_ CHAPTER II. THE VANISHING MAN
For the first few seconds the Grammar School boys stood as if chained to the ground, their eyes staring with alarm and horror.
They stared at the man, apparently of middle age, who lay there, and they beheld the blood.
What on earth could have happened?
Boom! It was a lesser explosion that now sounded inside, yet it was enough to galvanize the boys into action.
"Come on!" cried Tom Reade, setting off in the lead. "We don't know nor care what's in there!"
"The house may blow up next," added Greg, following him.
All the members of Dick & Co. were now in full retreat. They were courageous lads, but, with the immediate landscape in seeming danger of blowing up, getting away was the wisest possible course.
"Say, what do you make of that?" demanded Greg breathlessly, when the Grammar School boys had halted, well out of sight of the cottage and down in the woods.
"Bang!" replied Tom dryly. "That's all I heard."
"And blood," almost chattered Hazelton.
"But what it means is a big puzzle," Dick added. "If Rip and his crowd are or were in the cottage, they would hardly explode anything purposely and perhaps kill a man. That man appeared to be dead---he must be dead. Rip and Dodge are mean fellows, but they're hardly up to killing people."
"There was an explosion," remarked Tom judicially, though his voice was still husky. "Now, while I don't know everything, I believe there always has to be an explosive in order to bring about an explosion. Am I right?"
"You stand on ground that no one can dispute," nodded Dick. "But how did the explosive come to be in a building that belongs to the water company, and which is supposed not to have been occupied in some years?"
"What was the man doing in there, for that matter?" demanded Tom.
"He wasn't very well dressed," observed Harry.
"Yet he didn't look like a tramp," Dave put in.
"But the man himself, and the fact that he's hurt or dead, are our two first points to consider," spoke Dick quickly. "If he's hurt we are bound to bring him help. If he's dead, we'll have to notify---some one."
"I'd like to go back there and have a look at him," quoth Tom, "but the biggest explosion of all may come out of that cottage at any moment now."
"Yet the facts are that another explosion hasn't come, and that the man ought to have help, as a matter of common decency," Dick urged.
"I'll run to the nearest house where people are living," suggested Tom, pulling off his jacket and making ready for a run.
"What are you going to tell the folks?" Prescott queried. "That the poor fellow is living or dead? I'm going back to find out which."
"We'll all go," offered Dave.
"But what happened to Rip and his mean crew?" asked Hazelton.
"We haven't seen any signs that they were in the cottage at all," Dick responded. "If they were, as none of them came out, they must be badly hurt---perhaps worse."
As a matter of fact, Ripley and his party had not gone into the cottage, but had continued directly towards their homes.
That grisly thought gave all the boys a shudder as they plodded up the slope, between the bushes and thence stepped into the clearing.
"Talk about dreaming!" muttered Dick, halting abruptly and staring hard at the ground around the cottage.
In the first place, the cottage door was closed. There was no smoke now coming out of the chimney, and all looked peaceful and deserted, save for the presence of the Grammar School intruders. There was no injured man lying on the ground.
"Crackey!" gasped Greg. "Yet we didn't all dream together, did we?"
"Certainly not," muttered Dick, again starting forward. The others followed him.
"This is where we saw the man fall, isn't it?" asked Dick.
"Yes," nodded Greg.
"But there was blood on the ground then," urged Dave. "I don't see any now."
"It must have been goblin blood, then," laughed Tom rather unsteadily, for this mystery began to look unearthly.
"Hold on," hinted Dick. "Doesn't it look as though fresh earth had been sprinkled here?"
"Of course it does," nodded Harry. "And the earth has soaked up the blood."
"I don't see any soaked-up blood," objected Greg.
"No; because it's so well covered and soaked up," argued Hazelton. "But wait until I find a stick, and we'll stir up that dirt. Then we'll find the red stuff mixed to a sort of mud, and-----"
"Come along out of this, you ghoul!" uttered Tom almost wrathfully, as he seized his friend by the arm.
"We'll go to the door," Dick suggested. "Perhaps we can get inside. At any rate, we can find out whether there is any one inside who wants help."
Dick put his hand on the doorknob, giving it a turn and a hard push.
"Door's locked tightly now," he announced.
"And it takes human hands to lock a door," Reade observed sagely.
"Is there anyone inside who needs any help?" Prescott called loudly.
All was silent inside. Then Dick played a tattoo on the locked door with his fists. Still no sound from inside.
"All together, now," urged Dick. "Any---one---want---help?" bawled six lusty young voices in unison.
"There is only one voice that answers," continued Dick, after a pause, as he turned to the others. "That's the silent voice of good sense."
"What does it say, then," challenged Dave.
"That we've done about all we can do here," Dick replied. "All we know is that a man seemed to have been hurt here. If he was, he was able to take himself away, and to conceal the signs of his hurt before going. Therefore we've no further excuse for meddling around here that I can see."
"Let's get along then," Tom urged. "And---whew! It's after half past six!"
"You'd better run, then," jeered Dave. "Your stomach won't allow any more fooling!"
"Now, what ought I to say to a crank like Darry?" demanded Reade, turning to Prescott.
"You'd better overwhelm him, by saying what the man on the clubhouse steps said," urged Dick.
"And what was that?" asked Tom eagerly.
"We-ell," hesitated Dick, "I believe that's still a secret."
The Grammar School boys were now walking rapidly through the woods, but at mention of the clubhouse topic all had gathered close to their young leader.
"Aren't you going to tell us now?" demanded Greg.
"I'm afraid not right away," responded Prescott slowly.
"See here, Dickins," growled Dave Darrin, "for months you've been stringing us about what the man on the clubhouse steps said. Time and again you've sprung that on us, and you've never given us the slightest satisfaction. Now, you'd either better tell us, or shut up about the man on the clubhouse steps."
"All right," sighed Dick. "I'll-----"
"Well?" insisted five boys in the same breath.
"I reckon I'll shut up," Dick rejoined.
"Say, somebody ought to hit Dickins!" grunted Reade.
"That's right," grinned Dan. "Well---let Tom do it."
Dick continued to smile mysteriously. He enjoyed this good-natured teasing of his chums.
"What are we going to tell folks about what we saw at the cottage?" queried Dan after another five minutes of trudging.
"If we tell anything at all," suggested Prescott, "I'll tell you how we can win a prize."
"How?" demanded Tom innocently. "By telling the truth," Dick smiled. Soon after the Grammar School boys came out on the road.
"See that group 'way ahead there?" asked Tom, pointing down the road.
"Yes," nodded Dick. "That's Rip's crowd, so we know they didn't get hurt."
"Then the only one who did get hurt," Tom added, "was the man who was very soon able to take mighty good care of himself."
"So we don't need to bother about the matter any more," Greg hinted. "And, gracious! I hope mother has saved some supper for me."
"It'll be a cold hand-out for me," groaned Hazelton.
The Grammar School boys were soon on Main Street now. They hurried along, as they had not yet come to the point of parting.
"Look at that crowd down the street," called Dave. "There's some excitement in the wind."
"I'm not nosey," observed Tom.
"No," scoffed Darrin; "you're too hungry."
"I'm going to see what the excitement is about, anyway," muttered Hazelton, starting forward off a run.
One by one the other boys yielded to curiosity and started at a jog-trot for the corner where the crowd was gathered.
"No; the poor fellow isn't crazy in the ordinary sense of the word," Dick heard a tall man, finely dressed in black, say to some of the bystanders. "He's harmless enough, and his mind isn't permanently astray, if only he can have prompt and good care. But he's inclined to get away by himself and ponder over his inventions. If he leads a too solitary life long enough he may be past the possibility of a cure one of these days. That is why Colonel Garwood is so anxious to find his son, and offers such a handsome reward for information."
"Some one missing?" asked Dick in a low voice.
"Yes," nodded a man in the crowd. "A crazy inventor is lost, or he's loose, at any rate, and his old father is trying to find him. There is a reward of twenty-five hundred dollars for the lucky fellow who finds this inventor with the monkey wrenches in his brain."
"What does the man look like?" asked Dick.
The tall man in black overheard the question and wheeled quickly.
"Amos Garwood is the missing man," said the tall man. "He is forty-seven years of age, about five feet eight in height, slightly stooped, very pallid and with cheeks slightly sunken. When last seen Amos Garwood was rather poorly dressed. He has just escaped from a sanitarium, and the only person who has seen him since reports that he looked 'hunted' and anxious, and that his cheeks were considerably sunken. Garwood has dark hair, slightly gray at the temples. He probably weighs about-----"
"Pardon me, sir," Dick interposed. "What kind of beard does the missing man wear?"
"Dick Prescott has found him," laughed one man in the crowd.
"Garwood has no beard at all, save for what there may be for three or four days' lack of shaving," quickly replied the tall man.
"Where is the missing man, Dick?" laughed another man in the crowd.
"Yes; Dick has found him," called another.
"I rather think so," Dick nodded. "At least, I believe our crowd has seen Garwood very lately."
Prescott's evident confidence aroused instant curiosity.
"Where?" demanded a dozen voices quickly.
"I wish you young men wouldn't answer, but just come with me," spoke the tall man quickly. "If your information proves correct, and we find the missing man, the reward will be yours."
Dick turned to nod to his companions, as the tall man in black turned to lead the way. Their guide, after making sure that Prescott was at his side, walked rapidly down the street a few doors, halting before the street door of one of the office buildings.
"Come upstairs and tell Lawyer Ripley whatever you know," requested the tall man.
"I don't believe you'll find him in Sundays," replied Dick.
"We shall to-day," responded their guide confidently. "Mr. Ripley is helping us in this search."
This, then, looked like proof that the Garwood family was well-to-do, for Lawyer Ripley seldom worked for small fees.
Running ahead, the tall man threw open the door of the lawyer's office.
"Mr. Ripley," he called, "here are some boys who think they have seen Amos Garwood. Probably these youngsters are half dreaming, yet they may have some information of value."
"I know these boys," nodded the lawyer, looking up, "and they are dependable. They are good, bright boys. Prescott, come forward and tell me just what you know, or think you know."
"First of all, sir," urged Dick, "let me give the best description I can of the man we've seen."
"A good idea," nodded Mr. Ripley. "Go ahead."
Nor had young Prescott been engaged very long in his task of description before the tall man broke in excitedly:
"That's our man, beyond a question! Where did you see him? When?"
Dick hastily recounted the strange happenings at the supposedly untenanted cottage of the old water-works project.
"We must get there without delay," called the tall man to two other men who, so far, had kept in the background in the lawyer's office, but who had been deeply interested hearers. "One of you boys must go up there with us. How far is it from here?"
"Come through into my rear office," suggested Mr. Ripley, "and I can show you the spot from a window. Come along, Prescott, and tell me if I'm right. Hello! There seems to be some trouble up that way," added Mr. Ripley, as he reached one of the windows at the rear.
"There's a fire up there under the hill," cried Dick Prescott, as he pressed forward to another window. "Mr. Ripley, from the location of the smoke, I should say that the cottage itself is afire!"
"And I believe you're right," agreed the lawyer.
"Poor Amos!" groaned the tall man. "The poor fellow may have set fire to the place to destroy himself! Ripley, I can't wait here, inactive, another second. We must start! Can I get a cab here?"
"I think I can get an automobile for you inside of five minutes," replied the lawyer, hurriedly leading the way to the front office.
"Five minutes?" groaned the stranger. "Why not wait a year?"
"An automobile will save you much more than five minutes' time on the way," returned the lawyer, snatching up his desk telephone. "Central, give me 163-J in a hurry!"
A few minutes later the automobile was at the door. The tall stranger and two other men who had been in the lawyer's office were now on the sidewalk.
"Crowd on all the speed you can, my man," appealed the tall stranger. "If you get into any trouble with the authorities I'll pay all the fines you incur. This is a matter of life and death."
The speaker and his two men crowded into the car.
"You come, too," called the tall one to Dick.
"Is there room for one other boy?" asked Dick.
"Yes; we can squeeze him in."
"Want to come, Dave?" Dick inquired.
Darrin was by his chum's side in an instant.
"Let out the speed!" ordered the tall man. "Prescott will tell you where to go."
Four members of Dick & Co. had been worrying about their suppers, but now not one of them but would have waited indefinitely for a chance to go on that one especial auto trip.
"Greg, tell my folks where I've gone, and why," Dick shouted back.
Then---whizz! The automobile was down the street and around a corner before anyone could say "Jack Robinson!" _