Читать книгу The Lone Footprint - Anna Perot Rose Wright - Страница 5

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“We’ve got your number and you’ll hear from us later!” bellowed one man.

“We have your number too, and we’ll follow this up!” warned Kay, undaunted. “This boat belongs to my uncle and he will not let you off easily, I warn you!”

“You give us your names and we’ll attend to the matter,” shouted the other man.

Names were exchanged, the fat fellow being known as Peter Webb, the thin man with the sharp nose and bad teeth as Jim Silman.

“You can come to Owl’s Hole and ask for us at our cottage, the Wren’s Nest. My uncle will interview you there,” directed Kay.

“We’ll come some time, if and when it’s convenient to us,” replied the big man with an ugly sneer.

“You will see my uncle or I shall report this to the river police,” Kay returned quietly but firmly.

At last a day and time were agreed upon. With a grunt the fat fellow started his boat again. With a loud roar of the engine, the Fish Hawk tore down the channel, churning the water white.

“I hope they don’t overturn those boys in the row boat!” cried Wilma anxiously.

Apparently the small fishermen hoped so too, for they crouched low in their little craft as the bigger one swished by, drenching them with spray and rocking their boat so hard that it almost capsized.

“River Pirates!” they screamed, shaking their small fists angrily as the men swept on.

“That shows what kind of crooks they are!” stormed Betty.

“Yes, people who would drown children would not stop at any crime,” said Kay, starting her motor. She swung the Purple Pansy around and called out to the boys, “Are you all right? Can you bail out your boat safely?”

“We’re okay,” they answered, adding, “Thanks!”

“Will you testify for us if we need witnesses?” Kay asked the boys quick-wittedly. “You saw the whole thing happen!”

“You bet we will! Glad to!” they shouted.

“That’s a grand idea!” applauded Wilma. “Let’s get their names and addresses in case we need them.”

When this had been attended to, Kay headed the Purple Pansy up the river toward the drawbridge.

“We must remember that our main purpose is to see the one-legged man,” she said.

Presently they neared the structure which arched over the river. A small glassed-in watch tower stood in the middle of the span. The girls could see the bridge tender inside this, like a jack-in-the-box.

When he spied the Purple Pansy approaching, he popped out of his little house. Betty giggled, “Like a cuckoo jumping out of a cuckoo clock.” He leaned over the bridge railing and shouted down:

“If you folks want me to raise the draw why don’t you blow three times like you orter or do you think mebbe I’m a mind reader? How do I know if you want to go through if you don’t toot?”

“Sweet disposition,” tittered Betty in her twin’s ear, while Wilma whispered back, “Look, he is one-legged, sure enough, and he just uses crutches, no wooden leg, either!”

Meanwhile Kay was calling, “No thank you, we don’t want to go through. We’d like to talk to you a few minutes if we may.”

“Well, tie up to the boat dock there then, and come on up,” the man said grudgingly as he hobbled back to his glass house. “Though I don’t see what anybody wants to be talkin’ to me about,” he muttered grumpily.

The girls were not discouraged by this glum invitation and soon presented themselves at the bridge tender’s office. One glance at Mr. Farkin made it clear that he certainly might have been the maker of those lone footprints. Not only was he one-legged, but his only foot was the right one! It had been the print of a right foot that Kay had found at the cottage.

“I mustn’t judge from circumstantial evidence only,” she said to herself. “Of course there are other right-footed, one-legged men in the world, but it is a curious coincidence!”

She then began a conversation, starting with the accident as an opening, and hoping to turn the talk later to some mention of the scarecrow.

“Yes, I seen them fellers run into you,” said the cripple, “but I ain’t surprised. They go up and down the river a lot. Sometimes I wonder if they’re smugglers. They claim to operate the Eagle Realty Company in Hartford. I guess their eagle is always ready to swoop down and catch a victim in its claws!”

The bridge man gave a cackle and shook his head. “It’s no wonder they wrecked you,” he concluded knowingly.

“We’ve had plenty of trouble since we came to Owl’s Hole,” said Kay, leading up to her subject. “Last night someone tried to scare us by moaning hideously outside our door and leaving the stuffed dummy of a man on our path.”

As Kay told this, all three girls watched the cripple sharply, but not by so much as the wink of an eye did he show the least sign of guilt. In fact he was indignant and sympathetic.

“Now what a nasty trick that was!” he said hotly. “I hope you catch whoever did it!”

The girls exchanged glances at this, each wondering whether the man could be entirely innocent or whether he was simply an excellent actor. Kay decided it was best not to mention the lone footprint. To feel her way, she led the man on to talk of various things and suddenly was startled to hear him say:

“The thing I hate worst in this world is banks!”

“Banks!” cried Betty and Wilma, looking significantly at each other, their minds darting back to Mr. Byram Brown and the failure of the institution of which he had been the head.

“Yes, banks!” declared the man. “I had a goodly sum stored away in one once, and the thing closed up and I lost every cent I owned. Everything! If it hadn’t been for that I would have been comfortably off by now, but look at me. Poor as Job’s turkey and having to tend a bridge in my old age. I don’t put my money in banks no more!” said he slyly.

“Where do you put it?” asked Kay, who had flushed uncomfortably at his bitter reference.

“I bury it,” responded the old man. “I bury it deep in the ground,” he said with a wink and a chuckle, adding, “Old Mother Earth’s my bank now, and nothing short of an earthquake will make that one fail.”

“Aren’t you afraid somebody may dig it up?” burst out the twins.

The bridge master shook his head confidently. “Nobody knows where it is!” he said, with another sly wink and a wheeze of satisfaction.

Kay had gone to the bridge master to determine whether or not he was a guilty person. Now she felt guilty herself as she recalled the loss of his savings. Could this have been through her Uncle Byram’s bank? She hated to ask, but if so, it seemed quite likely that the cripple was wreaking vengeance upon Mr. Brown.

Having seen the one-legged man and discovered a possible motive for his spite, Kay felt that the trip to the bridge had been worth while. She thought that they might as well go home now and await further developments.

“We’d better be getting back for lunch!” she suggested.

“Aye, Aye, Captain!” Betty cried out nautically.

With friendly good-byes to the man, the crew of the Purple Pansy set off on the voyage home.

“It’s a bad score against that person since he has only his right foot and feels the way he does about bank failures,” summed up Kay.

“Yes, it looks very suspicious,” agreed the twins.

Whatever injury the Fish Hawk had inflicted on the Purple Pansy, it had not caused any damage that reduced her speed, for the girls spun home in record time.

They were hurrying along the path from the river to their cottage when Betty stopped suddenly and cried out dismally:

“Can I believe my eyes! Look!”

The others gazed where she pointed and were dismayed, for a girl and a woman were moving into one of the cottages marked Oriole’s Nest. The girl was the very last person they wanted to see!

The newcomer was a schoolmate, Ethel Eaton, who always managed to make things disagreeable. The woman with her was an aunt, Mrs. Pinty, a most unattractive widow, whose ill nature showed in the sour expression on her face.

“Oh, dear!” sighed Kay. “As if life here weren’t unpleasant and complicated enough already without Ethel appearing on the scene!”

“You may be sure she will make things worse!” deplored Wilma.

The Eaton girl did not hesitate to live up to her reputation. Catching sight of her classmates, she sauntered over and remarked with an unfriendly smirk:

“Well, fancy meeting you here!”

“Seeing you is an unexpected—pleasure!” returned Betty pertly.

“How did you happen to come to Owl’s Hole?” Ethel asked disapprovingly. A long frown ridged her forehead.

“We are guests of my uncle, Mr. Brown, who owns this development,” replied Kay.

“I thought this was going to be a very exclusive, restricted park,” sighed Ethel’s aunt, haughtily, “but I see all sorts of people are getting in here to spoil it.”

Before anyone could make a suitable reply to this snobbish remark, a red-haired boy of about fifteen interrupted rudely with the offer:

“Carry your bags in, lady? Want me to open up your cottage for you? Any odd jobs?”

He was a very skinny lad, with such long, spindly arms and legs that the girls were not surprised to hear him say, “My name’s Spider. It’s really Stanley Brutch, but everybody calls me Spider. Shall I take your baggage in for you?”

“Yes, you may put our things inside and open the windows and ventilate the place!” ordered Mrs. Pinty.

She turned disdainfully away from the girls and with Ethel followed Spider indoors.

“Whew!” exploded Betty. “What lovely neighbors!”

“Lovely, indeed,” said Wilma. “Just listen to her now!”

Mrs. Pinty’s voice could be heard snapping out orders in acid tones while her niece joined in to boss the boy about.

“Come, come, don’t be so slow and lazy!” shrilled the woman’s voice.

“Hurry, boy, don’t be so stupid!” added Ethel.

“I shall be very much surprised,” prophesied Kay, “if a boy with hair as red as that one’s takes such abuse without losing his temper.”

“He seems to be talking back now,” Wilma said worriedly. “Oh dear, I hope we shan’t have a horrid disturbance.” Peace-loving Wilma looked miserable. The others could not help but enjoy the argument which now was rising louder and louder.

“If that’s all you’re going to pay me, you’re a couple of old skinflints!” they heard the boy shout.

“I consider that I have overpaid you! Now leave my house!” scolded Mrs. Pinty.

Out stormed the lad and ran, his arms and legs going like a windmill. He shrieked, “You’ll be sorry! I’ll get even with you!”

The girls were glad to walk away and seek the peace of their own cottage where they related to Mrs. Tracey all that had taken place. As they finished telling about the unwelcome arrival of Ethel Eaton and her aunt, Kay’s mother reported from the window:

“There they go now, to do their marketing, I suppose. Well, come and have your lunch. You must be starving!”

The mariners were, indeed, ravenous and the delectable meal which Mrs. Tracey was preparing gave off the most tantalizing odors.

“That delicious cooking makes my mouth water!” declared Betty yearningly.

“What is that awful odor?” suddenly asked Mrs. Tracey, stopping to sniff and make a face.

“It’s taking my appetite away,” said Betty.

Poor Wilma’s face had turned a sea-sickly green and she was holding her nose in despair.

“It makes me feel positively faint,” choked Mrs. Tracey, collapsing into the nearest chair.

“I’ll go and see,” offered Kay, and dashed outside to find the cause of the annoyance.

There was no trouble in tracing the scent. It led her directly to the porch of Oriole’s Nest. There on the doormat lay a dead skunk! Evidently the poor thing had been killed in the road by a car. Someone purposely had shovelled it up and dumped it at the cottage to offend Ethel and her aunt.

“Spider did it!” was Kay’s immediate conclusion.

Just then a car drove up speedily. Ethel and her aunt were returning! There lay the dead skunk upon their porch. Kay stood beside it!

“Kay Tracey, you played this dirty trick upon us,” accused the Eaton girl, “and you shall pay for it!”