The mystery of the missing eyebrows

without Mr. Bruce’s permission, he knew. Also no other paper would carry one line of it because that would mean free advertising for the Globe. “And newspapers aren’t run that way,” he ended. But Mrs. Horn was not convinced. However, she soon forgot her worries. A knot of neighbors on the corner caused Mr. Horn to stop his car. He found the group discussing new turns in the Wier kidnaping. The detectives in a town half way across the state had ordered the arrest of a man, one of the gangsters, who had been indicted in the election fraud case and had left the town the night Helen was kidnaped. They would arrive in town that night. The man’s actions had been mysterious for several days before the kidnaping, in fact enough so for the police to send word out to watch him. “But as usual with our police,” said the doctor on the corner, who himself having been robbed during the fall, was vindictive, “no watching was done.” That afternoon Renfro called Morrison for news of the Wier kidnaping, verifying what news in regard to the story he had heard that morning. It seemed to be an assured fact that this man had been arrested and that he was being brought back tonight. Renfro too heard stories about the scratched window pane. But the workman who put in the new windows at the Wier house offered evidence which seemed to make all these no clues at all. Very seldom he said were a set of windows ever installed in a new home without some of them being scratched by the workmen. Most of the work done involved the use of knives. And these scratches were knife made. The chief of detectives, hearing this had laughed and promptly put in his desk the two gray hairs he had been guarding since a short time before. Monday morning papers told of the return of the man believed to have some knowledge of the crime and his incarceration in the city jail. Mrs. Wier’s condition, according to the story, was improving. Another letter had come to the Wier home, this one sent from a nearby city, written in the child’s handwriting, assuring her mother that she was well and comfortable. On his way to school Renfro telephoned Morrison. And that executive had been very jubilant. “How did you do it?” he demanded, “and are you sure all your subscriptions are acceptable?” “Sure,” Renfro laughed back, “I’ve got the money in advance.” Then came a conversation with Bruce, and Renfro was ordered to come around past the office that afternoon early enough to have his picture snapped with the prize turkeys. Renfro had laughed to himself, “mother will die,” he imagined her horror when she saw the picture, “But I can’t help it. Business is business, and mothers have to expect some publicity if their sons are successful.” At the office that afternoon he stood very straight while his picture was being made. The six turkeys were magnificent birds. The boys, who owned routes for several months, and those, who had been carriers for more than a year, were very envious. And also eager to hear how Renfro had secured his subscriptions. Mr. Bruce called Renfro into his office, and to him and Morrison, Renfro told the story of his business deal with the minister, and of its success. Mr. Bruce had then held out his hand. “Congratulations old man,” he had beamed. “You’re one of the fellows I need right at the post. There are going to be some vacancies in some dandy routes. You’ll have first choice at any of them.” “I protest,” Morrison was all dignity, “Mr. Bruce, Hooch belongs to my bunch. He can’t be sent in any other district route manager’s territory.” It was then Renfro spoke, “If you please, Morrison,” he was quite in earnest, “I would like to keep Old Grief.” And both Morrison and Bruce were speechless. A little later, Renfro decided to take his turkeys home before he carried his route. That would make him later and he would have a better chance of investigating his eyebrow mystery. And after he straightened his shoulders and thought to himself, “The turkeys are won and I’ve got to solve that mystery in the same way I won them.” It was Macauley who suggested that Renfro drive the turkeys home--Macauley, who had a twinkle in his eye and a rich brogue, both of which should have made most people suspicious but they rarely did. He had lived on a farm in his youth. He had helped care for turkeys, “the most recreant birds in the category of farm animals,” and he laughed boyishly, “and always they wandered away daily while I hunted them daily and drove them miles. All you need, Hooch, is two or three fellows to help you, and to remember this bit of advice. KEEP TO THE ALLEYS FOR FEAR YOU MIGHT FRIGHTEN THE LADIES.” Three boys started out to help Renfro drive his brood home--among them the little carrier whose route was next Renfro’s and who had rushed into the office the minute he had heard that Old Grief had won Renfro six birds. Jimmy Noel called in a rush to be ready to offer first aid and have a chance to win more merit badges, and after him a little colored boy who had been playing in the alley back of the Globe office. The birds trotted down the first stretch of alley in a beautiful manner and then they crossed the street with the same precision. The second alley would have been a quiet course had it not been for the washwoman who was carrying a bundle of clothes toward the oncoming flock. Thinking these turkeys were runaway birds and scenting an easy way to get a Thanksgiving dinner she dropped her washing and started after the largest bird. And then came the stampede. Jimmy, Renfro and Bill, the other route boy kept after the turkeys which perched on buildings, ran in all directions and made a medley of noises which could never be described. But the little colored boy took after the woman of his own race and after she had given up the chase of the turkey he kept up his pursuit, shouting at the top of his voice. At the corner Jimmy sighted some other scouts starting on a five mile hike. He signaled them with all the authority of a patrol leader in his troop and they, being good scouts, joined in the chase. Two little girls who had wished for boyish adventure recognized this as a great opportunity and came to the throng. Such chasing, such climbing, such squawking as followed. But before long the entire six were back in a group in the arms of six sturdy scouts. “One good turn today,” they informed Renfro, “Better let us help you get them home.” And Renfro agreed. At the next corner they were met by a colony of colored people, the old washwoman gesticulating and protesting, while the little chap who had pursued her was also talking vehemently. Renfro gasped at the bunch. It was their evident determination to accompany himself and the scouts to the Horn residence. He raked his mind. And then he talked to Jimmy. “Mother’s club is meeting tonight,” he said. “If this bunch would follow me home well--” And Jimmy, the general, was quick to size up the situation. “Give the kid a turkey,” he suggested. “You can’t cook them all, anyway, and he sure has run some. Besides he isn’t a scout and doesn’t have to do a good turn for us other fellows.” So Renfro handed the little colored chap a turkey. And to their amazement the little colored boy and the big colored woman whom he had been pursuing, straightway made up all their differences and went away carrying the turkey between them. “Well, Jimmy,” he laughed, “I’ll change my mind. He’s a good scout after all.” CHAPTER XVII. RENFRO FINDS THE MYSTERY MAN. Like a patrol of victorious soldiers, the Boy Scouts in khaki, with the big turkeys perched on their shoulders, entered the Hall domain from the alley entrance. Jimmy’s decisive “Halt!” brought them all to attention--all except the turkey, on the head of which was the responsibility for the alley episode, and he flapped his wings and started all the other turkeys to doing likewise. There was no law in all the list of the manual which told how to control a recreant turkey. So Jimmy forgot his dignity as a patrol leader and clutched one of the birds by the neck. She screamed no longer. But her big wings flapped, her body twisted, and even her tail seemed to go into convulsions. Convulsions which caught Mary Dugan’s attention as she passed by the window with a bowl of thousand island dressing in process of completion for the salad for the Hyacinth Reading Club now in session in the Horn library. The bowl went into the kitchen table, and Mary Dugan out thru the back door, across the porch, and right into the midst of the group. “The saints be praised!” Mary Dugan forgot what she called “The Horn Decorum” and reverted to her own home ways. “And now that you’ve surprised me by winnin’ ’em all on a Monday here you’re goin’ to choke ’em to death before I can have the pick of the one I want to cook.” She flew to the big garage door, threw it open, and gave stentorian orders, “Here,--put ’em in here--let ’em roost in peace till I’ve finished my supper. Then I mix ’em a bit of dough for refreshment followin’ a soldier party.” She bowed to the boy scouts and opened the rear gate for their departure as soon as the turkeys were inside the garage and the big door swung shut again. Her gesture was imperative. With Jimmy hastening them on, they did not mark time but did “double quick” steps down the town’s best alley. Then Mary Dugan looked at Renfro, “There be only five,” she accused him. “You don’t mean to tell me all them boys let a turkey get loose.” “No, Mary,” Renfro was impatient. “It was really a salvage article in a worth while conflict. But I’ll tell you all about it and how I happened to get them so soon and everything--new clues and all,” he promised, “only I’m late as the dickens with my route now and there’ll be a dozen complaints and I have to go.” Now whatever else could be said of Mary Dugan the fact remained that she was always a good scout and without another question she swung open the alley gate once more, watched Renfro through it and shouted down the alley after him. “There be three kinds of cake and striped ice cream for the reading club. I’ll save all kinds for you.” Again Renfro chose an alley route through town. It was the quickest way to reach Washington Street and the drug store. Once there he saw something unusual. All the packages of papers except his own were gone. Swish! That was the sound of tearing the paper which bound them. Clash! They were going into his bag. And clatter--he was off down the street to the front porch of his first customer. Up one street, around a corner into another, and back and forth on it he went. It was dark, the thaw predicted by the weather man had set in early in the afternoon, and there were places where it was so slippery from the melting ice that he had to walk very slowly and carefully. He did not complain. Old Grief had become the first rung of his ladder to success. And a mighty good rung she had been. At the corner, nearing the Wier house, Renfro brushed against a stooped, old woman of the type usually seen around pawn shops and cheap restaurants. She was carrying a lot of bundles, but it was not these Renfro noticed. Around her neck with both ends flapping free and showing plainly in the glow from the light in the middle of the corner intersection was the peculiar looking scarf the old man whom he had passed outside the sandwich shop last Friday night had worn. “Humph!” Renfro laughed at his own exclamation days later. But he was too amazed then to say anything else. It was possible for two people to have as odd scarfs as were these, but hardly possible he thought. And then--well then, he decided to do a little investigating. He sauntered a little farther down the street, stepped behind a