Bill of the Black Hand

A very tall story
by

Wolf Durian

New York
Barrows Mussey

Translated from the German by
Marie L. Barker

MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN

Contents

I The box that said 'Thank you!' n

II A thousand dollars to a catapult 1 7

III The Great Rattlesnake gets a free

ride and gives the Signal 25

IV Inspector Bumser hears 'Y-e-e-e-s!' 33

V Popovitch comes on the scene 43

VI Popovitch has a brain-wave on the

stair 5 1

VII Crosseye jams his thumb in the gate

of the lift 6 1

VIII 'Tat' on Popovitch's top-hat 73

IX A gentleman surveys the heavens 83

X The awful boy takes Fly buzzer's

breath away 97

XI Mr. Popovitch walks out with Miss

Trueyes in the Park 107

XII Tat! in front and behind! 121

XIII Mr. Flybuzzer hears the flies buzz 133

XIV One minute more and two points to

make 147

21C5360

Chapter I

The box that said
'Thank you!'

C;HAJPTER i

The box that said 'Thank you!'

'Number 12!' called the hall-porter of the
Hotel Imperator into the telephone. 'A large
box has just been delivered here for you, Sir.
. . . Yes, for the gentleman in Number 12.
. . . No, no name; four boys brought it on a
trolley . . . Yes? Certainly, Sir, I'll have it
sent up immediately . . .'

The hall-porter put down the receiver and
pressed a button. The boots appeared.

A box arrives

'Ernest 5 , said the hall-porter, 'take that
box up to Number 12.'

'Just put it down anywhere', said the stout
gentleman in Number 12 without looking
round.

A mountain of letters lay on the table in
front of him, and another mountain towered
beside him in the waste-paper basket. The
stout gentleman was writing a letter.

T)ear Sir', he wrote,

'I shall be glad if you will call here to-
morrow morning at 10 o'clock.

Yours faithfully,

Joe Allan',

and on the envelope he wrote:

* Alexander Popovitch, Esq.,

Advertising Agent.'

Someone knocked.

'Come in!' said Mr. Joe Allan, and put
down his pen.

Mr. Joe Allan says: 'Come in!'

'Gome i-i-in!' he cried again.

But no one came in.

Mr. Joe Allan rose and went to the door.
He opened the door. Not a soul to be seen.

Then a voice said:

'I can't come in.'

'Who's there?' cried Mr. Joe Allan looking
round.

'Me', said the voice.

'Where?' asked Mr. Joe Allan.

In the box/

Mr. Joe Allan shut the door and turned
round.

'Come out at once!' he commanded.

'I can't.'

'Why not?'

'They've turned me upside down.'

Mr. Joe Allan rang the bell. Ernest ap-
peared.

'Turn it over', said Mr. Joe Allan, indi-
cating the box.

And the box says: 'Thank you!'

'Certainly, Sir', said Ernest and turned
the box over.

'Thank you!' said the box.

Ernest turned as white as a sheet. 'The
b-b-b ', he stammered.

Box was the word he was trying to say,
but it froze on his lips.

Then he dashed for the door and disap-
peared. He tore downstairs. At the bottom
his head collided with a round, soft object,
which proved to be the stomach of Mr.
Joseph Bellows, the lounge waiter.

'D ,' said Mr. Bellows.

' "Th-th-thank you," that's what it said!'
stammered Ernest.

Mr. Bellows shrugged his left shoulder,
rotated his blue shaved chin twice in dis-
approval and walked away.

Chapter II

A thousand dollars to
a catapult

CHAPTER II
A thousand dollars to a catapult.

First a small hand appeared and pushed
up the lid of the box from inside, then a
peaked cap of a nondescript shade of green,
and below it an impudent little snub nose.
And then a pair of trousers beginning under
the armpits and ending goodness knows
where.

When all the parts were assembled the
result was a boy, about twelve or thirteen
years old a very ordinary, rather grubby
looking ragamuffin.

'Hullo!' said the boy. 'Are you the
Cigarette King? 5

'I am', said Mr. Joe Allan. 'And who
are you?'

'I'm the Great Rattlesnake.'

* Indeed? And why were you in the box?'
B 17

Enter the Great Rattlesnake

"Cause else the hall-porter would have
chucked me out.'

'Hm', said Mr. Joe Allan, 'and what can I
do for you? 5

' 'Arf a mo', said the boy and began turn-
ing out his pockets. He unearthed: a crooked
nail, a piece of string, a catapult, fragments
of coloured chalk, peas, marbles, a hairpin
and a tin box that had once contained
peppermint drops. In the peppermint drop
box was a scrap of newspaper.

'Here!' said the Great Rattlesnake.

Wanted. An Advertising King

It was the advertisement which Mr. Joe
Allan, the Cigarette King, had inserted
in all the newspapers on the day of his
arrival from America.

THE CIGARETTE KING

requires

AN ADVERTISING KING

Hotel Imperator Room 12

'You've got a nerve, boy!'

'I want to be your Advertising King',
said the Great Rattlesnake.

'Is that all?'

'Yes', said the Great Rattlesnake, 'that's all.'

Mr. Joe Allan's face grew red, he took off
his glasses and polished them with a corner
of his pocket handkerchief.

'You've got a nerve, boy!' he said, breathed
on his glasses and went on polishing them.

'Look here', he said, putting on his glasses,
'What's your name?'

'Bill.'

'Well, Bill', said Mr. Joe Allan, 'of course
you haven't the foggiest idea what an
Advertising King is. An Advertising King
is a Commander-in-Chief, he has to wage
war on people's eyes and thoughts he must
have a new and brilliant idea every day, so
that he will make people talk about him.
An advertising campaign like that lasts for
many months and costs tons of money.'

The bet is made

The Cigarette King paused, and Bill said:
'I need only say the word and the whole
town will be talking about me to-morrow
morning, and it won't cost me a ha'penny.'

'Not a cat'll talk about you', said Mr. Joe
Allan.

'Bet on it?' said Bill immediately.

'With pleasure', said the Cigarette King.
'Have you anything to bet with?'

Bill meditated.

'My catapult', he said, pulling it out of
his pocket. 'It's dashed good elastic. Know
how to use a catapult?'

'No', said the Cigarette King, 'but I'll
have to learn because you'll lose the bet.
I'll bet a thousand dollars to your catapult
if to-morrow morning I meet five people
who talk about you.'

'Done!' said Bill and held out his hand.

'All right!' said the Cigarette King taking
the small boy's hand and holding it fast.

The Black Hand

Then he discovered that the inside of this
hand was painted black.

'Why did you blacken your hand?' he
inquired.

'Oh', said Bill, 'that's our secret sign the
Black Hand.'

. <

Chapter III

The Great Rattlesnake gets a free
ride and gives the Signal

CHAPTER III

The Great Rattlesnake gets a free
ride and gives the Signal.

The hall-porter was standing at the door
of the hotel just as Bill was coming out. Bill
walked round him in a semi-circle, tapped him
on the shoulder from behind and muttered:

'I say, porter . . .'

The hall-porter turned round, but Bill
turned round as well and dodged behind his
back out through the hall door.

The hall-porter cursed. In front of the
hotel a dark-blue motor car was just moving
off, and there was Bill sitting on the back of
it, being whisked out of sight.

A policeman blew his whistle, but that
didn't worry Bill. He was noting the direc-
tion in which the car went. When it turned

By car and tram

into Duke Street he jumped off, darted under
the nose of an old cab horse and for the
space of three seconds found himself face to
face with a black car which came dashing up
hooting furiously. But these three seconds
sufficed for a jump which landed Bill on a
passing tram. He stood in a corner, and it
scarcely ever happened that a conductor
spotted him there. If the worst came to
the worst Bill just got off and jumped on to
another tram.

Bill travelled the seven stages to the Under-
ground Station in Jubilee Square. Dense
queues of people were streaming down into
the muggy Inferno of the Underground,
where the electric lamps shone and the trains
thundered and roared. In the crowd it was
easy enough to get through the barrier with-
out a ticket, that is it was easy for Bill\
anyone else would have been caught by the
ticket-collector. But Bill had had long prac-

Still 'under age'

tice; always and everywhere and on principle
he got free rides.

He went second class, because the third
was crowded. He sat down on the fire-hose
box at the end of the carriage and let his
legs dangle. A lady conversed with him
during the journey.

The lady got out at the same station as
Bill. Bill took off his cap, made himself still
smaller than he actually was and toddled
along beside the lady. The ticket-collector
imagined the little fellow belonged to the
lady and let him through as still 'under age'.
Bill put on his cap, ran up the stairs and
was lost in the crowd.

Shortly after seven o'clock he reappeared
in one of the northern suburbs. Factory
chimneys towered up into the evening sky.
Sirens hooted. Armies of workmen streamed
through the streets.

Like a rat Bill wormed his way through
27

The Signal

the moving crowd, and then all of a sudden
he was nowhere to be seen. A gaping arch-
way between two blocks of tenements had
swallowed him up.

A narrow, dark passage led past towering
brick walls on either side. Then came a
small, dingy backyard. Here Bill stuck four
fingers in his mouth and gave one long
whistle, followed by two short ones. It was
the Signal of the Great Rattlesnake. Bill
took his ringers out of his mouth and waited.

Presently in the gloom small shadows
appeared. They came popping up out of
basement houses, and sliding down the banis-
ters. Boys, big and small, factory boys,
newsboys, errand boys, schoolboys, chimney-
sweeper boys, baker boys.

Now a sufficient number had assembled.

And the Great Rattlesnake said: 'The
Black Hand will meet at ten o'clock to-night

at the appointed place.'

Chapter IV

Inspector Bumser hears
'Y-e-e-e-s!'

CHAPTER IV
Inspector Bumser hears 'Y-e-e-e-s!'

Like the wind the boys were up and away.
The archways and passages between the
houses swallowed them up, they climbed
over piles of boxes and railings, they tore
their trousers on barbed wire. In all the
backyards and in all the lobbies they whistled
the Signal of the Great Rattlesnake. All the
dogs barked and all the grown-ups cursed.

Doors banged shut. Many suppers got
cold that night! The newsboys left their
newspapers in the lurch, the shoemakers'
apprentices ran away from their masters.
Two boys were locked in, but they climbed
through the window and slid down the light-
ning conductor.

'The Black Hand will meet at ten o'clock
to-night!' was heard on all sides. The twenty

c 33

The gang meets

boys increased to fifty, to a hundred, to three
hundred. Every street was full of running
boys, and hundreds of roller-skates rattled
over the pavements.

In the Underground at Rupert Square a
gang of boys dashed through the barrier and
into the train that was just moving off. The
ticket-collector closed the barrier and gave
chase. But too late; the train's tail lamp
glowed ruby red in the blackness of the
tunnel. So the ticket-collector had to go
back, for the grown-ups behind the barrier
were cursing, because they could not get on
to the platform.

Each of the boys was keen on distinguish-
ing himself in some particular way. Some
rode on the buses and hid under the seats
on the upper deck. Others, on roller skates,
got pulled along by motor lorries; on one
roller skate, and with the other leg thrust out
behind they went skimming through the air.

The 'appointed place'

One of them got into a taxi-cab and called
out: 'Quick as you can to the Botanical
Gardens!' The driver drove quickly to the
Botanical Gardens. When he stopped there,
the taxi was empty and the passenger had
disappeared.

The appointed place was the old North
Station. Formerly it was swarming with
people and the arc lamps shone, and day
and night the trains steamed in and out.
Then the new North Station was built, and
all the trains were diverted, and all the
people congregated there. At the old station
entrance the iron gates in front of the pillars
were closed, and ever since, the old station
had stood there abandoned, empty and dark.
Doves nested in the booking-office windows,
and the waiting-rooms, where the old time-
tables still hung, were inhabited by rats.

This was now the meeting-place of the
Secret Society of Ragamuffins, the Black

The secret password

Hand. In twos and threes the boys entered
the building from the rear, where the railway
lines used to be. Not a word was spoken.
The moon shone, but the boys crouched in
the shadows of the walls. It was as though
they had suddenly shot up somewhere out of
the ground. Each boy had to whisper the
secret password into the ear of the sentry at
the waiting-room door, whereupon he was
permitted to enter.

It was some time before the eye grew ac-
customed to the dim light that glimmered
through the dirty,, broken window panes.
Only then did one become aware of numer-
ous little shadows squatting silently on the
ground. Gang after gang kept arriving.

They waited on. The outside of the station
was completely surrounded by sentries; no
one could enter unobserved. Suddenly they
saw the Great Rattlesnake standing in the
middle of the room talking to someone. No

C A thousand dollars'

one had seen him come in. Perhaps he had
been there all the time.

Only Creeping Flatfoot, Hercules, and a
few other leaders knew what was afoot. With
them the Great Rattlesnake now conversed
in whispers. But all the boys strained their
ears and tried to get an inkling of the secrets
of the initiated.

They were talking about a Cigarette King
and an Advertising King.

'Black Hands everywhere to-night',
whispered the Great Rattlesnake.

To which Creeping Flatfoot briefly replied
'Right-O!'

And then a quite inconceivable word was
spoken; the hearts of all who heard it stood
still:

'A thousand dollars!'

Suddenly Bill put up his hand and cried:
'To-night each of you can earn a dollar.
D'you want to?'

<Y-e-e-e-s!'

'Y-e-e-e-s!' they all yelled.

The whole station echoed.

At this moment Police Inspector Bumser
was passing the gates. His suspicions were
aroused. He pulled out his 'pea' whistle and
blew it.

From all sides the police came running up,
beating their rubber batons on the pave-
ment, and then came still more police.

'There's something happening in the old
station!' said Inspector Bumser and shook
the padlocked gates. 'We'll have to get in
from the back', he said, taking his hands off
the gates.

They walked right round the station.

The Black Hand's sentries had seen them
coming and whistled.

'What are those confounded boys whistling
for?' inquired the Inspector.

The place was swarming with them; they
got in everybody's way.

'Perhaps it was a donkey . . . ?'

'Clear out!' roared the Inspector.

At once the boys cleared out, and now the
police stormed the old station. It was empty.

'I distinctly heard some one crying Y-e-e-
e-e-s', explained the Inspector.

'Perhaps it was a donkey, Sir', said one
of the policemen.

Chapter V

Popovitch comes on the scene

CHAPTER V
Popovitch comes on the scene.

At first no one noticed anything unusual.
The ragamuffin gang still enjoyed free rides
on trams and taxis, but that was an everyday
occurrence, and most of the conductors and
drivers had long since got over the habit of
being annoyed by such trifles.

Nor did the police take any notice of the
street urchins wandering about after mid-
night, practising standing on their hands
and turning cartwheels on the pavements, or
slapping their hands against advertisement
hoardings, metal signboards and the walls of
houses.

Only the cabbies and their horses were
annoyed as they stood on the rank and
dozed, for whack! would come one of these
devils of boys slapping his hand on a horse's

Three o'clock in the morning

neck or behind, and waking horse and
cabby out of a sound sleep. But before the
poor old cabby could get at them with the
whip, the young rascals had vanished.

How the cabbies cursed!

How the poor old horses snorted! And
shifting their weight from one leg to another,
went on sleeping.

It was three o'clock in the morning when
Bill got home. On his tip-toes he crept up
the top stair to the old attic at the back of
the block. But in spite of his care every step
of the old stair creaked.

The door squeaked too, although Bill
opened it very cautiously. Now he stood in
the dark attic and listened.

'Bill?' said a little voice.

Bill whispered: 'Yes, it's me. But go to
sleep.'

'Uuua!' yawned the little voice.

Bill was already undressing.
44

Ellie

'Bill', said the little voice, 'listen!'

'Yes? 5

Tve had such a lovely dream.'

'What was it about?' asked Bill taking off
his trousers which were a present from the
builder Strongbeer. They had this advantage
that they almost slipped off of their own
accord. Bill had only to unfasten them at
the shoulders and flop there they lay in
a heap on his feet and all he had to do was
to step out.

'About a prince', said the little voice. 'He
came and said to me:

' "Ellie, dear, you are so poor and your
father and mother are dead; you must wish
for something very nice."

'And what did you wish for?' asked Bill.

'A doll', said Ellie tearfully. 'One that
opens and shuts its eyes and has a dress with
spangly stars. And the prince said: "Go to
sleep, Ellie, and when you wake up the doll

A gentleman . . .

will be there." And then I woke up and . . .'

In his shirt Bill sat on the edge of the old
mattress beside his little sister and looked up
at the tiny skylight.

'Perhaps he really will bring it', he said
and gave his little sister a kiss.

'Good night, Ellie.'

'Good night, Bill Do you really think
he'll bring it?'

Bill rolled himself up in a tattered bit of
old blanket and lay down in his corner. In
an instant he was asleep.

The next morning at five minutes to ten
a gentleman wearing a shiny top hat and
yellow gloves entered the Hotel Imperator.
The gentleman was perfumed like a garden
of violets. In the breast pocket of his dove-
grey frock coat was an orange silk hand-
kerchief. His tie and his socks were apple
green. His patent leather shoes reflected the
surrounding landscape.

The hall-porter bowed low

The hall-porter stepped back and bowed
low. But the gentleman took no notice. He
took his monocle out of his eye and said:

'Mr. eh eh Joe Allan, cigarette Johnny
from America is he here, eh?'

'Yes, certainly Sir', gushed the hall-porter.
f Room 12 on the first floor.'

Mr. Bellows read . . .

Thereupon the gentleman produced a small
leather card-case of lizard skin, took out a
card and gave it to the hall-porter, saying:

'Kindly give him my card! 5

Then he sat down in a deep armchair,
crossed his striped trouser legs, and pulled
off his left glove.

Mr. Bellows, the lounge waiter, who carried
the card away on an electro-plated salver,
read on it the legend:

ALEXANDER POPOVITCH

Certificated Advertising Agent

Chapter VI

Popovitch has a brain-wave
on the stair

CHAPTER VI

Popovitch has a brain-wave on the

stair.

Mr. Joe Allan was shaving in front of the
mirror. 'I say, waiter', he said, pointing
with his razor at the table on which the
morning newspaper lay, 'who's been playin'
a joke on me?'

Mr. Bellows followed the razor with his eyes.

'I beg your pardon, Sir?'

'The newspaper' said Mr. Joe Allan.

He had noticed that a black hand was
imprinted life size on his newspaper, right in
the middle of the front page leader.

'The black hand?' said Mr. Bellows. 'The
talk of the town, Sir. It is not only on your
newspaper but on all the newspapers in the
city as well. People say it's the newsboys up
to some new devilry.'

Number two

'Indeed, indeed", said Mr. Joe Allan and
went on shaving. And as he wiped the soap
off the razor he muttered:

'Black hand . . . jolly good . . .'

Mr. Bellows withdrew noiselessly.

Someone knocked.

Mr. Joe Allan cried: 'Come in!"

Mr. Alexander Popovitch entered and
made a low, jerky bow.

'How d'ye do?' he said.

'Please sit down', said Mr. Joe Allan.

'Heard the latest, Mr. Allan?' began Mr.
Popovitch putting his top hat on the floor
beside his chair, 'the whole town is swarming
with black hands. Shop- windows, walls of
houses, pavements, hoardings, signboards
full of 'em! Dirty business! What d[you think
about it?'

'Number two', said Mr. Joe Allan, shutting
his razor and washing the lather from his face.

'I don't understand . . .'
52

An insult

'Still three to get', explained Mr. Joe
Allan. 'You see, I've made a bet with a
ragamuffin.'

'About the black hands?'

'Oh, he's at the bottom of that! They're
his advertisement.'

'Very original!' sneered Mr. Popovitch.

'Yes', said Mr. Joe Allan, 'I think so too.
That boy will go far.'

'Sure! He'll be a marvellous bill-sticker!'

'Or Advertising King', said the Cigarette
King.

Mr. Popovitch held his breath. His face
turned first red, then blue, then yellow. His
monocle dropped from his eye.

'Capital joke eh!' he spluttered.

'No, seriously', explained Mr. Joe Allan.
'I shall arrange a competition between you
and him.'

'Excuse me, Mr. Allan, that is eh that
would really be almost an eh insult!'

Popovitch exasperated

Mr. Popovitch was boiling with rage.

'An insult?' asked Mr. Joe Allan. 'How?'

'Compete with a eh ragamuffin ... I,
Alexander Popovitch!!'

'If you don't want to . . .' said Mr. Joe
Allan, indicating the writing table with a
wave of his hand, 'I've still got four hundred
and forty two applications from advertising
agents lying there.'

'Yes, of course naturally on the con-
trary . . .' explained Mr. Popovitch hastily.

'Well,' said Mr. Joe Allan, 'call to-morrow
afternoon at three o'clock. I'll set you your
tasks then. Good-bye!'

Thus Mr. Popovitch was dismissed. He
got up quickly and in his excitement stepped
right into the middle of his smart top hat.

The interview had not been the unquali-
fied success he had hoped.

But Mr. Popovitch was by no means
stupid. Whilst he was still standing on the

The brain-wave

hotel stair repairing the damage to his top
hat, he had a brain-wave. He suddenly re-
membered the notice in heavy red type
which he had seen that morning on a
hoarding. It was a police notice and it said:

15 Reward

will be paid to anyone giving
information about the person or
persons who last night defaced
the pavements, shop-windows,
walls of houses, cab-horses etc.,
with imprints of black hands.

Chief Inspector
Peppercorn

Do you remember . . . ?

'I say, porter eh I mean . . / Mr.
Popovitch stood on the first step of the stair
and pulled on his yellow glove.

'Do you remember the ragamuffin who
was here yesterday?'

'D'you mean the one who jumped on
the back of the taxi?' asked the hall-
porter.

'Sure that's the one', said Mr. Popovitch,
fastening the last press stud. 'To-morrow
afternoon at three o'clock that lad is coming
back here. I advise you meanwhile to have
a look at that police notice on the hoarding:
15 Reward will be paid to anyone, etc.
Quite a lot of money, eh?'

'And easily earned', added Mr. Popovitch
after a pause for effect. 'You need only go
to a police station and report the boy. He's
the Person. Well, I need say no more. Read
the police notice. G'd morning!'

Mr. Popovitch touched the brim of his

Reporting the Person

top hat which now looked as smart as ever
and left the Hotel Imperator.

'Ernest', cried the hall-porter, 'put on my
cap. Take my place here, quick!'

Ernest put on the cap and swaggered
about, and off went the hall-porter to the
nearest police station.

Chapter VII

Crosseye jams his thumb in the
gate of the lift

CHAPTER VII

Crosseye jams his thumb in the gate
of the lift.

The Cigarette King had gone out for a
walk and he marvelled. As far as the first
corner he had counted eleven black hands.
But at the corner itself it was worse still.
There was a hoarding there, and on it were
thirty or forty black hands, and at least as
many people stood round it, for the C.I.D.
man Detective Leonard Flybuzzer was
at the moment examining the finger-prints
of the black hands with the help of a magni-
fying glass.

'They are boys' hands', said the detective
to a gentleman respectfully gazing at him.

'Number three', thought Mr. Joe Allan
and walked on, took a cab and drove to the
Botanical Gardens.

Downright impudence

On the way there people kept stopping
and turning round to stare after the cab.

'Downright impudence I call it', said an
elderly gentleman pointing at the cab with
his walking stick.

It was really frightfully embarrassing for
Mr. Joe Allan. He looked down at himself;
yes, his clothes, his tie were in order. But
his hat? Mr. Joe Allan hastily removed his
hat, looked at the inside, then the outside,
and could not find anything amiss.

Number four

Just as he was putting it on again, he
heard a little girl crying: 'Look at that horse,
Mummy, all covered with black hands!'

'Number four,' thought Mr. Joe Allan and
turned round to look at the queer horse.
But the only horse he could see for miles
around was the piebald one pulling his own
cab. Piebald? No, Mr. Joe Allan had just
discovered that it was a white horse, and
that the black spots on it were black hands.

Mr. Joe Allan stopped the cab, got out,
paid his fare and proceeded on foot to the
Botanical Gardens.

It was lovely in the gardens. The foun-
tains were playing and the wind rustled the
foliage of the plane trees. Mr. Joe Allan
turned into an unfrequented path bordered
by silver poplars.

A blackbird was hopping about on the
grass pecking for worms. At last he reached
the little cypress grove where the marble

'I've lost!'

statue of Count Godfrey the Fat stood.
Suddenly Mr. Joe Allan heard a voice behind
the cypress trees saying:

'Right in the middle of his tummy! What
cheek!'

Mr. Joe Allan went nearer.

Two students were standing gazing up at
the statue of Godfrey the Fat. When Mr.
Joe Allan looked up, he too discovered the
black hand in the middle of the white marble
stomach of Godfrey the Fat.

'I've lost!' thought Mr. Joe Allan, retracing
his steps. As he was leaving the Gardens,
he met a little boy who was playing with a
paper ball.

'D'you want to play?' asked the little boy,
throwing the ball across to Mr. Joe Allan.
Mr. Joe Allan caught it. But just as he was
going to throw it back again the little boy
ran away.

Mr. Joe Allan stood there with the ball in
64

Account rendered

his hand. 'Dashed queer!' he thought. What
good was it to him? It was only a crumpled
piece of paper.

Mr. Joe Allan smoothed it out. There was
something written on it.

ACCOUNT

for the Cigarette King from
the Grate Rattlesnake

To meating five peeple who torked
about me

Total 1,000 dollars.

You need only rite down about wat time
I'm to come and fetsh the dollars and
then you can throw it away and the boy
who is my colleeg '11 pick it up.

Correspondence

Mr. Joe Allan took out his fountain pen
and wrote at the bottom of the paper:

The Great Rattlesnake.

Dear Sir,

The account is correct, and I
shall be glad to see you to-morrow after-
noon at three o'clock in the Hotel Imperator.

Tours faithfully,

The Cigarette King.

Then he crumpled up the paper into a
ball, tossed it in the air, called a taxi and
drove back to the Hotel Imperator.

The following afternoon on the stroke of
three o'clock Bill was running up the steps

to the entrance of the Hotel Imperator. A

Stalker and Crosseye

second later he found himself between two
appallingly broad-shouldered men who had
been waiting inside the entrance on either
side of the door. The men were Detective
Inspectors Stalker and Grosseye.

Immediately Stalker and Grosseye made a
grab at him with their big clumsy hands,
but too high, for Bill ducked and like a
flash slipped through underneath.

He was an adept at that.

Fortunately the lift had just stopped at
the ground floor. The lift boy in his sky blue
uniform was on the point of stepping out,
but Bill gave him a push which sent him
flying back into the lift, leapt in after him,
and slammed the gate to.

'Help! Murder!' roared Crosseye. He had
jammed his thumb in the gate as it swung to.

So Stalker, Crosseye and the hall-porter
were left staring after Bill's legs vanishing
upwards in the lift.

'I've got him!'

'I've got him!' said the hall-porter, pressing
the red 'stop' button beside the door of the
lift.

A prisoner

At once the lift stopped between the floors.
No one could get out and no one could get
in.

Bill was a prisoner.

Chapter VIII

Tat' on Popovitch's top-hat

CHAPTER VIII
'Tat' on Popovitch's Hat.

'I'll go up now and send the lift down',
said the hall-porter. 'Then you gentlemen
can catch the boy down here.'

Detective Inspector Stalker nodded assent.
Grosseye sucked his injured thumb and glow-
ered like a ferocious bull-dog. The hall-
porter went upstairs.

He was extremely pleased with himself.
The fifteen pounds were practically his.
There would be enough money to buy the
gold watch and chain he had so long coveted!

All he had to do was to press the button
below the sign Down, and his wonderful
dream would come true.

The hall-porter pressed the button.

'Here he comes!' said Detective Inspector
Stalker at the bottom of the stair. Just at

Here he comes!

this moment Mr. Popovitch arrived, looking
very smart and smelling strongly of violets.
Catching sight of the detectives he stood still.

Down came the lift and stopped. Like a
tiger Grosseye sprang inside, while Stalker
kept guard at the door. There was no
chance of slipping through their hands this
time.

The boy was handcuffed on the spot and
taken away.

Mr. Popovitch smiled and the lift-boy in
the sky-blue uniform took him up to the first
floor.

He went along to Room Number 12.

'Well, it seems one of the parties has
arrived!' said Mr. Joe Allan. 'Now we've
still got to wait for the boy.'

'I'm afraid we'll have to wait quite a long
time', remarked Mr. Popovitch.

'Oh, no!' said a voice in the background,
'here I am!'

The sky-blue lift-boy

It was the lift-boy in the sky-blue uniform.
He had entered the room just behind Mr.
Popovitch. And this 'lift-boy' was none
other than Bill!

'Ah!' cried Mr. Joe Allan, 'here he is!'

Mr. Popovitch tried to exclaim 'Well, I
never!' but when he opened his mouth no
words would come, and he sank down in an
armchair just behind him.

'How did you manage to get hold of the
uniform, Bill?' asked Mr. Joe Allan.

'Oh, the lift-boy lent me it, to cut a dash in.'

'I suppose he too is a member of the
"Black Hand"?'

'Perhaps', said Bill.

And that was the end of that little matter.
Then Mr. Joe Allan proceeded to business.

'How much do you earn in a year, Mr.
Popovitch?' he asked.

Mr. Popovitch earned a hundred and fifty
pounds, but he said: 'Five hundred pounds.'

'Gentlemen!'

'Well', said the Cigarette King, 'as Adver-
tising King for the firm Joe Allan & Go. you
would earn one thousand five hundred
pounds a month. 5

'Oh, that's all right!' said Mr. Popovitch
crossing his legs.

'Gentlemen', continued Mr. Joe Allan,
glancing at Bill who had just realized that
he too was included in the term 'gentlemen',
'you must know that in the State of Virginia
I own a town Allan Gity situated on a
river the Allan River. The town consists
mainly of cigarette factories, and these
factories produce three thousand million
cigarettes a day.'

'Gosh!' said Bill, 'fancy smoking all those!'

( 'Selling all those, you ought to say', correc-
ted the Cigarette King. 'That's why I've
come to Europe. I want to sell my cigarettes
in Europe, two special brands in every city.
I must advertise on a lavish scale. That's

'That's easy!'

why I'm going to appoint an Advertising
King in every city.'

Mr. Joe Allan paused for breath, and then
continued:

'I shall now arrange a competition between
the two of you for the post of Advertising
King in this city. Here is the task I set you,
and the winner will be:

THE ONE WHO FIRST SCORES 150
POINTS IN TWO DAYS.

Each of you will advertise your special
brand of cigarette as widely as possible. I'll
be walking about the town, and I'll keep
an exact record of the number of times I
come across your advertisements. But at
least one of the 150 points must be for

AN ADVERTISEMENT I HAVE NEVER
SEEN BEFORE.'

'That's easy!' said Popovitch.
Bill was silent.

TIT and TAT

'The two brands of cigarettes which I
want to sell here are called TIT and TAT.
Take your choice, please.'

TIT', said Popovitch.

TAT', said Bill.

'Well, gentlemen', said Mr. Joe Allan,
'please note that my conditions must be
strictly complied with even up to the very
last point and the very last second. The
competition will begin at four o'clock exactly,
and will finish the day after to-morrow on
the stroke of four, not a second later. At half-
past four the day after to-morrow I leave
Europe; even if both of you have failed to
fulfil my conditions. In that event I'll send
over an Advertising King from America'.

Mr. Allan took out his pocket stop-watch.

'Gentlemen', he said, 'it is two minutes to
four. The competition will begin in two
minutes.'

Mr. Popovitch immediately took out his

One point for TAT

watch. When the two minutes were up he
lifted his top hat, stood up, and bowed. Then
he put on his top hat and went out.

'That's one point for TAT', said Bill.

He had hastily stuck a piece of paper in
Mr. Popovitch's top hat and written on it
the word:

Chapter IX

A gentleman surveys the heavens

CHAPTER IX
A gentleman surveys the heavens.

'What are you waiting for?' asked the
Cigarette King after he had scored up the
first point for TAT in his note-book.

'For my money', said Bill.

'Oh, I see! your thousand dollars for the
bet!' cried Mr. Joe Allan.

Then he sat down at the table and wrote
out a cheque on the Commercial Bank in
the name of Mr. Joe Allan, requesting that
the sum of one thousand dollars should be
paid immediately to the bearer.

Bill put the cheque in his cap, said 'thank
you', and went out.

At the door, the real lift-boy, who had
lent Bill the uniform, was waiting, whilst the
hall-porter went upstairs and Stalker and

Distinguished Service Order

Crosseye kept guard below. The lift-boy had
been discharged by the police in the interval,
when it turned out that he was not 'the
Person 5 .

He had slipped into the hotel by a back
stair, and now he wanted his uniform from
Bill.

They changed into their own clothes in
the cloakroom, and Bill said:

'At our next meeting you'll get the Dis-
tinguished Service Order.'

The lift-boy beamed.

They were both ready now, Bill looking his
old self again and the lift-boy wearing the
sky-blue uniform. They stepped into the lift
and went down in it.

Stalker and Crosseye were waiting for
them below. Mr. Popovitch and the hall-
porter had seen to that.

Stalker and Crosseye knew exactly what
they had to do. So this time they seized

Bill pays for his ticket

hold of the boy in the blue uniform and let
the other one go.

But goodness knows how they found
they'd got the wrong boy after all!

Time was precious. Mr. Popovitch took to
his heels and ran after Bill as hard as he could.
Bill was sure he'd never run faster in his life.

The rest of the day Bill spent fairly quietly.
He went to the Commercial Bank and got
the thousand dollars. Then he took a
Number 3 bus to Ransome Street. The con-
ductor came along and Bill paid for his ticket.
He felt very grand indeed.

'Like Ellie's prince', he said to himself.

In front of the Cafe Eclair, near the news-
paper stall, Hercules had been waiting a
whole hour for Bill. Hercules was two years
older and at least a head taller than the
Great Rattlesnake, but he waited patiently.
He was quite prepared to wait another two
hours if need be.

Our gang

When Bill arrived they went into a back-
yard and Bill handed over 999 dollars in
English money one hundred and ninety-nine
pounds fifteen shillings.

Hercules stared in amazement. Never in
his whole life had he seen so much money,
let alone had it in his hand.

Then the Great Rattlesnake said:

'You'll see that that money is divided up
among our gang to-night without fail. Each
of them'll get a dollar, that's five bob. I've
got mine already.'

'Y-y-yes', stammered Hercules, cramming
the money into his trouser pockets.

'Are our spies out to-night?' added the
Great Rattlesnake as an after-thought.

'Spies are out everything O.K.'

Thereupon the Great Rattlesnake went
on his way and disappeared in the crowd.

Half an hour later he was standing in
front of a toyshop in the High Street. In

The toyshop

one of the big windows all the glories of the
world were displayed. There were gold and
silver humming tops, carts, motors, balls,
air-guns, teddy-bears, tennis-rackets, floating
animals, and dolls at least twenty dolls
with fair hair and dark hair, with blue eyes
and brown eyes. They had sky-blue, pink
and bright green dresses, and each was in a
separate box and they stretched out their fat
little arms as much as to say: 'Please do buy
me!' Bill put his hand in his pocket and
felt for his dollar, then he looked at all the
dolls in turn and went into the shop.

There were elegantly dressed ladies there
buying toys for their elegantly dressed
children. The little girls wore starched
muslin frocks, which stood out stiffly from
their thin legs; the boys had sailor caps with
the names 'Thunderer' and 'Dreadnought'
inscribed on them in gold letters. At first
nobody paid any attention to Bill. At last

A doll for Ellie

one of the women shop-assistants noticed
him whilst she was wrapping up a big box
of tin soldiers and asked him:

'Have you come to fetch a parcel, kid?'

'Yes, a doll', said Bill.

'For whom? 5 asked the assistant.

Tor Ellie.'

'Ellie?' wondered the assistant. 'Whose
Ellie can that be?'

'Mine', said Bill.

'Oh, I see! You want to buy a doll!'

'Yes', said Bill, 'that one over there.'

He pointed to one in the shop window.
It was the prettiest doll there. The assistant
took it out of the window, looked at the little
ticket hanging from its arm, and said:

'This one is twenty-five shillings.'

'Oh!' said Bill. 'I want a doll that doesn't
cost more than five shillings.'

'Oh, certainly', said the assistant and pro-
duced a big box full of dolls of all sorts and

The prince

sizes. A large label on the box said: Four
shillings and sixpence each.'

Bill took his time. Suddenly he saw a doll
in a blue dress with spangly stars on it. 'I'll
have that one', he said. So the assistant
wrapped it up.

It was nine o'clock when Bill reached home.
Ellie was asleep. So he took the doll out of
the parcel and pushed it very gently under
the blanket beside Ellie.

'Bill!' cried Ellie next morning. 'Bill!' She
took him by the shoulder and shook him.
At last he opened his eyes.

'Bill!' cried Ellie, 'the prince has been here,
and I never knew. He's brought the doll,
just fancy!'

'You see', yawned Bill, 'didn't I tell you
he'd come!'

And Ellie ran back to bed where the doll
was sitting up in solemn state. It had a dress
with spangly stars, just what she had longed

The spy

for, and Ellie had already investigated
whether it could open and shut its eyes. It
really could, just like Bill a minute ago.

'Darling dollie, lovely dollie', whispered
Ellie, kneeling down and stroking the tiny
shoes and stockings. It was a very superior
doll; it even had a yellow petticoat! But
then a prince had brought it and it had cost
four shillings and sixpence. The price was
written on the sole of one of its shoes.

Meanwhile Bill had got out of his old
blanket and was putting on his funny
trousers. The doll regarded him from the
bed.

Suddenly Bill heard a whistle in the
street it meant: 'a spy is bringing news'.
Bill ran out, climbed on to the banisters
and swoop down he was! Bill met the
spy sitting on some steps outside. They pre-
tended they'd never seen each other before,
and began to play at marbles in the gutter.

The spy's report

As they bent down and put their heads to-
gether to consider the position of the marbles,
the spy gave his report.

It was about Mr. Popovitch. Ever since
he had left the Hotel Imperator the spies of
the 'Black Hand' had been at his heels.

Mr. Popovitch had been seen driving about
with a gentleman in a motor car from one
advertisement hoarding to another. Some-
times the gentleman had got out and with a
measuring tape had measured a space on the
hoarding.

'Yes, and then?'

'Then he ordered ten thousand advertise-
ments.'

'Where from?'

'From the printers, Highlight in Museum
Street.'

'What's on the advertisement?'

'Tit, the best cigarette in the world.'

'Nothing else?'

A gentleman surveys the heavens

'No, nothing else. I say, d'you know that
man over there?'

'Which man?'

'Over there, to the right of the electric
standard in front of the yellow house', said
the spy. 'He's been standing there all the
time looking across at us.'

Bill looked in the direction of the yellow
house. A gentleman was standing there sur-
veying the heavens. Bill looked up too,
thinking it might be a balloon. But nothing
unusual was to be seen.

Bill knew who the gentleman was.

Bill departs

Then he got up, pocketed his marbles and
went down the street alone. The spy sat
down on the kerb and began counting his
marbles. When Bill was out of sight he
strolled off in the opposite direction.

Chapter X

The awful boy takes Flybuzzer's
breath away

CHAPTER X

The awful boy takes Flybuzzer's
breath away.

The gentleman who was standing survey-
ing the Heavens was Detective Leonard
Flybuzzer.

Leonard Flybuzzer knew everything, for
Mr. Popovitch had told him all that had
taken place.

Bill entered the Go-operative Stores, went
up to the counter, and tried to make his
face look as stupid as possible.

'What do you want, kid?' asked the sales-
woman.

'Aw, Miss, I've gone an' forgot. May I
'phone?'

'Yes', said the saleswoman, 'd'you know
what to do?'

G 97

TAT for TIT

c Oh, yes', said Bill, 'if your 'phone's in
order.'

The telephone was in order. It hung
in the storeroom which smelt strongly of
new bread, herrings and chicory. A green
telephone book with grease spots on it was
there too.

Bill looked up the number, rang up and
asked for:

'Northend, seven double four two!'

'Hullo? Is that Highlight the printers?
Popovitch speaking. Pop for ginger-beer,
ov for of, itch for scratching. I ordered ten
thousand advertisements from you: well,
there's a mistake in them. It should be an
"A" not an "I".'

6 What?'

'Printed, are they? Well, print some more.
Tat do you hear? What?'

'Being sent along, are they? Listen, get a

'Cheerio,, Flybuzzer!'

move on, print ten thousand "A"s and get
your men to stick 'em on the placards on
top of the "I"s. 5

Bill hung up the receiver, went back to
the shop and said:

'I know now, Miss. I want five cream
blodges.'

When Bill came out of the Co-operative
Stores, there was the gentleman again
surveying the heavens.

A motor-lorry came clattering up the
road.

'Cheerio, Flybuzzer!' cried Bill, stuffed the
five cream blodges into his mouth, dashed
after the lorry and swung himself on behind.

Mr. Flybuzzer did not turn a hair. Like
every famous detective, he preserved a dig-
nified calm. On principle he never worried
about anything, unless in great straits.

So Mr. Flybuzzer went round the next
corner where his push-bicycle was standing.

Nearly. . .

He adjusted his cap so that the peak was at
the back, mounted his bicycle and pedalled
hard after the motor-lorry. He had nearly
caught it up when the awful boy jumped
off. It was just beside the entrance to the
Underground in Brook Street.

The awful boy ran down the stair to the
Underground. So Mr. Flybuzzer immedi-
ately parked his bicycle against the kerb and
ran down the stair too. Just as he reached
the bottom, the awful boy ran up the oppo-
site stair and disappeared. Mr. Flybuzzer
ran up the opposite stair too. When he

arrived at the top he saw his bicycle being

100

'Stop! Get off!'

ridden away without him. The awful boy
was sitting on it, pedalling swiftly out of
sight.

Mr. Flybuzzer waited.

When a motor-bicycle came purring along
he raised his hand.

'Stop!' he said, 'get off!'

101

A voice cries: 'Flybuzzer!'

'What for?' inquired the motor-cyclist.

'Police!' said Mr. Flybuzzer, jumped on
the motor-cycle and started up.

He spluttered along as hard as he could
after the pedal cycle down Brook Street, into
the High Street, round the War Memorial.
At least five policemen took down the num-
ber of the motor-cycle for exceeding the
speed limit.

Then suddenly at the corner of Bank
Street, he saw his push bicycle resting
peacefully against the kerb. Mr. Flybuzzer
stopped, parked the motor-cycle beside it
and dashed into the house in front of which
the pedal cycle was standing.

'Flybuzzer!' cried a voice from the stair
inside.

Without replying Mr. Flybuzzer dashed
upstairs up the first, second, third, fourth,
fifth stair. Then he saw the lift descending
swiftly just below him.

102

'Flybuzzer!' again

'Flybuzzer!' cried a voice from the lift.

Mr. Flybuzzer turned round and ran
downstairs.

When he reached the bottom, the awful
boy was standing there, shouting:

'Gome on, Flybuzzer, let's hear the flies
buzz!'

Then the awful boy ran away.

Mr. Flybuzzer jumped on the motor- cycle
and started up.

103

Fly buzzer goes home

The motor-cycle did: whissh! and sud-
denly the tyres went flat.

Mr. Fly buzzer mounted the pedal cycle.

The pedal cycle did: whisssh too!

The awful boy had gone and unscrewed
the valves!

So poor Mr. Flybuzzer took the next tram
home.

104

Chapter XI

Mr. Popovitch walks out with
Miss Trueyes in the Park

CHAPTER XI

Mr. Popovitch walks out with
Miss Trueyes in the Park.

On all the hoardings big red placards were
posted up, bearing the legend:

TIT

The Best Cigarette in
the World

At midday a salute of three guns was fired
from the state observatory, but the noise was
drowned in the roar of the city traffic.
Simultaneously thirty big captive balloons,

107

Mr. Popovitch gets a move on

hired by Mr. Popovitch, were seen mounting
skywards.

'I've seen that stunt hundreds of times, 5
exclaimed the Cigarette King when a gentle-
man obviously one of Mr. Popovitch's
agents asked his opinion about this latest
method of advertising.

The thirty captive balloons showered down
quantities of pea-green leaflets; each of which
in all probability bore the legend that TIT
was the best cigarette in the world. But
nobody had an opportunity of reading a
single one of them. The ragamuffin gang
grabbed them all as they fluttered down. They
fought for them, yelled and tumbled about.
Their very life seemed to depend on securing
these green leaflets!

So when the captive balloons descended,
not a leaflet was to be seen anywhere. They
had disappeared as quickly and silently as
the street urchins themselves.

1 08

'They're thieves!'

Mr. Popovitch ran from one policeman to
another, exclaiming: 'You must catch
those boys, they're thieves, that's what they
are!'

But the policemen shrugged their shoulders
and smiled. 'Catch 'em? How?'

'They're like rats. They know every hole
and corner, every backyard. They dash into
the nearest tenement, run upstairs, climb
through the skylight on to the roof, run along
the tiles and slide down the lightning con-
ductor into a yard where they hide in a cellar,
and in the twinkling of an eye they're in an
entirely different street, and swing themselves
up behind a motor-car and vanish.'

Mr. Popovitch went home very much
annoyed. He ate his lunch and still
felt very annoyed. Then he lay down on the
sofa and fell asleep.

He had a strange dream. Giant cigarettes
came rolling in at the windows and out at

109

Mr. Popovitch has a dream

the door, cigarettes the size of barrels, and on
each barrel were the words:

TIT, the best cigarette!

Hundreds of them rolled in and out, up-
setting the chairs and making such a racket
on the stair that the whole house trembled
and Miss Trueyes' photograph on the chest
of drawers fell down. That woke Mr. Popo-
vitch.

'Great snakes alive!' he cried, although there
wasn't a snake to be seen anywhere. 'Great
snakes alive, that's a swell advertising stunt!'

Swinging both legs off the sofa he stood
there beaming.

'I must go and tell Lydia about that at
once.'

Mr. Popovitch put on his coat, laced up
his boots and went out. He took a taxi and
drove to Number 26 Trinity Street, where
his fiancee, Miss Lydia Trueyes, lived.

Miss Lydia Trueyes

He rang the bell and immediately Miss
Lydia appeared.

'I've come to take you for a drive, my
dear Lydia', said Mr. Popovitch.

'How sweet of you, Alexander dear!' said
Miss Trueyes.

Then they drove off.

When they came to the first hoarding Mr.
Popovitch told the driver to stop, and pointed
to the red placard, which said:

TIT, the best cigarette in the world.

'Do you like it, Lydia?' he inquired.

'Very much, Alexander dear', gushed Miss
Trueyes.

Then they drove to the Park, got out and
went for a stroll.

'Guess what salary the Cigarette Johnny '11
pay', said Mr. Popovitch.

Quite elated Miss Trueyes put up her sun-
shade and ventured:

Miss Trueyes is stunned

'A thousand dollars?'

'You'll never guess!' said Mr. Popovitch.
'Two thousand a month! Well, what do you
say to that?'

Miss Trueyes said nothing. She was
stunned.

'Pounds of course', fibbed Mr. Popovitch
once again.

Miss Trueyes became still more inarticu-
late. Luckily at this juncture one of the
comfortable white Park seats hove in sight,
and they sat down.

'Two thousand pounds a month!' sighed
Miss Trueyes. 'Whatever shall we do with
all that money?'

'Do? 5 said Mr. Popovitch. 'Well, first of all
we'll go three times round the world for our
honeymoon round the top, round the
middle, and round the bottom!'

'Ooooh! Alexander!'

'And then we'll have a house built of
112

'Whatever's the matter?'

white marble, with all the rooms decorated
with silk tapestries, and Persian carpets. And
of course we'll have our private aeroplane
and hangar.'

'And Alexander!' cried MissTrueyes, 'then
I'll get that check costume at Ham worth's,
yes?'

'Oh, my dear Lydia!' said Mr. Popovitch,
c not just one costume! We'll have new clothes
every day and throw away the old ones of
the day before.'

They got up from the seat and strolled
back through the Park, arm in arm. Lost in
happy dreams of wealth and good fortune,
they noticed nothing amiss. But at last
something did attract their attention.

A crowd of children was running behind
them shouting: TAT! TAT!'

' Whatever 's the matter?' cried Mr. Popo-
vitch.

'TAT! TAT! He-he-he!'
H 113

A new advertisement

'Get out of here at once!' bellowed Mr.
Popovitch, turning round. And then he
caught sight of his fiancee's back.

'Lydia!' he cried, 'look at your blouse!'

Miss Trueyes was, as usual, wearing her
best dark green silk blouse which she always
put on when she walked out with Alexander.
On the back of it there was now a large
white capital T.

'Alexander!' cried Miss Trueyes at this
moment, 'look at your coat!'

Mr. Popovitch was wearing his dove-grey
frock coat. On the back of it there was a
large white capital T and a large white
capital A.

The word TAT appeared on the backs of
Mr. Popovitch and Miss Trueyes when they
walked arm in arm.

The seat they had been sitting on in
the Park was responsible for that. The

painter-members of the 'Black Hand' had

114

'What do you think of it?'

unostentatiously painted TAT in white oil
paint on the back of all the white seats in
the Park; it became visible only when
people got up, and even then, not always
immediately.

At this precise moment Mr. Joe Allan
crossed the road and saw the sad sight.

'Hullo, Mr. Popovitch', he cried, 'upon
my word I've never seen an advertisement
like this before. What do you think of it?'

Til have 'em up for damage to private
property, I will!' spluttered Mr. Popovitch.

'Oh, don't', said Mr. Joe Allan, Til be
very glad to replace the lady's blouse and
your frock coat.'

And he pulled out his pocket-book and
handed Mr. Popovitch a hundred dollar bill.
Miss Trueyes beamed. She thought imme-
diately of the check costume at Hamworth's.

'By the way', said Mr. Joe Allan, slipping

his pocket-book into his coat, 'You should get

117

Popovitch's placards

a move on, Mr. Popovitch. I've already
scored up fourteen points for TAT and not
a single one for TIT.'

'But wh-wh-what do you mean?' stam-
mered Mr. Popovitch. 'Haven't you seen my
placards?'

'Your placards? Where?'

Mr. Popovitch hastily led the Cigarette
King to the nearest hoarding, and stood there
petrified.

The advertisement now said:

The Best Cigarette in
the World

118

Chapter XII

Tat! in front and behind!

CHAPTER XII
TAT! in front and behind!

Towards evening all the members of the
'Black Hand' were on the war-path. At
five o'clock, just as it was getting dark, a
load of small briquettes had been dumped
in front of the Law Courts. The caretaker
had told a couple of boys to stack them in
the cellar. It was the 'rush' hour and
crowds of people were coming out of their
offices, all in a hurry to get home, and few
noticed the boys beside the heap of bri-
quettes.

But half an hour later the caretaker's bell
was pulled violently and there stood a
policeman.

'Look here, Mister', he said. 'What's up
with your briquettes?'

121

The artists

The caretaker put down the evening
paper, took off his spectacles and went out
to the street with the policeman. The bri-
quettes were arranged in a neat row along-
side the pavement thus:

The effect was most artistic. Unfortunately
the artists had mysteriously disappeared.
The caretaker would have liked to show his
'very warm' appreciation of their art.

The artists were pressed for time, because
they had to be at Rupert Square by six
o'clock. They arrived there with a soap-
box, a big telescope and the accompanying
stand. It is true that the telescope had
formerly been a stove-pipe, and the stand
was manufactured out of three rather
mouldy looking bean-poles tied together at

122

A new star

the top with string, but in the dim light
they passed muster.

One of the boys mounted the soap-box
and delivered the following oration to the
bystanders:

'Ladies and Gentlemen! 5 he shouted, 'a
new star has appeared. Kindly have a look
through this telescope. There's nothing to
pay, it's free of charge, and it's a sight you'll
never forget in all your lives.'

Because there was nothing to pay, lots of
people looked through the telescope to see
the new star. After they had looked, they
laughed, and because they laughed, still
more people wanted to look through the
telescope. Mr. Joe Allan had a look too.
Then a policeman came along and said:

'Move on there! What's all this?'

The crowd moved on and the policeman
caught sight of the telescope.

'What humbug is this?' he demanded.
125

'Look out! Pickpockets!'

C A new star has appeared', said one of the
boys, look through this telescope and you'll
see a marvellous si . . .'

'Shut up!' said the policeman and looked
through the telescope. It was directed on to
an arc-lamp, and a piece of glass had been
inserted at the end of the stove-pipe with
the following words inscribed on it in red
ink:

'TAT is the new star/

When the policeman made a grab at the
boys, they were no longer there. The stove-
pipe and the bean-pole stand were the only
things he could lug off to the police station.

The passers-by laughed and walked on.
Then a voice cried:

'Look out! Pickpockets!'

People immediately put their hands in
their pockets to see if anything had been
taken out. No, on the contrary, almost

126

'What's the matter, dear? 5

every pocket had more in it than before
namely a leaflet. On each leaflet were the
words:

'TAT, the finest cigarette of the day!'

'Marvellous!' thought Mr. Joe Allan,
pulling out his note-book. He was just
going to score up two points for TAT, one
for the telescope stunt and one for the leaflets;
but when he opened his note-book he saw
written on it:

'TAT is the very finest cigarette'

So he had to score up three points.

Then when he got to Ludlow Street he
saw a crowd gathered round a little boy sit-
ting forlornly on the kerb crying bitterly.

'What's the matter, dear?' inquired a
lady.

'TAT tat - tat tat tat . . .'

'Poor kid,' said a stout gentleman, 'he's
stuttering. He'll have lost his mother.'

127

Til teach you!'

'What's your name?'' he asked the poor
little stutterer.

'Tat tat tat tat . . /
'What does that mean: Tat tat?"
'TAT"*, said the boy suddenly, 'is the
finest cigarette in the world.'

Everybody laughed, but the stout gentle-
man said:

'You little devil, I'll teach you!'
In a jiffy he had laid the boy across his
knee.

A burst of laughter from the bystanders,
and the stout gentleman's hand stopped in
mid-air, then he too laughed heartily and
let the boy go.

Chalked on the seat of the boy's trousers
were the words:

'TAT, the finest cigarette in the world'

Again Mr. Joe Allan had to take out his
note-book. And ten minutes later again.

128

c ln front and behind'

He was passing the New Cinema where a
huge crowd had overflowed almost on to the
tramway lines. The picture 'Scalped and
Buried Alive' was just over, and the crowd
was streaming out of the entrance hall. And
nearly every third person had a leaflet with
the words: TAT, the best cigarette of the
day stuck to the sitting part of his anatomy.

The leaflets had been smeared with gum
on the back and secretly placed on the seats
with the sticky side up. In the darkness of
the cinema the people had sat down on
them. How they cursed and laughed as they
helped each other to get the beastly things
off!

The Cigarette King took out his note-book
and wrote in it:

'TAT - in front and behind!'

129

Chapter XIII

Mr. Flybuzzer hears the
flies buzz

CHAPTER XIII
Mr. Flybuzzer hears the flies buzz.

Next morning Mr. Flybuzzer received the
following letter:

Dere Flybuzzer,

if you kum sniffin round
agin you'll get wat for.

Yours fathfuly,

The Black Hand.

But that did not intimidate Flybuzzer,
who did not know the meaning of fear.

Besides him, hundreds of people in the
town received communications from the
Black Hand. The Cigarette King himself
got forty- three letters. He had to pay three-
and-sevenpence excess postage on them, as
the letters were unstamped.

The letters said:

The telephone stunt

If you will smoke a TAT
Tou'll never get too fat!

The excess postage was a piece of cheek.
But the telephone stunt was much worse.
Every five minutes there came a ring:

'Do you know TAT?'

'No, d- - you!'

Then came another ring.

'Hullo?'

'Have you ever smoked TAT? V

'Certainly not!'

f Well, I'm dashed sorry for you!'

'D d cheek; who's speaking?'

'Tat! -Tat!! -Tat!!!'

Mr. Joe Allan was himself called to the
'phone sixty-seven times. He didn't dare
not go, because he couldn't be sure if it
would be just TAT again or some impor-
tant business.

So as not to be continually running out
134

Mr. Joe Allan sits beside the telephone

of his room, he put a chair in front of the
'phone in the passage, sat down and smoked
one TAT after the other. When a voice
over the telephone inquired if he had ever
smoked TAT, he replied:

Tm just doing so!'

Then he scored up a point for TAT in
his note-book. The bill-posters were busy
all morning cleaning the hoardings, for
during the night the boys had stuck bills
over nearly all the advertisements. Some of
them now read as follows:

TAT

purchased for highest
prices. ISAAC SMITH.
Orders personally at-
tended to. Prompt
attention letters.

Mr. Joe Allan is pleased
iLiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

TAT

Matchless for the Complexion

TAT

Will stop that Cold

About midday the telephone exchange
refused to put through any calls on account
of the complaints of subscribers and because
nearly all the receivers had been left off.
Business was at a complete standstill. Mr.
Joe Allan was quite pleased, however, be-
cause he could now go back to his room.

136

Things get worse

At the same time the post office refused
to deliver any more letters. Most of the
letter-boxes in the town were full to over-
flowing, and people would no longer take in
letters nor pay excess postage.

But the situation grew even worse. Pre-
sently through every open window, wooden
arrows and darts came flying to which leaflets
were attached, which said:

'You must smoke TAT'

Numerous mirrors and soup tureens were
cracked by the flying missiles. Such a state
of affairs could not be allowed to continue.

At one o'clock martial law was proclaimed.
The newspapers published extra editions
with the headline:

Down with TAT

The newsboys ran through the streets
shouting out the headline at every street-

137

Advertising prohibited

corner. It was a new advertisement, but
also the last. A proper wash-out was in
store for the 'Black Hand'. At two o'clock
large placards were issued from the State
printing works and stuck up everywhere by
the police. The placards bore the words:

By Order

of the Commandant

All advertising is strictly pro-
hibited. Any person disobeying
this order will be shot.

Captain Funk-Noodle
Commandant

When Mr. Popovitch read the Command-
ant's order he turned ashy white. Just at this
moment a thousand sandwich-men were

138

Mr. Popovitch's legs wobble

rolling a thousand giant cigarettes through
the streets. Popovitch's dream advertising
stunt! On the giant cigarettes were the
words:

'TIT, the best cigarette'

The sandwich-men were immediately
arrested by the police and asked by whose
orders they were out in the streets.

Oh, a Mr. Popovitch had engaged them.

The giant cigarettes were immediately
confiscated. Detectives were put on the track
of Mr. Popovitch. He hurriedly bought a
pair of dark goggles and a waterproof, and at
a hairdresser's he added a false beard to
complete his disguise. He did not recognize
himself at all. But as soon as he was out in
the street a voice behind him said:

'Hullo, Mr. Popovitch!'

Mr. Popovitch's legs wobbled, but he
pulled himself together and ran for dear life.

Flybuzzer again

He never even looked round. Then he
became aware that somebody was following
him.

'Not so fast', hissed a voice behind him.
'Walk slowly!'

Mr. Popovitch came to a halt panting,
thinking the game was up and that he might
as well surrender.

His pursuer was Bill.

'D-d-did you recognize me?' stuttered Mr.
Popovitch.

'Yes', said Bill, 'and the gentleman over
there too. Just you walk behind me; slowly,
though . . . '

'What gentleman?" asked Mr. Popovitch.

'On the opposite pavement, in front of the
confectioner's now he's beside that book-
barrow. The one with the sporting cap.'

'Who is it?'

'That's Flybuzzer', said Bill, going on
ahead.

140

'Run!'

He got on to the next tram. So did Popo-
vitch. Mr. Fly buzzer took a taxi.

Jump off!' whispered Bill, squeezing past
Popovitch. They jumped off. Bill disap-
peared like a flash in the crowd on the pave-
ment, but Popovitch was not quick enough.
Mr. Flybuzzer saw him and told the driver
to stop.

'Quick', said Bill, pushing Mr. Popovitch
down the stairs to the Underground. But
now the trouble was that Popovitch had to
buy a ticket before he could get through the
barrier. Meantime Mr. Flybuzzer was hurry-
ing down the stairs. They all three travelled
by the same train to North Station. Fortu-
nately, however, not in the same carriage.
Mr. Flybuzzer barely had time to jump into
the very last one just as the train was moving
off.

'Gome on!' cried Bill, when the train

stopped. 'We'll have to run for it!'

141

'Slowly now!'

But Mr. Flybuzzer ran for it too. He
nearly caught Popovitch at the barrier,
because, being in the last carriage, he hadn't
had so far to run. But a fat farmer's wife
with two baskets pushed in front of him at
the last moment.

'Slowly now!' commanded Bill, when they
reached the back of the Old North Station.

'Slowly?' inquired Mr. Popovitch, looking
round. Flybuzzer was running towards
them.

'Slowly!' repeated Bill, holding on to
Popovitch's sleeve. Then putting his other
hand in his mouth, he gave the Great Rattle-
snake's signal. His whistle was echoed from
end to end of the Old Station.

'My word', thought Mr. Flybuzzer, 'what
an echo!'

Suddenly the whole place was swarming
with ragamuffins.

They had what looked like small forks in
142

Peace

their hands. Mr. Flybuzzer heard a buzzing
noise to left and right of him.

'Flies?' thought Mr. Flybuzzer and stood
still.

Ping! that got him! Ping! another!

They were not flies, but peas, Mr. Fly-
buzzer discovered. And the small forks were
catapults. It was a thoroughly unpleasant
situation.

But this time also Mr. Flybuzzer was
master of the situation. He pulled out his
white handkerchief and waved it, crying: C A
truce! Peace! Retreat!'

Thereupon he turned round and fled to
safety.

All that evening he waited in front of the
Old Station, but the two individuals did
not come out. It was very hard luck, for
Mr. Flybuzzer had been gloating over the
prospect of killing two birds with one stone.

Chapter XIV

One minute more and two
points to make

CHAPTER XIV

One minute more, and two points
to make.

Mr. Popovitch stared about him. The
grimy waiting-rooms of the old station were
swarming with equally grimy urchins. Work-
shops had been rigged up a painter's
workshop and a printer's. Boards laid across
trestles served as tables, and old boxes set in
front of them did duty for chairs. Oil-paint,
ink, paste and glue stood about in pots, or
lay in pools on the floor; paint-brushes, pens
and stacks of envelopes lay around and
tattered fragments of waste-paper from the
piled up heaps fluttered about in the draught.
This was the great advertising headquarters
of the 'Black Hand'.

But the boys were not working; no posters

'Pack up and go home'

were being painted, no letters were being
written. The boys were just standing about,
with a helpless look on their faces. They
were all thinking of the order issued by the
Commandant, Captain Funk-Noodle. Any
person disobeying this order will be shot!

When Bill appeared, two big boys ran up
to him, pulled him into a corner and over-
whelmed him with questions. The boys were
Hercules and Creeping Flatfoot.

'What'll we do now?' they inquired.

'Nothing', said the Great Rattlesnake pre-
serving his usual calm, just pack up and go
home.'

'Come on', he said, turning to Mr. Popo-
vitch.

Together they went through several dingy-
looking rooms. Now and again they heard a
mysterious rustling noise; it was the rats.

'Down here!' said Bill, striking a match.

There was a wooden stair underneath the
148

'It's muddy here'

floor, or rather, it had once been a stair!
The steps were now rotten and decayed, it
would be the easiest thing in the world to
break one's neck on such a wreck of a stair.
A damp, mouldy smell came up from
below.

Mr. Popovitch climbed down timidly and
with great difficulty, keeping close behind
Bill who knew exactly where it was safe to
step and where not. Now they came to a
pitch-dark passage; but the match had gone
out.

Tut your hand on my shoulder', said Bill,
'and just keep following me.'

For about five minutes they groped their
way along in this fashion, but it seemed hours
to Mr. Popovitch.

'Stop!' said Bill. 'Now we've got to crawl.
It's muddy here, but that's nothing.'

He struck another match, and Mr. Popo-
vitch saw a round black hole just in front of

'Here we are!'

him. On all fours Bill crawled through and
looked back holding the lighted match
between his teeth.

'Gome on!' he grunted, 'the match is
done.'

He spat it out, and with a hissing noise
the last spark was extinguished. Mr. Popo-
vitch was splashing about up to his wrists in
mud. But he didn't care much, because,
after all, anything was better than being shot.
He groped along after Bill. They were like
two toads crawling through a drain-pipe.

To right and left of him Mr. Popovitch
felt something cold and round. It was a
water main. At last a faint light glimmered.

'Here we are!' said Bill standing up.

An iron ladder led upwards. Mr. Popovitch
looked up through a round shaft and saw a
heavy iron grating above him.

'An underground dungeon', he thought,
trembling.

150

The escape

'It's a manhole', said Bill, and climbed up
the ladder. Mr. Popovitch followed close
behind him.

'Now the two of us have got to push up
the cover. It's a frightful weight', said Bill.
'Heave o o o o o o!'

At the last 'o' the cover yielded,, and Bill
put his head out cautiously, but immediately
withdrew it again shouting: 'Look out!'

A terrible roaring noise passed close above
their heads.

'What was that?' asked Mr. Popovitch, his
teeth chattering.

'Only a taxi', said Bill.

Then they climbed out and found them-
selves in the middle of a street. What
sights they were!

'Gome on!' said Bill, shaking the mud
from his shoes and fingers so vigorously that
it flew across the street, and an old gentleman
began to curse these beastly workmen because

Bill and Popovitch part

some of the flying mud had alighted on his
spectacles.

A quarter of an hour later Bill and Mr.
Popovitch were standing in the entrance hall
of the new North Station. All danger was
over. Mr. Popovitch looked so filthy that no
detective could possibly recognize him. Not
even Mr. Flybuzzer. And in any case Mr.
Flybuzzer was still hanging about waiting
for them at the Old Station.

'Have you got any money?' asked Bill.

'Yes', said Mr. Popovitch.

'Take a ticket to Timbuctoo", said Bill,
'the Pullman train leaves in ten minutes. I
hope you'll be Advertising King there.'

Mr. Popovitch felt he would like to shake
hands with Bill and thank him, but on
stretching out his hand to clasp the boy's grimy
one, he found that Bill had disappeared.

Outside the station Bill looked at the big
electric clock. It was twenty minutes to four.

'52

Packs his trunk

At ten minutes to four Mr. Joe Allan was
standing in Room Number 12 in the Hotel
Imperator packing his trunk. He had put
everything in except his slippers.

Mr. Joe Allan went to the door and
pressed the electric button. Ernest appeared.

'My boots!' said Mr. Joe Allan.

'Y-y-yessir!' said Ernest and vanished.

Mr. Joe Allan took off his slippers, packed
them, locked his trunk and sat there waiting
in his stocking-soles.

Someone knocked.

'Come in!' It was Bill.

'Well, well, so it's you!' said Mr. Joe Allan.
'YouVe still got three points to get.'

'That's nothing', said Bill, 'here comes
number one.'

The lift-boy was just coming in with the
boots.

'Thanks', said Mr. Joe Allan, taking the
boots.

'53

Tm sorry'

While he was putting them on he looked
about him. Well, where's the point?' he asked.

'On the soles of your boots', said Bill.

'You might have said that at once",
grumbled Mr. Joe Allan, for it meant taking
off his boots again, because he couldn't lift his
legs high enough to look at the soles of his boots.

TAT was inscribed on the soles.

'That trunk's got to go to the station at
once', said Mr. Joe Allan.

Bill and the lift-boy lifted the trunk and
carried it out. When Bill returned there was
Mr. Joe Allan with his coat over his arm.
Bill helped him on with it. Then he handed
him his top hat from the peg.

'Well, my boy, I'll have to go now!' said
Mr. Joe Allan. 'I'm sorry for you, but I
must stick to my conditions up to the very
last point and the very last second.'

'Of course you must', said Bill. 'I'm com-
ing with you.'

One minute more

To which Mr. Joe Allan replied: c Right-O',
and put on his top hat. They went down
together in the lift.

On the thumb of his left hand the lift-boy
was wearing an iron ring the kind used for
curtains it was the Distinguished Service
Order. He was beaming; the iron ring meant
much more to him than the ten bob tip he
had got from Mr. Joe Allan.

Downstairs in the entrance hall Bill looked
at the clock. It was one minute to four and
he still had two points to make.

The entire staff of the hotel, from Ernest,
the boots,, up to the manager, were lined up
in a double row at the door and each of
them got a ten shilling tip. And when he
came to the manager Mr. Joe Allan shook
hands and raised his top hat. As he did so,
he happened to glance inside the hat.

TAT was written there.

Mr. Joe Allan smiled, took out his

'I congratulate you, Advertising King'

stop-watch and snapped open the spring-lid.

It was four exactly and on the glass of the
watch was:

TAT written in ink!

The Cigarette King closed the stop-watch,
put it in his pocket and shook hands with
Bill, saying:

*I congratulate you, Advertising King.'

156

Shake hands with him

All this happened twelve years ago.

To-day the boy Bill has grown into Bill
the man. When you shake hands with him
you need no longer fear that your hand will
get black. In his fine house you can sit
down on any chair you like without undue
anxiety about getting up again with an
advertisement sticking to the sitting portion
of your anatomy.

Bill has become a real Advertising King,
although his methods are no longer those of
the Popovitch period.

He has had to learn a lot and work hard.
But the result is that to-day he is the manager
of a huge advertising agency which employs
thousands of workers.

When he accompanies you through the
various rooms and halls you notice how he
nods now to one, now to another of the
designers and artists; and if you ask him:
'Who is that?' you are told the queerest

157

The Black Hand

names Hercules, Creeping Flatfoot, and
so on.

And opposite the Agency is a fine villa.
Here Ellie lives with her prince. Not a real
prince, of course, but Bill's best friend and
colleague. Though Ellie insists that it is her
prince. And if she says so, she will probably
be right.

And just a few days ago Mr. Joe Allan
named his latest brand of cigarette. It has
been a howling success. The whole of America
smokes it, and it is called:

The Black Hand'.

1 ' ' ii i i ii I I III Mm

A 000 042 141 2