Part 22 (1/2)

”I SEEN IT--A SUBMARINE!”

When Johnny realized that it was Jerry the Rat who was whispering at the keyhole he admitted him at once.

”I seen it! I seen it; a submarine! A German submarine in the river!”

the Rat whispered excitedly. ”I seen dose blokes wid me own eyes. Dey wuz packin' a skirt thru de hatch. Den dey dropped in too. Den dey let down the hatch, an' swush-swuey, down she went, an' all dey left was a splash in de ol' Chicago!”

”A submarine!” Johnny exclaimed. ”That doesn't sound possible; not a German submarine surely!”

”The same,” insisted Jerry. ”Some old tub. Saw her over by the Munic.i.p.al Pier, er one like her. Some old fis.h.!.+”

Johnny sat in silent thought. Hanada was gazing out of the window.

Suddenly the j.a.p exclaimed in surprise:

”Did you see that? There it goes again! Lights flas.h.i.+ng beneath the water. It's the 'sub' for sure. Couldn't be anything else.”

”I have seen such lights before,” said Johnny, striving hard to maintain a sane judgment in this time of great crisis, ”but I attributed it to phosphorus on the water.”

”Couldn't be!” declared Hanada. ”Couldn't make a flicker and flash like that. I tell you, it's a submarine, and the home of the Radicals. That's why we couldn't find them. That's where our Russian disappeared to that night on the bridge. That's where the shots came from. Remember right from the center of the river? That's where your four a.s.sailants went to when they vanished from that deserted building. It's the Radicals.

C'mon! We may not be too late yet. We'll get them before the police get us.”

Together the three rushed from the room.

”Did you say they were carrying a woman?” Johnny asked Jerry, as they hastened down the stairs.

”Yes, a skirt; a swell-looking skirt. Mouth gagged, hands tied, but dressed to kill, opry coat and everything!”

”Some more of their dirty work,” Johnny grumbled, ”but we'll get them this time. If we can convince the police that they're there they'll drag the river and haul 'em out like a dead rat.”

At the moment when the three men were hurrying down the stairs which led from Johnny's room to the street, Mazie sat silently searching the faces of the men about her. Wild questions raced through her brain. Who were these men? Why had they kidnapped her? What did they want? What would they do to her? She s.h.i.+vered a little at the last question.

That they were criminals she had not the least doubt. Only criminals could do such a thing. But what type of criminal were they? In her research courses at the University she had visited court rooms, jails and reformatories. Criminals were not new to her. But these men lacked utterly the markings of the average city criminal. Their eyes lacked the keen alertness, their fingers the slim tapering points of the professional crook. Suddenly, as she pondered, there came to her mind a paragraph from one of her text-books on crime:

”There are two types of law-breakers. The one believes that the hand of organized society is lifted against him; the other that he is bound to lift his hand against organized society. The first cla.s.s are the common crooks of the street, and are ofttimes more to be pitied than blamed, for after all, environment has been a great factor in their undoing. The second group are those men who are opposed to all forms of organized society. They are commonly known as Radicals. There is little to be said in their favor. Reared, more often than not, in the lap of a society organized for the welfare of all, they turn ungratefully against the mother who nurtured and protected them.”

As she recalled this, Mazie realized that this group must be a band of Radicals. Radicals? And one of them had promised to take her to her friend, Johnny Thompson. Could it be that in Russia, that hotbed of radicalism, Johnny had had his head turned and was at that moment a member of this band? It did not seem possible. She would not for a moment believe it.

She was soon to see, for a man of distinctly Russian type, a short man with broad shoulders, sharp chin and frowning brow, approached her, and in a suave manner began to speak to her.

”You have nothing to fear from us, Miss,” he began. ”We are gentlemen of the finest type. No harm will come to you during your brief stay with us; and I trust it may be very brief.”

Mazie heaved a sigh of relief. Perhaps there was going to be nothing so very terrible about the affair after all.

”We only ask a little service of you,” the Russian continued as he let down a swinging table from the wall, and drawing a chair to it, motioned her to be seated. He next placed pen, ink and paper on the table.

”You cannot know,” he said with a smile, ”that your friend, Johnny Thompson, has been causing me a very great deal of trouble of late.”

Mazie felt a great desire to shout on hearing this, for it told her plainly that Johnny was no friend of this crowd.

”No, of course you could not know,” the man went on, ”since you have not seen him. I may say frankly that your friend is clever, and has a way, quite a way, of using his hands.”