CHAPTER XI
A SEARCH FOR THE BLUE HAND
“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Hosfer, as he watched Mr. Newton place what was left of the blue paper in his pocket.
“I mean that I have a clew to the persons who blew open the safe,” said Mr. Newton. “As soon as I saw that paper which Larry found, with the blue marks on it, I thought it might have been used by the burglars. I was at a loss to know what could have caused the marks, but you, Mr. Hosfer, have solved that problem for me. I think I can manage the rest.”
“But can't the blue marks wash off?” asked Larry. “What good is the clew then?”
“No! The blue marks will not come off!” exclaimed Mr. Newton. “Will they, Mr. Hosfer?”
“Not for some time,” replied the chemist. “I see now what Mr. Newton is driving at. He is going to solve a horrible, a dastardly, soul-curdling, bloody mystery. The blue marks will not come off. It is a peculiar feature of certain forms of nitric acid, and also of nitro-glycerine, which is made from the acid, that they will stain the skin a bluish color. This color will not come off until the skin wears off, and, as that takes some time, you may be sure that your blue-handed man will have to go around for a number of weeks with the marks on his fingers and thumb. I see what Mr. Newton is up to now. Oh, but you're a sly dog!”
“It's mostly a matter of luck,” replied the reporter. “You have been of great service to us, Mr. Hosfer.”
“To think I should be mixed up in a terrible, fearful, awful, shocking, sensational affair like this,” spoke the chemist, with a smile, as though it was the best fun in the world. “That comes of having a reporter for a friend.”
“Well,” said Mr. Newton, “you ought to be glad of a chance to aid the ends of justice by discovering the safe-robber.”
“All I ask is to be let alone with my experiments,” said Mr. Hosfer. “At the same time, if Justice thinks I'm entitled to anything, I might say I have my living to earn, and it's none too easy a task.”
“I'll speak to Justice about it,” said Mr. Newton, with a laugh.
Mr. Newton and Larry now took their leave. They had found out what they wanted to know, or at least Mr. Newton had, for Larry had no suspicion of the object of the visit to the chemist's.
“What are you going to do next?” asked the lad of Mr. Newton.
“I'm going to begin a search for the blue-handed man,” was the answer. “I want you to help me. This will be aside from our regular work on the Leader, though if we are successful, it will mean that we'll get a good story for the paper. We may have to work nights, and at other times when we're not busy in the office or on assignments. Do you want to go in for it?”
“Of course I do,” replied Larry.
“There's no reward offered, as far as I know,” went on Mr. Newton. “The firm is insured in a burglary concern, I understand, so they are not worrying about the loss. But it would be a fine thing if you and I could trace the thieves by reason of this piece of blue-marked paper.”
“It certainly would,” rejoined Larry. “I'll do my best.”
The next day Mr. Newton had a talk with Mr. Emberg on the matter. He explained about the blue-marked paper, and told how Larry had found it, and how it might form a clew to the identity of the burglars.
Mr. Newton told how he and Larry had formed a plan of hunting for the blue-handed man, and secured permission to leave the office early afternoons, with Larry, on the trail of the safe-blowers.
For several days, however, there was so much to do around the office or out on assignments, that neither Larry nor Mr. Newton had a chance to work on their quest. They did not forget it, however. One afternoon Larry found a note on his desk asking him to call at Mr. Newton's house that night, as the older reporter had to go out on a late story.
When Larry reached his friend's house, he found that Mr. Newton had just come in.
“You almost beat me, Larry,” said Mr. Newton, pleasantly. “But I'll be ready for you in a few minutes, as soon as I have a bite to eat. I'm rather hungry.”
“Is it about the blue-handed man?” asked Larry.
“That's what it's about,” was the reply. “That is, not exactly him, but we're going to get on his trail, and, perhaps, we can land some of his confederates.”
A little later Mr. Newton explained his plan. It was that he and Larry would take every chance they had of going about in the slums of New York, for there it was that they might most naturally expect to find the man they sought.
“I don't believe any of the gang of safe-blowers has left New York,” said Mr. Newton. “I have talked with the detectives about the matter, and they are sure that the criminals are hiding here. The trouble is, New York is such a big place it makes an excellent place to hide. The detectives have been over every clew, but they have succeeded very poorly so far. There's not a trace of the men or the missing valuables.”
“Wouldn't it be a joke if we got 'em!” said Larry.
“Almost too good a joke to be true,” was Mr. Newton's reply.
The two reporters laid their plans, and put them into operation the next day. All the time they could spare from their office work they used in tramping about the worst parts of New York. Mr. Newton “knew the ropes” from having been on frequent assignments to localities where happenings grave and gay had occurred.
Together they went through the Bowery, into Chinatown, with its Joss houses, heavy with the smell of incense sticks, into Chinese dwellings where the reek of opium lingered, and into dives of all sorts.
All the while they sought but one man, a man who had blue hands, or blue marks on his fingers and thumbs. They were not interested in faces or clothes. All they looked at was hands.
For two weeks they kept up this tiresome work. They had any number of strange experiences. Once they came near to being caught in a raid the police made on a certain place, where, it was said, Chinese gambling was carried on. Again they were in places where fierce fights started, and where the first thing that happened was that the lights went out. But each time they came through all right.
All this while, however, their quest seemed to be fruitless. They could not find the man they sought. They made guarded inquiries, for they did not want it known what their object was, in frequenting the slums. But they did not meet with any success.
Once, indeed, they thought they were on the right track. A woman, of whom they inquired if she had ever seen a man with blue marks on his hands, replied:
“Yes, sure. He lif by me!”
“He lives with you!” exclaimed Larry, thinking, perhaps, he had stumbled upon the wife of the man they sought.
“I means in de same houses,” explained the woman, who was German. “His hands is as blue like de skies. He iss de man vat you vant. His hands is blue as vat nefer vas. He vorks in a place where dey makes bluing for clothes. Ah! sure his hands iss blue, but he iss a goot man!”
“I'm afraid he's not the man we are after,” said Mr. Newton. “The hands of the man we want are not blue all over, only part blue; a little blue.”
“Ah, den, I knows,” said the woman, with a smile.
“What do you mean?”
“It iss his liddles boy vat you vants. His hands is littler as his fader's, and dey iss not blue all over; only part blue. Ah, yes, I knows!”
Thanking the woman for her information, which, however, was of no value, Mr. Newton and Larry gave up their quest in that direction.
“We'll have to start on a fresh trail in the morning,” said Mr. Newton, when he and Larry were eating a modest lunch in a cheap restaurant about twelve o'clock that night.
“It doesn't seem as if we were going to succeed,” spoke Larry. “We've been at it a good while, and haven't accomplished anything.”
“Don't give up so easily,” counseled Mr. Newton. “I've been on the trail of stories for several months before I landed 'em. This business isn't done in a day.”
The restaurant was almost deserted. At a table in the rear three men sat eating. Larry and Mr. Newton had paid no attention to them. As the men got up to go out they went close by the table where the two reporters sat. As they went by one of them said:
“I suppose Noddy will be helping us again soon.”
To this one of the other men made this rather strange reply:
“Not until he can take his gloves off. You know, he's all blue from that last affair!”
“Hush!” cautioned the third man, with a glance at the table where the two reporters were sitting, but who could not be seen very clearly, as their chairs were in a shadow.
“Did you hear what he said?” asked Larry, when the men had gone out.
“I did,” replied Mr. Newton, with some show of eagerness. “It may have referred to our man, and again, and more likely, it may not. I wonder who those men were?”
“I know who one was,” said Larry.
“Who?” exclaimed Mr. Newton.
“I don't know his name,” spoke the lad, “but he's the same man who called on my mother that second time to ask her to sell him the Bronx property.”
“Are you sure?” asked Mr. Newton, half rising from his seat.
“Very sure.”
“Then I think we are on the trail,” said Mr. Newton.
“Why?”
“Because that man is a sort of lawyer who stands in with criminals of all kinds. He defends them when it is necessary, and helps them out of trouble. Of course, it may be only a coincidence, but I'm almost certain now, that he knows something of the blue-handed man we are seeking. Now we begin to see a little ray of light. We have been working in the dark up to now. I know where to start.”
“Can we do any more to-night?” asked Larry.
“I think not. You'd better go home and go to bed. In the morning I'll commence in another direction. I have a friend, a detective, who will help us.”
So Larry started home. He would have gone much faster than he did, had he known what strange news awaited him.