Читать книгу The Case of the Calico Crab - Augusta Huiell Seaman - Страница 6

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BUT, what are we going to do about it all?” So demanded Stacy, as the two girls, later that day, sat in cosy chairs before a roaring open fire. They were alone in the house, and again Stacy had made hot chocolate and cinnamon toast. Betsy, sipping and munching, had secretly decided that it was the most glorious food she had ever tasted. How wonderful it must be, she thought, to live in a house like this, and to have no wearisome cares or disagreeable duties, instead of spending one’s time in a dingy store! Some girls were certainly lucky, she privately decided. But Stacy had hauled her wandering thoughts back to the matter in hand, with her sudden query.

“There’s only one thing I can think of to do,” said Betsy, awkwardly putting down her cup and saucer on the tray. She felt she could not talk, or even think, seriously, and eat and drink at the same time. “That’s to keep a sharp watch and find out, if we can, what’s going on. There’s some funny business going on along the shore here—Fifth Column work, I s’pose they call it. I’ve heard plenty of whispering about it in the store. I don’t know what it is—and I don’t know who’s doing it. Nobody’s sure, I guess, but everybody’s suspicious. And I sort of don’t like the way that Gunnar fellow acts. Not that he’s done anything that looked queer—until that thing yesterday—but he doesn’t seem as straight and simple and—and honest as the other poundmen do. I keep wondering why he should come here in the middle of winter, when the pounds are all closed, and hang around doing nothing till spring? He could get a job doing something else till then, I should think. And he seems to have plenty of money to spend, too. Though where it all comes from, I can’t think—unless he’s saved it up—or somebody’s handing it to him.”

“There’s one thing I’ve been wanting to ask you,” interrupted Stacy. “How did Spike and that Gunnar come to get together in the store this morning—and start playing that game of billiards? It strikes me as sort of odd that Spike would be spending his time that way. He’s supposed to be doing some sort of work down here—I don’t know what.”

“Well, this is how it was,” said Betsy. “I was waiting on store when this Spike came in. Gunnar was having his breakfast at one of the tables; Spike sat down at the same table, because some poundmen, and Coast Guards off duty, were having theirs at the others. Spike ordered a cup of coffee and some fried ham, and then the two of them got to talking. I couldn’t hear all that was said, but finally they got talking about the billiard-table, and each of them said he played a good game—sort of boasting about it. And finally Gunnar challenged Spike to beat him at a game, right after they’d finished breakfast. They got at it right away, almost, and the others got interested and left their breakfasts to watch and started making bets on who’d win.”

“Who did, by the way?” demanded Stacy.

“Oh, Spike won—and I think Gunnar felt kind of peeved about it. He doesn’t like any one getting the best of him. But Spike was very nice, and said he’d be in again and give Gunnar the chance to have his turn. And then he bought some chewing-gum and cigarettes and went out.”

“Where did he go when he left the store?” cried Stacy. “Did you notice? Did he come down here?”

“I don’t know—I didn’t watch him,” acknowledged Betsy. “I was busy clearing the tables. But I did notice one thing—Gunnar followed him to the door and stood there looking after him quite a while after he left the store. And he wasn’t looking south, toward this place but north, up toward town. So I guess that’s the way Spike must have gone.”

“I do wonder what Spike is doing down here—with that queer old truck of his?” mused Stacy aloud. “There’s something very odd about that truck! He wouldn’t let me see the inside of it, and he seemed to be doing some very curious things with it last night in the moonlight. It must be all right, because Spike’s a very fine fellow, really. My brother is terribly fond of him. He wouldn’t be doing any—anything illegal, I mean.”

“Maybe he’s working for the government—a G-man—or something like that!” exclaimed Betsy, with sudden inspiration.

“I never thought of that—maybe he is!” cried Stacy, and added:

“And maybe Gunnar is a foreign spy or Fifth Columnist! Wouldn’t that be something!”

“I’ve thought that might be possible, ever since he first came here,” agreed Betsy quietly. The two sat silent a moment, a little overcome by the possibilities this guess opened up to them. Inside the cosy room, the fire chuckled and sputtered. Outside, the wind raced across the bay, the gulls screamed and squabbled on the edge of the ice, and the tree branches swayed and creaked by the window-panes. Stacy absently refilled Betsy’s cup and her own and crunched another piece of cinnamon toast. Suddenly Betsy sat up straight and began in a low voice:

“Do you know, Stacy, this may be a very serious thing that’s happening—and we’ve stumbled right over it. What do you think we ought to do—tell some one about it?”

“The only one I could think of to tell,” said Stacy, with a worried frown, “is my father. And I don’t like to bother him with it. He isn’t very well and seems worried about something himself. Probably it’s his health. And, when you come right down to it, what is it we could tell? I don’t think those odd little things we’ve noticed would mean much to the—the authorities, whoever they are. We’ve been warned by the government to hold our tongues about what we see and hear, so I believe we shouldn’t say anything—just yet, to any one but ourselves. Let’s you and I just make up our minds to keep a watch, as far as we can, on whatever is going on, and only tell it to each other. Shall we? You have a grand chance to see quite a bit in the store there, and I’ll keep my eye on the old house. If nobody knows we’re doing it, we may have a good chance of discovering something more. And, who knows!—it may be awfully important!”

A thrill of excitement uplifted them both, at the thought that they might be able to do something of vital importance for their country at war. Betsy made no audible comment, but laid her hand on Stacy’s, in a wordless promise of coöperation and secrecy. And, just at this moment, they were startled by the sound of tapping on the window behind them. Both of the girls leaped to their feet—to behold the grinning countenance of Spike outside the window-panes. Stacy hurried to the door to let him in.

“How you startled us, Spike!” she exclaimed, and added, “Betsy, this is Spike Truman. I guess you saw him in the store this morning.” Spike gave the girl a curious glance as he acknowledged the introduction, and added:

“Didn’t mean to scare you two, but you sure did look like a couple of conspirators, the way you had your heads together! What’s the big secret?” The two girls glanced at each other guiltily, and a red flush crept up in Betsy’s pale cheeks. But Stacy instantly recovered her poise. Ignoring his impertinent question, she replied:

“You’re just in time, Spike. There’s still some hot chocolate left, and I’ll make some fresh toast. You must be cold and hungry.”

“I didn’t come in for that—honest!” explained Spike. “But I’d sure like to have a nibble. This air makes you as hungry as an elephant!”

“I suppose you came in to see Dad,” remarked Stacy, slipping some bread into the toaster. “He’s out somewhere, down on the shore.”

“Yes, I saw him,” commented Spike. “He was crouched down behind the bushes, sketching a loon that was swimming near the shore. The loon flew off with a hoot when I hove in sight, and I’m afraid your father wasn’t any too pleased with me! Tell you what I came for,” he added, as Stacy handed him his hot chocolate. “I was wondering whether you folks had a couple of old spare blankets you could loan me for a spell. I asked your father and he said he was sure there must be some, and told me to come and speak to you about it.”

“Why, of course we have!” agreed Stacy. “I’ll get them for you before you leave. But what’s the matter? Don’t they give you enough bed-covers where you’re boarding?” Spike grinned a little sheepishly as he answered:

“Well, to tell the truth, I don’t see much of that room of mine in town. It’s quite a way off and I’m trying to save my tires and gas. I have a little cot in the truck and I’m sleeping in it right down here on the place. I did bring some blankets, but I didn’t guess right on how cold it would be, so I’ve come a-borrowing!” His answer quite startled both of the girls. This seemed another odd angle to their riddle.

“But, Spike,” exclaimed Stacy, “why do you do such an inconvenient thing as that? Why not come and stay with us? We have a spare guest room, and you could just as well use it as not. Jim would be awfully pleased to think of you being here, and it wouldn’t inconvenience us a bit.”

“That’s awfully nice of you,” said Spike, “but I think I’d better stick to my plan. I feel more independent that way, can move around more freely. I’ll drop in for a meal sometimes, or a bite of something like this, if you’ll let me, but I’ve got to stick pretty close to my job.” Suddenly Stacy made a bold plunge.

“Just what are you doing here, Spike?” she asked, and hoped frantically that he would not again turn her down with some silly rejoinder. And this time, Spike seemed more communicative.

“Well, you know—or maybe you don’t!—that I took a civil engineering course, along with my scientific one, in college, and this is the first job I’ve landed since I graduated. Mr. Drew happened to want this piece of land thoroughly surveyed, and what they call a ‘contour map’ made of it. Your father was good enough to suggest me for the job—so here I am—and mighty glad to get it!” After which explanation he became absorbed in consuming his toast and chocolate.

But, though she did not say so, his explanation seemed a bit unconvincing to Stacy. She knew very little about “surveying” or making “contour maps” (whatever they were!) and she could not help but feel that it could not possibly require such constant devotion to it as sleeping in a truck on the place at night. One couldn’t do anything like surveying at night, anyhow! It required broad daylight. She did not believe that Spike was telling an untruth. He might very well be doing some surveying, just as he said. But that was not all he was engaged in, she was convinced.

Meantime, during all this conversation, Betsy had been showing signs of uneasiness, and at this moment rose, saying she must be getting back to the store. Spike also rose to help her on with her coat, and stood politely while she said good-by and left the room. Then he fell upon the remaining toast and hot chocolate with unabated zeal. But Stacy accompanied her friend to the door and loaned her the key to the gate, saying that she had another she could use herself. Before Betsy left, Stacy whispered to her:

“This is getting thicker by the minute! I saw Spike out with his truck last night—and he wasn’t doing any surveying! He had something held up to his ears, and he acted as if he were listening!”