“He said it was a spot from which he could see both waterfalls,” Ted recollected. “That means it has to be right along here somewhere. What’s our better bet, up or down?”
“Up,” Nelson decided. “The way he described it, it was pretty isolated. Going down, you’re getting too close to the town.”
Ted more or less agreed, so they began to climb the hill, scanning the hillside while they kept warily alert for slippery spots along the path.
“Is that a wisp of smoke up there?” asked Ted, squinting into the sky.
“Can’t tell,” was Nelson’s response, for the day was so heavily overcast it was difficult to determine. “It might be. Let’s try it.”
They were about to start off when a grim voice behind them brought them to a halt.
“That you, Ted? I might have known it wouldn’t take you long to come nosing around. And I think I’ve seen this friend of yours before, too. Well, now that you’ve come this far, you might as well continue all the way. March straight ahead, and turn right by that big tree.”
Turning about, they saw that the person addressing them was Mr. Woodring. His manner was stern and unfriendly. Silently they turned back on the path and started upward, following his directions. They felt a little chagrined about it all. They had hoped to find Mr. Woodring, but instead it looked as though he had found them. Whatever they had intended, Mr. Woodring appeared to hold the upper hand.
Arriving at the cabin, they pushed the door open and went inside. Mr. Woodring followed, and closed the door behind them. It was a cozy little place, well furnished and nicely kept up. For an outdoors man, it was an ideal retreat from the affairs of a busy world.
The boys took off their jackets and sat down. Although Mr. Woodring also removed his coat, he remained standing, his manner menacing.
“Well, Ted, it wasn’t so hard to find me, was it? I remembered afterward that I let something slip to you, riding home that day from North Ridge, but I hoped you’d forgotten. It didn’t do for me to underestimate you. But now that you’re here, exactly what do you want?”
“I was hoping I could persuade you to come back to Forestdale,” said Ted seriously. “There are some people there I know would like to talk with you.”
“Who?” He laughed bitterly. “Some police officers?”
“No, not that I know of. There’s no warrant out for your arrest.”
“No warrant?” Mr. Woodring looked thoughtful. “You’re sure about that, Ted?”
“At least there wasn’t when we left town. Of course I can’t promise you that there won’t be, but maybe if you’d come back and talk things over everything could be worked out.”
“What about Mr. Bentley? Have you talked to him?”
“Yes, I have, and he didn’t seem at all anxious to prosecute. He felt the publicity might hurt the stamp plan.”
“Of course he might change his mind—”
“I don’t think so. When your car was found he had to make some explanations to the police, but he must have done all right. Nothing more came of it.”
“Yes, I can see where Mr. Bentley might not be very anxious to prosecute.” Mr. Woodring seemed to be turning the whole thing over in his mind. “Of course I’m just taking your word that there isn’t any warrant, but somehow I believe you. And as long as I can stay out of jail, there are reasons why I would like to go back. Maybe that would be the best way out.”
“Then you’ll come?”
“Like this?” Mr. Woodring’s hand went to his face, and Ted took it that he referred to his growth of beard, his rather straggly hair, and his unpressed clothes.
“I understood you had plenty of money with you,” said Ted, almost questioningly.
“Money? Sure, checks, big ones. But if I’d left a trail of checks behind me, that would have been about the easiest way for someone to find me, wouldn’t it?”
For answer Ted took out his wallet, found a ten-dollar bill, and placed it on the table. Mr. Woodring did not look at the money, nor did he make any effort to thank Ted.
“Then you will go back?”
“Might as well,” said Mr. Woodring grudgingly. “Part of the money from these checks rightfully belongs to me, and if we can work out a settlement, I’ll be able to collect my share. I don’t dare try to cash them the way things stand right now.”
“Then you’ll let us go?” asked Nelson hopefully. “There isn’t any point in keeping us prisoner here, as long as you’re giving yourself up anyway.”
“Who’s keeping who prisoner? I thought you boys were keeping me prisoner.” He laughed, and the boys were obliged to join in, for it was a queer situation.
“I guess we’re agreed, then, that nobody is anybody’s prisoner,” Mr. Woodring went on. “Am I to drive back with you?”
“No, you’d better not wait for us,” Ted advised him. “We’re stuck here in town for a couple of days.”
* * * *
“You just threw away your ten dollars,” Nelson assured Ted when they got outside. “He’ll never show up in town.”
“Well, it was a gamble. Maybe he will. As he said, he’s got some money due him, and he’d like to settle accounts. Maybe he’s really sorry for everything, and would like to straighten it out if he can.”
“Sure, he’s sorry. They all are, after they’re caught.”
The rain ended finally. The boys visited the culvert several times, and toward the end of the second day the water had receded sufficiently so they were able to spot the ledge where the package was supposed to be. They probed deeply, and found that it was still there, stuffed way back in the shadows. The paper covering had been thoroughly soaked and torn, but the contents, heavy metal of some sort, seemed not to have suffered. Ted tore away the remainder of the wrappings and held up two plates of copper.
“Wow!” he remarked.
“What is it?” asked Nelson curiously.
“Engravers’ plates. It looks like these were used to print those counterfeit trading stamps. I’m afraid this is bad news for Mr. Woodring.”
“Why?” Nelson demanded.
“Because when the Treasury man sees these, there’ll have to be a prosecution.”
“The which?” Nelson exclaimed.
There was no help for it, Ted had really let the cat out of the bag this time. But it was an almost unavoidable slip, for it was foolish to try to hide part of the story from Nelson, when they had the evidence of the plates right there in their hands.
“So that’s it,” said Nelson, nodding his head. “I thought it was queer how at one time you were all for letting Mr. Woodring go, and later you were all for tracking him down. I didn’t quite catch on, though. I guess I’m not as fast with my head as I am with my feet.”
It was clear now to whom the plates should be turned over. The professor had intended that they should be delivered to the proper authorities, and Ted proposed to do so. The Treasury man would probably be more interested in these than would the local police, and Ted still had his number to call.
“Know something? Don’t you think it’s awfully queer that these plates just happened to be hidden near Fremont? I’ll bet it didn’t just happen. The professor wanted it to be that way. He wanted me to find my waterfall.”
“How come? He didn’t seem very anxious to tell you the other day. Also, how did the professor know where Mr. Woodring was hiding?”
“At first I think he was just being cautious. He didn’t know then just what the significance of the waterfall was, so he decided to play it cagey. But my question about the waterfall must have started him thinking. I don’t think he knew anything at all about the case until we called on him. Afterward he investigated quickly, learned how Mr. Woodring had disappeared, and discovered that he really was hiding up in his cabin. The professor then hid the plates near Fremont, insuring that I would find Mr. Woodring. He almost had to do
that. If he’d gotten himself into the position of protecting a counterfeiter, he would have been in some real trouble. By turning Mr. Woodring in indirectly, instead of reporting him himself, he was hoping to avoid getting involved in the affair.”
There was nothing further to keep the boys in Fremont, and they started out for Forestdale, arriving very late at night. Even so, Ted was up very early, and hurried down to the Town Crier office. After all, he still had loyalty and obligation to the paper, and there was every reason why they should have first crack at the story—particularly since Ted had a hunch that Ken Kutler wasn’t very far behind on the trail.
He knew Mr. Dobson would be absent from the office this morning, and he would probably run into Carl Allison at about this time. But this time it was all right with Ted. He couldn’t hope to avoid Carl forever, and anyway it would be up to Carl to write the story. Carl listened with a superior air while Ted outlined the whole case. When he had finished, Carl said:
“Honestly, Ted, do you think I’m stupid enough to use a story like that?”
“What do you mean?” asked Ted, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve got the evidence right here—these engravers’ plates.”
“Sure, you’ve got them. But how do I know where they came from? I haven’t seen any evidence to link them with Mr. Woodring.”
“Who else could they be linked with?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“We know Mr. Woodring has a criminal record—”
“What about it? So have lots of men. That’s not enough to convict them of a new crime.”
“He lied about working for that company in Chicago—”
“Wouldn’t you, too, if you had a past to live down? How else would you expect to get a chance to start over?”
“He told us the stamps paid 3 per cent, when they paid only 2 per cent.”
“He didn’t tell the merchants that, and they’re the only ones who really matter.”
“He took a photograph of that painting of Mr. Smith’s.”
“I haven’t seen Mr. Smith identify him.”
“He ran off with the company’s car.”
“He had a right to. They’d leased it to him.”
Ted was growing more excited. “He also ran off with all the company’s checks—”
“—and didn’t cash them. Really, Ted, you’d better get something down in writing before you expect me to stick my neck out.”
This was the way it always was with Carl. He’d find an objection to everything Ted tried to propose, and in the end it would come to an explosion. Carl was prepared for it now, but instead Ted began to smile.
“Thanks, Carl. You could be right,” and he dashed out of the office, leaving a very puzzled reporter behind him.
At the hotel Ted found Mr. Woodring still held a room there, and he dashed up the stairs without waiting for the elevator. He knocked on Mr. Woodring’s door, and it was opened promptly.
“Oh, Ted. I suppose you’ve come for your ten dollars. I’m sorry that I don’t have it yet. Mr. Bentley is going to reach a settlement with me this afternoon, and I’ll see that you get it then.”
“No, I didn’t come about the money. May I come in?” He pushed his way inside before Mr. Woodring could object, and sat down.
Mr. Woodring began to move about the room, gathering various things together. “Really, Ted, what do you want? I’m awfully busy just now, and frankly I’d just as soon be alone.”
Very quietly Ted answered, “Why didn’t you tell us that you were innocent, Mr. Woodring?”
The older man looked up slowly. “What makes you think I’m innocent?”
“It had to be that way,” Ted explained. “It was too foolish a scheme to begin with, because the evidence would point directly to you. There wasn’t any way you could profit very much—not as much as your job and your place in the community were worth. So I’ve been trying to think, all the way over here, how I could prove you didn’t do it. Then I remembered that Mr. Smith said the man who came to take a photograph of The Purple Cow was left-handed. You wear your wrist watch on your left arm, and I’ve been watching you just now. You’re right-handed, aren’t you?”
Mr. Woodring stared at him, but said nothing.
“But why didn’t you tell us?” Ted pleaded with him. “None of us wanted to condemn a man unheard.”
“Because I didn’t want to beg and plead with people who were unwilling to believe me,” said Mr. Woodring bitterly. “Because I thought I was entitled to a belief in my basic integrity, just the way every man is. Apparently it never occurred to you before that I might be innocent. I talked to Mr. Dobson, and it hadn’t occurred to him. I talked to Mr. Bentley, and it hadn’t occurred to him. It seems that the thought never even crossed anyone’s mind.”
“No,” Ted was forced to admit, “but there was one person—a reporter on the Town Crier. Maybe he was just trying to be difficult, but he showed me how we could all be wrong. Would it help now if I said ‘I’m sorry’?”
“Yes, Ted, it would help. It always helps.”
“Still, it wasn’t all our fault, Mr. Woodring. You did do quite a few suspicious things. You lied to us a few times, and you did run away.”
“If you’re trying to tell me I’ve acted like a dope, you don’t have to, Ted. I’ve told myself all that before. My trouble is that I’m suspicious of everybody—but remember it was people that made me that way. I’ve had people too suspicious of me in the past, and because they always suspected me, I came to suspect them. I always thought people would suspect me, every chance they got.”
“You did slip once,” Ted reminded him.
“Yes, and I thought I’d paid for it. Oh, that was such a dumb kid’s stunt. Everybody else seemed to be grabbing everything they could get, and not caring very much how they went about it. I thought I’d make my pile, too. The scheme looked foolproof to me, but I can see now that I was almost certain to get caught. But it’s not just a question of getting caught any more. That’s not important. It’s a question of doing what you know is right and decent and won’t tear your insides apart.”
“If you’d only told us,” Ted reminded him.
“I wasn’t sure I could prove it, even if I tried. From that first moment when you mentioned purple-cow stamps, and I looked at them and saw they were different from my samples—we usually deliver our stamps in sealed packages to our customers, you know—I felt the Blue Harvest company had set me up as some kind of fall guy. Who would take my word against theirs?”
Ted shook his head. “No, the company is perfectly honest. There wouldn’t have been any point giving you counterfeit stamps, when they had to redeem them anyway. It had to be someone else—”
Mr. Woodring nodded his head slowly. “I see that now. It had to be that man who came out on the train with me, Mr. Harridge. He was the only one who could have exchanged the boxes in our compartment on the train. I remember now he knew of my criminal record when he recommended me to the company. I guess he wanted someone around with a record like mine, to hold the bag when things got too hot for him. I remember something else, too. He told me it was all right to tell people the stamps paid 3 per cent instead of two—not the merchants, of course, who would know what they were paying for the stamps, but the consumers. They’d never stop to count the stamps, and wouldn’t know how to calculate it anyway. I only tried it once—I was new and felt almost desperate about putting the plan over, and I thought Mr. Harridge knew the ropes better than I. I soon saw that that was a mistake. You’ve got to put things over on an honest basis, if you want to get people to stick with you.”
“Mr. Harridge worked pretty hard to pin the blame on you. He gave your first name to Mr. Smith. And he planted those plates in the Dutch Mill, then drew attention to them through that letter to the Town Crier. With the plates found near Forestdale, it would help to fasten the blame more fi
rmly on you and assure a prosecution. I suppose he only did that at the end—when he was afraid of getting caught up with himself.”
“I wonder what his plan was, anyway?” Mr. Woodring meditated.
“I’ve talked with a man from the Treasury, and he thinks this was just a preliminary experiment to a scheme for counterfeiting currency. He was sort of getting his hand in. Of course he could have picked up some money by selling the counterfeit stamps to merchants and pocketing the payments. I think that’s what he intended, but when the stamps accidentally came out purple, the best he could do was palm them off on you. He could then sell your good stamps. Somebody has suggested that he may have been well paid besides, to cast public doubt on the Blue Harvest stamps, but that’s something we won’t know unless he tells us. Maybe none of this would have paid him a great deal, but it could be that the money was very important to him right now—he needed it to launch his counterfeiting plan.”
“Well, Ted, I guess you’ve explained it pretty well. It does help a little to know I’m leaving behind at least one friend in this town.”
“Oh, you’ll have a lot more than one,” Ted returned with a laugh. “You won’t leave right away, will you, until after I’ve had a chance to talk with Mr. Dobson?”
CHAPTER 20
KEN’S VERDICT
When the next issue of the Town Crier came out there was a front-page editorial, headlined: “WELCOME BACK TO FORESTDALE, MR., WOODRING .” Mr. Dobson was not a man who hesitated to apologize when he knew himself to be at fault, and he had the resources to present an apology in the grandest manner. Mr. Woodring quickly had an offer of several jobs, but decided to stick with the Blue Harvest company after all.
“They gave me my first chance, Ted, and I feel a sense of loyalty toward them. And I have to thank you, too, Ted, for helping to straighten this thing out.”
The Counterfeit Mystery Page 16
