“Ef ye could wait a few days,” he began, hopefully, “I might — — ”
“Oh, no; we can’t possibly wait a single minute,” declared Patsy. “Unless Uncle can get the Saints right away he will lose interest in the collection, and then he won’t care for them at all.”
McNutt sighed dismally. Here was a chance to make good money by fleecing the lambs, yet he was absolutely unable to take advantage of it.
“Ye — ye couldn’t use any duck eggs, could ye?” he said, a sudden thought seeming to furnish him with a brilliant idea.
“Duck eggs?”
“I got the dum-twistedest, extry fine lot o’ duck eggs ye ever seen.”
“But what can we do with duck eggs?” inquired Beth, wonderingly, while
Patsy and Louise tried hard not to shriek with laughter.
“W’y, set ‘em under a hen, an’ hatch ‘em out.”
“Sir,” said Beth, “I strongly disapprove of such deceptions. It seems to me that making a poor hen hatch out ducks, under the delusion that they are chickens, is one of the most cruel and treacherous acts that humanity can be guilty of. Imagine the poor thing’s feelings when her children take to water! I’m surprised you could suggest such a wicked use for duck eggs.”
McNutt wiggled his toes again, desperately.
“Can’t use any sas’frass roots, can ye?”
“No, indeed; all we crave is the ‘Lives of the Saints.’“
“Don’t want to buy no land?”
“What have you got to sell?”
“Nuth’n, jest now. But ef ye’ll buy I kin git ‘most anything.”
“Don’t go to any trouble on our account, sir; we are quite content with our splendid farm.”
“Shoo! Thet ain’t no good.”
“Captain Wegg thought it was,” answered Louise, quickly seizing this opening. “Otherwise he would not have built so good a house upon it.”
“The Cap’n were plumb crazy,” declared the agent, emphatically. “He didn’t want ter farm when he come here; he jest wanted to hide.”
The girls exchanged quick glances of intelligence.
“Why?”
“Why?” repeated McNutt. “Thet’s a thing what’s puzzled us fer years, miss. Some thinks Wegg were a piret; some thinks he kidnaped thet pretty wife o’ his’n an’ took her money; some thinks he tried to rob ol’ Will Thompson, an’ Will killed him an’ then went crazy hisself. There’s all sorts o’ thinks goin’ ‘round; but who knows?”
“Don’t you, Mr. McNutt?”
The agent was flattered by the question. As he had said, the Weggs had formed the chief topic of conversation in Millville for years, and no one had a more vivid interest in their history than Marshall McMahon McNutt. He enjoyed gossiping about the Weggs almost as much as he did selling books.
“I never thought I had no call to stick my nose inter other folkses privit doin’s,” he said, after a few puffs at the corncob pipe. “But they kain’t hide much from Marsh McNutt, when he has his eyes open.”
Patsy wondered if he could possibly close them. The eyelids seemed to be shy and retiring.
“I seen what I seen,” continued the little man, glancing impressively at his attentive audience. “I seen Cap’n Wegg livin’ without workin’, fer he never lifted a hand to do even a chore. I seen him jest settin’ ‘round an’ smokin’ his pipe an’ a glowerin’ like a devil on ev’ryone thet come near. Say, once he ordered me off’n his premises — me!”
“What a dreadful man,” said Patsy. “Did he buy any ‘Lives of the
Saints?’“
“Not a Life. He made poor Ol’ Hucks fetch an’ carry fer him ev’ry blessid minnit, an’ never paid him no wages.”
“Are you sure?” asked Louise.
“Sure as shootin’. Hucks hain’t never been seen to spend a cent in all the years he’s been here.”
“Hasn’t he sold berries and fruit since the Captain’s death?”
“Jest ‘nough to pay the taxes, which ain’t much. Ye see, young Joe were away an’ couldn’t raise the tax money, so Ol’ Hucks had to. But how they got enough ter live on, him an’ Nora, beats me.”
“Perhaps Captain Wegg left some money,” suggested Patsy.
“No; when Joe an’ Hucks ransacked the house arter the Cap’n’s death they couldn’t find a dollar. Cur’ous. Plenty o’ money till he died, ‘n’ then not a red cent. Curiouser yet. Ol’ Will Thompson’s savin’s dis’peared, too, an’ never could be located to this day.”
“Were they robbed, do you suppose?” asked Louise.
“Nat’rally. But who done it? Not Ol’ Hucks, fer he’s too honest, an’ hasn’t showed the color of a nickel sense. Not Joe; ‘cause he had to borrer five dollars of Bob West to git to the city with. Who then?”
“Perhaps,” said Louise, slowly, “some burglar did it.”
“Ain’t no burglers ‘round these parts.”
“I suppose not. Only book agents,” remarked Beth.
McNutt flushed.
“Do ye mean as I did it?” he demanded, angrily. “Do ye mean as I killed
Cap’n Wegg an’ druv 01’ Will crazy, an’ robbed the house?”
His features were fairly contorted, and his colorless eyes rolled fearfully.
“If you did,” said Beth, coolly, “you would be sure to deny it.”
“I kin prove a alybi,” answered the little man, calming down somewhat. “I kin prove my ol’ woman had me locked up in the chicken-coop thet night ‘cause I wouldn’t split a lot o’ cordwood thet were full o’ knots.” He cast a half fearful glance over his shoulder toward the interior of the cottage. “Next day I split ‘em,” he added, mildly.
“Perhaps,” said Louise, again, “someone who knew Captain Wegg in the days before he came here followed him to his retreat and robbed and murdered him.”
“Now ye’ve hit the nail on the head!” cried the agent, slapping his fat thigh energetically. “Thet’s what I allus claimed, even when Bob West jest shook his head an’ smiled sort o’ superior like.”
“Who is Bob West?” asked Louise, with interest.
“He’s our implement man, an’ hardware dealer. Bob were the on’y one o’ the Millville folks thet could git along with Cap’n Wegg, an’ even he didn’t manage to be any special friend. Bob’s rich, ye know. Rich as blazes. Folks do say he’s wuth ten thousan’ dollars; but it don’t set Bob up any. He jest minds his business an’ goes on sellin’ plows an’ harvesters to the farmers an’ takin’ notes fer ‘em.”
“And you say he knew Captain Wegg well?” inquired Patsy.
“Better ‘n’ most folks ‘round here did. Once er twicet a year the Cap’n ‘d go to Bob’s office an’ set around an’ smoke his pipe. Sometimes Bob would go to the farm an’ spend an’ ev’nin’; but not often. Ol’ Will Thompson might be said to be the on’y friend the Cap’n really hankered fer.”
“I’d like to meet Mr. West,” said Louise, casting a shrewd look at her cousins. For here was another clue unearthed.
“He’s in his store now.” remarked McNutt, “Last buildin’ on the left. Ye can’t miss it.”
“Thank you. Good morning, sir.”
“Can’t use any buttermilk er Dutch cheese?”
“No, thank you.”
McNutt stared after them disconsolately. These girls represented so much money that ought to be in his pockets, and they were, moreover, “innercent as turtle doves”; but he could think of no way to pluck their golden quills or even to arrest their flight.
“Well, let ‘em go,” he muttered. “This thing ain’t ended yit.”
CHAPTER XIII.
BOB WEST, HARDWARE DEALER.
A few steps down the little street brought the girls to the hardware store, quite the most imposing building in town. They crossed the broad platform on which stood samples of heavy farm machinery and entered a well-stocked room where many articles of hardware and house furnishings were neatly and systematically arranged.
The p
lace seemed deserted, for at that time of day no country people were at Millville; but on passing down the aisle the visitor approached a little office built at the rear of the store. Behind the desk Bob West sat upon his high stool, gravely regarding his unusual customers over the rims of his spectacles.
“Good morning,” said Louise, taking the lead. “Have you a stew pan?”
The merchant left the office and silently walked behind the counter.
“Large or small, miss?” he then asked.
The girls became interested in stew pans, which they were scarcely able to recognize by their official name. Mr. West offered no comment as they made their selection.
“Can you send this to the Wegg farm?” asked Louise, opening her purse to make payment.
West smiled.
“I have no means of delivering goods,” said he; “but if you can wait a day or two I may catch some farmer going that way who will consent to take it.”
“Oh. Didn’t Captain Wegg purchase his supplies in the village?” asked the girl.
“Some of them. But it is our custom here to take goods that we purchase home with us. As yet Millville is scarcely large enough to require a delivery wagon.”
The nieces laughed pleasantly, and Beth said:
“Are you an old inhabitant, Mr. West?”
“I have been here thirty-five years.”
“Then you knew Captain Wegg?” Louise ventured.
“Very well.”
The answer was so frank and free from embarrassment that his questioner hesitated. Here was a man distinctly superior to the others they had interviewed, a man of keen intellect and worldly knowledge, who would be instantly on his guard if he suspected they were cross-examining him. So Louise, with her usual tact, decided to speak plainly.
“We have been much interested in the history of the Wegg family,” she remarked, easily; “and perhaps it is natural for us to speculate concerning the characters of our predecessors. It was so odd that Captain Wegg should build so good a house on such a poor farm.”
“Yes.”
“And he was a sea captain, who retired far from the sea, which he must have loved.”
“To be sure.”
“It made him dissatisfied, they say, as well as surly and unsociable; but he stuck it out even after his poor wife died, and until the day of the murder.”
“Murder?” in a tone of mild surprise.
“Was it not murder?” she asked, quickly.
He gave his shoulders a quiet shrug.
“The physician pronounced it heart disease, I believe.”
“What physician?”
“Eh? Why, one who was fishing in the neighborhood for trout, and staying at the hotel. Old Dr. Jackson was in Huntington at the time, I remember.”
The girls exchanged significant glances, and West noted them and smiled again.
“That murder theory is a new one to me,” he said; “but I see now why it originated. The employment of a strolling physician would give color to the suspicion.”
“What do you think, sir?” asked Patsy, who had been watching the man’s expression closely.
“I? What do I think? Why, that Captain Wegg died from heart disease, as he had often told me he was sure to do in time.”
“Then what made old Mr. Thompson go mad?” inquired Beth.
“The shock of his friend’s sudden death. He had been mentally unbalanced for some time previous — not quite mad, you understand, but showing by his actions at times that his brain was affected.”
“Can you explain what became of their money?” asked Louise, abruptly.
West gave a start, but collected himself in an instant and covered the action with another shrug.
“I cannot say what become of their money,” he answered.
It struck both Beth and Louise that his tone indicated he would not, rather than that he could not say. Before they had time to ask another questioned he continued:
“Will you take the saucepan with you, then, or shall I try to send it in a day or so?”
“We will take it, if you please,” answered Louise. But as he wrapped it into a neat parcel she made one more effort.
“What sort of a young man was Joseph Wegg?”
“Joe? A mere boy, untried and unsettled. A bright boy, in his way, and ambitious to have a part in the big world. He’s there now, I believe.”
He spoke with an air of relief, and handed Louise the parcel.
“Thank you, young ladies. Pray call again if I can be of service to you,” he added, in a brisker tone.
They had no recourse but to walk out, which they did without further words. Indeed, they were all three silent until they had left the village far behind and were half way to the farm.
Then Patsy said, inquiringly:
“Well, girls?”
“We have progressed,” announced Louise, seriously.
“In what way?”
“Several things are impressed upon my mind,” replied the girl. “One is McNutt’s absurd indignation when he thought we hinted that he was the murderer.”
“What do you make of that?” queried Patsy.
“It suggests that he knows something of the murder, even if he is himself wholly innocent. His alibi is another absurdity.”
“Then that exonerated Old Hucks,” said Patsy, relieved.
“Oh, not at all. Hucks may have committed the deed and McNutt knows about it. Or they might have been partners in the crime.”
“What else have you learned, Louise?” asked Beth.
“That the man West knows what became of the money.”
“He seems like a very respectable man,” asserted Patsy.
“Outwardly, yes; but I don’t like the cold, calculating expression in his eyes. He is the rich man of this neighborhood. Do you suppose he acquired a fortune honestly in this forsaken district, where everyone else is poor as a church mouse?”
“Seems to me,” said Patsy, discontentedly, “that the plot thickens, as they say in novels. If we interview many more people we shall find ourselves suspecting an army.”
“Not at all, my dear,” replied Louise, coldly. “From our present knowledge the murder lies between the unknown avenger and Hucks, with the possibility that McNutt is implicated. This avenger may be the stranger who posed as a physician and said Captain Wegg died of heart disease, in order to prevent the simple people from suspecting a murder. His fishing was all a blind. Perhaps McNutt was his accomplice. That staring scarecrow would do anything for money. And then we come to the robbery. If Hucks did the murder he took the money, and perhaps West, the hardware dealer, knows this. Or West may have arrived at the house after the mysterious stranger committed the deed, and robbed the two men himself.”
“And perhaps he didn’t,” said Patsy, skeptically. “Do you know, girls,
I’d like to find Joe Wegg. He could put us right, I’m sure.”
“Joe!”
“Yes. Why don’t we suspect him of something? Or Ethel; or old Nora?”
“Do be sensible, Patsy,” said Beth, impatiently.
But Louise walked on a way in silence. Presently she remarked:
“I’m glad you mentioned Joe Wegg. The boy gives me an idea that may reconcile many conflicting suspicions.”
“In what way, Louise?”
“I’ll tell you when I’ve thought it out,” she replied.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE MAJOR IS PUZZLED.
Ethel came frequently to visit the girls at the Wegg farm, and at such times Uncle John treated her with the same affectionate consideration he bestowed upon his nieces, and made her so cordially welcome that the little school teacher felt entirely at her ease. The girls did not confide to Ethel their investigation of the Wegg mystery, but in all other matters gave her their full confidence. Together they made excursions to the Falls, to the natural caves on the rocky hill called Mount Parnassus, or rowed on the lake, or walked or drove, as the mood seized them. But mostly they loved the shade of the
pines and the broad green beside the quaint mansion Captain Wegg had built, and which now contained all the elements of a modern summer home.
Once Louise asked Ethel, casually, if she knew what “great trouble” had come to Hucks and his wife in their early life, but the girl frankly answered that the old people had never referred to anything of the kind in her presence.
Finally a telegram announced the arrival of Major Doyle to join the party at the farm. Patsy was in the seventh heaven of delight, and drove Joe over to the Junction to meet her father on the arrival of the morning train.
The Major was a prime favorite with all the party and his coming infused new life into the household. He was the type of educated, polished, open-hearted Irish gentleman it is always a delight to meet, and Uncle John beamed upon his brother-in-law in a way that betokened a hearty welcome. It was a source of much satisfaction to lug the Major over the farm and prove to him how wise Mr. Merrick had been in deciding to spend the summer on his own property; and the Major freely acknowledged that he had been in error and the place was as charming as anyone could wish. It was a great treat to the grizzled old warrior to find himself in the country, away from every responsibility of work, and he promised himself a fortnight of absolute rest, with the recreation of beholding his beloved Patsy as often as he pleased.
Of course, the girl would tell her father about the Wegg mystery, for Patsy had a habit of telling him everything; therefore the cousins decided to take the Major freely into their confidence, so as to obtain the benefit of his opinion. That could not be done the first day, of course, for on that day Uncle John insisted on displaying the farm and afterward carrying the Major a willing prisoner to watch him fish in the brook. But on the following morning the girls surrounded Patsy’s father and with solemn faces recounted their suspicions, the important clues they had unearthed, and their earnest desire to right the great wrong that had been done by apprehending the criminal.
The Major smoked his after breakfast cigar and listened attentively. The story, told consecutively, was quite impressive. In spite of his long experience in buffeting the world, the old soldier’s heart was still as simple as that of a child, and the recital awakened his sympathies at once.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 425
