Part 9 (2/2)
”I'm afraid not,” sighed Tom.
”Too bad. But who could have wanted him to disappear?”
”That's a long story,” Tom answered discreetly. ”But say, where are you going?”
For the young driver was turning off the road to go to the very farmhouse to which the pier seemed to belong.
”To Sanderson's, as I told you,” replied the other boy.
”Does that pier down at the water front belong to him?”
”Yep, though I guess he don't have much use for it.”
”What sort of man is Sanderson?”
”Good enough sort, I guess.”
”What does he do for a living?”
”He farms some, but I guess that don't amount to a lot,” replied the young driver. ”I hear he's going into some new kind of business this fall. Some kind of a factory he's going to build on the place. I know he's been having a lot of cases of machinery come over on the boat from Wood's Hole lately.”
”Machinery?” echoed Halstead. Somehow, from the first, that word struck a strange note within him.
”There's Sanderson, now,” continued the young driver, pointing toward the house with his whip.
Then the buggy drew up alongside the back porch. Halstead had plenty of chance to study this farmer as he greeted the young driver:
”Hullo, Jed Prentiss. After them eggs?”
”Yes; and nearly forgot 'em.”
”I reckoned you'd be along about now. Well, I'll get 'em.”
Farmer Sanderson appeared to be about fifty years of age. He would have been rather tall if so much of his lanky height had not been turned over in a decided stoop of the shoulders. He had a rough, weather-beaten skin that seemed to match his rough jean overalls and flannel s.h.i.+rt. The most noticeable thing about this man was the keenness of his eyes. As the farmer came out again to put the basket of eggs in the back of the buggy Tom Halstead asked suddenly:
”Do you know a man who looks like a Spaniard and wears brown striped trousers and a black coat?”
Farmer Sanderson, so the young captain thought, gave a slight start.
Then he unconcernedly placed the basket in the buggy before he answered:
”Can't say as I _know_ such a party. But I've seen a fellow that answered that description.”
”When, if I may ask, and where?”
”Why, late this afternoon I saw such a party hanging around my pier. I s'posed he was fis.h.i.+ng, but I didn't go down to ask any questions.”
Tom put a few more queries, though without betraying too deep an interest. Farmer Sanderson answered with an appearance of utter frankness, but Tom learned nothing from the replies.
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