Part 7

“Oh anything—ships or shoes or sealing wax,” she returned lightly. “Personally I’ve always found shoes a good subject when hard pressed. Middle-aged people are practically certain to have foot troubles and they just dote on telling you about the kind of shoes they wear and where they got ’em and what a lot they had to pay!”

I giggled. “But if Mrs. Viner’s in bed she won’t be wearing shoes.”

“Oh, I guess she isn’t a permanent invalid. I guess it’ll work out all right. Now do hurry and get ready so we can catch the nine-thirty bus. Aunt Cal’s wrapping up the dandelion wine.”

XV

Tracks in the Dust

TWENTY minutes later we set forth. But we had not reached the corner of Harbor Street before we ran into Hattie May. She was walking fast and her face was red. “Why, Hattie May,” I cried, “what is the matter? Your dress is wrong side out!”

Hattie May looked vaguely down at the blue print frock she wore. “Well, it’s no wonder!” she panted. “I dressed in such a hurry——”

“But what _is_ the matter?” Eve demanded. “Is it a fire or something?”

“It—it’s Hamish,” she cried, still struggling with her breath. “He—he’s gone!”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“How do I know? If I knew, I wouldn’t be running round the streets like this, would I?”

“Well do sit down on this horse block,” Eve suggested, “and tell us what’s happened.”

Hattie sank gratefully down. “Well, all day yesterday,” she began, “Hamish acted queer!”

“How d’you mean queer?” I inquired.

“Well as if he had something on his mind or—or was planning something. I kept my eye on him all day because I was suspicious that he was up to something. I didn’t let him out of my sight a single minute.”

“Poor Hamish!” I murmured.

She turned on me sharply. “Well I’ve got to look after him, haven’t I? I promised mother. You don’t know what crazy things Hamish can do!”

“All right,” Eve soothed. “Go on, tell us what happened.”

“Well we went for a little ride after supper. I thought maybe that would get him calmed down. But he wouldn’t go far, said he was sleepy and was going to turn in early. But of course I see now that that was just a blind—a trick to get me out of the way. If I’d had any sense, I’d have suspected it at the time. Oh, I’ve been such a fool!” The last word came out with something suspiciously like a sob.

“But I don’t see as you were to blame, Hattie May,” I said. “Do get on and tell us the rest.”

“Why, that’s all! I went into his room this morning to call him for breakfast and he simply wasn’t there! His—his bed hadn’t been slept in at all!” she wailed.

“Gracious,” I exclaimed, “you mean he’d been gone all night!”

Hattie May nodded, her lips quivering ominously. “I—I w-went to the place where he keeps his car and the man said he’d come back at half past nine last night and taken it out again and—and they haven’t seen him since. And now—oh, I don’t know what to do!”

“Why I wouldn’t be so upset, Hattie May,” Eve Said quietly. “I’m quite sure Hamish is able to take care of himself, even if he does do queer things. He’s not a bit stupid, you know. Tell me, haven’t you any notion where he could have gone—didn’t he drop a hint even?”

“No. The only thing I can think of is that he went over to Millport to try to get trace of that terrible villain who sold him the hair tonic. Ever since he found out who he was at the picnic Saturday, he’s been funny, like I told you.”

“Yes,” I said, “I remember he said he was going to get even with him.”

“Hamish’s like that,” said his sister. “He can’t bear to have anyone put anything over on him. I guess maybe he’s got one of those superior complexions or whatever you call it.”

“I don’t think his complexion is anything remarkable,” said Eve with a giggle. Then she added seriously, “But honest, Hattie May, if he’s just gone to Millport, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”

“Of course not,” I agreed. “Maybe he had a breakdown—I dare say he’ll turn up any minute.”

“If it was a breakdown, he could have phoned me, couldn’t he? I tell you he’s got mixed up with that awful barber creature somehow. You can’t tell what may have happened with a man like that—a man that wears a wig and—and digs up gardens! How do we know,” she went on wildly, “what he dug that hole for—how do we know he wasn’t burying a b-bloody weapon or—or one of his victims!”

“Oh, for heavens sake, pull yourself together, Hattie May,” I said with some severity. I knew by experience that the best way to treat Hattie May when she began to get hysterical was to scold. If you tried sympathy and kind words, she just got worse.

“Yes,” chimed in Eve, “there’s simply no sense in your going on like this. Nothing has happened to Hamish. I’d be willing to bet my best embroidered slip on it. The thing for you to do is to come along with us right now to Old Beecham to call on a friend of Aunt Cal’s. And by the time you get back, you’ll very likely find Hamish eating his dinner at the Inn—see if you don’t.” Hattie May wiped her eyes on her dress skirt. “I c-can’t go c-calling in this dress,” she whimpered. “The s-seams all show! I’d be the laughingstock of Millport.”

“Oh, nobody’s going to notice it,” I said. “All you have to do is to act as if it was something new from Fifth Avenue! Come on, we’ll miss the bus if we don’t hurry.”

She got up uncertainly. “You don’t think we ought to go to the Police Station,” she faltered, “and report Hamish’s disappearance?”

“I don’t believe there is any,” I said. “Anyway there’ll be time enough to find out if Hamish isn’t back by dinner time.”

“I feel all in,” said Hattie May as we hurried her down the street. “It’s the shock, I suppose. You can’t think how I felt when I opened Hamish’s door and saw his bed all smooth and empty. It was just like a murder story. You know, when the valet goes to call his master and finds——”

“Oh, cut it, Hattie May,” Eve ordered. “There’s the bus—we’d better run!”

Fortunately for us the bus was late in leaving, owing to the fact that one of the passengers was having an argument with the butcher across the street. We continued to cheer Hattie May during the short ride to The Corners. We decided that if Hamish wasn’t back when we returned, we would get hold of Michael. He would know what to do and that would be better than going to the police, because we did not want publicity.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Hattie May agreed tearfully. “I’d hate to have anything get into the papers, mother’d be sure to hear of it.”

“Oh, it won’t come to that,” I returned with considerable more confidence than I felt. For I realized as his sister had said that with a boy like Hamish you never could tell what he might do. And I could well imagine that Mr. Harry Bangs was not one to allow a boy of fifteen with big ears and a nose for other people’s business to interfere with his plans.

As the bus rolled away and we started on foot up the hill toward Old Beecham, we told Hattie May of our plan to stop at Craven House on the way back and take another look for the missing statue. Hattie May said she didn’t think she ought to waste time hunting for lost goddesses when her own brother was missing.

“She wasn’t a goddess,” I corrected, more for the sake of making talk than anything else. “She was an enchantress who turned the companions of Ulysses into swine by the wave of her wand.”

“Well, she must have been a very disagreeable person,” returned Hattie May. “I’m sure I don’t see why anyone should want a statue of her about!”

As we came abreast of the old house, Hattie May said she’d got to sit down and rest for a minute. The road was deserted as usual. Beyond the wall the old house seemed asleep. “To think that we almost spent a night there,” I mused.

“I’ll bet you’d have seen a ghost if you had,” said Hattie May. “I can’t think whatever induced you to go inside in the first place.”

“That was Eve’s curiosity,” I said. “Without curiosity, you know, Hattie May, you never get anywhere.”

Eve said nothing. She was gazing intently at the road in front of where we sat. “I didn’t know cars came out this way much,” she remarked at last.

“They don’t,” I said. “That day on the roof we didn’t see a single one. Michael said there was a better road the other side of the hill.”

“But look at those tracks there in the dust,” Eve said. “It looks as if two or three cars had been out here recently.”

Hattie May was on her feet in a flash. “You’re dead right!” she cried. “A car has turned around right in front of this house—see the double tracks!”

She was right. There were marks of tires going in both directions clearly discernible in the dry dust of the road.

“Maybe Hamish came out here!” Hattie May cried. “Maybe he went inside the house and—and—” she cast terrified eyes beyond the wall.

“Hush, Hattie May, don’t be ridiculous. There aren’t any such things as ghosts as you very well know. Besides,” I added illogically, “no one ever heard of one’s harming a person.”

“But people die of fright,” Hattie May went on wildly. “Or—or they fall in a swoon. I’m sure I should if I saw one and Hamish is a year younger than me. Oh, Eve, would you dare to—to just go up to the house and—listen?”

“Of course I would,” Eve assured her. “What is there to be afraid of? I’d go inside only the door is locked of course. But honestly, I don’t believe those tracks mean a thing—somebody just drove up, discovered he was on the wrong road and turned around, that’s all.”

But Hattie May shook her head. “No. I feel that something has happened,” she declared solemnly. “I’m as sure as anything that those marks were made by Hamish’s car. And,” she flung up her head with a heroic gesture, “it’s my duty not to leave this place till I’ve found out—found out what there is to know!”

XVI

The Rescue

WE climbed over the wall and made our way through the tall grass to the rear of the house. Eve, as good as her word, walked up to the back door and knocked. Not, she said, that she expected any answer but just to satisfy Hattie May.

But Hattie May did not seem at all reassured by the silence that answered us. “If Hamish is swooned of—or d-dead,” she cried, “of course he won’t hear! What we’ve got to do is to break down that door! Or——” she glanced helplessly around—“or get inside somehow. I just know Hamish is somewhere about this place!”

I saw that she was on the verge of becoming hysterical again. “Nonsense,” I said, “if Hamish was here, we’d have seen his car, wouldn’t we?”

“I can’t help it, I’ve got to get inside,” she repeated, her voice getting more and more raspy and high-pitched. “I guess if your only brother was lying——” she paused. Eve who had stopped knocking, now had her hand on the latch. To our utter amazement it turned in her hand and the door swung inward. Unlocked! What did that mean?

Well to Hattie May it meant just one thing—a confirmation of her worst fears. She rushed inside. “Hamish!” she cried at the top of her lungs. “Hamish, where are you?” Her voice went echoing through the big kitchen and the wide hall beyond. But no other sound answered it. “Hamish! Hamish, where are you?”

I was still standing just within the doorway. In truth I had little desire to enter the house again. Suddenly Eve who had not moved from the threshold, caught me by the elbow. “Listen!” she said, “I thought I heard something!”

She had swung round and was gazing out toward the garden. And as we stood there there came to our ears, faint and far away, something which sounded like a muffled cry. Hattie May turned back. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s the matter?”

“We thought we heard something outside,” I said. “Listen, there it is again!” Was it my imagination or was it a cry for help!

“Oh, it’s him—it’s Hamish!” In one dash Hattie May was through the doorway and running wildly down the grass grown path toward the garden. “Hamish! Hamish!” she called. And as we sped after her, we heard the answer again. And this time there was no mistake—“Help, help!” came the cry!

Through the weeds and brambles we streaked, stumbling over dead branches, scratching faces and clothes—on and on in the direction of that cry. Hattie May was in the lead. Once she tripped and fell and Eve and I had to pull her up. We came to the end of the garden. Beyond the underbrush was so dense that we could see nothing ahead. But Hattie May raced on blindly; her hair streaming about her face, her thin dress torn; while a trickle of blood from a scratch across her nose added to the general wildness of her aspect.

“Help, help, help!” The cry was quite near now. We came to a straggling line of stones where a wall had once been. On the other side we made out the traces of what seemed to be the foundation of an old house. The cries appeared to come from a spot in the undergrowth just beyond this. Hattie May plowed on, Eve was at her heels. “Hamish! Where are you?”

“Here I am!” It was Hamish’s voice, there was no mistaking it—but oddly muffled.

Suddenly ahead of me I saw Eve pause almost like an animal who scents danger. “Wait!” she cried.

But Hattie May did not heed. “Hamish,” she repeated frantically, “where are you!” As she spoke I saw Eve reach out and grab her dress skirt. And she was just in time. A second later, coming up with them, I saw that they were standing on the very edge of a yawning hole. A rotted board half covered it but the board was broken and showed new splinters as if some heavy object had but recently fallen through.

“It’s a well!” Hattie May cried, dropping to her knees and peering into the blackness below. “Oh, Hamish, are you down there--are you drowned?”

“Get a rope,” came back the voice. “I’m perishin’! Get a rope and a man quick!”

“Oh, Hamish, are you drowned?” repeated Hattie May wildly.

“Of course he isn’t drowned,” Eve said calmly. “A drowned person doesn’t scream like that. It’s a dry well, don’t you understand?”

“A dry well!”

“We’ve got to get a man and a rope right away,” Eve went on practically. “I think we’d better go up to the farm where Michael works, it can’t be far.”

Hattie May regained some slight semblance of sanity at this suggestion. “You two go,” she ordered. “I’ll stay here by Hamish. And oh, do hurry, you can’t tell what awful things are down that well—snakes and terrible toads! It must be a mile deep, at least it looks it.”

“I’ll stay with Hattie May,” I said. “You go find Michael, Eve.”

So Eve flew away. Hattie May put her face to the hole—while I took fast hold on what remained of her dress—and called down cheering words to the prisoner. “Eve’s gone for Michael,” she shouted. “He works up the road. What? What’s that you said?” She lifted her face from the hole. “Sandy, did you hear that?”

I shook my head.

“He says,” said Hattie May incredibly, “that Michael is in jail!”

I stared at her. “You must have misunderstood,” I said.

“That’s what it sounded like. You don’t suppose,” a new terror was dawning in her eyes, “that being down there all this time has—has affected Hamish’s mind?”

“I think you misunderstood him,” I repeated soothingly. “Perhaps he said for Michael to bring a pail.”

“A pail! Oh, then there must be water in the well after all! He’s probably caught pneumonia!” She put her head back to the hole. “Oh, Hamish, are you very wet?”

“He says he’s dry as a bone!” she sat up. “He says he’s got to have a drink right away!”

“Well, I guess he’ll just have to wait,” I said.

But Hattie May’s eyes had lighted on something—a bottle on the ground where Eve had left it. It was the dandelion wine for Mrs. Viner. She pounced on it. “I’m going to drop this down!” she exclaimed.

“You’re crazy, Hattie May!” I protested. “The bottle will be sure to break or hit him on the head. Besides,” I added weakly, “very likely he doesn’t like dandelion wine—many don’t.”

“How can you talk like that, Sandy, at such a moment! I guess if your brother was perishing of thirst and you had some drink to give him—I guess you wouldn’t hesitate!”

“Well,” I said resignedly, “if you crack his skull, I don’t think it will help matters any.” But she wasn’t listening. She was leaning again over the jagged aperture, the bottle in her hand. I took another strangle hold on the back of her skirt and held my peace.

The bottle disappeared into the void. Just as it did so, I heard the sound of voices behind me. Michael Gilpatrick was running toward us and behind him was a man in blue overalls, carrying a bundle of rope. Panting in the rear, came Eve.

“Oh, Michael, I’m glad you’re not—I’m glad you came!” I cried. He gave me barely a nod. I had never seen him look so solemn. “How’d he get down there?” he asked going quickly to the hole and peering down.

“We don’t know—we heard him shouting.”

“Oh, do hurry,” urged Hattie May. “He says he’s perishing.”

The man, whom Michael called Jo, had now come up, and, without any more words, the two set to work. We waited breathlessly, Hattie May clinging hard to my wrist, Eve still panting on the ground at our feet. There was an endless wait after they let down the rope while they waited for Hamish to make it fast. Finally came the call to go ahead, and they began to haul. Inch by inch, tugging singly and together. The muscles in Michael’s arms stood out brown and hard; perspiration streamed from his face; even the burly Jo was gasping.

At the moment when her brother’s head appeared above the hole, Hattie May let out a frightful scream. I don’t know whether it was just the reaction or the sight of his straw-colored hair and face plastered with mud. But she continued to scream until the rescue was completed and Hamish himself, blinking and tottering on unsteady feet, stood before us. “Shut up!” he said.

His sister threw herself upon him. “Oh, Hamish, you look awful—are you hurt?”

Michael put out a hand to unfasten the rope about his waist. “He’s okay, aren’t you, Hamish?” he said, gently pushing Hattie May aside.

“An’ fer the love of Mike, how’d you manage to fall down there?” Jo demanded, curiously surveying him.

Hamish didn’t answer. He was peering at Michael through near-sighted eyes—his glasses were gone. “How’d you get out?” he demanded suddenly.

A deeper flush poured over Michael’s hot face. But he only shrugged. “How long have you been down there?” he asked in his turn.

“All night,” Hamish told him. “And, boy, it was some night, believe me!”

“It must have been ghastly,” returned Michael. “How in the world did it happen?”

But Hamish announced that he couldn’t say another word till he’d had a drink. “Didn’t you get the bottle I threw down?” his sister demanded. His only answer was a look!

XVII

Caught!

BACK at the house we heard the whole story. The man Jo had gone back to work but Michael still lingered. Hamish had taken a long drink of Craven House well water in bold defiance of Hattie May’s warning that it was practically sure to be full of deadly germs; his attitude being, I think, that after what he’d been through a germ more or less was of trifling moment. He was seated on an old wooden bench at the back door. Hattie May had wiped some of the mud from his face but it still had a grayish unhealthy cast.

“How in the world did you happen to go way out there?” It was Michael who got the story going.

“It was on account of those cops,” Hamish said. “I was tryin’ to get to the place where I’d parked my car ’thout runnin’ into ’em. You see after they got you——”

“Were you in the house too?” Michael interrupted.

Hamish shook his head. “No, I was outside but I heard most everything that went on. I got here ’bout ten o’clock last night. You see I had kind of a hunch that that Bangs fellow wasn’t through with the place, after me runnin’ into him in Millport selling that hair tonic. I said to myself, ‘He’s still on the trail of sumpin or I miss my guess.’”

“Yeah.” Michael nodded understandingly. “Go on.”

“Well I parked my car up the road in that little lane that runs through somebody’s orchard. Then I came back here to the house. I hid out in the bushes there to sort of reconnoiter and I hadn’t been there more’n a few minutes when sure enough along comes a car. It stopped down the road a bit and after a while I spied a man comin’ through the bushes, making for the back door. I recognized him even though it was dark—it was Bangs.”

“Oh, Hamish, weren’t you scared to death?” cried Hattie May.

“Scared of what?” inquired her brother. “There was I lyin’ low behind a bush—he hadn’t seen me.”

“Oh, go on,” I urged, “what happened then?”

“Well he unlocks the door, goes inside and locks it after him. ‘All right, mister,’ I says to myself, ‘that’s all I wanted to know. Now I’ll just buzz over to Millport and get a cop and you can do some explaining!’”

Michael grinned wryly. “But you didn’t have to!” he put in.

“Gosh no! I hadn’t any more than got to the front wall creepin’ along so’s not to make a sound when, boy, ’long comes another car. I guess you know who that was,” he looked at Michael. “It stopped down the road about where the first one had, near as I could judge. Bye and bye I heard voices. I picked me a bush close by the house and lay down again. The voices got nearer. One of the fellows had a flash and I saw they were cops, two of ’em.”

“Oh, Hamish, what did you do then?”

“Do? I just lay low and listened. I could hear every word they said. One of ’em went to the back door and one to the front. Pretty soon I heard the back door crash in—that was the husky one did that,” again he looked at Michael and again, surprisingly, Michael nodded confirmation.

“Well so they got in and I could hear them walkin’ round through the house. Say, get me another drink.”

Michael brought the water. “Oh, do go on,” Hattie May said impatiently. “What did the villain do when they got him?”

Hamish finished the glass of water before he replied. “They didn’t get him at all,” he said dramatically. “They got Michael instead! Can you imagine that?”

“Michael!” All of us turned upon the other boy as if expecting him to deny this astounding statement. But he only nodded gravely. “But—but I don’t understand,” Eve cried, “what were you doing in the house?”

Michael gave a shrug. “Oh, it’s just a mess,” he said gloomily. “The worst I ever got into, I guess. You see I had the same sort of hunch as Hamish. After he told of seeing Bangs in Millport, I suspected right away that he was still hanging around for a reason and that that reason was somehow connected with this place. I thought if he did any more digging, he’d probably do it at night. So I rode out here last night on my bicycle and climbed into that upstairs window that you girls left unlocked.”

“Oh, wasn’t it awfully spooky!” I cried.

Michael gave a wry laugh. “No, it was quite peaceful—for a while. I poked around some with my flash to make sure the house was empty and then sat down by the window to wait in case Mr. Bangs should turn up. Well, everything might have been all right if it hadn’t been for the fool idea I’d had—” he hesitated, looking rather sheepish. “Well, you see, I’d had the brilliant idea of trying to disguise myself.”

“Disguise yourself!” Eve cried. “But how?”

“Well I had that wig I’d pulled off Bangs that night I chased him—I suppose it was that that gave me the idea. I thought it would prevent anyone’s recognizing me in case I was seen coming in here. So I fixed myself up with this wig and a straw hat and an old suit of Al’s. I found an old pair of spectacles around the house too.”

I giggled. “You must have looked rather like Bangs himself!”

“That’s just the dickens of it—I did! Too much so—enough at least to fool the police!”

“You don’t mean they took you for that villain—not actually?” cried Hattie May incredulously.

“They sure did!”

“But what did they want him for?” I asked. “Was it the hair tonic?”