CHAPTER XIII SO LONG AS GOD GIVES US BREATH
That same morning as soon as he could gulp down his coffee, Johnnyhastened over to the shack. He was full of talk about the whisperer andhis message.
"What do you make of a thing like that?" he demanded of Captain Burns."It seemed to come right out of the sky!"
"And why not?" The Captain smiled. "We are living in a strange worldthese days.
"One thing's important," he said as he sat up in his chair, "you must notleave this 'House of Magic' as you call it; at least not for long. I havea feeling that this whisperer must be on our side, the side of law andjustice, and that he may be some sort of undercover man who can give usjust the information we need.
"You see, Johnny--" He leaned forward in his chair. "That gang, the fivepublic enemies, with Iggy the Snake at their head, is back in the city.They are sure, sooner or later, to sell some of these bonds they tookfrom the bank. They are of small denominations and are negotiable. Wehave their serial numbers. The moment one of these bonds falls into thehands of an honest man, we will be hot on their trail. 'Where did you getit?' we will say to the honest man. He will tell us. We will go to theman who sold the bond and repeat, 'Where did you get it?' He may turn outto be honest and innocent too. But in the end we'll reach a crooked bonddealer who knew those bonds were 'hot' when he bought them. If he doesn'tlead us to Iggy the Snake we'll send him up for ten years. The chargewill be receiving stolen goods.
"Oh, I tell you, Johnny!" he exclaimed, striking the arm of his chair,"we'll get 'em, Johnny! In the end we'll get 'em, you'll see.
"But today, Johnny--" His voice took on a mellow tone. "While you and Iare free, I'd like to take you to one of those places I spoke of the lasttime I saw you."
"All--all right." Johnny wondered what sort of place that would be.
In the Captain's long, powerful gray car they drove across the city andinto the suburbs.
At last they stopped before a home that was neither large nor showy--abungalow with its broad side to the street, it stood in the midst of aclump of trees. Nature had planted the trees. Someone, admiring nature'swork, had built his home there.
Once inside that house, the good Captain heaved a sigh of content. Alarge open fire gave the tiny living room a feeling of luxuriousgrandeur. And yet there was about it an air of tidy comfort. Thefurniture was plain. Hard-bottomed rockers had been softened by handmadecushions, all in bright colors. A touch of lace and embroidery here andthere on table and chairs told of fingers never still.
A short, energetic little lady with flushed cheeks hastened from thekitchen at the back to greet them.
"Well, how do you do, Captain Burns? How good it is to see you!"
"It's good to be here," the Captain rumbled. "And this, Mrs. LeClare, ismy good friend Johnny Thompson.
"And here," the Captain chuckled, "here's Alice. Ah, Johnny, there's agirl you could love!"
Johnny flushed. The girl who extended her hand laughed a merry laugh."The Captain must have his jokes."
The hand Johnny grasped was a chubby, capable little hand; the eyes helooked into were frank and clear. The girl's hair was black. There was aslight natural wave in it. Her eyebrows were black and thick. She wasshort like her mother. Like her too, she gave forth an air of boundlessenergy.
"Alice LeClare," Johnny said, half to himself. "A pretty name."
"We are French," Alice explained, "Canadian French."
"If you looked over the list of Mounties that have come and gone up inthe bleak northland of Canada, you'd find many a LeClare," the Captainexplained. "They're that sort."
Johnny saw a shadow pass over Mrs. LeClare's face. Alice looked quicklyaway.
"You'll have to excuse us," Mrs. LeClare explained after a moment ofsilence. "We're in the midst of things. Make yourselves comfortable bythe fire."
Just what sort of things the ladies were in the midst of, Johnny couldguess well enough. The kitchen was not too far away--one great advantageof a small house--and from it came savory odors, meat roasting, pumpkinpies baking, apple sauce simmering.
"They can cook," said the Captain, dropping into a chair with the air ofa contented dog. "These Canadian French can cook. And what workers theyare, these people!
"The boys will be here soon," he went on. "Madame LeClare's boys. They'reout selling their magazines. Fine boys--poor old Jack's boys." His voicedropped.
"Who is Jack?" Johnny asked.
"What? Didn't I tell you?" The Captain sat up. "But of course I didn't.
"They're not Jack's boys any more," he rumbled after a moment. "Poor oldJack is dead. Finest, squarest cop that ever walked a beat. Real name wasJacques--French you know. We called him Jack.
"Wish you could have known him, Johnny. You'd have loved him." He staredat the fire.
"Fine, big, strapping fellow," he went on after a while. "Six feet two,black hair and bushy eyebrows, like Alice, you know.
"Women used to try to flirt with him. Stop their car, they would,--richwomen in big cars, diamonds on their fingers. New-rich, young, foolwomen. No good--you know the kind? Well, maybe not. You will though. MayGod hasten the time when that sort get back to the dirty gutter wherethey belong!
"But Jack--" The Captain laughed scornfully. "No danger! Jack sent themalong fast enough. Jack had eyes for one and only one--his Marie." Henodded toward the kitchen. "He lived for her, Jack did, and for Alice andthe boys--fine boys, Gluck and Lucian--" His voice trailed off.
"But what--what happened to Jack?"
Not seeming to hear, the Captain went on: "Straightest cop I everknew--too straight you might say. When you walk a beat you look afterthings--naturally, that's part of your job. You try store doors to see ifthey're locked, watch for prowlers, all that. And if some good citizendrinks a bit too much and the night air gets the best of him, you escorthim safely home--part of your job.
"Grateful people, will hand a cop a dollar now and then. Why not? But doyou think Jack would take it? Never a cent. No end polite the way hethanked them, but he took no money but what came to him on pay day. Thatwas Jack. Said he was afraid it would lead him to accept 'dirtymoney'--you know, hush money--from real wrongdoers. And, man! How Jackhated dirty money!
"Polite, honest to a fault, kind, always looking out after theunfortunate--and brave, absolutely fearless!--'Mountie' blood in hisveins, way back. That was Jack." Again his voice trailed away.
From the kitchen came the faintest snatch of some French song. Thedelicious aroma of coffee was added to that of meat, pie and sauce. Fromsomewhere in the back came the scuffle and scrape of boyish feet.
"All this was Jack's," the Captain rumbled, spreading his arms wide as ifto embrace the whole world. "And then--" from his pocket he drew a narrowpacket. This he unfolded, then spread it down the length of his knee. Itwas the photographs of public enemies.
"These five--" his eyes shone with deep, abiding hate. "These five hadbeen out riding in a costly car they had borrowed without leave. They hadjust kidnapped a banker and compelled him to open a safe. I told you thatbefore. They'd got a lot of money and bonds. They were speeding west andtried to pass a stop-light. They skidded into another car. No real damagedone. But that was Jack's corner. He wanted to know--his business toknow--why they'd crashed the light.
"All he said was, 'What the--' Then, without an instant's warning, theylet him have it from the back seat--six shots.
"And then they sped on. Jack, the squarest cop that ever breathed, wasdead.
"Johnny--" The Captain's voice was deep. "Don't ever for a moment thinkcrime is romantic. It is not. It is dirty, rotten, selfish, beastly!
"You might think to see one of these young crooks, dressed like 'BoulMich' on parade, standing before the judge, that he was just a youngadventurer. He's not. He's a dirty dog. He's never worked; never will. Hesticks a gun in a working man's ribs and takes his money. Spends it forflashy clothes, furs and diamonds for his Moll--booze maybe, andgambling. And does
he stop to ask, 'was this a rich or a poor man'smoney?' You better know he don't. What does it matter to him whose itwas? It is his now. He took it.
"And they shot him!" His voice dropped to such a solemn pitch that Johnnywas reminded of some words spoken in a church. "They shot him," theCaptain repeated slowly, "one of these five crooks, maybe Iggy the Snakeshot poor old Jack. And by the Eternal!" He stood up, raising his handshigh. "So long as God gives us breath, we'll hunt those men until thelast one of them is dead or in jail for life. For life!" His handsdropped to his side and he sank into his chair.
Then again Johnny was conscious of the low humming song, the aroma offine food prepared by skillful hands and loving hearts--the distantscuffle of boyish feet.
"So long as God gives us breath," he murmured low. It was like a sacredvow taken by some knight of King Arthur's court.