The Clue of the Screeching Owl

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Good idea,” Frank approved.

  “Well, if it’s all the same to you,” put in Chet, “Mystery and old Chet will stay up in the cabin. I’ve had enough of that woods by night. Besides, after this morning’s bit of detective work, I think I may say I’ve earned a rest.”

  “You have,” Frank agreed, and Joe laughed. “Will we never hear the end of it?”

  The three drove back to Forestburg. They stopped at the courthouse and learned from Sheriff Ecker that the prisoners had been sent under heavy guard to New Jersey, where Mr. Fenton Hardy, one of the chief investigators in the hijacking case, would question them.

  “Is that a fact?” Frank asked mildly, giving Joe a wink.

  “Yes, sir,” Sheriff Ecker declared emphatically. “He’s a real famous detective they called in on it. You boys ever hear of him?”

  “Now and then.” Joe grinned.

  “Say, what are you two grinning about?” The sheriff frowned. “Hardy. Isn’t that your last name, Frank and Joe? No relation, by chance?”

  “Distant relation,” Joe answered with a straight face. “About a hundred miles distant right now, I believe. He’s our father.”

  “Well, I’ll be ...” Words failed the stocky, good-natured sheriff for a moment. Then his face became serious again. “And what about your friend, boys? Hasn’t come back yet, has he?”

  Joe, about to pour out their suspicions of Walter Donner, was stopped by a nudge from Frank. “No, Sheriff,” Frank replied, “but we’re working on it. We’ll let you know if anything turns up.”

  After one final stop in Forestburg at Giller’s General Store for more provisions, Frank, Joe, and Chet at last climbed into the captain’s old car for the trip back to Black Hollow.

  “Why not tell the sheriff about Donner’s being a dognaper?” Joe asked as he drove.

  “Because we still have to prove ourselves to Sheriff Ecker,” Frank answered grimly. “Walter Donner made us look pretty incompetent in front of the sheriff. Any accusation we bring against him is going to need plenty of proof—no matter who our father is. Wait till we’ve really got the goods on Donner. Then we’ll show the sheriff!”

  To prepare for their long vigil that evening, the brothers lay down for a nap as soon as they reached Captain Maguire’s cabin. At sundown they were awakened by Chet Morton, who had prepared an appetizing dinner.

  “About time for the night shift,” he called. “Don’t forget to put on dark clothing.”

  Soon a clear, cloudless sky, in which the stars sparkled brightly, spread itself over Black Hollow.

  “The moon isn’t due to rise until very late,” Frank noted as the brothers prepared for their expedition. “That gives us an advantage since we’re doing the spying.”

  A moment later, alert and refreshed by their sleep and fortified by Chet’s meal, Frank and Joe slipped out the back door of the little cabin. As soon as their eyes became accustomed to the darkness, they entered the woods.

  By now the path into the mysterious hollow was familiar to them even at night. They moved along the trail noiselessly but swiftly, without flashlights.

  Frank noted that it was the first time he had not had the eerie feeling of being followed in the woods.

  “I suppose it’s because we’re in a position to do the following ourselves,” he thought with a smile.

  The boys avoided the exposed parts of the trail entirely, moving among the denser trees instead.

  At length they reached the little clearing where Donner’s strange cabin stood. In the complete darkness they could see nothing but an indistinct mass of rocks and logs in front of them. The little building was invisible, except for a thin orange line of light around the frame of the closed door.

  Cautiously Frank led the way as close as possible to the door without exposing themselves to the view of anyone else who might be in the surrounding woods.

  They found a suitable place and stopped to listen. The sound of voices came to them plainly from inside the cabin—Walter Donner’s voice, somewhat subdued, and the thin, whining voice of Wyckoff Webber, the attorney! The Hardys were astounded.

  “I tell you, I’ve been to see Elizabeth,” Webber was saying, “and she won’t budge an inch.”

  There was a sound as of somebody moving a chair impatiently.

  “Well”—Donner’s big voice rumbled—“I’m fed up with this life. Fed up with it. I want my share of the estate!”

  “You don’t think I’m fed up with it?” the lawyer replied irritably. “I want my money, too. Well, let’s get down to business. How are things going?”

  When they heard this question, Frank and Joe waited breathlessly for an answer. But none came. There was a further scraping of furniture. That was all.

  “Didn’t Donner reply?” Frank wondered. “Or is he showing Webber something?”

  While the young sleuth pondered, crouching in the dark, the sudden pressure of his brother’s hand roused his attention. Now Frank heard the sound of stealthy footsteps approaching through the woods along the path!

  From their hiding place Frank and Joe could easily watch the break in the woods where the path entered the clearing. But though they waited soundlessly, no figure appeared. A chill of suspense ran down the brothers’ spines.

  “Is it Colonel Thunder?” Joe asked himself. “Or Simon?” Meanwhile, no further sound came from within the little house, either.

  For about fifteen minutes the silence continued. The unknown intruder was no longer moving, but, the boys wondered, was he lurking in the darkness a few scant yards from the Hardys themselves?

  “Somebody has trailed us down here,” Joe thought uneasily, “and he’s waiting for us to make the first move!”

  CHAPTER XIV

  Flash Fire

  WITHOUT changing his position, Joe moved enough so he could whisper to his brother.

  “Somebody watching us,” he murmured. “Waiting for us to show ourselves!”

  Frank, after considering a moment, placed his own lips close to Joe’s ear and replied:

  “Check! We’ll outwait him.”

  Straining their eyes vainly against the darkness, Frank and Joe examined the break in the woods which marked the exit from the path. All they could make out, however, was the dark clump of bushes where the intruder must be hidden. Whoever he was, he was keeping just as still and silent as they were!

  Abruptly, the loud voices of Donner and Webber in the cabin could be heard once more. Their remarks were no longer muffled.

  “We’ll get some money pretty soon,” Donner’s voice rumbled. “I’m desperate enough to take a chance.”

  After a pause, Webber’s irritable tones were heard in reply, “I’ll attend to the boys. Nothing can go wrong this time!”

  Hearing these words, Frank frowned to himself, puzzled. Were he and Joe and Chet “the boys” that the two were talking about? Before the youth could make up his mind, there was a rusty squeaking sound, and the door of the cabin was thrown open.

  For an instant the lawyer’s small, plump figure and Donner’s tall, commanding one were outlined against the light of the two kerosene lanterns within. Then the door was closed and the lawyer crossed the clearing. He made no attempt to soften his footsteps.

  Frank’s keen eyes suddenly spotted an abrupt, blurred movement in the dark bushes at the entrance to the trail. Whoever was there was hiding from Webber as well as from them.

  In another moment the lawyer had entered the woods. His footsteps quickly receded in the darkness. Still warily watching the bushes, Frank and Joe saw a man step out. For a moment he stood still, a dark form barely silhouetted against the faint glow of the starlight. Then soundlessly he entered the woods on the trail of the retreating Webber.

  “He was spying on Webber!” Joe whispered. “Shall we tail the two of them and see what happens?”

  “No,” Frank decided quickly. “Let’s stick to our plan of staying here and waiting for Colonel Thunder to show up.”

  Slowly, silently,
the night wore on. The constellations changed their positions in the sky. In the east a pale glow appeared. At last a crescent moon showed itself above the trees. A light but chilly breeze sprang up.

  Although the night was clear, the heavy early-morning dew of the mountains now covered everything. The boys’ clothing, in particular their shoes and dungaree cuffs, was drenched from the long walk. Now the rest of their clothing felt damp and the cold breeze chilled them. Their legs were cramped from the long wait. They could see their breaths in the pale light thrown by the new moon.

  No one else came to visit Walter Donner. At last the crack of light outlining the door of the little cabin could be seen no longer.

  “I guess he’s gone to bed,” Frank whispered to Joe. “We may as well go back to the cabin and hit the sack ourselves.”

  Using the same caution which they had practiced on the trek down, the two boys made their way through the dark woods to Captain Maguire’s cabin. As they were climbing the steep, familiar path out of the hollow, Frank suddenly laid a hand on Joe’s arm.

  “Listen!” he whispered.

  From the depths of Black Hollow came an eerie sound, at first soft, then louder. It was a long, plaintive wail.

  “Screech owl,” Joe noted. “Where’s it coming from?”

  “Other end of the hollow,” Frank answered after listening carefully. “In fact, I’d say somewhere pretty close to Donner’s place.”

  “Hmm! Funny nobody startled an owl earlier, with all that coming and going down there tonight,” observed Joe.

  “I’m glad we didn’t meet one,” Frank said. “They have a quiet, spooky flight that makes people take them for ghosts.”

  In another minute the brothers had reached the rim of the valley. Lights burned cheerfully in the windows of Captain Maguire’s cabin.

  “Boy! Am I glad to see you two!” exclaimed Chet, jumping up from the bunk as they entered. “That witch, or owl, is on the loose again. It woke me up. You heard it?”

  “We sure did,” Frank replied.

  “Brr!” Joe shivered. “Never mind the owl. Just let me near that stove.”

  “If that’s the way you feel,” said Chet, “I’ll whip up a little snack. I could use something hot, myself.”

  A little later, over mugs of hot chocolate, the Hardys told Chet of their vigil outside the windowless cabin.

  “So,” Joe concluded, “Webber is Donner’s lawyer, apparently, and they both want money.”

  “Birds of a feather flocking together,” Chet observed, adding with a grimace, “but I don’t like the sound of Webber’s threat to ‘attend to the boys.’ ”

  “This Webber is always croaking about money,” Joe remarked. “What money do you think he means?”

  “They must’ve been talking about the Donner estate tonight,” Frank put in. “Remember, Colonel Thunder told us the lawyers were still arguing about it? And Donner said he was tired of waiting—that he was getting desperate.”

  “Too bad Colonel Thunder didn’t show up,” said Joe. “After all, part of that money is his.”

  “Well, there doesn’t seem to be anything dishonest going on,” Chet pointed out. “Donner was only talking about money he has a claim to. And another thing—Webber told us Captain Maguire owed him money. Do you suppose the captain never went into the hollow at all, but just ran away somewhere?”

  Frank shook his head decisively. “You don’t know Captain Maguire, Chet. He never ran away from anything in his life, much less a debt to a tinhorn like Webber!”

  “You know what I wonder?” Joe said suddenly. “Donner says he’s getting desperate, I wonder what he’ll do?”

  “What a puzzle!” exclaimed Chet, shaking his head. “We’ll never figure it out tonight, fellows. Let’s just forget it for a while, and make a fresh start in the morning!”

  Frank and Joe needed no further urging. After changing to dry underclothes, the two boys unrolled their sleeping bags and climbed in.

  “Four o’clock,” noted Chet as he turned out the lanterns and climbed into bed. “Only a few hours of sleep till breakfast. Let’s use them.”

  “All the same, I’d like to know who was hiding in those bushes,” came Joe’s drowsy mumble in the dark room. In another moment all was silent.

  As he lay in his sleeping bag, Frank was still wondering about the mysterious person who had been hiding near them. In the boy’s tired brain, all the perplexing questions of the strange case seemed to whirl madly around and around.

  Who had been lurking near Donner’s cabin? Where was Captain Maguire?

  When Frank dozed off, he had peculiar, fitful dreams. First, he saw a pack of barking dogs being chased by a witch on a broomstick. Next, the dogs turned into owls, which flew around hooting and wailing.

  Meanwhile, the witch had turned into Walter Donner, who seemed to be talking calmly to some sheep. Then, weirdly, Walter became William Donner—Colonel Thunder—and the sheep became a snarling black puma.

  Colonel Thunder’s huge black whip cracked again and again. “Oh-h!” Frank moaned aloud.

  Now, in his dream, he heard Wyckoff Webber’s rasping voice, “I’ll attend to the boys. Nothing can go wrong this time!”

  Once more, Frank seemed to see the little lawyer standing in the open doorway of Walter Donner’s cabin, talking with Donner. Behind them the orange-yellow flames of the kerosene lamp were burning—burning—

  Burning! It seemed to Frank as if he could even smell the distinctive odor of burning kerosene, that he could feel the heat generated by the lamps! The yellow flames seemed to grow brighter and brighter in his dream until they blotted out everything else.

  Again Colonel Thunder’s black whip cracked. Suddenly Frank sat up, wide awake. He was facing the kitchen. For an instant the youth thought that someone had turned on the lights in there. Then, with horror, he realized that one whole side of the cabin was a mass of swirling yellow flame! The snapping and cracking was the sound of the two-by-fours as they caught fire, as in some gigantic fireplace. The whole cabin had become an inferno!

  “Joe! Chet!” he shouted frantically above the roar of the swirling flames. Frank pulled off his sleeping bag and wound it around him, as he shook his brother into consciousness. Then he leaped to the sleeping Chet.

  “Joe! Wrap your sleeping bag around you and make a dash through the front door!” Frank screamed. By now all four walls were ablaze, and the heat was unbearable.

  Instantly taking in the situation, Joe followed instructions. Meanwhile, Frank helped put Captain Maguire’s blankets around the still-groggy Chet, and now the three raced outside. Mystery, too, dashed to the yard, yapping in fear.

  The boys’ hair and brows were singed, and their eyes smarted. The three friends watched in speechless dismay as the flames of the burning cabin lighted up the whole area like a beacon. Sparks shot a hundred feet skyward.

  “Boy!” breathed Chet. “There goes all our stuff, and Captain Maguire’s too—clothes, food, money, everything. But we’re fortunate to get out alive! What woke you, Frank?”

  “A lucky dream,” Frank answered gratefully. “Luck was sure on our side.”

  Fortunately, the Hardys’ convertible and Captain Maguire’s car had been parked far enough away from the fire to be out of danger. But the cabin, with its drums of kerosene and gasoline, burned fiercely out of control.

  “No use driving anywhere to get help,” said

  The three boys raced outside

  Frank. “No equipment could get here in time.”

  The trio, huddled in their blankets, stared at the flaming cabin.

  “The walls seemed to go up all at once,” Frank remarked to the others. “It wasn’t as if the fire had started in the kitchen and spread to the living room. Everything went up at once.”

  Joe looked grim. “No fire could start that way —unless—unless it was set deliberately by someone!”

  CHAPTER XV

  Ragged Footprints

  CHET gulped. “The cabin was set on f
ire?” he cried.

  “Right,” said Joe.

  Frank nodded. “From the way the fire spread, I’d say someone poured kerosene all around the foundation and then lighted a match to it. I smelled kerosene strongly right at the beginning!”

  Suddenly Frank and Joe recalled Webber’s words: “I’ll attend to the boys.” Could it be that he was the incendiary?

  “But that would make him a murderer!” Chet exclaimed. “Is he that bad?”

  “Oh, we’re not accusing him yet,” Joe said quickly.

  “Or anyone else,” Frank added. “When it’s safe to look in the ruins, we’ll hunt for clues.”

  Helplessly, Frank, Joe, and Chet watched the blaze. Though the mysterious fire had begun suddenly, it burned for some time. The logs of the cabin, soaked in creosote to withstand the weather, now burned fiercely until consumed. When morning came, the once trim cabin was a mass of rubble, glowing here and there with orange sparks.

  “It’s a crime!” Joe said. “If somebody did burn down the cabin, I’d like to get my hands on him!”

  Suddenly Chet pointed out, “Fellows, we haven’t a stitch of clothing except our underwear!”

  Despite the gravity of the situation, all three boys began to laugh. “This is a fine situation,” said Frank.

  “Of course we have blankets and sleeping bags,” Joe spoke up. “We can play Indian.”

  “But there’s no chow,” Chet reminded him, “to have a feast.”

  “It seems funny that no one has come here to see where the fire is,” Frank remarked. “You’d think a forest-fire observer would have spotted it from his tower and investigated.”

  No one arrived, however. When the intense heat had abated, Frank went toward the ruins. He noted that Captain Maguire had built his cabin on a stone foundation, using concrete for mortar. After finishing, he had spread his surplus gravel around the entire foundation.

  Now the three young detectives found that this gravel still preserved the warmth of the fire. But even more important, it had preserved something else—several deep, distinct, footprints!

  “You were right, Frank, about somebody seting this fire!” Joe exclaimed. “The prints are on all sides. If only we’d brought our moulage equipment from home, we could have made some fine plaster casts for evidence.”