clear up this mystery. You surely don't think it is fair to your
friends, do you, 'Liphalet Loop? Purty nigh every man in town is bein'
suspicioned, an'--"
"That ain't any business o' mine," snapped Eliphalet, showing some ire.
"If they feel as though the thing ought to be cleared up jest fer
_their_ sakes, why don't they git together an' offer a reward? I don't
see why I ought to pay out money to 'stablish the innocence of all the
men in Tinkletown. Let them do it if they feel that way about it. I got
no objection to the taxpayers of Tinkletown oppropriatin' a sum out of
the town treasury to prove they're innocent. Why don't you take it up
with the selectmen, Anderson. I'm satisfied to leave my complaint as it
is. I've been thinkin' it over, an' I believe I'd ruther git my divorce
without knowin' who's the cause of it. The way it is now, I'm on
friendly terms with every man in town, an' I'd like to stay that way. It
would be mighty onpleasant to meet one of your friends on the street an'
not be able to speak to him. Long as I _don't_ know, why--"
"Wait a minute, Liff Loop," broke in Anderson sternly. "Don't say
anything more. All I got to say is that it wasn't _you_ your wife
insulted when she called you a skunk. Good mornin', sir."
He turned and strode away, leaving the amazed Mr. Loop standing with his
mouth open. Some time later that same afternoon Eliphalet succeeded in
solving the problem that had been tantalizing him all day. "By gum," he
bleated, addressing the high heavens, "what a blamed old fool he is!
Anybody with any sense at all knows that you _can't_ insult a skunk."
* * * * *
Briefly, Mr. Loop's fifth matrimonial experience had been, in the
strictest sense, a venture. After four discouraging failures in the
effort to obtain a durable wife from among the young women of Tinkletown
and vicinity, he had resolved to go farther afield for his fifth. So he
advertised through a New York matrimonial bureau for the sort of wife he
might reasonably depend upon to survive the rigours of climate, industry
and thrift. He made it quite plain that the lucky applicant would have
to be a robust creature, white, sound of lung and limb, not more than
thirty, and experienced in domestic economy. Nationality no object. Mr.
Loop's idea of the meaning of domestic economy was intensely literal.
Also she would have to pay her own railroad fare to Boggs City, no
matter whence she came, the same to be refunded in case she proved
acceptable. He described himself as a widower of means, young in spirit
though somewhat past middle age, of attractive personality and an
experienced husband.
The present Mrs. Loop was the result of this spirit of enterprise on his
part. She came from Hoboken, New Jersey, and her name was Anna Petersen
before it was altered to Loop. She more than fulfilled the requirements.
As Mr. Loop himself proclaimed, there wasn't "a robuster woman in
Bramble County;" she was exceedingly sound of lung, and equally sound of
limb. What pleased him more than anything else, she was a Swede. He had
always heard that the Swedish women were the most frugal, the most
industrious, and a shade more amenable to male authority than any
others.
Anna was a towering, rather overdeveloped female. She revealed such
astonishing propensities for work that she had been a bride but little
more than a week when Eliphalet decided that he could dispense with the
services of a hired man. A little later he discovered, much to his
surprise, that there really wasn't quite enough work about the house to
keep her occupied all the time, and so he allowed her to take over some
of the chores he had been in the habit of performing, such as feeding
the horses and pigs, and ultimately to chop and carry in the firewood,
wash the buckboard, milk the cows, and--in spare moments--to weed the
garden. He began to regard himself as the most fortunate man alive. Anna
appeared to thrive where her predecessors had withered and wasted away.
True, she ate considerably more than any of them, but he was willing to
put up with that, provided she didn't go so far to eat as much as _all_
of them. There were times, however, when he experienced a great deal of
uneasiness on that score.
The fly avoided his ointment for something like three months. Then it
came and settled and bade fair to remain and thrive upon the fat of his
land. Anna's mother came to live with them. He now realized that he had
been extremely shortsighted. He should have stipulated in his
advertisement that none except motherless young women need apply.
Mrs. Petersen was his fifth mother-in-law, and he dolefully found
himself contending with the paraphrase: like mother, like daughter. His
latest mother-in-law proved to be a voracious as well as a vociferous
eater. She fell little short of Anna in physical proportions, but his
wife assured him that it would be no time at all before she'd have her
as plump as a partridge! Mr. Loop undertook the experiment of a joke. He
asked her if _partridge_ was the Swede word for _hippopotamus_. After
that he kept his jokes to himself.
A year and a half went by. Then Miss Gertie Petersen came up from
Hoboken for a flying visit. She was a very tall and lean young woman.
Mr. Loop shuddered. The process of developing her into a partridge was
something horrible to contemplate. But Anna was not dismayed. She
insisted that the country air would do her sister a world of good. Mr.
Loop was a pained witness to the filling out of Gertrude, but something
told him that it wasn't the country air that was doing it. She weighed
in the neighbourhood of one hundred and fifty pounds when she flew in
for the visit. At the end of six months she strained the scales at two
hundred and twenty. There was a good deal of horse-sense in his
contention that if all this additional weight was country air, she'd
have to be pretty securely anchored or she'd float away like a balloon.
But he did not openly complain. He had acquired the wisdom of the
vanquished. He was surrounded by conquerors. Moreover, at
butchering-time, he had seen his wife pick up a squealing shoat with one
hand and slit its throat with the other in such a skilful and efficient
manner that gooseflesh crept out all over his body when he thought of
it.
[Illustration: _He was surrounded by conquerors_]
And during those long, solitary nights in the barn he thought of it so
constantly that everything else, including the encroachment of the
home-wrecker, slipped his mind completely. He never ceased wondering how
he screwed up the courage to institute proceedings against Anna,
notwithstanding the fact that the matter had been vicariously attended
to by his lawyer and a deputy from the county sheriff's office.
* * * * *
Marshal Crow fell into a state of profound cogitation after leaving Mr.
Loop. The old man had put a new idea into his head. Late in the
afternoon he decided to call a meeting of citizens at the town hall for
that night. He drafted the assistance of such able idlers as Alf
Reesling, Newt Spratt, Rush Applegate, Henry Plumb and Situate M. Jones,
and ordered them to impress upon all male citizens of Tinkletown between
the ages of twenty-one and seventy-five the importance of attending this
meeting. Ebenezer January, the barber, and George Washington Smith, the
garbage-wagon driver, were the only two men in town whose presence was
not considered necessary. They, with their somewhat extensive families,
represented the total coloured population of Tinkletown.
When the impromptu gathering was called to order that night by Ezra
Pounder, the town clerk (acting in an unofficial capacity), there were
nearly two hundred and fifty men present, including Messrs. January and
Smith. Uncle Dad Simms, aged eighty-four, was present, occupying a front
seat. He confessed for the first time in his life that he was a little
"hard o' hearin'." This was a most gratifying triumph for his
fellow-citizens, who for a matter of twenty years had almost yelled
their lungs out advising him to get an ear-trumpet, only to have him
say: "What in thunder are you whisperin' about?"
The three clergymen of the town put in an appearance, and Elmer K.
Pratt, the photographer, brought his seven-months-old baby, explaining
that it was _his_ night to take care of her. He assured the gentlemen
present that they were at liberty to speak as freely and as loudly as
they pleased, so far as his daughter was concerned; if she got awake and
started to "yap," he'd spank the daylights out of her, and if that
didn't shut her up he'd take her home.
Anderson Crow, wearing all his decorations, occupied a chair between Mr.
Pounder and Harry Squires, the _Banner_ reporter. By actual count there
were seven badges ranging across his chest. Prominent among them were
the familiar emblems of the two detective associations to which he paid
annual dues. Besides these, one could have made out the star of the town
marshal, the shield of the fire chief, badges of the Grand Army of the
Republic, Sons of Veterans, Sons of the Revolution, and the Tinkletown
Battlefield Association.
Harry Squires, at the request of Mr. Crow, arose and stated the object
of the meeting.
"Gentlemen," he began, "the time has come for action. We have been
patient long enough. A small committee of citizens got together today,
and acting upon the suggestion of our distinguished Marshal, decided to
make a determined effort to restore peace and confidence into the home
of practically every gentleman in this community. It is a moral
certainty that all of us can't be the individual in Mr. Loop's woodpile,
but it is also more or less an immoral certainty that Mrs. Loop
obstinately refuses to vindicate an overwhelming majority of the
citizens of this town.
"The situation is intolerable. We are in a painful state of perplexity.
One of us, gentlemen, appears to be a _Lothario_. The question naturally
arises: which one of us is it? Nobody answers. As a matter of fact, up
to date, nobody has actually _denied_ the charge. Can it be a matter of
false pride with us? Ahem! However, not only does Mrs. Loop decline to
lift the shadow of doubt, but Mr. Loop has assumed a most determined and
uncharitable attitude toward his friends and neighbours. He positively
refuses to come to our rescue. We have put up with Mr. Loop for a great
many years, gentlemen, and what do we get for our pains? Nothing,
gentlemen, nothing except Mr. Loop's cheerful wink when he passes us on
the street. Our esteemed Marshal today proposed to Mr. Loop that he
offer a suitable reward for the apprehension of the man in the case. He
gave him the opportunity to do something for his friends and
acquaintances. What does Mr. Loop say to the proposition? He was more
than magnanimous. He as much as said that he couldn't bear the idea that
any one of his numerous friends was innocent.
"Now, while Mr. Loop may feel that he is being extremely generous, we
must feel otherwise. Gentlemen, we have arrived at the point where we
must take our reputations out of Eliphalet Loop's hands. We cannot
afford to let him trifle with them any longer. Mr. Loop refuses to
employ a detective. Therefore it is up to us to secure the services of
a competent, experienced sleuth who can and will establish our
innocence. It will cost us a little money, possibly fifty cents apiece;
but what is that compared to a fair name? I am confident that there
isn't a man here who wouldn't give as much as ten dollars, even if he
had to steal it, in order to protect his honour. Now, gentlemen, you
know what we are here for. The meeting is open for suggestions and
discussion."
He sat down, but almost instantly arose, his gaze fixed on an object in
the rear of the hall.
"I see that Mr. Loop has just come in. Perhaps he has some news for us.
Have you anything to say, Mr. Loop?"
Mr. Loop got up and cleared his throat.
"Nothin'," said he "except that I'm as willin' as anybody to subscribe
fifty cents."
Harry Squires suddenly put his hand over his mouth and turned to Marshal
Crow. The Marshal arose.
"This ain't no affair of yours, Liff Loop. Nobody invited you to be
present. You go on home, now. Go on! You've contributed all that's
necessary to this here meetin'. Next thing we know, you'll be
contributin' your mother-in-law too. Get out, I say. Open the door,
Jake, an' head him that way. Easy, now! I didn't say to _stand_ him on
his head. He might accidently squash that new fewdory hat he's wearin'."
After Mr. Loop's unceremonious departure, the Marshal resumed his seat
and fell to twisting his sparse whiskers.
"What is your opinion, Mr. Crow," inquired Harry Squires, "as to the
amount we would have to pay a good detective to tackle the job?"
Mr. Crow ran a calculating eye over the crowd. He did not at once reply.
Finally he spoke.
"Between a hundred and five an' a hundred an' seven dollars," he said.
"It might run as high as hundred and ten," he added, as two or three
belated citizens entered the hall.
"Can we get a goot man for dot amoundt?" inquired Henry Wimpelmeyer, the
tanyard man.
"Well, we can get one that c'n tell whether it's daylight or dark
without lightin' a lantern to find out," said Mr. Crow in a slightly
bellicose tone.
"I ain't so sure aboudt dot," said Henry, eying the Marshal skeptically.
He had had it in for Marshal Crow ever since that official compelled him
to hang an American flag in front of his tanyard.
Luckily Uncle Dad Simms, who had not heard a word of the foregoing
remarks, piped up.
"This ain't no time to be thinkin' of unnecessary improvements, what
with peace not signed yet, an' labor an' material so high. I don't see
that there's any call for a new roof, anyway. S'posin' it does leak a
little once in a while. We've all got umbrellas, I guess, an'--"
"Wake up, wake up!" bawled Alf Reesling, close to the old man's ear. "We
ain't talkin' about a roof. Loop! That's what we're talkin' about!"
"What say?" squealed Uncle Dad, putting his hand to his ear. "My hearin'
is a little bad lately."
"I said you was the derndest old nuisance in town; that's what I
said--an' I don't care whether you hear me or not," roared Alf in
exasperation.
"That's better," said Uncle Dad, nodding his head approvingly. "But I
wish you wouldn't chaw tobacker, Alf," he added rather plaintively.
"Order!" commanded Marshal Crow, pounding on the table with his cane.
"Now, feller-citizens, let us git down to business. Most of us have got
to be home before nine o'clock, or the dickens will be to pay. All those
in favour of employin' a detective to unearth this dark mystery raise
their right hands."
"Just a moment, please," called out the Reverend Mr. Maltby, of the
Congregationalist church. "I presume I am safe in saying that Father
Maloney, the Reverend Mr. Downs and myself are hardly to be regarded as
interested parties--"
He was interrupted by Father Maloney, who sprang to his feet and shouted
in his most jovial voice:
"Nonsense, my dear Maltby! I consider it a great honour to be considered
in the list of suspects. Nothing could give me more pleasure than the
feeling that my parishioners trusted me sufficiently to take me to their
hearts and say: 'He is one of us.' I should consider myself very badly
treated if they were to leave me out of the case. Come--join me. Let us
get all we can out of a most delicate situation. What do you say, friend
Downs?"
The Methodist minister, an elderly person, looked a trifle dashed for a
moment or two, and then heartily declared himself as with Father
Maloney. Whereupon Mr. Maltby said he guessed it would be all right,
provided Mr. Squires promised not to publish the names.
Harry Squires promptly announced that he intended to save labour and
space by stating briefly and concisely that if any of his feminine
readers cared to have a list of "those present," she could get it very
easily and alphabetically by consulting the telephone-book.
The outcome of the meeting may be recorded in a very few words, although
a great many were required in its achievement. Virtually everybody,
including the coloured gentry, had something to say on the subject, and
most of them said it without reservations. After Mr. Squires had
announced that any man who voted in the negative would automatically
convict himself, there wasn't a man present who failed to subscribe
fifty cents toward the civic honour fund. It was found, on computation,
that the total amount was one hundred nine dollars and fifty cents.
Marshal Crow at once increased his contribution to one dollar, declaring
it would be mortifying to offer a reward of less than one hundred and
ten dollars to any decent, self-respecting detective.
Messrs. January and Smith insisted on their rights as citizens to join
in the movement. Mr. January took the floor and vociferously harangued
the assemblage at some length on certain provisions of the Proclamation
of Emancipation, and Mr. Smith said that "this wasn't no time to draw
the colour-line."
Mr. Crow consented to undertake the baffling case, and it was "so
ordered."
"Have you got a clue?" whispered Alf Reesling as he started homeward in
the wake of the preoccupied sleuth.
"No, but I will have 'fore mornin'," replied Anderson.
And he never uttered truer words in all his life.
* * * * *
Being a man of action, Mr. Crow began operations at once. He went home
and for nearly an hour worked over the list of subscribers to the fund,
aided by his wife and daughters. Among them they separated the wheat
from the chaff. At least twenty per cent. of the contributors were set
aside in a separate group and labelled "no good." Ten per cent. were
designated as "fairly good," and the remainder as "good." It must not be
assumed that the division had anything to do with the Loop mystery. Mr.
Crow was merely figuring out who would pay and who would not.
It was shortly after ten o'clock when he started, in a roundabout way,
for the home of Eliphalet Loop. The more direct route would have been
down the street from his own house to the Boggs City pike, first turn to
the left, fifty paces straight ahead, and he would have found himself at
Eliphalet's front gate--in all, a matter of half a mile. But he
preferred to descend upon the premises from an unexpected angle. So he
approached by a far, circuitous way and arrived at the gate after
traversing something like three miles of wood and pasture-land,
stealthily following the stake-and-rider fences in order to screen his
movements. He was well aware that Mr. Loop did not own a dog, on account
of the expense.
The house was dark. Mr. Crow leaned against the hitching-post and mopped
his brow. Then he blew his nose. It was his custom when he blew his
nose, to blow it with tremendous force. Having performed these highly
interesting feats he restored his handkerchief to his hip pocket. He
remembered quite clearly doing all these things. Afterwards he claimed
that he blew his nose as a signal. In any case, it _proved_ to be a
signal. A thinly pleated light appeared in one of the front windows of
the house, narrow little streaks one above the other, shining through
the window-slats.
The Marshal of Tinkletown stared. He craned his neck. A chill of
excitement swept over him. Was he about to witness the surreptitious
departure of the unwelcome guest? Had he arrived in the nick of time?
And what in the world was he to do if the fellow had a revolver?
Fascinated, he watched one of the blinds slowly swing outward. He held
his breath.
Suddenly it dawned on him that the visitor was still _expected_, and not
on the point of departing. In that case it behooved him to retire to a
less exposed spot, where he could observe the fellow without being
observed.
Stooping low, he stole across the road and wound his way through the
scraggly hedgerow and into the brambles beyond. Just as he was settling
himself down for his vigil, a most astonishing thing occurred.
A hand fell heavily upon his shoulder, and something cold punched him in
the back of the neck--and remained fixed in that spot.
"Don't move or I'll blow your brains out," whispered a voice in his ear.
The grip on his shoulder tightened.
"Who--who--" he started to gasp.
"Shut up!" hissed the voice of the invisible one. "I've got you dead to
rights. Get up! Put your hands up!"
"I--I got 'em up," gulped Mr. Crow, in a strangled voice. "Don't shoot,
Mister! I--I promise to let you go, I swear I will. It's--"
"By thunder!" fell from the lips of the captor. It was an exclamation of
surprise, even dismay.
"Take it away, if it's a revolver," pleaded Anderson. "I withdraw from
the case. You c'n go as fer as you like. Eliphalet--"
"Stand still. I can't take a chance with you. You may be trying to fool
me with this rube talk. Keep 'em up!"
Swiftly the stranger ran a hand over Mr. Crow's person.
"You _ought_ to have a gun," he said in a puzzled voice.
"I loaned it last winter to Milt Cupples, an' he--"
"Who the devil are you?"
"I'm the marshal of Tinkletown, an' my name is Crow--A. Crow. I made a
mistake, takin' up this case. Go on in and see Mrs. Loop if you feel
like it. I won't say a word to anybody--"
"Get down on your knees, Mr. Crow, here beside me, an'--"
"Oh, Lordy, Lordy! You shorely ain't going to shoot, Mister!"
"I don't want you to pray. I want you to keep still. Don't make a
sound--do you hear?"
"I've got a wife an' children--"
"Shut up! Look! She's put out the light. Keep your eyes skinned, old
man! He must be near. Don't make a sound. My partner's in that
rain-barrel at the corner of the house. If we can get him between us, he
won't have any more chance than a snowball in--Look! There he is,
sneaking across the yard! By golly, we've got him at last."
What happened in the next fifteen seconds was a revelation to the most
recent addition to the forces of the International Society of Sleuths.
He witnessed the quick, businesslike methods of two of the craftiest men
in the craftiest organization in the world--the United States Secret
Service.
Two words were spoken. They came, loud and imperative, from a point near
the house.
"Hands up!"
The skulking figure in the yard stopped short, but only for a fraction
of a second. Then he made a wild spring toward the front gate.
A shot rang out.
The man at Anderson's side leaped forward through the hedge. Mr. Crow
was dimly conscious of a mishap to his erstwhile captor. He heard him
curse as he went sprawling over a treacherous vine.
Mr. Crow did not waste a second's time. He leaped to his feet and
started pellmell for home. With rare sagacity he avoided the highway and
laid his course well inside the hedgerow. He knew where he could strike
an open stretch of meadowland, and he headed for it through the
brambles.
He heard shouts behind him, and the rush of feet. If he could only get
clear of the cussed bushes! That was his thought as he plunged along.
Down he went with a crash!
* * * * *
As the marshal tried to rise, a huge object ploughed through the hedge
beside him, and the next instant he was knocked flat and breathless by
the impact of this hurtling body.
The next instant two swift, ruthless figures came plunging through the
hedge, and he found himself embroiled in a seething mix-up of panting,
struggling men.
Presently Crow sat up. The steady glare of a "dark-lantern" revealed a
picture he was never to forget.
A single figure in a kneeling position, hands on high, was crying:
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"
Over him stood two men with pistols levelled at the white, terrified
face.
[Illustration: _Over him stood two men with pistols levelled at the
white, terrified face_]
Anderson, to his dying day, was to remember those bulging eyes, the
flabby and unshaven face, the mouth that appeared to be grinning--but
never had he seen such an unnatural grin!
"Stand up!" commanded one of the men, and the victim struggled to his
feet. In less time than it takes to tell it, the fellow was searched and
hand-cuffed. "Run back there, Pyke, and see that the woman don't take a
crack at us with a shotgun. She'd do it in a minute." As his companion
darted back into the roadway, the speaker turned to his captive.
"Where's your gun?"
By this time Anderson Crow was on his feet. He was clutching something
in his hand. He looked at it in stark astonishment. It was an automatic
pistol. In raising himself from the ground his hand had fallen upon it.