THE ACCUSATION
“Look here, Chunky!” exclaimed Jerry, with one look at his stout chum
and another at the tail-end of the wagon. “Is this a joke, or what?”
“Mostly what, I guess,” put in Ned. “If it’s a joke I don’t see the
point, giving us heart disease that way. What do you mean? Was it
Crooked Nose?”
“That’s what I said,” retorted Bob as nearly sharp as his bubbling
good-nature ever permitted him to be. “I tell you I saw the same man,
with the same crooked nose, that ran into you, Jerry, in the restaurant
that night in Cresville when we had the fire.”
“Naturally if it was the same man he had the same nose,” said Ned.
“Well, it was the same man all right,” went on Bob. “I don’t very often
forget a face.”
“Nor the time to eat,” added Jerry with a laugh. “Never mind, it will
soon be time, Chunky. Don’t let your stomach get the best of you.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bob.
“I mean I guess you’re getting delirious from want of food. You’re
seeing things.”
“I tell you I saw that man with the crooked nose!” asserted Bob. “And
moreover I think it’s our duty to follow him, and see what he’s doing
here. He may have my father’s watch, and Mrs. Hopkins’ brooch.”
“Maybe that’s true,” agreed Jerry. “But we’ve got pretty slim evidence
to act on. And it seems out of the question to believe that he would be
away down here. You probably did see a man with a crooked nose, Bob,
but there are lots such.”
“I’m sure it was the same one we saw in Cresville,” insisted the stout
lad. “Come on, let’s have a look down that road. We’ve got time.”
But they had not, for just then the order came to fall in, and the
march was resumed. But it was only a short hike to the place where camp
was to be made for the night, and when Bob found that it was not more
than two miles to the road down which he had seen the wagon turn, he
said to his chums:
“Say, fellows, we’ve got to investigate this.”
“Investigate what?” asked Jerry, shifting his pack to ease a lame spot
on one shoulder.
“Crooked Nose,” replied Bob. “We can ask for a little time off, and
take a hike by ourselves down this road. Maybe that fellow works on a
farm around here. Though what he’s doing so far from Cresville gets me.
I’ll wager it isn’t for any good. But we ought to look him up.”
“S’pose we find he’s the wrong man, even if he has a crooked nose?”
asked Ned, not eager for further hiking just then.
“We’ve got to take that chance,” Bob went on. “I’m sure, from the look
I had of him, that he’s the same one. Are you with me?”
“Well, you needn’t ask that,” was Jerry’s answer. “Of course we’re
with you. And if this turns out a fizzle we won’t say we told you so,
Chunky. It’s worth taking a chance on, though if we do find this is the
same crooked-nosed chap we saw at the time of the fire, it isn’t going
to prove that he robbed the Frenchman. If he got all that valuable
stuff he wouldn’t be here--he’d be in the city having a good time.”
“We’ll have to be careful about making an accusation, I guess,” agreed
the stout lad. “But if we find he _is_ the same chap we saw we could
telegraph to the police of Cresville and ask if he was wanted there.
If he is, the police there could take the matter up with the police of
this place. That’s the way they do it.”
“Are there any police here?” asked Ned, looking around with a smile,
for they were in the midst of a country that looked too peaceful to
need officers of the law.
“Oh, they always have constables, deputy sheriffs or something in these
villages,” said Jerry. “That part will be all right, Bob. Go to it.”
And “go to it” Bob did. As soon as the army had come to a stop and the
supper mess had been served, the three motor boys sought and received
permission to go off for a stroll. It was early evening, and they must
be back within the guard lines at ten, they were told, but this would
give them time enough.
Having traveled about as much as they had, the three friends had
acquired a good general sense of direction, and they had noted the
location of the highway down which Bob had said the crooked-nosed man
had driven.
It was their plan to go back to this point and make some inquiries
of any resident they might meet in regard to the existence, on some
neighboring farm, of a man with a nose decidedly out of joint.
“His defect is such that it surely will have been noticed,” said Bob.
“He’s a marked man if ever there was one, and he ought to be easy to
trace.”
As the three friends left the camp, armed with written permission to be
absent until “taps” that night, Jerry, looking across the field, where
the dog tents were already up, said:
“There goes Pug Kennedy. He must have a pass, too, for he’s going
toward the lines.”
“I hope he isn’t going to trail us,” remarked Bob. “If we make this
capture, or give information by which Crooked Nose is caught, we want
the honor ourselves,” he added, with a grin.
“Oh, Pug doesn’t know anything about the Cresville fire,” declared Ned.
“He might,” insisted Bob. “He lives just outside the town, and he may
have heard of the Frenchman’s loss and about Crooked Nose. Come on,
let’s get going, and not have him ahead of us.”
But Pug Kennedy did not seem to be paying any attention to the motor
boys. He marched steadily on, showed his pass to the sentry, and was
allowed to go through the line. Then he started off down the road.
“That’s the way we’re going,” objected Bob, in disappointed tones.
“Oh, don’t pay any attention to him!” exclaimed Jerry. “He’s probably
going out to see if he can pick up any more hens. We’ll mind our own
affairs, and he can mind his.”
“If he only will,” murmured Ned.
However there was nothing to do but proceed with the plan they had
made. Whether it would succeed or not was a question, and there was
also a question as to what to do in case they should discover the
right crooked-nosed man. But, being youths of good spirits, the boys
did not worry much about this end of the affair.
Down the pleasant country road they marched, in the early twilight. It
would not be dark for a while yet, and they expected to make good use
of their time. Their first “objective,” as Bob said, would be the road
down which the crooked-nosed man had driven.
This place was soon reached, but it proved to be a lonely stretch of
highway. At least no house was in sight, and there appeared to be no
residents of whom information could be asked.
“But there may be a house just around the turn of the road,” suggested
Bob hopefully. “Let’s hike on.”
So go on they did, and they were rewarded by seeing, as they made the
turn in the highway, a farmhouse about a quarter of a mile beyond.
“Maybe he lives there, or works there,” suggested Bob.
“What gets me, though, Chunky,” said Jerry, “is what he would be doing
down here.”
“Nothing strange in it,” said the stout lad. “He may be a sort of tramp
farmer, and they go all over, the same as the umbrella men, or the
wash-boiler fixers. Come on!”
They hurried forward, eager for what lay ahead of them, and if they had
not been so eager they might have been aware of a figure which had cut
across lots and was sneaking along behind them. And the figure was that
of Pug Kennedy.
“I wonder what their game is?” Pug muttered to himself. “If they are
spying on me, it won’t be healthy for them. I’ll see what they’re up
to, and maybe I can put a spoke in their wheel.”
Reaching the house, Ned, Bob and Jerry saw, sitting out in front,
evidently resting after his day’s labors, a bronzed farmer. He looked
at the boys with interest, and inquired:
“What’s the matter? Lost your way?”
“No, we came to see you,” answered Jerry.
“To see me? Well, I’m sure I’m glad to see any of Uncle Sam’s boys.
Used to be one myself, but that’s long ago. Come in and set.”
“No, we’re on business,” went on Jerry, who had been elected spokesman.
“Have you seen a man around these parts with a very crooked nose?”
The farmer started, and looked closely at the boys.
“A crooked nose?” he repeated.
“Yes,” interjected Bob, “a _very_ crooked nose. It’s spread all over
one side of his face.”
“Why, that must be Jim Waydell! At least that’s what he called himself
when he came to work for me,” said the farmer, who had given his name
as Thomas Martin to the boys, when they told him who they were.
“Do you know him?” asked Jerry.
“Well, not very much, no. He came along, asked for work, and, as I was
short-handed, I gave it to him. Why do you ask?”
“We’re not sure whether he’s the man we want to see or not,” answered
Jerry, determined to be a bit cautious. “If we could have a look at him
close by----”
“He’s out in the barn now,” interrupted the farmer. “Go talk to him, if
you like.”
He waved his hand toward a ramshackle red building, and the three
boys started toward it. As they entered they heard some one moving
around, and then they caught sight of the very man they were looking
for standing in the opened rear door. The last rays of the setting sun
streamed full in on him from behind, and illuminated his face. His
crooked nose was very much in evidence.
“There he is!” exclaimed Bob.
And as if the words were a warning the man, with a cry, gave a jump up
into the haymow and disappeared from sight.
“Come on!” cried Ned. “We’ll get him!”
The three motor boys sprang to the pursuit, scrambling over the hay. It
was a noiseless chase, for the hay deadened all sounds. They could not
see the man, but it was evident that he was either going to hide, or
was making toward some unseen door by which he could escape.
“We’ll get him!” exclaimed Bob. “Come on!”
There came a cry from Ned.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jerry.
“Slipped and stuck my hand into a hen’s nest in the hay,” was the
answer. “Broke about half a dozen eggs, I guess! Too bad! We might have
taken ’em back to camp to fry for breakfast.”
Hardly had Ned uttered the words than the boys were startled by hearing
a voice they knew--the voice of Pug Kennedy. It said:
“There they are now, Mister, stealing your eggs! I told you that’s what
they were after--robbing hens’ nests. Better look out for your eggs!”
“I will!” exclaimed the voice of the farmer, in answer to this
accusation. “I wondered at their story of the crooked-nosed man! They
just wanted to get into my barn! I’ll fix ’em!”