The Banner Boy Scouts Mystery

George A. Warren

The Banner Boy Scouts Mystery

CHAPTER I

Lost

“Ken! Ken Armstrong! Dinner is ready.”

“I’m coming, Mother,” he called from his room upstairs.

Hurriedly he finished brushing his hair and raced downstairs to the dining room. His father was already at the table and waiting for the children to take their places. Mrs. Armstrong in the meanwhile was adding the finishing touches in setting the table. “Before you sit down, Ken,” his mother told him, “will you please go out and call Betty. She must be outside somewhere playing.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Ken obeyed and went outside to look for his younger sister, who was five years old. It was a day in the latter part of August, warm, clear. Stepping out on the porch, he called out, “Betty! Betty!”

There was no answer. Ken looked in the yard, then in the garage where she sometimes climbed into the back of the car and amused herself playing with her doll. But she was not there either. Ken walked across the street and rang the Smiths’ doorbell. Mrs. Smith herself answered and Ken asked, “Is Betty here, Mrs. Smith?”

She shook her head. “No,” she answered. “She was playing with my little Helen until about an hour ago, when she left.”

“Thank you,” Ken said and walked away. On the sidewalk, he paused to think of all the places where she might be. Ken walked further down the street and stopped at the Morrison home. Paul answered the doorbell. “Hello, Ken,” he called.

“Hello, Paul. Is Betty here playing with your little brother?”

“Why, no, Ken. Pete has been at the park all day and has just returned.”

“That’s strange,” muttered Ken.

“What’s strange?”

“I can’t seem to find her.”

“Oh, you’ll find her,” Paul assured his friend. “She may be playing with little Karliner across the street.”

“That’s right. I didn’t think of it. Thanks, Paul.”

“So long, Ken. Don’t forget the meeting tonight.”

“I won’t,” Ken called back over his shoulder. He went across the street to the Karliner home and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Karliner opened the door. “Is Betty here?” he asked.

“No,” answered the youthful woman. “Betty and Karl had a childish quarrel this morning and they quit playing together.”

“Until tomorrow,” remarked Ken, laughing.

“Yes, no matter how much they quarrel the children always come together again,” she said, also laughing.

“And it is a good thing they do,” added the boy.

“Yes. And in that respect, grown ups would do well to take after children.”

“You are right, Mrs. Karliner.” Ken edged away from the doorway. “You will excuse me, but I have to find Betty.”

The woman smiled and closed the door. Ken walked back toward his own house. He was puzzled and couldn’t think where else his younger sister might be. Usually she was somewhere in the neighborhood. If she wasn’t in her own yard, she could always be found either at the Morrisons, the Smiths or the Karliners. But today she wasn’t at any one of those places. As he entered his own yard, Ken thought of one other place where she might be. Around the corner was a small park where Mrs. Armstrong very often took the child to play. Perhaps she had gone there with some other child. Ken thought he better run over there in a hurry before his mother became worried. However, there were only a few children there because it was dinner time. And no Betty. He walked through the playground twice. No sign of his sister.

For the first time, Ken became anxious. Of course, she was not lost, he thought to himself. But where could she be? Slowly he walked home without coming to any definite opinion. Stepping onto the porch noiselessly, he hesitated to enter the house. If he told his mother he could not find Betty, she might become frightened. He conceived another idea. Walking around to the side of the house, he peeked through the window into the dining room. Seeing that his mother was not there, he knocked on the window and motioned for his father to come outside. Mr. Armstrong came out onto the porch. “What’s the trouble, Ken?” he asked.

The boy tried hard not to look anxious. “Dad, I can’t seem to find Betty,” he whispered.

Mr. Armstrong was a tall, heavy set man. He tugged at his close cropped mustache and muttered, “You can’t seem to find her, eh? Did you look everywhere?”

“I did.”

“At the Morrisons?”

“Yes. I was also at the Smiths, the Karliners and at the park, Dad. She was not at any one of those places.”

“Hmm!” mused Mr. Armstrong. “She must be somewhere around, Ken. Let us first search the yard thoroughly.”

Together they looked over the yard and then the garage. But the child was not there. Finally they stopped their search. “You say that you were to the park, at the Morrisons, the Smiths, the Karliners?” asked Mr. Armstrong.

“Yes, Dad.”

“Can you think of anywhere else she might be? Do you know of any other child she occasionally plays with?”

Just then Mrs. Armstrong came out onto the porch and called, “Ken, John, what are you doing out here when you are supposed to be at the dinner table? And where is Betty?”

Mr. Armstrong walked slowly over to his wife and said, “Now, Edna, don’t you become upset. It seems that Betty is nowhere where she usually plays. Do you know of any other child she sometimes plays with and with whom she might be now?”

Mrs. Armstrong became very pale. “Were you to the Karliners, Ken?” she queried anxiously.

“Yes, mother.”

“Now don’t you become alarmed, Edna. The child is somewhere around. But she may have walked off alone somewhere or she might be playing at some house.”

“Were you to the Johnsons?” Mrs. Armstrong asked. Ken shook his head. “Then run over and see. And if she is not there, stop in at the McKinlys.”

Ken was off at a run. The Johnson home was at the end of the street. Junior himself opened the door and Ken bent down to question the child. “Is Betty here?” he asked.

The little boy shook his head and muttered, “Nah.” Mrs. Johnson came to the door and he asked her the same question. “Why, no,” she replied. “She never comes. I would like very much for her to come and play with Junior, but she never does. I guess it is a little too far away for her.”

Ken was anxious to be off. “Yes, I guess so,” he answered. “Excuse me.” And he was off.

The McKinly home was across the street. But she was not there either. Ken walked away deeply concerned. Returning home he found his parents awaiting him, their faces drawn and worried. At the news that the child was neither at the Johnsons nor the McKinlys, Mrs. Armstrong clenched her fingers. Her husband stood up. “She must have walked off somewhere,” he said. “I’ll notify the police and have them search for her.”

“Wait a minute, Dad,” cried Ken. “Perhaps she is in her room.”

Without losing a second, he dashed up the stairs. A minute later he was coming down slowly. By the expression on his face the parents could tell that she was not in her room. Mr. Armstrong walked to the foyer where the telephone was and they could hear him calling the police and giving a detailed description of the child. She was five years old, blonde hair and blue eyes, weighed between forty-five and fifty pounds and was about twenty-six or twenty-seven inches tall. His task completed, he returned to the dining room. He put an arm around his wife’s shoulder and said, “Now, don’t worry, Edna. The child most likely has walked off by herself and she will be found. You will have her again in half an hour.”

Ken jumped out of his chair and dashed out of the house. He ran over to the Morrison home and called Paul. Drawing his friend aside, he whispered, “Paul, call the troop together. We cannot find Betty and we have to make a search for her.”

“That’s too bad,” replied Paul. “I’m sure no harm has come to her and we will find her.”

The two boys walked off to call the boys together. Some of the Boy Scouts lived in the immediate neighborhood while the others were reached by telephone. Practically every one of them knew Betty by sight, but just to make sure a description of her was passed around. Within ten minutes the entire Stanhope Troop No. 1 was out on the streets and searching for the child. In the meanwhile the police had also sent out an alarm and were combing the town to find Betty. The news had spread and many townspeople had joined in the search.

For the next half hour every nook and corner of the town was ransacked. Many a little girl was stopped and asked if her name was Betty Armstrong. But always it was a shake of the head and the word no. Suddenly the news spread that the search was off and that the child was safely home. Ken, who was with Paul, sprinted home. The two boys burst into the house and found Betty sitting very calmly at the table having her dinner. Quite innocently she shook a finger a her big brother and scolded him. “You’re late,” she told him. “Mama is angry if you come late for dinner.”

The two boys, hot and out of breath as they were, couldn’t resist laughing at the innocent humor of the child. “Where were you?” Ken demanded.

Just then Mr. Armstrong came in. Seeing his missing child at the table, he sighed with relief. Mrs. Armstrong came in from the kitchen and said, “You men better have your dinner right away, before it gets spoiled.”

Paul moved away, saying, “I will wait for you upstairs, Ken, in your room.”

“Jack is also upstairs,” mentioned Mrs. Armstrong. “He found the child and brought her home.”

Paul walked upstairs while Mr. Armstrong turned to his wife and asked, “Where did he find her?”

“On Leonard Street.”

“So far away!” exclaimed Ken. “Leonard Street is at the edge of the town.”

“Yes.”

“What was she doing there?” asked Mr. Armstrong.

“Who knows?” his wife exclaimed.

Ken turned to his younger sister. “What were you doing so far away from home?” he demanded.

“Don’t bother the child now,” asserted his mother. “Let us eat now. You can ask her all the questions you want later or tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The family settled down to their meal and for the present tried to forget the anxiety and worry the child had caused them.

As soon as he could get away from the table, Ken did so and raced upstairs. Dashing into his room, he called out, “Hello, Jack.”

“Hello, Ken. I hear Betty gave you a bad scare.”

“And how!” added Paul. “The only ones we did not have searching for her were the marines, and only because there are none in Stanhope.”

“Yes, that is just what I want to ask you about, Jack. How did you come to find her?” asked Ken.

“I was out that way visiting Bud Menninger. You know him, don’t you, Ken?”

“Yes, he is the fellow who wants to join our troop, isn’t he?”

“That’s right,” answered Jack. “Well, I was riding home on my bicycle when I happened to notice Betty walking along, all by herself. I was so surprised, I wouldn’t believe my eyes at first. I couldn’t imagine what she would be doing so far away from home. At any rate, I jumped off my bike and approached her and then I saw that it was really her. She was sucking a large peppermint stick.”

“Sucking a peppermint stick!” exclaimed Ken. “Who gave it to her?”

“That is just the point. I asked her and she replied that a man gave it to her.”

“A man!—”

Paul interrupted. “Don’t interrupt, Ken,” he said. “Listen to the rest of the story. It is mighty interesting.”

“All right, I won’t interrupt. Go on.”

“Well, I questioned her a little more,” continued Jack, “and she told me that she was walking home from the Smiths when a man stopped her and asked if she wanted some candy. Like a child, she couldn’t refuse. So he took her by the hand and he bought her that peppermint stick she was sucking.”

“Then what?” Ken asked eagerly.

“From further questioning, it seems that after he bought her the candy, they just kept on walking. I looked her over closely and saw that she was not all frightened or hurt in any way. So it seems that the man who took her walking, did not harm her in the least.”

“But how come he left her at the edge of the town all by herself. A man must be crazy to do a thing like that.”

“Now that is a clue,” spoke up Paul. “An ordinary man would not do a thing like that.”

“Clue!” exclaimed Ken, surprised. “What sort of clue? What are you talking about?”

“Let me finish,” urged Jack. “As I was talking to her, I noticed that she kept one hand behind her back. I asked her why and she just shrugged her shoulders. I looked and I saw that she was clutching a card in her little fist. I asked where she got it and she told me that the man gave it to her before he left her. I asked her to give it to me and she did. Here it is.”

Jack held up the white card, three inches by two inches. The boys huddled together, examining it. “Why, it is just a plain, blank, white card!” exclaimed Ken.

“That’s right. But what is the meaning of it?” asked Jack.

There was no answer. The three boys were mystified. The whole story sounded very odd and the card made it all the more perplexing. “From all the evidence at hand,” remarked Paul, “I am convinced that there must be something wrong with the man who walked off with the child.”

“But that’s just it,” exploded Ken. “If there is something wrong with the man, he must be found out and put away into an asylum. He can’t be permitted to roam the streets and walk away with children.”

“And if Paul’s suggestions are correct,” added Jack, “God knows what other tricks he might be up to and what damage he may be doing.”

“Now let’s think this out calmly and logically,” said Paul. “First did you ask Betty to describe the man?”

“I did,” replied Jack. “But all she would say was that he was tall and very kind to her.”

“There are many tall men in town. That is no clue,” said Ken.

Paul rose. “We certainly have to look into the matter and see what we can do.”

“What can we do?” asked Ken. “As far as I know there are no crazy people in Stanhope and only a lunatic would do a thing like that.”

“We have about an hour before the meeting,” suggested Jack. “Suppose we go down to Leonard Street and look around.”

Just then Mr. Armstrong came in. “Hello, Jack,” he greeted.

“Hello, Mr. Armstrong.”

He saw that the boys seemed to be on the verge of leaving and he said, “I hope I am not keeping you boys from going on your way.”

“Well, we were preparing to leave, but—” that from Ken.

“I merely want to ask Jack about his finding Betty.”

Jack repeated his story, leaving out the part about the white card. For a while there was silence. Mr. Armstrong mused. Finally he said, “It must have been some man who knows the family and bought her some candy.”

“But why should he leave her at the end of the town to walk back alone,” demanded Ken.

Mr. Armstrong shrugged his shoulders wearily. “I can’t understand that myself,” he said. “But the fact remains that the child was not harmed. Which leads us to the conclusion that the man must have been a friend.”

The boys had no desire to argue with the older man and so they left it at that. In the street, Ken asked, “Why did you leave out that part about the white card, Jack?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” was the answer. “I figured that if I told him about it, he would give it over to the police, and then it would get into the newspapers and then everybody would know about it. And the guilty man, even if he is crazy, would know better than to do anything to give himself away. As it is, nobody knows, except the three of us, and by a little quiet work we may track the culprit down.”

“I think you did right,” spoke up Paul.

“That is to be seen,” added Ken skeptically.

The boys walked down to Leonard Street and Jack pointed out the exact spot where he came upon Betty. The neighborhood was one occupied mostly by the poorer people of the town. Of course, there was nothing to be found in the way of clues. They walked all around the neighborhood and noticed the various shacks and empty lots but did not come across any man that was tall and kindly looking. At last they decided to give up the search and go to a meeting of their boy scout troop, the Red Fox Patrol.

All the other boys—Nuthin’, The Carberry twins, William and Wallace, Bobolink, Bluff—were already there when the three arrived. Pressed for information, Jack for the third time re-told his story.

CHAPTER II

Fire!

Several days passed and although the boys had not forgotten the incident, they did nothing to look for the culprit. The only evidence they had was the white card and the information that the man was tall.

It was about five-thirty and the boys were coming from the baseball field. Paul and William, walking ahead, turned into Water Street, and the rest of the boys followed them. At about the middle of the street, they suddenly heard the weird cry, “Fire! Help! Fire!”

The boys stopped in their tracks and looked around to find where the cry was coming from. Paul began to run and the boys followed him. They came upon a two story frame house. Dense clouds of smoke came billowing out of the doorway. Paul turned to the one nearest him, who happened to be William, and ordered, “Call the Fire Department! Hurry!”

William set off at a run. Paul, followed by the other boys, ran to the back of the house. He cried, “A couple of you try to find buckets and water. The others stick around and form a water brigade until the firemen come.”

Pushing open the back door, he dashed into the house. He noticed that the smoke was dense at the front door. Just as he turned to run up the stairs, tongues of flames shot out of the smoke. The thought came to him that the fire had started at the front door. But how? Why? At the front door, of all places.

He raced upstairs and threw open the first door that he came upon. No one there. He dashed for the next room. An old man and woman, in their late seventies, if not older, were rushing back and forth, picking up things and dropping them. They were so bewildered, they did not know what to do. As Paul dashed in, they rushed at him and clung to his arms. They were absolutely speechless; they did nothing but tremble. Paul shook them off and rushed to the window, threw it open and cried to the boys below, “Get a ladder! Get a ladder!”

He looked for the firemen but they had not yet arrived. Every second seemed to him an hour. He saw the boys scatter in a frantic search for a ladder. The five minutes that elapsed to procure a ladder seemed like an age. At last Bobolink came running up with a ladder and he placed it under the window. But it was too short, and Paul cried, “Get something to stand it on. A box. Anything.”

Bobolink scurried to find something upon which to stand the ladder. A minute later he returned with a soap box. The ladder was stood on the box and several of the boys supported it. Paul helped the old woman through the window onto the ladder. “One of you boys climb up and help her down.”

He saw the boys hesitate. Evidently they thought that the ladder would not hold. In the meanwhile, the woman, trembling and bewildered, almost fell from the ladder. Bluff raced up and directed the woman’s legs, rung by rung. The old woman at last descended and collapsed in Ken’s arms. Paul turned to the old man. “Is there anybody else in the house?” he asked briskly.

The old man nodded his head vigorously. “Downstairs,” his trembling lips mumbled. “A baby in a crib.”

“Which room?”

The old man’s teeth chattered so violently that he could not speak. Again Paul demanded to know which room the child was in but the old man could not talk. He almost hurled the man through the window as he helped him to gain a footing on the ladder. Without waiting another instant, Paul dashed out of the room and down the stairs which by now were crackling with flames. The last couple of steps were so badly burned that he had to jump. He scurried about wildly and at last found what he was searching for—a pail of water. Dipping his handkerchief into it, he clasped the wet rag over his mouth and nostrils. Layers of heavy smoke whirled all about him. He walked along the wall and listened carefully. An infant’s wailing came to his ears and he searched frantically for the door. Finding it at last, he threw it open and stepped in quickly. He brought in with him a dense cloud of smoke. He moved blindly about the room, directed only by the cries of the infant. He stumbled against the crib and clasped the child to him. Smoke entered his lungs and he began to cough. He felt choked and was sure he was going to collapse before he managed to get out. He heard a shattering crash. Someone had broken the window and he ran to it. He felt someone take the child from him and direct him to the broken window. Someone lifted him almost bodily through the window and the next moment he fainted.

About fifteen or twenty minutes after the alarm had been sent in, the Volunteer Fire Brigade came clanging down the street. Immediately they pulled out the hose and set to work. Captain Bob was there. It was he who had helped Paul through the window. About a minute after Paul had been taken out of the house, there was a terrible shattering and crackling. From all sides of the house streaks of flame spurted forth, until the whole building was enveloped in a sheet of flame.

Paul came to and opened his eyes to find his father bending over him. “Are you all right, fellow?” Dr. Morrison asked.

Paul sat up and blinked his eyes. He nodded. “I’m all right, Dad. What are you doing here?”

“Just happened to come along.”

His father helped him to his feet and he found the boys crowding around him. “How do you feel?” asked William.

Paul nodded. Ken remarked, “Some fire eater you are.”

He smiled and turned to watch the firemen fighting the blazing structure. “What happened to the old couple?” he asked.

“They are all right,” answered Nuthin’. “They wouldn’t have been, though, if it hadn’t been for you.”

Bobolink added, “The child would surely have perished if not for you, Paul.”

Just then a policeman came and pushed them all back. Some moments later the front door fell in with a shattering thud. The firemen poured gallons of water into the blaze but it did not seem to help. The fire ate through the wooden house and ten minutes later one of the walls collapsed. A groan rose up from the watching crowd and some turned their heads away. As the wall collapsed tongues of flame and dense smoke came shooting out. Some of the firemen retreated and then returned to continue their struggle with the blaze.

Another wall caved in and eventually the roof of the house came crashing down. Captain Bob realized that further effort was futile and he ordered his firemen to just stand around and let the fire burn itself out. Soon the house was a heap of ashes and smoldering pieces of wood. The firemen left and the crowd dispersed.

CHAPTER III

Paul Looks Into the Matter

Jack was sitting on the Morrison porch. It was about eight o’clock in the evening of the same day. Ken came walking up through the yard. “Hello, Ken.”

“Hello, Jack. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for Paul.”

Ken came onto the porch and sat down beside his friend. “Did Paul call you too?” he asked.

“That’s right. He told me over the telephone that he had something important to talk over.”

“He told me the same thing. I wonder what it is.”

“Perhaps it is something about the fire.”

“Well, let’s not guess, but wait for Paul to tell us instead.”

Several minutes later, Paul came out. “Hello, fellows,” he called.

“Hello, Paul.”

“Hello, Paul. What is it you have to tell us?” asked Jack.

“Let’s go where we will have some privacy,” answered Paul.

Paul led them into the garage and the three boys piled into the back of the car. “Now,” said Ken, “you can tell us without anyone overhearing us. Don’t keep us in suspense any longer or we will collapse of curiosity.”

“First tell us how you feel,” spoke up Jack. “Any after effects from the smoke?”

“I feel perfectly all right,” was the answer. “Now, this is what I want to talk to you about.”

“Yes, what is it all about?”—that from Ken.

“Jack,” began Paul, “do you still have that white card? You know the one I mean.”

“Of course. I still have it, certainly. What about it?”

“Will you show it to me?”

Jack began to look through his pockets. Finally he confessed, “I guess I don’t have it with me. I must have left it home, in my other coat pocket.”