CHAPTER 23 A TRAP SET

To Penny’s sensitive ears, the sound which resulted from the hammer blow, seemed weak and lacking in resonance. She sagged back against the iron railing, feeling that she had failed.

“That was swell!” a low voice said in her ear. “A perfect thirteenth stroke!”

Turning around, Penny saw that Jerry Livingston had followed her into the belfry.

“Did it really sound all right?” she inquired anxiously.

“It was good enough to fool anyone. But the question is, will it bring the Hoods here?”

In the room far below, Mr. Parker had lowered the blinds of the circular windows. Making certain that Charley Phelps was securely bound and gagged so that he could make no sound, he opened the front door a tiny crack and left it that way.

“How about the lights?” Salt Sommers asked.

“Leave them on. Shove that sound apparatus under the daybed. Now I guess everything’s set. Upstairs, everyone.”

Mr. Parker, Salt, and the two reporters, joined Penny and Jerry on the iron stairway.

“We may have a long vigil,” the editor warned. “In fact, this whole scheme is likely to turn out a bust.”

Few words were spoken during the next twenty minutes. Penny stirred restlessly, and finally went to join Jerry who was maintaining a watch from the belfry.

“See anyone?” she whispered, scanning the street below.

“No sign of anyone yet.”

At intervals automobiles whizzed past the tower, and presently one drew up not far from the building. Immediately, Jerry and Penny focused their attention upon it. The headlights were turned to parking, then a man alighted and came toward the Hubell Tower.

“Who is he?” Jerry whispered. “Can you tell?”

“I’m not sure,” Penny said uncertainly. “It may be Hank Holloway.”

As the man stepped into the light, they both saw that her identification had been correct. The man rapped on the door several times. Receiving no answer, he finally entered.

“Charley!” those on the iron stairway heard him call. “Where are you?”

The brilliantly lighted living room combined with the absence of the caretaker, seemed to mystify the newcomer. Muttering to himself, he moved restlessly about for a few minutes. Finally seating himself, he picked up a newspaper and began to read.

From their post in the belfry, Penny and Jerry soon observed two other men approaching the tower. One they recognized as a workman who had sorted melons at the Davis farm, but his companion was unknown to them. Without rapping, they too entered the building.

“Where’s Charley?” inquired one of the men.

“That’s what I was wondering,” Hank Holloway replied, tossing aside his paper. “For that matter, I can’t figure out why this special meeting was called. Something important must have come up.”

Within ten minutes, three other men had arrived. Jerry was able to identify two of them by name, but he dared not risk whispering the information to Mr. Parker who crouched on the stairway.

“There’s something mighty queer about this meeting,” Hank Holloway growled. “Where is the Master? And what’s become of Charley?”

From the machinery room in which the caretaker had been imprisoned came a slight thumping sound.

“What was that?” Hank demanded suspiciously.

“I didn’t hear anything,” answered one of the other men. “Maybe it was someone at the door.”

Hank tramped across the room to peer out into the night. As the door swung back, a dark figure moved swiftly along the hedge, crouching low.

“Who’s there?” Hank called sharply.

“Quiet, you fool!” was the harsh response.

A man wearing a dark robe and a black hood which completely hid his face, brushed past Holloway, and entered the Tower living room.

“Close the door!” he ordered.

Holloway hastened to obey. An expectant and rather tense silence had fallen upon the men gathered in the room.

“Now what is the meaning of this?” the Master demanded, facing the group. “Who called this meeting?”

“Why, didn’t you?” Holloway asked blankly.

“I did not.”

“All I know is that I heard the clock strike an extra stroke,” Holloway explained. “I thought it was queer to be having another meeting so soon. Then I found Charley wasn’t here—”

“Charley not here!” the Master exclaimed.

“He must have stepped out somewhere. The lights were on, and the door partly open.”

“I don’t like this,” the Master said, his voice harsh. “Charley has no right to call a meeting without a special order from me. It is becoming increasingly dangerous for us to gather here.”

“Now you’re talking!” Holloway nodded. “Anthony Parker of the Star is on the warpath again. One of his reporters has been prying into the books of the County Cooperative.”

“He’ll learn nothing from that source, I trust.”

“Not enough to do any harm.”

“You act as though you had a grievance, Holloway. Any complaints?”

“Why, no, the Cooperative has made a lot of money since you’ve taken over. We want to go along with you, if your flare for the dramatic doesn’t get us in too deep.”

“What do you mean by that, Holloway?”

“This night riding business is getting risky. Why, if Clem Davis should talk—”

“We’re not through with him yet.”

“Another thing, most of us never did approve of holding meetings here at the Tower,” Hank Holloway went on. “It’s too public a place, and sooner or later someone will start asking questions about what goes on.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, we think you ought to show yourself—let us know who you are. We’re all in this together, and we ought to take the same risks. I’ve been carrying the heavy end.”

“That settles it!” the masked man said with finality. “We’re through.”

“How do you mean?” Holloway asked.

“We’re breaking up the organization—now—tonight.”

“There’s no call to do that.”

“Holloway, you do a lot of talking and not much thinking,” the other snapped. “This will be our last meeting. We’ll divide the profits, and for a time at least, remain inactive.”

“That’s all very well for you,” Holloway complained. “You step out of it without anyone even knowing who you are. But some of us are tied up with the County Cooperative. If there’s any investigation, we’ll take the rap.”

“There will be no investigation.”

“That’s easy to say,” Holloway argued. “I don’t like the way things have been going lately. If we’re breaking up, we have a right to know who you are.”

“Sure,” chimed in another. “Remove your mask, and let’s have a look. We think we have your number but we ain’t positive.”

“You never will be,” the masked man returned coolly, backing toward the door. “And now, goodnight.”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Holloway cried, trying to head him off.

“Stand back!” ordered the Master harshly.

From beneath his robe he whipped a revolver.

“All right,” Holloway sneered. “I never argue when I’m looking into a muzzle.”

Before the Master could retreat, there was another disturbance from inside the machinery room. Unmistakably, the door rattled.

“Someone is in there!” Holloway exclaimed.

Startled, the Master postponed his flight. Still holding the revolver, he tried to open the door, but found it locked.

For those hiding on the stairway, the situation had become a tense one. In another moment, the members of the Black Hoods unquestionably would break the door lock and find Charley Phelps.

“Let’s take ’em, Chief!” whispered Jerry, who was eager for action. “Now is our only chance.”

“All set!” Mr. Parker gave the signal.

With a concerted rush, the four young men leaped down the stairway, hurling themselves on Holloway and the masked man. Catching the latter unaware, Jerry knocked the revolver from his hand and it went spinning over the floor.

Penny started down the stairway, but Mr. Parker pushed her back.

“Stay where you are!” he ordered as he too joined the fray.

Penny huddled against the wall, watching fearfully. Her father and the reporters outnumbered their opponents by one man, but the Hoods were all strong, powerful fellows who fought desperately. A chair crashed against the lamp, shattering it. In the resulting darkness, she no longer could see what was happening.

Suddenly a figure broke away from the general tangle of bodies and darted toward the circular stairway. For a moment Penny believed that he must be one of the reporters, then she saw that the man wore a hood over his face.

“The Master!” she thought, chills racing down her spine. “He’s trying to get away, and I’ve got to stop him!”