Wilt Thou Torchy | Page 8

sell him no books," says he, leerin' at us.
"Think so?" says I, displayin' a quarter temptin'. "Maybe if we had his
name, though, and knew something about him, we might--"
"It's Bauer," says the janitor, eyein' the two bits longin'. "Herman Z.
Bauer; a big brewer once, but now--yah, an old cripple. Gout, they say.
And mean as he is rich. See that high fence? He built that to shut off
our light--the swine! Bauer, his name is. You ask for Herman Bauer.
Maybe you get in."
"Thanks, old sport," says I, slippin' him the quarter. "Give him your
best regards, shall I?"
And as he goes off chucklin' the Lieutenant whispers hoarse:
"Hah! I knew it. Bauer, eh? And to-night he'll be sitting at one of those
back windows, his ears stuffed with cotton, watching to see your plant
blown up. We must have the constables here right away."
"On what charge?" says I. "That two of the kitchen maids was seen in
their own back yard? You know you can't spring that
safety-of-the-realm stuff over here. The police would only give us the
laugh. We got to have something definite to tell the sergeant. Let's go
after it."
"But I say!" protests Cecil. "Just how, you know?"
"Not by stickin' here, anyway," says I. "Kick in and use your bean, is
my program. Come along and see what happens."
So first off we strolls past and has a look at the place. It's shut in by a
rusty iron fence with high spiked pickets. The house sets well back
from the sidewalk, and the front is nearly covered by some sort of vine.
At the side there are double gates openin' into a grass-grown driveway.
I was just noticin' that they was chained and locked when the
Lieutenant gives me a nudge and pulls me along by the coat sleeve. I

gets a glimpse of the square-built female waddlin' around the corner of
the house. We passes by innocent and hangs up in front of a plumbery
shop, starin' in at a fascinatin' display of one bathtub and a second-hand
hot-water boiler. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I could see her
scout up and down the street, unfasten the gate, and then disappear.
"Huh!" says I. "Kitchen company expected."
"Or more conspirators," adds Cecil. "By Jove! Isn't this one now?"
There's no denyin' he looked the part, this short-legged, long-armed,
heavy-podded gent with the greasy old derby tilted rakish over one ear.
Such a hard face he has, a reg'lar low-brow map, and a neck like a
choppin'-block. His stubby legs are sprung out at the knees, and his
arms have a good deal the same curve.
"Built like a dachshund, ain't he?" I remarks.
"Quite so," says Fothergill. "See, he's stopping. And he has a bundle
under one arm."
"Overalls," says I. "Plumber, maybe."
"Isn't that a knife-handle sticking out of the end of the bundle?" asks
the Lieutenant.
So it was; a butcher knife, at that. He has stopped opposite the double
gates and is scowlin' around. Then he glances quick at the house. A
side shutter opens just then and a dust-cloth is shaken vigorous. Seein'
which, he promptly pushes through the gates.
"Ha!" says the Lieutenant. "A signal. He'll be the one to attach the fuse
and light it, eh?"
Well, I admit that up to that time I hadn't been takin' all this very
serious, discountin' most of Cecil's suspicions as due to an over-worked
imagination. But now I'm beginnin' to feel thrills down my spine.
What if this was a bomb plot? Some sort of bunk was being put over

here--no gettin' away from that. And if one of our shell factories was in
danger of being dynamited, here was my cue to make a medal play,
wa'n't it?
"I am for telephoning the authorities at once," announces Cecil.
"Ah, you don't know our bonehead cops," says I. "Besides, if we can
block the game ourselves, what's the use? Let's get 'em in the act. I'm
going to pipe off our friend with the meat-knife."
"I--I've only a .34-caliber automatic with me," says the Lieutenant,
reachin' into his side pocket.
"Well, you don't want a machine-gun, do you?" says I. "And don't go
shootin' reckless. Here, lemme get on the other side. Close to the house,
now, on the grass, until we can get a peek around the--"
"S-s-s-sh!" says Cecil, grippin' my arm. He was strong on shushin' me
up, the Lieutenant was. This time, though, he had the right dope; for a
few steps more and we got a view of the back porch.
And there are the two maids, hand in hand, watchin' the motions of the
squatty gent, who is unlockin' the summer-house. He disappears inside.