CLEWS AT LAST
For a moment, at sight of the deserted cabin, staring at Tom and his
friend, as it were, from its hiding place amid the trees, the young
inventor and his companion did not move. They just stood looking at the
place.
"Well," said Tom, at length, "we found it, didn't we?"
"We found something anyhow," agreed Jackson. "Whether it amounts to
anything or not, we've got to see."
"Come on!" cried Tom, impulsively. "I'm going to see what's there."
"There doesn't appear to be much of anything," said Jackson, as he
looked toward the lonely cabin with critical eyes. "I should say that
place hadn't been used, even as a chicken coop, in a long while."
"We can soon tell!" exclaimed Tom, striding forward.
"Wait just a minute!" cried his companion, catching him by the coat.
"Don't be in such a hurry."
"Why not?" asked Tom. "There isn't any danger, is there?"
"I don't know about that. There's no telling who may be hidden in that
cabin, in spite of its deserted appearance. And though there aren't any
'No Trespass' signs up, it may be that we wouldn't be welcome. If there
are some tramps there, which is possible, they might take a notion to
shoot at us first and ask questions as to our peaceable intentions
afterward--when it would be too late."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Tom. "There aren't any tramps there and, if there
were, they wouldn't dare shoot. I'm going to see what the mystery
is--if there is one."
But there was no sign of life, and, taking this as an indication that
their advance would not be disputed, Jackson followed Tom. The latter
advanced until he could take in all the details of the shack. It was
made of logs, and once had been chinked with mud or clay. Some of this
had fallen out, leaving spaces between the tree trunks.
"It wasn't a bad little shack at one time," decided Tom. "Maybe it was
a place where some one camped out during the summer. But it hasn't been
used of late. I never knew there was such a place around here, and I
thought I knew this locality pretty well."
"I never heard of it, either," said Jackson. "Let's give a shout and
see if there's any one around. They may be asleep. Hello, there!" he
called in sufficiently vigorous tones to have awakened an ordinary
sleeper.
Put there was no answer, and as the shadows of the night began to fall,
the place took on a most lonely aspect.
"Let's go up and knock--or go in if the door's open," suggested Tom.
"We can't lose any more time, if we're to get out of here before night."
"Go ahead," said Jackson, and together they went to the cabin door.
"Locked!" exclaimed Tom, as he saw a padlock attached to a chain. It
appeared to be fastened through two staples, driven one into the door
and the other into the jamb, at right angles to one another and
overlapping.
"Knock!" suggested Jackson. But when Tom had done so, and there was no
answer, the machinist took hold of the lock. To his own surprise and
that of Tom, one of the staples pulled out and the door swung open. The
place had evidently been forced before, and the lock had not been
opened by a key. The staple had been pulled out and replaced loosely in
the holes.
For a moment nothing could be made out in the dark interior of the
shack. But as their eyes became used to the gloom, Tom and his
companion were able to see that the shack consisted of two rooms.
In the first one there was a rusty stove, a table, and some chairs, and
it was evident, from pans and skillets hanging on the wall, as well as
from a small cupboard built on one side, that this was the kitchen and
living room combined.
"Anybody here?" cried Tom, as he stepped inside.
Only a dull echo answered.
The two could now see where a door gave entrance to an inner room, and
this, a quick glance showed, was the sleeping apartment, two bunks
being built on the side walls.
"Well, somebody had it pretty comfortable here," decided Tom, as he
looked around. "They've been cooking and sleeping here, and not so very
long ago, either. It wouldn't be such a bad place if it was cleaned
out."
"That's right," agreed Jackson. "Wouldn't mind camping here myself, if
there was any fishing near."
"The river can't be far away," suggested Tom. "And now let's see what
we can find, and see if we can get a line on who has been here. But
first we'll let in a little light."
He opened a window in the sleeping room, and pushed back the heavy
plank shutter that had been closed. When the light entered it was seen
that both bunks bore evidence of having been lately slept in. The
blankets were tossed back, as if the occupants had risen, and in the
outer room, on the stove, were signs that indicated a meal had been
served not many days gone by.
"Now," observed Tom musingly, as he wandered about the place, "if we
could only find out who owns this, and who has been here lately--"
Jackson stooped over, and, thrusting aside an end of the blankets that
trailed on the floor from one of the bunks, picked up something.
"What is it?" asked Tom.
"Looks like a leather pocketbook," was the answer. "That's what it is,"
the mechanic went on, as he held the object to the light. "It's a
wallet."
"Let me see it!" exclaimed Tom quickly. He took the wallet from the
hands of Jackson. Then the young inventor uttered a cry. "A clew at
last!" he exclaimed. "A clew at last! Mr. Nestor has been in this
cabin!"
"How do you know?" asked Jackson quickly.
"This is his wallet," said Tom excitedly. "I've often seen him have it.
In fact he had it with him on Earthquake Island, the time I sent the
wireless message for help. I saw it several times then. He kept in it
what few papers he had saved from the wreck. And I've seen it often
enough since. That's Mr. Nestor's wallet all right. Besides, if you
want any other evidence--look!" He opened the leather flaps and showed
Jackson on one, stamped in gold letters, the name of Mary's father.
"Well, what do you make of it, Tom?" asked the mechanician, as he
finished his examination of the wallet. "What does it mean? The
pocket-book is empty and that--"
"Might mean almost anything," completed Tom. "But it's a clew all
right! He's been here, and I'm pretty certain he was brought here in
the auto with the odd tires--the one Mr. Damon and I saw traces of the
night we heard the cries for help."
"But that doesn't help us now," said Jackson. "The point is to find out
how lately Mr. Nestor was here, and what has happened to him since.
There isn't anything in the wallet, is there?"
"Nothing," answered Tom, making a careful examination so as to be sure.
"It's as empty as a last year's bird nest. He's been robbed--that's
what has happened to Mr. Nestor. He was waylaid that night, instead of
being run down as I thought--waylaid and robbed and then his body was
brought here."
"There you go again, Tom! Jumping to conclusions!" said Jackson, with a
friendly smile, and with the familiarity of an old and valued helper.
"Maybe he's in perfectly good health. Just because you found his empty
wallet doesn't argue that your friend is in serious trouble. He may
have dropped this on the road and some one picked it up. I'll admit
they may have taken whatever was in it, but that doesn't prove
anything. The thing for us to do is to find out who knows about this
shack; who owns it, on whose land it is, and whether any one has been
seen here lately."
"They've been here lately whether they've been seen or not," said Tom
positively. "There are the auto tracks. It rained two days ago, and the
tracks were made since. Mr. Nestor must have been here within two days."
"He may or may not," said Jackson. "Say, rather, that some one was here
and left his wallet after him. Now see if we can find other clews!"
They looked about in the fast fading light, but at first could discover
nothing more than evidences that three or four persons had been living
in the shack and at some recent date--probably within a day or two.
They had had their meals there and had slept there. But this seemed to
be all that could be established, other than that Mr. Nestor's wallet
was there, stripped of its contents.
Tom was looking through the closet, from which a frightened chipmunk
sprang as he opened the door. There were the remains of some food,
which accounted for the presence of the little striped animal. And, as
Tom poked about, his hand came in contact with something wrapped in
paper on an upper shelf. It was something that clinked metallicly.
"What's that?" asked Jackson. "Knives, or some other weapons?"
"Neither," answered Tom. "It's a couple of files, and they've been used
lately. I can see something in the grooves yet and--"
Suddenly Tom ceased speaking and drew from his pocket a small but
powerful magnifying glass. Through this he looked at one of the files,
taking it out in front of the shack where the light was better.
"I thought so!" he cried. "Look here, Jackson!"
"What is it?"
"Another clew!" answered Tom.