Part 31 (1/2)
”Dr. Silsby--Inspector McCausland.”
The men clasped hands.
”Didn't meet a maniac with a gash in his forehead on the way back, did you?” laughed McCausland.
”Maniac--well, no; but I've rooted out a peeping Tom there, that's been frightening the women.”
”How was that?” asked s.h.a.garach.
”It was those ferns did it. Aren't they beauties, though? Feel! Silky! Maidenhair! Rare variety.”
”They helped you find the peeping Tom?” said s.h.a.garach, who knew the botanist's tendency to forget.
”Oh, yes,” said Dr. Silsby. ”I was just about to tell that story. You know the hemlock forest back of the blue hills in Woodlawn--marshy place thereabouts, lots of clay in the soil--some of it on those boots, eh? Well, those ferns came from there. Didn't walk in of themselves, I guess. No, I had to wade for them. Pretty boggy, but not quite up to the Dismal swamp. Well, I was feeling about, pulling up things, when I came on the hut.”
”A hut?”
”I call it a hut by courtesy. Begging your pardon, said I, and tumbled in the sides of it. Hadn't any door that I could see--only two loose boards--and was mighty poor carpenter work all over. Just a roof and three sides, the whole thing backed against a pudding-stone ledge that juts out into Hemlock lake.”
”Had it an occupant?” asked s.h.a.garach.
”Three squirrels,” answered Dr. Silsby, ”investigating a can of corn.”
”Nothing else?”
”Some old newspapers, a blanket, a stool and a mighty ugly collection of instruments, I tell you, including this article, which I confiscated.”
He removed a pistol which lay at the bottom of his basket, handling the specimens as carefully as if they had been wounded kittens.
”Is it loaded?” asked McCausland, taking it in his hand and unhinging the b.u.t.t. The backs of three cartridges stared out from the cylinder.
”You kept the second bullet, s.h.a.garach, I believe,” said McCausland, removing a cartridge. s.h.a.garach rolled out a flattened bullet from a pen box in his drawer.
”Same caliber,” said McCausland. ”This looks like the pistol that was aimed at you that evening.”
”So you know peeping Tom, then?” asked Dr. Silsby.
”Mr. McCausland and I have two of the three bullets that round out his pistol's complement,” answered s.h.a.garach, ”and the third is lodged in my ceiling at home too deep for the probe to reach.”
”I thought the hut had a human atmosphere. There were fresh tracks around, and the station-master spoke to me about a scoundrel that's been frightening the country-folks--frightening them by running away from them, as far as I could see. But you don't suppose he was fern-gathering down in that swamp, do you?”
”Hardly,” said McCausland. ”Could you take us there now?”
”Now? I've my lecture at Hilo hall--A Study in Ingrat.i.tude; or, the Threatened Extinction of the Great Horned Owl.”
”It is an important piece of evidence in the Floyd case,” said s.h.a.garach, though McCausland still smiled incredulously. ”We want the occupant of that hut.”
”Robert's case. Command me,” said Dr. Silsby. ”Sorry Mr. Hutman wasn't at home when I called. I'd have had him here dead or alive.”
”Wolf!” said McCausland. The great dog started up, wagging his tail. ”Smell.” He offered him the revolver b.u.t.t. The hound barked and smelled his way to the door again, but McCausland pulled him back.
”It is our man,” he said, thrusting the paper-weight in his pocket.
”My pathfinder, Aronson,” said s.h.a.garach, who sprung to his desk.
”The next train for Woodlawn doesn't leave till 4:03.”
”We can go more quickly by team,” said McCausland. ”I will have one here in ten minutes.”
Then he departed with his hound, and s.h.a.garach sent Aronson to announce at Hilo hall that an imperative summons compelled the defender of the great horned owl to neglect for once the cause of that calumniated biped.
”This is where I left the road,” cried Dr. Silsby, an hour later. ”A good, smart journey lies before us.”
”It's uncertain when we'll return,” said McCausland to the driver. ”Probably not before 6 at the earliest. You'd better drive home. We'll take the train into town.”
The driver wheeled his team and drove away, while the party of three--s.h.a.garach, McCausland and Silsby--crossed a bush-skirted meadow with the bloodhound still in leash. But they were not destined to remain long unattended. The curious folk had got wind of their intention to unearth the peeping Tom, and the sight of an officer in b.u.t.tons emboldened many to follow in their wake. Several men offered to help in the search, and McCausland did not refuse their a.s.sistance.
”The more the merrier,” he said, whereupon not only men but women trailed behind them.
Among these followers was one young woman, familiar to two of the three leaders of the party.
”Good evening, Miss Wesner,” said s.h.a.garach and McCausland almost together, and the great inspector was not above entertaining that somewhat vulgar curiosity many of us feel as to the relations.h.i.+p of any chance couple we meet. For Miss Wesner was attended by an exceedingly attentive young man. Courting? Engaged? Married? The question rises as naturally as a bubble in water. In this case the truth lay midway. What more natural than that she should spend her afternoon off with Hans Heidermann at the picnic park in Woodlawn?
”Now you've left the cheap bombast of the town behind you,” said Dr. Silsby, looking at the great trees as if he would embrace them one and all. ”Isn't this grand? Isn't this Gothic? Pillars, gloom, fretted roof--don't tell me art's cathedrals are any improvement on nature's.”
The bloodhound interrupted his rhapsody.
”We may leave Dr. Silsby behind, if he chooses, as well as the town bombast,” said McCausland. ”We shall not need his guidance any farther. Wolf has caught the trail again.”
Two or three times on the march the inspector had held the gla.s.s paper-weight out so that the dog might smell the blood-clot on its edge. His joyful bark and eager straining at the leash announced that he had scented the fugitive.
”Not I,” said Dr. Silsby.
Pulled on by the hound, McCausland and his two companions were soon trotting far ahead of the plodding laggards behind them. Their talk had died away. The heart of each was tense. Not a sound broke the mid-forest silence save the harsh screams of purple jays resenting their intrusion, and the snapping of twigs and branches.
”There are the ferns,” said Dr. Silsby.
”Are we near?” asked McCausland.
”Within a hundred yards, I should say. This is the hemlock grove.”
”Step on the moss. It will deaden our footfalls,” said the detective. ”Slow, Wolf, slow!”
He reined in the impetuous animal as best he could and his companions crept behind him softly.
”I see it,” whispered s.h.a.garach, pointing through the trees. It was nearly 5 o'clock and the light was beginning to slant more dimly through the aisles of the forest. But following his finger, the eye of the detective made out a rude shelter, sharply distinct by the smoothness of its boarded walls from the rough bark surfaces around. It seemed to lean against the steep ledge which Dr. Silsby had described and the roof derived most of its support from the projecting arms of two great trees whose roots spread up into the crevices of the rock. Osiers and strong withes took the place of nails, and the c.h.i.n.ks were stopped with moss. No log cabin or camper's shed was ever more roughly joined. It had every appearance of being recent and temporary.