George A. Warren - The Banner Boy Scouts Mystery

Ken entered the yard while Paul walked off straight ahead. Turning in at the end of the street, he set off at a run around the block.

Returning to the same street at the other end, he hovered close to the wall of a building and looked everywhere to detect the hiding place of the spy. Suddenly he caught his breath. He detected a slight movement behind a fence at the other side of the street, several houses below. He crossed to the other side and walked ahead. Sure enough, a man stepped out and came toward him. As they met, Paul greeted, “Hello, Captain Bob.”

The man grunted and was going to pass on, but Paul instantly got into his way. The man stopped, “Huh?” he muttered. “Did you speak to me?”

“I said hello, Captain Bob.”

“Hello yourself. Now let me see, your face seems to be familiar, but I can’t seem to remember your name.”

“Paul Morrison.”

“Oh, yes, yes. You are the boy who dashed into the burning house and—”

Paul interrupted. “Yes, that’s right; you know me.” What a poor actor the man was, Paul thought. He certainly couldn’t get away with pretending that he didn’t know him. His heart pounded and perspiration gathered on his brow. He was debating with himself what his approach should be. Would it be best merely to imply that Captain Bob’s spying was a known fact to them or should he put it frankly to the old man and see what he would say. Paul steeled himself. Very suddenly, trying to take the man off his guard, he said, “Captain Bob, I am very much surprised that you should be following us.”

The old man straightened up. “What was that you said? Following you? What for? Why should I be following you, tell me that.”

“That is something you should tell me,” he replied respectfully. “But you spied on us this morning on Water Street and then followed us as far as Chestnut Street. And just now you were following us again.”

It was really too dark to tell, but Paul felt that the old man had turned red and became confused. “My dear boy,” he mumbled angrily, “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You shouldn’t say that, Captain Bob. If I wasn’t positive, I wouldn’t accost you like this.”

After a moment of tense silence, the captain laughed. “Well, my boy,” he said, “you are right, but I promise not to do it any more.”

“Thank you. But if you don’t mind, I wish you would tell me why you are following us.”

Captain Bob replied gravely, “You see, my boy, there have been too many fires in this town lately. And when you and your friends came and talked to me about the fire the other day, I became a little suspicious. I tried to,—er,—get as much information out of you as I could, but somehow I felt that you were not telling me everything. So I thought I would check up on you.”

A feeling of relief swept over Paul. He wanted to jump into the air and shout for joy. Even though he was a modest boy, he had to pat himself on the back; thus far, all his suspicions and deductions had been correct. He would certainly make a good detective. The captain was waiting for him to say something and he commented, “But we really don’t know any more than we told you, Captain Bob. If there is anything the boys and I can do to help you, such as help check up on your suspicions—that is if you have any—we would be glad to do so.”

The old man chuckled. “You are a smart one, my boy. I know that you have something up your sleeve. But never mind.”

Paul felt his face going red. He must not give anything away, he thought. Out loud, he said, “But really, Captain, we don’t. We don’t know as much as you do, if as much.”

“Well, never mind. And,—er,—forget about my following you. I meant no harm.”

“I’m sure of that,” replied the boy. “And it is perfectly all right.”

“Good night, my boy.”

“Good night, Captain Bob.”

Paul watched the man disappear around the corner. And just as he started to cross the street, two figures darted out toward him, “Well?” cried Ken.

Paul put a finger to his lips. “Sh!” he cautioned.

The boys retreated to Jack’s garage where Paul told his companions the story. Just as soon as the narrative was completed, Ken cried, “The sly old fox! You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he continues to spy on us.”

“That is just what I was going to say,” agreed Paul. “He is a very shrewd man and I am positive that he suspects somehow.”

“You don’t mean to say that he suspects us of setting fire to that house?” inquired Jack seriously.

“No, not setting fire to the house,” answered Paul smiling. “That is ridiculous and we must give him more credit than that. My impression is that he suspects us of knowing something about it which we are holding back from him. And that happens to be true.”

“Providing, of course, that our suspicions are correct,” argued Ken, still a bit doubtful.

“Well, of course, under those conditions.”

“What do you think our next move should be?” questioned Jack.

“Let’s go to the movies,” suggested Ken.

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Jack.

“Why not?” reasoned Paul. “Captain Bob won’t follow us tonight any more—”

“Which makes it safe for us to go to the movies,” joked Ken.

The boys laughed. “Seriously, though,” said Paul, “there is nothing else for us to do tonight. That man was abroad last night, and it is reasonable to assume that he won’t do any more prowling around tonight.”

“I agree with that wholeheartedly,” said Ken. “Let’s go to the movies.”

The following morning, at the breakfast table, Paul happened to glance at the front page of the Stanhope Herald which Dr. Morrison was reading. At the bottom of the page, boxed off, was a story with the headline PROFESSOR LINK’S HOUSE ROBBED. Paul became quite upset and found it difficult to eat his cereal. However, he controlled himself and did not show any untoward interest in the newspaper. His father finished breakfast first, and he laid down the paper and left for his office. Paul gulped down his milk, picked up the paper and went out on the porch.

The story was that someone had broken into Professor Link’s home and had stolen a valuable, early edition of “Colonial History.” Nothing else was taken, except that the thief had strewn many of the books on the floor. The theory was that the thief had entered by an open window in the library.

Ken came dashing across the street and up to the porch. “Hey, Paul!” he cried, “did you read the story in the morning paper?” Paul held up the paper. “So you know already?”

Jack came. “Well, what do you think of the robbery?” he asked bluntly. “I had a feeling we should not have gone to the movies last night.”

“What could we have done?” asked Ken.

“We might have come upon him and possibly frustrated his plan.”

“So!” exclaimed Ken. “You think that ‘he’ did it? Pretty soon you will have every crime under the sun charged up against him.”

“I don’t think we could have done anything,” commented Paul. “The paper says that the robbery occurred any time after about midnight, when the professor says he left his library to go to bed.”

“But we might have come across him sometime before and followed him. Then we might about have judged what he was up to.” Thus argued Jack.

“Maybe yes and maybe no,” was Paul’s pert statement.

“Paul,” demanded Ken, “you don’t mean to tell me that you really believe this man, this so-called maniac, committed the robbery, do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Tell me, how do you figure it out?”