MR. TERENCE KIRKWOOD PATTEN OF NEW YORK
"There is Luray," I said, pointing with my whip to the scattered houses
of the village as they lay in the valley at our feet.
Terry stretched out a hand and pulled the horses to a standstill.
"Whoa, just a minute till I get my bearings. Now, in which direction is
the cave?"
"It extends all along underneath us. The entrance is over there in the
undergrowth about a mile to the east."
"And the woods extend straight across the mountain in an unbroken line?"
"Pretty much so. There are a few farms scattered in."
"How about the farmers? Are they well-to-do around here?"
"I think on the whole they are."
"Which do they employ mostly to work in the fields, negroes or white
men?"
"As to that I can't say. It depends largely on circumstances. I think
the smaller farms are more likely to employ white men."
"Let me see," said Terry, "this is just about planting time. Are the
farmers likely to take on extra men at this season?"
"No, I don't think so; harvest time is when they are more likely to need
help."
"Farming is new to me," laughed Terry. "East Side problems don't involve
it. A man of Mose's habits could hide pretty effectually in those woods
if he chose." He scanned the hills again and then brought his eyes back
to the village. "I suppose we might as well go on to the hotel first. I
should like to interview some of the people there. And by the way," he
added, "it's as well not to let them know I'm a friend of yours--or a
newspaper man either. I think I'll be a detective. Your young man from
Washington seems to have made quite a stir in regard to the robbery;
we'll see if I can't beat him. There's nothing that so impresses a rural
population as a detective. They look upon him as omnipotent and
omniscient, and every man squirms before him in the fear that his own
little sins will be brought to light." Terry laughed in prospect.
"Introduce me as a detective by all means!"
"Anything you like," I laughed in return. "I'll introduce you as the
Pope if you think it will do any good." There was no keeping Terry
suppressed, and his exuberance was contagious. I was beginning to feel
light-hearted myself.
The hotel at Luray was a long rambling structure which had been casually
added to from time to time. It was painted a sickly, mustard yellow (a
color which, the landlord assured me, would last forever) but it's
brilliancy was somewhat toned by a thick coating of dust. A veranda
extended across the front of the building flush with the wooden
side-walk. The veranda was furnished with a railing, and the railing was
furnished at all times of the day--except for a brief nooning from
twelve to half-past--with a line of boot-soles in assorted sizes.
We drew up with a flourish before the wooden steps in front of the
hotel, and I threw the lines to the stable boy who came forward to
receive us with an amusing air of importance. His connection with the
Luray tragedy conferred a halo of distinction, and he realized the fact.
It was not every one in the neighborhood who had had the honor of being
cursed by a murderer. As we alighted Terry stopped to ask him a few
questions. The boy had told his story to so many credulous audiences
that by this time it was well-nigh unrecognizable. As he repeated it now
for Terry's benefit, the evidence against Radnor appeared conclusive. A
full confession of guilt could scarcely have been more damning.
Terry threw back his head and laughed.
"Take care, young man," he warned, "you'll be eating your words one of
these days, and some of them will be pretty hard to swallow."
As we mounted the steps I nodded to several of the men whom I remembered
having seen before; and they returned an interested, "How-dy-do?
Pleasant day," as they cast a reconnoitering glance at my companion.
"Gentlemen," I said with a wave of my hand toward Terry, "let me
introduce Mr. Terence Kirkwood Patten, the well-known detective of New
York, who has come down to look into this matter for us."
The chairs which were tipped back against the wall came down with a
thud, and an awed and somewhat uneasy shuffling of feet ensued.
"I wish to go through the cave," Terry remarked in the crisp, incisive
tones a detective might be supposed to employ, "and I should like to
have the same guide who conducted Mr. Crosby the time the body was
discovered."
"That's Pete Moser, he's out in the back lot plowin'," a half dozen
voices responded.
"Ah, thank you; will some one kindly call him? We will wait here."
Terry proceeded with his usual ease to make himself at home. He tipped
back his hat, inclined his chair at the same dubious angle as the
others, and ranged his feet along the railing. He produced cigars from
various pockets, and the atmosphere became less strained. They were
beginning to realize that detectives are made of the same flesh and
blood as other people. I gave Terry the lead--perhaps it would be more
accurate to say that he took it--but it did not strike me that he set
about his interviewing in a very business-like manner. He did not so
much as refer to the case we had come to investigate, but chatted along
pleasantly about the weather and the crops and the difficulty of finding
farm-hands.
We had not been settled very long when, to my surprise, Jim Mattison
strolled out from the bar-room. What he was doing in Luray, I could
easily conjecture. Mattison's assumption of interest in the case all
along had angered me beyond measure. It is not, ordinarily, a part of
the sheriff's duties to assist the prosecution in making out a case
against one of his prisoners; and owing to the peculiar relation he bore
to Radnor, his interference was not only bad law but excruciatingly bad
taste. My dislike of the man had grown to such an extent that I could
barely be civil to him. It was only because it was policy on my part
not to make him an active enemy that I tolerated his presence at all.
I presented Terry; though Mattison took his calling more calmly than the
others, still I caught several sidewise glances in his direction, and I
think he was impressed.
"Happy to know you, Mr. Patten," he remarked as he helped himself to a
chair and settled it at the general angle. "This is a pretty mysterious
case in some respects. I rode over myself this morning to look into a
few points and I shall be glad to have some help--though I'm afraid
we'll not find anything that'll please you."
"Anything pleases me, so long as it's the truth," Terry threw off, as he
studied the sheriff, with a gleam of amusement in his eyes; he was
thinking, I knew, of Polly Mathers. "I hope," he added, assuming a
severely professional tone, "that you haven't let a lot of people crowd
into the cave and tramp up all the marks."
The landlord, who was standing in the doorway, chuckled at this.
"There ain't many people that you could drive into that there cave at
the point of the pistol," he assured us. "They think it's haunted;
leastways the niggers do."
"Have niggers been in the habit of going in much?"
"Oh, more or less," the sheriff returned, "when they want to make
themselves inconspicuous for any reason. I had a horse thief hide in
there for two weeks last year while we were scouring the country for
him. There are so many little holes; it's almost impossible to find a
man. Tramps occasionally spend the night there in cold weather."
"Do you have many tramps around here?"
"Not a great many. Once in a while a nigger comes along and asks for
something to eat."
"More often he takes it without asking," one of the men broke in. "A
week or so ago my ole woman had a cheese an' a ham an' two whole pies
that she'd got ready for a church social just disappear without a word,
out o' the pantry winder. If that ain't the mark of a nigger, I miss my
guess."
Terry laughed.
"If that happened in the North we should look around the neighborhood
for a sick small boy."
"It wasn't no boy this time--leastways not a very small one," the man
affirmed, "for that same day a pair o' my boots that I'd left in the
wood house just naturally walked off by theirselves, an' I found 'em the
next day at the bottom o' the pasture. It would take a pretty sizeable
fellow that my boots was too small for," he finished with a grin.
"They _are_ a trifle conspicuous," one of the others agreed with his
eyes on the feet in question.
I caught an interested look in Terry's glance as he mentally took their
measure, and I wondered what he was up to; but as our messenger and Pete
Moser appeared around the corner at the moment, I had no time for
speculation. Terry let his chair slip with a bang and rose to his feet.
"Ah, Mr. Moser! I'm glad to see you," he exclaimed with an air of
relief. "It's getting late," he added, looking at his watch, "and I must
get this business settled as soon as possible; I have another little
affair waiting for me in New York. Bring plenty of calcium light,
please. We want to see what we're doing."
As the four of us were preparing to start, Terry paused on the top step
and nodded pleasantly to the group on the veranda.
"Thank you for your information, gentlemen. I have no doubt but that it
will be of the greatest importance," and he turned away with a laugh at
their puzzled faces.
The sheriff and I were equally puzzled. I should have suspected that
Terry, in the rôle of detective, was playing a joke on them, had he not
very evidently got something on his mind. He was of a sudden in a frenzy
of impatience to reach the cave, and he kept well ahead of us most of
the way.
"I suppose," said Mattison as he climbed a fence with tantalizing
deliberation--we were going by way of the fields as that was shorter--"I
suppose that you are trying to prove that Radnor Gaylord had nothing to
do with this murder?"
"That will be easy enough," Terry threw back over his shoulder. "I
dropped _him_ long ago. The one I'm after now is the real murderer."
Mattison scowled slightly.
"If you can explain what it was that happened in that cave that upset
him so mightily, I'd come a little nearer to believing you."
Terry laughed and fell back beside him.
"It's a thing which I imagine may have happened to one or two other
young men of this neighborhood--not inconceivably yourself included."
Mattison, seeing no meaning in this sally, preserved a sulky silence and
Terry added:
"The thing for us to do now is to bend all our energies toward finding
Cat-Eye Mose. I doubt if we can completely explain the mystery until he
is discovered."
"And that," said the sheriff, "will be never! You may mark my words;
whoever killed the Colonel, killed Mose, too."
"It's possible," said Terry with an air of sadness, "but I hope not. I
came all the way down from New York on purpose to see Mose, and I should
hate to miss him."