Home > Authors Index > H. Irving Hancock > High School Captain of the Team > This page
The High School Captain of the Team, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
||
Chapter 23. The Plight Of The Innocent |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XXIII. The Plight of the Innocent
It was a masculine voice that had sounded in the 'phone and the message was to the effect that the sender of the message had just observed two men forcing the rear entrance of Kahn's drygoods store. "And hearing that 'The Blade' is trying to catch the burglars I thought I'd just let you know," the voice had continued. "But I guess you'll have to be quick if you want a sight of the burglars. They'll probably get away in quick order." Then had come the ring-off, just as Dick had tried to get the name of his informant. Now Dick was sprinting toward the scene by the shortest route that he could think of. Kahn's store was on Main Street, but the rear entrance, used for the receipt of goods opened in off an alleyway that ran parallel with Main Street. "There can't be much time to spare," muttered Dick, looking hard for a policeman. At this late hour of the night the streets that Dick traveled in his haste were bare of pedestrians. "I wish I had had time to get Dave," though Prescott. "But that would have lost at least five minutes more. And Dave wasn't going to be ready to go out until he came around for me nearer midnight." Dick was at the head of the alley, now, an moving cautiously, eyes wide open and ears on the alert. How dark it was down in here! Dick wondered, a moment, at the keenness of vision that had enabled some neighbor to see what was going on over in this dark place. In his pocket, at the time of receiving the message, Prescott had placed a pocket electric "search-light." This he thought of, now, but he did not deem it wise to go flashing the light about unless he had to. "The first point in my information is right, anyway," muttered Dick. "The rear door of Kahn's is open." Moving in the shadow of the building, he had paused not far away from the door in question. "There were two of the fellows, the message said," muttered Dick. "In that case, I should think one would have been left outside as a lookout. However, the lookout may be just a little way inside of the door. It won't do to use my light now. I'll see if I can slip in and get close to the lookout before the thieves know there's anyone around." A step at a time Prescott softly reached the open door. He paused, listening intently. "I don't hear a sound in there. I guess I'd better take a few very soft steps inside, and see if I can discover where the rogues are. That is, unless they have already bagged their booty, and have gotten away again." Just inside of the open door, Dick halted again. He listened, but there was no sound. "These scoundrels are surely the original mice for soft moving," muttered the boy grimly. "What part of the establishment can they be in? Hadn't I better slip out and get the police? I can't learn anything in here unless I use my light." Yet Prescott didn't want to turn on that flare. The light was much more likely to show him up to the burglars than to enable him to find men who were not making a sound. So Dick penetrated a little further, and a little further, listening. As he moved he was obliged to grope his way. At last, however, he found himself confused as to the points of the compass. In this darkness, he was not even sure which was the way out. "I'll have to use the flash now," concluded Dick. Taking the long tube from one of his pockets, he pressed the button briefly, giving a flash that lasted barely a second. "What was that?" muttered the boy, with a start, as the light went out. Clearly enough, now, he heard stealthy steps. He was almost certain, too, that he distinguished the sound of low whispers. "That flash has scared the rascals," throbbed Dick Prescott. "Now, if I can only locate 'em, and get out first! I may succeed in getting the police to the scene before both get away. One of 'em, anyway, I ought to be able to floor with this heavy cane!" Transferring the light to his left hand, Dick took a strong grip of the cane. It did not eyed occur to him to be afraid in here. He was trying to trap the burglars as a piece of enterprise for "The Blade," and that was all he thought about. Suddenly there was a more decided step in the darkness. It sounded, too, right in advance of the boy who stood there guessing in the dark. "Halt, where you are!" shouted Dick. "And throw up your hands as high as you can, if you don't want to get drilled! Don't try to use your weapons, for I have the drop!" It was sheer bluff, for the only thing with which Prescott could claim the drop was his cane. Yet, in such circumstances, a bold front is half the battle. Prescott bounded forward, boldly, at the same moment turning on his light. The next moment, though he held the light, the cane dropped from his nerveless fingers. "We've got you, Prescott!" roared a voice. "And you? Of all the thundering big surprises. But we've got you! Stop all nonsense and get in line to come along with us." It was the chief of police, backed by three of his men, whom Dick now faced. They had thrown their lights on, too, so that there was now plenty of illumination. Nor was this Chief Coy, one of Dick's old time friends, but Chief Simmons, a new man appointed only a few months before. Chief Simmons was almost frantically anxious to catch the burglar or burglars, for their continued operations reflected upon his abilities as the new police chief. All in a flash young Prescott took in the horrifying idea that Chief Simmons believed him to be the real burglar. "But I-----" began Dick chokingly. "Yes, you will!" retorted Chief Simmons. "You can't put up any fight, and you can't make any denial." "I-----" "Take him, you men, and handcuff him." roared the chief. "Then we'll go through the rest of the store, and see what we can learn." Dick drew back, with a shudder, as two of the officers came toward him, intent on carrying out their chief's order. "You'd better submit, Prescott," warned the chief sternly. "We're not in a mood to stand any fooling." "But won't you listen-----" began Dick, gasping. "I'm not the trial judge," jeered Simmons. "Still, I'll listen to you all you want, later in the night. Now, stand forward!" Dick realized the folly and the uselessness of defying the police. He moved nearer to the chief, as ordered. And Prescott began to understand how black the whole affair looked for him. But how had it happened? He would have given worlds to know. "Hold your hands forward, and together," commanded Chief Simmons. Quivering, flushing with the shame of the thing, young Prescott obeyed. The officer who fitted the handcuffs to the boy's wrists felt ashamed of his work, for he had always been one of Dick's friends. The click of the steel ratchets brought Prescott back to a realization of things. "I'm not much of a catch, chief," muttered the boy. "You'd better not be content with me alone. Leave me under watch and then the rest of you had better spread through this place. I think there are others here---the men you seek." "You've confederates here, have you?" demanded Simmons, fixing his suspicious gaze on the boy. "Judkins, you watch Prescott---and mind you don't let him give you the slip. The rest of us will keep on going through this store. You say you think there are others here, Prescott?" "I think so," replied the boy. Chief Simmons raised his voice. "If there's anyone here-----" he called. "There is!" came back in a tone that made Dick Prescott start and throb with alarm. "Who---where---" asked Chief Simmons, excitedly. "Right here!" came the voice. "Hold your lights on me!" Two flash-lights at once centered their rays on the speaker, and Dave Darrin bounded forward into the light. "So you two have been working this thing as side partners, have you?" asked Chief Simmons harshly. "Great Scott, how you've fooled us, then! Like everyone else, we believed you two boys to be straight. Tell me," commanded Simmons dryly, "is Editor Pollock in this store-robbing gang, too?" "Ask Mr. Pollock yourself," Dave flung back. "I will, when I get time," retorted Simmons. "Grab Darrin and put the irons on his wrists, too!" _ |
||