disaster.' An' when yer buys a paper yer see in big letters at ther top,
'Man Kills,' and down below it, 'Mother-in-law!' But in little type
between them yer read ther follerin', to wit, 'Cat to spite.' I've been
stung by them things before."

"I'm going to buy one, anyway," laughed Ted. "I don't mind being stung
for a cent."

He beckoned to a newsboy, bought a paper, and opened it.

"What's this?" he almost shouted.

Great black letters sprawled across the top of the page.

"Express Messenger Found Dead," was the first line, and below it was the
confirmation of Ted's belief that a great robbery had taken place. It
was "Forty Thousand Dollars Taken from the Safe."

"There's the owner of the abandoned automobile, the fellow who boarded
the train with the heavy grip," said Ted to Bud, who was staring over
his shoulder.

The article following the startling headlines told the circumstances of
the robbery.

The train that entered the Union Station at six o'clock that morning had
been robbed in some mysterious manner between a junction a short
distance out of St. Louis, where the express messenger had been seen
alive by a fellow messenger in another car. When the car was opened in
the station, after being switched to the express track, the messenger
was found lying on the floor of the car with a bullet through his head.
The safe had been blown open and its contents rifled.

The express company had kept silent about the murder and robbery until
late in the day, when the body of the messenger was found by a reporter
in an undertaker's establishment.

As for the other details, a policeman at the Union Station said that he
had noticed a man come out of the waiting room carrying a grip that
seemed more than ordinarily heavy. A red motor car was waiting outside
the station, and the man got into it and drove away at a fast pace. The
policeman had not noticed the number on the car.

How the robber and murderer got into the express car was a mystery, as
the car was locked when it was switched into the express track, and
there were no marks of a violent entry on the outside of the car.

"What aire yer goin' ter do erbout it?" asked Bud. "Aire yer goin' ter
turn over ther motor car an' give yer infermation ter ther police?"

"Not on your life," answered Ted. "At least, not yet. I'm going to work
on it a bit myself first."

"But won't Mr. Truax tip it off?"

"I'll warn him not to."

"But how erbout ther feller in ther check suit what wuz so kind an'
attentive ter us?"

"He's hiding out, now that the robbery has become public. I'm not afraid
of him."

"What's ther first move?"

"Locate and identify the car."

Ted called Mr. Truax up on the telephone. The commission merchant had
read about the express robbery, and had connected the man in the red car
with it, but promised to say nothing about it until Ted had had an
opportunity to unravel the mystery.

Ted lay awake a long time that night thinking the matter over, and in
the morning awoke with a plan in his mind.

"Well, hev yer determined what ter do erbout ther red car?" asked Bud at
the breakfast table. "I'm shore gittin' sore at myself fer a loafer,
sittin' eround here doin' nothin' but eat an' look at ther things in
ther stores what I can't buy."

"I've got a scheme that I'm going to try," answered Ted.

"What is it?"

"I'm going to run that car all over this town until I get some of the
train-robbing syndicate anxious about it and to following it. Then I'm
going to get on to their place of doing business and their methods."

"Wish yer luck," was Bud's cheerless comment.

Bud had been out wandering restlessly around the streets all morning,
and Ted was writing letters. When he got through he thought about the
missing trunk, and concluded that he would go to the Union Station to
see if it had been received.

The words of warning in the note not to go on the street alone were
clear in his memory; but this he took to mean at night, for in a crowded
street in the daytime he could see no danger.

After he had waited an hour or more for Bud, and the yellow-haired
cow-puncher had not returned, Ted decided to delay no longer, and
started off at a brisk walk for the station, which was six or seven
blocks distant.

His hotel being on Pine Street, he chose that for his route.

He had walked three blocks when he stopped to watch a man who was
slightly in advance of him.

It was the fellow he had seen in the checked suit.

He had just come out of a saloon.

In the middle of the block he stopped to talk with another man, who
looked as if he worked on the railroad, and Ted loitered in a doorway
until the two separated, and the man in the checked suit continued on
his way.

A block farther on Ted observed two men standing on the corner talking.
A policeman stood on the opposite corner.

The two men on the corner Ted knew instantly for "plain-clothes men," as
the headquarters detectives are called.

He was well aware that the police by this time were on the alert to find
the express robber and murderer, and knew that every available man on
the city detective force was on the watch, like a cat at a rat hole.

To capture the train robber meant a reward and promotion.

Ted stood on the corner opposite the detectives and watched proceedings.

When the man in the checked suit had gone about ten paces beyond the
detectives, one of them started after him, and the other signaled the
policeman in uniform to cross over.

The detective called to the man in the check suit to halt, but instead
of obeying he started to run.

But he had not gone more than ten feet when he was seized by the
detective, and was dragged back to the corner.

"Take him to the box, Casey," said the detective, turning his prisoner
over to the policeman.

At that moment the two detectives were joined by a third, and they
entered into an earnest conversation, drawn closely together and looking
over their shoulders occasionally in the direction of the house into
which the man in the checked suit was about to enter when arrested.

"I have stumbled right into it," said Ted to himself. "The check-suit
man is the spy for the train robbers, and their headquarters are in that
house. The detectives are going to raid it, and I'm in on it. This
certainly is lucky."

He was glad now that he had not waited for Bud.

The three detectives moved slowly down the street, The policeman stood
on the corner holding his man, waiting for the patrol wagon.

The scene was vividly impressed on Ted's mind, for it had happened so
quickly, so easily, so quietly, and not at all like his own strenuous
times when he had gone after desperadoes in his capacity of deputy
marshal.

The detectives did not notice that they were being followed by a youth,
and it is doubtful if they would have paid any attention to him if they
had.

The foot of the first detective was on the lower step of the stairway
leading to the door of the suspected house when suddenly a shrill
whistle cut the air from the direction of the corner, and Ted turned to
see the policeman strike the man in the check suit a blow with his club.

"Curse him, he's tipped us off," said the detective. "Come on, we've got
to rush them now."

Quickly the three sprang up the steps, threw the door open, and entered
a long hall.

"Back room," said one.

Ted was following them as closely as he could without being noticed and
warned away.

He saw a big, fine-looking policeman entering by a back door.

"That's it," said one of the detectives, motioning to a door.

The policeman walked boldly to the door and threw it open.

As he did so a shot rang out, and the policeman staggered back and
fell, a crimson stain covering his face.

He was dead before he struck the floor.

Without a word, the three detectives ran to the door, and within a
moment or two at least fifteen shots were fired within the room.

They were so many and so close together that it sounded like a single
crash. Then there was silence for a few moments, followed by a few
desultory shots which seemed to pop viciously after the crash that had
gone before.

It all happened so suddenly that Ted had hardly time to think, and stood
rooted to the spot until he was aroused by the cry of "Help!" in a
feeble voice, and, drawing his revolver, he sprang into the room.

As he did so, a shot rang out, and a ball sped close to his head.

The room was so dense with suffocating powder smoke that he could not
see across it, but he had seen the dull-red flash from the muzzle of a
revolver and shot in that direction.

"I'm done," he heard, followed by a deep groan.

"Get me out of here," said a man, trying to struggle to his feet, and
Ted hurried to his side. It was one of the detectives, and Ted helped
him to his feet and supported him to the hall.

"Let me down. I've got mine. Go in and help Dunnigan," said the wounded
man. There was a spot, red and ever widening, on his breast.

Ted laid him on the floor and reentered the room. Another shot came in
his direction, and missed, although he could feel the wind of it as it
passed close to his head, and he returned it with two shots, and there
was silence.

The smoke had by this time cleared away somewhat, and Ted saw five men
lying prone in the room.

One of the detectives lay on his face across the bed, and Ted tried to
raise him up, but he was a dead weight. Ted finally got him turned over
on his back, and then he saw that the detective was dead.

Kneeling on the floor with his head in his arms, which were thrown
across a chair, was the third detective. He was breathing hard, and
every time he moved the blood gushed from his mouth. He had been shot
through the stomach.

But on the other side of the bed lay three men, apparently all of them
dead.

While he was observing this there was a commotion in the hall, and a
policeman rushed in, followed by a large man who wore an authoritative
air.

"Oh, this is too bad; this is too bad," he kept repeating, as he went
from man to man. It was Chief of Detectives Desmond. Turning to the
policeman, he said:

"They've killed the boys, but the boys got the whole gang except two,
'Checkers' out there, and a man in the red automobile."




CHAPTER XVI.

THE MAN IN THE YELLOW CAR.


A patrol wagon full of policemen had dashed up in front of the house,
and they came running down the hall, followed by a horde of eager
reporters, who stood aghast at the slaughter of a few minutes.

The only participant in the fight who could talk was the detective whom
Ted had carried to the hall, and he was telling the chief of detectives
in whispers what had occurred.

"That young fellow followed us in," he said, pointing to Ted. "He took
me out, and then went in and finished the gang. He's a game one, he is.
I don't know who he is, but, by Jove! he's a game un."

"Who were the gang?" asked the chief.

"'Big Bill' Minnis, 'Bull' Dorgan, and 'Feathers' Lavin," was the reply.
"Checkers we caught on the corner, and the other member of the gang,
Dude Wilcox, got away. I guess it was him that rode off with the swag in
the automobile, but where he went we couldn't get."

"I can tell you about that," said Ted quietly to the chief.

Desmond looked up at him curiously.

"Not now," he said. "Don't go. I want to talk to you after a while. Now,
brace up, Tom; you're going to come out all right. The ambulance is out
here, and we'll get you to the hospital."

"It ain't no use to jolly me, chief," said the man on the floor. "I'm
all in. I'm bleedin' inside. I've seen too many fellows with a shot like
this ever to have any hopes. Send for my wife and a priest. I ain't
afraid to go, chief, but I hate to leave Maggie like this."

"We'll take care of her, Tom. Get that off your mind."

"All right, chief. If you say so, I know it'll be all right. Poor girl,
it's hard luck for her."

"That's right, Tom, but brace up and don't let her see that you're
worried."

A woman's scream sounded through the hall, and a slender, girlish figure
pushed its way toward the prostrate man.

"Tom," she cried, and knelt beside him. "Are you hit? Did they get you
at last?"

"Oh, I ain't bad, Maggie," said the dying detective bravely. "The
chief's going to have me sent to the hospital, and I'll be all right in
a week."

But before midnight he died.

An hour later Ted met the chief of detectives.

"Get into my car," said the chief, "and come down to my office, and
we'll have a talk."

In a short time they were at the Four Courts, the big central police
station of St. Louis, and when they were in the chief's private office
and the door barred to intruders the great detective turned inquiringly
to Ted.

"Now, who are you, and how did you happen to be mixed up in that mess?"
asked Desmond.

"My name is Ted Strong," began Ted.

Suddenly Chief Desmond sat up straight and looked at Ted sharply.

"Not the leader of the broncho boys, are you?" he asked.

"The same," said Ted.

"I know about you. What were you doing near those detectives, that you
should have got in so handily?"

"I'm a deputy United States marshal, as perhaps you know."

Desmond nodded. "Yes, I know," he said.

"I was working on this very case," said Ted, "and I had got hold of one
end of it, and was about to follow it to a conclusion, when I saw the
man Checkers on the street, and was following him. He led me to the
detectives. The minute I saw them and him, I knew there would be
something doing."

"What did you know of Checkers?"

"Nothing at all, except that he knew somehow that I was working on the
express-robbery cases, and yesterday he shadowed my partner and me to
East St. Louis, where we left him behind in an automobile."

Ted then told the chief how he had come about taking possession of the
red car, to which Desmond listened carefully. When Ted had finished,
Desmond rose and paced the room for a minute.

"Young man, you've got the big end of the chase," he said. "Dude Wilcox
is the man who we are positive killed the messenger and got away with
the swag. If it were you who found out how he got away with it, you will
have got the last of the gang."

"Is that all there is to it?" asked Ted.

"Lord bless you, no. That's only the bunch that has been working in St.
Louis. The big end of it is operating from some town farther west.
There's where Dude Wilcox came from. I don't know where they make their
headquarters, and it is out of my territory. I have all I can do to take
care of St. Louis."

"The government officers were of the opinion that St. Louis was
headquarters."

"That was true up to a few weeks ago, but we made it so hot for them
here that they emigrated."

"Well, there's no use in my staying here any longer. I might as well
hike out west. I'm not much good in a big town, anyway. I suppose you'll
have no trouble in handling Checkers without any word from me."

"Oh, yes. But let's have Checkers up and hear what he has to say for
himself."

The chief pushed a button and presently an officer entered.

"Go down to the hold-over and bring Checkers to me," ordered the chief.

In less than ten minutes the officer was back again.

"The jailer says he has no such man, chief," was the report.

"Where is he?"

"I'll inquire."

Back he came in a few minutes.

"Casey had him on the corner waiting for the wagon, sir, but in the
excitement during the fight Casey let go of Checkers for a moment, and
he got away."

Ted could see that the chief was very angry, but he controlled his
temper admirably.

"Very well," was all he said.

He turned and gave Ted a sharp look.

"If you stay around here much longer, you'll have to look out for
Checkers. He's a dangerous man, as well with a knife as with a gun."

"I guess I can take care of him," answered Ted.

"You look as if you could, lad," said the chief.

After a few more minutes of conversation regarding the red motor car,
during which the chief advised Ted to keep the car until he was through
with it, Ted took his leave, and returned to the hotel.

There he found Bud pacing the floor.

"Peevish porcupines," grunted the old cow-puncher, "but you've got
yourself in up to ther neck in printer's ink."

"How's that?" asked Ted.

"Haven't you seen the evening papers?"

"I've been too busy to look at them."

"I reckon you be. Busier than a cranberry merchant. Look at this."

Bud handed Ted a bundle of evening papers.

Of course, the fight between the detectives and the bandits was given an
immense amount of space in the extras which followed one another rapidly
from the presses. In all of them were accounts of Ted's going to the
rescue of the detectives, and the statement that balls from Ted's
revolver had killed two of the gang.

"Rubbish!" said Ted. "I didn't kill any bandits. I took a couple of
shots at them after they had fired on me, that's all."

"Well, yer won't be able to get away from these newspaper stories. If
any of ther gang run across yer, they'll shore go after yer with a hard
plank. Ye've placed ther black mark on yerself with ther gang."

"All right. I can stand it if they can. I've got a few up my sleeve for
them."

Then Ted related exactly how the thing happened, and of his talk with
Desmond.

"And they let that fellow Checkers get away," sighed Ted. "The chief
says he's the most dangerous of them all, and warned me to look out for
him. Bud, I've got a hunch."

"Let her flicker. I'm kinder stuck on yer hunches; they pay dividends
right erlong."

"The fellow in the check suit was the man who tried to stab me because I
wouldn't let him see the anonymous letter. I don't know which was the
real man, Checkers or the other. But there were many points of
similarity between them, and when Checkers called for us to stop the
automobile, it was the voice of the man who commanded me to give him the
letter. Keep Checkers in your mind."

The next morning they went out to Don Dorrington's house and got out the
automobile.

"We'll circulate around pretty well in this," said Ted, "and if
Checkers is in town he'll spot us, and we may get a chance at him yet."

"What do you want with him?"

"I'm depending on him to lead us to headquarters."

For an hour or more they rode about the town, making the machine as
conspicuous as possible.

"Bud, we're being followed," said Ted, nodding toward a yellow car that
had been in evidence oftener than mere chance made possible.

"Yep. I've had him spotted fer some time," answered Bud.

"Why didn't you say something about it?" Ted laughed at Bud's silence.

"Oh, I knew that you were on to it, too," was the characteristic reply.

"What do you suppose he's chasing us for? He must know that he can't
harm us."

"He don't want us. He wants that red car. It's a beautiful piece of red
evidence against him an' his gang. Yer see, it's ther best kinder a
clew."

"Right again. But he needn't think he can steal it, for he can't."

They put the car up during the middle of the day.

"We'll let it rest for a while," said Ted, as they ran it into a public
garage. "This evening we'll take it out again, and if we're followed
then we'll be sure that it is Checkers, and that he is on our trail."

It was seven o'clock when they trundled forth again.

A bright moonlight night made motoring highly enjoyable, and after they
had run about for a couple of hours Bud got out, saying that he was
tired of the sport, and would return to the hotel, and leave Ted to take
the machine back to Don Dorrington's basement.

They had been followed by the yellow car again, but in going through
Forest Park they had managed to give their trailer the slip among the
intricate roads and bypaths, and had seen nothing of him for half an
hour.

As soon as Ted had let Bud out, he hit up the speed, for the boulevard
was comparatively free of traffic, and he fairly spun along to the
western part of the city.

Cutting off the boulevard, he entered upon a side street to make a short
cut to Dorrington's house.

He noticed, as he turned into the side street, a light-colored car
standing close to the curb as he passed, but so many cars were standing
in front of houses here and there that he paid no attention to it.

But he had no sooner passed than the light-colored car glided after him
noiselessly. Ted's own machine was making so much noise that he was not
aware of the presence of another car until it was abreast of him, and so
close that he could reach out his hand and touch it.

He thought the car was trying to pass him close to the curb, and started
to turn out to give it more steerage room.

"Sheer off, there," he called, "until I can get out of here."

Suddenly something wet struck him in the face. He gave a gasp, as a
fearful suffocating pain filled his head and lungs, and he sank down
into the bottom of the car, insensible.

At the same instant the man in the other car reached over and throttled
the red car, then stopped his own.

Leaving his own car in the middle of the road, he leaped into the red
car and gave her her full head.

In half an hour the red car had left the city and was speeding along a
smooth country road in the moonlight.

Ted still lay in a stupor in the bottom of the car, and the only sound
that came from him was an occasional gasp as his lungs, trying to
recover from a shock, took in short gulps of air.

It was midnight before the red car slowed down.

Ahead in the moonlight rose the black bulk of a building.

It presented the appearance of a country house of some pretensions.

The house was dark. Not a light appeared at any of the windows.

The red car approached it cautiously, running into the deep shadow cast
by a high brick wall. A dog on the other side of the wall barked a
warning.

The man in the red car whistled softly in a peculiar way.

A window was raised somewhere, and the whistle was answered by another.

In a few minutes there was the sound of a man walking on a graveled
path, then the creak of rusty iron and a gate swung open.

"All right?" asked a voice at the gate.

"You bet. Got them both," answered the man in the red machine.

"Bully for you. Run her in."

The red machine, with Ted still lying in the bottom, ran into a large
yard, and the gate was closed again, and the car was stopped in front of
the house.

"Come, help me carry him in," said the man in the car. "He'll be coming
around all right in a few minutes, then we may have some trouble with
him, for he's the very devil to fight."

Ted was dragged out of the car in no gentle manner, and carried into the
house, which was unlighted save where the moonlight shone through the
windows.

"Into the strong room with him," said the man of the house.

Ted was carried into a room and dumped upon a lounge. Then a light was
struck, and both men bent over the prostrate form of the leader of the
broncho boys.

Both of them started back.

"Whew! You must have given him an awful dose, Checkers," said the man of
the house.

"Had to do it, Dude. If I hadn't, I'd never got him here, that's a