Part 38 (2/2)
Even the barn doors were no longer frankly open. There was a mysterious sort of subsurface stir everywhere. There was expectancy that was ill disguised. Mr. Bangs, a stranger, perceived that strangers, for some unexplained reason, had ceased to be popular in Egypt. One day a man gruffly told him that detectives would do well to go off and do their detecting in some other place. That was pretty blunt, and Mr. Bangs informed his helper that he, personally, had had about enough of the gummed-up, infernal town. He declared that he was going to leave. Mr.
Bangs was more certain about his departure when he arrived back at Files's tavern that evening. Mr. Files informed him that there would be no more accommodations at the tavern after that night. Mr. Files, questioned, refused to say whether he intended to close the tavern or was merely going away; he would reveal nothing about his further plans.
Mr. Bangs went out and sat on the porch bench with his helper, and irefully asked that bewildered person what the ding-dong the matter was with the dad-fired town, anyway?
In default of specific knowledge the aide tried to be humorous. He told Mr. Bangs that it looked as if the hive was getting ready to swarm. His facetiousness fell flat; Mr. Bangs scowled. The helper became serious.
”I've been watching the old hystrampus they call the Prophet. Everywhere we've been the past few days, he seems to be just coming or just going.
Noticed him, haven't you?”
”Of course I've noticed him.”
”I don't know what his religious persuasion is, because he hasn't done any talking where I could overhear him. But he seems to be getting busier all the time. Do you know what he preaches?”
”I'm working for the state prison, not the state insane asylum.”
”Well,” drawled the other, ”though I don't know what he's preaching, the general fussed-up condition here in this town reminds me of what happened in Carmel when I lived there as a boy. One of them go-upper preachers struck town. He finally got most of our neighbors into a state of whee-ho where the womenfolks made ascension robes for all concerned and the menfolks built a high platform and they all climbed up on it and waited all one night for Gabr'el's trump to sound.”
”What's that got to do with this town?” demanded Mr. Bangs, impatiently.
”Why, considering how near busted the town is--and all the timber cut off and the farms run out--I wouldn't wonder a mite if the right kind of a preacher could get 'em into a frame of mind where they'd be willing to start for anywhere--even straight down, provided they couldn't arrange matters so as to go straight up, like the Carmel folks planned on. Not as how I say that these folks are going to get up and hump it out of Egypt! But there's a whole lot of restle-ness in 'em! That's plain enough to be seen!”
”If there's half as much of it in 'em as there is in me, right now, they'll all follow me when I drive out of town in the morning,” declared Mr. Bangs. ”And what that king pin, name o' Britt, is building that palace over there for is beyond my guess.”
”Expects to grab off the girl of the Vaniman case,” said the aide, who had put himself in the way of hearing all the local gossip.
Mr. Bangs lighted a fresh cigar. ”Say, I'd like to find out whether this stir here is a go-upper proposition. I'd join the party and go up, too, if I thought I could locate that cas.h.i.+er and find out where he hid that mess of gold.”
”Try the ouija board,” giggled the aide.
However, in his desperate desire for information in general Mr. Bangs proceeded to try something which suited better his practical turn of mind.
He hailed Prophet Elias, who had appeared in the open door of Usial Britt's shop. The gloom of the autumn evening was deepened by vapor which came drifting from the lowlands after the night air had chilled the moisture evoked by the sun from the soil. The open door set a patch of radiance on the dun robe of the dusk. The light spread upon the vapor, was diffused in it, furnished an aura of soft glow in the center of which stood the robed figure.
Deputy Bangs's first hail, when Elias opened the door and stood revealed, was contemptuously brusque; he used the tone he commonly employed toward his charges in prison; he perceived at first only the queer old chap, the dusty plodder of the highways, the man of cracked wits. Bangs spoke as an officer, peremptorily: ”Say, you! Come over here. I want to talk with you!”
The Prophet made no move, either with his feet or his tongue. In the haze that lay between him and Bangs, the man of the robe seemed to tower and to take on a mystic dignity which had been lacking in the candid light of day. After the silence had continued for some time Bangs spoke again. His new manner showed that his eyes had been reprimanding his tongue. ”Excuse me! I didn't mean to sound short. But would you kindly step across here? Or”--the eyes certainly had shamed the tongue and had humbled it--”or I'll come over there, if you'd rather have it that way.”
The Prophet strode along the misty path of light and stood in the middle of the road. ”Talk--but I must ask you to talk to the point and in few words. I have no time to waste on gossip.”
”All right! Few words it is! What's the matter with this town all of a sudden?”
”Ask Pharaoh. The kingdom is his.”
”I don't get you!”
The deputy's helper pulled his chief's sleeve and hissed some rapid words of explanation, more fruit gathered from local gossip.
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