rise rapidly from the ground in flight. It either sought an acclivity
from which to launch itself, or ran swiftly along the ground, gathering
impetus for a leap into the air with outspread wings. Similarly, in
alighting, it probably ran along on its hind feet before dropping to
its small fore feet. Now, conceive the pteranodon to be on the cliff’s
edge, about to start upon its evening flight. Below it appears a man.
Its ferocious nature is aroused at the sight of this unknown being.
Down it swoops, skims swiftly with pattering feet toward him, impales
him on its dreadful beak, then returns to climb the cliff and again
launch itself for flight.”
All this time Haynes had been holding one of the smaller rocks in his
hand. Now he flung it toward the gully and turned away, saying
vehemently: “If the shore was covered with footprints, I wouldn’t
believe it! It’s too—”
He never finished that sentence. From out of the darkness there came a
hoarse cry. Heavy wings beat the air with swift strokes. In that
instant panic fell upon them. Haynes ran for the shelter of the cliff,
and after him came the Coltons. Johnston dropped on hands and knees and
scurried like a crab for cover. Only the professor stood his ground;
but it was with a tremulous voice that he called to his companions:
“That was a common marsh or short-eared owl that rose. The _Asio
accipitrinus_ is not rare hereabouts, nor is it dangerous to mankind.
There is nothing further to do to-night, and I believe that we are in
some peril remaining here, as the pteranodon appears to be nocturnal.”
The others returned to him ashamed. But all the way home they walked
under an obsession of terror hovering in the blackness above.
It was a night of restless and troubled sleep at Third House. For when
the incredible takes the form of undeniable reason, and demands
credence, the brain of man gropes fitfully along dim avenues of
conjecture. Helga’s premonition of impending disaster lay heavy upon
the household.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE NEW EVIDENCE
THE morning of September 21 impended in sullen splendour from a bank of
cloud. As the sudden sun struggled into the open it brought a brisk
blow from the southwest, dispelling a heavy mist. The last of the fog
was being scoured from the earth’s face when Dick Colton was awakened
from an unrefreshing sleep by a quick step passing down the hall.
Jumping out of bed, he threw open the door and faced Haynes.
“Don’t wake the others,” said the reporter in a low voice.
“Where are you off to?” inquired Colton.
“To the beach. I’ve got a notion that I can settle this Serdholm
question here and now.”
“Wait fifteen minutes and I’ll go with you.”
“If you don’t mind, Colton, I’d rather you wouldn’t. I want to go over
the ground alone, first. But if I’m not back for breakfast, meet me
there and I’ll probably have something to tell you.”
“Very well. It’s your game to play. Good luck! Oh, hold on. Have you
got a gun?”
“No, mine hasn’t come yet.”
“Better take mine.”
“You must have been having bad dreams,” said the other lightly. “What
sleep I’ve had has banished the professor’s cretaceous jub-jub bird
from my mental premises. Anyhow, I don’t think a revolver would be much
use against it, do you?”
“Take it, anyway,” urged Colton.
“All right,” assented the reporter. “Much obliged. I’ll take it along
if you want me to.”
The doctor handed out his long Colt’s. “Well, good luck!” he said
again, and with a strange impulse he stretched out his hand.
Haynes seemed a little startled; but he said nothing, as he shook
hands, except: “See you in a couple of hours, then.”
Although it was only six o’clock, Dick Colton could not get back to
sleep. A sound of splashing water from Everard’s room showed that he
too was up. Dick was dressing with those long pauses between each
process which are the surest sign of profound thought in the masculine
creature, when he heard a knock on Haynes’ door followed by the music
of Helga Johnston’s voice.
“Petit Père. Oh, Petit Père!”
Before Dick could reach the door and explain, the low call came again:
“Petit Père! Oh, please wake up!”
“Miss Helga,” began Dick, thrusting out his head.
“Oh, Dr. Colton, I’ve—I’ve had such a dreadful dream again. I want to
speak to Mr. Haynes.”
“He started for the beach fifteen minutes ago.”
“Oh-h-h!” It was a long, shuddering gasp. The next instant he heard her
swift footsteps patter downstairs, through the living-room and out upon
the porch. A few minutes later Everard Colton in trousers and shirt
came into the room.
“Was that Helga’s voice I heard?”
“Yes.”
“Anything wrong?” asked the young man anxiously.
“Haynes has gone to the beach, and she has followed. She’s had a
dream-warning or some fool thing”—Colton had the professional
impatience of the supernatural—“and would be hysterical if she was of
that type.”
Everard exploded into a curse. “And you let her go alone?”
“Am I likely to do a cross-country run in my underclothes?” demanded
his brother.
The young man was down the stairs in two leaps, and out upon the lawn.
Helga’s fair head shone far to the south on a hillock’s top. She was
running.
“Take the cross-cut!” shouted Dick Colton. “You can head her off at
Graveyard Point. I’ll follow.”
There were few men of his time who could keep near Everard Colton to
the end of a mile run. Heartbreaking country this was, with its ups and
downs; but the young man had the instinct of a cross-country runner,
and subconsciously his feet led him along the easiest course. When he
came out on the summit of the cliff above Graveyard Point, his eyes,
eagerly searching, saw the flying figure of the girl he loved coming
down the beach, a quarter of a mile away.
“Helga, Helga!” he shouted. “I’m coming to you!”
Her ringing soprano came back to him, like an echo magically transmuted
into golden beauty: “The other side! Around the point.”
She waved him vehemently toward the hidden shore beyond the headland.
Something of her foreboding terror passed into the soul of her lover.
Plunging down into the gully, Everard ran out upon the beach and
doubled the point. Whatever peril there was, if any existed, lay there;
he would reach it first. The waves almost washed his feet as he toiled
through the loose sand at the base of the little ravine. Breathless, he
pushed on until he reached the point, where he had full view of the
stretch of sand. Then at what he saw the breath came back to him in one
gasping inhalation. He stopped short in his tracks, and stood shaking.
The sun had just risen above the cloudbank. Black, on the shining glory
of the beach, a man lay sprawled grotesquely. It was almost at the spot
where Serdholm had been found. Though the face was hidden and the
posture distorted, Everard knew him instantly for Haynes, and as
instantly knew that he was dead. He ran forward and bent over the body.
Haynes had been struck opposite the gully, by a weapon driven with
fearful impetus between his ribs from the back, piercing his heart. A
dozen staggering prints showed where he had plunged forward before he
fell. The flight was involuntary—for he was dead almost on the
stroke—the blind, mechanical instinct of escape from the death-dealing
agency. There was no mistaking that great gash in the back. Haynes had
been killed as Serdholm was.
Sickening with the certainty of what he was to find, Everard Colton
turned his eyes to the tablet of the sand. There, exactly as the
ill-fated reporter had drawn it on his map, the grisly track of the
talons stretched in double line across the clean beach, toward the
gully’s mouth. Except for this the sand was blank.
For a few steps he followed the trail, then turned back to the body. In
the pocket he found his brother’s revolver. So Haynes had been struck
down without warning! For the moment, shock had driven from Colton’s
mind the thought of Helga. Now he rose to fend her from the sight of
this horror, and saw her moving swiftly around the point.
“Go back!” he cried. “You must not come nearer!”
With no more heed of him than if he were a rock in her path, the girl
made a half-circle of avoidance, and sinking upon the sand gazed into
the dead man’s face. The eyes were closed, and from the calm features
all the expression of harshness had fled. Gone were the lines of pain;
the dead face wore for Helga the same sweetness and gentleness that,
living, Haynes had kept for her alone, and the lips seemed to smile to
her as she lifted the head to her lap and smoothed back the hair from
the forehead.
“He is dead?” she asked dully, looking up at Everard.
“Yes,” said the young man.
“I warned him,” she whispered. “I saw it so plainly—death flying across
the sands to strike him. Oh, Petit Père, why didn’t you heed me?
Couldn’t you trust the loving heart of your little princess?”
In that moment Everard Colton forgot his hopes. A great surge of pity
and grief for the girl rose within him. It came to him that she had
loved the better man, the man who lay dead on the sands, and as the
first pang of that passed there was left in him only the sense of
service. Throwing his coat across Haynes’ body, he bent over Helga.
“My dear,” he said, “my dear.”
That was all; but her woman’s swift intuition recognised the new
feeling and responded to it. She groped for his hand and clung to it.
“Don’t leave us!” she said pitifully.
“I will wait here with you,” he answered.
Slowly the tide rose toward the mournful little group on the sand. An
investigating gull swooped down near to them, and the girl roused with
a shudder from her reveries, thrusting out her hands as if to ward off
the bird.
“It was like that in my dream,” she said, looking up at Everard with
tearless eyes. “Oh, why did I not compel him to heed my warning! He
used to say the sea-spirits that brought me in from the storm had given
me second sight. Why did he not trust in that?”
“He loved you very dearly,” said Everard gently. “Ah, you do not know
what he was to me!” cried the girl. “Everything that was noble,
everything that was generous. From the time when I was a child—Oh, he
_can’t_ be dead. Can’t you do something?”
Everard choked. Before he could command himself for a reply, there was
a rattle of stones down the face of the cliff. Necessity for action was
a boon to his tortured sensibilities. Catching up the revolver from the
spot where he had laid it, he walked toward the sound. A confused noise
of voices caused him to drop the muzzle of his weapon, as Dick Colton,
Professor Ravenden and his daughter came into view.
“Too late, Dick,” said Everard.
“Good God!” said Dick. “Not Haynes?”
Everard nodded. “He was dead when we got here.”
With a little, broken cry, Dolly Ravenden flew to Helga and threw her
arms around the girl’s neck.
Dick Colton drew the coat from the body, looked at the wound, and then
followed the tracks to the spot where they disappeared in the soft
rubble. Returning, he said to Dolly Ravenden:
“Get Miss Helga away.”
“She won’t come. I can’t persuade her to move,” said Dolly.
Everard came and knelt beside the girl. “Helga,” he said, “Helga, dear,
you must go back home. We will bring him as soon as we can. Will you go
back with me now, dear?”
“Yes,” said the girl.
Bending over, she kissed Haynes’ forehead. She got to her feet, and
Everard and Dolly Ravenden led her away. Dick leaned over the dead face
and looked down upon it with a great sense of sorrow and wrath. So
gazing, he recalled the reporter’s half-jesting charge that he should
take up the trail, “if my turn comes next.”
“It’s a promise, old man,” he said softly to the dead. “You might have
left me your clue; but I’ll do my best. And until I’ve found your
slayer or my turn comes I’ll not give up the work that you’ve left to
me.”
Meantime Professor Ravenden had been examining the marks with every
mark of deep absorption. “Professor Ravenden!” called Dick somewhat
impatiently.
The professor turned reluctantly.
“This—is—a very interesting case,” he muttered brokenly. “I—I will
notify the coast-guard.”
And Dick saw, with amazement, before the dry-as-dust scientist turned
again to post down the beach, that his eyes were filled with tears.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE EARLY EXCURSION
IN every Anglo-Saxon there is something of the bloodhound. Sorrow for
Haynes’ tragic death had merged with and intensified in the mind of
Dick Colton a haggard demand for vengeance. He was surprised to find
how strong a liking for the reporter had grown out of so brief an
acquaintance. With equal surprise, he realised that his every instinct
now was set to the blood-trail, that the duty of following the mystery
to a definite conclusion possessed his mind to the exclusion of all
else. Not quite all, either, for the thought of Dolly Ravenden lay
deeper than the mind.
One salient fact asserted itself: Whatever may have been the agency of
the other murders, Harris Haynes’ slaying was indubitably the same as
that of Paul Serdholm. But what possible motive of murder could
comprise these two? Could Bruce be the solution? Following what he
thought would have been the processes of the reporter’s keen mind,
Colton, after sending necessary telegrams, visited the Bow Hill
station. Bruce was not in. He had gone out early that morning,
ostensibly to fish. To the officer in charge Colton briefly stated the
facts, and suggested that Bruce be detained when he returned, which was
agreed to readily, though not without the expression of a hearty
disbelief in the coast-guard’s having had anything to do with the
killing.
“Give a dog a bad name!” said the officer. “Because Bruce was around
when Serdholm was killed, he’s suspected of this job. He told me Mr.
Haynes was helping to clear him of the other killing.”
“That is true,” replied Colton. “Haynes did not think him guilty. Nor
do I. But there are suspicious circumstances.”
It was late in the afternoon when the Coroner, who had driven fifteen
miles to reach the spot, had finished his work, and Haynes’ body was
brought to the house. From the official investigation nothing had
resulted. Bruce was examined, and was pitifully nervous, but told a
straight enough story of his fishing and exhibited several fish in
corroboration.
Colton felt helpless in this maze. Late in the afternoon Dolly Ravenden
came to him. Her brilliant beauty was dimmed and softened by traces of
tears, and to the man’s longing heart she never had appealed with so
irresistible a charm.
“Dr. Colton,” she said, “I don’t know what to do about Helga. She is
like a dazed person. Your brother and I have been with her constantly.
She has not broken down once. The tears seem frozen within her. I am
frightened for her reason. She seems to blame herself for this dreadful
thing.”
“There is something I want her to know,” said Dick. “Will you tell
her?”
“Had you not better see her yourself?”
“I think not. You will tell her better. It is this: Poor Haynes had not
a year to live. He knew this himself.”
“How did you know?” asked the girl incredulously.
“He told me of the disease that was killing him. It was when I asked
him whether I might send for Everard to come down.”
“Then you let me accuse you wrongly,” she said very low. “Why did you
not tell me that Mr. Haynes knew of Everard’s coming? Was it fair in
you to let me be so unfair? I am ashamed of myself for the way I spoke
to you. I have been ashamed——”
She raised her appealing eyes to his and moved a step nearer him. Dick
held his breath like a man afraid of dispelling some entrancing vision.
“I did not mean it,” she went on bravely, though her eyes fell before
his look. “When I saw how it hurt you I was sorry.”
“It is for me to beg your pardon,” said Dick hoarsely, “for believing
your words against what my own heart told me of you. You know why it
hurt me so?”
“Yes,” she said, in sweet acceptance of his reason.
“Dolly, do you care at all?” he cried, stretching out his hands to her.
“I don’t know,” she faltered. “Don’t ask me yet. It has been so short a
time. I must speak of Helga now.”
“Yes,” said Dick, “I shall wait, and wait happily.” And—so strange a
thing is the heart of woman—a pang of disappointment accompanied the
quick thrill of admiration in Dolly’s heart at her lover’s loyalty and
self-repression.
“I will tell her what you say,” said Dolly. She paused for a moment,
and then a wonderful smile flickered over her sobered beauty.
“It ought to have been Helga you cared for,” she said. “But I’m glad it
isn’t!” And she was gone.
The evening train brought, in response to Dick’s telegram, a grave and
quiet young fellow who introduced himself as Eldon Smith, a reporter
from _The New Era_, Haynes’ paper, and an older man with a face of
singular beauty, whose name was a national word by virtue of his gifts
as an editorial writer. Archer Melbourne had been the dead man’s only
confidant. He at once took charge.
“I have heard from Mr. Haynes within a week,” he said to Dick Colton.
“If I believed in such things, I should say that he had a premonition
of death. He is to be buried in the hill behind Third House, so he
wrote me. His property, which is considerable, including his life
insurance, goes to Miss Helga Johnston, in trust, until her marriage. I
am named as one trustee, and he writes me to ask you to act as the
other.”
“Surely Haynes must have had friends of older standing,” began Dick,
“who——”
“Haynes had few intimates. He was a quick and keen judge of men, and
you seem to have inspired a strong confidence. There is a peculiar
request attached. He asks that you use all your influence to guard Miss
Johnston against making any marriage under conditions which you could
not approve for the woman you loved best in the world.”
“God helping me, I will!” said Dick solemnly.
“As for the circumstances of Haynes’ death, the stories I heard are too
wild for credence.”
“So are the facts,” said Dick briefly.
“Eldon Smith came down on the train with me. There is no keener mind in
the newspaper business than his. Of course, he comes to represent his
paper at Haynes’ funeral. The managing editor and others of the staff
will be down to-morrow. Meantime, I think Smith will be investigating.
Perhaps you will tell him what you know.”
To the two newspaper men Dick Colton recited the facts. Smith took an
occasional note, and left with the brief comment: “I’ve never come
across anything like this before. If Mr. Haynes couldn’t make it out,
there isn’t much chance for anyone else. But I’ll do my best.”
After the close of the interview, Everard Colton came into Dick’s room.
“Good Heavens, Ev,” said Dick. “You look ten years older. Brace
yourself up, man.”
“Dick,” said his brother, “I’ve given up. I see now I was a fool to
think I ever could win Helga. I’m going to stick by her until this
thing is over, and then I’ll go back.”
“Don’t be too sure,” began Dick; but checked himself, remembering his
promise to the girl.
“That is what Dolly said,” replied the other hopelessly. “But I’ve had
my eyes opened. I know now what sort of fellow Haynes really was. How
could a man such as I win out against that kind of man?”
“Anyway,” said Dick, “Helga needs you at this time; you and Miss
Ravenden. You won’t leave now, Ev.”
“Oh, I’ll stand by,” came the weary answer. “I don’t mean to whine; but
I’ll be glad when I can get away. Even if I thought there was any
chance—Oh, a fellow can’t fight the dead; it’s too cowardly!”
“Ev,” said Dick affectionately, “you don’t know—How is she now?” he
asked, breaking off suddenly.
“Just the same. Mr. Melbourne saw her for a few minutes, and brought
her some old letters of Haynes’. She has them, but we can’t rouse her
to read them.”
“Has Miss Ravenden told her of Haynes’ illness?”
“What illness? Dolly’s been trying to tell her something; but Helga
doesn’t seem to comprehend.”
“She will come out of that daze presently,” said Dick. “You’d better go
back to her, Ev.”
Late that evening Eldon Smith knocked at Dick’s door, and found Dick
talking with Professor Ravenden.
“It certainly is the most extraordinary case in my experience,” said
the young reporter. “So many people had wallowed all over the place
before I got there that there was nothing to be had from the sand,
except two trampled remains of those remarkable tracks. You are sure
there were no footprints?”
“Absolutely,” replied the professor and Colton in a breath.
“And you say Mr. Haynes was sure that there was none leading to the
body of the man Serd-holm?”
“So he positively declared.”
“Of course the pteranodon theory is out of the question.”
“Professor Ravenden does not so consider,” said Dick.
“I beg your pardon, Professor; I understand—”
“That the pteranodon still exists is by no means impossible,” said
Professor Ravenden. “That the mysterious marks correspond to the fossil
track is undeniable. I cannot so lightly dismiss the theory that a
reptile of this supposedly extinct species did the killing.”
“Well, all that I can do is to try again tomorrow. Good-night,” and the
reporter left.
“If Haynes were alive,” said Colton as the young man went, “he would go
down to the beach the first thing in the morning. That is what I am
going to do.”
“Do you think it safe?” queried the professor. “Not entirely,” replied
the other frankly; “but I’ll have a revolver.”
“Little enough avail was that to our poor friend,” said Professor
Ravenden. “Suppose I accompany you?”
“Thank you, sir,” said Dick. “If you care to go, I should be glad to
have you. But suppose you come across the knolls while I follow Haynes’
course along the beach. We’ll meet at the spot. You of course will go
armed?”
“Certainly. Yes, I think your plan a good one.”
For Dick Colton there was little sleep that night. After midnight he
was sent for to see Helga. At last she had come out of her semi-stupor,
and had given way to such a violence of grief that Dolly and Everard
were terrified. Having given her an opiate and ordered Everard to bed,
Dick sat up with his own troubled conjectures until nearly dawn. Barely
three hours of dozing had been his portion when he woke again.
With his shoes in his hand, he crept downstairs and started for the
beach. He had set out early, because, despite the chill in the air, he
wished to take a plunge in the sea to freshen himself up. Brief indeed
was the plunge; consequently Dick Colton was in a fair way to reach the
rendezvous some minutes before the arrival of the professor.
At Graveyard Point he climbed the cliff and took a long look around. A
mist, moving along from east to west, cut off his view in one
direction. Descending to the beach, he readily found the spot where
Haynes’ body had lain. By way of precaution he made sure that his
revolver was in condition for instant use. Although a slight rain had
fallen, blurring the writings on the sand, and there had been almost
total destruction by the trampling of those who had taken Haynes’ body
away, there still was left some material for study. The remains of the
five-taloned marks Colton set himself to consider.
Once there came a startling interruption, in the sliding of some gravel
down the gully. Pistol in hand, Dick whirled, and for ten monstrously
elongated seconds listened to the irregular beats of his heart as he
waited. Satisfied at length that it was only a chance avalanche in
miniature, he got down on his hands and knees above the plainest of the
vestigia. There was the secret, if he only could read it. Had Haynes
solved it and met his death at the moment of success? For perhaps two
or three minutes the young doctor remained in his crouched posture, his
mind immersed in speculation. Then he rose, facing the sea, and as he
stood and looked down there came to him a sudden glow of illumination.
“By the heavens! I’ve got it!” he cried.
He started forward to the next mark. As he advanced, something sang in
the air behind him. He knew it was some swiftly flying thing; knew in
the same agonised moment that the doom of Haynes and Serdholm was upon
him: tried to turn and face his death—and then there was a dreadful,
grinding shock, a flame with jagged edges tore through his brain, and
he fell forward into darkness.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE PROFESSOR ACTS
PROMPTITUDE was one of Professor Ravenden’s many virtues. Only one
thing could make him forget the obligation of an engagement; that was
his dominant ardour for the hunt. In time this had become an instinct.
So it is not strange that, on leaving Third House to keep his
rendezvous with Dick Colton, he should have absentmindedly hung his
heavy poison-jar for specimens around his neck, and taken up his
butterfly net, while entirely forgetting his revolver.
As chance would have it, there rose about the same hour as Professor
Ravenden a delicate little butterfly with wings like the azure glory of
the mid-June heavens. It was taking the air on a leaf of scrub-oak,
while waiting for the sun to come out, when the entomologist came
striding over the knolls, and brushed against the shrub. Up fluttered
the beautiful insect, and the blue of its wings caught the eager eye of
Professor Ravenden. It was of the same species which once before had
lured him from the greater pursuit.