Читать книгу The Lonesome Swamp Mystery - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 3

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Storm clouds had been gathering since sunset and now in the gloaming they were massed and ready to loose their pent-up fury upon valley and hill. Wind whistled and screamed along the concrete highway, but so far, Hal had managed to keep his trim, sport roadster just ahead of it. Suddenly, a deafening peal of thunder rolled over the Ramapo and its frowning green hills stood out in bold relief as lightning flashed across the murky heavens.

The velvet shadows on either side of the road were full of dismal sounds and eerie echoes. Trees bent their leafy heads before the masterful gale and the rustling foliage moaned in a strange, small voice. Then, as the rain swept down from the mountain, they noticed the car ahead blinking its rear light on and off like an evil red eye in the dusk.

Hal switched his lights on full and sounded his horn twice, notwithstanding the fact that the car ahead was at least five hundred feet distant. He was not taking any chances in a storm, he told himself.

The echo of the melodious warnings had not died away, however, when two answering blasts from the car ahead sounded through the howling storm. Then the rear light blinked its evil red eye again, twice; three times in all.

Hal glanced at his uncle who was sitting beside him, eyes fixed ahead and frowning thoughtfully.

“Strikes you as being strange too, Unk?”

“It does,” Denis Keen answered, straightening up in his seat. “They’ve turned in somewhere there, Hal. No doubt they just wanted to warn you of it, thinking perhaps you couldn’t see them in this driving rain. By the way, I’m getting rather soaked.”

“Here too. I’m terribly sorry, Unk. I must remember to put those curtains back in their place the next time I dust the car. I always do it, but this morning I must have been in a hurry and just forgot. They’re on the bench in the garage.”

“Where they’re not doing us a bit of good,” Denis Keen interposed smilingly. “Well, I left Washington last night, vacation-bent and a good soaking is what all vacationists must expect sooner or later. Now or never, eh? Your mother will be worried if she discovers those curtains in the garage. She won’t rest until she comes to the conclusion that we’ll both be down with summer colds by tomorrow.”

“Maybe she’ll come to the conclusion that we’ve both been able to get under shelter somewhere,” Hal said hopefully.

“Maybe she’ll be right,” said Denis Keen suddenly. He put his hand on Hal’s tanned arm. “Stop a minute—I’ve got an idea. There’s a road in there—see?” he asked, peering past some old stone ruins to the left.

“Looks like a little country lane to me,” observed Hal.

“Certainly it is. It widens out, though, beyond the first bend. It’s the Lonesome Swamp Road—runs past a dismal section bearing the same name. The place has quite a history. Guess you don’t remember it, eh?”

“The road? No. I haven’t even any idea of where we are. How are you so sure, though, Unk?”

“You forget that your mother and I were born and brought up in this region. As children, your father and mother and myself had lots of fun on berrying parties out at Lonesome Swamp. Guess there isn’t a native living who knew the Ramapo any better than we did. Well,” he added with a reminiscent sigh, “we’re getting wetter all the time, Hal, so you better turn in. Eight miles will bring us to the cottage of an old fellow by the name of Cyrus Price. You don’t remember that name either, eh?”

“Nope,” Hal answered, intent upon turning his roadster about. He pointed to two freshly made ruts in Lonesome Swamp Road. “Guess that car ahead turned in here too.”

“Looks that way. Few people know of its existence, it’s so isolated and remote. Only the old timers including your mother and myself, of course, remember that the name of Lonesome Swamp was a byword with the American people.”

Hal was for once indifferent to the promise of an interesting anecdote, for his whole attention was centered upon the slough that the storm was making of Lonesome Swamp Road. He switched off his dashboard lights and let the gathering night engulf them.

The headlights glared over the streaming ruts and the car bumped steadily forward. In places the road was so narrow that the trees all but arched overhead and their overhanging boughs more than once lashed torrents of rain across the faces of the two shelter seekers.

“Of course it’s a very bad road,” said Denis Keen apologetically. “Neglected terribly, eh? But then what can one expect in such an unfrequented place! Main thing, it’ll serve some purpose to us tonight. Besides, we can take a short cut down another lane after we leave Cyrus Price’s cottage.”

“To Ramapo?”

“Mm. If I remember rightly it cut off about ten miles when I was driving a buggy.”

“That’s nothing to shout about if that lane isn’t in any better condition than this one,” Hal chuckled.

“Don’t you care, Hal,” said Denis soothingly. “We’ll be at Price’s before very long and we’ll dry out thoroughly.”

“I hope so,” Hal said, ruefully surveying his soaked, white polo shirt. He brushed back from his high forehead a streaming lock of red, curly hair. “Dripping into my eyes, running down my nose—what a night!”

A deafening peal of thunder drowned out his uncle’s response. For a few minutes they rode on feeling very small in contrast to the great roaring voice of the elements. Then they became aware, almost simultaneously, that the freshly made tracks of the car ahead were no longer to be seen.

“Must have turned in, huh, Unk?”

“Apparently. I didn’t seem to notice just how far back, did you? No? As far as I can remember there’s nothing but bypaths—not a road crosses this one. I’m certain of....”

The figure of a man stepped suddenly into the glare of the headlights. He raised his arms, waving them just as Hal jammed down the brake and pulled the emergency.

“That you—” he called in hoarse accents. He ran up to the roadster, shading his eyes as he ran.

“Who did he say?” Hal asked his uncle.

“I didn’t catch the name either.” Denis Keen leaned over the side of the car and shouted, “What is it, my man?”

The man stopped short at the sound of his voice and they caught a flashing glimpse of flat features and small, blinking eyes filled with surprise. The next second he was gone, vanished into the darkness and storm as if he were a part of it.

“Gol darn it, Unk!” said Hal vehemently. “Did we see a frog-faced man, or didn’t we? Did we hear him call to us, or didn’t we hear anything?”

“I’m wondering too, Hal. It was a most singular thing. Where did he come from? Where did he go?”

“Wouldn’t I like to know!” said Hal. He leaned over the side of the roadster. “Darkness to the right of us; darkness to the left—darkness behind and....”

A short, muffled whistle sounded above the gale, but was quickly spent in the storm’s renewed activities.