Anderson Crow, Detective Part 34
Stooping low, he stole across the road and wound his way through the scraggly hedgerow and into the brambles beyond. Just as he was settling himself down for his vigil, a most astonishing thing occurred.
A hand fell heavily upon his shoulder, and something cold punched him in the back of the neck--and remained fixed in that spot.
"Don't move or I'll blow your brains out," whispered a voice in his ear.
The grip on his shoulder tightened.
"Who--who--" he started to gasp.
"Shut up!" hissed the voice of the invisible one. "I've got you dead to rights. Get up! Put your hands up!"
"I--I got 'em up," gulped Mr. Crow, in a strangled voice. "Don't shoot, Mister! I--I promise to let you go, I swear I will. It's--"
"By thunder!" fell from the lips of the captor. It was an exclamation of surprise, even dismay.
"Take it away, if it's a revolver," pleaded Anderson. "I withdraw from the case. You c'n go as fer as you like. Eliphalet--"
"Stand still. I can't take a chance with you. You may be trying to fool me with this rube talk. Keep 'em up!"
Swiftly the stranger ran a hand over Mr. Crow's person.
"You _ought_ to have a gun," he said in a puzzled voice.
"I loaned it last winter to Milt Cupples, an' he--"
"Who the devil are you?"
"I'm the marshal of Tinkletown, an' my name is Crow--A. Crow. I made a mistake, takin' up this case. Go on in and see Mrs. Loop if you feel like it. I won't say a word to anybody--"
"Get down on your knees, Mr. Crow, here beside me, an'--"
"Oh, Lordy, Lordy! You sh.o.r.ely ain't going to shoot, Mister!"
"I don't want you to pray. I want you to keep still. Don't make a sound--do you hear?"
"I've got a wife an' children--"
"Shut up! Look! She's put out the light. Keep your eyes skinned, old man! He must be near. Don't make a sound. My partner's in that rain-barrel at the corner of the house. If we can get him between us, he won't have any more chance than a s...o...b..ll in--Look! There he is, sneaking across the yard! By golly, we've got him at last."
What happened in the next fifteen seconds was a revelation to the most recent addition to the forces of the International Society of Sleuths.
He witnessed the quick, businesslike methods of two of the craftiest men in the craftiest organization in the world--the United States Secret Service.
Two words were spoken. They came, loud and imperative, from a point near the house.
"Hands up!"
The skulking figure in the yard stopped short, but only for a fraction of a second. Then he made a wild spring toward the front gate.
A shot rang out.
The man at Anderson's side leaped forward through the hedge. Mr. Crow was dimly conscious of a mishap to his erstwhile captor. He heard him curse as he went sprawling over a treacherous vine.
Mr. Crow did not waste a second's time. He leaped to his feet and started pellmell for home. With rare sagacity he avoided the highway and laid his course well inside the hedgerow. He knew where he could strike an open stretch of meadowland, and he headed for it through the brambles.
He heard shouts behind him, and the rush of feet. If he could only get clear of the cussed bushes! That was his thought as he plunged along.
Down he went with a crash!
As the marshal tried to rise, a huge object ploughed through the hedge beside him, and the next instant he was knocked flat and breathless by the impact of this hurtling body.
The next instant two swift, ruthless figures came plunging through the hedge, and he found himself embroiled in a seething mix-up of panting, struggling men.
Presently Crow sat up. The steady glare of a "dark-lantern" revealed a picture he was never to forget.
A single figure in a kneeling position, hands on high, was crying:
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"
Over him stood two men with pistols levelled at the white, terrified face.
[Ill.u.s.tration: _Over him stood two men with pistols levelled at the white, terrified face_]
Anderson, to his dying day, was to remember those bulging eyes, the flabby and unshaven face, the mouth that appeared to be grinning--but never had he seen such an unnatural grin!
"Stand up!" commanded one of the men, and the victim struggled to his feet. In less time than it takes to tell it, the fellow was searched and hand-cuffed. "Run back there, Pyke, and see that the woman don't take a crack at us with a shotgun. She'd do it in a minute." As his companion darted back into the roadway, the speaker turned to his captive.
"Where's your gun?"
By this time Anderson Crow was on his feet. He was clutching something in his hand. He looked at it in stark astonishment. It was an automatic pistol. In raising himself from the ground his hand had fallen upon it.
"I don't know," said the captive sullenly. Then his gaze fell upon the gaunt figure of Anderson Crow. A frightful scowl transfigured his face.
Mr. Crow involuntarily drew back a step and reversed the pistol in his hand, so that its muzzle was pointing at the enemy instead of at himself. Between imprecations the prisoner managed to convey the fact that he realized for the first time that it was a human being and not a log that had brought him to earth.
Mr. Crow found his voice and some of his wits at the same time.
"I'll learn you not to go rampagin' around these parts carryin'
concealed weapons, you good-fer-nothin' scamp! I've got your gun, blast ye!" He turned triumphantly to the surprised secret-service man. "I took it away from him soon as I had him down, an'--"
"Holy mackerel!" gasped the operative. "Did--did you head him off and--and down him? You? Well, I'll be hanged!"
"I sorter knowed he'd strike about here, tryin' to make the woods up yonder, so I hustled down here to head him off while you fellers--"
"Never mind now," broke in the other. "Tell it to me later. Come on, both of you. We're not through yet." He urged the burly captive through the hedge. Marshal Crow followed very close behind.
They found a terrified, excited group on the front porch--three st.u.r.dy females in nightgowns, all with their hands up! Below, revealed by the light streaming through the open door, stood a man covering them with a revolver. Fifteen or twenty minutes later Mr. Crow dug the shivering Eliphalet Loop out of the hay-mow and ordered him forthwith to join his family in the kitchen, where he would hear something to his advantage.