THE DETECTIVE ARRIVES.
"But, father, isn't there something we can do?" asked Jack, for about
the tenth time that day. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon
of the day following Bob's disappearance. They had waited in vain for
any news of the lost boy and at about eight-thirty o'clock, Mr. Golden
had got into communication, by telephone, with a well-known detective
agency in Boston and they had promised to have one of their best men
there on the four-forty train.
"Yes, I guess we can do something now. We'll run across in the Sprite,
and catch the four o'clock trolley to town, which will get us there in
time to meet that detective, Mr. Sharp."
Glad of anything which promised action, Jack grabbed his cap and
started for the boathouse. It had been a terrible day to him, for he
was lost without Bob, and the thought that he might never see him
again nearly drove him frantic. He and his father were soon in the
Sprite speeding across the lake, and as they reached the wharf in
front of the hotel, they saw Fred and Will Jenkins just getting into
their boat.
"Hello, Jack, heard anything from Bob yet?" asked Will.
"No, not yet."
"Well, let us know when you do. So long."
Jack wasn't sure, but it seemed to him that there was a half sneer to
Will's voice, and that both Fred and Will had an uneasy look about
them.
"Say, dad," he asked after he had removed the cell from the motor and
put it in his pocket, "did you notice anything strange about those
fellows."
"Strange, what do you mean?" asked his father.
"I hardly know, but somehow, I feel it in my bones, that they've had a
hand in this business. Look here," and reaching his hand into his back
pocket, he pulled out a small knife which he handed to his father,
saying, "I found that about thirty feet from the spring this forenoon.
It is not rusted any to speak of, so it couldn't have been there
long."
"Do you know whose it is?" asked his father.
"I'm not sure," replied Jack, "but I've seen Will Jenkins use a knife
which looked a good deal like this one. I'd have asked him about it,
only I didn't think of it in time."
"You be sure and tell the detective about it," said Mr. Golden. "Of
course it doesn't prove anything, as there are probably lots of knives
just like it in town."
By this time they were on the car and in about thirty minutes they
reached Skowhegan. As they passed down the street toward the station,
they were stopped many times by friends, asking anxiously after Bob
and by the time they reached the depot the train was whistling. As it
drew in and came to a stop, a small man with a smooth face was the
first to alight. There were not many passengers, and Mr. Golden knew
most of them. The man who first got off, however, was a stranger, and
he seemed to be looking for some one; Mr. Golden stepped up to him and
asked if he was Mr. Sharp.
"Right first time," was the reply, "and you must be Mr. Golden."
Jack was then introduced, but he was much disappointed, for Mr. Sharp
did not at all answer his idea of a detective. In common with most
boys, he had always imagined a detective to be a very mysterious-looking
person, while Mr. Sharp was indeed very ordinary in appearance.
The trolley car was waiting only a couple of squares away for its
return trip to the lake, and as soon as they obtained his suitcase
from the baggage room, they started.
"We'll be up in time for supper," said Mr. Golden, as they boarded the
car.
On the way up, Mr. Golden gave the detective an account of Bob's
disappearance, including the events which preceded it. As there were
but few people on the car, they could talk in low tones with no danger
of being overheard. The detective said but little, except to ask a
question now and then, but when they were in the Sprite, on their way
across the lake, he said:
"Mr. Golden, I want you to give me a careful description of those two
men."
"I guess Jack can do that better than I, as I only saw them once, and
then took no particular notice of them."
So Jack described them as well as he could, but the detective shook
his head.
"Can't place 'em. Your description of Reed would fit a dozen men I
know, and while the other one puts me in mind of a fellow I once
arrested for counterfeiting, I'm not sure. You didn't notice a scar on
his upper lip, did you?"
"No, I thought I told you that he had a mustache."
"So you did, so you did," said the detective, "I must be getting
forgetful."
Supper was ready by the time they arrived at the cottage, and as soon
as it was over, the detective asked to be shown the way to the
spring, and once there, he made a thorough search of the immediate
vicinity, but after nearly an hour had passed, he was forced to
acknowledge that he had found no clue. As soon as they got back to the
house, he called Boston on the telephone.
"Hello, Bill? Yes. I want you to find out as quickly as possible the
whereabouts of Jim Edwards. Yes, that's the fellow. Call me as soon as
you get any news." He gave the number of the phone and then hung up.
Early in the morning the phone rang, and Sharp was asked for. After a
short conversation, he hung up the receiver, saying to Mr. Golden and
Jack, who were in the room, "Nothing has been heard of that fellow
Edwards since he got out of prison, nearly a year ago. Now, Jack, if
you'll run me across in your boat, I'll go down to the village, and
don't be surprised if you don't see me for a day or two."
"This is a mighty fine boat you have," remarked Sharp, as they were
skimming across the lake in the Sprite. "Is this the new cell?"
"Yes," replied Jack, and then added bitterly, "I wish we'd never made
the old thing, then Bob wouldn't have been kidnapped."
"It's wonderful to think of you boys making a discovery like that.
Why, do you realize what a tremendous lot of money there is in it?"
"I suppose so, but I can't bear to think of it now that Bob's gone."
They soon reached the hotel wharf, and the detective, taking Jack by
the hand, said, "Keep up your courage, my boy; I don't think they will
harm your brother, and sooner or later, we will be sure to find him."
So saying, he started off toward the trolley, while Jack pushed off
and sadly headed the Sprite for home.
"Somehow, I don't think much of that detective," he thought, as he
sped along. "He may be all right, and I suppose he is, but he hasn't
got enough snap in him to suit me."
Jack's adverse opinion of Sharp was increased tenfold, when he
returned the following night and reported that he had been unable to
find a single clue. "By the way," he said, "I tried to find those
Jenkins boys to see if I could get anything out of them, but they left
town on the early train yesterday, and no one seems to know where they
have gone."
It was late the next afternoon. Sharp had gone off early in the
morning, saying that he would probably be back that night. Jack had
spent the forenoon on the lake with his mother and the girls, trying
to cheer them up. Mrs. Golden was rapidly giving away under the
strain, while Edna's eyes were constantly red and swollen from crying.
Mr. Golden had gone to his office that morning, but had returned on
the twelve o'clock car, and they had met him at the wharf and taken
him over in the Sprite. It was about four o'clock, and they were till
on the porch, talking as usual about the missing boy.
"Say, dad, I don't think much of that detective fellow," Jack was
saying, when the phone rang sharply, and he ran into the house to
answer it. A moment later he shouted, "Dad, you're wanted on the long
distance." Mr. Golden came in quickly and took the receiver.
"Is this Mr. Golden of Skowhegan?" came over the wire.
"Yes."
"This is the police station at Brunswick. A boy has just come in here
with a note, which he says he found in the street. It's so covered
with dirt, that it's pretty hard to read, but listen and I'll read
what we've made out. Can you hear?"
"Yes, yes, go ahead, I can hear all right."
The voice then read the note, which Bob had dropped the night before.
As Bob had thought, it didn't tell them much, but it let them know
that he was alive and well, and that helped some and made them feel a
little better. After Mr. Golden had finished telling them what he had
heard, Jack said nothing for some moments, but sat thinking deeply.
Suddenly, he looked up. "Dad," he said, "I want you to let me go to
Boston. Bob's there, and I might be able to find him."
"Why, my dear boy, what could you do in Boston. It is a big city,"
spoke up Mrs. Golden, "and you don't know where they have taken him.
Besides," she added sadly, "they might get you too."
"I guess I could look out for myself. Jerusalem, but I've got to do
something. I'm tired of this sitting round waiting for some one else
to do it all, and," he added sadly, "this all don't seem to amount to
a hill of beans. What do you say, dad?"
"Well, I hardly know what to say," replied Mr. Golden. "We'll wait
till Mr. Sharp returns, and see if he has any news." But, although
they waited till nearly one o'clock, the detective did not come.
They had all gone to bed but father and son. "Come, dad, say I may
go," pleaded Jack.
"Well, I'm not at all sure it's the wise thing, but something seems to
tell me that I had better let you have your way."
"Hurrah!" shouted Jack. "I'll be off on the five o'clock train."
"No," said his father, "you had better wait till a later train, and
perhaps I'll go with you, but I don't want to go till Sharp returns,
and now let's go to bed."
Sharp did not return the next morning, and at breakfast, Mr. Golden
said, "Jack, I guess you had better take the noon train. If Sharp
doesn't come with some news by that time, I'll wait and come later, if
I think best."
The thought that at last he was going to do something toward finding
Bob filled Jack with joy, and by ten o'clock he was ready to start. He
and Mr. Golden went across in the Sprite, after assuring his mother
that he would be very careful and not get into trouble.
"Now, my dear boy, be very careful and look out for yourself," said
Mr. Golden, as he bade him goodby. "Go to Uncle Ben's tonight, and
tomorrow, you had better go to the agency and have them detail a man
to help you in your search," and then he added sadly, "It's like
looking for a needle in a haystack, but if you don't get into trouble,
it won't do any harm."
"Don't worry about me," assured Jack, "I'll look out for myself and,"
he added, "I'll find Bob if I have to go through Boston with a fine
tooth comb."
The Boston train pulled into the North station at eight o'clock, and
as he was pretty hungry, Jack thought he would go into a restaurant
just across the street, for supper, before going to his uncle's, as he
lived in Winthrop, a town about five miles from the city, across the
harbor. As he left the station, he caught sight of a man elbowing his
way through the crowd, that made his heart thump.
"On my soul, I believe that's Reed," he said half aloud, starting
towards him. As he pushed forward he saw the man turn, and for an
instant their eyes met, but the next moment the man had turned, and
before Jack could get to him, he was lost in the crowd. He rushed
about here and there, but to his dismay, he could not find him.
"That was he, sure as guns," he thought, "and I believe he recognized
me."
He realized that his chances of finding him were virtually nil, and
with a heavy heart, he entered the restaurant, and after a hasty
supper, took a car for the ferry.
It was a very dark night, and a drizzling rain was falling as he
stepped on the ferryboat. There were not many people on board, and
what few there were, at once went into the cabin to escape the rain.
Jack, however, had on a raincoat and stood by the rail, watching the
lights of the passing boats, and thinking what hard luck it was to
find Reed so soon only to lose him again. The boat was about half-way
across the harbor, which is about a mile and a half wide, when Jack
felt himself seized from behind, and before he knew what had happened,
he was hurling through the air into the dark water below.