She swallowed hard.
“Because—well, because I’ve never used this kind of a holster before, smarty. But I can shoot—Daddy taught me—I can box, too, and I’ve had lessons in jiu jitsu. Oh, I can take care of myself, if that’s what’s worrying you!”
“Glad to hear it, Dorothy. Excitement kind of stirs you up eh?”
“It’s not excitement that does it, Bill—it’s suspense. But I’m sorry I bawled you out.”
“Don’t mention it. My humble apologies for being so rude—”
“Imbecile! You weren’t. But never mind that—tell me about this house in the woods and what it has to do with the gang who robbed the bank.”
The car ran into Bedford and taking the turn to the right, he swung on to the northbound turnpike.
“Go ahead with the story,” begged Dorothy as they left the picturesque village behind.
“Right-o! Here goes. On our way back from the South last month, I dropped Dad at New Orleans. The old Loening needed a thorough overhauling, so Dad left me there with the plane and went north by train. After I saw him off at the L. and N. station, I went back to the St. Charles Hotel and slept for nearly twenty-four hours. I got a touch of jungle fever when I was down in the cypress swamps and was still feeling pretty rocky.
“So for the next ten days I loafed while the amphibian got what was coming to her. When she’d been made shipshape again I flew her north. I was in no hurry to reach New Canaan and stopped off at Atlanta, and at Philadelphia, where I have friends.
“A couple of days before I met you I started on the last leg of the hop. It was raining when I left Philly—a filthy morning, with high fog along the coast. That is why I decided not to follow the New York-Philadelphia-Hartford air route, but cut straight north over eastern Pennsylvania and northern New Jersey, hoping for better visibility inland. Instead, the old bus ran me into even worse weather. The fog grew lower and denser and flying conditions became even rottener than before. You haven’t run into fog in a plane, yet, Dorothy—and, believe me, it’s no fun.
“I expected to cross the Hudson at about Haverstraw and fly east to New Canaan. I know now that I must have overshot that burg; that the plane was probably nearer Newburgh when we crossed the river and headed east. To make matters worse, a few minutes later, the engine commenced to skip. I began to realize then that I didn’t know where I was.”
Dorothy had been listening intently, her eyes on the grotesque shadows cast by their headlights upon the stone fences along the road; now she turned and stared at him in astonishment.
“That’s a good one! You’ve flown pretty much all over the country—and get lost in dear little Connecticut!”
“Oh, I don’t know—parts of the state are as wild as the Canadian woods! And just remember that the visibility at five hundred feet was so poor I could hardly see the nose of my plane. And worse luck, I knew that with the engine cutting up the way she was, I’d soon be forced to land.”
“What did you do?”
“Nosed over until I got almost down to the trees on the hilltops. Visibility was better there, but for the life of me I couldn’t spot a landing place.—Nothing but one chain of hills after another, all covered with trees. The sides of these foothills of the Berkshires are steep as church roofs—and they run down to narrow, densely wooded valleys. Well, for some time I circled about with the engine acting worse every split second. Then, in a valley a little wider than any I’d come across so far, I saw the glint of water—a little lake. Fifty yards or so away, there was a good-sized farmhouse with a fairly level hay field behind it. I chose the lake, although it wasn’t much better than a duck pond—and landed.
“The house was a ramshackle affair, but some smoke rose from the chimney, so I figured someone lived there. While I was fixing my engine, a girl—or rather I should say a young woman—came out of the house and walked down to the little dock near where the plane was floating.”
“Of course she had red hair and wore yellow beach pajamas?” said Dorothy.
“She did—I mean, she had. Anyway, when Lizzie described the girl in the car who wanted bicarbonate of soda and got it, I was sure that my er—lady of the lake and she were one and the same.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“I did. I told her I was lost and asked her where I had come down. She told me, after a while. That is, she gave me a general idea in what direction Danbury lay and about how far away from town we were. But I thought at the time that she was awfully cagy and tight with her information.”
“In other words, she didn’t seem especially glad to see you?”
“That’s it. Instead of inviting me ashore and up to the house for a meal, she wanted to know how long I was likely to be on the lake—and then she beat it back to the house. Naturally, I thought it queer she should be so inhospitable and stand-offish. People are usually interested anyway, when a plane arrives unexpectedly in their neighborhood—too darn interested, if anything. Still, I didn’t think much about her, then. I had the information I wanted, and after changing a couple of sparkplugs, I took off and made New Canaan via Danbury without any more trouble.”
“Did you see anyone besides the girl with the red hair?”
“Not a soul.”
“And you’ve been back since the robbery, I think you said?”
“Several times. But the place has been deserted and the house locked up tighter than a drum.”
There was a long pause.
“Why do you think the gang are there now?” asked Dorothy. “Simply because we saw the lame man take the Ridgefield road?”
“This is the way I figured.” They had passed through the little town of Brewster, heading north, some minutes before. Now Bill turned the car off the state highway and on to a winding dirt road full of deep ruts that he knew ran far into the wooded hill country to the northeast. “It is my idea,” he continued, slowing down to a bare twenty-mile pace, “that after the robbery, that gang scattered and laid low for a while. They didn’t go to the house, that I do know. After you went to bed that night, I drove up here to have a look-see. Nobody home, as I’ve told you. But they couldn’t have a better place for headquarters. There isn’t a house anywhere round that neck of the woods. Sooner or later, they’re bound to meet there. The loot has got to be divided. Seeing our lame friend headed in that direction this evening makes me doubly certain. I’ve kept it to myself, because if that army of detectives who are on this case started camping out near the house on a watchful waiting spree, those crooks would be sure to spot them and never show up.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said.
For some time neither spoke, while their car bumped slowly along the uneven road.
“What do you suppose that lame man was doing on Marvin Ridge?” she inquired presently.
“Search me. How should I know? You certainly love to fire questions at a guy.”
“He told us the car hadn’t been used lately,” she mused, ignoring his remark.
“That only goes to prove we’re right in thinking he has been in hiding somewhere.”
“But where?”
“Merciful heaven! Another question! That road runs down to Noroton, doesn’t it? And from there the Boston Post could bring him from all points east and west. There’s no telling where he’d come from.”
“But I drove up from the Post Road that way yesterday. It has been freshly oiled to within a half mile of where we met him. Yet that Packard hadn’t run through oil. If she had, I’d have seen it with my headlights smack on her.”
“Perhaps he came down a side road?”
“Not between that point and the oil—there isn’t any.”
“Maybe he’d been calling in the neighborhood—”
“Don’t be silly—I know everyone who lives along that road.”
“You think it out then—I’ve got enough to do trying to navigate this road. I’m going to switch out the lights, now. We’re not more than a couple of miles from the house.”
/> “Do you think they’ll put up much of a fight?”
“Good Lord! You don’t think I’ve any intention of trying to capture them?” Bill exclaimed. He was very busily engaged in keeping the car in the middle of the grass grown trail as it rolled, down a steep hillside at a snail’s pace. “I’m not taking chances with you along. It would be foolish to attempt anything like that. You’ll get into no battles tonight, miss. This is just a scouting party. If the gang have arrived, we’ll beat it back to Brewster and get the cops on the job.”
“Oh, dear!” sighed Dorothy. “And I thought this was going to be the real thing!”
“No grandstand plays for you tonight, young lady. What’s more—I’m running this show. If you don’t promise to behave, you’ll warm a seat in this car, while I mosey up to the house. How about it?”
Dorothy’s voice betrayed her disgust and disappointment.
“Oh, I’ll promise. But if we are leaving all the fun to the police, why did you bring the guns?”
“Because you seemed to expect them, little brighteyes. But we might as well have left them home, for all the use they’ll be—I’ll see to that. It’s bad enough to be forced into bringing you up here. Your father will certainly raise the roof when he finds it out. I shan’t tell him, that’s flat.”
“You believe in being candid!” with cutting sarcasm.
“You bet. And please remember that if you try to pull off anything you’ll probably crab the show. And get us into a good old-fashioned mess besides.”
He stopped the car and slipping into reverse gear, backed off the trail.
“There!” He switched off the ignition. “We’re all ready for a quick getaway if need be.”
“How far are we from the house?” she asked in a tense whisper.
“About a mile. I’m afraid to drive nearer—sound carries a long way up these quiet valleys. Let’s get started now. I want you to walk just behind me. Be careful where you place your feet. We’ll follow the trail a while farther, but it’s pretty rough going. Above all else—don’t talk—and make just as little noise as possible.”
“What if they have sentries posted?” she asked, coming to his side.
“Aren’t you the limit!” Bill seemed really annoyed. “There you go talking again! For your satisfaction, though—if we have the bad luck to come across anyone, I’ll naturally do my best to scrag him. You, of course, will act as you think best. My advice is to beat it to the car, as fast as you can. Come along now—and quiet!”
“Aren’t you horrid tonight!” she breathed, swinging up the overgrown trail behind him.
But Bill didn’t hear her. Anyway, he didn’t answer, and she followed in his footsteps while a pleasurable thrill of excitement gradually took the place of her disappointment. It was nearly pitch dark, walking along in the shadow of tall trees that lined the twisting path. Now and then the cry of a night bird came to her from the woods, but except for the dull sound of their steps on the damp earth—the occasional snapping of a twig underfoot, all was quiet in the forest.
Bill was only a blur in the gloom ahead. But she was glad to know he was there just the same. This creeping through the still night to reconnoiter a gang of bank-thieves held a kick all its own. Yes, she was glad that Bill was close by.
There came a movement in the underbrush behind them. Hands of steel caught her arms, pinning them to her sides.
“Sentries, Bill!” she screamed, struggling frantically to free herself. “Look out! Look out!”
She heard Bill mutter angrily. Heavy feet crashed in the brush and she heard the sharp impact of a solid fist meeting soft flesh. Several men were shouting now and someone groaned.
Bending suddenly forward and sideways, Dorothy managed to fasten her teeth on the wrist of the man who held her. With a howl, he let go her right arm and at the same time a gun went off. The night was torn with a scream of anguish. But before she could use her free arm someone dropped a bag over her head, a rope was knotted about her wrists and a muffled voice spoke to her through the folds of the sack.
“Behave, sister! Behave, I say, or I’ll crack yer wid dis rod. I ain’t no wild cat tamer. Quiet now, or I’ll bash yer one!”
Inasmuch as it was no part of Dorothy’s plan to get “bashed” in a bag, that young lady kept quiet.
“That’s the girl!” he applauded. Swinging her over his shoulder as though she were a sack of flour, he walked away from the scuffle on the trail.
CHAPTER XIII
TRAPPED
The burlap sack was stiflingly hot. Moreover it seemed impregnated with fine particles of dust which burned her throat and nostrils and set her coughing. Dorothy was frightfully uncomfortable. Breathing became more and more difficult.
“Let me go—I’m smothering!” she gasped.
“And get another piece bit out of me arm?” snorted her captor. “Nothin’ doin’.”
“But I’m choking to death in this filthy bag! It’s full of dust!”
“Keep yer mouth shut, then,” gruffed the man. “And stop that wrigglin’. I’ll tap yer one if yer don’t. What do ye think this is, anyway—a joy ride?”
“But—” she began again.
“Shut up!” he growled. “Behave, will yer? Say, sister, if I had me way youse’d get bumped off right now. Give me more of yer lip and I’ll do it, anyway!”
There was a grim menace in the gangster’s tone that frightened Dorothy more than his words. Thereafter she spoke no more. She even refrained from struggling, although her head swam and his grip of iron about her knees had become torture.
What had happened to Bill, she wondered, and cold fear entered her heart. She was almost certain that it had been a blow from his fist she had heard directly after her warning shout. But the shot and the scream immediately afterward? Had that been the sound of his automatic—or another’s? The thought of Bill lying in the woods wounded—perhaps dead—drove her frantic. Yet she was powerless, with her wrists lashed behind her back. While the man who carried her lurched forward, stumbling now and then over the uneven ground, each step causing his victim fresh agony, Dorothy’s conviction of hopelessness assailed and overwhelmed the last shreds of her fighting spirit. She wept.
Presently,—it seemed an age,—she sensed that the gangster was mounting a flight of steps. There came the creak of a board underfoot. Then she knew that he was fumbling with a doorknob. A glow of light appeared through the burlap.
“Here we are, sister!” he grunted, with evident relief. Swinging her from his shoulder, he placed Dorothy on her feet and pulled off the sack.
“Gosh!” he exclaimed, steadying her as she would have fallen, “I thought it was a Mack truck I was carryin’. But you’re only a kid! Nobody’d think you weighed so much. Did I make you cry?”
He placed an arm under her elbow and led her to a chair. It was of the hard, straight-backed, kitchen variety, but Dorothy was only too glad to sit down and rest. She kept her eyes closed, for the light, after the dark confines of the bag, was blinding. Her breath came in convulsive gasps.
“Feelin’ kind of woozy?” The man’s tone was callous, but at least it evinced a slight interest in her condition and she took advantage of that at once.
“Yes, I am,” she admitted, keeping her eyes closed, but drawing deep breaths of air into her lungs between words. “You nearly smothered me in that filthy bag. If you want to make up for it, you can bring me a drink of water now.”
“You certainly have some noive! Y’ don’t happen ter want a couple of ice cubes and a stick in it too?”
“Plain water, if you please.”
“Dat’s all you’ll get, kid. But I’m dry myself, so I’ll bring you some.”
She heard him cross the room, jerk open a door and tramp over an uncarpeted floor beyond.
Dorothy opened her eyes.
A wave of faintness swept over her and the room seemed to whirl before her. As she tried to struggle to her feet she found her roped hands had been securely fastened to the back
of her chair. She sank back wearily, her thoughts in wild confusion.
After a moment she turned her attention to her surroundings, conscious of the futility of any further effort to free herself, and resolved to bide her time.
The long, narrow room evidently ran the width of the house for shuttered windows broke the bare expanse of walls at either end. Behind her chair, she knew, was the door through which she had been carried into the room, with shuttered windows flanking it. Facing her were two other doors, one open and one closed. Through the open door came the sound of a hand pump in action, where her captor was drawing water.
The room in which she sat was dimly lighted by an oil lamp, its chimney badly smoked and unshaded. It stood on an unpainted table amidst the debris of dirty dishes and an unfinished meal. Chairs pushed back at odd angles from the table gave further evidence of the diners’ hurried exit.
“They must have posted someone further down the road,” she mused. “I wonder how he got word to the house so quickly?”
Then she caught sight of a wall-phone in the shadows at the farther end of the room. “Telephone, of course! They must have planted one somewhere this side of the turnpike. The man on watch saw our car pass and immediately sent word along the wire!”
It suddenly occurred to Dorothy that she herself might find that telephone useful. For a moment she contemplated dragging her chair across the room, but gave up the idea almost at once, for the sound of the pump in the room beyond had ceased and she heard the gangster’s returning footsteps.
He appeared in the doorway almost immediately. A broad-shouldered, narrow hipped, sinewy young man, with a shock of sandy hair falling over his ferret-like eyes. The white weal of an old knife scar marred the left side of his face from temple to chin. An ugly, though not bad humored countenance, she summed up—certainly an easy one to remember.
“Here yer are, sister!” was his greeting. “Get outside o’ this an’ yer’ll feel like a new woman!”
He held a brimming glass of fresh water to her lips.
Dorothy gulped eagerly.
“Hey, there! Not so fast,” he cautioned. “You’ll choke to death and Sadie’ll swear I done yer in.” He pulled the glass out of her reach. “Tastes good, eh?”
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 168