The Great Oakdale Mystery. Scott Morgan

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ brings you up here at this hour?” questioned Fred.

      “Hush! I’m doing my duty. I’m gathering up the scattered threads one by one. The skein shall be untangled.”

      Piper was known to Mr. and Mrs. Sage, who spoke to him pleasantly, although both were somewhat surprised by this, his first, visit to their home. Having removed his cap and jammed it into the side pocket of his coat, Sleuth deported himself in his usual mysterious manner when “investigating,” and suddenly the other boy began to fear that he would speak of the stranger in the presence of the older people.

      “I’m glad you dropped around, Pipe,” said Fred. “I suppose you want to talk football? Come on up to my room; we can chin there as much as we like.”

      The caller was more than willing, and they mounted the stairs to Fred’s room, which was large, comfortable and exceedingly well furnished. But Piper, still bearing himself “professionally,” gave little heed to the aspect of the room.

      “I’ve come,” he announced, declining to sit down, “to propound a few vital questions, which I trust you may see fit to answer without evasion or subterfuge.”

      “What’s this?” laughed Sage. “Is it a court of inquiry?”

      “Not exactly. Of course there is no compulsion in the matter, but, assuming that you have nothing to conceal, there should be no reason for refusing the information I require.”

      “Oh, say, Sleuth, don’t you ever get tired of it? It must be wearisome, searching for these deep, dark mysteries in a quiet, uneventful country town like Oakdale. Of course I know what you’re driving at, and in this case I think you’re trying to make something out of nothing – and that’s impossible.”

      Piper shook his head. With his hands locked behind his back, he slowly paced the floor.

      “You are like the usual order of persons who lack the analytical mind,” he retorted. “You fail to see the true significance of apparently commonplace events. I am different. At this moment I feel assured that we are face to face with one of the most perplexing mysteries on record. I’ve interviewed Hooker this evening, and from him I obtained a certain amount of information concerning the mysterious man he encountered in the woods beyond Culver’s Bridge. According to his statement, that man was about twenty-six years of age, and apparently something like five feet and ten inches in height. Hooker judged that this person should weigh in the neighborhood of one hundred and sixty pounds. His complexion was medium, and he had hair slightly curly. His eyes were blue, his teeth white and even, and his smile pleasant. His voice was agreeable, but he showed traces of nervousness and anxiety. He spoke with some bitterness of people who had wealth and employed laborers. Roy states that, as far as he could see, the man bore no peculiarly distinguishing mark, like a scar or deformity.”

      “Well,” said Fred, lounging on the Morris chair, “why should the appearance of such a stranger interest you so deeply?”

      “Wait,” said Piper, halting in front of Sage’s chair. “This man made inquiries concerning your family. He must have known you.”

      “We’ve lived in Oakdale only three years. There are people outside of this place who know us.”

      “Quite true; but when he learned that you were near at hand, and when he heard you approaching, the man disappeared in a most astounding, inexplicable and unaccountable manner. He didn’t wait until you should come forth to meet him face to face.”

      “That was rather odd,” admitted Sage.

      “And, furthermore, you have stated that you have no idea who the person can be.”

      “Not the slightest.”

      “Is there anything connected with your past or that of your parents which, for good and sufficient reasons, you wish to conceal?”

      Fred sat up suddenly. “Why should you imagine anything of that sort?” he retorted sharply. “Of course it’s nonsense.”

      “H’m!” said Sleuth. “It’s a rare family closet that doesn’t contain a skeleton.”

      “Well, Piper, if you’ve come here to pry into private family affairs, you may as well chase yourself at once.”

      “Restrain your annoyance, Sage; check your angry resentment. If you choose to unbosom yourself to me in my professional capacity, you may do so with the assurance of my honorable intention to hold inviolate any secret with which I may be entrusted.”

      Fred’s face was flushed and he betrayed annoyance, which, however, he endeavored to restrain.

      “Cut out that fol-de-rol, Piper. There’s no reason why I should tell you any family secrets, if we happen to have them. As you’ve just said, doubtless there are few families who do not have some minor secrets they choose to keep hidden; but, as a rule, such things concern no others than those personally interested. Again, let me repeat that you are trying to make something out of nothing, and it’s extremely ridiculous.”

      “Perhaps so,” retorted Sleuth. “But tell me, did you ever hear of a man by the name of James Wilson?”

      “Never. What has he to do with the matter?”

      The visitor drew a folded newspaper from an inner pocket of his coat. “It’s my custom,” he said, “to take special note of the records of crime and criminals as contained in the press of the day. I never overlook anything of the sort. Here in this paper is the description of one James Wilson, alias ‘William Hunt,’ alias ‘Philip Hastings,’ but known among his pals as ‘Gentleman Jim.’ This man is described as twenty-six years of age, five feet, ten inches in height, and weighing one hundred and sixty pounds. While there are no distinguishing marks upon his person, he has blue eyes; a medium complexion; hair slightly curly; white, even teeth; a pleasant smile; an agreeable voice; and white, shapely hands, which show evidence of recent arduous labor. This labor was performed in prison, from which Jim Wilson has but lately been released. He is a confidence man and safe-breaker, and it seems that his prison experience has done little to cure him of his criminal proclivities, for it is suspected that since his release he has been concerned in certain unlawful operations. One week ago he was arrested in Harpersville, which is just over the state line, and placed in jail to await the arrival of officers who wanted him. But Mr. Wilson, alias ‘William Hunt,’ alias ‘Philip Hastings,’ alias ‘Gentleman Jim,’ is a slippery customer, and he didn’t remain in that insecure jail. Instead of doing so, he broke out of his cell, cracked the guard’s skull, and made good his escape. The guard is not expected to live, and the authorities have offered a reward of five hundred dollars for the capture of the murderous scoundrel.”

      “Well!” breathed Sage, who had listened with swiftly increasing interest. “Do you think this James Wilson and the stranger Hooker talked with this forenoon are one and the same?”

      “I haven’t a doubt of it,” declared Sleuth.

      CHAPTER V.

      BY THE LIGHT FROM THE WINDOW

      “But that,” said Fred, “is practically a matter of supposition with you; you have no real proof.”

      “Proof?” returned Piper reprovingly. “Why not? The circumstances are significant, and it’s only the bigoted person who denies the value of circumstantial evidence in criminal cases. The description of James Wilson applies perfectly to the mysterious stranger with whom Hooker conversed.”

СКАЧАТЬ