In the Cosmic Club Mr. Algernon Spofford was a figure ofdistinction. Amidst the varied, curious, eccentric, brilliant, andeven slightly unbalanced minds which made the organization unique,his was the only wholly stolid and stupid one. Club traditiondeclared that he had been admitted solely for the beneficent purposeof keeping the more egotistic members in a permanent and pleasingglow of superiority. He was very rich, but otherwise quite harmless.In an access of unappreciated cynicism, Average Jones had once suggestedto him, as a device for his newly acquired coat-of-arms, "Rocks etPraeterea Nihil."
But the "praeterea nihil" was something less than fair to Mr.Spofford, with whom it was not strictly a case of "nothing further"besides his "rocks". Ambition, the vice of great souls, burnedwithin Spofford's pigeon-breast. He longed to distinguishhimself in the line of endeavor of his friend Jones and was prone toproffer suggestions, hints, and even advice, to the greattribulation of the recipient.
Hence it was with misgiving that the Ad-Visor opened the door of hissanctum to Mr. Spofford, on a harsh December noon. But themisgivings were supplanted by pleased surprise when the caller laidin his hand a clipping from a small country town paper, to thiseffect:
RANSOM--Lost lad from Harwick not drowned or harmed. Retained for ransom. Safe and sound to parents for $50,000. Write, Mortimer Morley, General Delivery, N. Y. Post-Office.
"Thought that'd catch you," chuckled Mr. Spofford, in greatself-congratulation. "'Jones'll see into this,' I says to myself.'If he don't, I'll explain.' Somethin' to that, ay?"
Average Jones looked from the advertisement to the vacuous smile ofMr. Algernon Spofford. "Oh, you'll explain, will you?" he saidsoftly. "Well, the thing I'd like to have explained is--come overhere to the window a minute, will you, Algy?"
Mr. Spofford came, and gazed down upon a dispiriting area ofrain-swept street and bedraggled wayfarers.
"See that ten-story office building across the way?" pursued AverageJones. "What would you do if, coming in here at midnight, you wereto see twenty-odd rats ooze out of that building and disperse abouttheir business?"
"I--I'd quit," said the startled promptly.
"That's the obvious solution," retorted "but my question wasn'tintended to elicit a brand of music-hall humor."
Spofford contemplated the building uneasily. "I don't know whatyou're up to, Average," he complained. "Is it a catch?"
"No; it's a test case. What would you do?"
"I'd think it was Billy-be-dashed queer," answered Spofford withprofound conviction.
"You're getting on," said Jones tartly. "And next?"
"Ay? How do I know? What're you devilin' me this way for?"
"You wouldn't call a policeman?"
"No," said Spofford, staring.
"You wouldn't hustle around and 'phone Central?"
"Bosh!"
"Yet if any one told you you hadn't the sense a policeman, you'dresent it."
"Of course, I would!"
"Well, Jimmy McCue, the night special, who patrols past the corner,saw that very thing happen a few nights ago at the SterriterBuilding. Knowing that rats don't go out at midnight for a saunter,two dozen strong, he began to suspect."
"Suspect what?" growled Spofford.
"That there must be some abnormal cause for so abnormal aproceeding. Think, now, Algy."
"I've heard of rats leavin' a sinkin' ship. The building might havebeen sinkin'," suggested the visitor hopefully.
"Is that the best you can do? I'll give you one more try."
"I know," said Spofford. "A cat."
"On my soul," declared Average Jones, gazing at his club-mate withincreased interest, "you're the most remarkable specimen of invertedmentality I've ever encountered. D'you think a cat habituallyrounds up two dozen rats and then chivies 'em out into the streetfor sport? McCue didn't have any cat theory. He figured that whenrats come out of a place that way the place is afire. So he turnedin an alarm and saved a two hundred and fifty thousand dollarbuilding."
"Umph!" grunted Spofford. "Well, what's that got to do with theadvertisement I brought you?"
"Nothing in the world, directly. I'm merely trying to figure out,in my own way, how a mind like yours could see under the surfaceprint into the really interesting peculiarity of this clipping. NowI know that your mind didn't do anything of the sort. Come on, now,Algy, who sent this to you?"
"Cousin of mine up in Harwick. I wish you weren't soBilly-be-dashed sharp, Average. I used to visit in Harwick, so theyasked me to get you interested in Bailey Prentice's case. He's thelost boy."
"You've done it. Now tell me all you know."
Spofford produced a letter which gave the outlines of the case.Bailey Prentice's disappearance it was set forth, was the lesser oftwo simultaneous phenomena which violently jarred the somnolent NewEngland village of Harwick from its wonted calm. The greater wasthe "Harwick meteor." At ten-fifteen on the night of Decembertwelfth, the streets being full of people coming from the movingpicture show, there was a startling concussion from the overhangingclouds and the astounded populace saw a ball of flame plungingearthward, to the northwest of the town, and waxing in intensity asit fell. Darkness succeeded. But, within a minute, a luridradiance rose and spread in the night. The aerial bolt had gonecrashing through an old barn on the Tuxall place, setting it afire.
Bailey Prentice was among the very few who did not go to the fire.Taken in connection with the fact that he was fourteen years old andvery thoroughly a boy, this, in itself, was phenomenal. In theexcitement of the occasion, however, his absence was not noted.But when, on the following morning, the Reverend Peter Prentice,going up to call his son, found the boy's room empty and the beduntouched, the second sensation of the day was launched. BaileyPrentice had, quite simply, vanished.
Some one offered the theory that, playing truant from the housewhile his father was engaged in work below stairs, he bad beenoverwhelmed and perhaps wholly consumed by a detached fragment fromthe fiery visitant. This picturesque suggestion found manysupporters until, on the afternoon of December fourteenth, a coatand waistcoat were found on the seashore a mile north of thevillage. The Reverend Mr. Prentice identified the clothes as hisson's. Searching parties covered the beach for miles, looking forthe body. Preparations were made for the funeral services, when anew and astonishing factor was injected into the situation. Anadvertisement, received by mail from New York, with stamps affixedto the "copy" to pay for its insertion, appeared in the local paper.
"And here's the advertisement," concluded Mr. Algernon Spofford,indicating the slip of paper which he had turned over to AverageJones. "And if you are going up to Harwick and need help there, whyI've got time to spare."
"Thank you, Algy," replied Average Jones gravely. "But I thinkyou'd better stay here in case anything turns up at this end.Suppose," he added with an inspiration, "you trace this MortimerMorley through the general delivery."
"All right," agreed Spofford innocently satisfied with thiswild-goose errand. "Lemme know if anything good turns up."
Average Jones took train for Harwick, and within a few hours wasrubbing his hands over an open fire in the parsonage, whose stiffand cheerless aspect bespoke the lack of a woman's humanizing touchfor the Reverend Mr. Prentice was a widower. Overwrought withanxiety and strain, the clergyman, as soon as he had taken his coat,began a hurried, inconsequential narrative, broke off, tried again,fell into an inextricable confusion of words, and, dropping his headin his hands, cried:
"I can't tell you. It is all a hopeless jumble."
"Come!" said the younger man encouragingly. "Comfort yourself withthe idea that your son is alive, at any rate."
"But how can I be sure, even of that?"
Average Jones glanced at a copy of the advertisement which he held."I think we can take Mr. Morley's word so far."
"Even so; fifty thousand dollars ransom!" said the minister, andstopped with a groan.
"Nonsense!" said Average Jones heartily. "That advertisement countsfor nothing. Professional kidnappers do not select the sons ofimpecunious ministers for their prey. Nor do they give addressesthrough which they may be found. You can dismiss the advertisementas a blind; the second blind, in fact."
"The second?"
"Certainly. The first was the clothing on the shore. It was putthere to create the impression that your son was drowned."
"Yes; we all supposed that he must be."
"By what possible hypothesis a boy should be supposed to take offcoat and waistcoat and wade off-shore into a winter sea is beyond mypoor powers of conjecture," said the other. "No. Somebody 'planted'the clothes there."
"It seems far-fetched to me," said the Reverend Mr. Prenticedoubtfully. "Who would have any motive for doing such a thing?"
"That is what we have to find out. What time did your son go to hisroom the night of his disappearance?"
"Earlier than usual, as I remember. A little before nine o'clock."
"Any special reason for his going up earlier?"
"He wanted to experiment with a new fishing outfit just given himfor his birthday."
"I see. Will you take me to his room?"
They mounted to the boy's quarters, which overlooked the roof of theside porch from a window facing north. The charred ruins of a barnabout, half a mile away were plainly visible through this window.
"The barn which the meteor destroyed," said the Reverend Mr.Prentice, pointing it out.
One glance was all that Average Jones bestowed upon a spot which,for a few days, had been of national interest. His concern wasinside the room. A stand against the wall was littered with bits ofshining mechanism. An unjointed fishing-rod lay on the bed. Nearat hand were a small screw-driver and a knife with a broken blade.
"Were things in this condition when you came to call Bailey in themorning and found him gone?" asked Average Jones.
"Nothing has been touched," said the clergyman in a low voice.
Average Jones straightened up and stretched himself languidly. Hisvoice when he spoke again took on the slow drawl of boredom. Onemight have thought that he had lost all interest in the case but forthe thoughtful pucker of the broad forehead which belied his haltingaccents.
"Then--er--when Bailey left here he hadn't any idea of--er--runningaway."
"I don't follow you, Mr. Jones."
"Psychology," said Average Jones. "Elementary psychology. Here'syour son's new reel. A normal boy doesn't abandon a brand-new fadwhen he runs away. It isn't in boy nature. No, he was taking thisreel apart to study it when some unexpected occurrence checked himand drew him outside."
"The meteor."
"I made some inquiries in the village on my way, up. None of thehundreds of people who turned out for the fire, remembers seeingBailey about."
"That is true."
"The meteor fell at ten-fifteen. Bailey went upstairs before nine.Allow half an hour for taking apart the reel. I don't believe he'dhave been longer at it. So, it's probable that he was out of thehouse before the meteor fell."
"I should have heard him go out of the front door."
"That is, perhaps, why he went out of the window," observed AverageJones, indicating certain marks on the sill. Swinging his feetover, he stepped upon the roof of the porch, and peered at theground below.
"And down the lightning rod," he added.
For a moment he stood meditating. "The ground is now frozen hard,"he said presently. "Bailey's footprints where he landed are deeplymarked. Therefore the soil must have been pretty soft at the time."
"Very," agreed the clergyman. "There had been a three-day downpour,up to the evening of Bailey's disappearance. About nine o'clock thewind shift to the northeast, and everything froze hard. There hasbeen no thaw since."
"You seem very clear on these points, Mr. Prentice."
"I noted them specially, having in mind to write a paper on themeteorite for the Congregationalist."
"Ah! Perhaps you could tell me, then, how soon after the meteor'sfall, the barn yonder was discovered to be afire?"
"Almost instantly. It was in full blaze within very short timeafter."
"How short? Five minutes or so?"
"Not so much. Certainly not more than two."
"H'm! Peculiar! Ra-a-a-ather peculiar." drawled Average Jones."Particularly in view of the weather."
"In what respect?"
"In respect to a barn, water-soaked by a three-day rain burstinginto flame like tinder."
"It had not occurred to me. But the friction and heat of themeteorite must have been extremely great."
"And extremely momentary except as to the lower floor, and the fireshould have taken some time to spread from that. However, to turnto other matters--" He swung himself over the edge of the roof andwent briskly down the lightning rod. Across the frozen ground hemoved, with his eyes on the soil, and presently called up to his,host:
"At any rate, he started across lots in the direction of the barn.Will you come down and let me in?"
Back in the study, Average Jones sat meditating a few moments.Presently he asked:
"Did you go to the spot where your son's clothes were found?"
"Yes. Some time after."
"Where was it?"
"On the seashore, some half a mile to the east of the Tuxall place,and a little beyond."
"Is there a roadway from the Tuxall place to the spot?"
"No; I believe not. But one could go across the fields and throughthe barn to the old deserted roadway."
"Ah. There's an old roadway, is there?"
"Yes. It skirts the shore to join Boston Pike about three milesup."
"And how far from this roadway were your son's clothes found?"
"Just a few feet."
"H'm. Any tracks in the roadway?"
"Yes. I recall seeing some buggy tracks and being surprised,because no one ever drives that way."
"Then it is conceivable that your son's clothes might have beentossed from a passing vehicle, to the spot where they werediscovered."
"Conceivable, certainly. But I can see no grounds for such aconjecture."
"How far down the road, in this direction, did tracks run?"
"Not beyond the fence-bar opening from the Tuxall field, if that iswhat you mean."
"It is, exactly. Do you know this Tuxall?"
"Hardly at all. He is a recent comer among us."
"Well, I shall probably want to make his acquaintance, later."
"Have a care, then. He is very jealous of his precious meteor, andguards the ruins of the barn, where it lies, with a shot gun."
"Indeed? He promises to be an interesting study. Meantime, I'dlike to look at your son's clothes."
From a closet Mr. Prentice brought out a coat and waistcoat of the"pepper-and-salt" pattern which is sold by the hundreds of thousandsthe whole country over. These the visitor examined carefully. Thecoat was caked with mud, particularly thick on one shoulder. Hecalled the minister's attention to it.
"That would be from lying wet on the shore," said the Reverend Mr.Prentice.
"Not at all. This is mud, not sand. And it's ground or pressed in.Has any one tampered with these since they were found?"
"I went through the pockets."
Average Jones frowned. "Find anything?"
"Nothing of importance. A handkerchief, some odds and ends ofstring--oh, and a paper with some gibberish on it."
"What was the nature of this gibberish?"
"Why it might have been some sort of boyish secret code, though itwas hardly decipherable enough to judge from. I remember someflamboyant adjectives referring to something three feet high. Ithrew the paper into the waste-basket."
Turning that receptacle out on the table, Average Jones discoveredin the debris a sheet of cheap, ruled paper, covered with penciledwords in print characters. Most of these had been crossed out infavor of other words or sentences, which in turn had been"scratched." Evidently the writer had been toilfully experimentingtoward some elegance or emphasis of expression, which persistentlyeluded him. Amidst the wreck and ruin of rhetoric, however, onephrase stood out clear:
"Stupendous scientific sensation."
Below this was a huddle and smudge of words, from which adjectivesdarted out like dim flame amidst smoke. "Gigantic" showed in itsentity followed by an unintelligible erasure. At the end this linewas the legend "3 Feet High." "Verita Visitor," appeared below, andbeyond it, what seemed to be the word "Void." And near the foot ofthe sheet the student of all this chaos could make faintly butunmistakably, "Marvelous Man-l--" the rest of the word being cut offby a broad black smear. "Monster 3 Feet." The remainder was whollyundecipherable.
Average Jones looked up from this curio, and there was a strangeexpression in the eyes which met the minister's.
"You--er--threw this in the--er--waste-basket." he drawled. "Inwhich pocket was it?"
"The waistcoat. An upper one, I believe. There was a pencil there,too."
"Have you an old pair of shoes of Bailey's," asked the visitorabruptly.
"Why, I suppose so. In the attic somewhere."
"Please bring them to me."
The Reverend Mr. Prentice left the room. No sooner had the doorclosed after him than Average Jones jumped out of his chair strippedto his shirt, caught up the pepper-and-salt waistcoat, tried it onand buttoned it across his chest without difficulty; then thrust hisarm into the coat which went with it, and wormed his way,effortfully, partly into that. He laid it aside only when he haddetermined that he could get it no farther on. He was clothed andin his right garments when the Reverend Mr. Prentice returned with amuch-worn pair of shoes.
"Will these do?" he asked.
Average Jones hardly gave them the courtesy of a glance. "Yes," hesaid indifferently, and set them aside. "Have you a time-tablehere?"
"You're going to leave?" cried the clergyman, in sharpdisappointment.
"In just half an hour," replied the visitor, holding his finger onthe time-table.
"But," cried Mr. Prentice, "that is the train back to New York."
"Exactly."
"And you're not going to see Tuxall?"
"No."
"Nor to examine the place where the clothes were found?"
"Haven't time."
"Mr. Jones, are you giving up the attempt to discover what became ofmy boy?"
"I know what became of him."
The minister put out a hand and grasped the back of a chair forsupport. His lips parted. No sound came from them. Average Jonescarefully folded the paper of "gibberish" and tucked it away in hiscard case.
"Bailey has been carried away by two people in a buggy. They werestrangers to the town. He was injured and unconscious. They stillhave him. Incidentally, he has seriously interfered with a daringand highly ingenious enterprise. That is all I can tell you atpresent."
The clergyman found his voice. "In heaven, Mr. Jones," he cried,"tell me who and what these people are."
"I don't know who they are. I do know what they are. But it can dono good to tell you the one until I can find out the other. Be sureof one thing, Bailey is in no further danger. You'll hear from meas soon as I have anything definite to report."
With that the Reverend Mr. Prentice had to be content; that and afew days later, a sheet of letter-paper bearing the business imprintof the Ad-Visor, and enclosing this advertisement:
WANTED--3 Ft. type for sensational Bill Work. Show samples. Delivery in two weeks. A. Jones, Ad-Visor, Court Temple, N. Y. City.
Had the Reverend Mr. Prentice been a reader of journals devoted tothe art and practice of printing he might have observed that messagewidely scattered to the trade. It was answered by a number ofprinting shops. But, as the answers came in to Average Jones, heput them aside, because none of the seekers for business was able to"show samples." Finally there came a letter from Hoke and Hollinsof Rose Street. They would like Mr. Jones to call and inspect somespecial type upon which they were then at work. Mr. Jones called.The junior member received him.
"Quite providential, Mr. Jones," he said. "We're turning out somesingle-letter, hand-made type of just the size you want. Only partof the alphabet, however. Isn't that a fine piece of lettering!"
He held up an enormous M to the admiration of his visitor.
"Excellent!" approved Average Jones. "I'd like to see otherletters; A, for example."
Mr. Hollins produced a symmetrical A.
"And now, an R, if you please; and perhaps a V."
Mr. Hollis looked at his visitor with suspicion. "You appear to beselecting the very letters which I have," he remarked.
"Those which--er--would make up the--er--legend, 'MarvelousMan-Like Monster," drawled Average Jones.
"Then you know the Farleys,"' said the print man.
"The Flying Farleys?" said Average Jones. "They used to doascensions with firework trimmings, didn't they? No; I don'texactly know them. But I'd like to."
"That's another matter," retorted Mr. Hollins, annoyed at havingbetrayed himself. "This type is decidedly a private--even asecret-order. I had no right to say anything about it or thecustomers who ordered it."
"Still, you could see that a letter left here for them reached them,I suppose."
After some hesitation, the other agreed. Average Jones sat down tothe composition of an epistle, which should be sufficientlyimperative without being too alarming. Having completed thisdelicate task to his satisfaction he handed the result to Hollins.
"If you haven't already struck off a line, you might do so," hesuggested. "I've asked the Farleys for a print of it; and I fancythey'll be sending for one."
Leaving the shop he went direct to a telegraph office, whence he dispatchedtwo messages to Harwick. One was to the Reverend Peter Prentice,the other was to the local chief of police. On the followingafternoon Mr. Prentice trembling in the anteroom of the Ad-Visor's.With the briefest word of greeting Average Jones led him into hisprivate office, where a clear-eyed boy, with his head swathed inbandages sat waiting. As the Ad-Visor closed the door after him, heheard the breathless, boyish "Hello, father," merged in the brokencry of the Reverend Peter Prentice.
Five minutes he gave father and son. When he returned to the room,carrying a loose roll of reddish paper, he was followed by a strangecouple. The woman was plumply muscular. Her attractive face wasboth defiant and uneasy. Behind her strode a wiry man of forty.His chief claim to notice lay in an outrageously fancy waistcoat,which was ill-matched with his sober, commonplace, "pepper-and-salt"suit.
"Mr. and Mrs. Farley, the Reverend Mr. Prentice," said Average Jonesin introduction.
"The strangers in the wagon?" asked the clergyman quickly.
"The same," admitted the woman briefly.
The Reverend Mr. Prentice turned upon Farley. "Why did you want tosteal my boy away?" he demanded.
"Didn't want to. Had to," replied that gentleman succinctly.
"Let's do this in order," suggested Average Jones. "The principalactor's story first. Speak up, Bailey."
"Don't know my own story," said the boy with a grin. "Only part ofit. Mrs. Farley's been awful good to me, takin' care of me an' allthat. But she wouldn't tell me how I got hurt or where I was when Iwoke up."
"Naturally. Well, we must piece it out among us. Now, Bailey, youwere working over your reel the night the meteor fell, when--"
"What meteor? I don't know anything about a meteor."
"Of course you don't," said Average Jones laughing. "Stupid of me.For the moment I had forgotten that you were out of the world then.Well, about nine o'clock of the night you got the reel, you lookedout of your window and saw a queer light over at the Tuxall place."
"That's right. But say, Mr. Jones, how do you know about thelight?"
"What else but a light could you have seen, on a pitch-black night?"counter-questioned Average Jones with a smile. "And it must havebeen something unusual, or you wouldn't have dropped everything togo to it."
"That's what!" corroborated the boy. "A kind of flame shot up fromthe ground. Then it spread a little. Then it went out. And therewere people running around it."
"Ah! Some one must have got careless with the oil," observedAverage Jones.
"That fool Tuxall!" broke in Farley with an oath. "It was himgummed the whole game."
"Mr. Tuxall, I regret to say," remarked Average Jones, "has left forparts unknown, so the Harwick authorities inform me, probablyforeseeing a charge of arson."
"Arson?" repeated the Reverend Mr. Prentice in astonishment.
"Of course. Only oil and matches could have made a barn flare up,after a three-days' rain, as his did. Now, Bailey, to continue.You ran across the fields to the Tuxall place and went around--letme see; the wind had shifted to the northeast--yes; to the northeastof the barn and quite a distance away. There you saw a man at workin his shirt."
"Well-I'll-be-jiggered!" said the boy in measured tones. "Wherewere you hiding, Mr. Jones?"
"Not behind the tree there, anyway," returned the Ad-Visor with achuckle. "There is a tree there, I suppose?"
"Yes; and there was something alive tied up in it with a rope."
"Well, not exactly alive," returned Average Jones, "though themistake is a natural one."
"I tell you, I know," persisted Bailey. "While Mr. and Mrs. Farleywere workin' over some kind of a box, I shinned up the tree."
"Bold young adventurer! And what did you find?"
"One of the limbs was shakin' and thrashin'. I crawled out on it.I guess it was kind o' crazy me, but I was goin' to find out whatwas what if I broke my neck. There was a rope tied to it, and somebig thing up above pullin' and jerkin' at it, tryin' to get away.Pretty soon, Mr. and Mrs. Farley came almost under me. He says: 'IsTuxall all ready?' and she says: 'He thinks we ought to wait half anhour. The street'll be full of folks then. Then he says: 'Well, Ihate to risk it, but maybe it's better.' just then, the rope gave atwist and came swingin' over on me, and knocked me right off thelimb. I gave a yell and then I landed. Next I knew I was in bed.And that's all."
"Now I'll take up the wondrous tale," said Average Jones. "TheFarleys, naturally discomfited by Bailey's abrupt and informalarrival, were in a quandary. Here was an inert boy on their hands.He might be dead, which would be bad. Or, he might be alive, whichwould be worse, if they left him."
"How so?" asked the Reverend Mr. Prentice.
"Why, you see," explained Average Jones, "they couldn't tell howmuch he might have seen and heard before he made his hasty descent.He might have enough information to spoil their whole careful andelaborate plan."
"But what in the world was their plan?" demanded the minister.
"That comes later. They took off Bailey's coat and waistcoat,perhaps to see if his back was broken (Farley nodded), and findinghim alive, tossed his clothes into the buggy, where Farley had lefthis own, and completed their necessary work. Of course, there wasdanger that Bailey might come to at any moment and ruin everything.So they worked at top speed, and left the final performance toTuxall. In their excitement they forgot to find out from theiraccomplice who Bailey was. Consequently, they found themselvespresently driving across country with an unknown and undesired whiteelephant of a boy on their hands. One of them conceived the idea oftossing his clothes upon the sea-beach to establish a false clue ofdrowning, until they could decide what was to be done with him. Incarrying this out they made the mistake which lighted up the wholetrail."
"Well, I don't see it at all," said Farley glumly. "How did youever get to us?"
Average Jones mildly contemplated the mathematical center of hisquestioner.
"New waistcoat?" he asked.
Farley glanced down at the outrageous pattern with pride.
"Yep. Got it last week."
"Lost the one that came with the pepper-and-salt suit you'rewearing?"
"Damn!" exploded Farley in sudden enlightenment.
"Just so. Your waistcoat got mixed with the boy's clothes, whichare of the same common pattern, and was tossed out on the beach withhis coat."
"Well, I didn't leave a card in it, did I?" retorted the other.
"Something just as good."
"The ad, Tim!" cried the woman. "Don't you remember, you couldn'tfind the rough draft you made while we were waiting?"
"That's right, too," he said. "It was in that vest-pocket. But itdidn't have no name on it."
"Then, that," put in the Reverend Peter Prentice, "was the scrawlednonsense--"
"Which you--er--threw into the waste-basket," drawled Average Joneswith a smile.
"Those were not Bailey's clothes at all?"
"The coat was his; not the waistcoat. His waistcoat may have fallenout of the buggy, or it may be there yet."
"But what does all this talk of people at work in the dark, andarson, and a mysterious creature tied in a tree lead to?"
"It leads," said Average Jones, "to a very large rock, muchscorched, and with a peculiar carving on it, which now lies imbeddedin the earth beneath Tuxall's barn."
"If you've seen that," said Farley, "it's all up."
"I haven't seen it. I've inferred it. But it's all up,nevertheless."
"Serves us right," said the woman disgustedly. "I wish we'd neverheard of Tuxall and his line of bunk."
"Mystification upon mystification!" cried the clergyman. "Will someone please give a clue to the maze?"
"In a word," said Average Jones. "The Harwick meteor."
"What connection--"
"Pardon me, one moment. The 'live thing' in the tree was a captiveballoon. The box on the ground was a battery. The wire from thebattery was connected with a firework bomb, which, when Tuxallpressed the switch, exploded, releasing a flaming 'dropper.' Aboutthe time the 'dropper' reached the earth Tuxall lighted up hiswell-oiled barn. All Harwick, having had its attention attracted bythe explosion, and seen the portent with its own eyes, believed thata huge meteor had fired the building. So Tuxall and Company had awell attested wonder from the heavens. That's the little plan whichBailey's presence threatened to wreck. Is it your opinion that thestars are inhabited, Prentice?"
"What!" cried the minister, gaping.
"Stars--inhabited--living, sentient creatures."
"How should I know!"
"You'd be interested to know, though, wouldn't you?"
"Why, certainly. Any one would."
"Exactly the point. Any one would, and almost any one would paymoney to see, with his own eye the attested evidence of human, orapproximately human, life in other spheres. It was a big stake thatTuxall, Farley and Company were playing for. Do you begin to seethe meaning of the big print now?"
"I've heard nothing about big prints," said the puzzled clergyman.
"Pardon me, you've heard but you haven't understood. However, to goon, Tuxall and our friends here fixed up a plan on the prospects ofa rich harvest from public curiosity and credulity. Tuxall planteda big rock under the barn, fixed it up appropriately with torch andchisel and sent for the Farleys, who are expert firework and balloonpeople, to counterfeit a meteor."
"Amazing!" cried the clergyman.
"Such a meteor, furthermore, as had never been dreamed of before. Ifyou were to visit Tuxall's barn, you would undoubtedly find on theboulder underneath it a carving resembling a human form, a hoax moreambitious than the Cardiff Giant. He carted the rock in from somequarry and did the scorching and carving himself, I suppose."
"And you discovered all that in a half-day's visit to Harwick?"asked the Reverend Mr. Prentice incredulously.
"No, but in half-minute's reading of the 'gibberish' which you threwaway."
Taking from the desk the reddish roll which he had brought into theroom with him, he sent the loose end of it wheeling across thefloor, until it lay, fully outspread. In black letters against red,the legend glared and blared its announcement:
MARVELOUS MAN-LIKE MONSTER!
"Those letters, Mr. Prentice," pursued the Ad-Visor, "measure justthree feet from top to bottom. The phrase 'three feet high' whichso puzzled you, as combined with the adjectives of great size, wasobviously a printer's direction. All through the smudged 'copy,'which you threw away, there run alliterative lines, 'StupendousScientific Sensation,' 'Veritable Visitor Void' and finally'Marvelous Man-l--Monster.' Only one trade is irretrievablycommitted to and indubitably hall-marked by alliteration, the circustrade. You'll recall that Farley insensibly fell into the habiteven in his advertisement; 'lost lad,' 'retained for ransom' and'Mortimer Morley.' Therefore I had the combination circus poster,an alleged meteor which burned a barn in a highly suspicious manner,and an apparently purposeless kidnapping. The inference was assimple as it was certain. The two strangers with Tuxall's aid, hadprepared the fake meteor with a view to exploiting the star-man.Bailey had literally tumbled into the plot. They didn't know howmuch he had seen. The whole affair hinged on his being kept quiet.So they took him along. All that I had to do, then, was to find thedeviser of the three-foot poster. He was sure to be Bailey'sabductor."
"Say," said Farley with conviction, "I believe you're the devil'sfirst cousin."
"When you left me in Harwick," said the Reverend Peter Prentice,before Average Jones could acknowledge this flattering surmise, "yousaid that strangers had done the kidnapping. How did you tell they werestrangers then?"
"From the fact that they didn't know who Bailey was, and had toadvertise him, indefinitely, as 'lost lad from Harwick.'"
"And that there were two of them?" pursued the minister.
"I surmised two minds: one that schemed out the 'planting' of theclothes on the shore; the other, more compassionate, thatpromulgated the advertisement."
"Finally, then, how could you know that Bailey was injured andunconscious?"
"If he hadn't been unconscious then and for long after, he'd haverevealed his identity to his captors, wouldn't he?" explained theAd-Visor.
There was a long pause. Then the woman said timidly:
"Well, and now what?"
"Nothing," answered Average Jones. "Tuxall has got away. Mr.Prentice has recovered his son. You and Farley have had yourlesson. And I--"
"Yes, and you, Mr. Detective-man," said the woman, as he paused."What do you get out of it?"
Average Jones cast an affectionate glance at the sprawling legendwhich disfigured his floor.
"A unique curio in my own special line," he replied. "An ad whichnever has been published and never will be. That's enough for me."
There was a double knock at the door, and Mr. Algernon Spoffordburst in, wearing a face of gloom.
"Say, Average," he began, but broke off with a snort of amazement."You've found him!" cried. "Hello, Mr. Prentice. Well, Bailey,alive and kicking, eh?"
"Yes; I've found him and them," replied Average Jones.
"You've done better than me, then. I've been through the post-officedepartment from the information window here to the postmaster-generalin Washington, and nobody'll help me find Mortimer Morley."
"Then let me introduce him; Algy, this is Mortimer Morley; in lessprivate life Mr. Tim Farley, and his wife, Mrs. Farley, Mr.Spofford."
"Well, I'll be Billy-be-dashed," exploded Mr. Spofford. "How didyou work it out, Average?"
"On the previously enunciated principle," returned Average Joneswith a smile, "that when rats leave a sinking ship or a burningbuilding there's usually something behind, worth investigating."