Jane Carter Historical Cozies: Omnibus Edition (Six Mystery Novels)

by Alice Simpson

“He claims that he acted in good faith for Seth Burrows. Likewise, that he had no suspicion the title was faulty.”

  “Naturally, he would take such an attitude.”

  “I’ve asked Bronson to produce Seth Burrows,” my father said. “Unless he can do so and prove that the property is owned by him, the deal is off.”

  “Do you think Bronson will bring the man to Greenville?”

  “I doubt it very much,” Dad said. “I suspect he’ll bluff, and finally let the deal go by default. It will be an easy way out for him.”

  “Bronson always seems to escape his misdeeds. I wish we could find Seth Burrows ourselves and bring the two men together. That would be interesting.”

  “Finding Seth Burrows would serve many useful purposes,” Dad said grimly. “But now that I would welcome a communication from him, he no longer pesters me.”

  I eagerly awaited the hour appointed for my meeting with Sidney Dorner. I spent considerable time the next afternoon preparing a lunch basket of substantial food to take with me.

  When I arrived at the campsite, it was deserted. I waited for nearly a half hour. Finally, just as I was convinced that Sidney Dorner was either unable or unwilling to come, he appeared.

  “I’ve brought you some hot coffee,” I said, taking the plug from a thermos bottle. “A little food, too.”

  “I sure do appreciate it. My wife slips me a handout whenever she can, but lately, the house has been watched so closely, she can’t get away.”

  Sidney Dorner sat down at a picnic table and drained the cup of coffee in a few swallows, then greedily devoured a sandwich.

  “Now what do you want to know?” he asked.

  My father had told me exactly what questions to ask. I began with the most important one.

  “Mr. Dorner, tell me, who is the head man of the Hoodlums?”

  “I don’t know myself. At the meetings, the Master always wore a robe and a black hood. None of the members ever were permitted to see his face.”

  “You have no idea who the man may be?”

  Sidney Dorner shook his head as he bit into another sandwich.

  “I doubt there are more than one or two members of the order who know his identity. Harold Browning might, or maybe Clarence Fitzpatrick.”

  “Is Fitzpatrick a member?”

  “One of the chief ones. Most of the meetings are held at his place.”

  “You don’t mean at the Moresby Tower?”

  “The Hoodlums meet at the tower about once a month. Usually, they got together on the thirteenth, but sometimes they’d have extra meetings. When special meetings are called, a green light burns on the tower or the clock strikes thirteen times just at midnight.”

  “I thought so,” I was elated. “Tell me, why did you decide to break your connection with the Hoodlums?”

  “I joined the organization before I knew what I was letting myself in for. It started out well enough. We’d just get together in our black robes and get three sheets to the wind and swap dirty jokes. Sort of playacting like we was big shots, but then things took a bad turn when we were roped into forcing farmers to become members of the County Cooperative. When plans were made to burn the Franklin’s barn, I tried to get out. The others threatened me, and then, when I still fought back against the plan, they planted evidence that made it look as if I had set the fire myself. I really don’t know how far they might take things, but I’m nearly as afeared for my life as I’m afeared of getting hauled in by the Sheriff.”

  I was inclined to believe that Sidney Dorner had told a straight story for it matched with my own theories. The evidence pointing to his guilt was entirely too plain. To corroborate my conclusions, I had brought from home the watch fob I had found at the Dorner’s stable, hoping that he might identify it.

  “That’s not mine,” he said when I showed the fob to him. “I never saw it before.”

  I opened the tiny case, displaying the child’s picture, but Mr. Dorner had no idea who the little boy might be.

  “Mr. Dorner,” I said as I replaced the watch fob in my pocket, “I believe in your innocence, and I want to help you. I am sure I can, providing you are willing to cooperate.”

  “I’ve already told you about everything I know.”

  “You’ve given me splendid information,” I said. “What I want you to do is to talk with my father. He’ll probably ask you to repeat your story to the Grand Jury.”

  “I’d be a fool to do that,” Sidney Dorner said. “I can’t prove any of my statements. The Franklin fire would be pinned on me, and the Hoodlums might try to harm my wife. They already ran off with a truckload of our melons the other night.”

  “I know. But unless someone dares to speak out against the Hoodlums, they’ll become bolder and do even more harm. Supposing you were promised absolute protection. Then would you go before the Grand Jury?”

  “Nothing would give me more pleasure, but who can make that kind of guarantee.”

  “I think my father can. Will you meet him here tomorrow night at this same hour?”

  “Okay,” the man agreed, getting up from the table. “You seem to be on the level.”

  “I’ll bring more food tomorrow,” I said. “You must have had a hard time since you’ve been hiding out in the woods.”

  “Oh, it’s not so bad once you get used to it. I’ve got a pretty good place to sleep now.”

  “Inside a building?”

  “An automobile.” Sidney Dorner grinned. “Someone abandoned it in the swamp, and I’ve taken possession.”

  “An old one, I suppose.”

  “Not so old. Funny thing, it’s a 1921 Deluxe model with good upholstery. The only thing I can see wrong with it is that the front grill and fenders have been smashed.”

  “The car isn’t by chance a gray one?”

  “Yes, it is. How did you guess?”

  “I didn’t guess. I have a suspicion that car is the one which killed two people about a year ago. Mr. Dorner, you must take me to it at once.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You want me to take you to the abandoned car now?” Sidney Dorner echoed in surprise. “It’s located deep in the swamp, just off a side road.”

  “Would it require long to get there?” I asked thoughtfully.

  “A half hour at least. With night coming on you wouldn’t be able to see a thing.”

  “It is getting dark,” I admitted. “Everything considered, I guess it would be better to wait until tomorrow. But in the meantime, I wish you would search the car carefully. Get the engine number—anything which might help to identify the owner.”

  “The engine number has been filed off,” Sidney answered. “I already looked, but I’ll give the car a good going over to see what I can learn. Thanks for the food.”

  He started into the woods.

  “Don’t forget to meet us tomorrow night,” I called after him. “We’ll be waiting here about this same time.”

  I drove straight home and made a full report to my father. I revealed that the Hoodlums held monthly meetings at the Moresby Tower and that both Harold Browning and Clarence Fitzpatrick were members of the order.

  “You weren’t able to learn the name of the ringleader?” Dad asked.

  “No, Mr. Dorner didn’t know it himself. At least that’s what he told me. He says the Master never shows himself to anyone, but always appears wearing a mask.”

  My father began to pace the floor, a habit of his when under mental stress.

  “We must move cautiously on this story,” he said at last. “Should we make false accusations against innocent persons, the Examiner would face disastrous lawsuits.”

  “You’re not going to withhold the information from the public?”

  “For the present, I must. The thing for us to do is to try to learn the identity of the ringleader. Any news published in the Examiner would only serve as a tip-off to him.”

  Dad was right, so I held my tongue.

  “Now that we have such a splendid start,
” my father continued, “it should be easy to gain additional information. You say the meetings usually are held on the thirteenth of the month?”

  “That’s what Sidney Dorner told me.”

  “Then we’ll arrange to have the tower watched on that night. In the meantime, I’ll see Dorner and learn what I can from him. Jack is working on the County Cooperative angle of the story and should have some interesting facts soon.”

  I knew that my father’s wait-and-see strategy was a wise one, but I could not help feeling a bit disappointed. I had hoped that Sidney Dorner’ disclosures would lead to the immediate arrest of both Harold Browning and Clarence Fitzpatrick. However, I brightened at the thought that at least some additional revelations might follow my father’s meeting with the fugitive Dorner.

  The following night, shortly after six-thirty, Dad and I presented ourselves at the orphans’ campsite. We had brought a basket of food, coffee, and a generous supply of cigarettes.

  “What time did Dorner promise to meet you?” my father asked.

  “He should be here now. I can’t imagine why he’s late.”

  We waited half an hour, but still, Mr. Dorner did not appear. My father paced restlessly beside the picnic table, becoming increasingly impatient.

  “He’s probably waiting until after dark,” I suggested, although I did not really think so.

  Another hour elapsed. The shadows deepened, and a chill wind blew from the river. Hungry mosquitoes came out in force to make our vigil all the more miserable.

  “Well, I’ve had enough of this,” Dad announced. “The man isn’t coming.”

  “Oh, Dad, let’s wait just a little longer. I’m sure he meant to keep his promise.”

  “Perhaps he did, although I’m inclined to think otherwise. At any rate, I am going home.”

  I had no choice but to follow Dad to his car. I could not understand Sidney Dorner’s failure to appear unless he had feared that he would be placed under arrest. While it was quite possible that the man might come to the picnic grounds the following night, I was afraid I might never see him again.

  “I half expected this to happen,” my father said as we drove back to Greenville. “Unless we can get Dorner to swear to his story, we haven’t a scrap of real evidence against the Hoodlums.”

  “We may learn something on the night of the thirteenth,” I said.

  “Possibly, but I’m beginning to wonder if everything Dorner told you may not have been a lie.”

  “He seemed sincere. I can’t believe he deliberately deceived me.”

  “Never mind,” my father said. “It wasn’t your fault. We’ll find another way to get our information.”

  As we drove through downtown Greenville, I saw a man in a gray suit walking close to the curb.

  “Dad, stop the car! There he is now!”

  “Sidney Dorner?”

  My father swerved the automobile toward a vacant space near the sidewalk.

  “No! No! Seth Burrows. I’m sure it is.”

  I sprang out of the car and glanced up the street. I was just in time to see the man in gray enter a telegraph office.

  “What nonsense is this?” my father demanded. “Why do you think the fellow is Burrows?”

  “I’m sure he’s the same man I saw at Clackston. The one who tried to pass a forged check. Oh, please Dad, we can’t let him get away.”

  My father switched off the car ignition and stepped to the curb.

  “If it should prove to be Seth Burrows, nothing would please me better than to nab him. But if you’ve made a mistake—”

  “Come on,” I urged. “We can’t stand here on the pavement lollygagging while Burrows slips through our fingers.”

  Dad and I went and peered through the huge plate glass window of the telegraph office. The man in gray stood at counters with his back to the street. He appeared to be composing a message.

  “I’m sure it’s Seth Burrows,” I insisted. “Why not go inside and ask him if that’s his name?”

  “I shall. But I’m warning you again if you’ve made one of your little mistakes—”

  “Go ahead, faint heart never won odious Burrows,” I told my father. “I’ll stay just inside the door ready to stop him if he gets by you.”

  My father sauntered into the telegraph office. He stood at the counter close beside the man in gray, pretending to write a message.

  “Get this off right away,” the man in gray instructed the clerk. “Send it collect.”

  The clerk examined the message. She seemed to be having difficulty deciphering the handwriting.

  “This night letter is to be sent to Anthony Fielding?” she asked.

  “That’s right,” said the man in gray.

  My father waited no longer.

  “I’ll save you the trouble of sending that message,” my father said. “I am Anthony Fielding.”

  The man whirled around, plainly alarmed.

  “You are Seth Burrows, I assume,” my father said. “I’ve long looked forward to meeting you.”

  “You’ve got me mixed up with someone else.” The man edged toward the door. “My name’s Clark Edgewater. See, I signed it to this telegram.”

  He pointed to the lengthy communication which lay on the counter.

  “I don’t care how you sign your name,” Dad said. “You are Seth Burrows. We have a few matters to talk over.”

  The man started to speak, then changed his mind. He made a sudden break for the exit.

  “Stop him!” my father shouted. “Don’t let him get away!”

  I stood close to the door. As the man rushed toward me, I shot a bolt into place and stood in front of it.

  “Not quite so fast, Mr. Burrows,” I said. “We really must have a chat with you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  With the door locked, the man saw that he could not hope to escape without tackling me. He was not so desperate to get away that he was prepared to assault a young woman to do it.

  He’d have been very ill-advised to lay a hand on me, at any rate. I had one arm outstretched, blocking his way, and the other buried in my handbag clutching my cosh.

  “All right, my name is Seth Burrows,” the man in gray conceded. “What about it?”

  “You’re the man who has been sending me collect messages for the past three months,” my father said.

  “And what if I have? Is there any law against it? You run a lousy paper, and as a reader, I have a right to complain.”

  “But not at my expense. Another thing, I want to know what connection you’ve had with Clark Bronson.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Then you don’t own property in this city?”

  “Nor anywhere else. Now if you’re through giving me the third degree, I’ll move on.”

  “Not so fast,” I said, my back still firmly to the door, “if I’m not mistaken you’re the same man who is wanted at Clackston for forging a check.”

  “Really, this is too much,” Seth Burrows said. “Unless you permit me to pass, I shall protest to the police.”

  “I see an officer just across the street,” said my father. “Jane, will you go out and call him over?”

  “Don’t be so hasty.” Seth Burrows altered his tone. “We can settle this ourselves. I’ll admit I was wrong in sending those messages collect—just a way to let off steam, I guess. If you’re willing to forget about it, I’ll repay you for every dollar you spent.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t forget that easily,” Dad told him. “No, unless you’re willing to come clean about your connection with Clark Bronson, I’ll have to call the police.”

  “What do you want to know about him?”

  “Is he acting as your real estate agent?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “You do know the man?”

  “I’ve done a little work for him.”

  “Didn’t he pay you to allow him to use your name on a deed?”

  “He gave me twenty-five dollars to make out some pa
pers for him. I only copied what he told me to write.”

  “That’s all I want to know,” my father said grimly. “Jane, call the policeman.”

  “See here,” Burrows protested, “you intimated that if I told what I knew about Bronson, you’d let me off. You’re as yellow as that paper you run.”

  “I make no deals with men of your stamp.”

  As I unlocked the door, Seth Burrows made a break for freedom. However, Dad was entirely prepared. Seizing the man, he held him until I could summon the policeman. Still struggling, Burrows was loaded into a patrol wagon and taken to police headquarters.

  “I guess that earns me a nice little one-hundred-dollar bill,” I said as we returned to Dad’s car. “Thanks very much.”

  “You’re entirely welcome.” My father grinned. “I never took greater pleasure in acknowledging a debt.”

  “What’s your next move, Dad? Will you expose Clark Bronson in tomorrow’s Examiner?”

  “I’m tempted to do it, I. The evidence still is rather flimsy, but even if Seth Burrows denies his story, I think we can prove our charges.”

  “It’s a pity you can’t break the Black-Hooded Hoodlums yarn in the same edition,” I said. “What a front-page story that would make!”

  “It certainly would be a good three-pennies worth,” Dad agreed. “Unfortunately, it will be many days before the Hoodlums are supposed to hold their meeting at the tower.”

  “But why wait? We could call that gathering ourselves.”

  “Just how?”

  “Simple as pie. All we would need to do would be to have the clock strike thirteen instead of twelve.” I glanced at my wrist watch and added persuasively: “We have several hours in which to work.”

  “You’re completely crazy. Just how would you arrange to have the clock strike thirteen?”

  “I’ll take care of that part, Dad. All I’ll need is a hammer.”

  “To use on the caretaker, Clarence Fitzpatrick, I suppose?”

  “Oh, no. A real lady never throws the first punch, besides I have a small serviceable rubber bludgeon which would do the job so much more neatly. No, I propose to turn all the strongarm work over to you and your gang of reporters. Naturally, Fitzpatrick will have to be removed from the scene.”