Henderson Daily Dispatch

The Blonde
-by Herbert Countoss O. Yardley
WHITEY SURELY achieved the seemingly impossible. Three times he wrote the message before he was satisfied with it, though to Greenleaf the first copy looked as though unmistakably written by the author of the entries in the little memorandum book.

"Guess it will do," Whitey said grudgingly.

"And now," said Greenleaf, "I want you to scrawl on the face of it in pencil 'Rush the gas'. The idea is, you see, to suggest that this message must go through at once. The fellow at the filling station will take it to mean that, I hope. And we'll give him another hint to the same effect."

He found a soft pencil from among those on Jensen's work table, and Whitey, after a few practice exercises, produced a convincing scrawl.

"It would certainly take me in," Greenleaf said. "And now for the critical scene. Blane, you and Jake and two more must put this over. Let me explain what I conceive the psychology of this to be.

"Jensen is the supposed author of this message. It is of unusual importance and must be hurried. Also, he is afraid of being watched, and has observed some suspicious circumstance unspecified. He sets off, therefore, at this hour of the night to deliver the message. Now in the ordinary course of events, he'd knock up his man at the filling station and tell him the facts. Presumably he is just about to do this when he is fired upon a short distance from the filling station. He shoves the message under the door and takes to the woods. Two or three shots at intervals, up the hillside, carry the picture of a man taking to cover. The chase is away from the filling station.

"Now suppose our man in the shack is aroused by the shots, jumps up, sees the paper thrust under the door, judges its character, and supposes Jensen has been seen and is trying to escape. The messenger puts the paper in his pocket and makes his getaway. Very definitely we do not want him stopped. This faked message must get through to the right people."

"So it's phony, is it?" asked Jake.

"I rather thought so."

"You're not very bright tonight," Greenleaf said, "but I realize you need sleep. Do this job right and you can sleep for two days. How about it? You men get the idea? A couple of you scatter up the hill. And don't hoot too much. About three shots in all should be enough, the last a good quarter of a mile away. Blane, you'd better fire the first just about the time Jake slips the message under the door. You mustn't be near the shack."

though. And better give him plenty of time to get the note there. The man at the shack will naturally think, when he hears the shots, that Jensen thought himself followed and so didn't dare knock. The messenger must believe it's up to him to get away at once. The shots ought to spur him into action. And once he's on his way I believe he'll explain the whole thing plausibly. You see, of course, that he must not see the supposed Jensen. That would be fatal. The diversion and the shooting explains Jensen's actions.

Greenleaf turned to Blane who had been following this intently.

"Am I right Blane? Any flaws?"

"You're sure this man is in the shack?"

"No," Greenleaf replied, "I'm not sure, but it stands to reason that he sleeps there. And if he does not he will find the message under the door when he returns. He will perceive the need for haste, and beat it. Also, and this is very important for us, he will not, I think, return. It would be too dangerous to do so. If Jensen was shot at near the shack he must suppose that we will become suspicious of that too, and be laying for him."

Blane nodded.

"I don't see anything wrong with it. But it demands good timing."

"Absolutely," said Greenleaf "Well, it's nearly four o'clock. Our man at the shack will be sleeping now if ever. Go to it. The whole of it must be pulled off before dawn. The nights are long but you've no time to waste."

Blane drew Greenleaf aside.

"Suppose Whitey has double-crossed us, betrayed us by deliberately forging the wrong message?"

Greenleaf gave him a cold look.

"You are a suspicious, fat devil, aren't you?" he said. "Once a crook, always a crook-I suppose. Bad psychology. I've placed the lives of several thousand men in his hands and his trustworthiness is the least of my misgivings."

"O. K. Chief," Blane grinned.

Jake slipped the invaluable forged note in his watch pocket, Blane and his men inspected guns and flashlights, and Greenleaf let the four men from the darkened hall into the darker night. They made no sound.

Anxiety for this most crucial move in the game he was playing contended with his fatigue. He gave his gun to Whitey with instructions to inspect and guard Jensen carefully. Then, leaning his head on his arms, sprawled upon a table he slept as one drugged.

Deep darkness, so admirable in one respect, that it made identification difficult, was awkward for those unfamiliar with the country. And it would be inadvisable to use torches until, after the first shot was fired the noise of a wooded hillside enough.

"You two fellows had better stumble up the rocky hillside until you hear Blane's shot."

Jake directed.

"Then you can light your way a bit

But you don't need to hurry. You can stay together until that shot Then one of you can go higher The man down below had better wait nine or ten minutes before firing the second shot. The man higher up should wait another eight or nine for his. After that you can find your way back to the house, using your flashes no more than necessary. This chap at the filling station should be on his way by then, but you can never tell."

He led the three up the rocky lane through the woods, where the going was hardest, and finally to the open road. A quarter of a mile from the filling station he directed the two into the woods, and saw them quickly disappear. Faint noises followed and then silence. He and Blane proceeded cautiously to within what Jake judged to be 200 yards of the filling station where Blane, too, turned into the woods feeling his way in the general direction of the shack.

"Give me about 10 minutes," Jake ordered. "That ought to be time enough to approach cautiously, slip the note under the door, and get away I want to be there a little before you shoot. Otherwise the fellow in the shack might jump up, open the door, and see me. I'll hide out in the woods not far from the shack. Maybe I can get some notion of what he does."

Jake went on as silently as possible. He dared not move fast and he had a horrible fear that he had given Blane too short a time. Certainly it seemed to his strained nerves more than 10 minutes before, in the darkness, he was able to discern the dim outline of the gasoline pump and behind it a shapeless blot of darkness which must be the shack. Jake walked as noiselessly as he could but the night was still and the little stones under his feet made a slight grating noise.

His hand found the wall of the shack. He crouched and felt with his hands for the step which led to the threshold of the door. He had a clear image of it in his mind. It was not more than 10 feet from the corner of the building. But it was his foot which encountered it with a slight blow.

No time to waste now. He drew the folded message from his watch pocket, felt with thumb and forefinger for the crack beneath the door, slipped the paper into it and thrust it as far as possible through. It was important that it be seen by the occupant of the room as soon as possible.

TO BE CONTINUED