THE FARM-BOY TELLS A GHASTLY STORY AND AN IRISHMAN ENTERS
Barnes stared. "What do you mean?" he demanded sharply.
"I mean just what I said. What do you know about this business?"
"How should I know ANYTHING about it?"
"Well, we don't know who you are, nor what you're doing up here, nor
what your real profession is. That's why I ask the question."
"I see," said Barnes, after a moment. He grasped the situation and he
admitted to himself that Jones had cause for his suspicions. "It has
occurred to you that I may be a detective or a secret service man,
isn't that the case? Well, I am neither. Moreover, this man and his
companion evidently had their doubts about me, if I am to judge by your
remark and your actions on the porch earlier in the evening."
"I only said that they were curious about you. The man named Roon asked
me a good many questions about you while you were in at supper. Who
knows but what he was justified in thinkin' you didn't mean any good to
him and his friend?"
"Did you know any more about these two men, Mr. Jones, than you know
about me?"
"I don't know anything about 'em. They came here like any one else,
paid their bills regular, 'tended to their own business, and that's
all."
"What was their business?"
"Mr. Roon was lookin' for a place to bring his daughter who has
consumption. He didn't want to take her to a reg'lar consumptive
community, he said, an' so he was lookin' for a quiet place where she
wouldn't be associatin' with lungers all the time. Some big doctor in
New York told him to come up here an' look around. That was his
business, Mr. Barnes, an' I guess you'd call it respectable, wouldn't
you?"
"Perfectly. But why should he be troubled by my presence here if--"
Miss Thackeray put an end to the discussion in a most effectual manner.
"Oh, for the Lord's sake, cut it out! Wait till he's dead, can't you?"
she whispered fiercely. "You've got all the time in the world to talk,
and he hasn't more than ten minutes left to breathe unless that rube
doctor gets here pretty soon. If you've GOT to settle the question
right away, at least have the decency to go out of this room."
Barnes flushed to the roots of his hair. Jones was aghast, dumb with
surprise and anger.
"You are right, Miss Thackeray," said the former, deeply mortified.
"This is not the time nor the place to----"
"He can't understand a word we say," said Putnam Jones loudly. "You
better get out of here yourself, young woman. This is a job for men,
not--"
"I think he's going now," she whispered in an awe-struck voice. "Keep
still, all of you. Is he breathing, Mr. Barnes? That awful cough just
now seemed to--"
"Come away, please," said Barnes, taking her gently by the arm. "I--I
believe that was the end. Don't stay here, Miss Thackeray. Dillingford,
will you be good enough to escort Miss--"
"I've never seen any one die before," she said in a low, tense voice.
Her eyes were fixed on the still face. "Why--why, how tightly he holds
my hand! I can't get it away--he must be alive, Mr. Barnes. Where is
that silly doctor?"
Barnes unclasped the rigid fingers of the man called Andrew Paul, and,
shaking his head sadly, drew her away from the improvised bier. He and
the shivering Mr. Dillingford conducted her to the dining-room, where a
single kerosene lamp gave out a feeble, rather ghastly light. The tall
Bacon followed, the upper part of his person enveloped in the blanket
Putnam Jones had hastily snatched from the mattress before it was
slipped under the dying man. Several of the women of the house,
including the wife of the landlord, clogged the little entrance hall,
chattering in hushed undertones.
"Would you like a little brandy?" inquired Barnes, as she sat down
limply in the chair he pulled out for her. "I have a flask upstairs in
my--"
"I never touch it," she said. "I'm all right. My legs wabble a little
but--Sit down, Mr. Barnes. I've got something to say to you and I'd
better say it now, because it may come in pretty handy for you later
on. Don't let those women come in here, Dilly."
Barnes drew a chair close beside her. Bacon, with scant regard for
elegance, seated himself on the edge of the table and bent an ear.
"It's all rot about that man Roon being here to look for a place for
his daughter." She spoke rapidly and cautiously. "I don't know whether
Jones knows, but that certainly wasn't what he was here for. The young
fellow in there was a sort of secretary. Roon had a room at the other
end of the hall from yours, on the corner, facing the road and also
looking toward the cross-roads. Young Paul had the next room, with a
door between. I was supposed to make up their rooms after they'd gone
out in the forenoon for a horseback ride. I kept out of their sight,
because I knew they were the kind of men who would laugh at me. They
couldn't understand, and, of course, I couldn't explain. Yesterday
morning I found a sort of map on the floor under young Paul's
washstand. The wind had blown it off the table by the window and he
hadn't missed it. It was in lead pencil and looked like a map of the
roads around here. I couldn't read the notations, but it required only
a glance to convince me that this place was the central point. All of
the little mountain roads were there, and the cross-roads. There wasn't
anything queer about it, so I laid it on his table and put a book on it.
"This afternoon I walked up in the woods back of the Tavern to go over
some lines in a new piece we are to do later on,--God knows when! I
could see the house from where I was sitting. Roon's windows were
plainly visible. I wasn't very far away, you see, the climb being too
steep for me. I saw Roon standing at a window looking toward the
cross-roads with a pair of field-glasses. Every once in awhile he would
turn to Paul, who stood beside him with a notebook, and say something
to him. Paul wrote it down. Then he would look again, turning the
glasses this way and that. I wouldn't have thought much about it if
they hadn't spent so much time there. I believe I watched them for an
hour. Suddenly my eyes almost popped out of my head. Paul had gone away
from the window. He came back and he had a couple of revolvers in his
hands. They stood there for a few minutes carefully examining the
weapons and reloading them with fresh cartridges. The storm was coming
up, but I love it so that I waited almost until dark, watching the
clouds and listening to the roar of the wind in the trees. I'm a queer
girl in that way. I like turmoil. I could sit out in the most dreadful
thunder storm and just revel in the crashes. Just as I was about to
start down to the house--it was a little after six o'clock, and getting
awfully dark and overcast,--Roon took up the glasses again. He seemed
to be excited and called his companion. Paul grabbed the glasses and
looked down the road. They both became very much excited, pointing and
gesticulating, and taking turn about with the glasses."
"About six o'clock, you say?" said Barnes, greatly interested.
"It was a quarter after six when I got back to the house. I spoke to
Mr. Bacon about what I'd seen and he said he believed they were German
spies, up to some kind of mischief along the Canadian border. Everybody
is a German spy nowadays, Mr. Barnes, if he looks cross-wise. Then
about half an hour later you came to the Tavern. I saw Roon sneak out
to the head of the stairs and listen to your conversation with Jones
when you registered. That gave me an idea. It was you they were
watching the road for. They saw you long before you got here, and it
was--"
Barnes held up his hand for silence. "Listen," he said in a low voice,
"I will tell you who they were looking for." As briefly as possible he
recounted his experience with the strange young woman at the
cross-roads. "From the beginning I have connected this tragedy with the
place called Green Fancy. I'll stake my last penny that they have been
hanging around here waiting for the arrival of that young woman. They
knew she was coming and they doubtless knew what she was bringing with
her. They went to Green Fancy to-night with a very sinister purpose in
mind, and things didn't turn out as they expected. What do you know
about the place called Green Fancy?"
He was vastly excited. His active imagination was creating all sorts of
possibilities and complications, depredations and intrigues.
Bacon was the one who answered. He drew the blanket closer about his
lean form and shivered as with a chill.
"I know this much about the place from hearsay," he said in a guttural
whisper. "It's supposed to be haunted. I've heard more than one of
these jays,--big huskies too,--say they wouldn't go near the place
after dark for all the money in the state."
"That's just talk to scare you, Ague," said Dillingford. "People live
up there and since we've been here two or three men visitors have come
down from the place to sample our stock of wet goods. Nothing
suspicious looking or ghostly about them either. I talked with a couple
of 'em day before yesterday. They were out for a horseback ride and
stopped here for a mug of ale."
"Were they foreigners?" inquired Barnes.
"If you want to call an Irishman a foreigner, I'll have to say one of
them was. He had a beautiful brogue. I'd never seen an Irishman in
slick riding clothes, however, so I doubted my ears at first. You don't
associate a plain Mick with anything so swell as that, you know. The
other was an American, I'm sure. Yesterday they rode past here with a
couple of swell looking women. I saw them turn up the road to Green
Fancy, so that knocks your ghost story all to smash, Bacon."
"It isn't MY ghost story," began Mr. Bacon indignantly. The arrival of
four or five men, who stamped into the already crowded hallway from the
porch outside, claimed the attention of the quartette. Among them was
the doctor who, they were soon to discover, was also the coroner of the
county. A very officious deputy sheriff was also in the group.
Before rejoining the crowd in the tap-room, Barnes advised his
companions, especially the girl, to say as little as possible about
what they had heard and seen.
"This thing is going to turn out to be a whacking sensation, and it may
be a great deal more important than we think. You don't want to become
involved in the investigation, which may become a national affair. I'd
like to have a hand in clearing it up. My head is chock-full of
theories that might--"
"Maybe Roon was right," said Dillingford, slowly, as he edged a step or
two away from Barnes.
"In what respect?"
"He certainly thought you were a detective or something like that.
Maybe he thought you came with that young woman, or maybe he thought
you were shadowing her, or--"
"There are a lot of things he may have thought," interrupted Barnes,
smiling. "It is barely possible that my arrival may have caused him to
act more hastily than he intended. That may be the reason why the job
ended so disastrously for him."
Mrs. Jones called out from the doorway. "Mr. Barnes, you're wanted in
there."
"All right," he responded.
"Better let me get you a wet towel to wash your hand," said Bacon to
Miss Thackeray. "My God, I wouldn't have THAT on my hand for a million
dollars."
The doctor had been working over the prostrate form on the tables. As
Barnes entered the room, he looked up and declared that the man was
dead.
"This is Mr. Barnes," said Putnam Jones, indicating the tall traveller
with a short jerk of his thumb.
"I am from the sheriff's office," said the man who stood beside the
doctor. The rest of the crowd evidently had been ordered to stand back
from the tables. The sheriff was a burly fellow, whose voice shook in a
most incongruous manner, despite his efforts to appear composed and
otherwise efficient. "Did you ever see this man before?"
"Not until he was carried in here half an hour ago. I arrived here this
evening."
"What's your business up here, Mr. Barnes?"
"I have no business up here. I just happened to stroll in this evening."
"Well," said the sheriff darkly, "I guess I'll have to ask you to stick
around here till we clear this business up. We don't know you
an'--Well, we can't take any chances. You understand, I reckon."
"I certainly fail to understand, Mr. Sheriff. I know nothing whatever
of this affair and I intend to continue on my way to-morrow morning."
"Well, I guess not."
"Do you mean to say that I am to be detained here against my--"
"You got to stay here till we are satisfied that you don't know
anything about this business. That's all."
"Am I to consider myself under arrest, sir?"
"I wouldn't go as far as to say that. You just stick around here,
that's all I got to say. If you're all right, we'll soon find it out.
What's more, if you are all right you'll be willin' to stay. Do you get
me?"
"I certainly do. And I can now assure you, Mr. Sheriff, that I'd like
nothing better than to stick around here, as you put it. I'd like to
help clear this matter up. In the meantime, you may readily find out
who I am and why I am here by telegraphing to the Mayor of New York
City. This document, which experience has taught me to carry for just
such an emergency as this, may have some weight with you." He opened
his bill-folder and drew forth a neatly creased sheet of paper. This he
handed to the sheriff. "Read it, please, and note the date, the
signature, the official seal of the New York Police department, and
also the rather interesting silver print pasted in the lower left hand
corner. I think you will agree that it is a good likeness of me. Each
year I take the precaution of having myself properly certified by the
police department at home before venturing into unknown and perhaps
unfriendly communities. This, in a word, is a guarantee of good
citizenship, good intentions and-good health. I was once taken up by a
rural Sherlock on suspicion of being connected with the theft of a
horse and buggy, although all the evidence seemed to indicate that I
was absolutely afoot and weary at the time, and didn't have the outfit
concealed about my person. I languished in the calaboose for
twenty-four hours, and might have remained there indefinitely if the
real desperado hadn't been captured in the nick o' time. Have you read
it?"
"Yes," said the sheriff dubiously; "but how do I know it ain't a
forgery?"
"You don't know, of course. But in case it shouldn't be a forgery and I
am subjected to the indignity of arrest or even detention, you would
have a nasty time defending yourself in a civil suit for damages. Don't
misunderstand me. I appreciate your position. I shall remain here, as
you suggest, but only for the purpose of aiding you in getting to the
bottom of this affair."
"What do you think about it, Doc?"
"He says he's willing to stay, don't he? Well, what more can you ask?"
snapped the old doctor. "I should say the best thing for you to do,
Abner, is to get a posse of men together and begin raking the woods up
yonder for the men that did the shooting. You say there is another one
dead up at Jim Conley's? Well, I'll go over and view him at once. The
first thing to do is to establish the corpus delicti. We've got to be
able to say the men are dead before we can charge anybody with murder.
This man was shot in the chest, from in front. Now we'll examine his
clothes and so forth and see if they throw any additional light on the
matter."
The most careful search of Andrew Paul's person established one thing
beyond all question: the man had deliberately removed everything that
might in any way serve to aid the authorities in determining who he
really was and whence he came. The tailor's tags had been cut from the
smart, well-fitting garments; the buttons on the same had been replaced
by others of an ordinary character; the names of the haberdasher, the
hat dealer and the boot maker had been as effectually destroyed. There
were no papers of any description in his pockets. His wrist watch bore
neither name, date nor initials. Indeed, nothing had been overlooked in
his very palpable effort to prevent actual identification, either in
life or death.
Subsequent search of the two rooms disclosed the same extreme
precautions. Not a single object, not even a scrap of paper had been
left there on the departure of the men at nine o'clock. Ashes in an
old-fashioned fireplace in Roon's room suggested the destruction of
tell-tale papers. Everything had vanished. A large calibre automatic
revolver, all cartridges unexploded, was found in Paul's coat pocket.
In another pocket, lying loose, were a few bank notes and some silver,
amounting all told to about thirty dollars.
The same thorough search of the dead body of Roon later on by the
coroner and sheriff, revealed a similar condition. The field-glasses,
of English make, were found slung across his shoulder, and a fully
loaded revolver, evidently his, was discovered the next morning in the
grass beside the road near the point where he fell. There were several
hundred dollars in the roll of bills they found in his inside coat
pocket.
Roon was a man of fifty or thereabouts. Although both men were
smooth-faced, there was reason to suspect that Roon at least had but
recently worn a mustache. His upper lip had the thick, stiff look of
one from which a beard of long-standing recently had been shaved.
Later on it was learned that they purchased the two horses in
Hornville, paying cash for the beasts and the trappings. The
transaction took place a day or two before they came to Hart's Tavern
for what had been announced as a short stay.
Standing on Jim Conley's front porch a little after sunrise, Barnes
made the following declaration:
"Everything goes to show that these men were up here for one of two
reasons. They were either trying to prevent or to enact a crime. The
latter is my belief. They were afraid of me. Why? Because they believed
I was trailing them and likely to spoil their game. Gentlemen, those
fellows were here for the purpose of robbing the place you call Green
Fancy."
"What's that?" came a rich, mellow voice from the outskirts of the
crowd. A man pushed his way through and confronted Barnes. He was a
tall, good-looking fellow of thirty-five, and it was apparent that he
had dressed in haste. "My name is O'Dowd, and I am a guest of Mr.
Curtis at Green Fancy. Why do you think they meant to rob his place?"
"Well," began Barnes drily, "it would seem that his place is the only
one in the neighbourhood that would BEAR robbing. My name is Barnes. Of
course, Mr. O'Dowd, it is mere speculation on my part."
"But who shot the man?" demanded the Irishman. "He certainly wasn't
winged by any one from our place. Wouldn't we have known something
about it if he had attempted to get into the house and was nailed
by--Why, Lord love you, sir, there isn't a soul at Green Fancy who
could shoot a thief if he saw one. This is Mr. De Soto, also a guest at
Green Fancy. He will, I think, bear me out in upsetting your theory."
A second man approached, shaking his head vigorously. He was a thin,
pale man with a singularly scholastic face. Quite an unprepossessing,
unsanguinary person, thought Barnes.
"Mr. Curtis's chauffeur, I think it was, said the killing occurred just
above this house," said he, visibly excited. "Green Fancy is at least a
mile from here, isn't it? You don't shoot burglars a mile from the
place they are planning to rob, do you? Is the man a native of this
community?"
"No," said Barnes, on whom devolved the duties of spokesman. "By the
way, his companion lies dead at Hart's Tavern. He was shot from his
horse at the cross-roads."
"God bless me soul," gasped O'Dowd. "The chauffeur didn't mention a
second one. And were there two of them?"
"And both of them dead?" cried De Soto. "At the cross-roads? My dear
sir, how can you reconcile--" He broke off with a gesture of impatience.
"I'll admit it's a bit out of reason," said Barnes. "The second man
could only have been shot by some one who was lying in wait for him."
"Why, the thing's as clear as day," cried O'Dowd, facing the crowd. His
cheerful, sprightly face was alive with excitement. "They were not
trying to rob any one. They were either trying to get across the border
into Canada themselves or else trying to head some one off who was
coming from that side of the line."
"Gad, you may be right," agreed Barnes instantly. "If you'd like to
hear more of the story I'll be happy to relate all that we know at
present."
While the coroner and the others were loading the body of Albert Roon
into a farm wagon for conveyance to the county-seat, Barnes, who had
taken a sudden fancy to the two men from Green Fancy, gave them a brief
but full account of the tragedy and the result of investigations as far
as they had gone.
"Bedad," said O'Dowd, "it beats the devil. There's something big in
this thing, Mr. Barnes,--something a long shot bigger than any of us
suspects. The extraordinary secrecy of these fellows, their evident
gentility, their doubtful nationality--why, bedad, it sounds like a
penny-dreadful thriller."
"You'll find that it resolves itself into a problem for Washington to
solve," said De Soto darkly. "Nothing local about it, take my word for
it. These men were up to some international devilment. I'm not saying
that Germany is at the back of it, but, by Jove, I don't put anything
beyond the beggars. They are the cleverest, most resourceful people in
the world, damn 'em. You wait and see if I'm not right. There'll be a
stir in Washington over this, sure as anything."
"What time was it that you heard the shots up at Green Fancy?" ventured
Barnes.
"Lord love you," cried O'Dowd, "we didn't hear a sound. Mr. Curtis, who
has insomnia the worst way, poor devil, heard them and sent some one
out to see what all the racket was about. It wasn't till half an hour
or so ago that De Soto and I were routed out of our peaceful nests and
ordered,--virtually ordered, mind you,--to get up and guard the house.
Mr. Curtis was in a pitiful state of nerves over the killing, and so
were the ladies. 'Gad, everybody seemed to know all about the business
except De Soto and me. The man, it seems, made such a devil of a racket
when he came home with the news that the whole house was up in pajamas
and peignoirs. He didn't say anything about a second Johnnie being
shot, however. I'm glad he didn't know about it, for that matter. He'll
be seeing one ghost for the rest of his days and that's enough, without
having another foisted upon him."
"I think I have a slight acquaintance with the chauffeur," said Barnes.
"He gave me the most thrilling motor ride I've ever experienced. 'Gad,
I'll never forget it."
The two men looked at him, plainly perplexed.
"When was all this?" inquired De Soto.
"Early last evening. He took me from the cross-roads to Hart's Tavern
in a minute and a half, I'll bet my soul."
"Last evening?" said O'Dowd, something like skepticism in his tone.
"Yes. He picked up your latest guest at the corners, and she insisted
on his driving me to the Tavern before the storm broke. I've been
terribly anxious about her. She must have been caught out in all that
frightful--"
"What's this you are saying, Mr. Barnes?" cut in De Soto, frowning. "No
guest arrived at Green Fancy last evening, nor was one expected."
Barnes stared. "Do you mean to say that she didn't get there, after
all?"
"She? A woman, was it?" demanded O'Dowd. "Bedad, if she said she was
coming to Green Fancy she was spoofing you. Are you sure it was old
Peter who gave you that jolly ride?"
"No, I am not sure," said Barnes, uneasily. "She was afoot, having
walked from the station below. I met her at the corners and she asked
me if I knew how far it was to Green Fancy, or something like that.
Said she was going there. Then along came the automobile, rattling down
this very road,--an ancient Panhard driven by an old codger. She seemed
to think it was all right to hop in and trust herself to him, although
she'd never seen him before."
"The antique Panhard fits in all right," said O'Dowd, "but I'm hanged
if the woman fits at all. No such person arrived at Green Fancy last
night."
"Did you get a square look at the driver's face?" demanded De Soto.
"It was almost too dark to see, but he was old, hatchet-faced, and
spoke with an accent."
"Then it couldn't have been Peter," said De Soto positively. "He's old,
right enough, but he is as big as the side of a house, with a face like
a full moon, and he is Yankee to his toes. By gad, Barnes, the plot
thickens! A woman has been added to the mystery. Now, who the devil is
she and what has become of her?"