Читать книгу The Great Oakdale Mystery - Scott Morgan - Страница 4

Captain Stone, who seemed to be amazingly conversant with the new football rules, which of late he had studied faithfully during all his spare moments, tried hard to impart an understanding of them to the other boys, the most of whom were eager to learn, their willingness keeping them at practice until the gathering darkness finally forced them to stop.

Upon the occasion of his son leaving Oakdale Academy for the purpose of taking a final college preparatory year in one of the leading prep schools of the country, Urian Eliot had contributed five hundred dollars for the purpose of carrying out a plan for certain improvements of the Oakdale gymnasium. These improvements had been made, and now in one end of the former bowling alley there were heated dressing rooms and a number of shower baths. This made it possible for the boys to take their showers after practice or games, and then rub down and dress in comfort.

Hurrying to the gym, Fred Sage lost no time in stripping off his soiled and sweaty football clothes and making a dive for one of the shower compartments. The rooms resounded with the voices of the boys, and from some of the showers rose whoops and boos and strange gasps mingling with the hissing rush and drip of water.

“Hey, there, Cooper!” called a voice. “What are you doing? Turn on the cold. You’ll parboil yourself in a minute. Look, fellers – look a’ the steam coming out of Chipper’s cell!”

“Aw, go on and mind your business,” came from the steaming compartment. “I always start with it warm and turn off the hot gradually till it’s cold enough to suit me.”

“And that’s abaout cold enough to bile aigs,” chuckled Sile Crane, a lanky country boy who talked through his nose. “Hurry up there, Chipper, and give a feller a chance. Tuttle’s treatin’ on peanuts, and you won’t git none if you don’t git a move on.”

“Somebody can have my place,” said Sage, as he shot out of the compartment, dripping icy water from every part of his shining body. “Where’s my towel? I left it right here. Somebody has swiped my towel.”

In a moment he had found the towel and was using it vigorously. A thorough scrubbing set his firm flesh aglow, and he jumped into his clothes feeling as fresh and vigorous as if he had not tramped the forenoon through, carrying a gun, and followed that up by an afternoon of strenuous football practice. He was almost fully dressed when he observed Sleuth Piper, still adorned in football togs, standing a short distance away and regarding him through half closed lids. In some story Sleuth had read that whenever he wished to concentrate his mind on any perplexing problem the hero of the yarn always gazed fixedly at some object through partly closed eyelids.

“Hi, there, Pipe!” called Fred sharply. “Going to sleep? Wake up. Going to wear those rags the rest of the evening?”

“Hush!” said Piper, frowning and lifting a reproving hand. “Don’t interrupt me that way when my mind is at work upon a problem.”

“Forget it,” advised Fred. “You’ll be late for supper. Cæsar’s ghost! but I’m as hungry as a bear.”

He was the first one to leave the gymnasium, and he strode away whistling. In a few moments, however, he ceased to whistle and proceeded with his head slightly bent and his hands sunk deep in his pockets. Finally, with a shake of his shoulders, he tossed back his head, muttering:

“Confound Sleuth, anyhow! He’s always trying to make a deep, dark mystery out of any unusual occurrence. It was queer that the man should ask about the Sages and then run away when he knew I was coming, but it isn’t likely he’ll ever be seen again by anyone around here, so what’s the use for me to addle my brains over it?”

Truly, Fred seemed “hungry as a bear,” and the manner in which he swept the food from the supper table made his mother gasp and caused his father to chuckle.

“One thing about football,” said Mr. Sage, “boys who play the game aren’t apt to be finicky about their food. How did you get along at the field this afternoon, son?”

“First-rate, everything considered. Of course the new rules are going to bother us a little, but Stone seems wise to them, and I fancy he’ll be able to do pretty well with the team, though of course we’re going to miss Eliot.”

“A fine boy, Roger Eliot,” nodded Andrew Sage.

“Sure thing,” agreed Fred instantly; “and his father comes pretty near being the real thing, too. When we first came to Oakdale people were saying that Urian Eliot was cold and close-fisted, but look what he did for the school. We’ve got a new gym now, heated and lighted and fitted out with shower baths, like a first-class place. I tell you, the fellows take off their hats to Mr. Eliot these days.”

“Oakdale people are just beginning to realize that Eliot has done a great deal for the town,” said Mr. Sage. “He’s one of our solid, reliable citizens. Only for him, we’d still be without a bank.”

After supper Andrew Sage lighted his pipe, and Fred, feeling no desire to go out, settled down to a book before the comfortable open fire in the sitting-room.

An hour had not passed when there came a ring at the door-bell, and Fred himself rose at once to answer. On the steps stood a dark figure with coat collar upturned and cap pulled well down. Blinded a little by the sudden change from light to darkness, the boy failed to recognize the caller.

“Good evening,” he said.

“’St!” came back a sibilant hiss. “It’s me, Piper. Why don’t you ask a feller in? Almost cold enough to freeze to-night.”

“Oh, come in, Sleuth,” was the invitation, and the visitor lost no time in stepping out of the chilly wind that swept round the corner of the house.

“What brings you up here at this hour?” questioned Fred.

“Hush! I’m doing my duty. I’m gathering up the scattered threads one by one. The skein shall be untangled.”

Piper was known to Mr. and Mrs. Sage, who spoke to him pleasantly, although both were somewhat surprised by this, his first, visit to their home. Having removed his cap and jammed it into the side pocket of his coat, Sleuth deported himself in his usual mysterious manner when “investigating,” and suddenly the other boy began to fear that he would speak of the stranger in the presence of the older people.

“I’m glad you dropped around, Pipe,” said Fred. “I suppose you want to talk football? Come on up to my room; we can chin there as much as we like.”

The caller was more than willing, and they mounted the stairs to Fred’s room, which was large, comfortable and exceedingly well furnished. But Piper, still bearing himself “professionally,” gave little heed to the aspect of the room.

“I’ve come,” he announced, declining to sit down, “to propound a few vital questions, which I trust you may see fit to answer without evasion or subterfuge.”

“What’s this?” laughed Sage. “Is it a court of inquiry?”

“Not exactly. Of course there is no compulsion in the matter, but, assuming that you have nothing to conceal, there should be no reason for refusing the information I require.”

“Oh, say, Sleuth, don’t you ever get tired of it? It must be wearisome, searching for these deep, dark mysteries in a quiet, uneventful country town like Oakdale. Of course I know what you’re driving at, and in this case I think you’re trying to make something out of nothing – and that’s impossible.”

Piper shook his head. With his hands locked behind his back, he slowly paced the floor.

“You are like the usual order of persons who lack the analytical mind,” he retorted. “You fail to see the true significance of apparently commonplace events. I am different. At this moment I feel assured that we are face to face with one of the most perplexing mysteries on record. I’ve interviewed Hooker this evening, and from him I obtained a certain amount of information concerning the mysterious man he encountered in the woods beyond Culver’s Bridge. According to his statement, that man was about twenty-six years of age, and apparently something like five feet and ten inches in height. Hooker judged that this person should weigh in the neighborhood of one hundred and sixty pounds. His complexion was medium, and he had hair slightly curly. His eyes were blue, his teeth white and even, and his smile pleasant. His voice was agreeable, but he showed traces of nervousness and anxiety. He spoke with some bitterness of people who had wealth and employed laborers. Roy states that, as far as he could see, the man bore no peculiarly distinguishing mark, like a scar or deformity.”

“Well,” said Fred, lounging on the Morris chair, “why should the appearance of such a stranger interest you so deeply?”

“Wait,” said Piper, halting in front of Sage’s chair. “This man made inquiries concerning your family. He must have known you.”

“We’ve lived in Oakdale only three years. There are people outside of this place who know us.”

“Quite true; but when he learned that you were near at hand, and when he heard you approaching, the man disappeared in a most astounding, inexplicable and unaccountable manner. He didn’t wait until you should come forth to meet him face to face.”

“That was rather odd,” admitted Sage.

“And, furthermore, you have stated that you have no idea who the person can be.”

“Not the slightest.”

“Is there anything connected with your past or that of your parents which, for good and sufficient reasons, you wish to conceal?”

Fred sat up suddenly. “Why should you imagine anything of that sort?” he retorted sharply. “Of course it’s nonsense.”

“H’m!” said Sleuth. “It’s a rare family closet that doesn’t contain a skeleton.”

“Well, Piper, if you’ve come here to pry into private family affairs, you may as well chase yourself at once.”

“Restrain your annoyance, Sage; check your angry resentment. If you choose to unbosom yourself to me in my professional capacity, you may do so with the assurance of my honorable intention to hold inviolate any secret with which I may be entrusted.”

Fred’s face was flushed and he betrayed annoyance, which, however, he endeavored to restrain.

“Cut out that fol-de-rol, Piper. There’s no reason why I should tell you any family secrets, if we happen to have them. As you’ve just said, doubtless there are few families who do not have some minor secrets they choose to keep hidden; but, as a rule, such things concern no others than those personally interested. Again, let me repeat that you are trying to make something out of nothing, and it’s extremely ridiculous.”

“Perhaps so,” retorted Sleuth. “But tell me, did you ever hear of a man by the name of James Wilson?”

“Never. What has he to do with the matter?”

The visitor drew a folded newspaper from an inner pocket of his coat. “It’s my custom,” he said, “to take special note of the records of crime and criminals as contained in the press of the day. I never overlook anything of the sort. Here in this paper is the description of one James Wilson, alias ‘William Hunt,’ alias ‘Philip Hastings,’ but known among his pals as ‘Gentleman Jim.’ This man is described as twenty-six years of age, five feet, ten inches in height, and weighing one hundred and sixty pounds. While there are no distinguishing marks upon his person, he has blue eyes; a medium complexion; hair slightly curly; white, even teeth; a pleasant smile; an agreeable voice; and white, shapely hands, which show evidence of recent arduous labor. This labor was performed in prison, from which Jim Wilson has but lately been released. He is a confidence man and safe-breaker, and it seems that his prison experience has done little to cure him of his criminal proclivities, for it is suspected that since his release he has been concerned in certain unlawful operations. One week ago he was arrested in Harpersville, which is just over the state line, and placed in jail to await the arrival of officers who wanted him. But Mr. Wilson, alias ‘William Hunt,’ alias ‘Philip Hastings,’ alias ‘Gentleman Jim,’ is a slippery customer, and he didn’t remain in that insecure jail. Instead of doing so, he broke out of his cell, cracked the guard’s skull, and made good his escape. The guard is not expected to live, and the authorities have offered a reward of five hundred dollars for the capture of the murderous scoundrel.”

“Well!” breathed Sage, who had listened with swiftly increasing interest. “Do you think this James Wilson and the stranger Hooker talked with this forenoon are one and the same?”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” declared Sleuth.