I Have an Adventure
Carter had mentioned at lunch that after the inquest he was going to
take his car and give Ranville a ride through the near-by country. As
the route he had mapped out was the one I had come over the day
before, I suggested it would please me just as well if they left me at
the house. So, after speaking to his cook about my dinner, they drove
out of the yard. I let the dog out of the garage, where he had been
the entire day, and settled down on the veranda to read the New York
papers which had just come.
The news of the murder of Warren must have arrived very late, for they
had only a few lines about it. But then, when I thought it over, that
was all the space they needed. A very few lines could tell all that
was actually known of the crime. But there were long accounts of his
professional career, and even a short editorial telling what a loss he
would be to science. Naturally enough the question was raised, if his
manuscripts were in such shape that the discoveries he had hinted he
made in China could be given the world.
As I read the various articles, I saw that this one question was of
the greatest interest to the public. Warren had said that he could
prove for all time the question of man's origin. But what his proofs
were no one knew. As he was a real scientist he refused to say
anything more until he had whipped his notes into shape for
publication and could give the complete data to the world. And the
three papers which I read all asked the same question. Were these
notes in such condition that they could be worked up by some other man
of science?
I was interrupted by the cook saying that dinner was ready, and I went
into the dining room for my meal. Dinner over, I went out of the
house, and for a time strolled around the grounds. They covered about
an acre, and after a while I went through the opening in the hedge and
into the quiet street. The road took a bend by Carter's house, and
around it I saw the dark gray tower of a little church. I walked far
enough to be able to have a view of it, deciding that it must be the
church of which his next-door neighbor (the minister who had called
the night before) had charge.
From where I stood it seemed a very pretty sort of a building, with a
stone tower directly between the church and the rectory. It was not
very large, nor was the tower very high. It stood back from the road,
with a vivid green lawn running to the dark granite walls—a lawn with
several round flower beds, a mass of color against the green. The
setting of the little church was beautiful, as if some corner of
England had been lifted and placed in the little New York village.
I had thought I might take a little stroll, but feeling lazy I
returned to the veranda, where, for a while, I busied myself with a
popular magazine. I was in the midst of an inane story when I was
hailed by a voice from the lawn, and the dog went barking down the
steps.
“Say, mister, where is Mr. Carter?”
It was a boy of about fourteen who hailed me—a boy with the reddest
hair I have ever seen and more freckles than any boy ought to have. He
stood at the bottom of the steps looking at me with a very serious
expression on his face. He seemed so disappointed when I told him
Carter was away that I asked him what he wanted. For a moment or so he
studied me as if to decide if I could be trusted. Then, as if
reassured, he came up the steps to my side.
Giving me that searching look which all boys use in greeting people
whom they do not know, he asked:
“Are you a detective like Mr. Carter?”
I assured him that I might be called something of the sort and
received a rather admiring grin. Then seating himself on the top step,
he patted the dog which had come to his side and said:
“You know I went down to Court to-day, and I heard Jimmy Weedon tell
about seeing that boat.”
I judged that Weedon must be the caretaker of Warren's grounds. In
reply to my question the boy said that he was; and with a laugh added:
“Jimmy said that he never saw anybody on Mr. Warren's grounds
yesterday, but I did.”
I gave him one look, and he went on.
“I thought maybe Mr. Carter might like to know what I saw. I caddy for
him when he plays golf. My name is George.”
He seemed to be taking a good deal of time to tell what he had seen,
and I tried to hurry him up. He laughed, then said:
“Well, yesterday afternoon about five o'clock I went after berries.
You don't live here, so I'll tell you where I went. I went in the
fields back of Mr. Warren's house. Right back of the stone wall that
goes round his place is a big swamp. 'Twas a swamp once, but it's some
filled in now; and across from it are a lot of berries.”
He paused to pat the Airedale, so I asked:
“Yes, I see what you mean; but what did you see?”
“Nothing much. Did not think about it till I heard those questions in
Court, those questions to Jimmy Weedon about seeing any one on the
grounds. Then I got to thinking about the man I saw.”
As he paused for breath, I told him to go on, and he continued:
“Just about six—I know it was about six, for the whistles blew a
minute or so afterwards, I saw a man climb over the wall—that stone
wall of Mr. Warren's. He threw something in the bushes while he was on
the wall.”
“Do you know who the man was?” came my eager question.
The boy was thoughtful a moment, his face screwed up in a funny
gesture. Then he shook his head saying:
“No, I don't. He looked like somebody I know; but I can't tell who he
was.”
“Do you know what he threw into the field?”
“Nope. I don't know he threw anything, but I saw him throw his hand
out as if he did throw something away. I think he had something in it.
And then he went down round the wall, and I did not see him any more.”
I quickly ran through in my mind what the boy had said. Though he
might have been mistaken in thinking the man he saw climb over the
wall had thrown something away, yet there was no doubt it was a
valuable piece of information. It seemed to prove that some one
besides the Chinaman had been on Warren's grounds about the time he
must have been killed. And then I wondered if this could have been the
person in the boat—that person whom no one had seen.
The boy had nothing else to tell. I gave him a dollar after impressing
upon him that he must go at once to the chief of police and tell him
the same story he had told me. He went away promising to do this, and
I sat back to figure out his story. There was not anything suspicious,
in a sense, in seeing a man climb a stone wall. But when I remembered
that it took place around the time Warren had been killed, it began to
look important. So far, from all the evidence we had, there did not
seem to be any person who could have killed him. The secretary had
come to the house at four, and Warren had not been killed until two
hours later. I began to wonder who the man the boy had seen climbing
the wall could have been.
It was still light, though the sun was low. As my eyes glanced lazily
around, they fell upon the open door of Carter's boat house. The
thought came to me, it might be worth while to take one of the boats
and row along the shore until I reached Warren's land. There would be
time before dark to at least have a look at the place where the boy
said he had seen the man on the wall.
I went down to the boat house and went within. There were two row
boats lying in the water, and upon the concrete floor was a red canoe.
As the lake was very calm, I decided the canoe would be the easiest to
manage. I carried it to the water and launched it. Climbing in rather
carefully, I paddled out of the spillway, and then turned up the lake.
The lake was perfectly calm, without even a ripple upon its surface.
Keeping close to the shore, I paddled rather slowly, enjoying the
sight of the estates which I passed. All of them had fine lawns which
ran to the water's edge, with little boat houses concealed among the
trees. A little way from shore several people were fishing, and as I
passed a little sandy beach, I saw some children bathing.
For a short distance the shore ran in a straight line, then curved
around in a half circle to the right. As I struck across to the point
of land which ran out into the lake, I saw from the stone wall which
came down to the water's edge that I was opposite the Warren estate. I
could see above the trees the library, its red roof being the highest
in sight. But there were no signs of life, and as I paddled to the
shore I saw no one.
At first I had thought I would not land upon the estate, but that I
would beach the canoe at the other side of the wall. But changing my
mind, I landed on the shore directly in front of the library, which
was some hundred feet away upon the hill. I pulled the canoe upon the
land, half hiding it behind the low-hanging branches of a willow tree.
Then I started across the grass.
Passing round the front of the library, I saw that the door was shut
and the blinds at the windows. I did not pause, but went down the
other side of the hill, through a clump of trees, until I reached the
rear wall. The wall was some hundred yards away from the library, and
the boy had said that he had seen the man in a direct line with the
building.
It was a granite wall almost ten feet high. I wondered a moment how I
was going to get over it. A near-by tree, which had a branch hanging a
few feet over the top of the wall, solved the difficulty. I climbed
the tree, crept out on the branch, and dropped to the top of the wall.
There I sat a moment to get my bearings.
Behind me stretched the grounds of the murdered scientist, the many
trees hiding all but the top of the house. Directly back of me was the
summer house, where we had found the body. But to my surprise, when I
turned and looked in the other direction, I found that in front there
was a slight hollow—a mass of tangled underbrush and small trees.
Beyond this stretched a pasture, losing itself in the woods some
little distance away. The underbrush below me ran the entire length of
the wall, but stopped on my right where the wall ended. In fact here
the ground rose a few feet to a grass lined meadow.
As I looked at the mass of trees and shrubs, the more I began to
wonder what any one had been doing on the wall. It was not the way to
leave the grounds, for the person would have been forced to climb the
smooth stones. And then there was nothing but the distant woods and
the field. I wondered if the boy had been right when he said the man
had thrown something away.
My eyes came again to the slight hollow below me. It was a tangled
mass of shrubbery, with high grass, only hidden by the small trees
which grew to the height of about eight or nine feet. To try and find
anything in that tangle seemed impossible. But after a moment I
dropped from the wall and started to make my way through the
underbrush.
It was even worse than I had expected. The ground was soft because of
a spring which must have been near by. Not only were the trees thick,
but there was a tangle of wild rosebushes. Their thorns clung to me as
I tried to push my way through the bushes. Long before I reached the
other side I realized that it was too late to expect to make any kind
of a search. It had begun to be dusk by the time I reached the wall,
and when I plunged into the underbrush, the thick foliage made it
impossible to see.
Floundering at every step, my clothes pulled and twisted by the
thorns, and with the branches whipping across my face, I stumbled
through the swamp. Luckily it was not very wet, for if it had been, I
would have been unable to have gotten through. But long before I
reached the more solid ground I swore at myself for what I was doing.
And then, just when I began to wonder if I would ever reach solid
ground, I plunged out of the thicket into the high grass of the field.
With a sigh of relief I flung myself down on the grass for breath.
My excursion had been of little value. True, I had discovered that the
boy could have seen some one on the wall, for I could see its dim
shape a few hundred yards away. I glanced at it a moment, then looked
behind me at the distant woods, and then glanced back at the wall. And
as I looked, to my great surprise I saw a figure slowly drop from the
same branch I had been on. A dim, indistinct figure, which seemed to
be covered with a long coat—a figure of a man who, as I looked,
dropped lightly on the top of the wall.
It was now dark, but not so dark that I could not make out the man.
The features I could not see, for he was too far away and the darkness
too dense. But there in front of me, on the other side of the swamp,
was a man—a man who remained but a moment on the wall and then dropped
to the ground. For a second I lost him from sight, and then I saw the
darkness split by the glare of a flashlight. Like myself, he was going
into the underbrush, throwing the light carefully before him and going
slowly, step by step, as if he was looking for something.
For a second I wondered what I had better do. There was no doubt he
was searching for something, and searching very carefully. I could
hear the sound of the underbrush as it broke under his feet. Once even
I heard a muttered exclamation as the man half fell. The small trees
and vines hid him from my sight, but I could catch the circle of flame
from the flashlight as he swept it to and fro. He was looking for
something, but what? And then it dawned on me that the boy had been
right after all. Something had been thrown from the wall into the
small swamp.
There was little danger of my being seen. Not only was I in the
shadow, but it was also dark. The man was about a hundred feet away,
directly opposite from where I sat, crouched on the grass. He seemed
to be searching over a rather small circle of ground, and evidently
the search was not very successful. Then suddenly he threw the light
from off the ground at his feet and directed it through the
undergrowth in my direction. This caused me to move quickly a few feet
to where the grass was higher.
After all there was no necessity of my moving, for in a moment the
flame again swept the ground in a circle at the man's feet. Wondering
what he might find, and knowing that I could not be seen from where he
was, I rose and walked to the edge of the swamp, but I could see
nothing there. Then, remembering that the ground rose to a pasture at
my left, I carefully started in that direction. And then, after I had
taken one step, my foot slipped upon a branch, and as the branch
rolled over, I fell into the bushes with a crash.
I was not hurt, but at the sound of my fall the flashlight was
suddenly extinguished. For a second I lay still, then, knowing there
was no use to keep silent, arose. And at that second I heard the man
blundering out of the underbrush, and the sound of his running feet.
Instinctively I started to run in the direction which would the
soonest bring me into the open—along the edge of the swamp, up the
little grassy hill, and then I paused an instant to listen.
For a moment I heard nothing, and then down below me, in the direction
of the lake, I heard the sound of running feet. Whoever had been on
the other side of the swamp was taking no chance of being seen. As
this thought struck me, I started down the hillside for the water. The
shore was not so far away, but before I reached it I heard the man
half tumble into a boat, and there came the sound of oars splashing in
the water.
As I reached the shore, almost crashing into the stone wall of the
Warren estate, I heard the faint click of the oars as the man began to
row down the lake. My canoe was on the other side of the wall. To
reach it, I had to stumble as softly as I could around the wall, which
stopped at the water. Lucky for me, though I had to wade, the water
was not above my shoe tops, and it took only a moment to reach the
canoe. I knew I had one advantage. It was almost impossible for the
man to row the boat without making some sound with the oars; but I
could paddle the canoe silently.
As I half fell over the canoe, I paused a second, waiting to catch the
faint sound of the oars; then silently I pushed the canoe into the
water, climbed in, and started to paddle as softly as possible in the
direction of the boat. It was far ahead of me, and the night was so
dark I could see but a few feet in front of me. But once in a while I
could hear the oars click, for the man was rowing with all his speed,
evidently not knowing that I had a canoe.
It had been my idea that as I could paddle faster than he could row, I
could soon reach him. My plan was to let him go ashore, and then as he
stepped out of the boat, to reach his side. One thing above all I
wished to do—see who it might be. After that there were a few
questions I wished to ask.
But either I misjudged the distance he was ahead of me or else he
could row far better than I expected. In my haste I had paddled
straight out into the lake, forgetting for a moment or so that the
shore took a wide curve. When I remembered that, it was to discover
the man had rowed straight across this half circle, and I had to turn
to the shore. This gave him several extra minutes, and though, when he
ran his boat up on the shore, I was only a few feet away, yet it gave
the time he needed.
He must have discovered just before he beached his boat that I was
behind him. In fact I was so close that when he rose and jumped to the
shore, I could partly see his figure—an indistinct mass in the
darkness. He half turned, jumped from his boat, partly stumbled, only
to gather himself and run away in the darkness. The next second my
canoe crashed on the beach, half throwing me to my knees.
Jumping from it, I set out in the direction the man had taken. We were
on some one's lawn, for I saw the figure darting ahead of me, thrown
into reflection for a moment by the lights of a house. Then it went
through a hedge and was lost to sight. I ran over the grass, through
the opening in the hedge, and then discovered that I was on Carter's
land. As I glimpsed the running figure ahead, I heard Trouble, who was
locked in the garage, give a sudden bark, and then commence to bark
incessantly. I wished with all my heart the dog was loose, but there
was not time to open the garage door.
When I ran around the front of Carter's house, the man was not in
sight. In front of me was another hedge, to my left the lake, and to
my right the lawn ran to the street. In this direction the street
lights made it possible to see that there was no one there. Deciding
the man had gone through the hedge, I ran down the path, and the next
second was on the lawn which belonged to the minister. But I could see
no one, and though there was a light in the rectory, no running figure
crossed the reflection. The man was gone, but where?
I stopped running, to walk up the slight incline which led to the
church. Frankly I was puzzled. There had not been time for him to have
gone very far. The street lights gave enough illumination to at least
have allowed me to have seen if any running figure was ahead of me.
But no one was in sight.
Puzzled, I went rather slowly across the grass and came to the dark
shadow made by the wall of the church. As I stood silent a moment, I
cast my eyes at the dense mass of the tower, which divided the rectory
from the church proper. It was not a very high tower, and its top was
only a few feet above the roof of the church. Then I went toward the
street, keeping in the shadow, and when I reached the tower itself,
found to my surprise that the door at the foot was open.
I peered within, only to have my eyes met by the blackness. Finding a
match, I struck it. For the shortest space of time the darkness was
lighted sufficiently for me to see a very narrow winding pair of
stairs which were lost to sight above my head. Before the match was
out I had time to see an iron railing which ran along the side of the
steps. As darkness came again, I once more wondered what had happened
to the man. There seemed no chance now of finding him, for by this
time he must have been far away.
And then, for some unknown reason, I decided to climb the stairs in
the tower and see if I could perceive anything from the roof. Thinking
it over later, I saw how absurd the idea must have been, for the night
was dark and even if I reached the roof, I would not have been able to
see very far. But at the time the only thing I remembered was that
when I had looked at the tower late in the afternoon I had noticed an
iron railing which ran around its top.
I reached in my pocket for another match, and then discovered I had
just struck the last one. A search of all my pockets gave no results.
Hesitating a moment, I finally stepped through the open door, groping
my way until my foot plunged against the stone stairs. Then finding
the railing, I began slowly to climb the steps.
The darkness was intense, and the stairway was not only very narrow,
but it wound around and around in a bewildering manner. I groped my
way from step to step, my hand firmly grasping the rail. Just about
the time I began to wonder if the steps would never end I came out in
a small room at the top of the tower. Directly in front of me was an
open door, and as my eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, I
saw that it led to the platform.
When I went through this door, I found myself on a little balcony,
which ran around the top of the tower. In my first quick glance I saw
below me the lights of the town, and, turning my head, I caught the
reflection of the village streets far away in the distance. I leaned
over the iron railing, saw the dark shadow of the roof a few feet
below me, and began to wonder why under heaven I had ever climbed the
steps.
After walking completely around the balcony, I came back to my place
near the open door. Though I had peered over the edge on all sides, I
had seen nothing. Only the lights of the town, the street lamps and
the reflections from the houses had broken the blackness. I had just
about made up my mind to descend when a sudden sound behind me caused
me to stiffen to attention. It was only a slight sound, and what it
was I could not tell. But as I started to turn, suddenly from behind I
felt something move, and the next moment two hands suddenly gripped my
body.
The attack was so sudden and unexpected that, taken off my guard as I
was, I did not move until the man had secured my arms with a firm
grip. I tried to throw them aside, but I might just as well have tried
to break a steel rope. Whoever it was had terrific strength, for they
held me in such a position that I was unable to move. Throwing my body
to this side and that, I tried to break the grip, but it was
impossible. And silently, save only for the man's quick breathing, I
was being borne to the iron rail.
The man had seized me from the rear, and as I was unable to turn I
could not see him. Even if I had been able to turn, I could not have
distinguished him, for the night was too dark. Silently, without a
word, he pushed me against the rail. Then as its iron began to cut
into my back, he tried to lift me from the platform. In horror it came
over me that he was trying to throw me from the tower.
With a sudden burst of strength I managed to free myself from one of
the clutching hands and half turned. But the effort was in vain. Again
the arms closed around me, and as I slipped on the stone floor, I felt
myself being raised and the iron rail pressing against my back. I
tried to regain my feet—tried to throw off the clutching hands, but
could not; and then, as if my weight was of no avail, the man lifted
me slowly but surely until my feet were off the floor. Then he gave a
sudden push, and with a cry I went off the platform.