BOB
By late afternoon of the following day the New York detectives arrived
and Wheeler drove their dusty and travel-stained car around to the
garage.
"Must have speeded up some!" commented he, on viewing the throbbing
machine. "Left New York at midnight," they said. "Some friends of the
master's likely, come to play golf."
Ever given to frankness it was on the tip of Walter's tongue to
declare the real identity of the strangers, but fortunately he
bethought him in time to halt the words.
"What did they look like?" inquired he, eager to know and yet anxious
not to appear inquisitive.
"Look like? Like any other dusty, muddy guys," grumbled Wheeler,
eyeing with disdain the grimy automobile which he knew he would be
expected to clean.
"Old or young?" persisted His Highness.
"Old enough to know better than to heat up an engine this way, but
young enough to do it," snapped Wheeler. "Shouldn't think their car
had seen water in years, it's that filthy. A rum job for me!"
Walter, however, did not reply. He was not in the least interested in
the mud-caked car. It was its occupants that aroused his curiosity. In
all his life he had never seen a genuine detective and he was all
impatience for a peep at persons allied with such an intriguing
profession. While his reason told him they must, of course, look
precisely like other men, nevertheless the hope would persist that
perhaps, after all, they didn't. And even if they did appear like
ordinary mortals were there not their myriad disguises? He hoped with
all his heart they would wear some of these, that the exigencies of
the case would compel it.
Very great, then, was his surprise and disappointment when on being
summoned to the big house soon after the arrival of these interesting
creatures he was presented to two commonplace beings who, although
charming gentlemen, were not in the least different from anybody else.
Mr. Dacie, the younger of the men, was a pleasant, blond-haired fellow
who instantly ingratiated himself in the boy's affections by asking
him if he collected stamps and bestowing on him two rare ones from
China. In fact he seemed to like everything a boy liked and appeared
to be almost a boy himself.
Mr. Lyman was older but he, too, when he was not being stern and
business-like, was very jolly. No one could possibly be afraid of
either one of them and then and there His Highness's faith in the
ultimate success of Mr. Crowninshield's cause dwindled and died. They
weren't disguised at all; and if they had pistols they must have had
them well concealed for the only suspicious articles produced from
their pockets were notebooks and pencils. He had expected to be quite
awed by their presence but on the contrary he found, when he started
out to show them the kennels and the place where he had seen the
automobile tracks, that he was chattering away to both of them quite
as if he had known them all his life.
Mr. Dacie was particularly friendly, and as they walked along he
talked much of sports, dogs, and fishing. Furthermore he was intensely
interested in Bob and listened attentively to all that was told him
about this remarkable big brother. He had a bully brother himself, he
said. In short, before a half hour had passed His Highness had not
only decided to become a detective but to become one exactly like Mr.
Dacie.
And yet as he thought it over afterward the hero of his sudden
adoration had not uttered one syllable about jails, criminals,
robberies, or crimes of any sort. In fact he had talked really very
little. What he had done had been to smile, nod, and let the other
fellow babble. It had, to be sure, been a delightful experience to
find yourself a lion, and everything you did of interest to your
listener; but you did not learn much about the business of being a
detective, reflected Walter, a bit mortified by his discovery. Well,
the next time he was with Mr. Dacie he would ask him some questions
and let him relate everything about his mysterious calling.
Strange to say, however, the moment for such disclosures never
appeared to come right. There was always so much else to talk of. Mr.
Dacie wanted most terribly to catch some flounders and wondered if
there were any to be found; and of course as Walter knew of three
secret places where flounders were sure to lurk he eagerly told his
new friend about them. And then he had to talk swimming and
school--and how he hated it! Why, there were endless things to tell
Mr. Dacie. The visit of the two men was, moreover, surprisingly short.
They remained at Surfside only one night and the next morning,
together with Mr. Crowninshield, who led the way in his car, they
disappeared leaving His Highness none the wiser and regretfully
mourning his lost opportunity to be initiated into the gruesome
mysteries of a detective's career.
The realization that in exchange for telling everything he knew or
ever had thought Mr. Dacie had told him nothing suddenly caused the
lad to speculate as to whether after all both Mr. Dacie and his
associate, Mr. Lyman, were not cleverer than they looked to be.
It seemed incredible to recall, now that they were gone, that he had
not once asked them what they thought about Lola and whether they had
any idea where the man who had taken her had gone. How much better it
would have been had he made that inquiry instead of chattering about
his own affairs. But somehow when there had been a lull in the
conversation they had always been busy measuring footprints or
automobile ruts, and writing down these unending dimensions.
Moreover, something which he was unable to explain always halted the
questions.
Well, it was useless to regret his vanished opportunities. The
detectives were now far beyond his reach and probably he would never
see them again. He might as well go about his work and put them,
together with Lola and her baffling disappearance, out of his mind.
This he tried valiantly to do, but in spite of his utmost endeavor his
thought constantly reverted to the missing dog, and when toward dusk
Mr. Crowninshield's car came whirling up the avenue His Highness had
all he could do not to rush out and demand of the master whether he
had secured any further information.
To remember that he must keep constantly in the background was, in
fact, one of the most difficult aspects of Walter's job. As a
democratic young American who had always mingled in the best society
Lovell's Harbor had to offer he had been free to give a hail to
anybody he desired to greet. But at Surfside everything was different.
He must stifle his natural impulses and curb his tongue, a role very
hard for one who had had no previous experience with class
distinctions. Difficult as it had been he had made up his mind to
being excluded from the gayety that went on about him. It was, to be
sure, no fun to view automobile loads of young people roll out of the
drive bent on a day of pleasure; to look on while motor boats pulled
up anchor and puffed across the blue of the bay. And how he would have
adored to try his hand at a set of tennis on that fine dirt court!
Ah, there were moments when to a normal, healthy boy the world
appeared a very unfair place; and the lot of one who worked for a
living a wretched one.
And then, when his spirits had reached their lowest ebb, he would
resolutely take himself to task. Was there not his pay envelope to
compensate him? He was not at Surfside to have a good time; he was
there to earn his daily bread and very fortunate was he to have so
good a place. Having read himself this lecture he was wont to turn to
his duties with lighter heart, closing his ears to the laughter and
his eyes to the merriment that made up the days of the idle. But what
he never could get used to was the fact that he must not ask questions
or voice his opinions. In a free country where one man was as good as
another the mandate seemed absurd. But it wasn't done. That was all
there was about it. Jerry said so and so did Tim.
Instead of piping, "Hi, Mr. Crowninshield, did you find out anything?"
one awaited the information until it was voluntarily imparted.
In this particular case, as good fortune would have it, His Highness's
impatience had seethed and bubbled only a half hour before who should
come strolling down to the kennels but the very gentleman the lad was
feverish to interrogate.
Arrayed in a cool Palm Beach suit and a soft hat of white felt he
sauntered up as indifferently as if the boy's curiosity were not at
the boiling point and said, "Good evening," in a perfectly calm,
self-possessed tone.
"Good evening, sir," Walter replied.
"Dogs all right?"
"Yes, sir."
"No more of them missing?"
"Not on your--no, sir."
The great man turned away to conceal a smile.
"I've been seeing your brother to-day," remarked he.
"_Bob?_"
Mr. Crowninshield nodded.
"Yes. We went over to the Seaver Bay wireless station."
The lad waited.
"You have a very fine brother, youngster, and one whom you may well be
proud of."
"Yes, sir."
(What was the use of telling him that? His Highness knew what a corker
Bob was without being told. Much better tell him what had happened at
Seaver Bay, what the detectives said, and whether Lola had been
found!)
"We had, in fact, quite a talk with your brother."
"Yes, sir." The reply came automatically.
"He was able to furnish us with much information regarding the man we
are chasing up."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes," ruminated Mr. Crowninshield with evident satisfaction, "we have
the thief sketched in quite clearly."
"Yes, sir."
"With the details your brother gave us Dacie and Lyman have a most
encouraging foundation on which to work."
"Have they found out anything yet, sir?"
The question would out despite all Walter could do to stop it. He knew
the instant it had left his tongue that he shouldn't have asked it and
he stood there hot and embarrassed at his own audacity.
Much to his surprise, however, Mr. Crowninshield did not appear to be
in the least offended. On the contrary he seemed pleased by the lad's
eager interest and smiled at him kindly.
"Yes, we've found out something," said he, "but it is not very good
news, I am sorry to say. Dacie and Lyman traced the car that carried
Lola as far as Buzzard's Bay and discovered that there----"
"Yes?" interrupted Walter, so intent on the story that he was
unconscious of interrupting.
"There," repeated Mr. Crowninshield, "the thieves embarked on a
private yacht that awaited their coming; steamed through the Canal,
and----"
"Don't say they are gone, sir!" cried the boy.
"I'm afraid so, sonny."
"Well, if that isn't the limit!"
"It is, indeed," rejoined the elder man heartily.
His Highness had staggered back against the door in consternation. If
Mr. Crowninshield had affirmed that the thieves had taken flight in an
aeroplane he could not have been more astonished than by the turn
affairs had taken.
"What do you suppose they'll do now?" demanded he.
"We've no idea. They may make for New York, Boston, or some other port
where they think they will be safe. There is no way of knowing. Or it
may be that the person who hired them to get Lola is on the yacht and
having now secured what he has been in search of he may simply cruise
about and not land at all for months. Anything is possible."
"Could they get the name of the boat?"
"Yes, she's called the _Siren_."
"Then I should think it would be easy enough to track her down, board
her, and bring Lola away," said Walter.
"It sounds simple, doesn't it?" Mr. Crowninshield returned. "But I am
afraid it is not going to be as easy as that. We have no way of
proving that Lola is aboard the yacht, in the first place. Moreover,
even did we know that she was there, there are a thousand and one
places where she could be hidden and defy discovery. And were the
villains actually cornered nothing would be less difficult than to
wring the puppie's neck and throw her overboard so that nothing would
remain to identify the wretches with their crime."
"Scott!"
"You see now that to recover Lola is not such an easy matter."
"I'm afraid not, sir," was the dispirited response.
Mr. Crowninshield glanced at the dejected figure before him.
"We mustn't give up beaten yet, however," affirmed he, struggling to
be cheerful. "The game isn't up, you know. Dacie and Lyman are clever
men and I have given them a free rein as to money. If there is
anything to be done they ought to be able to accomplish it."
Nevertheless optimistic as the words were it was plain to see that Mr.
Crowninshield was not really as sanguine as he would have Walter
think. There was a pucker of annoyance about the corners of his mouth,
and his eyes looked dull and discouraged. Say what he might His
Highness knew without being told that deep down in his heart of hearts
Lola's master had resigned himself to never seeing her again.
For a few seconds the capitalist lingered, musing. Then he broke the
stillness, hurling a bomb into the air with the words:
"By the by, I have made your brother an offer. I've suggested that he
leave Seaver Bay and come here. I am going to give Dick a radio set
for his birthday and I should like the aid of an expert in rigging it
up. Besides, last season I installed a wireless on my yacht and shall
need some one to operate it. This Bob of yours is precisely the sort
of chap I want."
"Oh, Mr. Crowninshield!" was all Walter could stammer.
"You'd like having him here then?"
"You bet your--yes, sir, I would," gasped His Highness, making a dash
after his manners.
"That's good," remarked the financier, much amused. "I hope he'll
decide to come. You must use your influence to persuade him."
This time Walter did not forget his etiquette.
"I will, sir," replied he meekly.