Chapter XXXIII: A Bomb Outrage

Chief of Police Hodgins had been to the city hall to tell the mayor the good news that the Camera Chap had been captured, and was on his way back to police headquarters when the explosion in the Chronicle Building occurred.

As he passed the office of Gale’s newspaper, the chief thought that he might as well drop in and tell his old friend the glad tidings, too. He knew that the proprietor of the _Chronicle_ and his son would be delighted to hear that Hawley’s wings had been clipped at last, and that Mayor Henkle had agreed that the “young desperado” must be sent to jail, public sentiment to the contrary notwithstanding.

Hodgins was just about to enter the building when there came a violent report, followed instantly by a crash and loud cries of alarm.

“Great grief!” he gasped. “What has happened? Sounds as if a bomb had gone off. And it came from inside the building, too!”

Rushing up the stairs, which were strewn with pieces of plaster that the explosion had torn from the walls, the chief entered the private office of Delancey Gale--or, to be more exact, all that was left of the private office.

The room was a total wreck. Its door had been torn from its hinges; the panes of the two windows were completely blown out; the ceiling had come down; great holes had been torn in the plastering of the walls; the office furniture was smashed.

And, stretched on the floor, lying so still that Hodgins thought at first that he surely must be dead, was old Delancey Gale, so badly banged up by the explosion that his face was scarcely recognizable.

In the hope that there might still be some life left in that inert form, the chief of police grabbed the telephone which stood on the ruin of what had been a fine mahogany desk. Fortunately the instrument was still in working order, and in a few minutes he had the hospital on the wire, and was imploring them to send an ambulance to the _Chronicle_ office with as little delay as possible.

When the ambulance surgeon arrived, he announced that there was still a spark of life left in the proprietor of the _Chronicle_, but that it was exceedingly doubtful whether he would survive his injuries.

“Anybody else hurt, chief?” the surgeon inquired, as he and his driver placed the wounded man on a stretcher and prepared to take him to the hospital.

“It seems not,” Hodgins replied. “A couple of chaps in the reporters’ room got a few scratches, I’m told; but nobody except poor Gale is injured seriously. The whole building was jarred by the explosion, but most of its force seems to have been confined to this room.”

“How did it happen?” the surgeon inquired, as he lifted one end of the stretcher and started to carry the unconscious man to the ambulance.

“Looks to me like a bomb outrage,” the police official replied, with a scowl. “See that clockwork affair over there on the floor? I reckon it was that contraption which caused the damage. But I ain’t had time to make an investigation. I’ve got my suspicions, though, as to who is responsible for this atrocity.”

Just as they were lifting the stretcher into the ambulance, young Gale pushed his way through the crowd which had gathered on the sidewalk. He had gone out on an errand for his father about an hour before the explosion, and the sight of the ambulance and the crowd gathered in front of the _Chronicle_ office was the first intimation he had that anything was wrong. His face was white as he approached Chief Hodgins.

“Is the governor dead?” he inquired hoarsely.

“Not quite,” was the gruff reply. “But the doc says he don’t stand much show. What do you know about this explosion, my boy?”

“Nothing at all,” Gale replied nervously. “I can’t understand how it happened.”

“I reckon I’ve got a pretty clear idea how it happened, all right,” growled Hodgins. “Somebody sent the old gent an infernal machine. The pieces of it are lying on the floor of the office now. And it ain’t hard to guess who that somebody was, eh?”

“No, indeed,” young Gale replied. “My father has only one enemy--at least, only one who would be capable of such a cowardly attack. That cad, Carroll, is responsible for this, as sure as you’re standing here, chief! I demand that you place him under arrest at once!”

“You won’t have to ask that of me twice,” Hodgins replied grimly. “My fingers are just itching to get hold of that big stiff’s coat collar. But first let us go in and look the ground over, and see if we can’t find a little more evidence against him. Suspicion ain’t evidence, you know.”

A more affectionate son might have preferred to accompany the ambulance to the hospital, in order to be present, or near at hand, while the surgeons made a thorough examination of his father’s injuries; but this course did not seem to suggest itself to Gale.

Eagerly he followed the chief of police up the plaster-strewn stairway to the wrecked private office of the proprietor of the _Chronicle_.

They examined the fragments of the exploded infernal machine, and found there some clews which caused Gale to turn excitedly to Hodgins.

“It’s Carroll, sure enough!” he cried triumphantly. “We’ve got enough evidence here to send him to the chair, if the governor dies, and to prison for life if he doesn’t. Come on, chief; let’s march to the _Bulletin_ office and place him under arrest.”

The chief of police took the precaution of providing himself with an escort of four stalwart members of his force before he went to arrest the proprietor of the _Bulletin_.

Not possessing the sunny, placid disposition of his friend Hawley, Carroll’s indignation took the form of physical resistance when he learned the intentions of his visitors concerning himself. Hodgins and his posse had to send for reënforcements before they could get him out of the building.

That was why the proprietor of the _Bulletin_ presented such a battered appearance when he joined the Camera Chap in the cell at police headquarters.