Part 5

"Merely a matter of information," the doctor smiled. Back in the sunlight Joe saw that the smile was gone and that the puckers around the sightless eyes had become intent. Dr. Stone said absently: "You must be hungry, Joe," and they went toward a restaurant. But before they reached it there was a rush of feet and a woman's breathless voice.

"Doctor!" It was Tessie Rich. "Why did you want to know if I was on duty last Monday night?"

"I didn't."

"Oh!" The girl was nonplused. "But--but you asked----"

"I asked who was on duty," the doctor said gently. "Did you have any reason to think I was asking about you?"

Subtle, hidden undertones filled the question, and the hot needle was again in Joe's spine. The girl raised a handkerchief to her lips.

"Why--why, of course not, Doctor? Why should I?" There was something of hysterical panic in her voice.

"Why?" the blind man asked, blandly.

In the restaurant Joe Morrow chewed on food that all at once stuck in his throat. Why had his uncle gone to the telephone office? What hidden spring had that visit touched and what had frightened Tessie Rich? Were Mr. Pelle and the girl both involved? Had the canner actually signed two checks? What about Mr. Hesset? Who had gone to the bank with the first check and walked out with five thousand dollars in cash?

"Do you know who did it, Uncle David?"

A pipe came out of a pocket; blue smoke spiraled fragrantly about a face that had become placid and bland.

"Joe, the bank is built on a corner--at an angle to the corner. How far up the street can you see?"

"Quite a distance."

"As far as Pelle's factory?"

"Yes, sir."

"I know who didn't do it," the blind man said, and stood up. "And," he added quietly, "I think I know who did."

Joe hoped it wasn't Tessie Rich. They walked out of the village and up along the dirt road. The doctor said aloud: "If I could pick one more link--" and left the sentence unfinished and said no more. Tree toads made metallic clamor in the afternoon heat, and the earth smelled as though it were baked.

A clock struck three as they entered the house. Dr. Stone paced the porch and Lady stretched off in a patch of sun and watched him steadily. Joe brought up a tool from the cellar and prepared to trim the hedge.

A light delivery truck stopped in the road and a young man carried a suit up to the house.

"You're prompt," Dr. Stone said. The suit was on a hanger; the coat brushed against his knee with a soft crinkle. He ran one hand into a pocket and pulled out a paper. Strange! There had been nothing in the pockets of the suit he had carried away. His hand went up quickly to feel inside the collar. The three sharply ridged lines of thread were not there.

"Joe!" he called. "Stop that tailor's boy----" But the driver had already discovered his mistake. He came up the walk with the suit of gray. Joe laid down the clippers and followed him in.

"I'll carry that up to your room, Uncle Da----What's Lady got?"

The dog had found a paper on the floor. Now she carried it to the doctor. It crinkled in his hand.

It was a small paper, no larger than half a sheet from a note-book. Joe watched those hands move, gently exploring, over every inch of surface. And as the hands moved, Dr. Stone's face changed. Joe had seen that sharp, alert expression before. It was a silent sign that, some place in the eternal darkness of his world, the blind man had found light.

"Joe, there is writing on this paper?"

"Yes, sir." The boy looked closer and drew in a hot, throbbing breath. "Uncle David! The same thing's written all over it. Paul Pelle, Paul Pelle, Paul Pelle."

Dr. Stone said a soft: "Ah!" and folded the paper and put it in his pocket. "The criminal always slips," he observed; "there's always something forgotten." He stood for a moment whistling softly. "Care to stretch your legs? I want a word with the tailor."

Joe's eyes, fascinated, were on the writing. That paper had fallen from the suit delivered by mistake, and now his uncle wanted to know to whom the suit belonged.

"Couldn't you telephone him, Uncle David?"

The blind man's mouth twitched. "The call might pass through Tessie's switchboard," he said dryly.

The boy groped, and stumbled, and sought to find the meaning. The afternoon sun was low; the first cool breath of evening breeze blew over the dirt road. He waited outside while his uncle talked with the tailor; when the man came out he was whistling.

"Police station," he said.

Captain Tucker was at his desk. "Doctor," he burst out, "this thing is baffling. Lay those two checks side by side and you can't tell the signatures apart. I've talked to New York. There isn't a forger known to the police in this part of the country."

Dr. Stone asked: "Did Albert Wall give you a description?"

"Of the man who cashed that first check? A lot of good that does. Five feet eight, about 155 pounds, dark, clean-shaven, blue suit. It fits a million men."

"It would," the doctor said blandly. His face was inscrutable. "You heard Pelle's story and Albert Wall's. Get statements prepared."

"For what?"

"For them to sign." His hands felt along the desk for the telephone and he called Bryan Smith's house. "Bryan? Dr. Stone. Do you know where you can find Albert at this hour? He's with you now? Can you have him at the bank in an hour? I'll be along with Captain Tucker and Pelle." He put down the telephone. "You have an hour, Tucker, in which to get those statements ready and dig up Pelle. He's probably at the factory."

"But why signed statements?" Captain Tucker demanded impatiently.

"Bait," the blind man said casually. "Sometimes you use cheese in a trap; sometimes you use printed words." He settled into a chair and closed his eyes, and appeared to doze. The dog, ever watchful, lay at his feet.

Captain Tucker left the room, and presently, in another part of the police station, a typewriter began to click. The captain came back grumbling and out-of-sorts. The doctor's devious, subtle methods always provoked him to a show of ill-humor. The telephone rang sharply--there had been an automobile crash near the bridge. A minute later a motor roared into life in the alley beside the station and a motorcycle patrolmen sped away. The blind man did not stir.

Joe Morrow squirmed restlessly and watched the clock. Mr. Pelle arrived in a chastened, subdued mood; a uniformed man brought Captain Tucker several typewritten sheets; the wall clock struck the hour, and Dr. Stone opened his eyes.

"Ready, Tucker?"

They drove to the bank in the police car. Bryan Smith let them in. Dusk had begun to gather in the corners farthest from the windows, a guardlight burned in front of the steel safe, and a burst of ceiling lights shone from the inner room. Captain Tucker and Mr. Pelle went on ahead while the bank president saw to it that the door was securely locked. The doctor lingered.

"Bryan," he said softly, "are there pens and ink on your desk?"

"Certainly."

"Remove them; Lady, forward." And before the man could reply the doctor was on his way past the teller's cages, one hand holding the harness-grip, his body bent a little toward the guiding dog.

Bryan Smith, saying that they might need room, cleared the desk. Mr. Pelle's eyes shifted from side to side and missed nothing. Albert Wall seemed to wait patiently the outcome of this strange gathering. But what held Joe's attention and sent the blood pounding in his veins was a something that lay behind the passive placidity of his uncle's face.

"Captain Tucker," Dr. Stone said, "has prepared statements for Pelle and Albert to sign. You have pens, gentlemen? Now, if you will sign them----"

Albert Wall read rapidly and, taking a fountain pen from his pocket, signed at once. Mr. Pelle read his paper through and then read it again. He wrote his name slowly.

"Albert's paper, Captain." The doctor laid it on the desk at his right hand. "Pelle's." It went upon the left. "Now, Bryan, if I may have those checks. First the one Pelle says he didn't sign." It went upon the right with Albert Wall's statement.

The bank president's nerves had been under a long strain. "What's the meaning of this, Doctor?" he snapped. "If you have your suspicions, let us know them. If you have anything to say, say it. Don't waste time."

"Presently," the doctor said mildly. His hands had moved, mysteriously explored, and had come to rest. That vague something in his face was no longer there; he was serene. When he spoke again his voice was almost confidential. "Had that fountain pen long, Albert?"

The cashier was surprised. "Four or five years."

"You kept it too long. It tripped you."

"Tripped? Look here, Doctor, what are you driving at?"

"Money," the blind man said. "Five thousand dollars. What did you do with it?"

In the appalled silence of the room Joe heard clearly the sound of someone breathing with an effort. The cashier had not moved.

"Do you know what you're saying, Doctor?"

"Quite," the doctor said pleasantly. From his pocket he drew out a paper. "Did you ever see this?"

It was the paper Lady had picked from the floor. Albert Wall's eyes widened.

"A dangerous business, handling money," Dr. Stone mused. "Thousands upon thousands of dollars pouring through one's hands every day. Other people's money. If a man has a weak spot some place inside it may get him--a fever to have some of this money for his own. If the right moment comes, or the right scheme presents itself----

"You heard about the settlement Pelle was to make with Hesset, didn't you, Albert? The weak spot took control. You saw a chance to put your hands on five thousand dollars so cleverly that it would never be traced to you. You must have spent hour upon hour practicing Pelle's signature. And finally you had a check that you thought was perfect.

"You could see Pelle's factory. Saturday morning you saw Hesset go in. You may have gone to Arlington so you'd know what he looked like; you may have figured you'd know him because he would be bandaged. You saw him come out; you waited a minute or two. Then you telephoned Pelle that a man was at the window with a five thousand dollar check. Naturally Pelle said it was all right. You knew he'd say that. Hadn't he just given the check? So you stamped 'paid' on the check you had forged, and placed it with the checks the bank had cashed that morning. Shortly thereafter the real Hesset appeared and you telephoned Pelle again. Oh, it was a sweet scheme, Albert. Apparently there was no come-back. Hadn't Pelle told you to pay the first check? Could the bank be held responsible for paying a check Pelle told it to pay? In its simplicity the plan was almost genius. But--" The doctor paused. "You slipped."

The cashier had not moved. "Doctor," he said evenly, "your story is preposterous. You heard Pelle say he was alone in the office when he telephoned Hesset. To put a scheme like this through I would have to know in advance that a settlement had been made, when a check was to be given, and for how much. How could I know it?"

"Bryan," the blind man said, "will you call the telephone office and ask them can they send Tessie Rich over here for a moment?"

The bank president reached for the telephone.

"Don't do that," Albert Wall called sharply. In a moment all the self-control had gone out of him. There was a chair behind him; he reached back and sank into it heavily. "Keep her out of it," he said in a whisper. "I--I did it. I alone."

Mr. Pelle wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. "I thought you suspected me, Doctor?"

"It is wise, sometimes, to appear to suspect the innocent. Do you remember I asked for the checks this morning? A moment later I knew you were not the man. As soon as you said you had telephoned Hesset a significant thing happened. Albert left the room. He went to a telephone. My guess is he went there to warn Tessie not to tell anybody she had spoken to him about the Hesset settlement."

The cashier lifted a white face. "How did you know that?"

"Deduction. One person could have heard what Pelle said to Hesset--the central operator through whom the call passed. When I left here Albert took me to the door. I made a point of shaking hands with him. A cashier who had just paid a forged check, it is only natural to suppose, would be nervous and upset. Albert's hand was hard and strained, his grip that of a man steeled to see something through.... What?

"I stopped at the telephone office and asked what girls had been on duty at seven o'clock Monday evening. Tessie had been on duty alone. I did not mention her name; and yet, before I had gone one hundred feet, she was out in the street after me, badly shaken, demanding to know why I had inquired about her. That end of the picture was complete. Tessie and Albert were sweethearts; she had told him of the Pelle call in confidential gossip. I knew then who the guilty man was, but I could not prove it.

"This afternoon the tailor delivered me another man's suit by mistake. I found it was Albert's. This was in one of the pockets." The doctor pushed across the desk the paper covered with the canner's signature. "Probably every other paper on which Albert had practiced the signature had been destroyed--this one had been overlooked. As he could not have practiced forgery at the bank he must have done it at home. And as the same pen had written the signatures on this paper and the signature on the forged check, they must have been written, not with a bank pen, but with a pen that Albert carried with him. I wanted to have him use that pen before witnesses.

"So I had Captain Tucker prepare statements and bring you here. I had Bryan clear the desk so that Albert would have no other pen to use but his own. Once he signed that statement he had damned himself."

Bryan Smith, examining the two checks, shook his head. "Doctor, you cannot see. How could you tell that?"

"Have you a magnifying glass?" the blind man asked.

The bank president took one from a drawer.

"Examine the check Pelle signed and the statement he signed. Both signatures are smooth. Look at the forged check. There are three l's in Paul Pelle. On each of the three upstrokes on the l's the pen gouged the paper a bit. Here's the paper that was in the suit. The same gouge on the upstrokes. Now the statement Albert Wall signed. There are also three l's in his name, and the same gouge on the upstrokes. All made by the same pen."

Joe Morrow was filled with a sense of pride and wonder. Bryan Smith said slowly:

"Doctor, I fail to see how you, sightless, could detect that."

"Eyes," Dr. Stone said. "Auxiliary eyes. When sight goes, other senses quicken." He laid his hands upon the table, palms up, and the light shone upon the delicate, sensitive finger tips.

"You mean you could feel these grooves?" Captain Tucker demanded.

"Yes."

The captain ran his own fingers across the signatures. "I don't see how," he complained. "I don't feel a thing."

Dr. Stone filled his pipe with expert care. "You are not blind," he said mildly. "You lack a blind man's touch."

BIRTHDAY WARNING

Even though his eyes could not tell the difference between light and darkness, Dr. Stone knew that day had broken. The air had an early morning smell. Reaching out, he felt for the clock from which the glass face had been removed; his sensitive fingers, touching the exposed hands lightly, recorded the time. Five minutes of six. He sat up in bed.

He had gone to sleep thinking of Allan Robb, and now, awake, the thought returned. Tomorrow would be Allan's birthday. Twenty-one years old; the master, in his own right, of a fortune. The doctor chuckled, and wondered just how much of a master Allan would really be--for a while, anyway. For Alec Landry was Allan's guardian and had lived at the Robb homestead these six years since old Jamie Robb's death. A straightforward man, Alec Landry, who had obeyed old Jamie's dying command to "bring up my boy right." A loud, hearty man, with a love of having his own way and a habit of roaring down any who opposed him. Tomorrow, then, Allan Robb would become master in name; but it would be several years, probably, before the young man got out from under Alec Landry's hand.

A good thing, Dr. Stone thought dryly. Already there were signs of attentions that might turn the head of a young man suddenly independent. Tomorrow there was to be a great party. That was all right--a lad comes of age only once. Bruce Robb had sent up a blooded mare from New York. That was all right, too--Bruce was Allan's cousin. But all yesterday afternoon cars had come in through the village, traveling fast. Cars that blew imperative horns too obviously. That was the danger to Allen--rich young friends with time on their hands and nothing to do. Ah, well; leave that to Alec Landry. He was a stout man when it came to calling halt.

Dr. Stone swung his legs to the floor. Lady arose from where she had slept, stretched her great muscles, and came toward him.

"Lady," the doctor said, "suppose we take to the road. There aren't many good days left. Once winter comes you and I will be more or less chained to the house."

The deep eyes of the dog clung to his face. Presently, his hand holding the hard handle-grip of Lady's harness, he listened at Joe Morrow's bedroom door. His nephew was still asleep. Out on the dirt road Dr. Stone said, "Lady, away," and they turned north to where Indian summer lingered late in the hills and the valleys were a brown haze. By and by there was wood smoke in the man's nostrils, and the distant babble of many alien tongues. And, while he wondered about this a woman's voice, old and weak, quavered at him from the roadside.

"Your fortune, kind master, if it's safe near the beast and you blind. Cross my palm with silver, and----"

Gypsies! The doctor laughed and shook his gray, lion head. His left hand held to the harness; his right hand swung a light cane. Abruptly the cane lost contact with a field fence and touched nothing. The man said, "Lady, right," and passed through a pasture gate onto Allan Robb's land as unerringly as though he could see the gate itself. And the thought that lay in his mind had to do with the gypsy encampment and how long it would be before Alec Landry discovered the trespass and roared the intruders off.

And now, suddenly, the stillness that seemed part of the smoky haze was broken, and the morning was filled with the far-off echoes of a sledge or a pick swung against rock and dirt. The sound, the doctor decided, came from the deep ravine that divided the Robb estate. But when man and dog came to the wooden bridge that spanned the ravine, there was no sound save the gurgle of water running among the sharp rocks far below.

"Hello, down there!" Dr. Stone called.

Silence! Lady stood rigid and a low growl rumbled in her throat. The man, sharpened by an intangible something, touched the alert ears, and the dog was quiet. A wind sighed through the bare branches of the trees, and all at once there was dust and grit in his face. The grit burned like fire. He put up a quick hand and rubbed hot, harsh particles between his fingers. For a time he stood there motionless, startled; and then, slowly, he moved off the bridge with the dog.

An hour later he was back on the dirt road. Horses' hoofs raced and pounded, and voices shouted and halloed. Lady pulled him out of the way, toward the safety of a hedge, and the young people who had come for Allan's party thundered past. One pair of hoofs pranced, and one of the riders rode back.

"The new mare, Allan?" Dr. Stone asked.

"No, sir. Skipper thinks it's more in keeping not to ride her until tomorrow." Skipper had always been Allan Robb's name for his guardian. "Did you run into the gypsies?"

The doctor was surprised. "You know they're there?"

"Of course. I think we all know they're there."

The doctor's surprise increased. "Alec, too?"

"Skipper?" Allan's laugh rang. "Doctor, I think Skipper's softening. Of course he knows they're there--he must. Cousin Bruce, too. You remember Bruce--forever chasing boys out of the orchard when he came on vacation? Last night I saw him talking pleasantly to one of the gypsy men."

"Where was Bruce? At their camp?"

"No; down at the ravine bridge." Spurs touched the horse. "You and Joe will be over this afternoon?"

"Nothing could keep me away," Dr. Stone said quietly. The horse was gone in a crescendo of hoof-beats, and the blind man again stood thinking for a time before moving on.

Joe Morrow met him at the house gate. "Allan stopped and said we were to go over, Uncle David. He's going to show me the mare. And there's a story in the _Herald_ about Bruce Robb. He's being sued--." The boy found the story in the paper. "For eight thousand five hundred dollars." He spoke the sum in a tone of awe.

Dr. Stone whistled soundlessly. How much would a good horse cost today? Five hundred dollars? If a man who couldn't pay his bills spent five hundred dollars for a birthday present----

"Joe, do you think you could get into that ravine on Allan's land without being seen?"

"I--I think so."

"Somebody was there this morning hiding under the planking of the bridge."

Joe stared. "How did you know?"

"Lady warned me. Then, whoever was under there, had a pipe. The hot grains of tobacco blew into my face."

The boy's heart missed a beat. "You think the gypsies--"

The blind man shrugged. "I'd like to know what story the ravine could tell. Give it a look, Joe, and keep out of sight."

Lady, out of her harness, drowsed in a patch of sun, but Dr. Stone sat with a perplexed pucker between his sightless eyes. By and by familiar footsteps came hurriedly along the dirt road, and he arose and went to the porch door.

"Somebody's been messing under the bridge," Joe reported. "A lot of rock's been knocked out and a lot of dirt dug away. Does it mean anything, Uncle David?"

"Perhaps," the blind man said, and took the dog's harness down from a peg. "It's time we looked in at the party."

Allan Robb's house was gay with noise and with laughter. Young people seemed to be everywhere--on the porch, on the lawn, back toward the stables. Joe, walking with his uncle and the dog, was conscious of curious glances and voices that flattened out and became silent. And so they went up to the porch to be met by Allan in the great hall.

"Glad you came, Doctor. Joe, I'll show you the mare--" His voice broke off. "Bruce, here's an old friend."

Joe edged back a step. Bruce Robb, proud and imperious, had often driven him from Allan's acres, and he was still a little in awe of the man. But the Bruce he met today was morose and restless, and given to a habit of gnawing on a clipped, black mustache.

Alec Landry surged down the hall. "Hi, Doctor. A party to be remembered. Well, why not? It isn't every day a man comes of age."

"Aren't you a day early?" Dr. Stone asked mildly.

"Why wait for the day to arrive. Meet it; greet it; welcome it on the threshold. The old Indian tribes had the right idea."

Joe wondered what Indians had to do with Allan's birthday.

"Symbolism," Alec Landry roared heartily. "At midnight Allan becomes of age, and immediately he begins to exercise the prerogatives of a man. At a minute past the hour he walks into the library with two witnesses and signs his will. At four tomorrow morning he'll saddle the mare Bruce gave him and ride it for the first time. Ride it, Doctor, in the dark of the night and on his own land. Ride it through the woodland to the bridge, and over the ravine, and up East Hill. And then, alone on the hilltop, he'll meet his manhood in the dawn."

"Quite an idea," the blind man said. And then: "Might I trouble either of you gentlemen for a pipeful of tobacco?"

Joe thought they must all hear the breath that rattled in his throat. A man, smoking a pipe, had hidden--. Did his uncle suspect somebody here? His hot eyes watched to see who would bring forth tobacco.