CHAPTER 5 Paper Bag Eddie

Stung by Ross’ jibe, Dan spent much of his time the next few days at the “Y” pool. To build endurance and smooth out his stroke, he also swam in the river. Always on these occasions he was accompanied by Brad or Midge’s father in a boat.

Now that the swimming meet was over, the other Cubs temporarily turned their attention to various Den activities. Brad tried to assist Dan in deciphering the code message which had been found in Jacques’ pocket.

However, after three days of work, he gave up in disgust.

“Maybe it isn’t a code after all,” he said, returning the paper to Dan. “I figure those numerals must stand for letters that spell out a message. But I can’t get the hang of it.”

“I think I’ll keep on trying,” Dan said. “Not that it will mean much if we do puzzle out the thing. Jacques is gone, and probably we’ll never see him again.”

“Wonder what became of that kid anyhow?” Brad mused. “It sure was funny, finding him on the beach the way we did.”

“And he never told us his name or explained anything. I’d say there was every indication someone came and took him away.”

“Mr. Hatfield made inquiries,” Brad added. “No one saw the boy leave the Cave. He’s unknown in Webster City.”

Although Dan and the other Cubs had kept a close watch of the waterfront, they had sighted no boat which resembled the one that had damaged Mr. Holloway’s craft. Therefore, the conviction steadily grew that Mr. Manheim’s speedboat might be the one involved.

“Mr. Manheim is well spoken of at the club,” Midge’s father told the boys. “It would be a serious mistake if we made any accusation against him or any of his employees. The boat has been repaired, and as far as I’m concerned, the matter will be dropped.”

Dan and Midge said no more about the affair, but in private they often remarked that they thought Wilson Jabowski, the caretaker on Skeleton Island, would bear investigation.

“I hear he hasn’t worked very long for Mr. Manheim,” Dan remarked. “And folks say that when his employer is out of town, he rides around in that speedboat like a king.”

“Maybe if we keep our eyes open we’ll catch up with him yet,” Midge said. “He may crack into another boat.”

On the regular Friday night meeting of the Den, the Cubs enjoyed the beach treasure hunt which had been interrupted at the previous gathering. Mack and Fred came off victorious, their clues leading them to the buried chest which contained carpenter’s tools.

“The Den needs a bookcase,” Mr. Hatfield reminded the pair as they admired their ‘find’. “We’ll expect you boys to produce something handsome now that you have the tools.”

“We’ll do it too,” Mack promised.

With the treasure hunt over, all the Cubs gathered on the beach for a council fire and “feed.” Mrs. Holloway passed out hot dog sandwiches, chocolate and thick wedges of pie.

When the boys could eat no more, they stretched out on the sand, and begged Mr. Hatfield to tell them a ghost story.

“I might tell you about the ghost of Skeleton Island,” he chuckled.

“A true story?” Dan demanded.

“It may have elements of truth,” the Cub leader replied. “Basically though, the tale is a product of the imagination.”

“You mean you’re making up the story?” Midge asked in disappointment.

“No,” the Cub leader corrected. “I first heard about Skeleton Island as a boy. According to the tale, it once was an old pirate stronghold. River pirates would come upstream and hide their loot on the island.”

“Was any of it ever dug up?” Midge demanded.

“Not that I ever heard. But thirty years ago, a man’s skeleton was found on the island. That’s how the place received its name.”

“What about the ghost?” Dan inquired.

“I’m coming to that part. The old freebooters supposedly built a tunnel which connected some point of the beach with an old inn that was on the island.”

“Not the hotel that’s there now?” Brad interposed. “I mean the abandoned one that Mr. Manheim converted into the caretaker’s premises.”

“I doubt it is the same place, Brad. However, I believe that after the old inn burned down, the present building was erected in its place. That was at least fifty years ago.”

“And the ghost?” Red Suell reminded him.

“The ghost? Oh, yes, to be sure. The fellow, I’m told, never was very active. On windy nights, shore residents reported seeing a white, misty figure moving along the beach.”

“Mist—that’s probably what it was,” Brad said with a snort. “Anyone knows there are no ghosts. I’m more interested in that tunnel. Do you think one actually was built, Mr. Hatfield?”

“I’m inclined to think that part of the story is true, Brad.”

“Then what became of the tunnel? No one has heard of it in recent years.”

“I was asking an old timer about that only yesterday.”

“And what did he tell you?” Dan demanded, eager for additional details.

“This old salt claimed that heavy wind storms blocked off the beach entrance to the tunnel.”

“Couldn’t it be relocated and dug out?”

“Probably, if anyone wanted to go to that much work. It would be a big job shifting so much sand even if the entranceway could be found. I don’t suppose Mr. Manheim ever was interested.”

“He owns the entire island, doesn’t he?” Brad asked thoughtfully. Picking up a piece of driftwood, he fed it to the dying embers of the fire.

“That’s right,” the Cub leader agreed. “The Scouts have been dickering with him for nearly six months to purchase a stretch of beach for their permanent camp. They’re also considering a site two miles farther down river.”

“Which will they take?” Chips asked. “I should think Skeleton Island would be better, because it’s closer to Webster City.”

“So far, Mr. Manheim has asked a fairly steep price and doesn’t seem inclined to come down,” the Cub leader replied. “The Scout director has made two inspection trips and is well satisfied. Now he wants me to make my recommendation.”

“You said the Cubs might go there on an over-night camping trip,” Red reminded him.

All the Cubs waited expectantly for the answer.

“Yes, if plans work out, we’ll make it next weekend,” Mr. Hatfield answered. “The Den fathers are planning the trip.”

The Cubs began to talk about the proposed excursion, discussing what they would take with them to camp.

“Maybe we’ll see the ghost of Skeleton Island while we’re there!” Chips declared hopefully. “Or find the entrance to the old tunnel!”

The Cub meeting broke up shortly after nine o’clock. Dan and Brad remained a few minutes after the others had gone to make certain that the last embers of the beach fire had been extinguished.

Then together, they started home, selecting a route which took them along the deserted waterfront.

At Clinton Street, the boys turned at the corner, passing a cafe from which issued the discordant notes of a player piano.

On the curb outside the restaurant stood a short little man, who was munching popcorn from a paper bag. His face was sharp and weasel-like, his eyes darting and shrewd.

The Cubs might have passed him with scarcely a second glance, had he not been talking to another man who looked faintly familiar to Dan. The fellow plainly was a sailor, dark of hair and with sturdy body build.

“That fellow looks like one of the men who were in the motorboat that struck the Holloway sailboat!” Dan said in an undertone to Brad.

“Not the little one with the paper bag?”

“No, the other. I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere. Let’s watch for a minute.”

Sliding into a shadowy doorway, Brad and Dan kept their eyes on the pair. However, they were too far away to hear the conversation. A newsboy noticed their interest.

“Know those guys?” he asked, sidling up to them.

Dan shook his head, hoping that the boy would move on.

“See that guy with the paper sack,” the lad continued, eager to impart information. “Know who he is?”

Dan shook his head.

“That’s the one they call ‘Paper Bag Eddie,’” the boy said, awe in his voice. “He’s a bad one.”

“Paper Bag Eddie?” Dan repeated, keeping his voice low. “Never heard of him.”

“You never heard of Paper Bag Eddie? Why, he’s known to every cop in town, but they never get much on him.”

“He’s a crook then?” Brad interposed.

“Sure, they say he’s the brains of a waterfront gang. Guess what he carries around in those paper bags of his’n?”

“Popcorn,” said Dan.

“Guess again. He packs a revolver. Eddie loafs around the waterfront and you hardly ever see him without his little paper bag.”

“I should think the police would pick him up for carrying a concealed weapon,” Brad said.

“Oh, Eddie ain’t dumb enough to go around with the revolver all the time. Mostly you’ll see him munching peanuts or popcorn, and if the cops search him that’s what they find. But if he pulls a job, he slips the revolver into the sack. The cops figure he only has a bag of popcorn.”

“Eddie never has been arrested?” Brad inquired.

“Oh, the cops run him in regular, but they’ve never dug up enough evidence to convict him. Eddie’s a slick one.”

“Who is his companion?” Dan asked.

“Never saw him before,” the newsboy said indifferently. “Some sailor, I guess.”

Apparently aware that they were under scrutiny, Paper Bag Eddie and his company glanced briefly at the Cubs and sauntered on down the street. A few doors farther on they entered the Green Parrot Cafe.

“Let’s get on home,” Brad urged.

Dan, however, had another idea.

“Brad, I’m dead certain that sailor with Paper Bag Eddie is the one who was operating the motorboat when it crashed into Mr. Holloway’s sailboat,” he insisted. “I’d like to try to pin it on him.”

“And end up in plenty of trouble. You know Mr. Holloway advised that the entire matter be dropped.”

“Sure, I know. But that was mostly because Mr. Manheim is well known at the club. I have a hunch he didn’t know anything about the boat accident. And it may not have been his speed craft either.”

“Even so, I say we’re asking for trouble if we try striking up an acquaintance with that pair!”

“We don’t have to speak to them,” Dan argued. “Why not follow them into the cafe and take a table nearby? We might hear something interesting.”

“W-e-ll,” Brad hesitated, “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm. Okay.”

Feeling somewhat ill at ease, the two boys entered the Green Parrot. The room was dingy and dimly lighted, its plaster walls streaked with smoke. Only a few customers were visible.

Brad and Dan slipped into a booth diagonally opposite a table where Paper Bag Eddie and his companion sat.

“You know your orders, Frisk,” they heard the one with the weasel-like face say. “When you get the signal—”

He broke off as his gaze fastened upon Dan and Brad. The Cubs instantly looked away but Paper Bag Eddie’s suspicions had been aroused.

Shoving back his chair, he walked over to the booth.

“Say, what’s the idea?” he demanded in a soft, purring voice.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Brad returned, meeting his gaze steadily.

“You followed me in here. Now you’re trying to eavesdrop.”

“This is a free country,” Brad retorted. “If my friend and I want to come in here for a sandwich, I’d like to see you stop us!”

“You would, eh?” the man replied, his lips parting in an ugly smile. He grasped Brad by the shoulder, pulling him half-way out of the booth. “Who are you and what’s your game?”

Before Brad could answer, the proprietor of the Green Parrot came quickly from the direction of the kitchen. He had seen what was happening and did not want any trouble in his place.

“Cut it out, Eddie,” he said. “No rough stuff here.”

“Who are these kids?”

“How should I know? Never saw ’em before.”

“They were standing outside the cafe, watching,” Eddie informed the proprietor. “When we came in, they followed. I say, throw ’em out.”

The proprietor hesitated, reluctant to antagonize either party.

“Throw ’em out!” Paper Bag Eddie repeated in a tone not to be denied.

“I’m sorry, boys,” the proprietor apologized. “I don’t want any trouble here. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“We’ll go,” Brad said. “Come on, Dan.”

In sliding out from the booth seat, Dan bestowed another glance upon the man Paper Bag Eddie had called “Frisk.” More than ever he was convinced that he had not been mistaken in identifying him as the motorboat operator.

“I’ve seen you before,” he said, halting beside the table. “You were handling the wheel of the motorboat that struck our dinghy!”

“That’s a lie!” the florid-faced man rasped. “I never set eyes on either of you before—and what’s more, I don’t want to again. Now if you know what’s healthy, get out of here!”

Dan would have stood his ground, but Brad grasped his arm, pulling him firmly along. The proprietor followed the two boys to the door.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized once more. Then in an undertone, he added: “Don’t come back. For some reason Eddie has taken a dislike to you—and when he’s crossed, he’s bad medicine!”