A PERPLEXING QUESTION.
The black headlines which had attracted Fred’s eye told of the five
hundred dollar reward offered for the capture of Jim Wilson, who had
escaped from the Harpersville jail after a murderous assault on the
guard. The manner in which the paper had been folded indicated that this
sensational article had been left outermost, and the blurred ink and
wear in the creases of the folds bespoke the fact that the paper had
been carried around in someone’s pocket.
“Piper?” muttered Hooker. “Why, it isn’t likely that he has been here.”
“It doesn’t seem at all likely,” agreed Sage; “but still——”
“What was he doing with the paper, anyhow?”
Fred turned sidewise, so that the bright light from the open fire fell
full on the page, and his finger indicated the news article which had
held such deep interest for Sleuth.
“See that?”
“Yes,” said Roy, peering over his chum’s shoulder. “‘Five hundred
dollars reward. Desperate character breaks jail after murderous assault
on keeper.’ Oh, yes, that’s the sort of stuff that would interest old
Sleuthy.”
“I’ve kept my promise to Piper to say nothing about his wild theory,”
said Fred, “and, a full week having passed with no result, I don’t fancy
it will do him any good for me to continue a clam. I was sure there was
nothing in it, anyhow. You see, Piper had a crazy notion that this
escaped criminal and the stranger you talked with last Saturday might be
identical. It’s rather odd that the printed description of James Wilson,
as given here, corresponds with your description of the man who talked
with you and ran away at my approach. Here it is.”
His eyes puckered, his lips pursed a little, Hooker read the description
of Gentleman Jim.
“Why, that’s right,” he said slowly. “It does sort of fit, and no
mistake. But Pipe didn’t say anything about this to me. You know I told
you how he came round and asked me a lot of questions, some of which I
couldn’t answer, and the most of which seemed more or less foolish. He
tried to find out everything I knew about you and your folks, seeming
especially anxious to learn where you came from when you moved into
Oakdale. Now what’s that got to do with this stuff in the newspaper?”
Fred laughed shortly. “You see,” he explained, with a touch of scorn,
“Sleuth was trying to connect us somehow with the notorious and
desperate Mr. Wilson.”
“How could he do that?”
“Have you forgotten that your stranger made inquiries concerning the
Sages in Oakdale? Now you tumble; you’re on. If that man was Wilson, he
would not make such inquiries without some knowledge of us, and, if he
knew us, it was natural to suppose that we knew him. I informed Piper
that I had never heard of such a man.”
“That should have ended it.”
“Not with Sleuth. Doubtless he reasoned that if we had ever known this
criminal we would, most naturally, be sure to deny the fact.”
“But you never did know him?”
Sage shot his friend a quick, resentful glance. “Do you think I’d lie,
even to Piper?”
“Of course not.”
“I never heard of this James Wilson, _alias_ Gentleman Jim, until Sleuth
told me about him. My denial, however, had little effect on Piper, who
hinted at family skeletons hidden away in closets and then proceeded to
watch me in true dime novel detective style. For a day or two I couldn’t
shake him; he hung around me all the time. At last I got tired of it and
gave him to understand flatly that he’d better let up.”
“By Jingoes!” laughed Roy. “He was watching you last night. After we
fixed it up for this little expedition and you had started for home,
Piper overtook me and casually did a little pumping. Reckon I was easy,
for I told him all about it. Say, you don’t suppose——” Roy paused, as if
wondering over an idea that had flashed into his mind.
“What?”
“You don’t suppose he came here to this camp after that? Perhaps he
dropped the paper himself.”
Following a moment’s thought, Sage shook his head. “It was after dark
last night when he found out what we had arranged to do, Roy. Piper was
at school to-day, and we left him starting out for practice with the
rest of the team. While it’s not impossible, it’s most improbable that
he visited this place after learning we were coming here, and got home
in time to attend school. The signs of a recent fire in the fireplace
and the fresh boughs on the bunk we may accept as positive assurance
that someone spent last night here. Under any circumstances, Sleuth
wouldn’t do that—alone.”
“Never,” agreed Hooker, with conviction. “This piece of newspaper must
have been left here by someone else. It’s a mere coincidence that it
happens to be the same issue shown you by Piper, and it isn’t worth
bothering our brains over any further. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
“All right,” agreed Fred, putting the newspaper into his pocket.
Their lunch was opened up and placed on the table. Two old boxes served
them as chairs. The warmth of the fire made the camp quite comfortable,
and its light was sufficient for their needs. Sitting there and chatting
after the manner of bosom chums, they thoroughly enjoyed their supper.
After supper there was much to talk over, things of mutual interest
which kept them for a time wide awake and in excellent humor. As it was
required, they placed fresh wood on the fire, reserving the heavier
sticks for the long hours of the night, when they would need a slower
blaze.
The guns were looked over and fondled affectionately, while they
discussed their hunting experiences, laughing with relish over blunders
and failures which had seemed most annoying at the time of their
occurrence. They examined the decoys Hooker had borrowed, making sure
they were properly “strung” and ready for setting. Football and school
affairs also furnished topics for chatting and laughter and the
expression of more or less dogmatic opinions. At times in the lulls of
their talk they heard the night wind in the trees outside, and
occasional puffs coming down the chimney blew a little smoke back into
the camp, the odor of which did not, however, become strong enough to be
offensive.
Behind them the firelight flung their shadows, huge and wavering,
against the camp wall, and, looking round once by chance, Sage was
startled to observe those shadows hovering there like something silent
and sinister and menacing. Although he did not refer again to the
strange man Roy had encountered, he was wondering who that man could
have been.
“Whoo!” cried an owl from the blackness of the woods.
Their chatter grew less; at last it ceased. They sat silently gazing at
the fire, with its bed of glowing coals. Hooker moved, stretched and
yawned.
“It’s me for the sleeps,” he announced drowsily, producing a dollar
watch and beginning to wind it. “We’ve got to be up and in that blind
ready for business before peep o’ day, you know.”
“I’m ready to turn in,” said Fred.
“Fellow who sleeps on the front side of the bunk will have to replenish
the fire once in a while. We can change round in the night and take
turns at it. How are you about waking up?”
“Pretty good. I’ll take my turn first.”
Some heavy logs were placed on the fire, and Roy rolled himself into his
blanket, an example which Sage soon followed. In a few moments Hooker
was sound asleep, as his breathing indicated, but for a long time Fred
lay thinking and wondering. He could not rid himself of the conviction
that the discovery in that old camp of the newspaper containing the
account of Gentleman Jim’s jail-break bore a significance unexplained
and uncomprehended. If that paper had not been left there by Piper, who
had left it?
“Whoo!” again cried the owl.