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The Mystery of the Galloping Horse

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The Mystery of the Galloping Horse THE MYSTERY OF THE GALLOPING HORSE KEN HOLT Mystery Stories THE SECRET OF SKELETON ISLAND THE RIDDLE OF THE STONE ELEPHANT THE BLACK THUMB MYSTERY THE CLUE OF THE MARKED CLAW THE CLUE OF THE COILED COBRA THE SECRET OF HANGMAN'S INN THE MYSTERY OF THE IRON BOX THE CLUE OF THE PHANTOM CAR THE MYSTERY OF THE GALLOPING HORSE THE MYSTERY OF THE GREEN FLAME THE MYSTERY OF THE GRINNING TIGER THE MYSTERY OF THE VANISHING MAGICIAN THE MYSTERY OF THE SHATTERED GLASS THE MYSTERY OF THE INVISIBLE ENEMY THE MYSTERY OF GALLOWS CLIFF THE CLUE OF THE SILVER SCORPION THE MYSTERY OF THE PLUMED SERPENT THE MYSTERY OF THE SULTAN'S SCIMITAR A KEN HOLT Mystery THE MYSTERY OF THE GALLOPING HORSE By Bruce Campbell GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers NE W YORK COPYRIGHT, 1954, BY BRUCE CAMPBELL PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CONTENTS GRIM WARNING ..................................................................... 9 HOOFBEATS IN THE NIGHT .................................................. 28 GALLOPING GHOST ............................................................. 38 THE HIDDEN WATCHER ....................................................... 49 SETTING UP CAMP ............................................................... 61 PLOTTING THE DIG .............................................................. 74 SETTING A TRAP................................................................... 82 THE ENEMY STRIKES ............................................................ 92 TWENTY-FOUR-HOUR GUARD ............................................ 102 DIGGING IN VAIN ............................................................... 111 UNEXPLAINED MISTAKE ..................................................... 122 STRANGE FISHERMEN ......................................................... 131 THE ENEMY CLOSES IN ....................................................... 140 THE TELLTALE FOOTPRINTS ............................................... 149 DESPERATE SITUATION....................................................... 160 DOWN IN THE PIT ............................................................... 170 FIGHTING WITH FLAME ...................................................... 181 BATTLE IN THE WATER ....................................................... 190 BACK TO THE DIGGING ...................................................... 197 THE MYSTERY OF THE GALLOPING HORSE CHAPTER I GRIM WARNING THE BULB of the desk light cast a harsh glare on the faces surrounding the big scarred piece of furniture that had supported Pop Allen's typewriter and feet for many years. Pop leaned back. The creaking of his chair spring broke the silence that had fallen over the office of the Brentwood Advance, the weekly newspaper that served the small town of Brentwood. There were six people grouped around the desk. Three of them were Allens-Pop, his older son Bert, and his younger son Sandy-all with huge, powerful figures topped with the bright red hair that was the Allen trademark. Standing beside Sandy was Ken Holt, his slim, wiry figure and jet-black hair setting him off in marked contrast to his closest friend. Next to Ken sat his father, Richard Holt, one of the top reporters of the Global News Service. The resemblance between the two Holts was obvious. Except for a slight graying of the black hair over his temples, Richard Holt could have been mistaken for Ken's brother. The sixth man, Tom Golden, stood a little outside the close circle around the desk. He too was big-as tall as the Allens, but leaner and more rangy. His neat, dark suit jacket was unbuttoned and hung slightly open, yielding a glimpse of the leather strap that held a shoulder holster in place under his left arm. His attention seemed to be divided between the men near him and the car parked directly in front of the newspaper office and visible through the big front window. A peaceful summer evening was settling down over Brentwood. The last glow of light was dying out of the sky. From the highway a few blocks distant sounded the muted rumble of truck traffic. A church bell tolled nine long, mournful notes. Pop Allen finally spoke, as the last note was dying into silence. "It sounds a little weird, Dick. Kidnaping Ken to . ." "It's weird, all right," Richard Holt agreed. "But it's true nevertheless." "Give it to us in detail." Pop began to stuff his pipe with tobacco from the jar on his cluttered desk. "Well," Holt said, "you know I've been working on a series of stories about the New York water-front racketeers?" Ken nodded. "We've been reading every word of them, Dad. That's pretty strong stuff you've been writing." His father grinned briefly. "And I've just scratched the surface. But if you've been reading the stories, you know something about the organized stealing of cargo from the docks, and how the gangs go about collecting protection money from ship owners, truckers-from practically everybody who has business on or around the docks. Those who don't pay for protection get their stuff stolen. And the gangs are clever. Their protection fees are just low enough so that it's cheaper for a trucker or a ship owner to pay off than to hire a lot of extra guards to protect his merchandise." "But why don't the truckers and ship owners go to the police?" Bert Allen asked. "That's a good question, Bert," Holt said. "The police tell me there have been very few complaints from the water front-although they know this sort of thing has been going on for a long time. Occasionally the police are called in when a dock guard has been beaten up, but the complainants are never able to identify the suspects the police arrest. Or so they say. It's the old story of scaring off witnesses. And besides, I'm pretty sure some police officials are being paid off by the protection racketeers." He fished in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it before he went on. "My part in all this began when I got a call one day recently from a minor underworld character I'd met several years ago-when he was being held for murder. I'd happened to know that he hadn't been anywhere near the spot at the crucial moment and my testimony saved him from a murder charge. So when he phoned me not long ago, he reminded me that I'd once done him a favor and now he wanted to return it." A car drove past the Advance office and Tom Golden watched it, stiffly alert, until it moved out of sight. "The man was scared," Holt continued. "He said he had a story for me that would blow the lid off the waterfront rackets. He'd been mixed up in one of the dock gangs, had fallen out with his boss, and knew he had to get under cover to protect himself. I helped him to get into hiding and then started my article series from the leads he gave me and the additional material I began digging up for myself." "Why hadn't he gone to the police?" Sandy asked. Holt shrugged. "He said he didn't trust them, that he was sure some of the water-front police squads were mixed up in the racket." "You know what happened then," Holt went on. "The stories caused quite a commotion, and finally the grand jury announced that it was going to open an investigation. That's when the racket chiefs began to worry a little. A grand-jury investigation takes things out of the hands of the police. The jury has its own investigating force and its special prosecuting attorney. So when I was billed as a witness in the forthcoming grand-jury hearings, I got a letter in the mail-a warning that if I testified I'd be taken care of in a way I wouldn't like." Bert Allen's red eyebrows arched. "A tactical error," he muttered. "They should have known you couldn't be scared off." "I never have been yet," Holt admitted. He grinned up at Tom Golden's towering figure. "This bodyguard idea wasn't mine. I like to think I can take care of myself, but Global News apparently has less faith in me. Granger hired Tom Golden, and he's been beside me ever since." "Good," Pop Allen muttered. "Personally I'm glad to see him there." "Me too," Ken agreed. And then he added, "Usually I think of Granger as having ink in his veins instead of blood, but once in a while he proves he has some human feeling." "Well, right now Granger and I both have something else to worry about," Holt said grimly. "I've had another warning letter, and this one threatens to get you, Ken. We've had a taste of that sort of thing once before"- he looked over his son's head to Pop Allen-"and so have you, thanks to your blessed habit of getting mixed up in other people's business." The Allens and Ken knew only too well what Richard Holt was talking about. They could all remember the first time Ken had found himself in a desperate situation arising out of his father's profession. The Allens, though strangers, had rallied to his support and had stuck with him until both he and his father had been rescued from danger. That adventure, known as The Secret of Skeleton Island, had been the beginning of the friendship that now cemented the Holts and the Allens so closely together. It had also been the beginning of a new life for Ken. Motherless since early childhood, he had been living in boarding schools while his father traveled the world in search of the stories that had made him famous. But the boarding-school life had ended when Ken met the Allens. The whole family-Pop, Bert, Sandy, and tiny Mom Allen- had insisted that he make his home with them. And, from that time on, Ken and Sandy had been involved in several mysterious adventures and had shared many close escapes. Ken's stories of those adventures, and Sandy's accompanying photographs, always appeared in the Allen- owned Brentwood Advance and were usually snapped up by Global News. Granger, New York manager of that world- wide news service, had been known to say that he respected what he called Ken's nose for news almost as much as he did Richard Holt's.
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