"Don't tell me it takes a girl long to change her clothes!" was
Dorothy's salutation, as Bill drove up to the side entrance again.
"You've kept me waiting here exactly three minutes and a half."
"Sorry," he said in mock contrition. "Fact is, I thought we'd better use
my own bus tonight and I had to go out to the garage to get it."
"What's the big idea?" Dorothy sprang in beside him, looking very trim
and boyish in jodhpurs and dark flannel shirt over which she wore a thin
brown sweater. "Isn't my car good enough for you?"
"This boat has a full tank," he replied tersely. "Can't waste time
tonight picking up gas."
They had reversed the car down the drive and were now speeding along the
tree-lined road in the direction of Bedford.
"Got my gun?" she asked.
"Surest thing you know!" Bill passed over a small revolver in a holster.
"Tie yourself to that! It's a Colt .32 and it's loaded. Know how to use
it?"
"Certainly. What do you expect me to do--release the safety catch and
pull the trigger to see if it works?" Her tone flared hotly with
indignation.
Bill whistled a tuneless air, but the whistle developed into a laugh and
the laugh continued until Dorothy snapped:
"_Don't_ cackle like a billygoat!"
"Billygoats don't--" he began but broke off, changing his bantering
tone. "Then why do you tie the leg-strap around your waist?" he asked
seriously enough.
She swallowed hard.
"Because--well, because I've never used this kind of a holster before,
smarty. But I can shoot--Daddy taught me--I can box, too, and I've had
lessons in jiu jitsu. Oh, I can take care of myself, if that's what's
worrying you!"
"Glad to hear it, Dorothy. Excitement kind of stirs you up eh?"
"It's not excitement that does it, Bill--it's suspense. But I'm sorry I
bawled you out."
"Don't mention it. My humble apologies for being so rude--"
"Imbecile! You weren't. But never mind that--tell me about this house in
the woods and what it has to do with the gang who robbed the bank."
The car ran into Bedford and taking the turn to the right, he swung on
to the northbound turnpike.
"Go ahead with the story," begged Dorothy as they left the picturesque
village behind.
"Right-o! Here goes. On our way back from the South last month, I
dropped Dad at New Orleans. The old _Loening_ needed a thorough
overhauling, so Dad left me there with the plane and went north by
train. After I saw him off at the L. and N. station, I went back to the
St. Charles Hotel and slept for nearly twenty-four hours. I got a touch
of jungle fever when I was down in the cypress swamps and was still
feeling pretty rocky.
"So for the next ten days I loafed while the amphibian got what was
coming to her. When she'd been made shipshape again I flew her north. I
was in no hurry to reach New Canaan and stopped off at Atlanta, and at
Philadelphia, where I have friends.
"A couple of days before I met you I started on the last leg of the hop.
It was raining when I left Philly--a filthy morning, with high fog along
the coast. That is why I decided not to follow the New
York-Philadelphia-Hartford air route, but cut straight north over
eastern Pennsylvania and northern New Jersey, hoping for better
visibility inland. Instead, the old bus ran me into even worse weather.
The fog grew lower and denser and flying conditions became even rottener
than before. You haven't run into fog in a plane, yet, Dorothy--and,
believe me, it's no fun.
"I expected to cross the Hudson at about Haverstraw and fly east to New
Canaan. I know now that I must have overshot that burg; that the plane
was probably nearer Newburgh when we crossed the river and headed east.
To make matters worse, a few minutes later, the engine commenced to
skip. I began to realize then that I didn't know where I was."
Dorothy had been listening intently, her eyes on the grotesque shadows
cast by their headlights upon the stone fences along the road; now she
turned and stared at him in astonishment.
"That's a good one! You've flown pretty much all over the country--and
get lost in dear little Connecticut!"
"Oh, I don't know--parts of the state are as wild as the Canadian woods!
And just remember that the visibility at five hundred feet was so poor I
could hardly see the nose of my plane. And worse luck, I knew that with
the engine cutting up the way she was, I'd soon be forced to land."
"What did you do?"
"Nosed over until I got almost down to the trees on the hilltops.
Visibility was better there, but for the life of me I couldn't spot a
landing place.--Nothing but one chain of hills after another, all
covered with trees. The sides of these foothills of the Berkshires are
steep as church roofs--and they run down to narrow, densely wooded
valleys. Well, for some time I circled about with the engine acting
worse every split second. Then, in a valley a little wider than any I'd
come across so far, I saw the glint of water--a little lake. Fifty yards
or so away, there was a good-sized farmhouse with a fairly level hay
field behind it. I chose the lake, although it wasn't much better than a
duck pond--and landed.
"The house was a ramshackle affair, but some smoke rose from the
chimney, so I figured someone lived there. While I was fixing my engine,
a girl--or rather I should say a young woman--came out of the house and
walked down to the little dock near where the plane was floating."
"Of course she had red hair and wore yellow beach pajamas?" said
Dorothy.
"She did--I mean, she had. Anyway, when Lizzie described the girl in the
car who wanted bicarbonate of soda and got it, I was sure that my
er--lady of the lake and she were one and the same."
"Did you talk to her?"
"I did. I told her I was lost and asked her where I had come down. She
told me, after a while. That is, she gave me a general idea in what
direction Danbury lay and about how far away from town we were. But I
thought at the time that she was awfully cagy and tight with her
information."
"In other words, she didn't seem especially glad to see you?"
"That's it. Instead of inviting me ashore and up to the house for a
meal, she wanted to know how long I was likely to be on the lake--and
then she beat it back to the house. Naturally, I thought it queer she
should be so inhospitable and stand-offish. People are usually
interested anyway, when a plane arrives unexpectedly in their
neighborhood--too darn interested, if anything. Still, I didn't think
much about her, then. I had the information I wanted, and after changing
a couple of sparkplugs, I took off and made New Canaan via Danbury
without any more trouble."
"Did you see anyone besides the girl with the red hair?"
"Not a soul."
"And you've been back since the robbery, I think you said?"
"Several times. But the place has been deserted and the house locked up
tighter than a drum."
There was a long pause.
"Why do you think the gang are there now?" asked Dorothy. "Simply
because we saw the lame man take the Ridgefield road?"
"This is the way I figured." They had passed through the little town of
Brewster, heading north, some minutes before. Now Bill turned the car
off the state highway and on to a winding dirt road full of deep ruts
that he knew ran far into the wooded hill country to the northeast. "It
is my idea," he continued, slowing down to a bare twenty-mile pace,
"that after the robbery, that gang scattered and laid low for a while.
They didn't go to the house, that I do know. After you went to bed that
night, I drove up here to have a look-see. Nobody home, as I've told
you. But they couldn't have a better place for headquarters. There isn't
a house anywhere round that neck of the woods. Sooner or later, they're
bound to meet there. The loot has got to be divided. Seeing our lame
friend headed in that direction this evening makes me doubly certain.
I've kept it to myself, because if that army of detectives who are on
this case started camping out near the house on a watchful waiting
spree, those crooks would be sure to spot them and never show up."
"I guess you're right," she said.
For some time neither spoke, while their car bumped slowly along the
uneven road.
"What do you suppose that lame man was doing on Marvin Ridge?" she
inquired presently.
"Search me. How should I know? You certainly love to fire questions at a
guy."
"He told us the car hadn't been used lately," she mused, ignoring his
remark.
"That only goes to prove we're right in thinking he has been in hiding
somewhere."
"But where?"
"Merciful heaven! Another question! That road runs down to Noroton,
doesn't it? And from there the Boston Post could bring him from all
points east and west. There's no telling where he'd come from."
"But I drove up from the Post Road that way yesterday. It has been
freshly oiled to within a half mile of where we met him. Yet that
Packard hadn't run through oil. If she had, I'd have seen it with my
headlights smack on her."
"Perhaps he came down a side road?"
"Not between that point and the oil--there isn't any."
"Maybe he'd been calling in the neighborhood--"
"Don't be silly--I know everyone who lives along that road."
"You think it out then--I've got enough to do trying to navigate this
road. I'm going to switch out the lights, now. We're not more than a
couple of miles from the house."
"Do you think they'll put up much of a fight?"
"Good Lord! You don't think I've any intention of trying to capture
them?" Bill exclaimed. He was very busily engaged in keeping the car in
the middle of the grass grown trail as it rolled, down a steep hillside
at a snail's pace. "I'm not taking chances with you along. It would be
foolish to attempt anything like that. You'll get into no battles
tonight, miss. This is just a scouting party. If the gang have arrived,
we'll beat it back to Brewster and get the cops on the job."
"Oh, _dear_!" sighed Dorothy. "And I thought this was going to be the
real thing!"
"No grandstand plays for you tonight, young lady. What's more--I'm
running this show. If you don't promise to behave, you'll warm a seat in
this car, while I mosey up to the house. How about it?"
Dorothy's voice betrayed her disgust and disappointment.
"Oh, I'll promise. But if we are leaving all the fun to the police, why
did you bring the guns?"
"Because you seemed to expect them, little brighteyes. But we might as
well have left them home, for all the use they'll be--I'll see to that.
It's bad enough to be forced into bringing you up here. Your father will
certainly raise the roof when he finds it out. I shan't tell him, that's
flat."
"You believe in being candid!" with cutting sarcasm.
"You bet. And please remember that if you try to pull off anything
you'll probably crab the show. And get us into a good old-fashioned mess
besides."
He stopped the car and slipping into reverse gear, backed off the trail.
"There!" He switched off the ignition. "We're all ready for a quick
getaway if need be."
"How far are we from the house?" she asked in a tense whisper.
"About a mile. I'm afraid to drive nearer--sound carries a long way up
these quiet valleys. Let's get started now. I want you to walk just
behind me. Be careful where you place your feet. We'll follow the trail
a while farther, but it's pretty rough going. Above all else--don't
talk--and make just as little noise as possible."
"What if they have sentries posted?" she asked, coming to his side.
"Aren't you the limit!" Bill seemed really annoyed. "There you go
talking again! For your satisfaction, though--if we have the bad luck to
come across anyone, I'll naturally do my best to scrag him. You, of
course, will act as you think best. My advice is to beat it to the car,
as fast as you can. Come along now--and quiet!"
"Aren't you horrid tonight!" she breathed, swinging up the overgrown
trail behind him.
But Bill didn't hear her. Anyway, he didn't answer, and she followed in
his footsteps while a pleasurable thrill of excitement gradually took
the place of her disappointment. It was nearly pitch dark, walking along
in the shadow of tall trees that lined the twisting path. Now and then
the cry of a night bird came to her from the woods, but except for the
dull sound of their steps on the damp earth--the occasional snapping of
a twig underfoot, all was quiet in the forest.
Bill was only a blur in the gloom ahead. But she was glad to know he was
there just the same. This creeping through the still night to
reconnoiter a gang of bank-thieves held a kick all its own. Yes, she was
glad that Bill was close by.
There came a movement in the underbrush behind them. Hands of steel
caught her arms, pinning them to her sides.
"Sentries, Bill!" she screamed, struggling frantically to free herself.
"Look out! _Look out!_"
She heard Bill mutter angrily. Heavy feet crashed in the brush and she
heard the sharp impact of a solid fist meeting soft flesh. Several men
were shouting now and someone groaned.
Bending suddenly forward and sideways, Dorothy managed to fasten her
teeth on the wrist of the man who held her. With a howl, he let go her
right arm and at the same time a gun went off. The night was torn with a
scream of anguish. But before she could use her free arm someone dropped
a bag over her head, a rope was knotted about her wrists and a muffled
voice spoke to her through the folds of the sack.
"_Be_have, sister! _Be_have, I say, or I'll crack yer wid dis rod. I
ain't no wild cat tamer. Quiet now, or I'll bash yer one!"
Inasmuch as it was no part of Dorothy's plan to get "bashed" in a bag,
that young lady kept quiet.
"That's the girl!" he applauded. Swinging her over his shoulder as
though she were a sack of flour, he walked away from the scuffle on the
trail.
_Chapter XIII_