"Go on ahead, Joe," Dr. David Stone said. "The boat will probably need
bailing. I'll have Jerry fix your rod. Won't take ten minutes."
Joe Morrow gripped the can of worms and was gone. Dr. Stone said, "Right,
Lady," and, gripping the harness-handle, followed the dog toward Jerry
Moore's garage.
Sound came to the doctor's ears--the rasp of a tool and, abruptly, the
sharp tapping of a finger against glass. The dog deftly steered him
around an automobile. Jerry's voice came from under the car.
"That you, Doctor?"
"Yes."
"Thought those were Lady's paws. With you in a few minutes."
Dr. Stone moved toward the little office. A voice said, "He's blind,
Rog." The tapping had stopped.
But well able to hear, the doctor thought with grim humor, and listened
from the doorway. Voices came from the garage floor--Jerry Moore's, the
nervous voice that had said, "He's blind, Rog," and the mellow, genial
tones of a third man.
"This brake-rod"--grunt--"sure was loose." That was Jerry. "Quite a
contraption you've got under here."
"My own idea," the genial voice said. "Why smear up a car when you can
pack them where they're out of the way?"
The job was done, and presently the car backed out of the garage. Jerry
came to the office.
"What won't folks think up next?" he demanded. "Fishing fellows, those
two who just went out. Stopping off to try Horseshoe Lake. Got a long
metal box bolted in under the floor boards. Out of sight and out of the
way. Got room in that box for a hundred pounds along with ice."
"Fish?" Dr. Stone asked a trifle sharply.
The garageman cackled. "Sure; a regular ice-box on wheels. How come they
pick here for fishing? Nobody's taken a bass out of Horseshoe in years,
and danged few pickerel. Want that rod mended?"
A horn blew at the pumps. Jerry put the rod down and hurried outside, and
Dr. Stone walked to the door. A hoarse voice said: "Two quarts of
medium." A moment later the voice rasped harshly: "Get away from that
hood. Can't you see I've brought a can for the oil?"
"Easy, brother," Jerry soothed. "No harm done."
"Keep away from the hood, that's all."
The car rolled away, and filled the night with the low, smooth thunder of
its exhaust. The doctor's ears registered and catalogued sounds. Only a
high-priced motor could sound like that--and only a piece of tin could
rattle as the car rattled. A queer intentness twitched at the corners of
the blind man's mouth.
"That's queer," Jerry observed. "Two cars in a row, and they both had
something hidden. This last boiler was all of seven-eight years old, and
shabby as a beggar's coat. Had something under that hood, though, he was
powerful anxious for no one to see. What do you make of it, Doctor?"
"Coincidence," the doctor said mildly. Two cars, and each with something
hidden. Lady's tail thumped the floor, and Joe Morrow came into the
office and stood around. The doctor's ears, registering an unseen world
by sound, caught the tempo of the boy's restless feet. Bursting with
something, the blind man decided. The rod mended at last, man and boy and
dog came out to the street, and Lady led them toward the lake.
Joe's voice trembled. "A car pulled out just as I came back, Uncle David.
You know that cobbled road that runs off from Main street, and goes down
into the hollow behind the cottonwoods and rises to the back door of the
bank?"
"The road the express wagon uses when it takes money to and from the
bank?"
"Yes, sir." The boy swallowed with a gulp. "I saw that car in there twice
today, just sort of hanging around."
An automobile, making speed, went up the street with a low drone of
power.
"There she goes now," Joe cried, excited.
"A wonderful motor," said Dr. Stone.
"That's just it, Uncle David. A shabby old car with a pip of a motor.
What for? A quick getaway?"
The doctor whistled softly under his breath, and said nothing. Through
the black, moonless night Lady led them at her fast pace to an opening in
the reeds and out upon planking that led to the boats. Joe got in first,
steadied the craft, and helped in his uncle. The boy rowed with an almost
soundless stroke, and presently shipped the oars and dropped anchor. And
then they waited for the catfish to bite.
Joe marked Main street by a reflected ribbon of radiance thrown against
the night sky. Water lapped against the boat, and moving lights crawled
across the distant toll-bridge. Dr. Stone said, "Not much action, Joe,"
and the headlights of a car swept toward the lake. They stopped near the
planking and snapped out. By and by oars creaked and splashed loudly, a
dark shape moved toward the toll-bridge, and voices came across the
water.
"Why the toll-bridge, Rog?" the sharp voice asked.
"Use your head," the genial voice answered. "There's plenty of light down
there. Somebody may see us trying to haul in a big one."
"You're sure of the time?"
"We got the word, didn't we?"
"Fast work," the sharp voice said dubiously.
"Well, why not?" A genial chuckle came across the water. "Everybody knows
you couldn't get a decent fish out of this lake with a dragnet. So we
pull out."
The oars splashed and creaked, and the sharp voice was lost. And then the
genial voice came again:
"We'll pull out about five, roll up and get in line, step on the gas, and
make Baltimore in time for breakfast. After that, let John try to find
us."
Joe got a bite and missed his fish. So these two men, whoever they were,
planned to play hide and seek with somebody named John. But his mind,
presently, came back to the shabby car with the powerful motor that had
hidden itself twice in the cobbled road behind the cottonwoods where it
could not be seen from Main street.
"What do you think that car was doing there, Uncle David?" the boy asked.
"If I knew," Dr. Stone said dryly, "I'd be able to give more attention to
this fishing-line."
A tingling tremor ran along the boy's spine. So Uncle David thought that
strange car worth worrying about! Lady moved in the boat, and the
flat-bottomed craft pitched and wobbled. The fish weren't biting, and the
dog was probably cramped. The boy pulled up the anchor. A steady,
rhythmic splashing came through the night.
"They're rowing back," Dr. Stone said.
Joe's oars made scarcely a ripple. Tied up at the planking, he shipped
the oars before helping his uncle from the boat. "No fish and a million
mosquito bites," the doctor drawled, and they went up the soggy path
through the reeds. Oars rattled behind them and somebody stamped on the
planking. A car was parked in the high grass above the rutted road that
paralleled the lake; even in the darkness there was a lustrous sheen of
paint and of shining metal. One of Lady's harness straps had loosened.
The doctor bent down to draw it tight, and footsteps came up the
planking.
"Rog!" The sharp voice snapped. "There's somebody at the car."
"Don't move!" The genial voice was all at once icy and deadly. "If you've
been monkeying----"
Joe shivered. Lady, as though recognizing the threat in that voice, had
become stiff and taut. The boy's hand, feeling for her, met the bristling
hairs along her spine.
Dr. Stone stood up. "No threats, if you please," he said coolly.
Joe marveled that, blind, his uncle could face this unknown hazard with
unruffled calm. But then, of course, there was Lady. The dog was like a
tempered spring, wound.
The man called Rog flew into a rage. "None of your soft talk. What are
you doing at that car? By God, if----"
Lady gave an ominous, warning growl. The threat stopped as though a gag
had been rammed down the speaker's throat.
"It's the blind man, Rog," the sharp voice said; "the blind man and a
boy."
Lady continued to growl a deep warning. A form backed away quickly, and
the deadly chill went out of Rog's voice, and he was genial and mellow.
"A thousand apologies, sir. The business of jacking up a car and stealing
the tires has become so widespread----. You understand, sir?"
"Perfectly," Dr. Stone said blandly, and quieted the dog. The car backed
around and lurched through the ruts, but not until it was well on its way
were the lights turned on.
"What did they look like?" Dr. Stone asked.
"I couldn't see their faces," the boy answered; "it was too dark."
"What make of car?"
"I'm not sure."
"No matter." The doctor spoke to Lady and the dog, sure-footed, led them
through the night. Jerry Moore was closing the garage and Ike Boles, the
station agent, gave them a toothless grin.
"Hear about the telegram that came this afternoon, Doctor? Fellow named
John's glad to hear the fishing's good and aims to come up tomorrow on
the 8:11 from New York."
Memory jingled the wires in Joe's brain. Was this the same John Rog and
his companion were anxious to avoid?
"Somebody," Dr. Stone said mildly, "is evidently playing a little joke on
John. Who was the telegram for, Ike?"
"Fellow named Carl Metz. Can't find hide or hair of him hereabouts.
Telegram's lying undelivered at the station. Anybody hear tell of a Carl
Metz?"
The intent look that Joe knew so well had come to the corners of the
doctor's mouth. "Jerry, remember the man with the husky voice who
wouldn't let you lift the hood? He had a faint accent. What would you
call it?"
"German," Jerry said promptly.
And Carl Metz was a German name. A slow excitement twitched through Joe's
nerves, and he followed his blind uncle and the dog up the quiet street.
"Who's the man with the husky voice, Uncle David?"
"You've seen him."
"Where?"
"Hiding a shabby car in the cobbled road."
"But----" Heat throbbed in the boy's pulse. "But if he's the one who's
expecting John, what about Rog and the other fellow? Why are _they_
running away from this John?"
"I don't know--yet," the doctor said.
Until late that night he smoked his pipe and paced the porch; and Lady,
who read the signs of his unrest, gave the short whine of a worried dog
and watched him narrowly. In the morning, when he awoke, Joe had already
gone to school. Mrs. Morrow said: "Joe seemed frightfully excited about
something, David." Tight lines formed about the sightless eyes. Bringing
the lawn-mower from the side of the house, he began to cut the grass. The
lawn was a map in his mind--so many paces to every walk and shrub. He was
running the mower near the front gate when a droning throb of power
roared up the road and stopped with a squeal of brakes.
"Stranger," said a husky voice, "they tell me there's a bad,
little-traveled hill around here."
Seconds passed. "Why, yes," the doctor said slowly. "Three miles on
there's a fork to the right; it takes you to Kill Horse Hill."
"Pretty steep?"
"It's downright wicked."
"Any chance," the hoarse voice asked, "of running into other cars out
there?"
"None," the doctor assured him; and abruptly the car, rattling loosely,
was gone.
The blind man pushed the mower aside and walked thoughtfully to the
porch. At noon Joe arrived, breathless.
"Uncle David! I took a look into the cobbled road before school this
morning. That car was there again, hidden behind the cottonwoods."
"I think," Dr. Stone said, "I'll walk into town this afternoon."
Something dark and sinister was going on under cover, and it was time
somebody spoke to Police Captain Tucker and the bank. Lady, as though
sensing a need for speed, led him toward the village at a pace faster
than the pace of a man with sight. Suddenly heavy, rapid footfalls grew
loud and clear. Somebody was running with mad haste. Somebody----? The
doctor's ears, sharp as only a blind man's are sharp, picked a familiar
rhythm from the furious stride.
"Joe! Why aren't you at school?"
The boy panted. "Wanted--to tell you--the bank----" Breath failed him.
"Robbed?" Dr. Stone demanded sharply.
"The--express wagon. Had money--for the bank--that came in--on No. 5."
"The cobbled road?"
"Yes, sir." The boy's breath was easier. "In that hollow behind the
cottonwoods that you can't see from Main street. Captain Tucker was in
the wagon with the driver. When they got into the hollow there was a man
lying in a pool of blood. They jumped out, and it was only a stuffed
figure, and the blood was red paint. Somebody they couldn't see said to
put up their hands, and Captain Tucker started to spin around and a shot
knocked off his cap."
"And after that he kept his hands up?"
"Yes, sir. Next thing a bag was over his head and one over the driver's,
and they were tied up and chucked into the truck. By and by somebody
found them and the money was gone."
"Much?"
"Twenty-two thousand dollars. They're looking for that shabby car."
"I don't think they'll have to look far," Dr. Stone said grimly. "Lady,
forward." Again the rapid pace that ate up distance. "What time did the
hold-up happen, Joe?"
"Twenty of twelve."
"Twenty--You're positive of that?"
"That's what everybody says. No. 5 got in at half-past eleven. Gosh,
Uncle David, if we had told Captain Tucker last night about that car----"
"I don't think it would have made any difference," the doctor said
slowly. The blind eyes had puckered again with a queer expression of
baffled uncertainty. Opposite the garage he spoke to Lady, and the dog,
obedient, led him in toward the pumps.
"Jerry about?"
The mechanic answered. "No, Doctor; had to go up-country with the wrecker
to bring down a busted car. Hear about the hold-up?"
"Yes. Any talk about the getaway?"
"Nobody saw a car come up out of that road, Doctor. Tucker doesn't know.
He had a bag over his head, and the express engine was running, and,
lying on the floor, all he could hear was his own motor. Looks like
whoever planned it, planned it neat."
"About twenty-two thousand dollars?"
"Twenty-eight thousand. Everybody had it twenty-two thousand at first,
but it was twenty-eight thousand. Twenty thousand in paper money, and
eight thousand in silver."
"In silver?" The doctor stood very still and broke into an almost
soundless whistle. Joe's heart hammered against his ribs. He knew the
sign--his uncle's mind, back in its shroud of darkness, had touched
something tangible and significant. Quietly, after a long minute of
thought, the blind man walked into the office, groped about the desk for
the telephone, and called the railroad station.
"Ike, this is Dr. Stone. Did you find Carl Metz and deliver the
telegram?"
"I did not. I can't find a man of the name."
"Did this man John arrive?"
"If he did he's a ghost. I watched the train for a look at who it might
be was coming to Horseshoe for good fishing, and not a stranger got off."
"What time did his train get in?"
"Eleven-thirty."
Dr. Stone's voice snapped into the transmitter. "Is that the train that
leaves New York at 8:11?"
"The same," said Ike; "No. 5 on the train-sheet, and the money that was
stolen in the baggage car."
The receiver went back upon the hook. The blind man was on his feet.
"What time is it, Joe?"
"Half-past two."
"If we hurry----" The doctor was out the door, following Lady at an
amazingly fast pace. Joe had to half run.
"Where are we going, Uncle David?"
"To the toll-bridge."
Horseshoe Lake rippled with golden sun. Sid Malloy, the bridge-tender,
collected toll and Captain Tucker, grim and dour, with a ghastly black
hole in the top of his cap, inspected the inside of every car. He frowned
at sight of Dr. Stone, the boy and the dog.
"Doctor," he said bluntly, "this is no place for a blind man; and as for
a boy----"
"Go inside, Joe," the doctor said mildly. "Keep out of the way. If
trouble starts, duck low and hug the floor. Is your gun handy, Captain?"
"I always have my gun," Captain Tucker growled.
"Presently I may speak to one of the cars that stops to pay toll. Never
mind questions. Have your gun out and cover that car."
The captain had had a bad day and was nettled. "Wild west stuff?" he
asked.
"You wouldn't want the next bullet to go a little lower than your cap,
would you, Captain?"
Joe sucked in a gasping breath. If there was shooting, what chance would
a blind man stand? The question had a sobering effect, and the police
captain's voice shed some of its bad wire.
"You're waiting for a car, Doctor?"
"Yes."
"What kind of car?"
"I don't know."
"Can you describe whoever'll be in it?"
"No."
Temper flamed suddenly in the harassed man. "Look here, Doctor, if you
don't know what car it is, or what whoever's in it looks like, you'd
better leave this business for those----"
"Who can see?" Doctor Stone asked mildly. "Sometimes the blindest persons
have eyes."
A car stopped at the toll-house and, while Sid Malloy collected the toll,
Captain Tucker opened the doors and inspected the inside. A clock in a
village church tower struck three, and the midafternoon traffic thickened
and converged upon the bridge. Cars rolled upon the bridge approach, and
stopped, and rolled on again, and the sound was like the beat of some
large machine.
Forgotten by Captain Tucker, for there was much work to be done and the
police officer was busy probing into automobiles, Dr. Stone and Lady
stood just outside the toll-house door. The smoke of a seasoned pipe
drifted blue and fragrant with the breeze. Joe, trembling inside the
toll-house, could see his uncle's face. It was stamped with the calm,
bland, inscrutable patience of the blind.
Automobiles shuttled past, and there was a delay as each car was
scrutinized. A line formed, and horns began to honk impatiently. Joe,
twisting his head to see how far back the line extended, was frozen by
the cold crack of his uncle's voice.
"I'm ready for you, Tucker."
The boy wrenched himself around. The movement had changed his position;
the sun, slanting in through the doorway, was in his eyes. The blurred
outline of a car was in front of the house, and he was conscious of his
uncle moving toward the car. Fire burned in his throat, and the world
hung in a stark silence. And out of that silence came his uncle's voice.
"Rog," Dr. Stone drawled, "I'm afraid you're going to miss your breakfast
in Baltimore tomorrow."
There was an oath and a movement in the car. Joe, frozen, forgot to
crouch and hug the floor. When would the shooting start? And then another
form was beside his uncle, and the sun glinted menacingly on cold, blue
steel.
"Keep your hands up where I can see them," Captain Tucker ordered.
Joe, sick with relief, felt his knees begin to buckle and bend.
Two hours later he sat in a room in the red-bricked Town Hall with his
uncle and Captain Tucker. The captain, putting down a telephone, leaned
far back in his chair and gave a sigh.
"That was New York calling," he announced. "They've picked up John. He
worked for the New York bank that shipped the money. The bank here has
counted the shipment and it's all there down to the last nickel." His
eyes went slowly from the boy to the dog and to the blind man. "Doctor, I
don't know how you did it. We were all looking for that shabby car----"
"That car had me fooled for a while," Dr. Stone admitted. "Joe had me
convinced it was motored for a quick getaway. This morning the car
stopped at our place and the driver asked for directions. He wanted a bad
hill, and I sent him to Kill Horse. When Joe came along with news of the
hold-up, I started here to tell you where that car could be found; but
when I learned that the hold-up took place at twenty minutes of twelve
the shabby car was washed right out of the picture."
"Why?" Captain Tucker demanded.
"Because within a minute or two of 11:40 the driver of that car was
asking me for directions. He couldn't have been in two places at once."
"Why were you sure it was the shabby car?"
"A blind man's ears, Captain--the sound of the motor and the driver's
husky voice. And all at once I knew why he had surrounded himself with so
much mystery--afraid to have Jerry Moore look under the hood, hiding down
behind the cottonwoods when he did lift the hood, anxious to find a steep
hill little used by other cars. The man was, without question,
experimenting with a carburetor of his own design, and afraid somebody
would get a slant at it before he was ready to have it patented."
Captain Tucker pursed his lips and rocked in his chair. "I follow you
that far, Doctor, but how did you pick up Rog?"
"I didn't," Dr. Stone said mildly; "he dropped into my lap. Let's begin
at the beginning. I met Rog and his companion at Jerry's garage, and
Jerry had seen that storage-box under the car. It struck me as strange
that a fisherman should try to keep fish fresh by placing them under a
car and next to a red-hot exhaust pipe. Later, while Joe and I were on
the lake----"
"That was last night?" the captain interrupted.
"Yes. A boat passed us; I recognized the voices of Rog and his friend. I
learned that they knew there were few fish in the lake. Now, why had
these men come prepared to pack fish in ice if they knew there were no
fish? I found they planned to leave today--roll into line about three
o'clock, they said--and that they wanted to avoid somebody named John.
Coming ashore, Ike Boles told us of a telegram that had come from John.
Now, if this was their John, why should they tell him the fishing was
good if they knew it wasn't? On the other hand, the telegram was directed
to a Carl Metz, and nobody knew a Carl Metz. Who was Carl Metz? The
driver of the shabby car spoke with a German accent. Was he Carl Metz? If
so, why was he never seen fishing? The thing was rather complicated."
"I don't see yet how you figured it out," Captain Tucker complained.
"I didn't," Dr. Stone chuckled. "It burst upon me. After the elimination
of the shabby car, Rog lingered in my mind. I stopped at Jerry's garage;
talking to Jerry might bring forth some overlooked fact that might prove
illuminating. But Jerry was not there, and his mechanic dropped a
bomb-shell--there was eight thousand dollars in silver in the stolen
money. I began to wonder if there might be two Johns: the John who sent a
telegram from New York, and the John whom Rog mentioned, an entirely
different John----"
"You mean----" Captain Tucker broke in suddenly.
"Yes; John Law. The crook's name for the police. Why should they run from
the police? Was it this hold-up? Eight thousand dollars in silver is
something you cannot hide in your vest pocket or under your hat. They
wouldn't ride with it thrown into a car; a police drag-net would probably
be searching cars. That silver would have to be carried where it would
defy search. Where better than a storage-box hidden away under a car,
particularly if we remember two things: First, these men had said it was
an ice-box for fish. Second, they knew they weren't going to get any
fish. It held together except for one weak link."
"What was that?"
"Had they received word from New York that this money was coming? That
stuffed figure lying in the cobbled road meant just one thing--the
highwaymen not only knew that money was coming but they knew it was
coming on No. 5. In order to know that they must have received a message.
That telegram came into the puzzle again. I called Ike Boles. He had not
found Carl Metz; he had watched the train that should have brought John
and no stranger had got off. John had said he would leave New York on the
8:11. The 8:11 was No. 5."
Captain Tucker scratched a puzzled head. "But if nobody got that
message----"
"Captain, let's suppose they know whatever message was sent would be
filed in New York at a certain time. What better safeguard than to send
it to a name unknown here? What's to prevent the one to whom that message
is really intended loitering about the station and listening for it to
click into the office?"
"You're assuming they know telegraphy?"
"I wasn't assuming, captain; I knew. Last night, when I walked into
Jerry's while he was looking over that storage-box, fingers began to tap
a window. It was a message. It said: 'Too much attention; let's scram.' I
knew those men could read Morse."
Captain Tucker stood up. "Doctor, any time you'd like a job as a
detective----" He broke off short. "What made you so sure they wouldn't
make their getaway up-country?"
"I heard Rog say they'd roll into line. There's only one spot in this
village where a car has to roll into line. That's at the toll-bridge."
Out in the village street Dr. Stone filled his pipe and puffed
contentedly. Rog's car stood in the police driveway beside the Town Hall;
and the steel storage-box, wrenched loose by crowbar and hammer, lay upon
the ground.
"You took a chance, Uncle David," Joe said hoarsely. "If that car had
slipped past----"
"Rog threatened us on the lake path last night," the blind doctor said
mildly. "If I had released the harness-grip Lady would have torn him
down. I knew only two persons in town who had met the car, or Rog: Jerry,
and he was up-country. You; but it was dark last night and you wouldn't
have recognized the car. That put it up to Lady."
Joe blinked.
"If you owned a dog," Dr. Stone went on, "it would be your dog. I'm
blind. Lady knows it. Lady believes she owns me, and she never forgets.
To her Rog will always mean danger--to me."
"Oh!" Light broke upon the boy. "Then Lady----"
"Yes," said Dr. Stone. "I knew when Rog's car stopped at the toll-house.
Lady growled."