ADAM ADAMS MAKES A NEW MOVE
It was not until an hour later that Adam Adams left Martha Sampson's
cottage. He had gained from Raymond all the information he could and
also the names and addresses of half a dozen people he thought to
interview. He spent what was left of the forenoon in the town, calling
at the bank, and on a lawyer and one of the merchants, and about three
o'clock in the afternoon made his way once more to the vicinity of the
Langmore mansion. Here, to his surprise, he ran into Charles Vapp.
"Is your man around here?" he asked, as the pair met in the shadow of
some bushes.
"Yes, went into the house five minutes ago."
"Have you learned anything unusual?"
"Not much. He has been around arranging his business affairs and he
met Miss Bernard and the two had a confidential talk, but I couldn't
get close enough to hear what was said. After that he came out to
Sidham and there met a man named Matlock Styles."
"Go on."
"The two had a long talk, and Ostrello seemed to be angry about
something. Then this Styles seemed to threaten Ostrello and the young
man seemed to lose all his nerve and wilt. I never saw a fellow change
so. 'You can't do it!' I heard him say and Styles answered: 'I can and
I will, if you try to interfere with my business.' Then they talked in
a low tone and Styles went off in a buggy, saying he was going home.
Ostrello walked up the street and down again, as if he didn't know what
to do. At last he hired a rig and came out here. He went into the
house and I was just going to change my disguise and take a look around
when you came up."
"I see. Well, Vapp, if he meets this Styles again you do your level
best to hear what is said."
"I did it before, but they kept in a corner of a building and I
couldn't get near without attracting their attention. I tried it once
but both of them gave me such a suspicious look I had to move on."
"That's all?"
"He sent three letters and a telegram. The telegram was to the firm he
works for, something about an order for quinine pills--I heard it
clicked off at the telegraph office."
"Well, you can stay here and I'll go into the house. If he comes out
you follow him," said Adam Adams.
The detective found the mansion in charge of the policeman and Mrs.
Morse. Both looked at him questioningly as he entered.
"Nothing is to be touched," said the policeman. "Them's orders from
headquarters."
"Is anybody here?"
"Mrs. Morse and myself, that's all."
"No visitors at all?"
"No, sir."
"That's queer. Haven't seen anything of Mrs. Langmore's son to-day?"
The policeman shook his head. "You haven't seen him, have you?" he
asked of the woman.
"No, and I don't want to see him," she answered tartly. "I don't want
anybody to bother me," and she looked directly at the detective.
"I shan't bother you," was the quick reply. "But as I am working on
behalf of Miss Langmore, and as this was her father's house and the one
in which she lived, I think I shall take a look around," he went on, in
a slightly stiffer voice.
"But orders--" began the policeman.
"You may go around with me, so that you can be sure I do not touch
anything."
"Well, I dunno--" began the bluecoat.
His speech was cut short by the banging of a rear door, as the wind
caught it. Mrs. Morse gave a cry.
"What was that? I didn't leave any door open!"
She ran to the rear of the mansion and the policeman followed. Adam
Adams stepped to the front door and then out on the lawn. He was in
time to see a man leap a side fence and start down the road. A moment
later Charles Vapp was following the disappearing individual. The
detective stepped into the house again.
"Well, that's mighty queer," muttered the policeman, as he came back.
"It is queer," answered Adam Adams, eying him sternly. "You had better
explain it if you want to keep out of trouble."
"Explain what?" came from Mrs. Morse.
"You just told me that nobody was in the house."
"Well?"
"A man just left by the back door and ran away. Either you knew he was
here or else you are not taking proper care of these premises."
"Why, sir--" began the woman, but then her eyes dropped before the
steady gaze of the detective. "I--that is--"
"Who was that man? Come, answer me truthfully, or I shall report this,
and let me say, my word will carry great weight."
"Oh, well, if you must know, it was Mr. Ostrello, Mrs. Langmore's son.
He wanted--er--some books he left here some time ago. I don't know why
he left in such a hurry. Perhaps because he didn't wish to meet you."
"Then you admit you lied to me, do you?"
At this the woman broke down completely and began to cry. "I didn't
want to do any wrong, sir. He said he wanted to get the books and he
didn't want every Tom, Dick and Harry to know he was here--those are
his own words. He's a very nice gentleman, and so--so--I said what I
did."
"You let him go through the house?"
"He had that right. It was his mother's home, wasn't it?"
"Yet you didn't want me to go through."
"A relative is different."
"Nevertheless, I think I'll take a look around, now he has gone,"
returned Adam Adams.
To this the woman felt she could no longer object and the policeman
merely shrugged his shoulders. From the pair the detective learned
that the safe had been opened by an expert in the presence of the
coroner and chief of police, who had then had the combination set to
suit themselves.
A tour of the mansion brought nothing new to light and Adam Adams left
by the back way and walked down to the brook. Then he leaped the
stream and took to a narrow path leading through the woods beyond.
Deep in the woods he paused, to make several changes in his appearance,
putting on a light wig and blue goggles and also an old-fashioned
collar and necktie. Then he rubbed a little brown powder on his hands
and face, rendering his complexion several shades darker than ordinary,
From a map of the county he had studied the surrounding roads
thoroughly, and soon came out on a highway leading to Matlock Styles'
residence. He was more than ever interested in the Englishman and
wondered what John Watkins, Tom Ostrello and Styles might have in
common.
In the distance he presently beheld a house he knew must be the Styles
place. There was a turn in the road and instead of going up to the
house by the front way the detective leaped a fence and passed through
a wheatfield. Beyond this, and quite close to the house and the
out-buildings, was a field planted with corn, between the rows of which
were pumpkins and squashes.
He had hoped to gain the vicinity of the residence without being
observed, as it was now growing darker, but he was not yet halfway
through the cornfield when the deep baying of a mastiff burst upon his
ear, coming nearer and nearer.
"Hullo! this is something I didn't bargain for," he muttered. He did
not wish to shoot a valuable dog and at the same time he did not intend
to run the risk of being bitten and perhaps torn to pieces.
He halted and drew his pistol, and a second later the dog burst into
view. He was a full-blooded mastiff and a magnificent creature in
every way. He came to a halt and showed his teeth, and presently his
mate also appeared.
"Back there!" cried the detective. "Back, I say!" But the dogs only
came closer, baying loudly and eying him in anything but a friendly
fashion.
"Hi, there, Nelson!" came a voice from the other side of the cornfield.
"Hi, Queen, what's the matter?"
"Call off your dogs, unless you want me to shoot them!" exclaimed Adam
Adams.
"Blast you, don't you shoot my dogs," was the answer, and in a moment
more Matlock Styles put in an appearance. He carried a dog-whip and
motioned the animals away. "Back, Nelson, you bloody brute! Back,
Queen!" And both animals slunk to his rear.
"Thanks! I am glad you came," said Adam Adams, and slipped his pistol
back into his pocket.
"Are you?" sneered the Englishman. "If you had killed one of those
dogs you would have gotten into a mess, I can warrant. They are worth
a hundred pounds--five hundred dollars--each."
"Great smoke! I'm glad I didn't touch 'em, sir. I couldn't pay for
one leg," and the detective grinned.
"What are you doing in this field?"
"I thought I'd take a short-cut to the Knoxbury road. It's getting
late and I want to get back to the tavern there."
"The Knoxbury road? Why, man, you're a good three miles out of your
bloomin' way. The Knoxbury road isn't this way--it's over there," and
Matlock Styles pointed with his whip.
"Is that so? Then I'm twisted. Too bad! I'm so dog tired I can't
walk much further either."
"Been taking a constitutional?"
"That and I walked over to look at the place where that double murder
took place. Awful crime that, eh? Made me shiver just to look at the
house. I suppose you've heard about it?"
"Yes, everybody knows about it around here."
"They say the man's daughter did it."
"If she did, they ought to string her up for it," growled Matlock
Styles. "Such a blasted, cold-blooded crime as that was. Was you to
the inquest?"
"No."
"Our coroner got her to rights. He's a sharp one."
While the two were talking they were walking towards the house, which
was a pretentious affair but closed up on one side. They halted near a
side porch.
"If I am three or four miles from the Knoxbury road I'd like to get
something to eat and rest a bit before I start out again," said the
detective. "Could you supply me with a bite? I'm willing to pay
whatever's fair."
"I fancy so," answered the Englishman, after a slight hesitation,
during which he eyed Adam Adams keenly. "Polly!" he called, and an old
woman, with a wrinkled face and a tangle of gray hair appeared, holding
a cup in one hand and a towel in the other.
"What are ye wantin' now, Mat?" she croaked.
"Here's a gentleman has lost his way. He wants a bite to eat before he
starts again. Fix him up some sandwiches and some milk, and whatever
else you have handy that's good. Where is Paul?"
"Gone to town."
"And Fred?"
"Gone to see the Garrison girl."
The woman disappeared from view, and a moment later Matlock Styles and
Adam Adams entered the dining room of the abode.