Читать книгу Kidnapped in the Jungle - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 5

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Hal jumped to the floor and in three leaps had reached the opening door. He hid himself as well as his big frame permitted, drawing himself up close and allowing the panel to shield him. Suddenly it began to swing shut again and he knew then that his unbidden visitor was in the room.

He saw a dark-haired, medium-sized young man as he stepped out and confronted him. A glow from the bed lamp fell on the visitor’s tanned face.

“Coly!” Hal gasped. “Coly—for heaven’s sake!”

“Sh!” said the young man. “For heaven’s sake—shush! It’s me all right, Hal—your old side-kick, Coly!”

Hal thought of the newspaper lying on the bed, and a frown overspread his face.

“Coly,” he said sharply, “what are you doing here?”

Colin Walters shrugged his shoulders; then went over to Hal’s bed and threw himself down wearily. “Hal,” he said with a sigh, “it’s a long, long story.”

“And I guess I know that story, Coly,” said Hal, sitting down on the edge of the bed and studying him closely. “In fact, I’ve just been reading about it.”

Coly glanced quickly at the outspread paper, and when he looked up, the surprise on his face was real. “As true as I’m here, Hal,” he said huskily, “I didn’t know about this—I didn’t know they were looking for me. You see I only left the house last night. This warrant must have been issued this morning. They’ve kept the watch on me ever since it happened seven months ago, but they couldn’t pin anything on me. I don’t know any more about that map or that ring than you do. And I never laid a hand on the old gentleman; that’s a fact.”

“Then why are you running away now, Coly?”

“Running away?” Coly looked pained. “Gosh, I never thought of it in that light. It does look like it, huh? But I’m not running away, honestly! I’m running after somebody. One of the chaps to whom I told the story of the map and the ring. I followed him right up to the gangplank of the ship this morning, but I haven’t seen him since.”

The tilt of Hal’s broad shoulders bespoke incredulity.

“You don’t believe it,” said Coly with a wistful smile. “You’re measuring me up in this business with the crazy stunts I used to get off at school—huh?”

“Guess that has a lot to do with it,” Hal admitted. Then, feeling a surge of sympathy for his friend, he added: “Suppose you tell me the whole thing through, Coly—right from the beginning.”

Coly smiled gratefully. “You always did give me a good break. Remember Jean Wainwright, Hal?”

Hal smiled. “Nice girl. You liked her a lot, didn’t you, Coly?”

“Still do. She’s the kind of girl that likes everything, especially horses. You’d like her for that, Hal. Anyway, that hasn’t anything to do with the story, except that I went over to her house more than ever after I got out of prep and said goodbye to you fellows. Their house faces ours.”

“Mm, I remember.”

“Well, the point is, Hal, old Mr. Wainwright, her grandfather, got telling me one day about that map and the ring. He didn’t make any secret about it—just said that Jean was heir to them and he even laughed about it. After that he referred to it any number of times, so that doesn’t look as if he meant me not to say anything about it to anyone else, does it?”

“Doesn’t sound so, anyway,” Hal agreed. “But what’s all this buncombe about the map’s indicating the whereabouts of some buried treasure?”

“It isn’t buncombe, that’s just it! It does actually exist and, although old Mr. Wainwright didn’t believe there was enough to warrant him spending the time and money to go down there after it, it’s there just the same! Miss Wainwright (she’s Jean’s maiden aunt) and Jean believe there’s more than Mr. Wainwright thinks, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“What happened to old Mr. Wainwright’s grandfather, and why the map?” Hal asked, interested.

“His name was Silas Wainwright, and he went to California in the gold rush of ’49. As far as his heirs can learn, he decided after a couple of years to come home by way of the Isthmus, as so many people did in those days, to escape the Indian attacks across the country. So he set out in a boat with a few other people, intending to land at a little port in Panama and then cross the Isthmus to the Atlantic side, where they would take a boat for the States. It was a much safer way, though longer, and if they could stand the terrific heat and the yellow fever, they’d finally get home some time or other.”

“That’s if they didn’t lose their lives in an Atlantic storm,” Hal smiled.

“You said it,” Coly agreed thoughtfully, and for a moment listened to the rain lashing against the deck. Then: “Anyway, old Mr. Silas Wainwright landed with the rest safe and sound, and they started their trek across the Isthmus on an old forgotten trail—Mendoza Trail it was then called. They were about halfway on that journey when a few of the party came down with yellow fever.”

“Not so good,” Hal commented.

“No, and Silas must have thought the same thing,” said Coly seriously. “Those who were well had to pitch in and nurse the sick, and that meant that they all ran the risk of coming down with it and perhaps dying. Anyway, they rigged up living quarters in some old French stone ruins. They are still to be found under the jungle growth, I guess. At least, the last time Mr. Josiah Wainwright inquired they were. But to go back to the story, Mr. Silas must have had a hunch that he’d come down with it, so what did he do but bury his belongings back of the old French ruins. Then he made a map of it and wrote his wife and son a letter inclosing the map, of course, and the ring, filled with gold dust. An Indian who happened to be in the neighborhood was given the letter to mail when he was sent to the nearest settlement for help. The whole party died of the fever and the letter finally found its ways to the States. Mr. Silas’ wife was dead then, too, so his son received it.”

“That was Jean’s grandfather, Mr. Josiah Wainwright?”

“Yep. He never attempted to go to Panama, because he was always skeptical and said it might only be a fool’s journey, after all. He was an unromantic sort. Jean’s father died right after she was born—so did her mother. Consequently, the map and the ring are Jean’s when she becomes twenty-one.”

“What about the letter, Coly?”

“It fell apart, Mr. Wainwright told me. Anyway, he said his father just wrote in it what he thought his fate would be and bid them goodbye. And, as if it was an afterthought, he added on the bottom of the letter that the map indicated where he had buried some of his belongings, and that it would be to his family’s advantage to come and get them some day.”

“Some journey to get a few belongings!”

“But don’t you see!” Coly said excitedly. “Consider the times and the fear old Silas Wainwright had that many people would open that letter before it got to his family! Do you suppose he was going to write in plain English that he had buried gold? Use your brains, Hal—why do you suppose he sent the ring? It was a plain signet ring with his initials, S.J.W., engraved on it. Underneath is a secret compartment that contains the gold dust. It’s worked by a secret spring lock and Jean’s grandfather discovered it only a few years ago. What does the ring mean but that there’s more gold dust buried in Panama? Even Jean’s aunt insists that must be so.”

“Gosh!” said Hal.

“They could use that treasure, believe me. The map’s gone, but I can remember word for word just what it indicated. I could even draw one from memory, I’ve seen it so many times.”

Hal frowned. “Did you tell the police that?”

“I was going to,” Coly answered frankly, “but my mother prevailed against it. She said they would arrest me then, thinking I had destroyed it and was just waiting for the fuss to blow over before I disappeared.”

“And believe me, that’s just what it looks like now, Coly.”

“Don’t I realize it now—since I read that paper! But listen, Hal, I’ll tell you about those three fellers I told that story to. Mother believes it and I think you will too. You’re that kind of a fellow.”

Hal never lost faith in Coly from that moment on. He nodded. “Go on,” he said simply.

“I don’t know where they came from or where they went to. They just stopped in front of our house one day when I was cutting the lawn and asked the way to the turnpike. I strolled up to their car and directed them and after that we just got chatting sort of. Anyway, they got kidding me about what a dead town Clear Brook was and one of them, a great big blond bird, said he bet nobody had left it to make his way in the world for over two hundred years.”

“And you told them that Silas Wainwright had, huh?” Hal interposed.

“Sure,” said Coly sheepishly. “I suppose I didn’t like them knocking my home town. Besides, the Wainwright business is historical, sort of, and Mr. Silas was a romantic figure, a pioneer kind of, and that’s something to be proud of when I think of how he was born and raised in Clear Brook. But I’ll admit I talked too much, Hal, because I got peeved when they didn’t believe it and I told them that Mr. Josiah Wainwright had the map and the ring in a steel box in his study, and they could go ask him about them.”

“Did they?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t then, anyway. They drove off toward the turnpike, and two days later, when Jean and her aunt were in the city on an overnight shopping tour, Mr. Josiah Wainwright was killed in his study. You know the rest.”

“Yes, I remember the papers said that the front hall door was found open when Jean and her aunt returned in the morning and discovered the tragedy.” Hal’s sober features suddenly lighted with a smile. “I know that it couldn’t have been you, Coly,” he said with a chuckle. “You never came in and out of regular doors and entrances. You liked dormitory windows better.”

Coly smiled wistfully. “Any fool would know I couldn’t have killed Mr. Wainwright, anyway. What would I do that for when I knew that map by heart? But somebody else didn’t know it by heart, and that somebody was the bird who came to my house last night!”

“What?”

“Yep. A fellow came to the house and rang the bell and when my mother opened the door, he asked for me. He wouldn’t come in, even the way it was raining. Just stood out in the dark so’s I could hardly see him.”

“What did he want?” Hal asked excitedly.

“That’s the funny part of it,” Coly answered. “He said he was a reporter and that he came to ask me if I remembered much of what the map contained, where it was and all about it. He said his paper wanted to make a story of it and renew public interest in it so the murderer or murderers could be caught.”

“They ought to have thought of that before this,” Hal said disgustedly. “How about the Panama police?”

“Oh, they’ve kept watch down there. Anyway, they did right after the murder, because Jean told the police in Clear Brook just about where the map indicated the treasure to be and they got in touch with the Panama authorities to watch. But nobody has ever gone near those old French ruins, and by this time I guess they’re tired of watching.”

“Maybe they’ve grabbed the treasure themselves,” Hal suggested.

Coly shook his head. “They don’t know about the treasure part of it. They were given instructions to watch for any suspicious characters that came to the ruins and arrest them. Jean told me that.”

“What happened to the reporter last night? What else did he say?”

Coly smiled ruefully. “He didn’t say any more. He left, and after he was gone I happened to remember I wanted some tobacco for my pipe so I slipped on my raincoat and went out of the house. Down at the bus station I saw the reporter in the light and I thought I knew his face, Hal. He looked like one of those three fellows!”

Hal whistled. “For goodness’ sake, what did you do?”

Coly’s eyes blazed. “A bus was just coming in and the fellow was getting in. I got in after him and sat right behind him all the way to New York, but he didn’t see me. I followed him from the bus right down to this boat and as he started to go up the gangplank he turned.”

“And he saw that you were following him, huh?”

“I can’t be sure, Hal,” Coly said dismally, “but I think so. Anyway, I crawled on after him and I heard him say to a man standing on the deck that he was a passenger and had been permitted to come aboard early. It was two o’clock then.”

“Boy! What did you do then?” Hal said breathlessly.

“I waited my chance and sneaked in with some freight,” Coly laughed ruefully. “I hid between some bales and decided to wait a few seconds until they had the freight all in, for I had heard a man say they’d be finished in a few minutes. But darn it all, Hal, I fell asleep! When I woke up we were past Sandy Hook, I guess.”

“You would do something like that!” Hal exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell the police right away? Why didn’t you get a cop to come on board with you and hunt the fellow out and make him come clean? Why? Gosh, Coly, what a fool you’ve been!”

“Don’t I know it!” Coly buried his head in his hands. “I just lost my head when I saw him, that’s all. I realized that when I woke up down there. That’s the time you and the purser came in and I had to scoot to stay under cover. Goodnight, how I wanted to call you and tell you! It was terrible sitting behind those bales all day. I haven’t had a bit of food—nothing. Luck was with me tonight, though. I waited my chance and got up here and it was just in time to see you talking with the purser here at your door. Then I hid behind one of those vents until I was certain the deck was clear. Two men passed me, but I couldn’t see who they were.”

Hal put out his hand and gave Coly a friendly clasp on the shoulder. “Brace up,” he said cheerfully. “You’ve got a pretty good clue in a way, do you realize that? All you need to do is to spot him. It’s pretty significant that you’ve as good as recognized him and on top of that, he boards this boat—a boat bound for Panama! There’s that much to work with, anyway.”

Coly smiled grimly. “Meanwhile,” he said, “I’m just a stowaway.”