MCCORQUODALE EXPLAINS
On the heels of the message from President Wade came Detective
McCorquodale an hour before sundown. He did not arrive on a train from
the east, as expected, but by way of the old Indian trail that wound
back for half a mile to Wolverine River, the trail once used by Indian
hunters to go north into the game country. Kendrick happened to be
lounging on the embankment in front of the section shanty, waiting for
Thorlakson and his men to come pumping down the track on the handcar,
while Cristy was helping indoors with the dinner. He recognized the
detective the moment he saw the familiar chunky figure emerge from the
woods and come out onto the track and he went down to meet him on the
run.
"Well, well, well!" was the greeting McCorquodale launched. "He tore
the false beard off his chin an' there--stood--Tom! How are you,
Kendrick?"
Phil eyed him anxiously as they shook hands.
"Drop out of the clouds, man? I just got the Chief's wire this
afternoon. In heaven's name, McCorquodale, what's the meaning of all
this?"
"Heaven aint sittin' in on this hand, 'bo," grinned the C.L.S.
detective cheerfully. "It's devils I'm trailin'. Hell's broke loose
an' spilled 'em all over the map."
"What do you mean? What's happened? Is my aunt----?"
"Oh, y'needn't worry' bout y'r auntie none. She's all hunky-dory.
It's those booze birds we're goin' after, you'n'me, see. Chief's
orders, kid. An' oh boy! it's goin' to be some party, believe me!
Let's sit down here an' I'll wag m' jaw."
Phil lighted his pipe; but it went out again as he listened with
breathless interest to McCorquodale's recital. Up to four days ago he
had had a very quiet and uneventful time of it at Sparrow Lake with
nothing happening which seemed to justify his presence there at all.
Then a stranger had put in an appearance and took to watching the
Waring cottage--no less a person than this man Weiler who already had
aroused McCorquodale's suspicion when the detective had worked as a
Brady Agency operative. The German, however, contented himself with
reconnoitring the vicinity between trains and asking a few casual
questions about the Waring household over at the station. He took the
first train back to the city. So did the "Iron Man."
On arrival in the city the detective trailed his man to a cheap little
hotel on a back street, to a rear room on the top floor, where a second
man appeared to be awaiting him. By climbing out a hall window onto
the fire-escape McCorquodale had reached the flat gravelled roof and
wormed himself along into a position where he could hear what
transpired in the room. He had not listened long before he was
satisfied that Weiler had been sent on this spying expedition by the
man in the back bedroom and was reporting the result of his
investigations; in fact, he was drawing a rough map of Sparrow Lake and
marking the location of the Waring cottage when the detective found a
small hole in a skylight and looked cautiously down upon the pair. The
second "gink" was a big flabby-looking "duck," and when he had
descended quietly the detective had no difficulty in finding out that
the man was registered at the hotel as John Harrington.
"Rives!" breathed Phil in suppressed excitement.
McCorquodale nodded. By good fortune President Wade had just returned
to the city and to him the detective at once reported the full
circumstances. The Chief had been greatly interested and after
congratulating McCorquodale on his discretion had despatched him back
to the hotel with instructions to shadow Weiler no matter where the
trail led. It was then that McCorquodale had learned of an expedition
that was being planned by the bootlegging gang the railroad was anxious
to locate, and got concrete evidence that Weiler was the Eastern agent
of the whisky runners. The leader was a notorious character named Red
McIvor and this man had arranged to meet Weiler at a rendezvous near
Indian Creek.
Cranston and McCorquodale had held a consultation with Wade and it was
decided that Cranston would watch things at the Toronto end while
McCorquodale was sent out to follow developments at Indian Creek.
McCorquodale had told Mr. Wade what Kendrick had suggested to him at
Sparrow Lake--that the two of them work together on this bootlegging
case, and the railroad president had then mentioned Phil's letter and
his whereabouts and told McCorquodale to make for Thorlakson Siding and
pass on instructions.
Weiler bought a ticket for North Bay. There he had hung around for a
day, apparently waiting for somebody. At last three more fellows had
come in on a train. Weiler met them at the station and the whole party
took the train west that night, with McCorquodale trailing along.
Their destination was Indian Creek and on arrival they unloaded from
the express-car a Peterborough canoe, a tent and a lot of supplies. As
soon as the train pulled out they got ready for a trip into the woods.
Down on the riverbank, a few hundred rods through the bush back of the
station, a half-breed guide was waiting for them. He had a big
birch-bark canoe and the five of them began to hustle their belongings
off the platform.
McCorquodale was forced to keep in the background until they had gone
and he was afraid that he would lose them. He questioned the Station
Agent closely; but that official could tell him nothing about the
strangers except that they said they were part of a geological
expedition for the Government, heading towards Port Nelson on James'
Bay. McCorquodale pretended to accept this information at face value;
but if those "birds" knew anything about any "ology" except boozeology
he was prepared to swallow his suspenders, buckles and all. Included
in their "supplies" were several cases of liquor; McCorquodale knew a
case of liquor when he saw it, no matter if it was wrapped in canvas
and covered with misleading labels.
It had taken him a little while to locate a canoe that he could hire
together with a camping outfit; but finally he had started on the trail
once more. He had overhauled them about fifteen miles back from the
railroad where Indian Creek and Wolverine River joined waters. From
there he had followed them up stream for a few miles, keeping his
distance, till they came to a portage where the entire party
disembarked. Instead of making the portage to a point farther up, they
had gone into camp at what appeared to be an old lumber camp that had
not been in use for a couple of seasons. It looked as if they intended
to stay there for a while.
"I know that deserted lumber camp," Phil nodded.
"Well, that's where I comes from just now an' that's where we both
makes for as soon's we rustles a bite o' grub," concluded McCorquodale.
"I hikes down here special to get you soon's I'm sure them guys is
anchored. Say, that there Wolverine's some river, aint it? I got my
canoe back here a ways."
"Cork, are you quite sure that this bunch is the gang Wade's after?
Supposing they turn out to be a fishing party or something?"
"Fishin' party me neck!" scoffed McCorquodale. "With all them cases o'
the real McKay?"
"Fishing is often a thirsty business for more than the fish. Anyway,
you don't know for sure that it's booze----"
"Don't, eh? They starts in on it las' night an' some of 'em was lit up
like a corner saloon, I tell you. Didn't I see 'em an' didn't I _hear_
'em? Great snakes! they kep' me awake with their shouts an' singin'
las' night fer hours an' I'm campin' a good loud holler away from their
hangout at that. I crep' down clost to find out what they was
celebratin' an' I hears 'em gabbin', see. The gang aint all there yet.
They're waitin' fer the Main Squeeze--this here Red McIvor I was
tellin' you about. I hears 'em mention his name, see, an' besides
Weiler's there an'----"
"You win," conceded Phil. "Whisky traders, eh? Heading in to peddle
the stuff to the Indians and around the camps." He smoked thoughtfully.
"If they keeps on lappin' it up the way they's doin' las' night they
aint goin' to do much tradin' in anythin' but headaches. Say, what
about this here bundle o' phoney hid in a hollow stump? Wade was
tellin' me you's up here lookin' after it. Cranston was wonderin' if
Weiler'd got a line on it an' mebbe that had somethin' to do with the
gang comin' together in this neighborhood. Did you find it?"
"No, it was gone. I'm pretty certain that Podmore was after it and got
here ahead of everybody. Thorlakson hasn't noticed anybody hanging
around. It dosn't matter. Did Mr. Wade say anything to you about
young Stiles having disappeared? Miss Lawson is greatly worried over
the last part of the Chief's message." He passed it across as he spoke.
McCorquodale grinned.
"Leave it to me, 'bo. Jimmy Stiles is the young gaffer I's trailin'
that afternoon with that tan satchel from the Alderson Construction
Company's office. No, the Chief didn't say anythin' to me 'bout him;
but I knows where he is."
"You do?"
"Sure Mike! An' I proceeds to dry them tears the Queen's sheddin' by
informin' her that the kid's within a few miles of her right now."
"What? You mean he's----"
"Yep. They got him prisoner back here at the lumber camp. He was one
o' the three what Weiler met at North Bay an' it didn't take me long to
tumble to the way they was watchin' him close. I slips him a note las'
night that friends was near an' to be on the lookout f'r us. We're
goin' to rescue the kid, see. He'll be our star witness."
"Well, what next!" gasped the astonished Kendrick. He stared at the
detective. "You're not joking? If so, your levity is decidedly
ill-timed."
"Yeah," agreed McCorquodale doubtfully. "Uh-hunh. On'y I don't happen
to be wavin' no wand an' floatin' horizontal in the air, see. I'm
handin' it to you straight up an' down. Stiles is there an' we gotta
get him away from those guys. As f'r any jokin'----" He drew out his
police automatic and patted it significantly. "This gun cracks ten
jokes without stoppin', see, if there's any funny work goin' on."
Phil's surprise at the turn events were taking was only equalled by the
excitement with which Cristy Lawson received the news when presently
she was called outside and introduced to the C.L.S. detective. She
listened eagerly, interjecting a rapid question now and then as if her
mind were racing beyond the facts of the recital to a logical solution
of the mystery not apparent to the others. She nodded her head once or
twice and laughed a little. When McCorquodale had recounted everything
that he had observed she was silent for a moment, head bent in thought.
"How soon are you going back to the camp?" she asked at last.
"As soon as Mrs. Thorlakson will give us something to eat," replied
Phil.
"Good. I'm ready."
"But--You don't understand," objected Phil. "We can't take you along,
Miss Lawson. It wouldn't be----"
"Of course you can. I certainly am going with you."
"Impossible! Your injured foot----"
"Nonsense, it's all right now. I'm going with you," she repeated.
"There are reasons why I must go; so please don't argue about it."
"But that's exactly what I intend to do," declared Kendrick decidedly.
He shook his head. "There isn't room in the canoe in the first place
and besides there's liable to be trouble. Isn't that so, McCorquodale?"
"Mr. Kendrick, as the representative of the _Recorder_ it is absolutely
necessary----"
"I'm sorry, Miss Lawson; but I refuse to take the responsibility."
"I'll assume all risk, Mr. Kendrick."
"You would be in our way, to be frank. We'll be bringing Stiles back
here with us and you can wait till we come."
Almost tearfully she appealed to the detective to that worthy's evident
embarrassment. Cap in hand, he made a profound and formal bow in an
attempt to be diplomatic.
"Pardon me, lady, but you're crazy!" he stated politely. "Crazy as a
bed-bug! It can't be did!"