A PASSING FACE
Distrustful though they were and full of nameless fears, they stepped
into Devlin's coupé early on Monday evening with a feeling of relief.
To be out in the air again, a part of the moving, restless world--it
gave them no small thrill and they tried to put out of their minds all
that had troubled them since their strange imprisonment.
Devlin, adept at using either hand, dexterously managed the car with
his left hand and kept his right hand significantly at his pocket. "I
might as well warn you boys," he said when they had left the clearing,
"that I'll stand for no nonsense. I got a silencer on this gun in my
pocket and it won't make any noise if either one of you try to beat it."
Nickie seemed to have been silenced without the gun, but Skippy said,
"Aw, don't worry, mister. Why should we beat it when you're gonna ship
us out west an' everything, huh?"
"I'm glad you feel that way," the man said gravely, but watching the
boys out of the corner of his eye. "Timmy got very restless waiting
around and I had an idea he was putting notions in your heads." He
coughed.
"Aw, no," Skippy said with a gulp. "I--er--he didn't say nothin'."
Devlin did not relax. "I might as well tell you my plans now," he said
slowly. "I'm taking you both to a country doctor not far from here for
a physical examination. You are to act as if you didn't know where you
were born or much of anything else--understand? You may answer yes and
no to any questions he asks you but that is all. I'll do the rest of
the talking. And you're my sons--my sons! Don't forget that for a
moment. I'll be watching every minute."
They rode through the woods path, turning here and there so that Skippy
could not keep track of the route. Dusk was rapidly approaching and
when Devlin slowed down the car as they came abreast of a narrow path,
he could just about make it out.
Devlin stopped the car and got out backwards. Then, reaching in the
pocket flap of the coupé door, he drew out a searchlight and played it
up and down the boggy-looking path for a flashing second, yet giving
Skippy plenty of time to notice several large footprints on both sides
of the trail.
He said nothing to Nickie for Devlin was back in the car again in a
moment and they had started off. A few feet farther on they crossed a
tiny wooden bridge of amateur construction.
"Frost and me fixed that up," said the man as they rattled over the
logs. He coughed again. "Part bog and part creek and about fifteen feet
deep where we put the logs. Nasty place. Folks around here don't know
anything about it any more--their grandfolks and great-grandfolks that
did have forgot about it now."
They came at last to a road that had once boasted asphalt and Skippy
guessed that it had taken them at least an hour to reach it. Along this
they speeded silently, each one wrapped in his own thoughts. Not a car
did they meet, not a person or house did they pass and it was fully two
hours after they had left the dismal house when they espied a small,
lighted dwelling by the roadside.
Devlin drove past that, too, and presently he turned on to another
badly paved road which took them uphill. Skippy noticed the dark
outline of mountains spreading out around them. It was true then, he
thought, the house was situated in the center of swamplands and forest.
But where--where were they?
Another half hour's ride and they came into a small village, boasting a
few stores and not more than twenty-five houses. It was at the extreme
end of this quiet community and a little around the bend that Devlin
brought the car to a stop.
"Here we are," he said, backing out as soon as he had turned off his
switch. "Now remember--leave the talking to me!"
Skippy felt the gun at his back all the way up the graveled walk.
Nickie kept safely ahead and walked with short, jerky steps. They went
up on the porch and a pleasant-faced lady answered the doorbell.
She led them into the sitting room at Devlin's deep-voiced request, and
then disappeared. Then the doctor appeared, a short, near-sighted
little man who talked in nasal accents and put his stethoscope to
Skippy's rapidly beating heart with professional alacrity.
"So you got here, eh," he said, as he changed the instrument about on
the boy's chest. "Mr. Smithson told me you'd come. Name's Barker, eh?
Well, must say you're a sensible man to watch out what's ahead. Guess
both boys'll pass muster. So you're starting a mushroom place down at
Devil's Bog, eh?"
"Yes, yes," Devlin answered, standing in a nonchalant posture near the
door. "Know much about it, doc?"
"No, nothing, except that it's full of malaria and mosquitoes and a
dangerous place to go unless a body knows where they're going," the
garrulous man answered. "I've never been there--guess your place is
quite a ways in, eh?"
"Mm," Devlin answered. "Beggars can't be choosers, doc. I got to do the
best I can for my boys."
The doctor snorted. "Guess that's so. Sometimes they don't thank a body
any." He had disposed of Skippy by that time and nodded to Nickie.
"Just keep your eye on 'em, that's all you can do." Then: "Did you say
they're going to help you?"
"Mm, I'm too poor to get anyone else."
And that was all. The doctor dismissed them, saying he had to get out
on a call and before Skippy could think what to do, they were out on
the porch and the door had closed behind them. Nickie looked at his
friend, desperately.
Skippy sat down on the bottom step and began to untie his shoe.
"Something's hurtin' my foot, mister," he said innocently, as Devlin
stood above him, tall and questioning. "Guess it's the lining--wait a
minute!"
Devlin walked a few feet away, standing in an advantageous position
while his staring eyes darted from one boy to the other. Then,
impatiently, he walked on to the car. "I'm watching you, kid--hurry!"
he said, after curtly ordering Nickie inside.
Skippy got his shoe back on and began to saunter slowly down the walk,
when suddenly he saw someone turn in at the path. His heart jumped! It
was a lady and from under her hat the boy could see white hair. God had
sent her!
"I'm waiting, kid!"
Devlin's voice was icy. Skippy had to think quickly and, consequently,
there was a sharp contact, the lady's pocketbook fell to the ground and
its contents fell out on the walk.
Skippy was nothing if not gallant. He was on his knees, picking up the
scattered articles and cramming them back despite her sweet-voiced
protests. But he had to do it quickly, expertly, for Devlin had a
challenging look in his cold eyes.
Then he ran to the car and Nickie gave him an anxious look. "Sorry I
hadda keep you waitin', mister," he said naïvely, "but that lady was
old an' she couldn't stoop so well so I ..."
"Come on, get in!" was Devlin's response.
Skippy looked back and saw that the old lady stood holding her
pocketbook tightly, watching them as they drove away. Then she went up
the walk to the doctor's house.
After they had gone a few feet, Devlin backed the car around and went
back the way they had come. As they drove down the brightly lighted
street of the little community, they came abreast of a car which as
Skippy had already noticed bore a New York license plate. Even while he
looked, a face at one of the opened windows drew his attention, a brisk
face so pleasantly familiar.
Dick Hallam!
He tried to stifle his cry of surprise, but Devlin had not missed it.
"You know the man in that car?" He had already stepped on the gas and
they were plunging forward with terrific speed. "You know him?" he
asked, insistently, threateningly.
"Y--yes."
Skippy saw the headlights looming up from the rear. Dick Hallam was
giving chase. He had seen him! Devlin, on the other hand, was not
dismayed. He was using all the speed of which the car was capable and
had turned off all except his parking lights. Suddenly he swerved into
a narrow road and after that they made so many turns that Skippy lost
all sense of direction.
When Devlin slowed down he coughed with satisfaction. "I'm glad to see
that neither of you tried to pull a fast one. I had made up my mind
that I'd wreck the car if you did--I'm that way, boys."
"Yeah, we can see that," Nickie said, with no conscious attempt to be
humorous. "You needn't a' worried bout me, Devlin--I wouldn't a' laid a
hand on you. The shave was close enough the way this car was goin'."
Skippy had barely heard anything that was said. He could think only
that Dick Hallam had been near enough to touch not a half hour back,
and now the night, and perhaps Death itself, separated them. Certainly,
it was too much to hope that Hallam should find them now or ever!
The doctor had said that no one knew of Devil's Bog. Why hadn't he
known the name of the place before? Neither Carlton Conne nor his men
would ever find the place from his poor description of it. And yet, he
thought, did not the desolate swampland stand out from all other
swamplands? Somehow, it did.
And Dean Devlin, known or unknown, made it stand out still more.