The Cold, Cold Clue
The boys were late to breakfast the following morning. They had fallen
into bed, pleased and exhausted, and the noise of the household stirring
had failed to waken them.
Mrs. Miller greeted them as they came downstairs. "I hear you were ghost
hunting again last night. Did you find any?"
"I'll say we did," Scotty replied. "Where is Dr. Miller?"
"Right here," the scientist said from the living-room doorway. "And I
have news for you. Collins called this morning and renewed his offer. I
told him I'd think about it and let him know later. And Steve Ames
called. The powder is definitely carnotite, and it matches ore produced
on the Colorado Plateau. Steve has reported to the Atomic Energy
Commission, and they'll be able to track down its origin without too
much difficulty, since no two ores are precisely alike. Now, how did you
two do last night?"
The two girls came into the kitchen in time to hear the question, and
Rick almost hated to give the answer, knowing that it would disillusion
them, and particularly Barby.
"We trailed three ghosts," he said. "All human."
Scotty added, "And one of them was named Carleton Hilleboe. At least
that was the name on the registration of their car."
They told the story in detail while Mrs. Miller and Jan fried eggs and
bacon and made toast for their breakfast. Barby listened quietly, but if
Rick had any idea she would be convinced, he was mistaken. When the
recital ended she pointed out, "There's no reason why mortals shouldn't
take advantage of a ghost. You still haven't proved that the ghost at
the mine isn't real, or how the cold almost knocked you out last night."
"True," Rick had to admit. "We're not making much progress there."
Over breakfast Dr. Miller told them about the Hilleboes. "They were one
of the big families in this vicinity two or three decades ago. They had
the biggest house in this part of Virginia, but it burned down about
twenty years ago and the kids moved away. There is no house on their
land now. They rent some of the land to tenants. Carleton Hilleboe is
the eldest son. He's in a business of some kind in Washington. He either
controls or owns the property, I'm not sure which."
"Including the upland cornfield above the mine?" Rick asked.
"Yes, and all the property to the east of ours for a mile or two."
"Could he be the mysterious buyer Collins is acting for?" Rick asked.
"It's possible, although why he would want our share of the mine and the
field opposite is beyond me. I think a talk with Collins is in order. If
you two want to come to town with me, I think I'll beard him in his den.
I've no intention of selling, but I won't tell him that."
On the way to town the boys agreed it would be best for Dr. Miller to
talk with Collins alone. He obviously didn't like young people--at least
them--and he would be more apt to confide in Dr. Miller if the scientist
interviewed him alone.
The scientist agreed. "Why don't you two wait in the drugstore? You can
have a coke or something."
Dr. Miller parked the car in front of Collins' house and the boys
crossed the street to the drugstore. Although it was early in the day,
both ordered a dish of ice cream. They were eating it and exchanging
small talk with the druggist when the Frostola scooter pulled up
outside. Both tensed as the Frostola man came in, but he greeted them
impersonally and turned to the druggist. "I'd like a tin of aspirin,
please."
"That infected hangnail still bothering you?" the druggist asked
sympathetically.
"No, it's okay today," the peddler answered swiftly. "I've got a slight
headache, that's all."
He paid for the aspirin, accepted the druggist's offer of a glass of
water, downed two pills, and left.
"Seemed in a hurry," Rick commented.
The druggist nodded. "Seemed so. He usually stops to pass the time of
day. Had a terrible time yesterday with an infected hangnail. They can
be pretty painful. I tried to sell him a new analgesic ointment, but he
insisted on methyl chloride. He had an old refillable prescription from
some doctor over in Arlington. Said he got it because infected hangnails
bother him all the time. Lucky I had some. It used to be used all the
time for pain from superficial wounds, but it went out of style. He
bought a whole pint. Enough to last for fifty hangnails. Told him he
didn't need it, but he insisted."
Rick said thoughtfully, "His hands seemed to be all right today. No
bandages."
"All he had was a plastic-tape bandage around his thumb yesterday,
anyway. Guess the infection must have cleared up."
"What's methyl chloride?" Rick asked.
"A highly volatile chemical. It's not a painkiller in the usual sense,
like aspirin. You spray it on the area that hurts, and it evaporates in
seconds. You know what that does."
Rick did! And suddenly last night's events were perfectly, transparently
clear.
"Evaporation cools the surface," Rick said for Scotty's benefit. "The
faster the evaporation, the faster the cooling. This methyl chloride
must act pretty fast."
"It does," the druggist agreed. "That's how it kills pain, partly. It
chills the outer layer of skin almost instantly."