(This interesting story was commenced in No. 153 ofNick Carter Stories. Back numbers can always be obtained from your news dealer or the publishers.)
It was quite by accident that young Mr. Gale, son of the proprietor of theChronicle, learned of theBulletin’scontemplated exposé of police conditions in Oldham. He happened to be passing police headquarters just as Patrolman John Hicks, with whom he was acquainted, came out of that building. One glance at the policeman’s scowling face was sufficient to inform Gale that something was wrong.
“What’s the matter, John?” he inquired. “You look worried.”
“I am worried, Mr. Gale,” Patrolman Hicks replied. “Something happened to me last night while I was on duty that has got my goat. Walk up the street with me a little ways, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Gale, scenting a possible story for theChronicle, eagerly accepted this invitation.
“It was shortly before two this morning,” Officer Hicks began. “I won’t deny that I was taking a little nap. You see, Mr. Gale, night work don’t agree with me at all. I think it’s an outrage to ask a human being to do it.”
“Certainly,” Gale agreed heartily. “But what happened, John?”
“What happened was this, Mr. Gale: I was leaning against a lamp-post, sort of dozing off—as I say, I’m not going to deny it—when all of a sudden there comes a flash of light which hits me right in the eyes, and a sort of explosion. Well, of course, I opens my eyes quick, and there, right in front of me, is a big black automobile with three young fellers in it. Before I can ask any questions, that automobile moves off rapidly up the street and disappears.”
Gale was by no means a slow-witted young man. The probable origin of that flash of light immediately suggested itself to him. There arose in his mind also a suspicion of the identity of at least one of the three occupants of the big black automobile.
“Didn’t one of those fellows have a camera in his hand, John?” he inquired excitedly.
“I didn’t notice any camera at the time,” replied the policeman, with a scowl; “but I guess they must have had one, all right. For, although I never suspected it—otherwise you can be sure I’d have chased that automobile—I have learned since that it was a flash-light picture of me the rascals was after.”
“Of course it was,” said Gale, with a laugh. “How long did it take you to get wise to that fact?”
“It was not until a few minutes ago that I found it out,” the policeman admitted. “I thought at the time that that flash of light was caused by a fuse blowin’ out in the car, or somethin’ of that sort. You see, I don’t know much about automobiles. And I might have gone on thinking that if it hadn’t been for me meetin’ Patrolman Tony Debbs at headquarters just now, and his tellin’ me what happened to him last night.[Pg 41]”
“And what happened to Tony Debbs?” inquired Gale, greatly interested.
“He was taking a nap in a lumber yard on his beat, and first thing he knows he gets woke up by a flash of light in his eyes—the same kind of a flash that I got. Tony jumps up quick, and there was a young feller standin’ there with a camera in his hand. Imagine the nerve of him!”
“Did Debbs catch him?” Gale inquired eagerly.
“No; he wasn’t quite quick enough. The scamp got away in a big black touring car containing two other young men. From Tony’s description of the automobile and the rascals inside, I’m pretty sure it was the same bunch that I was up against.”
“Undoubtedly,” Gale agreed. “But do you mean to say, John, that neither Debbs nor you recognized any of those fellows?”
“No; we didn’t. You see, they wore goggles—the kind that automobilists wear, you know—and them things are pretty much of a disguise. Who do you suppose those rascals was, Mr. Gale? And what do you think they wanted our pictures for? I tell you, it’s got me worried. And Tony’s worried, too. He’s got an idea that that rag of aBulletinis behind it all. Do you think he’s right?”
“I certainly do, John,” Gale replied. “There isn’t the slightest doubt in my mind that those pictures were taken for theBulletin, and will be prominently displayed on the front page of that disreputable sheet to-morrow morning. And I shouldn’t be surprised,” he added sagaciously, “to find other pictures there, too. You can depend upon it, John, that you and Debbs weren’t the only cops those chaps caught napping last night. The fact that they hired an automobile indicates that they were out for a big killing.”
“The scoundrels!” growled Officer Hicks. “Surely, Mr. Gale, we can do something to prevent them from printing our pictures in their newspaper? Ain’t there any way of stopping them?”
A malicious glint came to Gale’s eyes. “Probably there is, John,” he said. “We must see what we can do. Perhaps it will be possible not only to prevent them from publishing the pictures, but to put them in jail, besides, for violating the new anticamera law.”
As he finished speaking, his gaze lighted on a boy who was walking on the opposite side of the street.
“Seems to me I know that kid,” said Gale. “He’s employed in theBulletinoffice. My father pointed him out to me on the street the other day as Carroll’s office boy.”
Then his face suddenly lighted up as an idea came to him.
“Excuse me for a few minutes, John,” he said to the policeman. “I’m going to have a talk with our young friend across the way. I’ve got a sort of hunch that he may be able to help us.”
“Pardon me, sir, but may I take the liberty of asking you if you are not a newspaper man?” said Gale, addressing Editor Carroll’s office boy.
Master Charles Miggles, better known in theBulletinoffice as “Miggsy,” regarded the speaker with some suspicion. Miggsy was only fourteen years old, and not in the habit of being addressed as “sir.” To be looked upon[Pg 42]as a newspaper man was also a brand-new experience for him. He had never dared to consider that his job as office boy in theBulletinoffice entitled him to that classification.
Miggsy’s first thought, therefore, was that he was being joshed by the good-looking, nattily dressed young man who thus addressed him. A brief study of the latter’s face, however, caused him to change his mind. Apparently this polite stranger was perfectly serious.
Whereupon Miggsy’s chest suddenly swelled with pride. Nothing could have flattered him more than to be treated in this fashion. He was a precocious youngster, and since the tender age of twelve his greatest regret had been that he was not yet old enough to use a razor.
“I may be wrong, of course,” the good-looking young man went on, with a smile, “but I don’t think so. I am a pretty good judge of men, and there is something about your appearance that tells me that you are a newspaper man. Am I right, sir?”
Miggsy smiled graciously. “You are a good guesser, mister; I am on theDaily Bulletin,” he said, fervently hoping that the other would not inquire as to the specific nature of his duties.
“I knew it!” the good-looking man exclaimed triumphantly. “I can tell a brother scribe every time. Shake hands, old chap. I, too, am a newspaper man. My name is Gale—formerly of the New YorkDaily News, now of the OldhamDaily Chronicle.”
Miggsy’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. “Gee!” he exclaimed excitedly, “I know who you are. You’re the son of the guy what owns theChronicle. I heard about you being in town.”
Gale smiled. “Yes, my father does own theChronicle,” he said simply. “I have come to help him run the sheet. We are going to introduce a lot of improvements, and run the paper on the lines of a New York daily. By the way, Mr.—er—Mr. ——” He paused inquiringly.
“Miggles,” said the boy. “Mister Charles Miggles.”
“Thank you! By the way, Mr. Miggles, one of our first changes will be to enlarge our reportorial staff. My father has asked me to get him some good men. How would you like to work for theChronicle?”
Miggsy could scarcely believe that he was not dreaming. Could it really be possible that this affable young man did not suspect that he was only a fourteen-year-old office boy? Could it really be that he, Miggsy, was being offered a job as a reporter on theChronicle?
His first impulse was to take advantage of this extraordinary opportunity which fate had thrown his way. In his precocious brain there arose the daring thought that he could make good. He had long been of the opinion that news gathering was “dead easy,” and that he could go out and cover a story as well as “some of them boobs in theBulletinoffice what called themselves reporters.”
Once he had plucked up his courage, and asked Mr. Carroll to give him a chance at reporting. The proprietor of theBulletinhad laughed in a most unfeeling manner, and told him to wait until he grew some.
Miggsy frowned now as he recalled that unpleasant incident. As though it mattered what a fellow’s age was, so long as he could deliver the goods!
Gale laid his hand upon the boy’s shoulder with a patronizing air.
“If the proposition appeals to you at all,” he said, “suppose you come and talk it over with my father, right now,[Pg 43]Mr. Miggles. If you are willing to make a change, I think we can put you to work immediately. How would you like to cover police?”
How would he like to cover police! The job of President of the United States didn’t appeal to Miggsy nearly as much as that. His eyes sparkled at the thought.
Then suddenly it occurred to him that he could not possibly bluff his way into this new job, as he had thought of doing. As soon as he entered theChronicleoffice he was sure to be unmasked; for unfortunately he was known to several members of that newspaper’s staff. And—alas, cruel fate!—they knew him, not as Mr. Charles Miggles, a brother scribe, but as plain Miggsy, theBulletin’soffice boy.
“Come, what do you say, Mr. Miggles?” said Gale, with an encouraging smile. “Will you come with me now, and talk it over with my father? I think it will pay you to do so.”
Miggsy decided that candor would be his best course. After all, there was a chance that he might be able to convince this nice young man that notwithstanding his painful youth and his lack of actual experience, he was quite competent to cover police for theChronicle.
“I’m afraid I ain’t quite as old as I look, Mr. Gale,” he began diffidently.
“That doesn’t matter,” was the reassuring response. “Age is of no consequence. It is ability that counts, Mr. Miggles.”
“And I ain’t had an experience at reporting,” Miggles went on, hanging his head. “I’ve been doing—er—inside work.”
Gale received this admission with a pleasant smile. “Lack of experience isn’t of much consequence, either, Mr. Miggles,” he said. “As a matter of fact, we prefer to take on green reporters and train them to our ways. So don’t let those things worry you, old man.”
Miggsy’s face lighted up at these words. “All right, then,” he cried eagerly. “If that’s the case, I’m on.”
With a smile of satisfaction, Gale hurriedly led the boy to the Chronicle Building, and bade him wait in the editorial room while he went in to have a short preliminary talk with his father in the latter’s private office.
A few minutes later Gale came to the door of the private office, and beckoned to Miggsy to enter.
“I’ve paved the way for you,” he whispered to the boy. “Put up a good front, now, and you’ll surely get the job.”
The old gentleman with the white mutton-chop whiskers who was seated at a desk in the center of the room smiled benevolently at his youthful visitor.
“How do you do, young man?” he said. “Pray be seated. My son has been telling me that you would like a position on theChronicle’sreportorial staff.”
“If you please, sir,” returned Miggsy, sitting on the extreme edge of a chair and fidgeting nervously with his hat. Not that Miggsy was habitually shy, or easily put out of countenance, but the momentousness of this occasion had got upon his nerves.
“Humph!” grunted the elder Gale, looking keenly at the boy. “It seems to me that you are somewhat young to be a reporter.”
“I can do the work, sir,” declared Miggsy. “And—I expect to grow, sir.”
The proprietor of theChronicleappeared to be greatly tickled by this answer.[Pg 44]
“You expect to grow!” he echoed, with a chuckle. “That’s pretty neat. Very well said, young man. I see you have wit. That is an important qualification in newspaper work. Besides, my son, here, approves of you. In fact, I may say, young man, that he has taken a great fancy to you; and I have implicit confidence in my son’s judgment. Therefore I am inclined, in spite of your exceedingly youthful appearance, to give you a chance.” He turned to his son inquiringly. “What do you think we had better give this young man to do?”
“I thought we might put him in Tomlinson’s place, to cover police,” the younger Gale suggested.
The proprietor of theChronicleleaned back in his chair and gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Humph! I don’t know. Covering police is a pretty difficult assignment. It requires ingenuity and nerve. Do you think this young man has ingenuity and nerve?”
“I feel sure that he has,” declared the younger Gale stoutly. “I am confident that Mr. Miggles will make good, governor.”
“Sure!” exclaimed Miggsy eagerly. “You just try me, sir.”
The proprietor of theChroniclesmiled at the boy approvingly. “I like that suggestion, young man. It shows that you have self-confidence—a most valuable asset in the newspaper business. I have a good mind to put you to the test, right now. Suppose I were to send you out on a trial assignment, which would give you a chance to prove to me that you have sufficient ingenuity and nerve?”
“That’s a good idea, governor,” exclaimed the younger Gale, with great enthusiasm. He turned and winked at Miggsy. “As the old saying goes, ‘actions speak louder than words.’ Send Mr. Miggles out on a trial assignment right now, with the understanding that if he covers it successfully he starts right in to cover police for theChronicleat a salary of—what will the salary be, governor?”
“Oh, I guess we’ll start him at fifteen dollars a week,” replied the elder Gale carelessly. “With rapid advancement if he proves deserving, of course.”
Miggsy’s eyes glistened. He could scarcely believe that he was not dreaming. His wages on theBulletinwere three dollars a week. The thought of earning five times that much, and of being a reporter instead of an office boy, quite took his breath away.
“Just try me, sir!” he exclaimed eagerly. “All I ask is a chance to show what I can do.”
“Very well, my boy,” said the proprietor of theChronicle, with a benevolent smile, “you shall have that chance.” He stroked his white mutton-chop whiskers meditatively. “Let me see, now; what assignment shall we give him? Can you suggest one, my son, that will be an adequate test of his nerve and ingenuity?”
His son shrugged his shoulders. “I prefer to leave it to you, governor,” he said.
The elder Gale gazed up at the ceiling for a few moments. Then, as though he had found an inspiration there, he turned to his son with a chuckle.
“I have it!” he exclaimed. “Suppose we send him to get thoseBulletinpictures?”
“The very thing,” declared the younger Gale enthusiastically. “That certainly will be a fair test of Mr. Miggles’ ability. It is definitely understood, governor, that if Mr.[Pg 45]Miggles makes good on this assignment he is to cover police for us, at a salary of fifteen dollars per week.”
“Certainly; that is the agreement. Explain to the young man, my son, exactly what he has to do.”
Miggsy’s eyes opened wide with astonishment as he listened to what the younger Gale had to say. From the expression which came to the boy’s face it was evident that the proposition was exceedingly distasteful to him.
“But I couldn’t do that, gents,” he protested. “Really, I couldn’t. Can’t yer make it something else?”
The elder Gale shook his head deprecatingly. “It is just as I feared,” he muttered. “The young man is lacking in nerve. I am afraid, my son, that he isn’t quite qualified to cover police for theChronicle.”
“It ain’t a question of nerve, boss,” protested Miggsy plaintively. “I ain’t afraid to do it. I ain’t afraid of anything. But it wouldn’t be honest. It would be stealing—this thing that you want me to do.”
The younger Gale frowned. “Nonsense!” he said sharply. “You mustn’t talk like that, Mr. Miggles. Do you think for a minute that my father or I would ask you to steal? You ought to be ashamed of yourself for suggesting such a thing.”
The boy looked puzzled. “Well, you want me to swipe them pictures from theBulletin’sphoto-engraving room, and bring them to you, don’t you?” he asked. “Ain’t that stealin’?”
“Certainly not,” replied the younger Gale indignantly; “not when it’s done for a newspaper. Circumstances alter cases, you know, Mr. Miggles. In newspaper work lots of things are justified which might be looked upon as wrong in ordinary life.”
“Very true,” chimed in the proprietor of theChronicle. “A newspaper reporter on an assignment is just like a soldier in time of war, young man. He must recognize no law save the law of doing his duty—of carrying out the orders of his superior officers. It wouldn’t do, you know, for our troops to refuse to shoot at the enemy on the grounds that it is wrong to shed human blood. Yet a soldier would have just as much reason to argue that killing is murder, as you have to argue that—ahem—obtaining those pictures for theChroniclewould be larceny. As my son has very properly remarked, circumstances alter cases.”
Miggsy was somewhat dazzled by this sophistry. “I suppose there’s somethin’ in that,” he muttered hesitatingly.
“You can bet there’s a whole lot in it,” declared the younger Gale. “My father has put the case very well, I think. If you had ever worked on a big New York newspaper, Mr. Miggles, you wouldn’t hesitate for a minute about covering this assignment. In New York reporters are called upon to do little things of this sort quite frequently. It is looked upon as perfectly proper.”
This argument had great weight with Miggsy. He knew that this nattily dressed young man had been a reporter on a New York newspaper, and therefore might well be considered an authority on Park Row journalistic ethics. And if it was perfectly proper to steal for a newspaper in New York, thought the boy, then, likewise, it must be perfectly proper to commit larceny for a newspaper in Oldham. His opposition began to waver.[Pg 46]
“But let us have no further discussion about the matter, my son,” cried the elder Gale impatiently. “If this young man does not care to undertake this assignment, we certainly have no wish to persuade him to do so. Of course, we do not really need those pictures. I merely suggested the assignment as a means of testing his courage and ingenuity. We will let the matter drop. No doubt I shall easily be able to find somebody else to cover police for theChronicle. At fifteen dollars a week we ought to have no difficulty in getting a man for the job.”
This reminder of what he was about to lose proved too much for Miggsy. The mention of that munificent salary quenched the last flicker of his conscience.
“You don’t have to get nobody else, Mr. Gale,” he said hastily. “I’m going to cover police for you. I’m going back to theBulletinoffice now, to get them pictures.”
At this the elder Gale smiled at him approvingly, while the younger Gale slapped him heartily on the back.
“That’s the way to talk, old chap!” the latter exclaimed. “I see you’ve got the right stuff in you, after all. You’re going to make a great reporter. Bring those negatives here just as soon as you can, and if any prints have been made, don’t fail to grab all of them. Don’t forget, Mr. Miggles, that not a single copy must be left behind.”
“I understand,” said the boy. “You want me to make sure that them pictures ain’t published in theBulletinto-morrow morning. I get you.”
Miggsy had been sent out by one of theBulletin’sreporters to purchase a paper of tobacco; and while he had been gone considerably longer than this errand required, the delay was not commented upon when he returned. Of course, nobody in theBulletinoffice dreamed of suspecting that the youngster had been in the camp of the enemy.
Consequently it was not a difficult matter for Miggsy to obtain possession of those precious negatives. The ruse which he employed in order to obtain them has already been described. Having ascertained that no prints had as yet been made, he slipped the films into his pocket, and hurried down the stairs which led from theBulletin’sphoto-engraving room to the street.
But on his way down, as he passed the closed door of the editorial room, he experienced a sudden qualm. The sight of that familiar door brought to him a realization of the enormity of his act.
“It seems like a rotten trick to double cross the old pape,” he mused. “Mr. Carroll has always treated me pretty white. That time when I was laid up with a broken ankle he sent me wages around to the house every week, and kept me job open for me until I was well again.”
The thought caused him to hesitate on the stairway, but the hesitation was only momentary. There came to his mind, just then, the recollection of that time when he had asked the proprietor of theBulletinto give him a chance as a reporter, and Carroll had laughed uproariously at the suggestion.
That recollection was sufficient to harden his heart. “TheChronicleis willing to make me a reporter, at fifteen dollars a week,” he mused. “Wouldn’t I be a chump to pass up this grand opportunity? I guess Carroll will be darned sorry he laughed when he sees me coverin’ police for the rival pape.[Pg 47]”
Ten minutes later he was once more in the private office of the proprietor of theChronicle.
The Gales, father and son, received him with great cordiality. “Did you get them, young man?” the elder Gale inquired eagerly.
“Yes, sir,” replied Miggsy, throwing the films upon the desk. “Here they are, sir.”
“But how about the prints, Mr. Miggles?” the younger Gale demanded anxiously. “You don’t mean to say that you left them behind?”
“There wasn’t any prints,” the boy explained. “Neilson, our photo-engraver—I mean their photo-engraver—hadn’t made any. These negatives were all they had.”
“You are quite sure of that?” the younger Gale demanded searchingly.
“Yes, sir; I am quite sure. I was very careful to see that no copies were left behind.”
The two Gales exchanged glances of congratulation. “I guess our friend Carroll will have to get a new front page for to-morrow’s issue,” the proprietor of theChroniclechuckled. “It gives me great joy, my son, to deprive our esteemed contemporary of its star feature.”
His son grinned. “Yes; my only regret is that we cannot publish the pictures ourselves,” he said. “Of course, our friendship for the police department makes that quite impossible. It is too bad. It would be such a rattling good joke on that confounded Camera Chap if we could use his snapshots on the front page of to-morrow’sChronicle.”
The elder Gale smiled deprecatingly. “As you have said, my son, that is quite out of the question. As we run the administration organ, the pictures are useless to us for publication. But I have no doubt we shall be able to find other uses for them.”
Then the proprietor of theChronicledipped his hands into his trousers pocket, and produced a silver coin, which he extended toward Miggsy.
“You have done well, my boy,” he said; “very well, indeed. Here is a half dollar for you.”
Miggsy thought it was somewhat beneath the dignity of a reporter to receive a fifty-cent tip like a common office boy, but, not wishing to hurt the old gentleman’s feelings, he decided not to debate the point.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, pocketing the coin. “When shall I start in to cover police?”
As Mr. Gale appeared not to have heard the question, Miggsy took the liberty of repeating it. “When do I start in on the job?” he inquired. “Shall I go over to police headquarters now, sir? I’m ready.”
To his great astonishment the proprietor of theChroniclestared at him coldly. “Ready for what, young man?” he inquired.
“To cover police, sir.”
A laugh from the younger Gale—a cruel, jeering laugh—brought a sudden chill to the boy’s heart.
“You cover police! Why, you’re only a kid!”
“A mere child,” chimed in the elder Gale, stroking his mutton-chop whiskers. “Come around again five or six years from now, and we may be able to find room for you on the reportorial staff of theChronicle, my boy, but not before then.”
“But you said that if I made good with them pictures I was to have the job, at fifteen dollars a week,” cried Miggsy, a choke in his voice.
The proprietor of theChronicleturned inquiringly to[Pg 48]his son. “Did I say that?” he asked. “Do you recall my saying anything to give this boy such a mistaken impression?”
“Certainly not,” was the reply. “I am afraid the boy is subject to hallucinations.”
“You certainly did say it!” cried Miggsy hotly. “And I’ve made good! I’ve brought you them pictures. What more do you want?”
Tears came to the boy’s eyes. “I’ve queered myself with theBulletin,” he sobbed. “I can’t go back there now. I’ll be out of work, and me mudder needs every cent I make. Please, please, Mr. Gale, if you won’t let me cover police, find somethin’ else for me to do in theChronicleoffice.”
The proprietor of theChronicleshook his head. “I regret to say there are no vacancies,” he said coldly. “We couldn’t find room for you here even as an office boy. Besides, I am afraid you are not quite honest, young man. The fact that you have pilfered those pictures has made a bad impression upon me. It is my belief that a man or a boy who would steal for me would also steal from me.”
He turned to the younger Gale. “My son, I will trouble you to put this noisy boy outside,” he said.
Miss Melba Gale, having occasion to consult her uncle about a household matter which required immediate attention, decided to visit him at his office.
As she neared the Chronicle Building, she encountered a fourteen-year-old boy who was sobbing as though his young heart were breaking.
Even if this boy had been a total stranger to Melba, the chances are that she would have stopped to inquire the cause of his unrestrained grief, for she was the most tender-hearted and sympathetic of girls. But the fact that she recognized him as Fred Carroll’s office boy, who had on several occasions been the bearer of missives from that young man to her, added greatly to her interest.
“Why, Miggsy,” she exclaimed, stepping up to the grief-stricken lad. “What is the matter?”
The weeping boy removed his knuckles from his eyes long enough to learn the identity of his fair interrogator.
“I want to die!” he wailed. “I’ve queered meself with theBulletin, and I’ve been handed a lemon by theChronicle. I want to die. It ain’t no use livin’ any more.”
Melba stared at him in astonishment, unable to make head or tail of this lament. Then she laid her small, gloved hand gently on his shoulder.
“Don’t be silly, Miggsy,” she said softly. “You mustn’t talk in that wild fashion. Come with me to the drug store across the street, and tell me all about it while we’re drinking an ice-cream soda.”
But Miggsy shook his head disconsolately. Ice-cream sodas, although he was exceedingly partial to them under other and happier circumstances, did not appeal to him in the slightest in his present state of mine.
“I tell you I don’t want to live no longer, Miss Gale,” he whined. “If it wasn’t that I’m such a good swimmer I’d go and throw myself into the river. Yes, indeed I would. I’ve lost me job on theBulletin—maybe Carroll will send me to jail, too—and I’ve been double crossed by them welshers on theChronicle. I don’t want no ice-[Pg 49]cream soda, Miss Gale; but if you’ll do me a favor, and buy me a drink of carbolic acid, I’ll be much obliged.”
In spite of his evident distress, Melba could not help laughing at these desperate words.
Then, becoming serious again, she inquired, with an inflection of astonishment: “Do you really mean to say that Mr. Carroll has discharged you, Miggsy?”
“If he ain’t discharged me yet,” sobbed the boy, “he will when he finds out that them pictures have gone. I guess he’ll put the police on me tracks, too. I’m a fujertive from justice, that’s what I am, Miss Gale.”
By adroit questioning Melba managed to get his story. It was a great relief to him to confide his troubles to somebody, and he related the whole affair to the astonished and indignant girl.
When he had finished, Melba Gale’s pretty face was very grim. Her hands were clenched tightly and her eyes flashed.
“It’s an outrage!” she exclaimed. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Miggsy, for doing Mr. Carroll such a bad turn; but I realize that you were strongly tempted by those who have far more cause to feel ashamed of themselves; so I am going to ask Mr. Carroll to give you another chance.”
The boy shook his head despairingly. “He won’t do it. I double crossed the pape, and Carroll ain’t the sort to overlook a thing like that.”
“I’ll do my best to persuade him,” said Melba, with a confident smile. “If I fail—although I am quite sure I won’t—I’ll speak to my uncle, and insist upon his finding you a job on theChronicle. So don’t worry, Miggsy. I’m sure that you’ll get employment in either one place or the other.”
Leaving Miggsy somewhat cheered by this assurance, she proceeded to theChronicleoffice, with the intention of telling her uncle and cousin in plain terms what she thought of their conduct.
She intended, too, to demand that they return the stolen negatives to theBulletin; but she had no hope that her demand would be complied with.
However, she did not carry out these intentions; for, as she approached the door of her uncle’s private office, her ears caught a fragment of conversation which suggested to her a much better plan.
“I wonder who those fellows are?” the elder Gale was saying. “Their faces are not at all recognizable in the negatives. Just for curiosity’s sake, I think it would be worth while to have a print made of each of them.”
“Yes,” his son assented. “I must confess that I, too, am curious to see what they look like. Give me the films, governor, and I’ll go upstairs to the photo-engraving room, and have Michaels make some prints.”
It was these words, which came to her through the partially closed door, which gave Melba her daring idea.
Treading as noiselessly as possible, she hurriedly descended the short flight of stairs which led to the street, just in time to avoid being seen by her cousin, who came out of the private office, and went upstairs to the photo-engraving plant.
“Here, Michaels,” the latter said to theChronicle’sphoto-engraver, “I want prints of these negatives just as quick as you can make them. They’re not to be made into cuts. We want merely the prints.”
The younger Gale did not wait upstairs in the photo-engraving room while the prints were being made. For[Pg 50]failing to do so he afterward reproached himself bitterly. But not having the slightest suspicion of what was going to happen, he bade Michaels bring the pictures to him as soon as they were done, and went downstairs to rejoin his father.
It was more than an hour later that the latter remarked: “How about those prints, my son? It seems to me it is taking Michaels an awful time to get them out.”
“By Jove, that’s right!” exclaimed the other. “I had forgotten all about them. I’ll go upstairs and see how he’s getting along.”
Michaels looked at him in astonishment when he inquired about the prints. “How do you expect me to make them, Mr. Gale,” he said, “when you’ve got the negatives downstairs?”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Gale. “Got the negatives downstairs! What the dickens are you talking about, Michaels? I handed them to you over an hour ago.”
“Sure you did, Mr. Gale; but you took them back again five minutes afterward.”
Gale frowned. “You don’t look drunk, Michaels, but you certainly talk like it,” he said indignantly. “You know very well that I was only up here once. What do you mean by saying that I took these films back again?”
“Well, I don’t mean that you came yourself, but you sent for them, which is the same thing,” rejoined the photo-engraver. “You don’t mean to say that you didn’t send your cousin, Miss Gale, up here for them?”
Gale’s face turned pale. “I certainly did not!” he gasped. “Do you mean to tell me that she was up here?”
“She certain was, sir—five minutes after you went down.”
“And asked for the pictures?”
“Sure thing. Is anything wrong, Mr. Gale?”
“Anything wrong! I should say there was!” snapped Gale. “You careless fool! Don’t you know better than to hand out negatives to any Tom, Dick, or Harry that comes here and asks for them? What kind of a system have you got in this place, anyway?”
The photo-engraver’s face darkened. “See here, young feller, don’t you be calling names. I don’t hand out negatives to any Tom, Dick, or Harry; but if the boss’ niece comes up here, and says that she’s been sent for the pictures, you don’t suppose I’m going to put her through a cross-examination before I give ’em to her, do you? What’s this all mean, anyway? I don’t understand it at all.”
Gale didn’t stop to enlighten him. Muttering something under his breath, he turned on his heel and hurried downstairs to his father’s office.
“Seen anything of Melba, governor?” he demanded.
“Not since breakfast time. Why do you ask?”
“Simply to hear myself talk, I guess,” said Gale, with an angry laugh. “I might have known that you hadn’t seen her. She took jolly good care, of course, to avoid being seen by either one of us.”
“Why, my son, what on earth is the matter?” exclaimed the proprietor of theChronicleuneasily.
“The matter is that we’ve been stung—stung by that precious niece of yours. Those negatives are not upstairs.”
“Not upstairs?” echoed the elder Gale, with a look of blank bewilderment. “Then where are they?”
His son laughed grimly. “I guess they’re in theBulletin’sphoto-engraving room at this moment, being made into cuts for to-morrow morning’s paper. Melba has worked the same game on us that that kid worked on Carroll.[Pg 51]”
“Excuse me, Mr. Carroll, but there’s a lady outside who wants to see you.”
The proprietor of theBulletinfrowned at the reporter who made this announcement. The latter’s desk was situated near the door of the editorial room, and therefore it had fallen to his lot to respond to the fair visitor’s timid knock upon that portal.
“A lady!” muttered Carroll peevishly. “Who is she, and what does she want?” This was only a short time after his painful discovery of the loss of those precious negatives, and he was not feeling at all in the mood to receive visitors.
“She says that she wants to sell you some pictures, sir—some photographs,” the reporter announced.
The frown upon Carroll’s face deepened. “Tell her I don’t want any,” he said. Pictures were a very sore subject just then. “Tell her to come around some other day, when I’m not so busy.”
The Camera Chap, who was seated at Carroll’s elbow, smiled. “Why not see what she’s got?” he suggested mildly. “Don’t be a grouch, Fred. Maybe these pictures may be something we want—something that will be newsy enough for to-morrow’s front page, to take the place of the missing ones.”
Carroll shook his head. “Precious little chance of that,” he grumbled. “I’ll bet they’re photographs of the latest Paris fashions, a new style of hair dressing, or some such rot. However, I suppose I’d better see her.”
Two minutes later he was mighty glad that he had come to this determination. He jumped to his feet with an exclamation of astonishment as he caught sight of the girl advancing toward his desk.
“Melba!” he cried. “You here—in theBulletinoffice! What on earth does this mean?”
The girl laughed. “Why, really, Fred, this isn’t a very gracious reception. You actually seem more alarmed than glad to see me—doesn’t he, Mr. Hawley?”
“I am tickled to death to see you, of course,” declared Carroll soberly. “But at the same time I am completely staggered by your visit. This is the first time you have ever braved your uncle’s wrath by venturing into theBulletinoffice, so I can’t help thinking that something serious must have happened.”
“Not at all,” was the smiling answer. “I am here merely on a matter of business. As I explained to the nice young man who greeted me at the door, I have come to try to sell you some photographs.”
She opened her hand bag, and, taking therefrom some films, threw them upon the desk.
As Carroll picked them up, he uttered an exclamation of joyous amazement.
“Look here, Frank,” he cried excitedly. “A miracle, if ever there was one! If these are not the negatives, I’ll eat my hat.”
The Camera Chap stared at the pictures.
“By Jove, so they are!” he exclaimed jubilantly. “This is too good to be true, Miss Gale. May I inquire how you got them, or is it a secret?”
Melba had no desire to make a secret of it, and, in as few words as possible, she explained the ruse she had employed.[Pg 52]
Carroll and the Camera Chap chuckled with glee over her story, but suddenly the former grew grave.
“It is mighty fine of you to have done this thing for me, little girl,” he said, “and I shall never forget it; but, of course, it is quite out of the question for us to use these pictures now.”
“Why?” exclaimed Melba, in dismay. “What’s the matter with them?”
“Because it would get you in bad with your uncle if we were to use them,” said Carroll. “Do you suppose for a minute that I’m going to permit you to get into trouble for my sake?”
Melba shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose I’m going to get into trouble, anyway,” she said. “Whether or not you publish the pictures won’t make the slightest difference, Fred. My uncle has learned by this time of the deception I practiced on his photo-engraver, and, of course, he must realize why I sought to gain possession of those negatives. Naturally he and my cousin will be very angry, and I suppose there’ll be a scene when they come home this evening.” She laughed defiantly. “But I don’t care. If they say anything to me I’ll tell them plainly just what I think of their shameful conduct.”
Carroll looked at her admiringly. In spite of her defiant attitude, he knew that she secretly dreaded the ordeal before her. Old Delancey Gale’s anger never took the form of violence; it found vent in sneering, caustic sentences which, to a girl of Melba’s sensitive nature, were much more painful than abuse. Carroll was aware, for she often confided the fact to him, how greatly she feared her uncle’s venomous tongue.
“You’re a brave little girl,” he said tenderly. “But I’m awfully sorry that you’ve put yourself in bad on my account. But perhaps it isn’t too late, even now.”
“Not too late for what?” the girl inquired.
“You must take these pictures back to theChronicleoffice right away,” Carroll said firmly. “It is quite possible that your uncle and cousin have not as yet made the discovery that they are missing. If so, there is no reason why they should ever learn what you have done, Melba. I guess you can persuade the man in charge of the photo-engraving room to keep mum on the subject. Don’t you think that’ll be the best plan, Frank?”
“I certainly do,” the Camera Chap agreed sadly. “Even though it means the loss of the pictures to theBulletin.” He turned smilingly to the girl. “I have no doubt, Miss Gale, that without telling a downright fib you can manage to give your uncle the impression that after taking the films you were seized with remorse, which caused you to bring them back again. That surely ought to appease him.”
The girl frowned. “I shall do no such thing,” she declared indignantly. “I should just like to see myself taking those pictures back to theChronicleoffice. They stole them from you, and I was justified in recovering them for you in the way I did.”
“But you must take them back, Melba,” Carroll insisted. “And, what’s more, you must do it as quickly as possible. There isn’t a minute to be lost. Now, don’t be stubborn, little girl,” he pleaded. “We are not going to use the pictures, so nothing whatever will be gained by your refusal to take them back; and you might just as well save yourself from unpleasantness at home.”
“But you are going to use them!” Melba declared firmly. “I insist upon it, Fred. If I don’t see them on the front[Pg 53]page of to-morrow’sBulletin, I shall never speak to you again. And I mean that, too.”
Realizing that she did mean it, Carroll turned helplessly to the Camera Chap. The latter came promptly to the rescue.
“It is quite evident that Miss Gale overestimates the importance of those snapshots,” he said craftily. “Use them on the front page? That would be very bad judgment from a journalistic standpoint, I think. The news value of the pictures doesn’t entitle them to such a prominent position.”
“Certainly not,” said Carroll, catching the cue instantly. “As Mr. Hawley says, Melba, you are laboring under a wrong impression. Those pictures aren’t of any great importance. Whether we publish them or not really won’t make very much difference to theBulletin. So you see, Melba, you’ll only be embarrassing us by insisting that we use them. Now that you know the real state of affairs, won’t you take them back like a good girl?”
“No, I won’t!” replied Melba. She laughed merrily. “You boys must be very simple if you imagine that I am to be deceived so easily. In spite of what you say, I know that those pictures were intended to be the star feature of to-morrow’s issue.”
“Not at all,” Carroll protested, felling that the circumstances warranted him in “lying like a gentleman.”
The girl laughed again. “Don’t you suppose I saw how hugely delighted you both were when you first picked up those films and recognized them as the stolen ones? It was only after Fred suddenly realized that my act might get me into trouble at home that you both made any attempt to hide your great joy at getting them back again. Besides which, my common sense tells me that my uncle and cousin wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, to get hold of them if they hadn’t known that they were of great value. No, Fred; it is very manly and generous of you to want to make this sacrifice, but I am not going to let you do it. I insist upon your using these pictures. If I don’t see them in to-morrow morning’s paper—well, I’ve told you what the consequences will be.”
After some further argument, the two men saw that it was quite useless to attempt to alter her decision, and Carroll very reluctantly promised her that the snapshots would be used.
“And now,” said Melba, highly elated over her victory, “let me tell you the price of these films. You know I told you that I had come to sell them to you—not to give them. I sincerely hope that you won’t haggle over the terms, Mr. Editor.”
“Well, that all depends,” Carroll replied laughingly. “If you set too high a price on them, I am afraid we shall have to turn you down. I don’t mind admitting to you that theBulletin’streasury is in none too flourishing a condition just now. We are obliged to turn over every cent before we decide to spend it.”
“I don’t want anything out of theBulletin’streasury,” the girl said. “The price of these pictures, Fred, is the forgiveness and reinstatement of Miggsy.”
Carroll’s face grew grim. “Nothing doing,” he said firmly. “I’ve no use for traitors. What that young scamp did shows that he is thoroughly vicious. You can’t reasonably expect me to take him back, Melba.”
“But he is only a child, Fred,” the girl pleaded. “And just think how strongly he was tempted. He is thoroughly[Pg 54]penitent now. I am quite sure he would never make a mistake like that again.”
She turned appealingly to the Camera Chap. Her intuition told her that she would find an ally in that generous, broad-minded young man. “Don’t you think that poor Miggsy ought to be given another chance, Mr. Hawley?” she said.
“Indeed I do,” was the prompt reply. “See here, Fred, as Miss Gale says, Miggsy is only a kid. Even a full-grown man might have found it difficult to resist the inducements that those fellows probably offered. Let’s not be too hard on the youngster. He’s been punished quite enough, I think. The crooked deal he got from theChroniclewas a lesson he won’t forget in a hurry.”
“Besides,” said Melba, “don’t forget, Fred, that we owe the recovery of these negatives entirely to him. If Miggsy hadn’t worked that clever ruse on your photo-engraver, I shouldn’t have had the least idea how to get the pictures out of the hands of theChronicle’sphoto-engraver. I merely copied his plan. You ought to take that into account.”
The childlike argument caused Carroll’s face to relax into a smile. “A woman’s logic is certainly a wonderful thing,” he chuckled. “It seems to me that if the boy hadn’t worked that trick in the first place, there wouldn’t have been any occasion for you to copy it at all. However, since you are both against me, I suppose I have got to give in. Miggsy shall have another chance. I’ll send somebody out to find him and bring him back.”
The Camera Chap, happening to glance out of the window at that moment, saw something which brought a broad grin to his face.
“I guess you won’t have to search far for him,” he announced. “Unless my eyes greatly deceive me, he is standing on the other side of the street at this very minute, gazing wistfully up at these windows, like a little fox terrier who has been turned out of the house. Take a peep at him, Fred. If the expression of abject misery on that young countenance wouldn’t melt the hardest heart, I don’t know what would.”
Carroll stepped to the window, and, catching Miggsy’s eye, beckoned to him to come up.
Mistrust of his ex-employer’s intentions would have caused the boy to ignore this summons and take to his heels in panic, if Melba had not come to the window, and, standing beside Carroll, smiled down encouragingly to him.
The sight of his fair champion reassured Miggsy. His heart beating wildly, he crossed the street, entered the Bulletin Building, and came very sheepishly into the presence of the man whom he had wronged.
“Mr. Carroll,” he began stammeringly, “I—I don’t know how——”
“That’s all right, Miggsy,” the proprietor of theBulletininterrupted gruffly. “Never mind trying to explain. Just forget all about this unfortunate incident, and get back to your work. For the rest of the day, Miggsy,” he added, “I want you to stand on guard out in the hall, and watch very closely whoever goes upstairs to the photo-engraving room. If Neilson has any visitors, notify me promptly.”
Hawley grinned as he listened to these instructions. “You seem to expect callers, Fred,” he remarked dryly.
“Well, I think it quite likely that we shall get some,” Carroll replied.[Pg 55]
Young Mr. Gale, with an exceedingly peevish expression upon his handsome countenance, dropped into police headquarters with the intention of having a little talk with his friend, Chief Hodgins.
He was greatly disappointed when the patrolman on guard at the head of the stairway told him that the chief was not in.
“He’s taking a day off,” the man explained. “He’s gone out of town, I believe; but we expect him back to-morrow morning. Can’t your business wait until then?”
“Hardly,” Gale replied. “The matter I wished to see him about requires immediate attention. Who’s in charge while he’s away?”
“Captain Callman. Would you like to see him? He’s in the chief’s office now.”
The captain greeted his visitor cordially when he heard that the latter was the son of the proprietor of the administration organ.Chroniclemen were as welcome at police headquarters asBulletinmen were obnoxious.
The captain listened with great interest to what Gale told him, and a troubled expression came to his face.
“Do you know whose pictures they’ve got?” he inquired uneasily.
“I know a couple of them. There were six altogether, but I haven’t the slightest idea who the other four were. It was quite impossible to recognize the faces in the negatives.”
“Well, even if you couldn’t recognize the faces, it seems to me that you ought to have been able to distinguish the uniforms,” said Callman anxiously. “Didn’t happen to notice whether one of ’em was wearing a captain’s uniform, did you, young man?”
“Why, yes,” said Gale. “There was a captain among them. It was a very clear snapshot—the best of the lot. It was taken on Main Street—I could tell that by the buildings in the background. But I don’t know which captain it was. As I have said, it wasn’t possible to distinguish the faces on the films.”
“I think I know who it was, all right,” growled Callman. “I’ve got an idea that it was me. I’ve a hazy recollection that somebody took a flash-light picture of me on Main Street last night.”
“A hazy recollection?” Gale echoed, with an inquiring inflection.
The captain nodded gloomily. “Yes; I don’t remember much about it, but I’ve got a faint idea that the thing happened. You see, some of my friends gave me a little dinner as a token of their esteem last night, and—well, there must have been something wrong with the lobster salad, I guess. I had a fierce attack of—er—ptomaine poisoning, and when I left the festive board to go on duty I was pretty wabbly on my legs, and my head wasn’t very clear; but I’ve got just a dim recollection of a fellow standing in front of me with a camera, and of a flash light going off. I had clean forgotten all about it, but what you have told me has brought it back to me.”
“Gee!” exclaimed Gale sympathetically. “So one of those snapshots is of you, eh? That’s too bad, captain. But what are you going to do about it? Surely you don’t intend to let those stiffs publish your picture?”
Callman scowled. “Not if I can help it. But how can I stop ’em?[Pg 56]”
“Well, if I were in your place I shouldn’t hesitate at anything,” said Gale. “If necessary, I’d march a squad of cops into theBulletinoffice, and seize those films and the cuts made from them.”
Callman considered this suggestion for a few moments, then shook his head. “No, I don’t like that very much. It would be too high-handed a proceedin’. If it wasn’t a newspaper that we had to deal with, I might try it; but it’s dangerous to monkey with the liberty of the press. That’s one thing the people won’t stand for.”
“But those snapshots were taken in violation of the law—the new anticamera law,” argued Gale. “Surely that gives you the legal right to confiscate them.”
“No, it don’t,” said Callman regretfully. “I was talkin’ with the district attorney about that the other day, and he told me that while we can arrest a newspaper photographer for taking pictures without a license, we can’t stop the newspaper from publishing the pictures.
“Besides,” he added, “if I did as you suggest, it would probably get the mayor sore. He’s a little leery about this new camera law.”
Gale was somewhat discouraged, but suddenly he brightened up. “Well, here’s another suggestion, captain,” he said. “Why not try what bribery will do? TheBulletin’sphoto-engraving plant is run by a fellow named Neilson. What’s the matter with sending somebody to see him, and offer him a good price to hand over the negatives and destroy the cuts?”
Callman nodded approvingly. “That sounds much better. But are you sure that the man can be bribed?”
“Pshaw! Every man has his price,” was the cynical reply. “And I don’t suppose this Neilson hates money more than most of us.”
“I’m not sure that it would work,” said Callman, “but it’s worth tryin’. How would you suggest goin’ about it? It’s a little dangerous, of course, but I’m willing to take a chance.”
“I don’t think there’d be the slightest danger, captain,” said Gale. “I’ve got a plan by which it could be worked with perfect safety.”
He proceeded to explain this plan to the acting head of Oldham’s police force, and that official thought very well of it, and decided to put it into effect immediately.
An hour later, a large, red-faced man named Rudolph Meyer, who kept a delicatessen store not far from police headquarters, and who was under certain obligations to Police Captain Callman, entered the Bulletin Building, and ascended the stairway leading to the photo-engraving plant.
At the top of the first flight he was intercepted by Miggsy. “Hey! Where d’yer suppose you’re going, mister?” the boy demanded.
“I want to go by der place where der cuts iss made,” Mr. Meyer explained. “I haff a little order for some advertising cuts which I wish to give.”
“Oh, some job work, eh?” said Miggsy. “All right; I’ll show you the way up to the plant.”
“You needn’t trouble, my boy,” said Mr. Meyer hastily. “I find it all right by meinself.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, mister,” declared Miggsy, with a grin. “This way, please.”
Mr. Meyer did not appear to be tickled to death by this attention, but he followed the boy up the stairs without making any further protest.
Neilson was working on the police cuts when they entered the room. He looked up suspiciously at his vis[Pg 57]itors. Carroll had warned him to be strictly on his guard while the snapshots were in his possession.
“Here’s a gent who wants to do some business with you. Mr. Neilson,” Miggsy announced. And then, greatly to Meyer’s relief, the boy went downstairs, leaving him alone with the photo-engraver.
The visitor lost no time in getting down to business. There was no telling when the boy or somebody else might come into the room, and Mr. Meyer was exceedingly averse to saying what he had to say to Neilson in the presence of a third party. At no time in his life had he felt more inclined to indorse the old saying that “two is company, three is a crowd,” than at this minute.
“I want some cuts made,” he began. “I am getting out a leedle advertising circular for my wine and liquor business. Here iss one of the pictures which I wish made into a cut.”
He drew a small oblong of saffron-hued paper from his pocket, and held it before Neilson’s eyes.
“Why, that ban a fifty-dollar bill,” exclaimed Neilson in astonishment.
Mr. Meyer took from his pocket another slip of paper. “And here, mein friend, is another leedle picture which I wish made into a cut,” he announced.
The engraver’s eyes opened wider. “That ban a hundred-dollar bill!” he exclaimed.
“Nefer mind what they are, mein friend,” said Meyer. “I want them both made into cuts for mein leedle advertising circular. You can do it—yes?”
“Sure,” Neilson replied. “Why not? When must the cuts be ready?”
“Oh, there’s no hurry. Keep these leedle pictures for as long as you like.” Mr. Meyer put his head closer to the engraver’s, and lowered his voice. “In fact, mein friend, you can keep them forever—if you will do me a leedle favor.”
Neilson’s eyes glistened hungrily. “What’s the favor?” he demanded eagerly. “I ban willing to do whole lot of favors for a hundred and fifty dollars.”
In a tense whisper, Mr. Meyer explained how the money was to be earned. TheBulletin’sphoto-engraver did not appear to be horrified or indignant.
“Oil right,” he said phlegmatically; “I do it. I ban sick of this here yob, anyway. Give me the hundred and fifty dollars. It ban look good to me.”
He held out his hand, and, as the yellowbacks came in contact with his long, slim fingers, his ears caught a faint, clicking sound, which came from a large canvas screen at the other end of the room.
Then there was a chuckle, and a voice cried exultantly: “All right, Ole; we’ve got it!”
Mr. Meyer glanced uneasily toward the screen. From behind that piece of furniture stepped two young men. One of them had a camera in his hand.
“What’ll I do with this here dirty money, Mr. Carroll?” inquired Neilson, his usually stolid countenance animated by a broad grin.
“Give it back to the gentleman, Ole,” Carroll chuckled. “He may need it to buyBulletinswith to-morrow morning. I’ve no doubt he’ll want a whole lot of copies, inasmuch as his portrait is going to occupy such a prominent position in the paper.”
TO BE CONTINUED.
[Pg 58]