Читать книгу The Smugglers' Secret - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 9

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A glittering galaxy shone down upon the Adirondack wilderness that night. The friendly starlight enabled Hal to see a good part of the ten acres comprising Delamere Camp, ten acres levelled out of the vast mountain wilderness. The main lodge, two barns and a few small outbuildings, stood clustered about in a sort of group as if to fend themselves against chance solitude. Beyond, in the wide meadows, stood a plane, its graceful lines looming up like some spectral bird in the night.

“Whose bus?” asked Hal laconically, staring at Blake over the red glow of his cigarette.

Blake puffed on his pipe a moment, studying the silent plane abstractedly.

“Belongs to Mrs. Marsh,” he answered. “James pilots it.”

“Oh,” said Hal, “so she’s air-minded?”

“Just this summer, I understand—a new fad I guess, for her,” said Blake tonelessly. “You don’t know her very well?”

“No,” Hal answered studying the other’s face intently. “She’s an old friend of my uncle’s branch of the family—he usually pays her a visit at least once a year, around Thanksgiving if it’s possible. Old family custom you know. Anyway, who did I meet at college this fall but Tony! We fell in together pronto, became roommates and so forth and before I knew it I was urged to carry on the tradition of the turkey this year because Unk’s in England and besides, the old lady wouldn’t take no for an answer. She must see Denis Keen’s nephew, and there you are! I suppose you know Tony’s an orphan and that Mrs. Marsh is his only relative.”

Blake’s dark eyes blinked. “Yes, she told me that,” he said quietly. “But why—why do you tell me all this, Keen? Specially since I’m here only in the capacity....”

“Of a general utility man?” Hal interposed softly. “I’ll tell you why, Blake—I wanted to see how much you knew about me and how much you knew about the Marsh family! You see I sense that you’re not of the stuff of which general utility men are made! Handy-man—Jack-of-all-trades and any other name in that category just doesn’t fit well with you.”

Blake’s eyes met his squarely. “Do you think you would have formed that opinion of me if this afternoon’s episode hadn’t taken place?” he asked.

“You mean about the hunters?” Hal returned. “That’s hard to say, honestly. How can we talk about things that didn’t happen—much less give an opinion of them? All I know now is that something did happen down there this afternoon. I know I heard shots and I know that Tony was hit with a bullet and as soon as I saw you and heard you say those shots came from a hunter’s gun, I knew you were lying, keeping something back.”

Blake glanced quickly back at the lodge, then turned and looked at him. “You don’t for a moment think that I fired those shots, do you?” he asked hoarsely.

“It’s hard not to believe it,” Hal replied, “since not another shot came from that brush after we started the car and you were with us. In fact, there wasn’t another sound after you came out from between those trees that time.”

“I admit the whole thing has put me in a very peculiar light,” said Blake almost worriedly. “Still, common sense ought to tell you that I wouldn’t have any reason in the world for wanting to kill Tony Marsh or even injuring him.”

“Common sense does tell me that, Blake,” Hal assured him. “That’s why I’m not accusing you of anything until I know for certain! That’s why I asked you to come out here and have a smoke with me—so you could kind of square yourself!”

“I know, Keen,” Blake said sincerely, “you’re as decent as can be about it in the face of things. I’d be swallowed up with curiosity too, if I were in your place. But you see there are some things a fellow just can’t tell no matter how badly he wants to. That’s my misfortune right now.”

“And by that same token it is Mrs. Marsh’s misfortune, too. You must admit I can’t very well stand by and see an old lady frightened out of her wits at the thought of coming doom predicted by some fake fortune teller! My gosh, any fool can see that it’s eating her up!”

Blake wheeled around. “You don’t connect me with that gypsy business, do you?” he asked angrily.

“Why not?” Hal countered. “You seemed pretty well shaken up when Mrs. Marsh mentioned about that Dudley disappearing. If you meant to look innocent then, you didn’t make a very good job of it! Why, I’d stake my life on that one look of yours, Blake—you knew Dudley and you can’t deny it!”

Blake stopped in their casual circling stroll before the lodge, and knocked out his pipe against the broad trunk of a towering pine.

“Very well,” he said nervously, “I won’t deny it! I knew Dudley, but I have no more idea where he is now than you have. I came up here because I suddenly stopped hearing from him and you’ve no idea what that meant to me. When I came I learned without asking that he had disappeared. That’s all I can tell you now, Keen, and why I’ve confided in you this much—heaven only knows!”

Before Hal could voice any surprise, the knowledge was borne in upon them that a car was laboring up the mountain road and heading straight for the camp. Neither spoke but waited until the gleam of headlights came into view around the bend. The driver, presently aware of the presence of the nocturnal strollers, drove only a few feet further, shut off his motor and stepped out of the car.

As the man came toward them, Hal chuckled. “Hello, Mr. Connover,” he said gaily, “it’ll be a nice day if it don’t rain?”

Mr. Connover stopped in his tracks and stared.