A SINISTER DISCOVERY
Promptly at seven o’clock Dave Wilbur’s car slowed down in front of the
Blake house and Ned hopped nimbly into the seat beside the driver.
“It’s going to be a black night,” remarked Dave, as the car regained
speed. “Look at those clouds piling up. Here’s hoping it doesn’t rain on
us,” and he pointed to a low-lying bank that had appeared in the western
sky.
“There’s a lot of wind in those clouds, judging by their ragged edges,”
replied Ned, “but as for being a black night, all we want is light
enough to find the entrance to the old road and locate the shack and the
pile of slabs. I think our best plan will be to hide among the slabs,
where we can watch both ways.”
Five miles out from town, Dave swung into an opening among the trees
that lined the highway and forced the car far into the brush to screen
it from the observation of any passer-by. “My guess is that we’re less
than a mile from the entrance,” said Dave. “Can you find it?”
“Yes, I think so, although it’s getting dark fast,” was the reply. “We’d
better stop short of the place and sneak into the brush. Somebody may be
watching the entrance even at this early hour.”
Ten minutes’ brisk walk brought the boys to a point opposite a forked
birch tree, that showed dimly white in the gathering gloom. Ned pressed
his companion’s arm for silence. “The entrance is less than fifty yards
beyond that tree,” he whispered. “Let’s circle around and hit the old
road farther in.”
As noiselessly as two Indian scouts, the boys crept into the brush, and
on hands and knees threaded the thickets until an opening in the foliage
above their heads warned them that the wood-road lay close before them.
In a moment Ned had dragged himself through the fringe of bushes and was
peering to right and left along the shadowy track. For several minutes
he lay motionless; then rose slowly to his feet.
“There’s no sign of anybody,” he said in a low tone. “Let’s work along
to the slab pile.”
Without a word, Dave followed, and in a few moments they had crept into
the shadow of the big pile which reared its irregular shape against the
faint light of the sky, now rapidly fading into the darkness of night. A
few rods to their left the outline of the shanty loomed dim for a time,
but soon it had been swallowed in the velvety blackness.
“It’s darker than the inside of a cow!” growled Dave. “I can’t see
half-way to the end of my nose!”
“Never mind about your _nose_,” chuckled Ned. “We’ll have to depend
entirely upon our _ears_—unless somebody shows a light.”
For almost two hours the boys maintained their vigil, speaking but
rarely and then in very low tones. Above their heads a rising wind was
moaning through the tree-tops in an ever-increasing blast, which at
times rattled the upper portions of the loosely-piled slabs.
“It’s raining,” grumbled Dave as a drop of water splashed on his cheek.
“Confound the luck! ‘It never rains but it pours!’”
Moving with extreme caution, and not daring to use the small flashlight
which he carried in his pocket, Ned felt about in the darkness till he
had located several loose slabs. These he stood up against the pile in
the form of a rough lean-to, which kept off some of the rain that soon
began falling in a steady drizzle. Beneath this partial shelter the boys
crouched, each devoutly wishing the other would suggest a postponement
of the job, but neither willing to be the first to cry quits. Another
hour dragged by, and then Ned suddenly shifted his position and laid a
warning hand on Dave’s arm.
“What is it?” whispered Wilbur. “Did you hear something?”
“Footsteps!” breathed Ned. “Put your ear to the ground and listen.”
Dave did so and in a moment there came to his straining senses the jar
of a cautious tread. A twig snapped in the darkness, followed almost
immediately by a harsh scraping sound accompanied by a faint squeak.
“Somebody has pushed open the door of that shanty,” he chuckled softly,
“I remember the sound of that scrape and the squeak of the rusty hinges.
It’s lucky we didn’t pick that for a hiding-place!”
“Sh!” warned Ned. “Look!” and he pointed toward the shack from the
single window of which a gleam of light had suddenly appeared. The light
was quickly extinguished, however, only to be followed a moment later by
a faint glow higher up.
“What do you make of that?” queried Dave, as he strove to pierce the
thick murk.
“Somebody has lighted a fire in the stove. That’s the reflection above
the stove pipe,” replied Ned. “He’s covered the window with something to
shut off the light.”
For a time the boys watched the glow as it wavered above the pipe and
then Dave sniffed the air eagerly. “Coffee!” he growled. “My nose is of
some use after all. Mister Somebody is having supper. That means more
crumbs for those black ants tomorrow.”
“Yes, and I’m afraid it means a long wait for us,” grumbled Ned. “If
that fellow has time for a feed, he probably doesn’t expect anything to
happen right away.”
“I can’t say I care a whole lot for this,” complained Dave after a long
silence. “It’s raining harder than ever and the wind is driving it
through these slabs. There’s a small cataract running down the back of
my neck!”
“Same here,” replied Ned. “That fellow in the shanty has got all the
best of us right now; suppose we sneak over there and try to get a sight
of him through a crack.”
For once, action of almost any kind was welcomed by Weary Wilbur, and
rising to their feet, the boys began to pick their way cautiously in the
direction of the shack. Half the distance had been covered when high
above the dull roar of the wind and the steady drumming of the rain
there sounded the shrill wavering cry of a screech-owl. It came from a
point near the entrance of the old wood-road and was followed at once by
the scrape and squeak of the shanty door.
“Down!” gasped Ned, and both boys flung themselves flat upon the wet
ground.
They were not an instant too soon, for a scant ten feet to their right a
flashlight beam cut the blackness, blinked rapidly in a succession of
flashes, and winked out. At once there followed the jar of a cautious
tread as the holder of the electric torch moved slowly away along the
grassy roadway.
“Now’s our chance!” breathed Ned, and the boys slid back to crouch among
the weeds at the rear of the shanty. Through the brush they could peer
down the road toward its entrance, from which direction faint sounds
came to their straining ears; but except for an occasional brief flash
of an electric bulb they could see nothing.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” grumbled Dave. “We can’t see a thing
that’s going on!”
“Something is coming into the road. It’ll show up in a minute. Have
patience,” urged Ned.
Five minutes passed and then came the soft crunch of wheels on wet grass
and a black bulk barely discernible to the eyes of the watchers halted
before the door of the cabin, less than ten feet from where they lay.
“What time is it?” growled a heavy voice.
The holder of the electric torch snapped it on and consulted a
timepiece. “It’s ten minutes to midnight,” was his gruff reply.
“Cut out the glim!” came the quick growl of command and the light
clicked out, but not before its thin beam had disclosed a small
auto-truck with canvas top and curtained sides upon which the light
glistened wetly.
“Is everything all jake ahead?” asked a third rasping voice from the
front seat of the truck. “Curse this weather!” it continued, without
waiting for a reply to the question.
For several minutes there followed a conversation carried on in a
guttural undertone. The name “Irma” reached Ned Blake’s ears, also
several disjointed phrases of which he could make nothing, except that
they seemed to voice dissatisfaction with something or somebody. Once he
caught the words “monkey business” followed by an expression of disgust.
At length the owner of the growling voice was heard to climb aboard the
truck.
“Look for us in a couple of hours,” was his parting word to the man who
was already returning to his former place in the shanty, and then the
vehicle moved away in the direction of Coleson’s.
Waiting until the scrape of the shanty door and the squeak of its hinges
had assured them that its occupant was inside, the boys circled the
building, seeking a crack through which they might catch a glimpse of
him. The effort proved fruitless, for obedient to orders, he had cut off
the light, and save for the faint glimmer above the smoke-pipe not a ray
could be seen. Convinced at last that nothing was to be gained in this
manner, the boys crept back to the doubtful shelter of the slab pile.
“That truck has gone out to Coleson’s and won’t be back for two hours,”
chattered Dave, whose lanky frame was beginning to feel the ill effects
of his thorough wetting. “I’d like to know what’s up,” he continued,
“but I’ll say it’s a mighty damp way of finding out!”
“I wish we could have heard what those fellows were talking about,”
remarked Ned, regretfully.
“All I could get was the name ‘Irma,’” grumbled Dave. “I suppose that
means there’s a woman mixed up in this business—whatever it is.”
“I wonder,” mused Ned. “Maybe now—” he broke off suddenly.
“You wonder what!” grunted Dave unsympathetically. “‘Irma’ is a woman’s
name, isn’t it?”
“I’ve got it!” exclaimed Ned eagerly. “‘Irma’ isn’t the name of a
woman—not in this case anyhow—it’s the name of a _boat_! I saw her up at
Cleveland last month. She’s an old steam-tug, and I’ll bet she’s the
craft Dick and I saw come in close to Coleson’s beach last night!”
For a while the two discussed this possibility, but without arriving at
any definite conclusion. Meanwhile, the wind had increased in force and
the chilling rain was driving almost unchecked through the flimsy slab
shelter. Grimly the boys stuck to their watching, and at last the gleam
of a headlight brought them to their feet with a warming thrill of
excitement.
“They’ve had to use their headlights to find the road!” croaked Dave in
a voice gone suddenly hoarse.
“Only the dimmers,” replied Ned. “They won’t show any more light than
necessary. Look!” he continued. “That fellow in the shack is on the
job!” and Ned pointed to the flash of the torch which signaled the
approaching truck.
“They’ll pass close to us! We’d better get farther back!” whispered Ned,
and creeping from the lean-to, he slipped around behind the slab pile
closely followed by Dave.
Pushing its bulk through the bush-lined roadway, the truck had arrived
at a point opposite to where the boys crouched, when a sudden violent
gust of wind lifted the slabs of which the lean-to had been constructed
and flung them with a crash into the road directly in front of the
oncoming vehicle. With a squeal of brakes the truck skidded to a stop
and as its lights flashed into full power two men sprang to the ground
and rushed forward, intent upon discovering what had happened. As the
two came to a halt before the tumbled slabs, the glare of the headlights
shone full upon them.
For an instant Ned Blake found himself staring at the two figures; one,
muffled in a raincoat and with a cap pulled low above a swarthy face;
the other, a tall man whose face glowed redly in the white gleam of the
auto lamp. It was but a glimpse and then, on the moment, came the jar of
running feet from the direction of the shanty, and a flashlight cut the
blackness.
“Quick!” gasped Ned, backing into the bushes and dragging Dave after
him. “Make for the flivver!” and stooping low, he started toward the
highway.
“Whew! That was a close call!” wheezed Dave, when they pulled up at the
edge of the state road. “Do you think they saw us?”
“I don’t believe so,” replied Ned. “The light was on them and the wind
made a lot of noise to cover our movements. My guess is that after they
have looked things over a bit without finding anything suspicious,
they’ll come along with that truck.”
“And by that time we’ll be hitting the high spots for home!” ejaculated
Dave. “The inside of that tin lizzie is sure going to look good to me!”
“Not so fast,” urged Ned as his companion started for the thicket where
the flivver was hidden. “I’m for lying close here for a while longer.
I’d like to see how that truck gets into the highway.”
“It’s so black we can’t see _anything_!” grumbled Dave, who nevertheless
made no further objection but followed Ned, as the latter, after
hazarding a single brief gleam from his flashlight, succeeded in
locating the entrance to the old road and crept silently beneath the
tangle of vines close to the trunk of the great oak. Hardly were they
settled in this new hiding-place when the pale gleam of dimmed lights
came into view.
“Here she comes!” rasped Dave in his froggy whisper. “She’s feeling her
way and taking no chances of hitting a tree. My guess is that she’s
about where the tire-tracks leave off. Now we’ll soon see if she takes
to the air—or _what_ she does!”
Even as he spoke, the vehicle, which had been slowly but steadily
approaching, came to a halt and her lights winked out. Sounds of
cautious movement came through the darkness and at irregular intervals a
flashlight spat fitfully, revealing shadowy forms which seemed bent to a
crouching position as they crept forward. The faint throb of the motor
told that the truck was again in motion but, to the deep chagrin of the
watchers, no ray of light showed. The threshing of foliage indicated
that the curtain of vines was being pulled aside. Then came another halt
followed by a muttered order and the jolting of a heavy vehicle as it
forced its way past the obstruction and gained the highway beyond. Quiet
for several minutes, broken only by the same cautious movements as
before and the sound of some heavy object apparently dragged along the
ground. Soon the scrape of a boot told that somebody was boarding the
truck; its lights flashed full, and with a quick-grinding of gears it
was off, heading along the road toward Cleveland.
As the sound of the motor died in the distance, Ned burst from his
covert beside the big oak, and jerking the flashlight from his pocket,
played its white rays to-and-fro along the narrow way. Except for
flattened blades of grass, which in a few hours would recover their
former position, there was nothing to suggest that a vehicle had passed
but a few moments before. On the hard soil between the curtain of vines
and the edge of the macadam road no single mark of rubber tires was
visible.
“Well, by jiminy! This beats me!” exclaimed Dave. “How? And also why?
That’s what I’m asking the water-soaked world!”
“That’s what Dick and I wanted to know—also Red and Fatty,” answered
Ned. “_How_ and _why_. We didn’t get any satisfactory answer and neither
will you and I by standing here. Let’s go home.”
Without a word, Dave led the way to his car and backing it out of the
thicket headed back for town. “Not much to show for a night’s hard
work—not to mention being half drowned in the bargain,” he croaked, as
he let Ned out of the car at the Blake cottage.
“Not much, that’s a fact,” agreed Ned. “See you tomorrow.” But as he
crept quietly up to his room and struggled out of his wet clothing, Ned
Blake found himself faced with the problem of just how much he had best
reveal to his companions regarding what he had discovered in that brief
instant when the headlight of the truck had shone upon the faces of the
two men.
Like a flashlight picture had come the remembrance of a short, thick-set
figure muffled in a great fur coat, and of a tall, red-faced man called
“Miller.” Yes, one of the men had been the mysterious passenger on the
_Frost King_, but this time recollection had gone farther back to a day
when, instead of a glistening wet raincoat, the man had been enveloped
to the chin in the streaming rubber suit of a diver. There was no room
for doubt. The man was Latrobe. And with this discovery there had come
to Ned Blake the realization that behind the mysterious happenings out
at the Coleson house there was something sinister; something fraught
with real danger to whosoever might stand in its way. _Ghosts!_ Latrobe
was more to be feared than a whole houseful of ghosts! With the possible
exception of Wat Sanford, none of the fellows took any stock in ghosts,
but every one of them knew Latrobe by reputation. How would they react
to the knowledge that they were dealing with this man? As for Ned
himself, he was ready to pit his nerve and wit against anybody in
defense of what he knew to be his right. Would the others support him
against such an enemy as Latrobe? Should he risk the abandonment of
their project out at Coleson’s by telling them what he had discovered?
Morning dawned while Ned still wrestled with his problem.
“I’ll wait awhile anyhow,” he muttered, as he at last dropped into an
unquiet sleep.