescriptions given in other robberies, I believe he's responsible forseveral bad bits of business.

  "This much we know from the case of Rosy's father. He's a Sicilian. Atall fellow, and heavily built. Not dark for his race. Got a low, narrowforehead, and blue eyes very close together. He's never been caught.Probably sneaked into our country from Canada or Mexico. Send him backwhere he came from if we get him. And we'll get him!"

  "I hope so," said Johnny, with a furtive glance toward the door. "Imostly manage to keep wide awake. But it's late by the time I'm through.If I should get drowsy, and he walked in again, well--"

  "This place should be guarded," the sergeant repeated. "I'll suggest it."

  "No, don't bother."

  "I'll lend you a gun."

  "Guns make such a lot of noise. Old Silent Murder here will do as well."

  "Guess I'd better be going." Herman McCarthey rose. "Got to catch mytrain."

  "Train?"

  "Yes. I live in the country. Little village; one store, one church, postoffice, few homes. Need the peace I find there to go with the rush of thecity and this business of hunting crooks. It's good to wake up with abreath of dew in your nostrils, and the robins singing their morningsong. Nothing like it."

  "No," said Johnny, "there isn't." He was thinking of the woods by hisfishing hole in the far away North Peninsula, where the song sparrowsfairly burst their throats with melody.

  "Good night," said Johnny.

  "Good night, son." The sergeant was gone.

  * * * * * * * *

  The State Street Police Court with its humorous Punch and Judy judgebecame a place of great fascination to Johnny. In the past he had dreamedof courts where trials dragged through weary months; where prisonerslanguished in jail; and a man might be sentenced to five years of hardlabor for stealing a loaf of bread to feed a starving family. Howdifferent was this court where a pretty lady might steal a dress she didnot need, and never go to jail at all.

  The very poor, Johnny soon learned, were treated with consideration.Their poverty was not forgotten.

  "And yet," he said to Drew one day, "I can't help but feel that therewould be less stealing if some of these first offenders scrubbed a fewfloors in the workhouse."

  "There are many things to be considered," was Drew's reply.

  And then one day, as he stood in that State Street court room, all eyesand ears for what was taking place, Johnny made a great discovery. Hefound a man.

  This man was not brought to court. He came of his own accord, to pleadthe cause of another.

  He was not quite sober, this man; indeed there are those who would havesaid he was drunk. And yet he spoke with precision.

  Though there was about him an indescribable air of youth, this man's hairwas white. His face was thin. Some of his teeth were gone. His clotheswere well-worn, yet they showed immaculate care. His linen was clean."Shabby gentility" partly described him; but not quite.

  "Judge," he said, tilting first on heels, then on his toes, "Judge, yourHonor, you have a man in jail here. He was fined twenty-five dollars forbeing drunk." He paused for breath. "Judge, your Honor, he can't pay thatfine. He isn't a bad man, Judge. He drinks too much sometimes, Judge. Lethim go, can't you, Judge?" The man's voice took on a pleading note.

  "What's this man's name?" The judge studied the stranger's face.

  "Judge, your Honor, his name is Robert MacCain. He isn't a bad man,Judge. Let him go, will you, Judge?"

  "He's a pal of yours?"

  "Yes, your Honor."

  "You drink with him sometimes?"

  "Yes, your Honor."

  "You took a little drink yesterday?"

  "Yes, your Honor."

  "And last night?"

  "And last night. Yes, your Honor."

  "How does it come you were not arrested with this pal of yours?"

  "Your Honor," again the stranger tilted backward and forward from heel totoe, "Your Honor, I try at all times to be a gentleman.

  "Let him go, Judge. Will you?"

  "Are you a lawyer?" The judge leaned forward to stare at him.

  "No, your Honor. But I know more law than your Swanson or Darrow or--"

  "You should have been a lawyer. What are you?"

  Again the stranger went up on his toes. "Your Honor, for seventeen yearsI was a detective on the police force of New York. I ranked as alieutenant, your Honor."

  "This fellow is a romancer," Johnny whispered to an attorney who stoodbeside him. "He doesn't know truth from lies."

  "He is telling the truth," was the astounding reply. "I know him. He wasrated high."

  The lawyer scribbled a sentence on a slip of paper. He handed it to thejudge.

  This movement did not escape the stranger.

  "Your Honor," he pleaded, "don't let any of this get into the papers. Ihave a mother eighty-six years old. It would kill her."

  "What is your name?"

  "Your Honor, my name is Newton Mills."

  "Newton Mills?" The judge started, then stared in unfeigned astonishment."You are Newton Mills?"

  "Yes, your Honor."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Nothing, your Honor."

  "Yes, you are!" The judge braced himself on the arms of his chair."You're drinking yourself to death. You are breaking your mother's heart.

  "I'll tell you what I'll do." He reached for an order blank. "I'll sendyou down there with your pal. You'll have a chance to sober up."

  At once the face of Newton Mills became a study in pain. "Don't do that,Judge. Don't do it. It will break my mother's heart. I haven't doneanything bad, Judge. I'll quit drinking, Judge. I promise. Don't do it,Judge. I'll quit. I promise, Judge."

  There had been a time when, quite a young boy, Johnny Thompson had madefriends with a homeless dog. At another time he had found a half grownkitten starving under a barn. After much trouble he had caught thekitten. It had scratched him terribly, but he had clung to it and hadcarried it home to give it a chance. r />
  Something of the same feeling came over him now. Only this time he hadfound, not a dog, not a cat, but something more precious--a man.

  "You--your Honor," he stammered, scarcely knowing what he was saying, "ifyour Honor please, I'd like this man."

  "To what purpose?" The judge stared.

  "To give him another chance."

  "Can you?" Once more the judge leaned far forward in his chair.

  "Drew Lane is my friend. We live together. With his help I can."

  "Done!" said the judge.

  "You heard what he said!" he exclaimed, turning to the astonished NewtonMills. "You promised to stop drinking. This young man will see that youdo stop."

  Never in all his life had Johnny seen such a look of despair as came overthe face of the old-time detective. He had made that promise a thousandtimes. He had never kept it. Now here was someone with the mighty arm ofthe law behind him, who said, "You must!"

  He glanced wildly about the room, as if looking for means of escape. Thenwith a look of utter weariness he murmured:

  "Yes, your Honor."