The Last Stroke: A Detective Story by Lawrence L. Lynch (ereader with dictionary TXT) 📗
- Author: Lawrence L. Lynch
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Ferrars reserved his criticism and opinions for the time.
Doran had taken upon himself the investigation of the "boat puzzle," as he called it, for the skiff remained, after many days, still drawn up, unmoored and unclaimed, by the lake shore; and at last, by dint of much driving up and down the lake shore road and interviewing of boat owners, he brought to Ferrars this unsatisfactory solution.
Two weeks before the murder the skiff had been owned by a certain Jerry Small, hunter and fisherman by choice, blacksmith by profession. On a certain day a man dressed in outing costume had entered Small's shop, asked about the boat, and made him such a liberal offer for it, that Jerry had at once closed with him. The shop stood upon the outskirts of the town and close to the lake. The man had said that he was coming out from the city in a few days for a few weeks in the country, meaning to secure board, if possible,[Pg 170] near the lake shore. If Mr. Small did not mind, the boat might stay where it was until his return; the money was paid down, and Small engaged to care for the boat.
One day, after much agitation, Small decided that it must have been the day of the murder that he missed the boat; and one of his "kids" told him that "a gentleman with flannel clothes and whiskers" took away the boat "right early," and neither boat nor man had ever reappeared.
Then Ferrars tore his hair and fumed at the long delay only to learn that Jerry Small had left his house on the day after the murder to attend a sick brother, and had returned just two days ago.
"It's of no use," fumed the detective to Doctor Barnes; "I shall put a couple of fellows I know in the Jerry Small vicinity; it's right in their line of work, and probably they'll find the man and boy together—in Timbuctoo."
"And you will remain in Glenville, eh?" queried the doctor, grinning openly.
"Yes," with an answering grin, which somehow the doctor did not quite understand. "I'll stay—for a while longer."
As they sat at lunch next day a small boy brought Ferrars a note from the teacher.
[Pg 171]
"Come to me at once.—H. G."
That was all it said, and Ferrars lost no time in obeying the summons.
"You may not see much in my news," Hilda said, as she closed the door upon intruders. "But I have got Peter's story out of him at last."
"The foolish boy? Ah, that is something after all, at least, I hope it will prove so. Well?"
"It was slow work, for the boy has been terribly frightened. His story is most absurd."
"No matter, tell it in your own way."
"He says still that he saw a ghost—a live ghost. That it arose out of the bushes and waved its arms at him. It was dressed 'all in white like big sheets,' Peter said, and its face was black, with white eyes. It spoke to him 'very low and awful,' and told him to lie down and put his face to the ground until it went back into its grave. If he looked, or even told that he had seen a ghost, the grave would open and swallow him too. Then it held up a 'shiny big knife' and he tumbled over in sheer fright. After a long time he began to crawl toward the road; and when he at last looked around and saw no ghost anywhere, he ran as fast as he could. I am afraid," Hilda added, "that you'll think as I do, that some of the school boys have played the poor child a trick, or else that he has[Pg 172] imagined it all. It's too absurd to credit. Still, as you made a point of being told at once of whatever I might learn from Peter, I kept my promise. I'm afraid I've spoiled your luncheon." She finished with a wan little half smile.
The detective's face was very grave and he did not speak at once.
"Is it possible," she ejaculated, "that you find anything in the boy's story?"
Ferrars leaned forward and took her hand. "Miss Grant," he said gravely, "I believe that poor foolish Peter saw Charles Brierly's murderer."
He got up quickly. "Do you think the boy could be got to show you where he saw this apparition?"
"I asked him that. He thinks he might dare to go if he were protected by 'big mans.'"
"Then, arrange to leave your school for a short time, at, say two o'clock. I shall get Doran and his surrey. Have the boy ready——"
"Pardon me, I will say nothing to Peter. The surrey will be enough, he is wild to ride."
"That will be best then. I shall lose no time. I have a strong reason for wishing to see the precise place where this ghost appeared."
The sight of the surrey filled poor foolish Peter with delight, and he rode on in high glee, sitting[Pg 173] between Hilda and Ferrars, whom he had learned to know, and like, and trust. When they were abreast of the hill Hilda bent over him.
"Now, Peter, tell me just where you saw that ghost."
Instantly the boy's face blanched and he cowered in his seat, but Ferrars with gentle firmness interfered. Peter would show him the place, and then he would drive away the ghosts. Ghosts were afraid of grown men, he averred. And at last, hesitating much, and full of fears, Peter was finally persuaded, yielding at last to Doran's offer to let him sit in front "and drive one of the horses."
As they reached the lower end of the Indian Mound, the boy's lips began to quiver and one arm went up before his face, while he extended the other toward the thickest of brushwood before described by Ferrars. "That's where," he whimpered. "It comed up out there."
"From among the bushes?"
"Ye-us."
"Did it have any feet?"
"Oh-oh! Only head and arms—ugh!"
"Turn around, Doran," said Ferrars sharply, and then in a lower tone to Hilda, "I shall go to the city to-night."
When Hilda reached her room, at the close of the[Pg 174] school, she found this letter awaiting her, "left," Mrs. Marcy said, "by her cousin":
"Dear Cousin,—Even if you had been disengaged, I could have told you nothing except that what I have learned to-day impels me to look a little more closely to the other end of my line. For there is another end.
"Now that I shall have the two men on duty in the south end of the county, and with the doctor and Doran alert in G——, not to mention yourself, I can go where I have felt that I should be for the past week or more. Will you keep me informed of the slightest detail that in any way concerns our case? And will you do me one individual favour? I trust Mrs. J—— may not leave this place until I see you all again, but should she do so, will you inform me of her intention at once? You see that I am quite frank. I should deeply regret it, if she went away before I could see her again. Destroy this.
"Yours hopefully,
"Ferrars."
[Pg 175]
CHAPTER XV. REBELLION.May had passed, and June roses were in late bloom. The city was horrid with the warm sun-filtered air after a summer shower, and Robert Brierly looked pale and languid as he stepped from an elevator, in one of the great department houses wherein Ferrars had his bachelor quarters, and walked slowly to his door.
Possibly it was the warmth of a very warm June, or there may have been other causes. At any rate Frank Ferrars' face wore an almost haggard look in spite of the welcoming smile with which he held out his hand to greet his friend, for friends these two had grown to be during the past weeks. Friends warm and true and strong, in spite of the fact that the mystery surrounding the death of Charlie Brierly remained as much of a mystery as on the day when foolish Peter Kramer led the detective to the scene of his ghostly encounter.
[Pg 176]
There were dark lines beneath the keen gray eyes, which, Rob Brierly had declared, "compelled a man's trust," and the smooth, shaven cheek was almost hectic, symptoms which, in Ferrars, denoted, among other things, loss of sleep.
There was a moment of silence, after the men had exchanged greetings, and it seemed, almost, that each was covertly studying the other, and then Brierly tossed down his straw hat, and pulling a chair directly in front of that in which the detective lounged, said, abruptly:
"I shouldn't like to quarrel with you, Ferrars, but I've something on my mind, and I'm here to have it out with you."
"Oh! Then I am in it?" the detective spoke nonchalantly, carelessly almost, and as the other seemed hesitating for a word, he added: "Give us the first round, old man. I'm apprehensive."
"H—m! You look it. Ferrars, do you know that for weeks, ever since my return from Glenville, in fact, I have been under constant surveillance?"
"Constant sur——. Excuse me, it's not polite to repeat, Brierly, but what do you mean?"
"What I say. It's plain enough, somebody is watching me, following me day and night."
"Pshaw! You don't mean that, man!"
[Pg 177]
"But I do. And that is not all," he leaned forward and fixed his eyes upon those of his vis-à-vis as if watching for the effect of his words. "I have been slowly discovering that I am being controlled—constrained—in many ways."
"Upon my word!" Ferrars was leaning back in his chair with his face a mask, expressing nothing but grave attention. "Make it plainer, Brierly."
"I will. I'll make it so plain that there will be no room for misunderstanding. When I first came back from Glenville, I did not go out much, especially evenings, but when I did, I began to fancy that I was spied upon, followed, and, after a time, I became sure of it."
"Stop! When did you observe this first?"
"I think it was on the third night after my return. I was going down to the Lyceum Club rooms, when something caused me to glance at a fellow on the other side of the street. You know my eyes are good!"
"Unusually so."
"Well, I came out in a very short time, alone, and the same fellow was lounging so close to the entrance that I recognised him at once."
"A bungler, evidently."
"Perhaps. Well, I met two men whom I know, just outside, and they dragged me back with them. When at last I left the place, I started to walk home, and when[Pg 178] I got upon the quieter streets I soon became conscious of some one keeping so evenly opposite me across the street, that I began to watch, and as the fellow glided, as quickly as possible under a street lamp, I recognised the same man."
"And you have seen him since?"
"Himself or another. A disguise is easy at night. I have been watched, at any rate, and followed again and again."
"Ah! And could you imagine his motive?"
"No." A look that was almost of anger crossed Brierly's face. "But I have wondered if it was the same as yours, and Myers, when you have contrived to keep me from going here and there, or doing this or that, unless accompanied by one or the other of you two."
He bent forward again after this utterance. His eyes seemed to challenge an answer.
But it did not come. Ferrars only sat with that look of grave inquiry still upon his face. He knew the man before him.
"Ferrars," exclaimed Brierly, when he saw that no answer, no defence, was to be made, "will you look me in the face and say that you, and Myers also, have not connived to keep me under your eyes? to accompany me when that was practicable, and to prevent my[Pg 179] going when it was not? I can recall several occasions when——"
He stopped short, checked in his utterance by a sudden, subtle change in the face of Ferrars, who had not stirred so much as an eyelid, but who spoke at once quietly, but with a certain tone of finality, of decision.
"Brierly, do you believe that James Myers is your friend, in the full meaning of the word?"
"I do! It is not that I doubt, or that——"
"And do you believe," went
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