A Bump on the Head

That same night Jack was impatient to be through with supper, and immediately after, he left his house and hiked down to Jones Street. He didn’t know exactly what to expect, nor was he sure that anything at all was going to happen. He thought that it would be best to stick around and if Mr. Grey came out of his hiding, to follow him. It was now four days after the fire on Water Street and something was bound to happen in the immediate future. But what, or how, or when, was still a mystery to him.

Jack took along with him a brown sweater. He thought that if there was any need for it, he would put it on, and thus be able to change his appearance, if only slightly. He had the sweater wrapped up in a package under his arm. That too would make a slight difference in his appearance—first carrying a package and later being without one.

He took the same position as the day before and he did not have to wait long for darkness to come. It was already dusk when he came to Jones Street. Just as soon as it was dark enough, he changed his place by coming forward and hiding[106] behind the chassis of a wrecked car. That secured for him a better view of the street as well as the corner.

Watchful waiting—that was his task. But how long? Wasn’t Mr. Grey ever coming out? Was he to be disappointed tonight? He glanced at his watch; it was five minutes after nine. He saw the stars come out one by one in the sky and the moon come up on the horizon. In the street and around the corner there seemed to be very little activity. People passed up and down but he was not interested in them. Soon he saw the grocery man emerge and lock up his store.

Jack waited and watched, counting each minute. Time hung heavy on his hands. He began to wish, as he had the day before that he had never bothered with it at all, but the next instant he thought differently. He was in it and he meant to stick it through; he would not give it up just because he was impatient. It was quite possible, he thought to himself that Mr. Grey would not attempt one of his usual jaunts through the town. After all, one could not expect things to happen every night. It was quite possible that Mr. Grey had become suspicious, that he had actually become aware that he was being followed. Anything was possible, he thought to himself.

Ten minutes passed, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes—and still nothing happened. Gradually, Jack became convinced that Mr. Grey was not[107] coming out tonight. Suddenly it occurred to him that perhaps he had come too late. He remembered that the day before Mr. Grey had ventured forth at about six-thirty. And tonight he had not arrived there until about seven-thirty. He nodded to himself and thought that no doubt he had come too late. But what to do now and where to look first? He certainly could not just walk around town and look for his man; that would probably be futile. He debated with himself whether to go to Water Street, to the site of the last fire or to go to the house where he had followed Mr. Grey the night before. He decided on the latter course and off he went.

Peace and darkness shrouded the house. Jack walked up and down several times on the wrong side of the street. Then, growing bold he dashed across the street and into the yard. Not thinking it wise to approach the house, he crept noiselessly along the fence and all around the yard. There seemed to be not a soul around; except for the wind, nothing else seemed to stir. He approached the wall of the house and tried to peek into a window. But it was dark and, naturally, he saw nothing.

Cautiously, Jack approached the front of the house. Suddenly he stopped and held his breath. He heard a slight rumbling noise. He listened closely. Again the same noise. “Mice or rats,” he told himself. He moved forward again then, flattening[108] himself out against the wall, he waited. A woman passed down the street. He took out his searchlight which he was now glad he had brought, and moved forward again to the front of the house. Putting his hand on the knob, he turned it and the door opened slightly. Wondering how it was that the hinges, probably rusty, did not squeak, he pushed the door wider open.

He flashed his light on and stepped quickly into the hall and closed the door behind him. He threw a beam of light on the papers which Paul had pointed out to him; they were still there, in the same spot and untouched. Again he thought he heard a slight rumbling noise. Backing up close against the wall, he listened. Yes, there it was again. Rats or mice, he thought to himself. For a fraction of a second he hesitated. What was he doing in here, he asked himself. Did he expect to find Mr. Grey in the house? If so, what would he do if he did? Beside, Paul, Ken and he had been in the house only that morning.

Brushing aside all the doubts in his mind, he tiptoed along the hall. He passed one door, the second door. He retraced his steps and threw a beam of light upon the stairway. Suddenly he felt a sharp blow on the back of his head. His knees gave way and before he crashed to the floor, he sensed a figure fleeing past him ............