WHAT HORSEHAIR HAD TO TELL
“Then you think the fellow purchased the cigarettes for Jasniff?”
questioned Roger, after our hero had made the declaration concerning the
Wadsworth robbery.
“Either that, Roger; or else the fellow purchased the cigarettes for
himself.”
“Do you mean to insinuate that that chauffeur was Nick Jasniff?”
exclaimed the senator’s son.
“Why not, Roger? It would be an easy matter for Jasniff to disguise
himself. In fact, if he was in any such game as this, I think that is
just what he would do. He could easily stain his skin with some walnut
juice, or something like that, gotten from the gypsies, and then put on
a wig and a false mustache.”
“I believe that’s just what he did!” exclaimed Roger. “I know one
thing—he was a good hand at running automobiles. I have seen him do it.”
“The whole thing fits in pretty closely,” went on Dave. “First, Jasniff
was angry at Mr. Wadsworth and the rest of us for placing him in prison.
Next, he stole those letters and my money. The letters told him all
about the gypsies and their troubles with our folks. He put two and two
together, came on East, and fixed up the plan to kidnap the girls.”
“But how did they get the girls to leave the train at Crandall and then
go from the hotel to where the automobile stood along the road?”
“That is something still to be explained. But that can wait. What we
want to do just now is to find out where they took Jessie and Laura, and
rescue them.”
“It certainly is a great search, Dave. What are you going to do next?”
“I think the best thing we can do is to work our way along to Frytown.
That is quite a place, and it is barely possible that from there we can
get into communication with Crumville on the long distance telephone. If
we can do that, we can tell the folks at home all we have learned, and
get them to send some first-class detectives out this way to assist us
in the search.”
“Let’s run rather slow on the way to Frytown,” suggested the senator’s
son. “We may be able to pick up more clues.”
“Yes, we’ll keep our eyes wide open.”
They presently found themselves on a lonely stretch of the country road,
and here it was so dark they had to turn on all the lights of the
machine.
“I’d give all I’m worth, Dave, if we could catch sight of that other
car,” remarked Roger, after a spell of silence.
“I’m afraid that’s too much to hope for,” answered our hero, with a grim
smile. “We ought to be thankful that we have learned as much as we have.
If we hadn’t met that fellow on the motorcycle down at the Crossing, we
might still be hunting for clues along the line of the railroad between
Crandall and Boston.”
“Oh, yes, I think we’ve done wonderfully well.”
On the way to Frytown they stopped at six or seven farmhouses, but
without learning anything that was to their advantage. Two farmers had
seen the big touring car with the battered mud-guard go by a week or two
before, but could give no definite information as to who had been
driving it or what passengers the automobile had contained.
“So many machines comin’ and goin’ these days, a feller don’t pay much
’tention to ’em,” was the way one farmer expressed himself.
“I know it,” answered Dave. “But we are very anxious to find that car,
so I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to ask.”
“Oh, no harm whatever,” said the farmer.
When the chums reached Frytown it was after nine o’clock. They made
their way at once to the American House, the hotel which the Kapton
storekeeper had mentioned, and there placed their machine in the garage,
engaged a room, and asked if they might be served with something to eat.
“The dining room is closed,” announced the proprietor. “But we don’t let
anybody starve,” he added, with a smile. “Just come this way, and I
guess we can fix you up,” and he led them to a side room, where a
waitress served them with a plain but substantial supper. Before this
was eaten, however, Dave questioned the man about telephone connections.
“You can’t get any out-of-town connections after seven o’clock,” was the
statement made by the hotel keeper. “You’ll have to wait until seven
o’clock to-morrow morning.”
After the meal the two chums questioned the hotel man and several of his
assistants about the big automobile they were looking for, and were
informed that the touring-car had been seen in Frytown a number of
times, moving up and down the main road.
“Once I saw it when it had several people inside besides the chauffeur,”
said one man. “The people seemed to be cuttin’ up pretty well, but what
it was all about, I don’t know. The car was goin’ too fast to give a
fellow a chance to see.”
“How long ago was that?” questioned Dave quickly.
“Oh, I don’t know. Ten days or two weeks—or maybe longer.”
“Do you remember which way the car was going at that time?”
“Sure. It was headed in the direction of Cullomburg.”
“How far is that town?” questioned Roger.
“That’s up in the mountains about eight miles from here. It’s a pretty
fair road, though, all the way.”
After receiving this information, Dave and Roger took a walk around the
town, stopping at several of the stores and making a number of small
purchases just for the sake of getting into conversation with the
storekeepers. From one of these they learned that the man who had driven
the car had come in for some supplies, including some cigarettes.
“Yes, he bought six packages of Turkish cigarettes—all I had,” said the
storekeeper.
From this man they learned that there was a regular public garage in the
place with a machine shop attached.
“Let us go over there. Possibly the fellow with the car stopped for
gasoline or oil, or to get something fixed,” said our hero.
The garage was a short distance up a side street, and they found the man
in charge sitting in a little office with his feet on a desk and smoking
a corncob pipe. They stared at this man for a moment in amazement, and
then both burst out:
“Horsehair!”
“Eh? Wot’s that?” cried the man, and swung his feet down from the desk
and leaped up, taking his corncob pipe from his mouth as he did so.
“Well now, ain’t this jest wonderful!” he ejaculated. “Dave Porter and
Roger Morr! Who would ‘a’ thunk it!”
“And who would have thought of meeting you here, Horsehair?” cried Dave,
shaking hands vigorously, quickly followed by his chum.
“Why, we thought you were still driving the stage-coach at Oak Hall,”
remarked the senator’s son.
For the man they had run across so unexpectedly was indeed Jackson
Lemond, the man who for years had driven the stage-coach and worked
around the stables at the boarding-school. Because of the number of
horsehairs which continually clung to his clothing, the pupils had never
known him by any other name than Horsehair.
“Well, you see, I got a leetle bit old for that job—or else the boys got
a leetle bit too frisky fer me, so I looked around fer something else
that was a bit more quiet; and as my cousin owned this garage, and he
was too sick to tend to business, I come out here and took hold—and here
I be.”
“It’s like a touch of old times, Horsehair!” cried Dave, as he dropped
on a chair, while Roger did the same. And then after a few more words
about their former doings at Oak Hall our hero continued: “I am after
some information, and I know you’ll give it to me if you possibly can.
Have you noticed during the past couple of weeks a big touring-car
around here—a car that has one of the mud-guards badly smashed, and the
wind-shield cracked, and a good deal scratched up?”
“Sure, I know that car,” answered Horsehair readily. “The feller that
runs it was in here to git some new batteries, and also some gas and
oil.”
“Was he smoking cigarettes?” questioned Roger.
“He was—one right after another. But I told him not to smoke while I was
pourin’ in the gasoline. I don’t want to go up to heaven jest yet;” and
Horsehair chuckled over his little joke.
“Have you any idea where that fellow came from or where he went to?”
questioned Dave. “I might as well tell you, Horsehair, it is of great
importance. We suspect that fellow of some serious crimes.”
“You don’t say, Porter! What did he do—steal that machine? Oh, I know
them auto thieves is all over. They told me only last week a car was
stole in and around Boston ’most every day.”
“Never mind what the fellow is guilty of, Horsehair. What we want to do
is to find him, and then you’ll know all about it.”
“Well, I don’t know where he come from, but after he got fixed up here
he turned off in the direction of Cullomburg.”
“Do you know what make of car it was?”
“Yes, although the name-plate had been tore off. It was a Simms-Tecco,
one of them old foreign cars. Must be about eight or a dozen years old.
It had them old-fashioned battery connections on it, and had them old
Horseshoe anti-skid tires on the rear wheels. That’s how I remember it.”
“You must have learned a lot about cars after you left Oak Hall,” was
Roger’s comment.
“Oh, I’m right in the business now, I am!” answered Horsehair proudly.
“You didn’t know who the fellow was, did you?” questioned Dave.
“No, I didn’t. But do you know, he acted awful queer—that feller did. He
come sailin’ in here shoutin’ out fer gasoline, and all at once, when he
seen me, he stopped as if he was shot, and fer a minute or two I thought
he was goin’ to back out and go ’way. Then he seemed to git over it and
bought what he wanted, jest like I said.”
“It is no wonder that he was surprised, if he is the fellow we think,”
answered Dave. “Do you remember a chap who went to Oak Hall, named Nick
Jasniff—the fellow who once attacked me in the gymnasium with an Indian
club and then ran away?”
“O’ course I remember that big overgrown bully,” answered Horsehair.
“Well, that’s the fellow we think it is,” said Roger.
“But it can’t be him! This feller was a furriner. He had real dark skin
and dark hair and a little dark mustache.”
“We think he was in disguise.”
“Gee, sho! you don’t mean it?” ejaculated Jackson Lemond. “Gosh, it does
beat all wot some fellers will do! And I suppose he stole that auto?”
“We don’t know about that. But even if he did, we think he is guilty of
a worse crime,” answered Dave; and thereupon related some of the
particulars concerning the disappearance of his sister and Jessie.
“Well, if that rascal is guilty of sech a measly piece of business as
that, I hope you ketch him,” said Horsehair. “He deserves to be put
behind the bars.”
The two chums talked the matter over with the former stage driver of Oak
Hall for fully half an hour, and then returned to the hotel. Now that
the scent of the trail seemed to grow warmer, it was hard for them to
rest, and they slept but little and were glad when morning was at hand.
“I am going to call up Crumville on the telephone as soon as possible,”
declared Dave, and went to a booth to see if he could get the necessary
connections.
It took some little time, but finally he recognized the voice of Mr.
Wadsworth.
“This is Dave—Dave Porter,” said our hero. “I’ve got some news of
importance.”
“And we’ve got some news, too,” answered the jewelry manufacturer.