Jubo was gone. Stealthily, Cliff turned out the light. Leaving his adversary unconscious, The Shadow’s agent moved through the darkness, picking a course toward the midway. He was too late to trail Jubo the Geek. The mop-headed wild man had made good his escape.
IN Lucille’s tent, the sheriff was grimly surveying overturned chairs and upset articles upon the dressing table. Two of his deputies had arrived; they were watching Tex and Stuffy. Adoniram Towne was biting his lips.
“Looks like someone grabbed the girl,” decided the sheriff. “You’ll answer for this, Larch. What do you know about it? Where is Lucy Aldon?”
“I don’t know,” responded Tex. His face was troubled. “I had no idea—”
“You tried to keep us from coming in this tent,” broke in Towne, his voice indignant. “Come, Larch. Have you abducted Lucy Aldon?”
“What do you mean?” Tex’s question was savage, “Do you think I’d do—”
“You were the only one who knew who she was,” interposed Towne, “The burden of proof is upon you, Larch.”
“Others might have known it,” retorted Tex. “She’s been a trouper ever since she was a kid. Brought up by circus folk. It didn’t take no detective work for me to learn the names of her dead parents—”
Tex broke off as a figure bounded up from the side of the tent. A deputy swung his revolver to cover the intruder. A gasp came from Stuffy Dowson:
“Jubo the Geek!”
The wild man had thrust one hand to his forehead. With a quick sweep, he ripped off his heavy, moplike wig.
The action brought an instant change to his brownish, made-up features. With his other hand, Jubo drew up the bottom of his jersey. A badge glittered from the shirt that he wore beneath.
“Who are you?” quizzed the sheriff, as he ordered the deputy to lower his gun.
“My name’s Marquette,” stated the transformed geek, in a steady voice. “I’m Vic Marquette, of the secret service.”
“Of the secret service!”
“Yes. Is this man Larch your prisoner?”
“He is. Do you want him?”
“He looks like the fellow I’m after. I need the big shot in a counterfeiting racket that’s been following this show of his. Are those Larch’s bags?”
“Yes.”
“Where was he taking them?”
“To New York.”
Vic grabbed a bag and yanked it open. Clothes, office books and other assorted articles went spreading on the ground. Vic seized the second suitcase and sent its contents flying.
“What are you looking for?” quizzed the sheriff, as Vic began to paw through the scattered articles.
“Cash,” returned Vic. “Real cash and plenty of it. I’m looking for counterfeit bills, too. The mob that’s with this show pulled in all the queer that they were shoving. It was going to the big shot, tonight.”
“I’m not the big shot,” put in Tex.
“Looks like you’re right,” admitted Vic, rising from the ground. “Do you know who is?”
“I didn’t even know there was a racket with the outfit,” growled Tex. “Say — it looks like I’m being framed plenty here tonight. First the girl business. Then—”
“Who else went off this lot?” quizzed Vic, turning to the sheriff. “Who else could have carried the cash and the queer?”
“Cap Guffy left,” declared the sheriff. “Drove off the lot in his coupe.”
“He’s the man, then!” decided Vic, grimly. “I located the mainspring of the mob. He’s the fellow that called himself Cleed the Cigarette Fiend. But his crew grabbed me before I saw him contact with the big shot.
“Can you give me a couple of deputies, sheriff? I’m going after Cap Guffy, before it’s too late. Had a couple of my own men, here on the lot, but I didn’t see them when I came across the midway.”
“Keep guard, men,” ordered the sheriff, as he stepped toward the tent flaps. “I’ll get you a couple of deputies, Marquette. Maybe you’ll still have time to grab Captain Guffy.”
“Who wants Cap Guffy?”
The tent flaps swept aside before the sheriff could open them. The voice came in challenging fashion from the burly speaker who was entering. The sheriff stepped back and dropped his jaw. Vic Marquette stared.
Into the tent had come the very man whom they intended to pursue. It was Captain Guffy, big as life, demanding to know why he was wanted!
CHAPTER XX
THE MOB BREAKS
AS Cap Guffy stared in challenge, he found himself looking into the muzzle of a stub-nosed revolver. The weapon was held by Vic Marquette. The secret-service operative spoke in a cold, steady voice.
“Where have you taken the queer stuff, Guffy?” questioned Vic. “What about the real dough you took in?”
“The queer stuff?” gasped Guffy.
“The counterfeit money,” affirmed Vic. “The game was working from your Ten-in-One tent. I figured you to be the big shot, if Tex Larch didn’t prove to be the man.”
“Where’s the girl?” demanded the sheriff.
“What girl?” blurted Cap.
“Lucy Aldon,” stated Adoniram Towne.
“Lucy Aldon?” questioned Cap.
“They mean Lucille Lavan,” declared Tex Larch, suddenly. He turned to the sheriff, then to Vic Marquette. “Listen, you fellows” — Tex was serious — “it looks like a double racket was working on this lot. You accused me of being the big shot. Now you’re on Cap Guffy’s neck.”
“Well?” quizzed Vic Marquette.
“You’re wrong about Cap,” stated Tex, “just as you were wrong about me. Cap’s on the level.”
“He is, eh?” put in the sheriff. “Well, you and him didn’t seem to be such good friends when he was leaving tonight.”
“Cap and I had our differences,” admitted Tex. “But he’s a trouper and a straight shooter. As I get it” — Tex was concentrating on Vic Marquette — “you’re after some fellow who has gone off the lot.”
“Not just off tonight,” insisted Vic. “I want the man who’s been on and off. The fellow who could have brought in counterfeit bills and taken away real cash, by contact with his helpers here.”
“The fellow who could have carried away the bank funds,” put in the sheriff, suddenly. “Like you, Larch, going into New York. Like you, Guffy, going down to the station with a trunk. I’m just beginning to see the game.”
“There are my bags,” asserted Tex. “Nothing in them. And if Cap was crooked, he wouldn’t have come back to this lot, would he? Listen” — Tex narrowed his gaze toward Vic — “I’ll tell you who the real crook is—”
“Jonathan Wilbart!” exclaimed Cap Guffy.
“Bah!” put in the sheriff. “Say — it looks like both of you are crooks. Come on, men. We’re taking them into town. Get a car—”
“Wait!” The command came from Vic Marquette. “These men may be right, sheriff. Where is Jonathan Wilbart?”
“He left a while ago. But he—”
“Hold these two men, sheriff. I’ve seen Wilbart’s car around this lot. I know where he usually parks it. Let me take a look.”
“But he’s gone—”
“I don’t know about that. Allow me five minutes, sheriff. Let me see if Wilbart is still around.”
“All right.”
VIC ducked for the side of the tent as the Sheriff gave his agreement. Coming out into dim light, he scrambled off into darkness. He saw a car parked off the lot. He leveled his gun as he noticed a crouched figure. Then came the glimmer of a flashlight. Vic stopped short, caught by the glare.
“Vic!” Slade’s voice gasped in recognition of the ex-geek’s brownish features. “It’s you, isn’t it, Vic?”