LAFE COMES BACK
The news shocked the boys into silence for a moment, then Garry
burst out indignantly:
“Well, that’s about the meanest thing I ever heard of. Are you sure
that it was deliberately fired?”
“We are convinced of it,” said the old man. “The blaze started in a
half a dozen places at the same time. There was nothing that we
could do to save our home. As a matter of fact, we barely got out
some of our clothes. Of course we have insurance, but that will
never cover the loss of things that cannot be replaced,—some of my
old books, for instance.”
“It seems likely that the man or men who have sent the threatening
letters are the same who fired the house,” mused Garry aloud.
“Yes,” said Mr. Everett, “when we first received the letters we
thought that they might be a practical joke; and later, when they
still continued to come, we took it to be a means of frightening us.
I thought for a time that it might be some one whose enmity I had
personally incurred, but when Ruth got them too, with hints as to
why they were being sent, namely, the matter of the smuggling
attempt and capture a short time ago, I knew that it was some member
of the band who was still at large.”
Garry pondered for a moment, Then he remarked:
“There would seem to be only two sources from which the letters
would come. One is from some friend or friends of Lafe Green, and
the other—but that seems almost impossible.”
“Who are you thinking of?” inquired the old man quickly.
“Why, I was thinking of Jean LeBlanc,” answered Garry slowly. “What
makes me think that impossible is that I know where he has been for
some little time, and he doubtless did not send them, for he was too
busy with his other infernal mischief.”
Ruth then interrupted the conversation.
“Suppose we leave and go to Aunt Abby’s house, and talk about
things, instead of standing here like a pack of sticks. Aunt Abbie
isn’t really our aunt,” she said, turning to the boys. “She’s an old
lady who lives all alone in a big house, and occasionally she takes
in people to board and room. That’s where we are staying now.”
This suggestion was voted a sensible one, and the party proceeded to
the house referred to.
There they were met by Aunt Abbie, a little, old, grey haired
person, who beamed when she was introduced to the boys.
“I’ve heard a lot about you boys from Ruth,” she told them;
“especially about Garry.”
Phil and Dick burst into laughter, which they choked off as soon as
possible, while Garry turned a fiery red. He knew what was in store
for him as soon as they were alone.
They were ushered into the trim parlor and took up the conversation
where it had been left at the station.
Ruth’s grandfather asked what the boys knew of LeBlanc’s latest
movements, and this naturally led to the telling of the occurrences
that transpired at the lumber camp. The boys did not tell this until
they were hard pressed to, for they were modest when it came to
their own achievements. Finally the story came out, each of the boys
telling a portion of it in turn.
“I wonder if that halfbreed could not have been at the bottom of
this after all. It was only a few days ago that he came to the camp,
and we have gotten the letters at intervals during the past three
weeks. He could easily have sent them through some friend. My only
hope is that he is not in this section again, but that arson
business was what I would have expected of a man of his stamp,”
concluded Mr. Everett.
“Wonder if the tramps could have had anything to do with it? You
know the old saying about birds of a feather flocking together, and
it would be like them to hitch up,” queried Dick.
“Yes, that’s possible but not exactly probable,” said Garry.
“Have you the letters?” asked Phil.
“Yes, they’re upstairs. Wait a minute and I’ll run up and get them,”
said Ruth; and away she went to do the errand.
She was back in a few moments and handed them to Phil. The boys
crowded around to see them. They were all printed in a coarse
lettering, mostly on scraps of old wrapping paper; one was on a
hand-bill, and two or three on a cheap grade of stationery such as
may be bought at any notion store.
The letters were all of the same tenor, warning the man and girl to
leave town at once else misfortune would visit them.
“There isn’t much of a clue of any sort in the letters themselves,
but let’s see the envelopes; perhaps they will be more
enlightening,” remarked Garry.
The envelopes were all of the same variety, cheap and flimsy as was
the paper. The postmarks were varied. Most of them were evidently
mailed in Hobart, but one had come across the border, as its
Canadian stamp bore testimony, and three came from the little town
of Coldenham, several miles up along the border.
“Not much help in these after all,” said Garry in a disappointed
tone. “We might go to these various offices and see if the
postmasters have any remembrance of who mailed them, but that is too
faint a clue to waste time following up.”
“Say, here’s something that might help. Just see how this sentence
is worded,” broke in Phil. “‘It is that the town you must leave
immediately.’ Now no person who was familiar with the English
language would have said it that way. The more likely phrasing would
have been, ‘You must leave town immediately.’ And that makes me
certain that only one man wrote those letters.”
“Jean LeBlanc!” burst out Garry and Dick almost in the same breath.
“That’s what I think myself. I’d stake a lot that I am right,” said
Phil. He began to look through the other letters and, as he
expected, his scrutiny revealed several other little oddities of
language.
They were still discussing the matter when Aunt Abbie entered to
announce that supper was ready. The boys protested that they could
not put her to so much trouble, but were instantly hushed by the old
lady.
“She prides herself on her cooking, and you’ll hurt her feelings if
you protest,” whispered Ruth to the boys, so the party trooped out
to the dining room where an ample supper was waiting them.
As they ate, the question of quarters for the night came up, and
Garry suggested that they go to the lean-to which they had built in
the woods outside of the town on their previous visit; but Aunt
Abbie would not hear of this, and insisted that they stay there.
“Land sakes, I have enough room here for all of you, and I like to
have people in this big, lonely house. Keeps me young to have young
people around me, too.”
So it was settled that they should stay there for the night, but the
boys decided that in the morning they would visit the lean-to, and
repair any slight damage that might have been done to it, and make
their quarters there during their stay, for they thought they might
be in and out a good deal in search for the writer of the
threatening letters.
After supper Dick announced that in the morning he was going to try
his hand at photographing the letters. This led to another
examination of the notes, and Garry made a discovery.
“Look, there is a distinct sign of a fingerprint here. The paper
looks as though it might at one time have been wrapped around a
piece of bacon and is slightly greasy; enough to take a fingerprint.
When you take your pictures in the morning, Dick, I will fix it so
the print will show up.”
Supper over, the boys decided to walk to the postoffice and
interview the postmaster, whose name they found out was Denton. They
also ascertained that he had held this position for nearly twenty
years.
The postoffice was located in the general store, where they had
often purchased provisions while on the trail of the smugglers.
Denton was soon found, and the boys proceeded to recall themselves
to him. He greeted them warmly and asked if they were on another
camping trip. This last was accompanied by a sly wink, for naturally
he had heard of the part they had played in running down Lafe Green
and his gang. He showed no surprise when the boys asked if they
could hold a private conversation with him.
Denton led the way back to a little cubby hole of an office,
furnished only with a desk and a fair-sized safe. In this, the boys
judged, he kept stamps and the records of the postoffice, as well as
what money he took in during the day’s trading at the store.
Garry briefly explained what their purpose in coming back to Hobart
was, and exhibited the letter sent by the Chief Ranger as authority
for their statements.
Denton glanced at the letter and then leaned back in his chair.
“Well, I’ll tell you all there is to tell. I suppose you’ve seen the
letters that contained the threats, and if you can figure out who
sent them, it’s more than I can do. Just probably a case of spite
against ’em, and will doubtless blow over. I’ve always held to the
opinion that barking dogs never bite.”
“Seems to me that the dog bit this time,” remarked Garry dryly.
“How so?”
“Why, the setting afire of the house last night.”
“Oh, that. Well, there may be other reasons. Mr. Everett has a whole
lot of enemies. He’s pretty freespoken with his tongue. ’Course he’s
generally right in what he says, but there’s nothing that hurts like
the truth in some cases. All that’s a matter for the sheriff to help
out with. On the big matter we can’t do anything till the postoffice
inspector gets here. I’m expecting he’ll arrive some time tomorrow,
next day at the latest,” said Denton.
The boys looked up in surprise. The “other matter” was a new one on
them.
Garry looked at Denton, and in a rather bewildered tone asked:
“What other matter?”
This time it was Denton’s turn to look surprised.
“Seems to me that is the thing we have to worry about. I don’t know
as I ought to say anything more about it to you. ’Course I figure
you’re all right, but you should know about that if you’re going to
help out on it.”
Garry spent a few moments in argument, and finally convinced Denton
that they were all right in this matter, and at last, after giving
the subject several moments of thought, he enlightened them.
“Why, I’m referring to the robbery of the mail that goes to the
paper mill!”
The trio looked aghast at this piece of news. This was a brand new
angle to them, and they pressed the postmaster to give them the
details.
“There ain’t much to tell. You probably know there’s a pulp mill up
the line aways at Coldenham. The owner is a queer old cuss; Scotch
feller name of Ferguson. He’s pretty near the richest man in this
neck o’ the woods and peculiar in lots of ways. Has this big pulp
mill, but won’t have a business office in Portland or Boston, but
does everything from the mill there. Owns the bank in the town, too,
so all his money goes through there. Now all mail that goes to
Coldenham from round Boston or New York comes through this office.
Mostly always it lays over a bit in this office, for the only
railroad between here and Coldenham is a short haul road that’s
owned by Ferguson; more money for him you see. We get the mail on
the regular mail train here and then transfer it and send it along
to him. Once in a while his mail comes too late to catch the return
trip of his train and then we send it along to him by a flivver.
Have a regular rural carrier here that does that extra.
“Well, everything has always gone along all right until a couple of
weeks or so ago, the mail was rifled somewhere between its starting
point and its destination. ’Course there is no way of telling right
now just where this was done, but when the inspector comes we can
put a check on it from office to office and see at just what point
it was robbed. Most of the stuff has been checks, certified of
course, and so it’s done by someone that knows how to cash them
after they are taken.
“There’s the story in a nutshell. If you can make anything out of
it, you’re a better man than I am, any one of you.”
Denton concluded his story and leaned back in his chair surveying
the boys.
Garry was silent for a few moments, and then he made answer:
“I am afraid there is nothing that we can do. When the inspector
comes we can do anything that he asks and guide him around through
the country and that is about all. We are just Rangers and not
postoffice detectives.”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do except sit tight and see that it
doesn’t disappear while it’s in this office. I wouldn’t have that
happen for the world. I’ve been postmaster here for nigh onto twenty
year, and never was so much as a postage stamp short in all that
time,” said Denton with an air of pride.
As they talked, Phil had been listening intently. He possessed an
almost abnormal hearing, and had frequently heard things that warned
of the approach of danger when his two chums could not hear a sound.
“Keep on talking, Garry,” he whispered to his chum, who happened to
be sitting nearest him. “Talk loudly.”
Then stepping cautiously, so as to make no sound, he approached the
window, which was up on account of the heat of the night, and with a
quick snap of his hand, caused the roller shade to fly to the top.
All present got a glimpse of the face of a man standing there at the
window, listening to the conversation. The chums made a dash for the
window and were fumbling at the screen when the man fled.
“By gosh, that’s Pete Avalon, one of the hangers on at the
restaurant kept by the big Frenchman where you fellows have eaten,
and where, if I remember rightly, one of you had an unpleasant
experience a while ago.”
“Now what was he there for if not to listen to the particular
conversation that we were having?” asked Garry of the others. “I
begin to make two and two into four on several of these questions. I
think that the sending of the letters to the Everetts and the theft
of the checks from the mail are done by the same people.”
“By gracious, there’s something I noticed when we were examining the
letters and then it slipped my mind. There was one letter there that
had no stamp on it, and I was going to ask how it had been
delivered. I’ll bet a cookie that it was slipped into the mail bag
by someone who was fooling around with the other mail. Now this
Avalon has probably hot-footed it to the man back of all this to
tell him that the law is already on the trail of the missing checks.
They know that you can fool very little with Uncle Sam’s mail
system. It’s one of the safest and best protected things in the
world,” declared Phil.
“Well, we can do nothing more tonight, except to notify the
constable to keep an eye on Avalon, and pick him up on suspicion for
questioning when the inspector gets here. We might as well go and
get some sleep now, and be fresh for a start in the morning,” said
Garry.
“Not much use in having Avalon watched. Now that he knows he was
seen, he is probably off to some hiding place where he will lie low
till he can get across the border. Still we’d better be safe than
sorry, and I’ll tell the authorities first thing in the morning,”
said Denton.
The boys took their leave of Denton and left the general store,
promising to look in next morning and buy some supplies, for they
intended to camp at the old lean-to outside the town.
They stood for a few moments on the steps of the general store
chatting with several of the villagers who made a sort of a club
room of the store every evening. Then they walked down the street a
way, when Garry stopped them for a consultation.
“I was just wondering if there was anything that we could do
tonight,” he told his friends. “I thought for a minute that we might
try and get on the trail of this Avalon and see where he went. If he
is mixed up in this, he probably went directly to where the head of
this mischief is and reported his discovery.”
“Don’t believe there is a chance in the world. He went off as though
he were shot out of a gun, and by now he is probably safely hidden
or making his way guardedly to his hiding place. If we had brought
Sandy with us tonight he might have gotten on the trail. Next time
we make any move, we’ll have him with us,” advised Dick.
“Guess you’re right, and the sensible thing to do is to go home to
bed,” answered Garry. They sauntered up the street towards the
section where Aunt Abbie lived, taking their time, for the night was
fine—a night such as is known only in Maine—when the heat of the
day is cooled off by the balsam laden breezes that blow through the
forests.
“Say, I want some candy before I go to bed,” announced Garry.
“Gosh, and you holler at me because I want to eat things now and
then,” laughed Dick.
“It’s mostly now with you Dick, and in my case it happens to be
then. You boys walk on ahead and I’ll trot back to Denton’s and get
a little. I won’t be more than five minutes and will catch up with
you by the time you reach Aunt Abbie’s house,” and Garry was off at
a trot for the store.
He procured his candy, and was walking back to join his comrades,
when he became suddenly aware that he was being followed.
Garry could not see anyone, but he had that instinct that comes to
anyone when he is being followed. It is the same feeling that one
has when he realizes that there is someone else in a room with him
when it was supposed to be empty.
He dodged behind a tree, and made a noise of tramping with his feet
as though he were still moving on.
This ruse succeeded, and he saw a man dodging from tree to tree.
Garry left his shelter and turned the corner into the street that
led to Aunt Abbie’s house, and there stepped quickly into the shadow
cast by a large elm tree. The electric light on the street was a
wretched affair, casting only a few feeble rays on the street below.
As he waited, a figure turned the corner, and with a start he
recognized Lafe Green.
Garry was undecided as to what course he would pursue. Should he
call to his friends to come back and join him, and see if they could
not bring Lafe back to justice, or should he see if he couldn’t
shake him off and then turn pursuer himself and see where Lafe would
go?
Green, however, decided matters for him. Evidently he had discerned
what Garry was up to, for when he reached the tree behind which
Garry was concealed, he darted around and came face to face with the
boy.
Garry put on a bold front, although inwardly he was a little
troubled over what might be the outcome of this meeting.
“Hello, Lafe,” said the boy. “How do you happen to be here?”
“Don’t know as it’s any of your particular business, but before you
go trying any funny business. I’ll tell you that I am out on bail,
so you have nothing on me at all.”
“I’ve been following you about, though, for the last few minutes, to
get a chance to tell you something. Unless you fellows get out of
here by tomorrow night, I promise you that you will be driven out in
a way that will make you sorry you ever came here. Get that?”