Part 37 (1/2)

When did Matlock Styles last call on your father?”

”He called several times last week. I don't know exactly when he called last. But I do know that my father was greatly excited over something, and that he called in my stepmother and she was excited, too. I was not told what it was about.”

”Well, to drop him, do you know a man named John Watkins, of Bryport?”

”Watkins? Yes, I do. He once called on my father, about the same time that Mr. Styles called last.”

”Do you know why he called?”

”I do not. I thought it was about a patent. I learned that Mr.

Watkins worked for the United States government and I thought it was for the patent office.”

”Then that is all, Miss Langmore.” The detective arose and held out his hand. ”Now take good care of yourself and do not worry. Matters are bound to come out right in the end.”

”But how can they be better for me?” Margaret's face took on its worried look again. ”They have proved that I am guilty.”

”You are not guilty,” said Adam Adams firmly and looking her squarely in the eyes. ”You are not guilty. I say so, and I know. Do not worry. Rest quietly, and soon everything shall be made plain to you.”

And then before she could answer he was gone. She sank back among the pillows, closed her eyes and heaved a sigh.

”It cannot be!” she murmured. ”It is too late! I am guilty! I am guilty!”

CHAPTER XXII

AN UNDERGROUND MYSTERY

Late that afternoon a burly negro, plainly dressed and wearing a slouch hat, made his way along the river road in the direction of the old mill. He kept as much as possible in the shade of the bushes and trees and when close to the mill sank low in the tall gra.s.s, that he might not be seen by anyone who was pa.s.sing.

The negro was Adam Adams and his disguise was perfection itself. The detective was heavily armed and carried in his pockets several things which were unusual to him.

He waited around the old mill until the sun went down and the stars began to come out one by one. No one was in sight, but this did not ruffle him. He was ready to play a waiting game and take whatever was to come, even at the risk of his life.

Presently he heard a whistle at a distance. Then a man appeared whom he rightfully took to be the fellow called Bart. This individual pa.s.sed up and down the road near the mill and also came down to the water's edge, to gaze at the footpath on the other side of the river.

The man had the mastiff Queen with him and the dog came within a hundred feet of where Adam Adams was in hiding. Quickly the detective pulled a large atomizer from his pocket. Then, as the man walked back to the Styles' farmhouse, the dog turned and disappeared in the bushes as if following a trail.

”Don't come here, old lady,” muttered the detective, as he stood on guard, with the atomizer ready for use. ”If you do you'll be sorry.”

The mastiff was following Adam Adams' trail and in a minute more she came up and set up a fierce growl. Then she made a savage leap forward.

The detective might have finished her with a shot from his pistol, for he was an expert marksman. But he had come prepared to strike a blow without making any noise. As the mastiff sprang at him, he held the atomizer at full length and let a portion of the contents fly full into the animal's face. There was a snarl and a gasp and the magnificent canine fell over on her side. Leaping forward, the detective held the atomizer at the dog's nostrils and used it vigorously for a few seconds. It was more than sufficient for his purpose and soon the animal stiffened out in death.

”It's a shame to kill so fine a brute, but it can't be helped,” he muttered as he restored the atomizer to his pocket. He had used a mixture of chloroform, carbolic acid and other drugs, and the dog had been blinded as well as smothered by the application.

He left the mastiff where she had fallen and, as the darkness increased, drew closer to the mill. Then he saw a man approaching and recognized Matlock Styles. The Englishman entered the old mill, closing the door carefully behind him.

”More ghost work, I suppose,” murmured the detective, but he was mistaken, no such manifestations occurring. Evidently they were to take place later.

Without making a sound he crawled up to a side door of the old mill.