Larry Dexter, Reporter/Chapter 17

sounds increased in loudness. There seemed to be a struggle going on in the hall, which was dark, and Mr. Newton, hearing the scuffle, thought perhaps he might get a burglar story after all.

“I've got him!” cried one of the policemen.

The words were followed by a long drawn-out and plaintive howl.

“Here's the burglar!” exclaimed another bluecoat, as he and his companions entered the dining-room, where the woman had lighted the gas.

The officer held up a big cat, whose head was fast inside a milk pitcher. The animal, in search of a drink, had stuck its nose into the receptacle, and had been caught. In its efforts to free itself it had thumped the pitcher over the floor, producing the sounds which had alarmed the woman.

“Why, it's my Teddy!” the woman exclaimed. “I wonder how I will ever get the pitcher off.”

“I'll show you,” replied a bluecoat. With a blow of his club he broke the pitcher without hurting the cat, which, as soon as it was released, ran, and hid under the table.

“I'm sure I'm much obliged to all of you,” the woman said. “I was sure I was going to be murdered by a burglar.”

“We're sorry it wasn't one,” said one of the officers. “I mean,” he hastened to add, “not wishin' ye any harm, of course, mum, but we'd like the chance of catchin' a burglar, seein' as how times is a little dull.”

Laughing among themselves the policemen filed out. In the meanwhile quite a crowd had gathered outside, for the rumor had spread that a woman had been robbed and murdered, and scores of neighbors had hastily dressed and come out.

“Here they come!” several persons exclaimed, as the officers came out. “Where's the burglar?”

“We left him there,” replied one of the policemen. “He lives there. His name is Mr. Thomas Cat.”

“Oh!” a score or more exclaimed, much disappointed. Then, after hearing all the particulars, they went back to bed.

Mr. Newton remained to get the woman's name, as he intended to write up a funny story of the burglar scare. It was past two o'clock when he reached home, and he slept so soundly that he was late getting to work next morning. However, Mr. Emberg said nothing, when told of the cat episode, and told the reporter to take his time, and turn out a good account of the “burglar.”

Larry, as did the other reporters, had a busy time of it that day. There were several fires, a number of accidents, and a shooting case. Mr. Newton had scarcely a chance to speak to his friend, and Larry was anxious for the last edition to get under way, so he might inquire whether Mr. Newton had thought up any new plan to get back the deed and bring the safe-robbers to justice.

When the last forms had gone to the stereotypers, and no other news remained to go into the paper, unless something big, necessitating an extra, should occur, Larry found a chance to ask:

“Well, Mr. Newton, have you thought of a plan?”

“I have,” was the answer. “It occurred to me only a little while ago. I think it's a pretty good one.”

“What is it?”

“It involves another visit to our chemist friend, Mr. Hosfer,” replied Mr. Newton. “I think we'll enlist his aid in this case. He's a sort of amateur detective among his other accomplishments.”

So that evening they went to the chemist's house. They found him in the midst of his bottles and test tubes, working away, while a most unpleasant odor pervaded the laboratory.

“I'll be with you in a minute,” called the chemist, as Larry and Mr. Newton entered. “I can't seem to get this mixture just right.”

“It seems plenty strong enough,” remarked Mr. Newton, holding his handkerchief to his nose. “What in the world is it?”

“Something with which to take out inkstains. Do you object to the smell?”

“Well, it isn't exactly what you would call a perfume,” said Mr. Newton.

“It's got to be strong, you know,” said Mr. Hosfer. “Otherwise it would not work. But I'll stop for a while, and talk to you. I suppose you have some horrible, mysterious, sensational, blood-curdling, hair-raising, nerve-racking case on your hands. Oh, you reporters are the most terrible fellows in the world! Living amid blood and thunder, it's a wonder to me you ever sleep,” and laughing heartily, in strange contrast to his rather exciting language, Mr. Hosfer came forward, and shook hands with them.

“The smell don't come off,” he said, with a smile.

“I wish some of it would go out,” remarked Mr. Newton. “Can't you open a window or—or make some other odor take its place? It smells like a skunk factory in here.”

“Wait, I'll fix it,” replied the chemist. From several bottles he poured a mixture into a glass. This he stirred up, and then put into an atomizer. He sprayed the stuff all around the apartment, and soon a most agreeable odor was noticeable in the air of the room.

“That's better,” came from Larry. “What is it?”

“An imitation of violet perfume,” answered Mr. Hosfer.

“It smells like the real thing,” ventured Mr. Newton.

“Well, it's like most perfumes. Very few of them ever see the flowers they're named after,” commented the chemist. “Now what horrible happening brought you here?”

“It isn't exactly horrible,” replied Mr. Newton, “but I'll admit it's something of a mystery, and it may develop into a sensational case.”

“I knew it!” exclaimed Mr. Hosfer. “You couldn't keep away from sensationalism and terrible things if you tried. Now tell me all about it. I like excitement.”

“You remember me coming here with that blue paper?” asked Mr. Newton.

“Sure. The one with nitro-glycerine stains on it.”

“That's the one. Well, now I want you to find something that will take those stains from a man's hand.”

“I guess that would be hard work. Those acid stains go in pretty deep, and stay until the skin wears off, as I told you.”

“Well, you have something that will pretty nearly take them out, haven't you?”

“Oh, I guess I could find some chemical that would make them fade out somewhat.”

“That's what I want you to do. When you find it you're going to put an advertisement in the paper stating that you can remove all sorts of stains from hands and faces. In short, you're going to become a sort of skin doctor for a while,” said Mr. Newton.

“What's it all about?” asked the chemist.

Then Mr. Newton told Mr. Hosfer the main facts in connection with the safe-robbery, and the theft of Larry's deed. He related how they had gotten on the track of the blue-handed man, but how the quest for the deed had failed.

“I'm afraid if we cause his arrest we will never see the deed again,” said Mr. Newton. “Beside we really have no evidence that would stand in court if they got a clever lawyer to defend Noddy, as he is called. We must work without the aid of the authorities for the present. We want to get the deed back first. Then we want some clews to the others concerned in the safe-robbery, and, last, I want to get on the track of the land operators, for I am sure there is a big swindle going on there that concerns the Board of Aldermen.”

“How can I help you by becoming a skin doctor?” asked the chemist.

“In this way,” replied the reporter. “We will put the advertisement in the paper. Unless I am very much mistaken it will be seen and read by Noddy, the blue-handed man. I am sure he would only be too glad to get rid of the stains, and so save himself the trouble of wearing gloves. Besides, he knows we are after him, and that his hands offer a rather easy mark of identification.”

“But he could go to some other doctor who makes a business of removing stains from hands and faces,” suggested Mr. Hosfer.

“Yes, he could, but I don't believe he will. I have no doubt he has thought of that plan, but, you see, the trouble is he wants to keep under cover. If he went to an ordinary doctor he might be asked embarrassing questions, such as how the stains came on his hands. This might lead to unpleasant results. No, Noddy wants to keep under cover, and we'll respect his wishes, at least for a while.”

“We'll put in the advertisement about you,” Mr. Newton went on, “that all cases are strictly confidential, and that no questions are asked. That will catch Noddy, and he'll walk into our trap.”

“What will I do when I get him?” asked the chemist. “Preserve him in alcohol?”

“I think we'll make no attempt to capture him,” said Mr. Newton. “That is, at first. If he calls at your laboratory use some of the preparation which you are to make, on his hands. Don't make it very strong, and take only a little of the stain off. Tell him he will have to come again. In this way he can be induced to pay several visits to you.”

“In the meanwhile I can be working my end of the game. Have, all the visits at night. Tell him you can treat him at no other time. That will give me a chance to be on hand. I'll follow him when he leaves here, and I may be able to get on the track of the deed.”

“It sounds like a good scheme,” commented the chemist. “I'll get right to work on the stain-removing mixture.”

“And I'll look after the advertisement,” said Mr. Newton.

“Suppose a lot of people come to have stains removed?” suggested Mr. Hosfer. “What am I to do?”

“Why, remove the stains, of course,” replied Mr. Newton. “You may to be able to make a lot of money out of this.”

“I'll lose a lot of valuable time,” said the chemist. “But never mind, I'll do it to help you out.”

The next day there appeared in several papers an advertisement to the effect that the celebrated chemist, Mr. Hosfer, would remove stains of all kinds from the hands or face for a moderate sum. All cases were to be treated in strict confidence, and no questions were to be asked, it was stated.

“There, that ought to catch him,” said Mr. Newton, as he read it over.

It was several days before he was able to pay Mr. Hosfer a visit again. When he and Larry called on the chemist they found him busier than ever in his laboratory.

“Did he come?” asked Mr. Newton.

“Did he come?” repeated Mr. Hosfer. “Say, I'm sorry I ever consented to this. I'll bet I've removed stains from a hundred hands in the last two days! I'm nearly exhausted by the business.”

“But did Noddy come?”

“I'll tell you all about it,” said Mr. Hosfer, laying aside a test tube, and sitting down in a chair.