CHAPTER XVITHE LOST CAMELS
“Yourcamels stolen!” exclaimed Pep in his excitable way. “Say, that’s bad. Are you sure of it?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Vic, in a dispirited fashion. “They’re gone.”
“Come inside,” invited Frank. “I’ll fix it after this so you won’t have to ask permission,” and, after indicating to the guard that Vic was a favored friend, he led the way to the auditorium.
“Oh, say! but you’ve fixed it up fine; haven’t you?” ejaculated Vic the moment his eyes took in the scene about him.
“These are pretty busy times, Vic,” said Frank as they sat down in the rear row of seats. “You see, we are getting ready for the opening. All the same, we must find time to help our friends where we can. Now then, tell us your troubles.”
“There’s only one, the big one, the camels,” replied Vic, soberly. “You know how kind you were in giving me the money to go down to Wardham, and advising me how to set about selling the camels. I felt pretty good when I started out. You know I met an old circus man. He said that it would take time to find just the show that wanted some camels, but there were city parks, and using them advertising, to fall back on. He said that four healthy camels ought to sell for several thousand dollars.”
“Yes, Vic,” observed Frank; “go ahead with your story.”
“Well, I got to Wardham and found the farm where Bill’s relatives live.”
“Was he there?” inquired Pep.
“Yes,” responded Vic, “he’d been there for three days, in bed, his leg broken and out of his head.”
“The camels—” began Pep.
“No, they would never hurt Bill,” protested Vic. “Bill had turned up one night at his relatives’ house dragging his leg behind him, smelling of liquor and acting strange. The first sensible spell he had was just after I got to Wardham.
“Bill was all broken up, crying and ashamed. He told a queer, rambling story of leaving thefreight train thirty miles across country from Wardham. I’ve got to tell you that Bill’s failing has always been strong drink.”
“Too bad, that generally complicates things,” commented Pep, philosophically.
“He’d kept straight clear along the route. It was night time when he got the camels off the car and started for Wardham. They were glad to get on solid ground again, and so was Bill. He says he came to a crossroads settlement where he got the camels a good feed.
“He himself was foolish enough to drink some liquor. He says it went to his head. Then he dimly remembers going to another town, and then another. By that time he wasn’t able to take care of the camels. He recalls traveling along a lonely country road, following directions as to Wardham. Then it’s all a sort of mist to him. When he came to his senses, he was lying in an old stone quarry with his leg broken. How he got to the Wright farm he doesn’t know.”
“Why,” suggested Pep, “the camels must have wandered away from him, and must be roving around somewhere. Didn’t you try to find out?”
“Didn’t I?” repeated Vic. “I guess I did; and so did Bill’s folks. They found out where Bill had shown off some tricks with the camelsat a tavern. Three strange men who had been drinking with him went off when he did. I suppose we had as many as twenty people looking for the camels all over the country.”
“And you found no trace of them?” inquired Frank.
“Hide nor hair—none,” was the dejected answer.
“It looks queer to me, that does,” asserted Pep. “Four camels are too conspicuous to drop out of sight like a horse or a dog.”
“I think somebody stole them—I feel sure of it,” declared Vic. “Maybe Bill got to talking too much and telling all about the camels, and those three men thought they saw a chance for a speculation.”
“They couldn’t hide the animals very easily,” observed Frank. “Whoever has them must be at some distance from Wardham.”
“That’s the way I figure it out,” agreed Vic. “It’s made me almost frantic, losing those animals and all they mean to me in a money way. And poor Bill—he needs his share in them just now worse than he ever did.”
“I see that,” said Frank, thoughtfully, “and I shall try to get a man right on the track. Don’t be so downhearted, Vic; we are sure to get some trace of them.”
“I hope so,” replied Vic, shaking his head dolefully. “You see, I had pretty high hopes of the money I expected. I might have gone in with you—see?”
“You’re in with us now, Vic,” declared Frank in his friendly way. “You put us under a great obligation by saving the Standard from burning up. Here, Randy,” added Frank, calling to his chum, “you try and make Vic see something cheerful in life till I get back.”
Frank then started off on his mission to see the man, Bohm, whom Pep had told him about. Randy then took Vic under his wing. He showed him all over the place and tried to get his mind off his troubles.
“You’re fine people,” declared Vic, gratefully, as they came out on the street on their way to the hotel. “I wish I could do something to pay you back for your kindness.”
“You’ll feel all right when Frank finds your camels for you,” replied Randy. “He’ll do it, too, you can count on that. And if you want to join the movies, he’ll find a place for you.”
They were at that moment passing the rival photo playhouse which Frank’s enemies had been getting into shape. Those of the Standard had paid little attention to Slavin and his friends of late. With the securing of the lease on thedouble building, they apparently felt that they had scored a victory over their competitors and had troubled their minds about them no further.
Slavin and his crew had made no further attempts to molest or annoy Professor Barrington or his property. How they might feel when they learned what Frank was up to with the Standard, the motion picture chums did not know, or care.
Frank had received a sneering smile from Slavin when he passed him on the street two days after the Professor had been lured away from the hotel. Several days later, however, this had changed to an angry scowl. Frank decided that Slavin had learned of their new enterprise, and realized that he had not scored so valuable a point against his rivals as he had fancied.
Just then Vic came to a halt and stood staring at a man who was just entering the “New Idea,” as Slavin and his crowd had dubbed their playhouse.
“See that fellow?” asked Vic, pointing after the man.
“What about him?” inquired Randy.
“I know him,” declared Vic, apparently much roused.
“Is that so? We know him, too,” retorted Randy,—“to our loss. He’s a bad character.Ran movies against us at Riverside Grove and nearly put us out of business. He’s the head and front of this new show—the New Idea. Humph! it will be ‘new,’ all right, if he runs it.”
“Well,” said Vic, “I’ve heard you speak his name and all that, but I didn’t guess it was the man who was with the fellow who stole that satchel from the train. He is the man I saw near Home Farm who was rating the other fellow for getting the wrong grip. Say,” and a new idea seemed to strike Vic, “is he up to any new mischief with you people?”
“No; but he likely will be,” replied Randy. “He’s a dangerous customer. We have tried to keep the public, Slavin included, from knowing our plans. He has probably had somebody spying on us, though.”
“It would be a good thing to watch such a fellow, I should think,” observed Vic, thoughtfully. “It would be a shame if anything happened to your beautiful show here, after all your hard work. A rascal like this fellow Slavin ought to be headed off.”
“Yes, we’re going to keep a sharp eye out for him,” said Randy.
He took Vic to the hotel, and gave him to understand that he was to take up his residencewith them until Frank decided what could be done to recover the stolen camels. Then Randy went out to attend to an errand for the Standard. When he returned he was surprised and puzzled to find that Vic had disappeared. A scrawled note lay on a table in the room, reading:
“Got some business to attend to. Will be back this evening.”
“Got some business to attend to. Will be back this evening.”
Frank, Pep, Mr. Strapp and Ben Jolly showed up at supper time. Frank’s first inquiry concerned Vic. He was only half satisfied with the report Randy made. Frank had read deeper into the odd farm boy than the others. He knew that Vic, when he got an idea in his head, was anxious to work it out. Frank felt sure that some such situation was responsible for Vic’s unexplained absence.
However, about eight o’clock Vic came quietly into the main room of the suite. He did not appear at all excited; but that was rarely his wont. The moment Frank scanned his face, however, he guessed that their original young friend had something on his mind.
Vic responded to the casual questions of those about him. Then he sidled up to Frank in an uneasy sort of way with the words:
“Say, Mr. Durham, I’ve been at the New Idea for the last three hours.”
“Have you, indeed?” responded Frank, discerning something under the surface in the declaration just made. “I didn’t know they were open for business yet.”
“Oh, they’re not,” answered Vic. “I’ve been working there.”
“Working there?” exclaimed Pep, jumping from his chair in wonder. “You don’t mean to tell us you’ve gone in with those fellows; do you?”
“Yes, for one appearance only,” replied Vic, with his odd smile. “I knew what I was about. I sort of hung around the New Idea with a ‘new idea’ in my head. A lot of chairs were delivered from some wagons while I was snooping around. Some fellow connected with the show came out, saw me and asked me if I wanted to earn a little helping carry in the chairs. That was my chance.”
“For what?” inquired Frank.
“To get inside and see the lay of the land,” declared Vic, with a slight twinkle in his eyes as he noted Frank’s interest.
“Say, how does it look?” asked Pep.
“It looks too bulky, if you must know. There’s no grace to it, nor elegance, nor taste,nor style. It’s clumsy. That big sprawling room was never meant for a movies show. Why, I helped set some of the chairs, and, honest, at the ends of the twenty-seat rows it makes you cross-eyed to get in focus with the stage. But I got what I was after, finally.”
“What were you after?” inquired Randy.
“To find out if those fellows had any idea of bothering you folks any more.”
“Say, you’re clever!” burst out Pep. “That was a fine move. Are they?”
“I’m afraid they are,” answered Vic. “Mr. Durham, I want to tell you something. It’s only suspicion; but I believe it. I managed to overhear that man Slavin talking with his partner. I pricked up my ears when they said ‘Standard.’ Then Slavin sort of chuckled, and I caught the word ‘fire.’ I honestly believe that some of that crowd started the fire in the garage shed back of the Standard.”
“Oh, you mustn’t say that, Vic,” protested Frank.
“Well, I have said it, and it may give you an idea of what a hard crowd they are. They’re up to more mischief, too. Slavin was storming because he said they could get only stock films. He said there were very few that could be called educational, and called down his partner for nothurrying some special films they seemed to be after. He said, too, that if the Standard cut into business too much, there would be some wings clipped.”
“This looks as if we should be on the alert, Durham,” remarked Mr. Strapp, seriously.
“You certainly do,” observed Vic in his blunt way. “Slavin’s partner made a remark about waiting to see what the Standard was up to before they burned their fingers, as he put it. Then Slavin himself made a significant remark.”
“What was that, Vic?” inquired Frank.
“He said roughly: ‘This is no time for a pillow fight; turn on the hot stuff!’”