Читать книгу The Lone Footprint - Anna Perot Rose Wright - Страница 6

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Kay was so dumbfounded at Ethel’s idea, that she could not utter one word. She stood for a moment, silent, staring. Then came her mother’s voice, calling her. Glad of this excuse to go, she turned and walked away without so much as a glance in the direction of the occupants of Oriole’s Nest.

“Well!” snorted Mrs. Pinty disagreeably. “She certainly didn’t deny her guilt!”

Left to the task of cleaning up the porch, Ethel grumbled that Kay should have been made to do it, or that the chore-boy Spider be required to. As the lad was nowhere to be seen, the Eaton girl, groaning, had to get to work.

Meanwhile Kay, running through the grove, reached her mother, who was listening sympathetically to complaints of old Mr. Brown. The gentleman was all a-flutter over a new disaster. Wringing his hands, he announced gloomily:

“My best tenants are leaving! I rented the Robin’s Nest Cottage to a splendid family and now they too are moving out! They have been annoyed both day and night! Mud was thrown at their windows. Clotheslines were cut down and clean wash dropped in the dirt. Windows were broken, their doorbell rung in the middle of the night. I don’t know what to do.”

“It is outrageous!” denounced Mrs. Tracey.

“Tomorrow, Uncle, we’ll go up to Robin’s Nest and investigate,” promised Kay. “We’ll give the place a thorough search.”

Accordingly, the girls and Mrs. Tracey went to Robin’s Nest early the next day. Wreckage greeted their eyes. The cottage, one of the nicest in the little colony, was a forlorn ruin. Every window had been smashed. The gleaming white paint had been spattered with daubs of thick mud slapped upon it from every side.

As the house had been broken into it was easy to enter. The investigators paused in the hall to behold the devastation. Mud had been thrown all over pretty wall-paper, plaster was broken, light fixtures smashed, and ashes strewn over the polished floors. A melancholy chorus of “O-o-o-o-ohs!” broke from the dismayed onlookers.

“Quiet!” whispered Kay sharply. The tramp of a man’s foot echoed overhead. In a moment Mr. Brown himself thumped downstairs, muttering his indignation.

“The tenants themselves did not wreck this place, did they?” inquired Kay.

“Oh, no, no!” spluttered the old man emphatically. “They were fine people and left the place only last night in perfect condition. I saw it myself. But now look at it!” The aged banker held his aching head in both hands as he surveyed his property loss.

“Don’t the police patrol the place?” asked Kay, trying to console him.

“We are outside the town limits and haven’t their protection,” he explained, adding, “The constable who is responsible in these parts has not succeeded as yet in finding out who does the damage here.”

“Then,” vowed Kay determinedly, “we’ll make ourselves responsible for your interests!”

“Yes, and woe to the culprit when we catch him!” declared Betty with spirit.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you girls in standing up for me!” quavered the old gentleman tremulously. “I fear that the person behind all this vandalism is wholly unscrupulous and dangerous!”

“That is plain to be seen,” assented Kay. “But it won’t scare us off!” she assured him stoutly.

“There may be danger for you in interfering with desperate vandals,” he protested. “I had a watchman, but he refused to stay. Why, only the other night a handsome yacht belonging to these tenants was mysteriously burned to the water’s edge. This is more than mere mischief! It is downright crime!”

“I dread having you girls come to grips with a criminal,” said Mrs. Tracey fearfully.

“Anyone who would deliberately set fire to a yacht is certainly a criminal,” commented Wilma.

“Was it actually proved that the fire had been set by someone?” asked Kay practically. “Don’t fires sometimes break out in motorboats if gasoline leaks into the bilge?”

“Yes, but that is more likely to happen in old boats. This one was brand new,” responded Mr. Brown. “The insurance men felt sure it was the work of a fire-bug,” he concluded.

“Uncle, let me ask a question,” said Kay thoughtfully. “Do you know this one-legged bridge tender you spoke of?”

“Oh, yes,” replied her uncle. “I know him quite well.”

“He seems very angry because his savings were wiped out in some bank failure,” Kay remarked. “Do you know where his money happened to be?”

“Yes,” answered her uncle without any hesitation. “He was one of the depositors in the Lincoln Bank at the time it failed. I was president then.”

“Uncle, did it ever occur to you that possibly this one-legged man might be destroying your property in spite for that bank failure and his loss?”

“Now we are getting hot on the trail,” Betty whispered excitedly to her twin.

“I actually believe we are!” Wilma said, but in another minute Mr. Brown brushed aside this suggestion with an emphatic:

“Absurd!”

It was then that a strange coincidence occurred. The chums, Mrs. Tracey and Mr. Brown had come out of the cottage and were walking slowly down the path as they talked. Kay’s eyes, which were thoughtfully cast down upon the ground, beheld something that brought her to an abrupt halt.

“Look there!” she gasped, pointing.

Everyone stared and exclamations broke from each one at what he saw. Clearly pressed into the earth was the unmistakable mark of a man’s shoe. It was the right shoe, and although there was no sign of a left one, the right print appeared again and again.

“The Lone Footprint!” shrieked Betty.

“A one-legged man has been here!” cried Wilma.

“That same one-legged man has wrecked the cottage,” declared Mrs. Tracey.

It certainly seemed reasonable to suppose so, for as all leaned down to examine the ground closely, it was quite plain that someone with one foot had hopped around Robin’s Nest. The marks had trailed off to be lost sight of in the woods. Poor Mr. Brown nervously pressed his trembling hands to his head.

“I doubt if that is the print of a human foot,” he murmured uneasily. “It seems more like some horrible hopping hobgoblin.”

“I hardly think hobgoblins leave such large steps behind them,” said Kay cheerfully.

“More likely it is that crippled bridge master,” declared Wilma.

Again Mr. Brown rejected this idea. “No, I know Jed Farkin and I’m sure he would never do a thing of this kind,” he insisted.

“It’s plain that both this time and last time a one-legged man was on the premises when mischief was done,” Betty argued.

“Yes, that’s plain enough,” agreed Mr. Brown, “but I cannot believe Jed Farkin is the man,” he said positively. “What can we do?” moaned the former banker. “The place is becoming a deserted village! How can I restore a good reputation to this spot so that tenants will come back before I lose my last cent?”

“I have an idea,” said Kay. “Let us put on some attractions that will encourage people to settle here because of the good times at Owl’s Nest. Folks must think of this place for its fun, not for its trouble and mystery.”

“A good enough idea,” conceded Mr. Brown gloomily, “but easier said than done. What in the world could you arrange to take attention away from the annoyances, frights and vandalism that have occurred here from the very beginning?”

“We should have to work up a good program and keep things happening every minute so that no one would have time to worry,” answered Kay.

“Just what could we do, for instance?” asked Betty inquisitively.

“Well, tournaments, for one thing,” said Kay, “and perhaps a series of yacht races on the river, with trophies for winners. We must develop a lively yacht club with plenty of entertainment going on.”

“Speaking of yachts,” reminded Wilma, “don’t forget that we are due to meet those awful men who ran into the Purple Pansy. We must be sure to be at the dock when they arrive or they may go away and never settle for the damage to that lovely boat.”

“Yes, we should be there now,” answered Kay, looking at her watch, “and we shall be very glad to have you talk to those men for us, Uncle,” she added with a sigh of relief.

Mr. Brown straightened his bent shoulders at the tone of confidence in Kay’s voice, and led the way to the dock to interview the two men who had agreed to be there.

“I wonder if they will come,” said Betty.

“I doubt it,” sniffed Wilma.

“Yes, there they are!” exclaimed Kay.

Sure enough, the two toughs were slowing down their motor boat to tie up at the pier. As they did so they eyed the dainty Pansy which was bobbing at her mooring near by. The men crowded their dirty craft close to it; so close, in fact, that they scraped her shining side.

At that Mr. Brown gave an angry shout and the rough men turned around. Seeing him, they began muttering to each other. The fat man, called Pete, pointed a threatening finger at the trim craft, while the thin fellow, Jim, jerked a warning thumb in its owner’s direction. The men seemed to be arguing together in low tones. The thin man tossed his head back to refer, evidently, to the approaching girls.

With a growl Pete surprised everyone by suddenly straddling from his boat to the Pansy and boarding her. The little boat lurched with his weight, then bounced up and down as the thin man jumped aboard her. Mr. Brown broke into a nervous little trot and shouted again, waving his arms to order the men off. Instead they yelled something about looking to see what damage had been done.

“That’s a funny way to look for damage,” said Betty, scowling with intense disapproval.

The thin man was untying the mooring rope and pushing the Pansy free. At the same time the fat man was bending over to tinker with the motor. Suddenly the engine coughed, then purred.

“They are taking her away!” cried Kay in dismay.

“Stop, thief!” screamed Mr. Brown with all his might, until his shrill voice cracked in fury.

“Just a trial spin to see if she’s hurt,” called back the thin man with a sneer that showed his broken yellow teeth unpleasantly.

The fat man now increased speed and the quick little boat darted away. Kay yelled in amazement:

“Look! They are towing the Fish Hawk behind! It’s a get-a-way!”

The grinning Jim Silman, indeed, was hanging over the stern dragging his boat along behind by a long, wet rope. As they sped away he made a mocking gesture of farewell. This infuriated Mr. Brown who fairly jumped up and down in anger, gritting his teeth. He shook his fist at the escaping men who shook theirs in return, then doubled up with loud guffaws of laughter.

“Quick! Quick!” screamed Kay. “We must follow them!”

“How?” asked Betty.

Mrs. Tracey already was running back to the house to telephone for the constable.

“Isn’t there another boat we could take to chase them?” asked Kay frantically.

Poor Mr. Brown was too flustered to answer, but quiet Wilma, who had kept her head in all the excitement, now was hastily unfastening a rope that tied a slim speed boat to the dock.

“Couldn’t we borrow this in an emergency?” she asked, tugging feverishly at a knot.

“Whose boat is it?” asked Betty doubtfully.

“It’s all right, all right!” affirmed Mr. Brown. “It’s the Elf, belonging to a good friend of mine. He would be the first to lend it to chase robbers!”

With this encouragement the girls tore loose the mooring rope and bundled the bewildered old gentleman aboard. Kay leaped nimbly to the wheel, while Betty promptly started the engine. In a whirl of spray they were off, streaking up the river after the runaway pirates.

“They have a terrific head start,” groaned Wilma. “Do you think we can catch them?”

“We’ll try!” declared Kay grimly, and threw the lever over for more speed.