We swept on at a steady pace, through a silence broken only by the
throbbing of the engine and the hissing whir of tires over the dust.
On either side of the road the woods stretched black and inscrutable.
Just before we came to Dutchman's Hill Lennox said a word to the
chauffeur, and he paused to extinguish the two headlights.
Thereafter we drove more slowly.
A few paces beyond the bridge, at the beginning of the hill, the car
stopped suddenly. Something had gone wrong with the engine, and
while the chauffeur got out to attend to it Lennox and the sheriff
took the opportunity to walk back to the bridge we had just crossed.
"Have to get a light on it," the chauffeur said, unhooking one of the
side lamps. "The blame thing might have held out a bit longer! We
ain't far from Dutchman's Hill, by all accounts."
"This is Dutchman's Hill," I said.
"It is, eh?" He glanced at the inspector; who was holding the lamp
for him. "Well, they say one cuss leads to another, and be darned if
I don't give this place a worse name than it's had yet!"
Alone in the car, I leaned back against the cushions, speculating as
to the chance that had drawn me into this midnight adventure and what
its outcome would be--the climax, for aught I knew, of all the
summer's mysteries. Of Lennox's part in it I could but guess, but
the experience of the last forty-eight hours gave me a confidence in
him that overrode all earlier impressions. Mentally I contrasted the
vision of Crowfoot, alert, cool-headed, decisive, with the Lennox of
my first evening's arrival, and marvelled at the grip he had brought
to bear on himself in the two months' interval.
The air was still and oppressive in the hollow; the stench of
gasoline rose in a warm reek mingled with the stagnant smell of the
swamp close by. The mosquitoes were thick; they descended in swarms
upon us with the stopping of the car, and a host of moths and midges
fluttered round the lamp, attracted by its glare. The two men, bent
over the engine, joked and grumbled in undertones, as cheerfully as
though we were out on no more serious errand than a mere pleasure
ride.
The sheriff rejoined us.
"How long will you be, Jackson?"
The chauffeur straightened his back.
"Twenty minutes, sir, more or less. I can't fix it under."
There was a brief consultation, and the sheriff turned to Lennox.
"How far are we from the Bend?"
"Three-quarters of a mile, by road. We can strike a short cut at the
top of the hill."
"We'd better walk it. There's no good wasting time. Get your job
through, Jackson, bring the car on to the top of the hill and wait
for us there, along the road. I suppose..."
Lennox caught my eye.
"I can rely on Doctor Haverill," he said promptly. "As we are one
man short already I don't think it advisable that we should divide."
"Very good. Have either of you gentlemen an extra revolver?"
I pulled mine out and gave it to the chauffeur. He grinned
cheerfully as he slipped it in his pocket.
"Right, sir! If any spook puts a game on me I won't start tellin' my
beads! Give me twenty minutes, Mr. Keary, and I'll have the car
right there!"
We left him at his task and set off up the hill, following the little
footpath at the side of the road, Lennox and the sheriff in front,
the inspector and myself at the rear. When we were nearly at the top
the inspector paused.
"There's fire somewhere," he said. "I can smell it."
"Someone been burning bush, most likely," said Lennox. "We can tell
further on."
At the top of the hill it was unmistakable, a sickly charred odor
that hung heavily on the air. Lennox gave an exclamation and
quickened his pace involuntarily. A moment later the Lessing
bungalow came in sight; there were lights in the windows, and I
caught sight of a slim shawl-wrapped figure on the porch. Lennox and
the sheriff were well ahead, and as they reached the bungalow someone
stepped out and joined them in the roadway. I heard Lessing's voice
raised in amazement. "Lennox, by all that's holy!"
"It's Menning's place," said Lennox as we came up. "I thought as
much! The game's up."
"Burned to tinder an hour ago," said Lessing cheerfully. "Hello,
Haverill! Have you all joined the local fire-brigade?" He caught
sight of the inspector's square shoulders behind me, and whistled.
"So that's it! Well, if you're wanting an interview with Menning, I
guess his present address is somewhere in the woods between here and
Coopersville!"
We ran on hastily to the Bend, taking a short cut across the fields
behind the bungalow. It was as Lessing had said. The fire had
broken out some three hours ago, and his first intimation had been
the sudden lurid glare across the tree-tops as he sat on the porch
smoking a final cigarette before turning in. The house, a
dilapidated structure at best, had caught from the basement upward,
and by the time he arrived on the scene it was already beyond hope of
saving. He had given what help he could to the neighbours, hastily
collected, but with the limited appliances at hand the task was
hopeless from the first.
The huckster's yard with its strewn debris, desolate enough by
daylight, was made doubly sinister by the red wavering light that
still played and flickered among the broken boxes and tumble-down
sheds, lit up the loathsome scrap-heaps and the trampled mire
underfoot. The prisoned chickens, startled from sleep, kept up a
mournful squawking, pushing and struggling in their coops. The
efforts of the men had been directed to the barn and cowshed. They
stood now, an awed, strangely silent little group, gathered near a
broken bureau and a pile of household goods that had been dragged
somewhere from the burning and huddled forlornly in the open yard. I
remember that a wooden clock, still ticking, and a filthy and ancient
foot-tub were among the collection. I spoke to one of the men; it
was old Paddy's son-in-law.
"We done all we could; the old place was no better'n tinder. Pop was
fur lettin' it burn an' not lift a hand. We got Miss Mennin' out.
Hiram Scholl he bust the door in an' got her. She's over to the
house now. Aaron ain't here. It's funny about him. He ain't took
the horse anyway. They was sayin'..."
He stopped short and looked at me, the glare of the fire on his
sweat-streaked face.
"They was sayin' he started it. I dunno. It broke out downstairs.
They ain't no one seen Aaron."
And after a moment he added: "He'd oughter be insured. There's no
savin' anything."