"Good-morning, Mr. Crow. What are you doing away out here in the country? Jimmy"—to a small boy—"please close the door." Anderson had left it open, and it was a raw January wind which followed him into the room.
"'Scuse me," he murmured. "Seems I ain't got sense enough to shet a door even. My wife says—but you don't keer to hear about that, do you? Oh, I jest dropped in," finally answering her question. He took a bench near the big stove and spread his hands before the sheet-iron warmth. "Lookin' up a little affair, that's all. Powerful chilly, ain't it?"
"Very." She stood on the opposite side of the stove, puzzled by this unexpected visit, looking at him with undisguised curiosity.
"Ever been to Chicago?" asked Anderson suddenly, hoping to catch her unawares.
"Oh, yes. I have lived there," she answered readily. He shifted his legs twice and took a hasty pull at his whiskers.
"That's what I thought. Why don't you go back there?"
"Because I'm teaching school here, Mr. Crow."
"Well, I reckon that's a good excuse. I thought mebby you had a different one."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, I dunno. I jest asked."
"You are a detective, are you not?" asked Miss Banks, smiling brightly and with understanding.
"Oh, off an' on I do a little detectin'. See my badge?"
"Am I suspected of a heinous crime?" she asked so abruptly that he gasped. "Won't you take off your cap, Mr. Crow?" He removed it sheepishly.
"Lord, no!" he exclaimed in confusion. "I mean the crime—not the cap. Well, I guess I'll be goin'. School's goin' to take up, I reckon. See you later, Miss Banks." He restored his cap to its accustomed place and was starting toward the door, a trifle dazed and bewildered.
"What is it that you wish to find out, Mr. Crow?" she suddenly called to him. He halted and faced about so quickly that his reply came like a shot out of a gun.
"I'm on the lookout fer a girl—an' she'll be's rich's Crowses if I c'n only find 'er. I dassent tell 'er name jest now," he went on, slowly retracing his steps, "'cause I don't want people—er her either, fer that matter—to git onter my scheme. But you jest wait." He was standing very close to her now and looking her full in the face. "You're sure you don't know anythin' 'bout her?"
"Why, how should I know? You've told me nothing."
"You've got purty good clothes fer a common school-teacher," he flung at her in an aggressive, impertinent tone, but the warm colour that swiftly rose to her cheeks forced him to recall his words, for he quickly tempered them with, "Er, at least, that's what all the women folks say."
"Oh, so some one has been talking about my affairs? Some of your excellent women want to know more about me than—"
"Don't git excited, Miss Banks," he interrupted; "the women ain't got anythin' to do with it—I mean, it's nothin' to them. I—"
"Mr. Crow," she broke in, "if there is anything you or anybody in Tinkletown wants to know about me you will have to deduce it for yourself. I believe that is what you call it—deduce? And now good-bye, Mr. Crow. Recess is over," she said pointedly; and Mr. Crow shuffled out as the children galloped in.
That evening Ed Higgins and 'Rast Little came to call, but she excused herself because of her correspondence. In her little upstairs room she wrote letter after letter, one in particular being voluminous. Mrs. Holabird, as she passed her door, distinctly heard her laugh aloud. It was a point to be recalled afterward with no little consideration. Later she went downstairs, cloaked warmly, for a walk to the post-office. Ed Higgins was still in the parlour talking to the family. He hastily put in his petition to accompany her, and it was granted absently. Then he surreptitiously and triumphantly glanced through the window, the scene outside pleasing him audibly. 'Rast was standing at the front gate talking to Anderson Crow. Miss Banks noticed as they passed the confused twain at the gate that Anderson carried his dark lantern.
"Any trace of the heiress, Mr. Crow?" she asked merrily.
"Doggone it," muttered Anderson, "she'll give the whole snap away!"
"What's that?" asked 'Rast.
"Nothin' much," said Anderson, repairing the damage. "Ed's got your time beat to-night, 'Rast, that's all!"
"I could 'a' took her out ridin' to-night if I'd wanted to," lied 'Rast promptly. "I'm goin' to take her to the spellin'-bee to-morrow night out to the schoolhouse."
"Did she say she'd go with you?"
"Not yet. I was jest goin' to ast her to-night."
"Mebby Ed's askin' her now."
"Gosh dern it, that's so! Maybe he is," almost wailed 'Rast; and Anderson felt sorry for him as he ambled away from the gate and its love-sick guardian.
Young Mr. Higgins found his companion bubbling over with vivacity. Her pretty chin was in the air and every word bore the promise of a laugh. He afterward recalled one little incident of their walk through the frosty night, and repeated it to Anderson Crow with more awe than seemed necessary. They were passing the town pump on their way to the post-office. The street was dark and deserted.
"Gosh!" said Ed, "I bet the town pump's froze up!"
"It doesn't seem very cold," she said brightly.
"Gee! it's below zero! I bet 'Rast thinks it's pretty doggone cold up there by your gate."
"Poor 'Rast! His mother should keep him indoors on nights like this." Ed laughed loud and long and a tingle of happiness shot through his erstwhile shivering frame. "I'm not a bit cold," she went on. "See—feel my hand. I'm not even wearing mittens."
Ed Higgins gingerly clasped the little hand, but it was withdrawn at once. He found it as warm as toast. Words of love surged to his humble lips; his knees felt a tendency to lower themselves precipitously to the frozen sidewalk; he was ready to grovel at her feet—and he wondered if they were as warm as toast. But 'Rast Little came up at that instant and the chance was lost.
"Doggone!" slipped unconsciously but bitterly from Ed's lips.
"Can I be your company to the spellin'-bee to-morrow night, Miss Banks?" burst unceremoniously from the lips of the newcomer.
"Thank you, 'Rast. I was just wondering how I should get out to the schoolhouse. You are very kind. We'll go in the bob-sled with the Holabirds."
"Doggone!" came in almost a wail from poor Ed. He could have killed 'Rast for the triumphant laugh that followed.
In the meantime Anderson Crow was preparing to crawl in between the icy sheets at home. Mrs. Crow was "sitting up" with old Mrs. Luce, who was ill next door.
"She's a girl with a past," reflected Anderson. "She's a mystery, that's what she is; but I'll unravel her. She had a mighty good reason fer sawin' me off out there to-day. I was gittin' too close home. She seen I was about to corner her. By gum, I hope she don't suspect nothin'! She's found out that Ed Higgins has a good job down to Lamson's store, an' she's settin' her cap fer him. It shows she'd ruther live in the city than in the country—so it's all up with 'Rast. That proves she's from Chicago er some other big place. Ed's gettin' eight dollars a week down there at Lamson's. By gum, that boy's doin' well! I used to think he wouldn't amount to nothin'. It shows that the best of us git fooled in a feller once in a while. To-morrow night I'll go out to the spellin'-match, an' when the chanct comes I'll sidle up to her an' whisper her real name in her ear. I bet four dollars an' a half that'll fetch her purty prompt. Doggone, these here sheets air cold! It's forty below zero right here in this bed."
Anderson Crow soon slept, but he did not dream of the tragedy the next night was to bring upon Tinkletown, nor of the test his prowess was to endure.
The next night and the "spellin'-bee" at school No. 5 came on apace together. It was bitterly cold and starlight. By eight o'clock the warm schoolhouse was comfortably filled with the "spellers" of the neighbourhood, their numbers increased by competitors from Tinkletown itself. In the crowd were men and women who time after time had "spelled down" whole companies, and who were eager for the conflict. They had "studied up" on their spelling for days in anticipation of a hard battle in the words. Mrs. Borum and Mrs. Cartwill, both famous for their victories and for the rivalry that existed between them, were selected as captains of the opposing sides, and Miss Banks herself was to "give out" the words. The captains selected their forces, choosing alternately from the anxious crowd of grown folks. There were no children there, for it was understood that big words would be given out—words children could not pronounce, much less spell.
The teacher was amazingly pretty on this eventful night. She was dressed as no other woman in Bramble County, except Rosalie Gray, could have attired herself—simply, tastefully, daintily. Her face was flushed and eager and the joy of living glowed in every feature. Ed Higgins and 'Rast Little were struck senseless, nerveless by this vision of health and loveliness. Anderson Crow stealthily admitted to himself that she was a stranger in a strange land; she was not of Tinkletown or any place like it.
Just as the captains were completing their selections of spellers the door opened and three strangers entered the school-room, overcoated and furred to the tips of their noses—two men and a woman. As Miss Banks rushed forward to greet them—she had evidently been expecting them—the startled assemblage caught its breath and stared. To the further amazement of every one, Rosalie hastened to her side and joined in the effusive welcome. Every word of joyous greeting was heard by the amazed listeners and every word from the strangers was as distinct. Surely the newcomers were friends of long standing. When their heavy wraps were removed the trio stood forth before as curious an audience as ever sat spellbound. The men were young, well dressed and handsome; the woman a beauty of the most dashing type. Tinkletown's best spellers quivered with excitement.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Miss Banks, her voice trembling with eagerness, "let me introduce my friends, Mrs. Farnsworth, Mr. Farnsworth, and Mr. Reddon. They have driven over to attend the spelling-match." Ed Higgins and 'Rast Little observed with sinking hearts that it was Mr. Reddon whom she led forward by the hand, and they cursed him inwardly for the look he gave her—because she blushed beneath it.
"You don't live in Boggs City," remarked Mr. Crow, appointing himself spokesman. "I c'n deduce that, 'cause you're carrying satchels an' valises."
"Mr. Crow is a famous detective," explained Miss Banks. Anderson attempted to assume an unconscious pose, but in leaning back he missed the end of the bench, and sat sprawling upon the lap of Mrs. Harbaugh. As Mrs. Harbaugh had little or no lap to speak of, his downward course was diverted but not stayed. He landed on the floor with a grunt that broke simultaneously with the lady's squeak; a fraction of a second later a roar of laughter swept the room. It was many minutes before quiet was restored and the "match" could be opened. Mrs. Cartwill chose Mrs. Farnsworth and her rival selected the husband of the dashing young woman. Mr. Reddon firmly and significantly announced his determination to sit near the teacher "to preserve order," and not enter the contest of words.
Possibly it was the presence of the strangers that rattled and unnerved the famed spellers of both sides, for it was not long until the lines had dwindled to almost nothing. Three or four arrogant competitors stood forth and valiantly spelled such words as "Popocatepetl," "Tschaikowsky," "terpsichorean," "Yang-tse-Kiang," "Yseult," and scores of words that could scarcely be pronounced by the teacher herself. But at last, just as the sleepy watchers began to nod and yawn the hardest, Mrs. Cartwill stood alone and victorious, her single opponent having gone down on the word "sassafras." Anderson Crow had "gone down" early in the match by spelling "kerosene" "kerry-seen." Ed Higgins followed with "ceriseen," and 'Rast Little explosively had it "coal-oil."
During the turmoil incident to the dispersing of the gathered hosts Miss Banks made her way to 'Rast Little's side and informed him that the Farnsworths were to take her to Mrs. Holabird's in their big sleigh. 'Rast was floored. When he started to remonstrate, claiming to be her "company," big Tom Reddon interposed and drew Miss Banks away from her lover's wrath.
"But I'm so sorry for him, Tom," she protested contritely. "He did bring me here—in a way."
"Well, I'll take you home another way," said good-looking Mr. Reddon. It was also noticed that Rosalie Gray had much of a confidential nature to say to Miss Banks as they parted for the evening, she to go home in Blucher Peabody's new sleigh.
'Rast and Ed Higgins almost came to blows out at the hitch-rack, where the latter began twitting his discomfited rival. Anderson Crow kept them apart.
"I'll kill that big dude," growled 'Rast. "He's got no business comin' here an' rakin' up trouble between me an' her. You mark my words, I'll fix him before the night's over, doggone his hide!"
At least a dozen men, including Alf Reesling, heard this threat, and not one of them was to forget it soon. Anderson Crow noticed that Mrs. Holabird's bob-sled drove away without either Miss Banks or 'Rast Little in its capacious depths. Miss Banks announced that her three friends from the city and she would stay behind and close the schoolhouse, putting everything in order. It was Friday night, and there would be no session until the following Monday. Mr. Crow was very sleepy for a detective. He snored all the way home.
The next morning two farmers drove madly into Tinkletown with the astounding news that some one had been murdered at schoolhouse No. 5. In passing the place soon after daybreak they had noticed blood on the snow at the roadside. The school-room door was half open and they entered. Blood in great quantities smeared the floor near the stove, but there was no sign of humanity, alive or dead. Miss Banks's handkerchief was found on the floor saturated.
Moreover, the school-teacher was missing. She had not returned to the home of Mrs. Holabird the night before. To make the horror all the more ghastly, Anderson Crow, hastening to the schoolhouse, positively identified the blood as that of Miss Banks.
Sensations came thick and fast in Tinkletown during the next few hours. Investigation proved that 'Rast Little was nowhere to be found. He had not returned to his home after the spelling-bee, nor had he been seen since. Mrs. Holabird passed him in the road on her way home in the "bob-sled." In response to her command to "climb in" he sullenly said he was going to walk home by a "short cut" through the woods. A farmer had seen the stylish Farnsworth sleigh driving north furiously at half-past eleven, the occupants huddled in a bunch as if to protect themselves from the biting air. The witness was not able to tell "which was which" in the sleigh, but he added interest to the situation by solemnly asserting that one of the persons in the rear seat was "bundled up" more than the rest, and evidently was unable to sit erect.
According to his tale, the figure was lying over against the other occupant of the seat. He was also, positive that there were three figures in the front seat! Who was the extra person? was the question that flashed into the minds of the listeners. A small boy came to the schoolhouse at nine o'clock in the morning with 'Rast Little's new derby hat. He had picked it up at the roadside not far from the schoolhouse and in the direction taken by the Farnsworth party.
Anderson gave orders that no word of the catastrophe be carried to Rosalie, who was reported to be ill of a fever the next morning after the spelling-bee. She had a cough, and the doctor had said that nothing should be said or done to excite her.
The crowd at the schoolhouse grew larger as the morning passed Everybody talked in whispers; everybody was mystified beyond belief. All eyes were turned to Anderson Crow, who stood aloof, pondering as he had never pondered before. In one hand he held Miss Banks's bloody handkerchief and in the other a common school text-book on physiology. His badges and stars fairly revelled in their own importance.
"Don't pester him with questions," warned Isaac Porter, addressing Alf Reesling, the town drunkard, who had just arrived.
"But I got something I want to say to him," persisted Alf eagerly. Two or three strong men restrained him.
"Thunderation, Alf," whispered Elon Jones, "cain't you see he's figurin' something out? You're liable to throw him clear off the track if you say a word to him."
"Well, this is something he'd oughter know," almost whimpered Alf, rubbing his frozen ears.
"Sh!" muttered the bystanders, and poor Alf subsided. He was unceremoniously hustled into the background as Mr. Crow moved from the window toward the group.
"Gentlemen," said Anderson gravely, "there is somethin' wrong here." It is barely possible that this was not news to the crowd, but with one accord they collectively and severally exchanged looks of appreciation. "I've been readin' up a bit on the human body, an' I've proved one thing sure in my own mind."
"You bet you have, Anderson," said Elon Jones. "It's all settled. Let's go home."
"Settled nothin'!" said the marshal. "It's jest begun. Here's what I deduce: Miss Banks has been foully dealt with. Ain't this her blood, an' ain't she used her own individual handkerchief to stop it up? It's blood right square from her heart, gentlemen!"
"I don't see how—" began Ed Higgins; but Anderson silenced him with a look.
"Of course you don't, but you would if you'd 'a' been a detective as long's I have. What in thunder do you s'pose I got these badges and these medals fer? Fer not seein' how? No, siree! I got 'em fer seein' how; that's what!"
"But, Andy—"
"Don't call me 'Andy,'" commanded Mr. Crow.
"Well, then, Anderson, I'd like to know how the dickens she could use her own handkerchief if she was stabbed to the heart," protested Ed. He had been crying half the time. Anderson was stunned for the moment.
"Why—why—now, look here, Ed Higgins, I ain't got time to explain things to a derned idgit like you. Everybody else understands how, don't you?" and he turned to the crowd. Everybody said yes. "Well, that shows what a fool you are, Ed. Don't bother me any more. I've got work to do."
"Say, Anderson," began Alf Reesling from the outer circle, "I got something important to tell—"
"Who is that? Alf Reesling?" cried Anderson wrathfully.
"Yes; I want to see you private, Anderson. Its important," begged Alf.
"How many times have I got to set down on you, Alf Reesling?" exploded Anderson. "Doggone, I'd like to know how a man's to solve mysteries if he's got to stand around half the time an' listen to fambly quarrels. Tell yer wife I'll—"
"This ain't no family quarrel. Besides, I ain't got no wife. It's about this here—"
"That'll do, now, Alf! Not another word out of you!" commanded Anderson direfully.
"But, dern you, Anderson," exploded Alf, "I've got to tell you—"
But Anderson held up a hand.
"Don't swear in the presence of the dead," he said solemnly. "You're drunk, Alf; go home!" And Alf, news and all was hustled from the schoolhouse by a self-appointed committee of ten.
"Now, we'll search fer the body," announced Anderson. "Git out of the way, Bud!"
"I ain't standin' on it," protested twelve-year-old Bud Long.
"Well, you're standin' mighty near them blood-stains an'—"
"Yes, 'n ain't blood a part of the body?" rasped Isaac Porter scornfully; whereupon Bud faded into the outer rim.
"First we'll look down cellar," said Mr. Crow. "Where's the cellar at?"
"There ain't none," replied Elon Jones.
"What? No cellar? Well, where in thunder did they hide the body, then?"
"There's an attic," ventured Joe Perkins.
A searching party headed by Anderson Crow shinned up the ladder to the low garret. No trace of a body was to be found, and the searchers came down rather thankfully. Then, under Mr. Crow's direction, they searched the wood piles, the woods, and the fields for many rods in all directions. At noon they congregated at the schoolhouse. Alf Reesling was there.
"Find it?" said he thickly, with a cunning leer. He had been drinking. Anderson was tempted to club him half to death, but instead he sent him home with Joe Perkins, refusing absolutely to hear what the town drunkard had to say.
"Well, you'll wish you'd listened to me," ominously hiccoughed Alf; and then, as a parting shot, "I wouldn't tell you now fer eighteen dollars cash. You c'n go to thunder!" It was lèse majesté, but the crowd did nothing worse than stare at the offender.
Before starting off on the trail of the big sleigh, Anderson sent this message by wire to the lawyers in Chicago:
"I have found the girl you want, but the body is lost. Would you just as soon have her dead as alive?
"ANDERSON CROW."
In a big bob-sled the marshal and a picked sextette of men set off at one o'clock on the road over which the sleigh had travelled many hours before. Anderson had failed to report the suspected crime to the sheriff at Boggs City and was working alone on the mystery. He said he did not want anybody from town interfering with his affairs.
"Say, Andy—Anderson," said Harry Squires, now editor of the Banner, "maybe we're hunting the wrong body and the wrong people."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, ain't 'Rast Little missing? Maybe he's been killed, eh? And say, ain't there some chance that he did the killing? Didn't he say he was going to murder that city chap? Well, supposing he did. We're on the wrong track, ain't we?"
"Doggone you, Harry, that don't fit in with my deductions," wailed Anderson. "I wish you'd let me alone. 'Rast may have done the killin', but it's our place to find the body, ain't it? Whoever has been slew was taken away last night in the sleigh. S'posin it was Mr. Reddon! Well, consarn it, ain't he got a body same as anybody else? We've just got to find somebody's body, that's all. We've got to prove the corpus deelicti. Drive up, Bill!"
With a perseverance that spoke well for the detective's endurance, but ill for his intelligence, the "bob" sped along aimlessly. It was ridiculous to think of tracking a sleigh over a well-travelled road, and it was not until they reached the cross-roads that Harry Squires suggested that inquiries be made of the farmers in the neighbourhood. After diligent effort, a farmer was discovered who said he had heard the sleigh bells at midnight, and, peering from his window, had caught a glimpse of the party turning south at the cross-roads.
"Jest as I thought!" exclaimed Anderson. "They went south so's to skip Boggs City. Boys, they've got her body er 'Rast's body er that other feller's body with 'em, an' they're skootin' down this pike so's to get to the big bridge. My idee is that they allowed to drop the body in the river, which ain't friz plum over."
"Gee! We ain't expected to search all over the bottom of the river, are we, Anderson?" shivered Isaac Porter, the pump repairer.
"I ain't," said the leader, "but I can deputise anybody I want to."
And so they hurried on to the six-span bridge that crossed the ice-laden river. As they stood silent, awed and shivering on the middle span, staring down into the black water with its navy of swirling ice-chunks, even the heart of Anderson Crow chilled and grew faint.
"Boys," he said, "we've lost the track! Not even a bloodhound could track 'em in that water."
"Bloodhound?" sniffed Harry Squires. "A hippopotamus, you mean."
They were hungry and cold, and they were ready to turn homeward. Anderson said he "guessed" he'd turn the job over to the sheriff and his men. Plainly, he was much too hungry to do any more trailing. Besides, for more than an hour he had been thinking of the warm wood fire at home. Bill Rubley was putting the "gad" to the horses when a man on horseback rode up from the opposite end of the bridge. He had come far and in a hurry, and he recognised Anderson Crow.
"Say, Anderson!" he called, "somebody broke into Colonel Randall's summer home last night an' they're there yet. Got fires goin' in all the stoves, an' havin' a high old time. They ain't got no business there, becuz the place is closed fer the winter. Aleck Burbank went over to order 'em out; one of the fellers said he'd bust his head if he didn't clear out. I think it's a gang!"
A hurried interview brought out the facts. The invaders had come up in a big sleigh long before dawn, and—but that was sufficient. Anderson and his men returned to the hunt, eager and sure of their prey. Darkness was upon them when they came in sight of Colonel Randall's country place in the hills. There were lights in the windows and people were making merry indoors; while outside the pursuing Nemesis and his men were wondering how and where to assault the stronghold.
"I'll jest walk up an' rap on the door," said Anderson Crow, "lettin' on to be a tramp. I'll ast fer somethin' to eat an' a place to sleep. While I'm out there in the kitchen eatin' you fellers c'n sneak up an' surround us. Then you c'n let on like you're lookin' fer me because I'd robbed a hen-roost er something, an' that'll get 'em off their guard. Once we all git inside the house with these shotguns we've got 'em where we want 'em. Then I'll make 'em purduce the body."
"Don't we git anythin' to eat, too?" demanded Isaac Porter faintly.
"The horses ain't had nothin' to eat, Ike," said Anderson. "Ain't you as good as a horse?"
Detective Crow found little difficulty in gaining admittance to Colonel Randall's summer home. He had secreted his badge, and it was indeed a sorry-looking tramp who asked for a bite to eat at the kitchen door.
Three or four young women were busy with chafing dishes in this department of the house, and some good-looking young men were looking on and bothering them with attentions. In the front part of the house a score of people were laughing and making merry.
"Gosh!" said the new tramp, twisting his chin whiskers, "how many of you are there?"
"Oh, there are many more at home like us," trilled out one of the young women gaily. "You're just in time, you poor old thing, to have some of the bride-to-be's cake."
"I guess I'm in the wrong house," murmured Anderson blankly. "Is it a weddin'?"
"No; but there will be one before many days. It's just a reunion. How I wish Rosalie Gray were here!" cried another girl.
Just then there was a pounding on the door, and an instant later Isaac Porter stalked in at the head of the posse.
"Throw up your hands!" called Anderson, addressing himself to the posse, the members of which stopped in blank amazement. Some of them obligingly stuck their hands on high. "What do you want here?"
"We—we—we're lookin' fer a tramp who said he robbed a hen roost," faltered Isaac Porter.
"What is the meaning of all this?" called a strong voice from the dining-room, and the flabbergasted Tinkletownians turned to face Colonel Randall himself, the owner of the house.
"Derned if I know!" muttered Anderson Crow; and he spoke the truth.
"Why, it's Anderson Crow!" cried a gay young voice.
"Jumpin' Jehosophat!" ejaculated the detective; "it's the body!"
"The school-teacher!" exclaimed the surprised Tinkletownians, as with their eyes they proceeded to search the figure before them for blood stains. But no sooner had the chorused words escaped their lips than they realised how wretchedly commonplace was their blundering expression in comparison with the faultlessly professional phraseology of their leader; and, overwhelmed with mortification, the posse ached to recall them; for that the correct technical term had been applied by one for years trained to the vernacular of his calling was little consolation to these sensitive souls, now consumed with envy.
In the meantime, the quarry, if we may be permitted so to designate her, stood before them as pretty as a picture. At her side was Tom Reddon, and a dozen guests of the house fell in behind them.
"Did Rosalie tell you?" demanded Miss Banks. "The mean thing! She said she wouldn't."
"Ro—Rosalie!" gasped Anderson; "tell me what?" nervously.
"That I was—was coming over here with Tom. Didn't she tell you?"
"I should say not. If she'd told me you don't suppose I'd'a' driv' clear over here in this kinder weather fer nothin', do you? Thunder! Did she know 'bout it?"
"Certainly, Mr. Crow. She helped with the plans."
"Well, good gosh a'mighty! An' we was a-keepin' from her the awful news fer fear 'twould give her a backset."
"Awful news! What do you mean? Oh, you frighten me terribly!"
"Doggone! I don't believe Rosalie was sick at all," continued Anderson, quite regardless of the impatience of his listeners; "she jest wanted to keep from answerin' questions. She jest regularly let everybody believe you had been slaughtered, an' never opened her mouth."
"Slaughtered!" cried half a dozen people.
"Sure! Hain't you heard 'bout the murder?"
"Murder?" apprehensively from the excited New Yorkers.
"Yes—the teacher of schoolhouse No. 5 was brutally butchered las—las—night—by—"
"Go slow, Anderson! Better hold your horses!" cautioned Harry Squires. "Don't forget the body's alive and kic—" and stopping short, in the hope that his break might escape the school-teacher's attention, he confusedly substituted, "and here."
Anderson's jaw dropped, but the movement was barely perceptible, the discomfiture temporary, for to the analytical mind of the great detective the fact that a murder had been committed was fully established by the discovery of the blood. That a body was obviously necessary for the continuance of further investigations he frankly acknowledged to himself; and not for one instant would any supposition or explanation other than assassination be tolerated. And it was with unshaken conviction that he declared:
"Well, somebody was slew, wasn't they? That's as plain's the nose on y'r face. Don't you contradict me, Harry Squires. I guess Anderson Crow knows blood when he sees it."
"Do you mean to tell me that you've been trailing us all day in the belief that some one of us had killed somebody?" demanded Tom Reddon.
Harry Squires explained the situation, Anderson being too far gone to step into the breach. It may be of interest to say that the Tinkletown detective was the sensation of the hour. The crowd, merry once more, lauded him to the skies for the manner in which the supposed culprits had been trailed, and the marshal's pomposity grew almost to the bursting point.
"But how about that blood?" he demanded.
"Yes," said Harry Squires with a sly grin, "it was positively identified as yours, Miss Banks."
"Well, it's the first time I was ever fooled," confessed Anderson glibly. "I'll have to admit it. The blood really belonged to 'Rast Little. Boys, the seegars are on me."
"No, they're on me," exclaimed Tom Reddon, producing a box of Perfectos.
"But, Miss Banks, you are wanted in Chicago," insisted Anderson. Reddon interrupted him.
"Right you are, my dear Sherlock, and I'm going to take her there as soon as I can. It's what I came East for."
"Ain't—I mean, wasn't you Miss Lovering?" muttered Anderson Crow.
"Good heavens, no!" cried Miss Banks. "Who is she—a shoplifter?"
"I'll tell you the story, Mr. Crow, if you'll come with me," said Mr. Farnsworth, stepping forward with a wink.
In the library he told the Tinkletown posse that Tom Reddon had met Miss Banks while she was at school in New York. He was a Chicago millionaire's son and she was the daughter of wealthy New York people. Her mother was eager to have the young people marry, but the girl at that time imagined herself to be in love with another man. In a pique she left school and set forth to earn her own living. A year's hardship as governess in the family of Congressman Ritchey and subsequent disillusionment as a country school-teacher brought her to her senses and she realised that she cared for Tom Reddon after all. She and Miss Gray together prepared the letter which told Reddon where she could be found, and that eager young gentleman did the rest. He had been waiting for months for just such a message from her. The night of the spelling-match he induced her to come to Colonel Randall's, and now the whole house-party, including Miss Banks, was to leave on the following day for New York. The marriage would take place in a very few weeks.
"I'll accept your explanation," said Mr. Crow composedly as he took a handful of cigars. "Well, I guess I'll be startin' back. It's gettin' kind o' late-like."
There was a telegram at the livery stable for him when he reached that haven of warmth and rest in Tinkletown about dawn the next day. It was from Chicago and marked "Charges collect."
"What girl and whose body," it said, "do you refer to? Miss Lovering has been dead two years, and we are settling the estate in behalf of the other heirs. We were trying to establish her place of residence. Never mind the body you have lost."
"Doggone," said Anderson, chuckling aloud, "that was an awful good joke on 'Rast, wasn't it?"
The stablemen stood around and looked at him with jaws that were drooping helplessly. The air seemed laden with a sombre uncertainty that had not yet succeeded in penetrating the nature of Marshal Crow.
"Is it from her?" finally asked Ike Smith hoarsely, his lips trembling.
"From what her?"
"Rosalie."
"Thunder, no! It's from my lawyers in Chicago."
"Ain't you—ain't you heerd about it?" half groaned Ike, moving away as if he expected something calamitous.
"What the dickens are you fellers drivin' at?" demanded Anderson. The remainder of his posse deserted the red-hot stove and drew near with the instinctive feeling that something dreadful had happened.
"Ro—Rosalie has been missin' sence early last night. She was grabbed by some feller near Mrs. Luce's, chucked into a big wagon an' rushed out of town before Ros Crow could let out a yell. Clean stole her—look out! Ketch him, Joe!"
Anderson dropped limply into a hostler's arms.
Things had happened in Tinkletown that night. Alf Reesling finally found some one who would listen to his story. He told the minister and the minister alarmed the town. To be brief, Alf admitted that 'Rast Little was at his house in the outskirts of the village, laid up with a broken arm and a bad cut in the top of his head.
"He came crawlin' up to my place about six o'clock in the mornin'," explained Alf, "an' I took the poor cuss in. That's what I wanted to tell Anderson, but the old rip wouldn't listen to me. Seems as though 'Rast waited around the schoolhouse last night to git a crack at that feller from town. Miss Banks and her three friends set around the stove in the schoolhouse for about an hour after the crowd left, an' 'Rast got so cold he liked to died out there in the woodshed.
"Purty soon they all come out, an' 'Rast cut acrost the lot to git inside the house by the fire. He was so derned cold that he didn't feel like crackin' anybody. When they wasn't lookin' he sneaked inside. Jest as he was gittin' ready to hug the stove he heard Miss Banks an' one of the men comin' back. He shinned up the ladder into the garret just in time. In they come an' the feller lit a lamp. 'Rast could hear 'em talkin'. She said good-bye to the schoolhouse forever, an' the feller kissed her a couple of times. 'Rast pretty nigh swore out loud at that. Then she said she'd leave a note in her desk fer the trustees, resignin' her job, er whatever she called it. He heard her read the note to the man, an' it said somethin' about goin' away unexpected to git married. 'Rast says ef Anderson had looked in the desk he'd have found the note.
"Then she packed up some books an' her an' the feller went out. 'Rast was paralysed. He heerd the sleigh-bells jingle an' then he come to. He started down the ladder so quick that he missed his hold and went kerslam clear to the bottom. Doggone ef he didn't light on his head, too. He don't know how long he laid there, but finally he was resurrected enough to crawl over by the stove. His arm was broke an' he was bleedin' like a stuck hog. Miss Banks had left her handkerchief on the desk, an' he says he tried to bind up his head with it, but it was too infernal small. Somehow he got outside an' wandered around half crazy fer a long time, finally pullin' up at my house, derned nigh froze to death an' so weak he couldn't walk no more. He'd lost his hat an' his ear muffs an' his way all at the same time. If Anderson had let me talk this mornin' he'd 'a' knowed there wasn't no murder. It was just a match."
Hours passed before Anderson was himself again and able to comprehend the details of the story which involved the disappearance of his ward. It slowly filtered through his mind as he sat stark-eyed and numb before the kitchen fire that this was the means her mysterious people had taken to remove her from his custody. The twenty years had expired, and they had come to claim their own. There was gloom in the home of Anderson Crow—gloom so dense that death would have seemed bright in comparison. Mrs. Crow was prostrated, Anderson in a state of mental and physical collapse, the children hysterical.
All Tinkletown stood close and ministered dumbly to the misery of the bereaved ones, but made no effort to follow or frustrate the abductors. The town seemed as helpless as the marshal, not willingly or wittingly, but because it had so long known him as leader that no one possessed the temerity to step into his place, even in an hour of emergency.
A dull state of paralysis fell upon the citizens, big and little. It was as if universal palsy had been ordained to pinch the limbs and brains of Tinkletown until the hour came for the rehabilitation of Anderson Crow himself. No one suggested a move in any direction—in fact, no one felt like moving at all. Everything stood stockstill while Anderson slowly pulled himself together; everything waited dumbly for its own comatose condition to be dispelled by the man who had been hit the hardest.
It was not until late in the afternoon that Blucher Peabody, the druggist, awoke from his lethargy and moved as though he intended to take the initiative. "Blootch" was Rosalie's most persistent admirer. He had fallen heir to his father's apothecary shop and notion store, and he was regarded as one of the best catches in town. He approached the half-frozen crowd that huddled near old Mrs. Luce's front gate. In this crowd were some of the prominent men of the town, young and old; they left their places of business every half hour or so and wandered aimlessly to the now historic spot, as if drawn by a magnet. Just why they congregated there no one could explain and no one attempted to do so. Presumably it was because the whole town centred its mind on one of two places—the spot where Rosalie was seized or the home of Anderson Crow. When they were not at Mrs. Luce's gate they were tramping through Anderson's front yard and into his house.
"Say," said "Blootch" so loudly that the crowd felt like remonstrating with him, "what's the use of all this?"
No one responded. No one was equal to it on such short notice.
"We've got to do something besides stand around and whisper," he said. "We've got to find Rosalie Gray."
"But good gosh!" ejaculated Isaac Porter, "they've got purty nigh a day's start of us."
"Well, that don't matter. Anderson would do as much for us. Let's get a move on."
"But where in thunder will we hunt?" murmured George Ray.
"To the end of the earth," announced Blootch, inflating his chest and slapping it violently, a strangely personal proceeding, which went unnoticed. He had reached the conclusion that his chance to be a hero was at hand and not to be despised. Here was the opportunity to outstrip all of his competitors in the race for Rosalie's favour. It might be confessed that, with all his good intentions, his plans were hopelessly vague. The group braced up a little at the sound of his heroic words.
"But the derned thing's round," was the only thing Ed Higgins could find to say. Ed, as fickle as the wind, was once more deeply in love with Rosalie, having switched from Miss Banks immediately after the visit to Colonel Randall's.
"Aw, you go to Guinea!" was Blootch's insulting reply. Nothing could be more disparaging than that, but Ed failed to retaliate. "Let's appoint a committee to wait on Anderson and find out what he thinks we'd better do."
"But Anderson ain't—" began some one. Blootch calmly waived him into silence.
"What he wants is encouragement, and not a lot of soup and broth and lemonade. He ain't sick. He's as able-bodied as I am. Every woman in town took soup to him this noon. He needs a good stiff drink of whiskey and a committee to cheer him up. I took a bottle up to 'Rast Little last night and he acted like another man."
At last it was decided that a committee should first wait on Anderson, ascertaining his wishes in the premises, and then proceed to get at the bottom of the mystery. In forming this committee the wise men of the town ignored Mr. Peabody, and he might have been left off completely had he not stepped in and appointed himself chairman.
The five good men and true descended upon the marshal late in the afternoon, half fearful of the result, but resolute. They found him slowly emerging from his spell of lassitude. He greeted them with a solemn nod of the head. Since early morning he had been conscious of a long stream of sympathisers passing through the house, but it was not until now that he felt equal to the task of recognising any of them.
His son Roscoe had just finished telling him the story of the abduction. Roscoe's awestruck tones and reddened eyes carried great weight with them, and for the tenth time that day he had his sisters in tears. With each succeeding repetition the details grew until at last there was but little of the original event remaining, a fact which his own family properly overlooked.
"Gentlemen," said Anderson, as if suddenly coming from a trance, "this wasn't the work of Tinkletown desperadoes." Whereupon the committee felt mightily relieved. The marshal displayed signs of a returning energy that augured well for the enterprise. After the chairman had impressively announced that something must be done, and that he was willing to lead his little band to death's door—and beyond, if necessary—Mr. Crow pathetically upset all their hopes by saying that he had long been expecting such a calamity, and that nothing could be done.
"They took the very night when I was not here to pertect her," he lamented. "It shows that they been a-watchin' me all along. The job was did by persons who was in the employ of her family, an' she has been carried off secretly to keep me from findin' out who and what her parents were. Don't ye see? Her mother—or father, fer that matter—couldn't afford to come right out plain an' say they wanted their child after all these years. The only way was to take her away without givin' themselves away. It's been the plan all along. There ain't no use huntin' fer her, gentlemen. She's in New York by this time, an' maybe she's ready fer a trip to Europe."
"But I should think she'd telegraph to you," said Blootch.
"Telegraph yer granny! Do you s'pose they'd 'a' stole her if they intended to let her telegraph to anybody? Not much. They're spiritin' her away until her estate's settled. After a while it will all come out, an' you'll see if I ain't right. But she's gone. They've got her away from me an'—an' we got to stand it, that's all. I—I—cain't bear to think about it. It's broke my heart mighty ne—near. Don't mind me if—I—cry, boys. You would, too, if you was me."
As the committee departed soon after without any plan of action arising from the interview with the dejected marshal, it may be well to acquaint the reader with the history of the abduction, as told by Roscoe Crow and his bosom friend, Bud Long, thoroughly expurgated.
According to instructions, no one in the Crow family mentioned the strange disappearance of Elsie Banks to Rosalie. Nor was she told of the pursuit by the marshal and his posse. The girl, far from being afflicted with a fever, really now kept in her room by grief over the departure of her friend and companion. She was in tears all that night and the next day, suffering intensely in her loss. Rosalie did not know that the teacher was to leave Tinkletown surreptitiously until after the spelling-bee. The sly, blushing announcement came as a shock, but she was loyal to her friend, and not a word in exposure escaped from her lips. Of course, she knew nothing of the sensational developments that followed the uncalled-for flight of Elsie Banks.
Shortly after the supper dishes had been cleared away Rosalie came downstairs and announced that she was going over to read to old Mrs. Luce, who was bedridden. Her guardian's absence was not explained to her, and she did not in the least suspect that he had been away all day on a fool's errand. Roscoe and Bud accompanied her to Mrs. Luce's front door, heavily bound by promises to hold their tongues regarding Miss Banks.