Vincent Starrett: The Blue Door

Quite suddenly, I felt a delicious thrill in my veins.

“Jimmie,” I said, “you are hinting at treasure of some sort!”

“I suppose I am,” he admitted. “They hunted diligently, anyway. There was a fire in the fireplace when they arrived. Mrs. Mumford says she lighted it before she went away, and Miss Coolbrith is sure to have kept it up. Well, it did not die a natural death; it was trampled and beaten out. The condition of the burnt wood and ashes shows that very plainly. And there is a lot of soot mixed with the charred wood and paper. It came from the chimney, and it fell because someone was investigating the chimney.”

“And the cellar, too!” I exclaimed.

“Yes, you saw how trampled the earth was in the cellar, and you saw the innumerable small holes, where apparently they had probed with a steel rod.”

“Did they get what they were after?” I asked breathlessly.

Jimmie Lavender smiled grimly.

“I think not!” was his reply. “And that’s a satisfaction, too. I think they failed. That is why Miss Coolbrith is missing. If they had found the treasure there would have been no sensible reason for carrying off the girl. But they didn’t find it, and so for revenge, or ransom, or possibly because they think she may know something of the hiding places of the old house, they carried her away with them.”

“And how many men were there? Can you say?”

“Not with any certainty. Certainly two, probably three, and possibly four. There was plenty to do, you see—a grave to be dug, a boat to be operated, a girl to be carried, and so on! There was a front-of-the-house man, a back-of-the-house man, I should imagine, and —well, we actually know of two men, Gilly. There is the fellow called Howard, and the man who operated his boat—Kinner, he was called by Howard. But there is no more reason to believe that is his name than there is to think that Howard told the truth about his.”

I thought over all the startling information that had come to me, and then I ventured a comment.

“Jimmie,” I said tentatively, “we seem to know everything except what the men were after and what became of Miss Coolbrith. You don’t suppose they will actually dare to return, do you?”

“Not while the present armed force holds the island,” smiled the detective. “Probably not ever again. I think they know they are beaten. They know by this time, or ought to, that Miss Coolbrith has nothing to tell them. She knows nothing. Neither does Coolbrith. As a matter of fact, I suspect that they are beginning to find Miss Coolbrith a great liability. Probably they would gladly return her if they dared. And as they can’t exactly do that, they may turn her loose by herself some place. At any rate, all of this territory must be put on the qui vive . The widest publicity must be given the case, so that when they take such a step Miss Coolbrith will be taken care of, and the men captured —if the latter is possible.”

“The newspapers are excited enough,” I said. “The abductors are probably reading the accounts. But meanwhile, what will you do?”

“I have finished with the island. I must conduct my own search elsewhere, and I have one clear hope left. Assuming that the abductors have not yet left the vicinity, that they intend to remain somewhere in the neighborhood until I leave, on the chance that they can still return for another look around, there is a possibility of running down their spy. This may seem contrary to what I have already said about their plans, but both possibilities must be considered; first, that they are through and will go away; second, that their greed will hold them here for a time. It is the latter chance that I am now considering. If they are somewhere about, then they are certain to have a spy watching us to report on our findings.”

“Not on the island, surely!” I cried.

“No, among the visitors. They come in droves, and Hovey turns them away. But they ask questions, and some of them are persistent. The problem would be to distinguish between those whose curiosity is—let us say—legitimate, and those whose curiosity is, as it were, professional. I am thinking, particularly, of this man called Kinner. That is not his name, for there is no one of that name in the neighborhood; but whatever his name is, what is to prevent his returning in search of information? Only the fear of Mrs. Mumford, the one person who might be able to identify him. And so I agreed with Coolbrith that it was a good thing to keep the housekeeper away from the island. Naturally, I want Kinner to return.”

“But,” I argued, “you could not identify him yourself, Lavender!”

He put his hand quickly on my arm, in a gesture that stopped my further discussion. His eyes suddenly were far away. Then the pressure on my biceps tightened until it hurt.

“By heaven, Gilly!” he whispered. “I think I’ve got it!” He began to rise. “Can it be possible? And yet, why not?”

Suddenly he had scrambled upright and was off down the road so rapidly that I had difficulty in keeping up with him. His objective appeared to be the little anchorage on the beach, where Hovey still patiently turned away visiting curiosity seekers in boats.

The sergeant turned at our approach and looked inquiringly at us, suspecting that our haste foreshadowed a revelation.

“Hovey,” said Lavender abruptly, “are any of these infernal visitors repeaters?”

The word bothered the policeman. He echoed it with rising inflection.

“I mean,” explained the detective, “do any of them return more than once?”

The sergeant wrinkled his brow.

“Hm-m!” he mused. “There’s been fifty here in the last two days, if there’s been one, Mr. Lavender, but I don’t really remember any of ’em that looked the same. It’d be hard to be sure, though.”

“Who are the men who bring them?”

“Well, some of ’em come in their own boats; and some of ’em hire boats at Grantford. And some of ’em come from Orchard Harbor, up the Sound.”

“Which boatman seems to bring the greatest number of visitors?” continued the crisp staccato.

“Well, sir,” answered the sergeant dubiously, “I suppose the fellow that brought you and Mr. Coolbrith does as much business as any of ’em.”

“He comes pretty often, does he? What’s his name?”

“Well, he’s been here maybe seven or eight times with a boatload. He’s a good fellow. Rents boats in Grantford. His name’s Connor.”

“Really!” exploded Lavender with sarcastic emphasis. The expression was half a snarl and half a laugh. “And does he talk to you, Hovey?”

“Not much, sir. Of course, they all talk. He asks me how things are getting along.”

“And what do you tell him?”

“I tell him just what I tell ’em all. I say there’s nothing new; everything’s just the same.”

“That’s a good reply. Has this man Connor ever particularly mentioned me or Mr. Coolbrith?”

“Well, yes, sir, I think he did, once or twice. He’s a decent fellow, and because he brought all you people here, he’s naturally a bit more interested in the case than the others. I thought you knew him. I remember he asked once what Mr. Lavender thought of the case.”

“That was nice of him,” commented Lavender. “When was he here last, Hovey?”

“I haven’t seen him for some time now.”

“Well, next time he shows up, I want him to take me to the mainland. Do you understand? Just that, and not another word, Hovey. You can make your usual reply, if you like—‘nothing new’—but ask him to wait, and then send one of your men after me. Don’t come yourself. You stay here, and see that he doesn’t leave until I arrive. I’m trusting you, Hovey! I’m only guessing, and I don’t want him to suspect anything. Can you do it?”