“Of course she couldn’t have come here,” he argued with himself, “and yet how kind of her if she had come, thinking Uncle Jim’s light meant that I was back.”
The very thought that Mary Louise had utterly despised him sent Danny flying around the tower room searching for a sign of her. But no sign was given him. He saw where the man whom he called Uncle Jim had rested through the evening and where his candle had dripped tallow on the floor, but that was all.
“Good Uncle Jimsie!” thought Danny, as he quickly scraped up the candle grease and locked the door to the tower room. “It was the one place I could hide him where I felt they would not look for him again to-night. But, thank God, we are saving him!”
Danny again went down the stairs. This time with an electric torch he carefully searched the ground outside to find just where the car had gone. “It started off in the right direction,” said Danny, as he still strained his eyes for one glimpse of something or someone that might turn out to be Mary Louise. Once he saw a gleam of white in the darkness and tearing madly toward it found with a sinking heart that it was only a bush of small white flowers.
His torch was playing upon every bit of ground about the garage, and suddenly it stopped in his hand as though paralyzed. The faint glow of its light had fallen directly upon a little bow from Mary Louise’s slipper, evidently torn off in her scurry to reach the car.
Danny leaned over it as if trying to solve the mystery of its being there. All that he could reason was that Mary Louise must have driven off with Uncle Jim. Then the quickest and only thing for him to do was to reach the crossroads.
His head jerked up in alarm. So engrossed had he been in Mary Louise’s disappearance that he had failed to recall the alarm which Josie must have given. Voices were floating down the garden paths and a glow of light illumined the whole house. The face of Danny Dexter was stern with resolve as with infinite caution he swung to the garage door and crept into the darkness.
He made his way carefully and with instant decision. It was as though by prearrangement, so steadily and yet so quietly he went, across the road and into the waste of meadow beyond it.
The wind had hushed by now, as though in deference to the distant roar of thunder, and a heavy warmth was weighing down the air. The perfume of the drying clover was oppressive as Danny unerringly made his way, his cap now in his pocket, and his thick hair damp on his bare forehead.
The sudden baying of a dog a long way distant caused him to pause, but the sound ceased and only the restless rumble of the approaching storm broke the perfect silence. Then Danny, convinced that he was not followed, stumbled on and reached the edge of the marsh land which skirted the river. It was an intensely lonely spot. Even the deep, full-throated croaking of the bullfrogs seemed subdued by the dank mist that hung low upon the water-soaked land, and the glimmer and sparkle of innumerable fireflies were dim and tremulous through the dusk.
The moon, now very pale and yellow, was wanly glowing a last farewell before succumbing to the piling clouds of the storm. It faintly outlined a small woodland to the right, where willows dipped their branches in the muddy soil and elderberry bushes ran riot undisturbed.
Danny smiled grimly as he thought of the trouble it had been to push Mary Louise’s automobile from its hiding-place there and get it safely home without the engine being heard. And it had all been in vain. But the last part of his errand should succeed; of this he was assured.
Pausing not an instant, he went on as best he could, leaping and slipping from hummock to hummock in the weird green of the moon and by the glowworm’s flash.
At last he was quite at the edge of the wood, and distinctly he made out the dim outline of a little Ford secluded amongst the trees which had so recently held “Queenie.” Danny Dexter felt a thrill of joy and gratitude.
“Are you there?” he called.
“Right-o!” answered a cheery voice, and from the Ford stepped Will White.
As Danny leaped over the railing and disappeared into the night Josie rushed into the hall and up the stairs. Pausing only for a quick knock, she flung open the door of Grandpa Jim’s room, awakening that worthy old gentleman with the startling announcement, “Mary Louise isn’t here!”
“What’s that? Mary Louise gone?”
The realization that his beloved grandchild was in danger waked him wide in an instant. Telling Josie to scamper, he was out of bed and dressed in three minutes by the clock. Josie was but two minutes later than he, which was very quick time for a girl detective.
They met in the library in front of the ashes of the little fire that Mary Louise had kindled so happily the evening before. Grandpa Jim was almost as gray as the ashes, and a great fear was in his eyes as Josie told of hearing the auto and meeting Danny.
“We must telephone for Lonsdale at once, and you’d better ring up Crocker, too,” he said, “for if Danny is innocent of this, our Mary Louise must be in the hands of this O’Hara. Ransom, I suppose.”
The Colonel walked restlessly up and down the room while Josie telephoned. He was still pacing about when she returned to tell him: “They’ll both be here in a jiffy, Grandpa Jim. Lonsdale is bringing his car, and we’ll all go along.. Why, they just can’t escape us!”
The old man patted the head of the young girl tenderly. He knew she was trying to give him courage, and indeed she was the picture of pluck as she stood there, her scarlet cheeks reflecting the scarlet Tam o’ Shanter she had carelessly pulled down about her hair. So they stood together as the minutes ticked away, the clock hands seeming to move with infinite weariness. Finally with a slight ring of the bell the door opened and admitted Lonsdale, the local Chief, and Crocker, the detective from Boston.
CHAPTER XIII
FACE TO FACE
When the automobile left the garage and spun quietly down the thoroughfare, Mary Louise was amazed to find that she could not possibly fear this man. The sadness of the set face that was kept steadily upon the road was such that her kind heart ached for him.
Who was he? What could he be doing? She remembered with a quiver of dismay the letter she had seen addressed to Danny. What could Danny possibly have to do with him?
“After all,” thought Mary Louise, “how little Danny has ever told me of himself!” And the depression of the night seemed suddenly reflected in her spirits.
The car, being without lights, necessarily had to be driven very slowly, but at that they could not have been traveling for more than fifteen minutes when the man at the wheel turned the car into a narrow, grass-grown lane which ran along the edge of the marsh toward the river.
About half a mile down the lane be stopped the car. At the same time the wind died down and a tense quietness came over the feelings of Mary Louise as of breathless waiting. The man at the wheel stood up and carefully gazed across the low land toward a willow copse near the river’s edge. He stood quiet and intent for some few moments. Finally his search must have been rewarded, for with a sigh of relaxation he sank down in the seat again.
It was a full minute before Mary Louise could make out what the man’s sharp sight had detected. A dark object was bobbing and dipping over the marsh land.
She was instantly recalled from her discovery by the voice of her companion. It was a kindly voice though thick and nervous, and he spoke in jerks.
“Mary Louise,” he said, “I believe you are a friend of Danny’s. At least I know he is a true friend to you, as God knows he is to me! I’m Danny’s uncle, raised him from a kid, but I guess I’m no good. Anyhow, when Danny found I wasn’t square, he ran off and enlisted with the Canadians when the war broke out. But now that he knows they’ve found me out, he has done everything possible to help me — believes that blood is thicker than water, I guess. He took your car the night before your trip just to get me to the junction, for the Santa Fe Limited. I’m off for China. But Crocker came that night and we had to hide the car and ourselves.”
Mary Louise was breathless with interest as the man talked. Bu
t why should he be telling it to her? The voice jerked on.
“Danny was sick about worrying you, and finally insisted that we push back the car and then meet here. Sorry I had to bring you but my freedom was in pawn, and now — ” the man’s voice grew husky — “that lad has made me give my word to hand him my accounts. He swears he’ll make up the deficit. Good Lord, what a boy!”
Mary Louise breathed a soft “Amen.” Her eyes were like twin stars from pride and happiness, and as the man pressed a large envelope into her hand, she realized that one mystery was solved.
“Will you give him that?” said the man, and added, “God bless you both,” as he jumped to the ground and left her.
The strange individual seemed to be swallowed up instantly by the darkness, and except when the flashes of lightning revealed it, the dark bobbing object in the marsh was also invisible. Mary Louise suddenly felt very much alone. She welcomed even the approach of the mysterious something, which each vivid flash of electricity revealed as coming nearer, ever nearer. It seemed to leap and dip and sidle, but at the same time constantly to advance.
The weird hoot of an owl from a tree that edged the lane caused Mary Louise to shiver and to draw the auto robe more closely about her, although the heat of the night seemed to be weighing down all nature. She felt cold and utterly deserted. The now incessant rumble of the thunder drowned any sound the approaching object might be making, and as Mary Louise sat waiting and trembling a great bat flew blindly down and beat its loathsome wings against the car. That was enough and more than enough for Mary Louise. With a gasp she sank on the floor of the auto and covered her head with the robe.
So it happened that when the Ford runabout came close to the car she neither saw nor heard it. Neither did she see one man jump out and help the stranger into his vacant seat, as the latter wrung his hand and bade him farewell in a queer, choked voice.
“My boy, God bless you,” muttered the older man, “and I promise to be on the level for your sake from this time on. ‘Thank you’ are feeble words.”
Danny’s voice was very gentle as he put his strong arm around the trembling shoulders of the older man.
“Uncle Jim,” he said, “I understand a great deal more than before I went into that Hell over there, and I can’t forget that everything you did was for me — to give me money and education. It is just that I should square up our accounts and I — want to do it.”
At this point Will White, who had been sitting quietly at the wheel, struck a match and, looking at his watch, suggested: “If my watch ain’t fast and if that train ain’t slow, we’d better hustle.”
Danny stepped back after one last hand-shake, and the Ford went chugging down the lane. With a feeling of regret not unmingled with relief that his part of the escape was accomplished, he turned to Mary Louise’s car standing empty in the shadow. He swung quickly into the driver’s seat and quite as quickly swung out again, for with a stifled “Ouch” a small tousled head appeared above the blankets and Danny and Mary Louise were face to face!
“Oh, Danny!” cried Mary Louise, when she found breath to speak to the intruder in her automobile, “Oh, Danny, I’m so glad that you’ve come to me.”
Had Danny been a disciple of accuracy he could quite easily have explained that he hadn’t the wildest idea he was coming to her. Instead, hearing the welcome in her voice, and being so unbelievably glad to see that tousled head and tear-stained face, he simply said, “Of course I came, Mary Louise,” and then he could not say another word.
He stood bare-headed there on the running board and stared and stared down at Mary Louise who was still sitting on the floor of the car and gazing up at him. Suddenly a huge drop of rain splashed full upon the upturned nose of Mary Louise. It roused her with a start and evidently filled her with a spirit of prophecy for she sagely said, “Danny, I guess it’s going to rain!”
Then Danny, too, felt the great drops beating down his collar, and with a chuckle and an, “I’ll be darned, I never noticed it,” be was swooping out the side curtains and adjusting them to their hooks.
Mary Louise insisted on helping. It was very nice to have her, though of course it delayed matters, and they were both pretty thoroughly soaked before they finally climbed back into the car. It was dry and snug in there at least.
Outside, the storm was now lashing and howling with a fury that was terrific. It was an impossibility to start the car until the wind and rain abated, so Danny switched on the little light and turned once again to Mary Louise.
Then, strange to relate, they were both tongue-tied. Mary Louise became miserably conscious that her hair was in wild disarray, and Danny became blissfully conscious that the wild disarray of Mary Louise’s hair was very lovely. It is difficult to say how long the silence would have lasted had not her hand touched the long, official envelope upon the seat beside her. Then Mary Louise remembered she was playing postman.
“Your Uncle Jim asked me to give you this, Danny,” she said, placing the bulky letter on his knee.
Danny turned to her in wonder and almost in awe. “Mary Louise, you know about me? You know about Uncle Jim, and still you speak to me?”
“Yes,” said Mary Louise softly. “Maybe I speak to you partly because I know about your Uncle Jim, because I think it is so splendid of you to take the responsibility of paying the checks he forged.”
“You can’t know that I took your car that night just to take him to the junction. He came to me to help him and I had to. But, oh, Mary Louise, when Crocker came and I had to hide your car — at least let me tell you what I suffered at the thought of worrying you! I don’t ask your forgiveness.”
Mary Louise found her voice again. “You don’t have to,” she told Danny. “I know, too, of all the trouble you took to push it back safely,” and she turned to him a face so lighted with trust and confidence that Danny gripped the idle steering wheel very hard and gazed straight ahead unseeing into the night.
If he had been observant, he would have noticed that the storm had spent its wildness and was already dying down in the distance. The cool, cleared air was creeping into the car. It was Mary Louise who first saw the new-washed moon appear a golden ball again.
“See, it’s all clearing up,” she said; “we’d better go.”
Danny lingered though for a minute longer. Then — “Mary Louise, may I ask you — ” he started to say; then changed it joyously to — “Why, no; I know you won’t give Uncle Jim away to Crocker.”
“Of course not,” replied Mary Louise, and her eyes answered the steady look of his.
Then Danny started the auto slowly and drove out into the lane.
CHAPTER XIV
THE SEARCH
When Crocker and Lonsdale entered the Hathaway home Josie O’Gorman briefly outlined to them the coming of Danny and of hearing the automobile. Crocker turned instantly and went through the kitchen into the courtyard and across to the old stable.
Here it was plainly evident to his practiced eye that not only had a machine come and gone, but at least three individual pairs of feet had plodded around the doorway. Not pausing to investigate the footprints further than to assure himself that one deep imprint was of a small and high-heeled slipper, Crocker strode back to the house. The immediate thing to do was to trace the car before the lowering storm broke in all its fury and completely erased the tracks.
When he reached the house he found Aunt Sally and Uncle Ben fussily scurrying about, trying to help and managing most successfully to be in everybody’s way.
“Oh, Lawdy, Lawdy,” groaned Aunt Sally, as she slipped an all-enveloping slicker upon Josie’s shoulders, “dat lightnin’ sho’ am de bad sig.. I jes’ opine I ain’ nevah gwine fo’ to see ma lama agin!” And then the woolly head of good old Aunt Sally was hidden by her huge checked apron, which she flung over it, and her body rocked and swayed with the moans and sobs that shook her.
Uncle Eben took special charge of his beloved master, the Colonel, bringing his big sou’wester
and cheering Grandpa Jim with the helpful assurance: “Massa Jim, Ah knowed they’s somethin’ awful gwine fo’ to happen caze las’ night Ah dreamt of a white mule. Ain’t nevah knowed it to fail to mean death and destruction when Ah dream of a white mule.”
At last they climbed into the car, Crocker and Lonsdale in the front, Josie O’Gorman and Colonel Hathaway in the tonneau. The storm seemed just about to crash in all its fury above their heads and the lightning was sharp and incessant. By the powerful searchlight of the car they could easily trace the route of the machine they were pursuing until they reached the macadam road. Here the wind in all its previous fury had blown away all traces of the wheels.
Lonsdale stopped and Crocker climbed out to investigate the ground more closely. As he did so the unmistakable chug-chug of a Ford was beard evidently coming at full speed down the road.
Instantly alert, at Crocker’s command Lonsdale placed bis automobile directly across the road. The Ford came on until almost upon the obstruction and then stopped with a jerk. As the searchlight played upon the new arrival, Josie with a sense of disappointment recognized Will White from the grocery store.
“Good heavens, man,” said Lonsdale testily, “were you trying to run us down?”
Will White laughed his slow, lazy laugh. “Naw, not quite,” he said, “but I was allowin’ as how Uncle Will and me might hit it home afore the rain.”
As Lonsdale backed the car out of the way, the Colonel’s ever ready courtesy came forth.
“So this is your uncle?” he asked, kindly nodding to the quiet elderly man who sat beside Will White, his face perhaps a trifle pale.
“I’m named for him,” vouchsafed Will, his drawl was most pronounced. Then: “Are you in trouble, Colonel?”
Quickly the whole auto load reached the same decision. They would say nothing of their search to this village gossip unless they found themselves powerless. Then they would wake the town. So with a curt denial and a hasty apology for blocking the traffic, the larger car sped on.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 631