_The Crazy Woman_
Jane went off early after lunch in Cliff Hunter's canoe, and Mary Louise
sat on the porch waiting for David McCall. She was still angry at him for
the way he had accused Cliff to her the night before, but a promise is a
promise, and she meant to see him. If she had had a chance to go swimming
that morning, she might have tried to break the date.
He came along about half-past two, smiling shyly, as if he were not quite
sure how he stood with Mary Louise.
"You're not still mad at me, Mary Lou, are you?" he asked, looking
straight into her eyes.
"Yes, I am," replied the girl. "I'm disappointed that a boy with your
brains can't reason more intelligently. The finest detective in the world
wouldn't be sure that one certain person was guilty of a crime until he
had made some investigations."
"But it's so obvious, Mary Lou! Hunter holds a big mortgage on one place
and big fire insurance on another. He can't sell either of them, and he
needs the money. So he sets them both on fire and collects that way! What
could be simpler?"
"There are lots of other people, besides Cliff, who profited from those
two fires. In fact," concluded Mary Louise, "the thing that worries me is
that there are so many suspects. It's terribly confusing."
David opened his eyes wide in amazement.
"I don't see who----" he began.
"Oh, don't you!" snapped the girl. "Then just listen to this bunch of
names!" She opened her notebook and read him the list:
"'Horace Ditmar, Lemuel Adams, Eberhardt'--the storekeeper--'Frazier, a
tramp the boys saw in the woods, and a queer-looking woman.' Not to
mention the boys, because I really don't think they did it."
David shook his head. "All possible, of course, but not any of them
probable. Of course, I understand you have reasons for suspecting Ditmar,
and I admit he is a queer cuss. Still, I don't think he'd do a thing like
that. But tell me why you suspect men like Adams--I suppose he's the
farmer, isn't he?--and Frazier and Eberhardt. Sounds silly to me."
"Frazier and Eberhardt both gained something by the fires: more business.
And Dad always tells me to hunt for motives."
"They didn't get enough business to go to all that trouble," remarked
David.
"I'm not so sure. Then, the storekeeper told me that Lemuel Adams felt
spiteful towards the Hunters because they made so much money out of his
land. So Adams may be doing it for revenge."
"Hardly likely, when the fires actually put money into the Hunters'
pockets."
"Well, I don't know. Anyway, I'm going to do my best to find out who did
it--to clear Freckles, for one reason, and to prevent our own bungalow
from burning down, for another."
"You needn't worry about your bungalow," said David stubbornly. "Cliff
Hunter hasn't any mortgage on it."
Mary Louise gave him a scornful look. She stood up.
"I can't go canoeing with you, David," she announced. "I'm driving over
to Adams' farm. You can come along with me if you want to," she added
grudgingly.
The young man looked disappointed.
"You are mean, Mary Lou," he said. "My vacation's nearly over."
"I'm being a lot nicer to you than you deserve," she replied. "Letting
you in on all the thrills of solving a real mystery.... Well, are you
coming or not?"
"Sure I'm coming," he muttered disconsolately. But he gazed longingly at
the river and wished it were a canoe, and not a car, in which they were
to spend the afternoon.
Remembering the farmhouse where Hattie Adams had said she lived, Mary
Louise turned off the drive beyond Shady Nook into a dirt road which
wound around to the top of a hill. She was going slowly--in second
gear--when a strange-looking creature in a gray dress darted out from the
bushes into the direct path of the car. With a gasp of horror, Mary
Louise ground down her brakes, missing the woman by only a couple of
inches.
"What did you do that for?" shouted David.
The woman looked up and smiled innocently at the two young people in the
car. Her eyes were vacant and expressionless; her gray hair hung about
her face in tangled curls, tied with a faded blue ribbon, in a childish
fashion. And under her arm she lugged an immense china pitcher--the kind
that is used in the country for carrying water to the bedrooms. She was
indeed a strange-looking person--probably the same woman the boys had
noticed on the road the night before.
"You better move out of the way!" called David.
The woman wagged her head confidently: evidently she had no idea of the
danger she had just escaped.
"I'm looking for well water," she said. "Well water to put out the
dreadful fires."
"Fires?" repeated Mary Louise sharply.
"Yes, fires. The Lord said in His holy Book that He would burn down the
cities of pleasure because of the sins of the people. But I am sorry for
the little children. I must help put out the fires with pure water from a
well. I am Rebecca--at the well!"
Mary Louise was horror-stricken. This woman might indeed be the "firebug"
whom she and Jane had considered as a possibility. Although she seemed to
want to put fires out, perhaps she lighted them first for that very
purpose.
"I'm sorry, but we don't know where there is a well," she replied. "But
tell us where you live, Rebecca. We'll take you home."
The woman shook her head.
"No, no, I can't go home. I must find water. There will be a fire
tonight, and I must be ready to put it out. I must go."
"Where will the fire be tonight?" demanded Mary Louise apprehensively.
"I don't know. One of those wicked cottages, where the people go about
half clad, and where they dance and feast until past midnight. I can't
tell you upon which the Lord's anger will descend, but I know it will
come. I know it. I must get water--pure water. I can't have innocent
children burned to death."
"But who are you?" repeated Mary Louise.
"I am Rebecca. And I am going to meet my bridegroom at the well. My
Isaac!" Her eyes gleamed with happiness as she trotted off down the hill,
carrying that ridiculous pitcher in her hand.
David and Mary Louise sat still, looking at each other in speechless
wonder, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry at the poor deluded woman.
"But she seems happy," remarked David. "So I guess we needn't pity her."
"She's like that bride in the Dickens book," said Mary Louise. "The woman
who was deserted on her wedding day and wore her wedding dress all the
rest of her life, expecting her bridegroom to come back. Remember? That
always gave me the creeps."
"But this woman is happier. She's sure she's going to meet her Isaac at a
well." He laughed. "No, I think we're more to be pitied than she is. For
if she goes around setting fire to people's places----"
"She ought to be locked up! Yet that seems a shame, if she does happen to
be harmless." Mary Louise stepped on the starter. "Well, let's go on up
to the Adams'. Maybe they can tell us who she is."
They continued on up the hill to the farm and left the car at the
entrance to the front yard, just outside the picket fence. The Adams
place was a neat-looking frame house, painted white, and pleasant to look
at. A big porch surrounded it on all sides, and here they saw Hattie
Adams, seated in a rocking chair, sewing. She waved to Mary Louise.
"Hello, folks!" she called genially. "Come on up! Any news?"
"No, we haven't," replied Mary Louise as she sat down. "But I did want to
ask you what you knew about the fire, Hattie, because Mr. Flick is sort
of blaming my brother and the other small boys, and I know they didn't
start it. So will you tell us when you left Flicks'--and all you know
about it?"
Hattie nodded solemnly.
"Well, let me see," she began. "We had supper at half-past five last
night, didn't we? And everybody was through eatin' about quarter to
seven. Even Mis' Flick. The other two hired girls helped me wash some of
the dishes, and then Mr. Flick drove 'em over to the Junction. He come
back for Mis' Flick about half-past seven, I reckon. They put the car
away and went to the picnic in a boat. I was just finishin' washin'
dishes."
"Did you see the boys or anybody around at all?" questioned Mary Louise.
"Nary a soul. Everybody went to the picnic, as far as I know. I expected
to go home, get fixed up, and get my brother Tom to row me over. But he
wasn't anywhere around when I got back, and I didn't feel like gettin'
the boat and goin' all by myself, so I just stayed home with Dad. I never
knew a thing about the fire till I went over this mornin' as usual to
work at Flicks'."
"Your brother--or your father--didn't know anything about it, either?"
"Dad didn't. I don't know about Tom. I didn't see him. He was off milkin'
the cows when I got up, and I left before he come in for his breakfast. I
usually get it and set it on the table and then run down to Flicks' quick
as I can. But Mis' Flick never cares if I don't get there early, because
we haven't many people for breakfast."
"And that's all you know?"
"Yes. Except what I heard this mornin' at Shady Nook--same as you heard."
Mary Louise sighed. She didn't feel as if she were making any progress.
She wanted to ask more about Hattie's father--Lemuel Adams--but she
didn't know how. And about this brother Tom, too. If he had been away
from the farm last night, maybe he was responsible for setting the inn on
fire.
Instead, however, she inquired about the strange creature who wandered
about the countryside with her big pitcher under her arm.
"Do you know a woman with gray hair who calls herself Rebecca, Hattie?"
she asked. "We almost ran over her half a mile down the road. She stepped
right in front of our car."
The other girl laughed.
"Rather!" she said. "Rebecca's my sister. She's never been right. But
she's perfectly harmless, so we let her wander about as she wants. She
wouldn't hurt a kitten."
"But do you think she could be setting the places on fire?"
"No," replied Hattie positively. "Rebecca's afraid of fires. She always
wants to put 'em out. No, I wouldn't blame her."
Mary Louise sighed and stood up.
"I certainly wish we could find out what is the cause before anything
else happens," she said.
"I wouldn't worry about it if I was you," returned Hattie. "They can't do
anything to your brother without proof.... It's lots worse for me. I've
lost my job. And so has my brother Tom. He used to pick up a lot of work
at odd times for Mr. Flick."
Mary Louise stared in surprise; she had never thought of this angle of
it. Here were two people who actually lost out by the fire! Surely this
fact proclaimed the innocence of the entire Adams family, with the
possible exception of Rebecca.
"Did you need the work, Hattie?" she asked, gazing around at the big farm
land that stretched out on all sides of the house.
"Oh, we won't starve without it! But it meant spendin' money for Tom and
me. And extra clothes. Besides, I liked it. It's awful dull livin' on a
farm with only the chores to do. I'd go to the city and get a job if
there was any. But I know there ain't."
"Maybe Mr. Frazier will give you a job at the Royal Hotel," suggested
Mary Louise. "Now that he has more business. Because I understand that
most of the Shady Nook people are going to eat there."
Hattie wrinkled her nose.
"I hate that guy. But I suppose I will ask him--it's better than nuthin'.
Tom goes every other day with butter and eggs and milk, so it would be
easy to get there."
"Well, good luck to you!" was Mary Louise's parting hope. "We'll be
getting on. I'd like a swim this afternoon."
David McCall's eyes brightened. They were going to have some fun, after
all!
"We'll get into our suits and go out in the canoe," said Mary Louise as
she directed the car towards Shady Nook. "Maybe we can find Jane and
Cliff and all go in together."
The young man sighed: always this Clifford Hunter had to share his good
times!
But it was better than nothing, and later on, when the couple found not
only Jane and Cliff, but the Robinson boys and the Reed twins, he had to
admit that his afternoon had turned out pleasantly after all.