Chapter XXXI: “play by Play”

At one o’clock the next afternoon the cement seats of Soldiers’ Field, where seventy thousand spectators were to witness a football classic of unparalleled interest, began filling up. The place had been sold out for ten days. Even before the Red Rover vanished every ticket was gone. There were several reasons for this. It was a charity game; the entire net proceeds of the game were to be expended on the city’s needy. It was the great game of the year. The rivalry between Old Midway and Northern had ever been keen, never keener than now, for this game was to decide the championship of the conference. The Red Rover was to play, and it had been rumored abroad that this would be his last game, that he would not return to his squad in the following autumn. It was to be the Old Midway coach’s last game. He had definitely retired. And those who loved the Grand Old Man of football were legion.

So here they were gathering early. Some coming from afar had arrived early. Some, fearing that the place had been oversold, were hastening to secure their seats.

All morning there had been a whisper abroad. “The Red Rover will play to-day.” Thus the whisper ran. One heard it on the street corner, behind the counters in department stores, in the corner cigar store. When the over-curious rang up a newspaper office they were greeted by a curt denial. “We know nothing of it. Wish we did!” Bang! went the receiver. The phones of Old Midway’s office rang constantly. “No! No! No!” the patient clerks repeated over and over. “He has not returned to Old Midway.”

So over that great city expectancy hung like a thin cloud. And the early arrivals on the field whispered:

“Will he be here?”

* * * * * * * *

In the office beside the lighthouse on far away Passage Island sat Drew Lane and Johnny Thompson. Whatever else happened, they would not see the game. There were two others who would not see that game. Tony Piccalo and Spike O’Connor sat moodily in the far corner.

“It’s some time before the game,” Drew commented dryly, casting a significant glance at a radio that stood against the wall. “Just about time for a little story. You’ll be interested in this.” He turned to Johnny. “You’ve guessed at a part of it. Now it all may be told.

“You fellows—” He addressed himself to the others. “You fellows are not kidnapers by profession. Give the devil his dues. But for all that, the fellow who stoops to kidnaping in order that he may gain an end just once is lost, or should be. It’s the lowest crime on the docket, the least romantic, the most cowardly.

“You,” his voice rose, “are professional gamblers, and that rates you pretty low, too.”

He turned to Johnny. “You see, what happened was this. These fellows, with Tony’s brother, Angelo, have been operating a gambling den beneath Angelo’s flower shop for a long time. Race track stuff, baseball pools and all that. Somehow we didn’t get next to them until you found that jimmy bar that lifted the Red Rover’s window, and the shoe that made the invisible footprint was brought in by the Rat. Then we began to suspect something.

“When you brought in that batch of shavings from Angelo’s favorite pocket knife and we found they matched those made near the scene of the kidnaping; when you told us about being thrown from that room beneath the flower shop, we knew we were on the way.”

The pair of culprits sat listening in stolid silence. Johnny heaved a sigh. So he had been useful in this search. He was glad.

“We found out in no time at all,” Drew went on, “that these birds had organized a football pool. They were betting on a grand scale on to-day’s game, giving all manner of odds. And why not? You cowards!” He shot a look at the corner of the room. “You knew all the time that you meant to kidnap the Red Rover and hide him on Isle Royale until the game was over.

“The game.” His voice dropped. “The game has not yet started. The kick-off is at two o’clock. And such a game as it will be!

“You see,” he turned again to Johnny, “when we knew what you had discovered, the rest was easy. Tony, here, is a licensed pilot and owns that big amphibian. Owns it! Strange what some men will do to get more money when they are already rich! But crooked money calls for more and more, always more and more. That’s why a crooked dollar is such a terrible thing to possess.

“Since Tony had that plane and he had been at Isle Royale last summer, as young Angelo told you, as soon as we saw that clipping about the mysterious plane over Isle Royale, we knew just where to go.

“You know the rest.” He smiled at Johnny. “How we found them and got them, how we flew here in the red racer just in time to prevent the broadcasting of our great discovery.

“What you don’t know, and what these fellows don’t exactly know,” his eyes snapped, “is what is about to happen down there in the city.

“There’ll be a football game played. Right! The Red Rover will play. He’ll win!

“And here comes the kidnapers’ reward. Some crooks get to jail rich. They beat the rap or go free in two years, still rich. None of that here!”

He turned once more to the corner. “You fellows, you and your associates have bet your last dollar on the team that was to defeat Old Midway because of your crookedness. We know where all that money is stored. That team will not win. My pal, Tom Howe, and plenty more cops are ready to see that every dollar you wagered is paid. And then—you—will—be—broke!”

A groan came from the corner.

“You think that’s too tough!” Drew leaped to his feet. “It’s not! Nothing is too bad for a kidnaper.

“And you, Tony!” He pointed a finger. “You kidnaped that Berley Todd, a defenseless girl, because you could, and because you thought you could pull down twenty extra grand for yourself.

“She’ll be cheering on the side lines.” He laughed a happy laugh. “That little girl will be cheering for the Red Rover, the best sport that ever lived. And you fellows are going to sit right in this room, getting the radio report and hearing yourselves go broke play by play. _Play by Play!_”