CHAPTER XIII
BLUFF AND REBUFF
The door was locked. Immediately Josie pounded upon it with her knuckles and a voice demanded:
“Who is there?”
Instead of replying, Josie knocked again, and suddenly the door was opened and Old Swallowtail stood before her.
“I — I beg your pardon,” said she diffidently; “are you the real estate man?”
“Yes,” he replied, standing quietly in the doorway.
“Then you’re the man I want to see,” she asserted and took a step forward. But he did not move an inch from his position and his eyes were fixed steadfastly on her face.
“I have nothing to sell, at present,” he remarked.
“But I want to give you something to sell,” she retorted impatiently, summoning her wits to meet the occasion. “Let me in, please. Or do you transact all your business in the hallway?”
Somewhat to her surprise he stepped back and held the door for her to enter. Josie promptly walked in and sat down near a round table, one comprehensive glance fixing in her mind the entire contents of the small room.
There was one window, dim and unwashed, facing the street. It had a thick shade, now raised. Originally the room had been square, and rather crudely plastered and wallpapered, but a wooden partition had afterward been erected to cut the room into two, so that the portion she had entered was long and narrow. Its sole furniture consisted of the round table, quite bare, two or three wooden-bottomed chairs, and against one wall a rack filled with books. During the interview she noted that these books were mostly directories of the inhabitants of various prominent cities in the United States, and such a collection astonished her and aroused her curiosity.
Just at present, however, the partition proved the most interesting thing she observed, for beyond it must be another room which was doubtless the particular sanctum of Old Swallowtail and to which she scarcely expected to gain admittance. The door was closed. It was stout and solid and was fitted with both an ordinary door-lock and a hasp and padlock, the latter now hanging on a nail beside the door.
This much Josie’s sharp eyes saw in her first glance, but immediately her attention was demanded by Mr. Cragg, who took a seat opposite her and said in a quiet, well modulated voice: “Now, my girl, state your business.” She had planned to tell him how she had come to town to sew for Mary Louise Burrows, how she had now finished her work but was so charmed with Cragg’s Crossing that she did not care to leave it during the hot weather to return to the stuffy city. Therefore, she intended to add, if he would let her make some new dresses for Ingua, she would work for half her regular wages. Her dress as a sewing-girl would carry out this deception and the bait of small wages ought to interest the old man. But this clever plan had suddenly gone glimmering, for in order to gain admittance to the office and secure an interview with Old Swallowtail she had inadvertently stated that she had some real estate to dispose of. So sudden a change of base required the girl to think quickly in order to formulate a new argument that would hold his attention.
To gain time she said, slowly:
“My name is Josie Jessup. I’m a sewing-girl by profession.”
“Yes, I know,” he replied.
“I’ve been here ten days or so, working for Miss Burrows.”
“I have seen you here,” said Mr. Cragg.
She wondered how he knew so much, as he had never seemed to favor her with even a glance when by chance they met in the street. But perhaps Ingua had told him.
“I like Cragg’s Crossing,” continued Josie, assuming a confidential tone, “and I’ve made up my mind I’d like to live here. There ought to be plenty of work sewing for the farmers’ wives, outside of what Miss Huckins does, and it don’t cost much to live in a small town. In the city I own a little house and lot left to me by my uncle on my mother’s side, and I’ve decided to trade it for some place here. Don’t you know, sir, of someone who’d like to move to the city, and will be glad to make the exchange?”
“I know of no such person,” he replied coldly.
“But you will make inquiries?”
“It would be useless. I am very busy to-day, so if you will excuse me — ”
He rose and bowed.
Josie was disappointed. She decided to revert to her first proposition.
“Doesn’t your granddaughter need some sewing done, sir?” she asked, with a frank look from her innocent blue eyes.
He stood still, silently studying her face. With one hand he rubbed his chin gently, as if in thought. Then he said:
“We cannot afford to hire our sewing done, but I thank you for the offer. Good morning, Miss — Jessup.”
Walking to the door he held it open and bowed gravely as she walked out. Next moment she heard the key click as it turned in the lock.
Josie, feeling a sense of failure, slowly went down the stairs, entered the store and perched herself upon the sugar-barrel. Old Sol was waiting on a farmer’s wife and only gave the girl a glance.
Josie reflected on her interview with Mr. Cragg while it was fresh in her mind. He was no crude, uneducated country bumpkin, despite his odd ways and peculiar dress. Indeed, the man had astonished her by his courtesy, his correct method of speech, his perfect self-assurance. Her visit was calculated to annoy him and to arouse his impatience. After Ingua’s report of him she expected he would become scornful or sarcastic or even exhibit violent anger; yet there had been nothing objectionable in his manner or words. Still, he had dismissed her as abruptly as possible and was not eager to grasp an opportunity to exchange real estate.
“That isn’t his business at all,” she told herself. “It’s merely a blind, although he actually did rent the Kenton Place to Colonel Hathaway...I wonder what he does in that office all day. In the inner room, of course. That is his real workshop...He’s quite gentlemanly. He has a certain amount of breeding, which Ingua wholly lacks....He must realize what a crude and uncultured little thing his granddaughter is. Then why hasn’t he tried to train her differently?...Really, he quite awed me with his stately, composed manner. No one would expect that sort of man to be a murderer. But — there! haven’t I been warned that the educated gentleman is the worst type of criminal, and the most difficult to detect?”
Sol’s customer went away and the old man approached the barrel.
“Well,” he said, “wanter buy anything to-day?”
“No,” said Josie pleasantly, “this is only a social call. I’ve just come from Old Swallow-tail’s office and thought a word with you would cheer me up.”
“You! You be’n to Ol’ Swallertail’s office! Sakes alive, gal, I wouldn’t dare do that myself.”
“Why not?”
“He goes crazy when he gits mad.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Ev’rybody here knows it, from the three-year-olds up. What did ye go to him for?”
“A little matter of business.”
“An’ he slammed the door in yer face?”
“No, indeed.”
“That’s funny,” said old Sol, rubbing his forehead in a perplexed way.
“He was very decent to me,” continued Josie. “Acted like a gentleman. Talked as if he’d been to school, you know.”
“School? Well, I should say he had!” exclaimed the storekeeper. “Ol’ Swallertail’s the most eddicated man in these ‘ere parts, I guess. Ol’ Nick Cragg, his daddy, wanted for him to be a preacher — or a priest, most likely — an’ when he was a boy his ol’ man paid good money to hev him eddicated at a the — at a theo — at a collidge. But Hezekiah wa’n’t over-religious, an’ ‘lowed he didn’t hev no call to preach; so that’s all the good the eddication ever done him.”
“You’ve never felt the need of an education, have you?” asked the girl, artlessly.
“Me? Well, I ain’t sayin’ as I got no eddication, though I don’t class myself in book-l’arnin’ with Ol’ Swallertail. Three winters I went to school, an’ once I helped whip the s
chool-teacher. Tain’t ev’ry one has got that record. But eddication means more’n books; it means keepin’ yer eyes open an’ gitt’n’ onter the tricks o’ yer trade. Ev’ry time I git swindled, I’ve l’arned somethin’, an’ if I’d started this store in New York instid o’ Cragg’s Crossin’, they might be runnin’ me fer president by this time.”
“But what could Cragg’s Crossing have done without you?” inquired Josie. “It seems to me you’re needed here.”
“Well, that’s worth thinkin’ on,” admitted the storekeeper. “And as for Old Swallowtail, he may have learned some tricks of his trade too. But I don’t know what his trade is.”
“Nobody knows that. I don’t b’lieve that business o’ his’n is a trade at all; I’ll bet it’s a steal, whatever its other name happens to be.”
“But he doesn’t prosper.”
“No; he ain’t got much t’ show fer all these years. Folks used to think he’d got money saved from the sale of his land, till Ned Joselyn come here an’ dallied with Ol’ Swallertail’s savin’s an’ then took to the woods. It’s gener’ly b’lieved that what Cragg had once Ned’s got now; but it don’t matter much. Cragg hain’t got long ter live an’ his feed don’t cost him an’ his little gal much more’n it costs to feed my cat.”
There was no further information to be gleaned from Sol Jerrems, so Josie walked home.
CHAPTER XIV
MIDNIGHT VIGILS
“Well, how is our girl detective progressing in her discovery of crime and criminals?” asked Colonel Hathaway that evening, as they sat in the living-room after dinner.
“Don’t call me a girl detective, please,” pleaded Josie O’Gorman. “I’m only an apprentice at the trade, Colonel, and I have never realized more than I do at this moment the fact that I’ve considerable to learn before I may claim membership with the profession.”
“Then you’re finding your present trail a difficult one to follow?”
“I believe my stupidity is making it difficult,” admitted Josie, with a sigh. “Father would scold me soundly if he knew how foolishly I behaved to-day. There was every opportunity of my forcing a clew by calling unexpectedly on Mr. Cragg at his office, but he defeated my purpose so easily that now I’m wondering if he suspects who I am, and why I’m here. He couldn’t have been more cautious.”
“He could scarcely suspect that,” said the Colonel, musingly. “But I’ve noticed that these simple country people are chary of confiding in strangers.”
“Ah, if Mr. Cragg were only that — a simple, unlettered countryman, as I thought him — I should know how to win his confidence. But, do you know, sir, he is well educated and intelligent. Once he studied for the priesthood or ministry, attending a theological college.”
“Indeed!”
“My informant, the village authority — who is Sol Jerrems the storekeeper — says he objected to becoming a priest at the last because he had no leaning that way. My own opinion is that he feared his ungovernable temper would lead to his undoing. I am positive that his hysterical fury, when aroused, has gotten him into trouble many times, even in this patient community.”
“That’s it,” said Mary Louise with conviction; “his temper has often made him cruel to poor Ingua, and perhaps his temper caused unfortunate Ned Joselyn to disappear.”
“Have you discovered anything more than you have told me?” she asked.
“Not a thing,” replied Mary Louise. “I’m waiting for you to make discoveries, Josie.”
“A puzzle that is readily solved,” remarked the Colonel, picking up his book, “is of little interest. The obstacles you are meeting, Josie, incline me to believe you girls have unearthed a real mystery. It is not a mystery of the moment, however, so take your time to fathom it. The summer is young yet.”
Josie went to her room early, saying she was tired, but as soon as she was alone and free she slipped on a jacket and stealthily left the house. Down the driveway she crept like a shadow, out through the gates, over the bridge, and then she turned down the pathway leading to Old Swallowtail’s cottage.
“The stepping-stones are a nearer route,” she reflected, “but I don’t care to tackle them in the dark.”
The cottage contained but three rooms. The larger one downstairs was a combination kitchen and dining room. A small wing, built upon one side, was used by Mr. Cragg for his private apartment, but its only outlet was through the main room. At the back was a lean-to shed, in which was built a narrow flight of stairs leading to a little room in the attic, where Ingua slept. Josie knew the plan of the house perfectly, having often visited Ingua during the day when her grandfather was absent and helped her sweep and make the beds and wash the dishes.
To-night Josie moved noiselessly around the building, satisfied herself that Ingua was asleep and that Mr. Cragg was still awake, and then strove to peer through the shuttered window to discover what the old man was doing.
She found this impossible. Although the weather was warm the window was tightly shut and a thick curtain was drawn across it.
Josie slipped over to the river bank and in the shadow of a tree sat herself down to watch and wait with such patience as she could muster. It was half past nine o’clock, and Ingua had told her that when her grandfather was wakeful, and indulged in his long walks, he usually left the house between ten o’clock and midnight — seldom earlier and never later. He would go to bed, the child said, and finding he could not sleep, would again dress and go out into the night, only to return at early morning.
Josie doubted that he ever undressed on such occasions, knowing, as he no doubt did, perfectly well what his program for the night would be. She had decided that the nocturnal excursions were not due to insomnia but were carefully planned to avoid possible observation. When all the countryside was wrapped in slumber the old gentleman stole from his cottage and went — where? Doubtless to some secret place that had an important bearing on his life and occupation. It would be worth while, Josie believed, to discover the object of these midnight excursions. Ingua claimed that her grandfather’s periods of wakeful walking were irregular; sometimes he would be gone night after night, and then for weeks he would remain at home and sleep like other folks.
So Josie was not surprised when old Swallowtail’s light was extinguished shortly after ten o’clock and from then until midnight he had not left the house. Evidently this was not one of his “wakeful” periods. The girl’s eyes, during this time, never left the door of the cottage. The path to the bridge passed her scarcely five yards distant. Therefore, as Hezekiah Cragg had not appeared, he was doubtless sleeping the sleep of the just — or the unjust, for all sorts and conditions of men indulge in sleep.
Josie waited until nearly one o’clock. Then she went home, let herself in by a side door to which she had taken the key, and in a few minutes was as sound asleep as Old Swallowtail ought to be.
For three nights in succession the girl maintained this vigil, with no result whatever. It was wearisome work and she began to tire of it. On the fourth day, as she was “visiting” with Ingua, she asked:
“Has your grandfather had any sleepless nights lately?”
“I don’t know,” was the reply. “But he ain’t walked any, as he sometimes does, for I hain’t heard him go out.”
“Do you always hear him?”
“P’r’aps not always, but most times.”
“And does he walk more than one night?” inquired Josie.
“When he takes them fits, they lasts for a week or more,” asserted Ingua. “Then, for a long time, he sleeps quiet.”
“Will you let me know, the next time he takes to walking?”
“Why?” asked the child, suspiciously.
“It’s a curious habit,” Josie explained, “and I’d like to know what he does during all those hours of the night.”
“He walks,” declared Ingua; “and, if he does anything else, it’s his own business.”
“I’ve wondered,” said Josie impressively, “if h
e doesn’t visit some hidden grave during those midnight rambles.”
Ingua shuddered.
“I wish ye wouldn’t talk like that,” she whispered. “It gives me the creeps.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know the truth of all this mystery, Ingua?”
“Sometimes I would, an’ sometimes I wouldn’t. If the truth leaked out, mebbe Gran’dad would git inter a lot o’ trouble. I don’t want that, Josie. I ain’t no cause to love Gran’dad, but he’s a Cragg an’ I’m a Cragg, an’ no Cragg ever went back on the fambly.”
It seemed unwise to urge the child further to betray her grandfather, yet for Ingua’s sake, if for no other reason, Josie was determined to uncover the hidden life of Hezekiah Cragg.
The following night she watched again at her station by the river bank, and again the midnight hour struck and the old man had not left his cottage. His light was extinguished at eleven o’clock. At twelve-thirty Josie rose from the shadow of the tree and slowly walked to the bridge. There, instead of going home, she turned in the direction of the town.
In the sky were a few stars and the slim crescent of a new moon, affording sufficient light to guide her steps. Crickets chirped and frogs in the marshes sang their hoarse love songs, but otherwise an intense stillness pervaded the countryside. You must not consider Josie O’Gorman an especially brave girl, for she had no thought of fear in such solitary wanderings. Although but seventeen years of age, she had been reared from early childhood in an atmosphere of intrigue and mystery, for her detective father had been accustomed to argue his cases and their perplexities with his only child and for hours at a time he would instruct her in all the details of his profession. It was O’Gorman’s ambition that his daughter might become a highly proficient female detective.
“There are so many cases where a woman is better than a man,” he would say, “and there is such a lack of competent women in this important and fascinating profession, that I am promoting the interests of both my daughter and the public safety by training Josie to become a good detective.”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 589
