BY mid afternoon, Chet was wading through the heaps of junk, sorting
various items according to Joan's orders. The girl had assigned him to a sector
where he was quite alone, and Chet could think of no better hideaway than this.
It was certainly better than a rock pile, a term which meant more than prison to
Chet Conroy.
There was a rock pile back at the mouth of a tunnel near Crooked Junction.
To the world, that debris was evidence that Chet Conroy had lied to Humphrey
Thorneau. But Chet regarded it as evidence against a gang of crooks who had
outwitted him along with the law. The longer he stayed free, the more chance he
would have of proving he was right.
Whether or not Thorneau was still his friend, Chet did not know, but he
definitely doubted it. On the contrary, Chet knew that he had retained one
friend in The Shadow. Otherwise he wouldn't be sorting scrap in Merrick's
Junkyard. Whatever Chet's destiny, it seemed that The Shadow was taking a major
part in shaping it.
There was another element which seemed to dominate Chet's present life;
namely, dusk. It was growing dark when he heard footsteps behind him; turning
quickly, Chet prepared to dive from sight beyond a junk pile. He didn't
recognize the person who approached, until she spoke. The arrival was Joan
Merrick.
Attired in oversized slacks and flannel shirt, the girl looked like a
junkyard worker. She was wearing a longpeaked cap which added to the illusion;
indeed, the cap reminded Chet too much of the headgear favored by those thugs
who had ridden the way freight until The Shadow blasted them off.
Joan laughed lightly when she saw Chet halt. Realizing that the cap had
startled him, she took it off. Fluffing in the last rays of sunlight, her hair
took the tint of burnished copper. The question of blonde and brunette was
settled with a double negative. Joan Merrick was a redhead.
The auburn hair fitted Joan's peppery disposition, but it seemed that she
had merely a dash of both. The girl's voice was modulated when she informed Chet
that it was safe for him to return to the junkyard shack. As they walked along
together, Chet noted that Joan's hair lost its coppery hue away from the
sunlight, much as her manner sobered.
"I'm going to introduce you to my father," informed Joan. "Not by name,
though. I'd rather give you a title."
"That will help," agreed Chet. "Just tell him I'm the new technician."
"The new technician?"
"I mean it." Chet's tone was serious, too. "I can do wonders with this
junkyard, Joan. It's foolish to go picking through for odds and ends. I'd like
to organize it."
"But how?"
"Like an industrial plant. Or better still, a mining operation. That's what
it is, in a sense. You have a mountain load of raw materials awaiting scientific
treatment. You've got a large yard here, with about a dozen workers. I'd like to
handle the job."
Joan's eyes sparkled as she stopped to study Chet more closely. His
enthusiasm impressed her more favorably than ever. Then:
"You don't have to answer this question, Chet," said Joan, quite frankly.
"But I'd like to ask if that tunnel story was true."
