Adventure Tales, Volume 4

by Seabury Quinn

  Larkin grinned. “I’ve tromped the wilderness too long to pamper myself that way, mister! My own wife sees to it I start out with a full stomach, and I’ve more’n once hit the trail for two days with no more than a handful of crackers and a drink of melted snow. But if you see or hear anything unusual, tip me off, will you? The selectmen have offered a reward for the capture, and I could use it.”

  Twice that night, Weston rose from his bed and peered out into the dark­ness; and once he made out the shadowy figure of Larkin as he stole cautiously down the road, making no more noise than an Indian, and keeping to the edge of the road where the cedars cast a pro­tecting gloom.

  Neither Frank nor his wife slept well, although greatly eased in their minds by the presence of alert watchers, armed to kill. It was Jason Hodge’s dog which was responsible for their in­somnia. Every little while he broke into astonishing howls and ululations, sounds that it did not seem as if his wizened body could give voice to. The animal was uneasy in a strange place, irked by being tied up, and doubtless aware of the passing guards. There was less reassurance in his warning bark than there was annoyance to the would-be sleepers, Both were tired and ir­ritable when they sat down for break­fast next morning; and Annie insisted that the dog be led back to its owner that very day.

  “Every time he wakes me up I jump a foot!” she declared. “I might as well be murdered, as scared to death!”

  Hodge ambled past during the fore­noon; and Weston returned the dog with thanks and explanations.

  “He keeps my wife awake with his howling. And now that there are guards posted—man named Larkin has this section to cover—we don’t really need the dog.”

  Hodge nodded understandingly.

  “Guess that’s right. Tige would warn ye if the bandit come near; but he’s bound to make just as much fuss over a passing guard, or a rabbit, or a skunk. He means well, but he talks too much. If he wan’t such a good coon dog, I’d shoot him. He’s spoiled a deal of sleep for me, too!”

  CHAPTER III: A STRANGER

  Before dusk fell that afternoon, there was plenty of evidence that the countryside was astir. Where hitherto there had been almost complete isolation, the road was now alive with men on foot, in rackety secondhand cars, and on horseback. Here and there an expensive make of automobile drove past, filled with those whom curiosity had drawn from Allsworth, and even as far away as Bangor. There were re­porters and camera men among the rest. The sandy highway began to take on the aspects of a thriving town street.

  Weston reflected that almost any one of the men who straggled past, some of them pausing to gape at him as he lounged smoking a pipe in his doorway, might be the murderous bandit who had strangely enough chosen this quiet, law-abiding and by no means wealthy neck of the woods for his assaults and dep­redations. They were all strangers to him, save the three or four men and one woman he had come to know. But there was comfort in their very num­bers; and although toward twilight they thinned out, and finally disappeared save for the solemnly parading sentry, Larkin, Weston and Annie both retired that night without any fears. They were careful to lock everything fast downstairs, and the loaded automatic rested under Frank’s pillow. He wished that he might practice with it a little; but the sound of shots would certainly bring a lot of excited and inquisitive men to their little house. He believed that he had mastered the mechanism, and that he wouldn’t in an emergency forget to slip the safety catch. But there wouldn’t be any emergency; of this he felt sure. With morning, word would probably come that the bandit had been captured.

  Instead of which, morning brought Jed Hooper and his wife, Lizzie, with news of a fresh outrage. The masked man, eluding all the trackers, had broken into an unoccupied summer cottage five miles down the shore, ransacking it. The owner had been notified; until he arrived, it was impossible to say just how much had been stolen. Lacking any human victim, the bandit had sated his bad temper on the furnishings. A costly radio set had been wrecked; rugs and pictures were slashed, glass and china broken.

  “Course, we don’t know for sure that it’s the same man,” Hooper admitted, “but it’s reasonable to s’pose it is. ’Tain’t likely there’s two sech wild men runnin’ loose about Fast Harbor! He’s a loony, says I, and cunning as a weasel, like crazy folk is apt to be. A criminal lunatic. Sheriff Thomas has found some faint footprints at two of the places, and measured ’em; but that don’t amount to nothing till we find some shoes to fit ’em to—and some feet in the shoes! It looks like he hid out in the cottage a night or two. One of the beds has been slept in, and some tinned grub opened, and water boiled on an oil stove.”

  “If you folks are nervous,” Lizzie in­vited, “you’re more’n welcome to come over and stop with us till they catch him. You’d feel easier where there’s four of us, than just you two, being as you’re strangers here. There’s plenty of room, and folks say they never get up hungry from my table!”

  “That is awfully dear of you, Mrs. Hooper; but truly, Frank and I are not alarmed. He has his revolver ready, and we are careful about our doors and windows. Nobody could get in without making a lot of noise, and Frank will give them a warm welcome! Besides, Larkin is on guard near by; and soon as he heard a shot he’d hurry to us with his rifle.”

  “Well, that’s sensible,” Lizzie Hooper agreed. “But I didn’t know just how you’d feel about it, and wanted you to know we feel sort of responsible for getting you up here, where you ex­pected to have a good rest!”

  The good woman stayed for an hour or so and helped Annie with advice about certain details of cooking; and Frank chatted pleasantly enough with Jed, over a couple of mugs of the smooth cider from the keg in the cellar. There was less passing along the road, today; but quite a number had been identified by Jed during his call, and there were others who were strangers to him.

  “I reckon I know by sight every man within fifteen mile,” he declared. “So there must be some who have come from quite a ways off. Cats ain’t all the critters that are pestered by curiosity! Well, we got into the city papers, any­how; Portland, and even Boston. Your name’s mentioned, too. ‘Mr. Frank Weston and wife, of Riverside Drive, New York, are summering in Fast Har­bor, which is just now the center of an unknown bandit’s activities.’ That’s what it said; I memorized it to tell ye.”

  Weston laughed. “I don’t know as this sort of publicity does any of us much good!”

  Hooper pondered over this. “I’ve heard say that it don’t matter so much what they say about ye, if only they say something!”

  “That has been the motto of some famous characters,” Weston admitted. “Anyhow, the more publicity, the harder it will be for the bandit to es­cape capture. There must be a hundred men looking for him, right now.”

  “We’re a leetle mite slow getting started,” Jed said. “But the whole county will be on his trail before the week’s out. The reward will fetch him, I know I could use that five hundred easy! And so could a lot of others. Guess likely you’re the only resident that don’t need it.”

  After the Hoopers had left, and with the potatoes boiling for dinner, Annie joined her husband, sitting beside him on the doorstep. There seemed noth­ing better to do than to watch the passersby. But of these, there seemed only a scattered few. There was nothing to attract them to this particular spot; those who passed were on their way to the Bronson house or old man Tucker’s shack, or the looted cottage. And by noon, the road was as deserted as usual. Larkin wouldn’t come on till dark.

  Suddenly, and without warning, a small gray body hurtled between them, shot out into the yard, and made for a clump of junipers. It was Romeo, his hair erect, whiskers twitching, and spit­ting as he went. His tail would have been ruffed up had it been anything but the mere stump it was!

  Weston’s pipe had dropped from his surprised lips. Annie screamed a little, then laughed. “Well, what do you know about that! He was asleep by the kitchen stove when I came out. What do you suppose—”

  Her words died away as a slight
noise from the rear of the house caught her ear. She rose and turned toward the kitchen.

  “Wait! Let me go first,” Frank cried; and thrusting her aside almost brusquely, he hurried through the living room and into the kitchen. At the door, he paused uncertainly. A man—a stranger—stood in the middle of the floor, regarding him with a faint grin.

  He was a slightly built, pleasant-faced man of about thirty-five, dressed neatly and almost fastidiously in well-fitting clothes, and wearing a pearl-gray felt hat which he removed as he caught sight of Weston’s wife standing at his shoulder. He set down a small traveling bag as he spoke.

  “I knocked, but I fancy you didn’t hear me.”

  His voice was agreeable and low pitched. “And I seem to have scared your cat into a fit! Sorry.”

  “What did you do to Romeo?” An­nie asked, her courage returning

  “Not a thing, I assure you! The truth is, cats sort of have it in for me. I rather like them; but they don’t reciprocate. Down at the office they poke a lot of fun at me about it. But let me introduce myself properly.”

  From an inside breast pocket he look a black leather case, and from it re­moved a business card which he handed to Weston It read: “Sanford Teller, Detective. Representing the Wallis De­tective Agency. Boston.”

  “I may also add that I have full credentials in this pocket case, and a real, shiny new badge,” the stranger added. In proof of the latter assertion he unbuttoned the top of his vest and showed on the under side an oval silver shield, bearing the title of detective and a number.

  “Well, I declare!” said Annie. “You don’t look one bit like a detective! Of course, I never saw one before, to know him.”

  Mr. Teller bowed gracefully. “You flatter me, madam! The one man I don’t want to look like is a detective. And so, your words are balm to my spirit.”

  He turned to Weston. “Your name I know. I read of your arrival in a Boston daily; and I already knew more or less of your financial position in New York. Now, Mr. Weston, it is urgent that I have a few words in private with you. Will Mrs. Weston think me too rude, if—”

  Annie colored slightly. “Certainly not! But if you two will use one of the front rooms, I’ll finish getting dinner ready. For after all, this is my domain, Mr. Teller!”

  The urbane sleuth bowed gallantly. “Granted, Mrs. Weston! And I’ll ex­plain to your husband how I came to call at the back door, instead of the front. And he has my permission to tell you as much as he chooses, of what I tell him.”

  He stooped over and picked up his grip, and followed his host to the front of the house, while Annie gingerly stuck a fork into one of the bubbling potatoes, as Lizzie Hooper had told her to do. She wasn’t at all sure whether they were done or not; the fork seemed to go in easily enough. She set them farther back on the stove, and began to cut thin slices from a ham.

  The two men meanwhile had seated themselves in the parlor, a room the Westons had not had any occasion to use so far. To Weston’s suggestion that they sit on the doorstep, the detec­tive objected. Not only that, but he carefully closed the door, and took pains to sit far back in the room, out of range of the window.

  “All this seems very mysterious, and stagy,” he said. “But it is dictated by strict common sense. I am afraid your well-earned privacy is about to be in­vaded, sir! Almost overnight your lit­tle village has become unhappily no­torious. And that is why I am here.”

  He leaned forward, his quiet voice pitched still lower.

  “I have been lurking in the cedar grove behind your house for half an hour,” he confessed. “When I was as certain as I could be that the coast was clear, I hustled across the backyard; and when you didn’t answer my knock, I didn’t waste a moment. It may have been impolite, but I simply came right on in!”

  Once more he took out his pocket case, glanced over a number of papers, selected one. “Here is a copy, on our official paper, of a letter received by Mr. Wallis—my employer—from the assistant district attorney, Mr. Frothingham. You will note that he requests that an agent be sent as soon as pos­sible from Boston. The truth is, Mr. Weston, that the district attorney knows as well as I do—and as you probably do —that this case is a little out of the ordinary experience of country con­stables! While Thomas, the sheriff, is a good man as far as he goes, shrewd and energetic, he has never handled any­thing more intricate than chasing down an illicit still, or helping the fish warden stop the destruction of short lobsters, or lock up the village cut-up occasionally. Something a little more up-to-date than the hick constable is needed right now, and that is why I am here. Got in this morning, early, and have kept out of sight.

  “My experience has been almost en­tirely with bank men and loft workers in the cities; and the only reason for sending me up here is that I was pretty familiar with the country, because as a boy my father used to rent a summer place at Bar Harbor year after year. I’ve hunted and fished for miles up and down the coast.”

  “But just why have you called on me?” Weston asked. “I’m probably the one man within twenty miles who is least fitted to give you the slightest informa­tion or advice! We have only just moved in, and were never here before.”

  Teller smiled, fished in his pockets again, and this time took out a hand­some pigskin cigar case. He offered it to Weston, who accepted a panatela. Teller held the match, lighted one him­self. When it was drawing, he spoke again.

  “You’ve answered your own question! The one thing I don’t want is advice, or alleged information! And I’d be swamped with it if I were to approach anybody else. They’re great gossips in these parts; and just now, everybody is bursting with theories and rumors. It is vital for my success, that my presence be not so much as suspected. At my suggestion, Mr. Wallis wrote the dis­trict attorney not to notify Sheriff Thomas, or any one else, that our agency is interested in the case. We work alone, sir, and in the dark. And now I come to the gist of the matter. The truth is, and much as I regret to do so, I am obliged to make an awkward request, the decision on which must, of course, rest with you and Mrs. Weston. If I am to work in secret, my presence unsuspected by the local police, and my work unhampered, where am I going to stay? And here is where you come in, if you will!”

  Weston looked startled. “You mean, you want to stay here? To eat and sleep in this house?”

  Teller nodded and blew a beautiful smoke ring.

  “Sounds nervy, doesn’t it? Of course I needn’t say that you may send the Wallis Agency a bill in full, and you don’t need to be too modest about the amount, either! This county is paying all the expenses. But I also realize that is isn’t a question of money, but the interruption of what was intended to be a restful, quiet vacation. Well, as to that, let me remind you that this rest and quiet has already been somewhat upset by the events of the past two nights. And furthermore, I shall be here only by day. I must got some sleep and have a place in which to hide out, and make my reports to Wallis. As soon as it is dark, I shall be off on my investigations. I am as good as a cat for seeing in the dark! Maybe that is one reason why cats dislike me. We are rival night prowlers, in the estimation of puss! But joking aside, I should sleep forenoons, require only the plain­est of food, and not much of that; work at my reports and the assembling of any clues I may dig up through the afternoon, and be off and away as soon as night falls.

  “Forget me; think only of your duty as a citizen. This law-abiding little community is terrorized by a nameless peril. The chances are ten to one against its solution by the local con­stabulary. The chances are about that in my favor; I have a pretty good record for getting my men! But in order to work unhampered, I must have a hangout. All I need is a shake down and a blanket; I’m used to roughing it. That, and some food.”

  Weston pondered for some moments, his brow furrowed. Then it cleared, and he spoke up. “Of course, Teller, I can’t decide a thing like this without speaking to my wife!”

  “By all means! I wouldn’t stay here for a moment unless she sanctioned it. Be per
fectly frank with her. I trust you both.”

  Frank went back to the kitchen, where the ham was already sizzling, and a bowl of fresh eggs stood ready to be dropped into the hot fat. Briefly he told Annie the situation as Teller had outlined it. Rather to his relief, she insisted that the detective must be shel­tered.

  “Aside from it being our plain duty,” she said as she turned a slice of ham without spattering too much hot grease, “think what a protection he will be! You can have your walks, and dig clams, and fish or anything, because he will be here all day. Then at night, you will be home. I’ll have a big, strong man at hand to protect me twenty-four hours a day! And now, ask him to have dinner with us. It will be ready in a jiffy.”

  It was a jolly meal, even though Romeo sulked and would not come in­side for his food, which had to be set outside the door for him. To both Weston and his wife, it was quite an ex­perience to talk familiarly with a real detective. They had read many mys­tery stories, but never before had they seen a detective; they might have, of course, but at least they had not recog­nized him as one. And the Wallis Agency was internationally known. It never handled any dirty cases; and it frequently cooperated with the police of many cities, and even of countries abroad. Wallis, the founder, had at one time been a Boston police chief.

  Teller laughingly refused to discuss the present case.

  “I only just arrived, and I don’t allow myself to do any theorizing until I’ve looked over the ground. But I promise you this: you are my partners now, and whatever I learn, I’ll disclose to you. We will work the case over together. It happens more often than you think, that an outsider, one with no connection whatever with the forces of law and order, furnishes us professionals with a priceless suggestion! You are a sound business man, sir, and I grant Mrs. Weston a full share of woman’s intui­tion!”

  Teller slept for quite a while after dinner. His long night journey, taken at such short notice that he had been unable to obtain a sleeping berth, had tired him. Toward dusk, he awakened, and had supper with them; but he seemed preoccupied with the hour drawing near when he must set forth on the hunt for clews.