Morgan Scott - The Great Oakdale Mystery

“Your work? What do you propose to do?”

“I hope to lay this safe-cracker by the heels. I hope to enmesh him in the toils and turn him over to the stern hand of justice.”

“In which case it seems to me that your proper course would be to notify the officers. Why don’t you go to Deputy Sheriff Pickle?”

“Haw!” cried Sleuth, contemptuously snapping his fingers. “That would be the height of folly. These rural officers are blockheads in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, and William Pickle is no exception. For instance, recall the bungling mess he made of it when he arrested your friend, Benjamin Stone. Only for me, Stone might have been convicted of a crime he never committed.”

“You helped get Ben out of an unpleasant predicament,” admitted Sage; “but in that case Pickle did his duty, according to instructions. If you are so positive that you’re not bungling in this case, you’ll require the assistance of Mr. Pickle, for you can’t expect to capture James Wilson unaided.”

“And so you would advise me to apply to Pickle? You would advise me to tell him my deductions, through which he would be enabled, perhaps, to capture this jail-breaker and get the reward of five hundred dollars? That’s what would happen if he made the capture; he’d claim the reward, and get it. Oh, I know Bill Pickle!”

“If you gave the information on which the man was arrested, doubtless you could claim and obtain a portion of the reward money.”

“Perhaps so, and perhaps not. I tell you I know Bill Pickle. He’d get it all if he could.”

“But, having talked with Roy Hooker of this matter, how do you expect to keep it secret long enough to do anything yourself?”

“I didn’t tell Hooker about James Wilson. I simply questioned him regarding the stranger, and learned enough to satisfy me that he and Wilson must be the same man.”

“Well, how did you happen to tell me so much?”

Sleuth hesitated. “You see, I – I thought it might be – well, different in your case,” he stumbled. “I fancied there might be reasons why you wouldn’t care to say anything about it.”

Sage rose to his feet. “You make me tired, Piper,” he said, with a touch of angry reproof. “It’s evident that you did think my family was somehow connected with this criminal, whom we might be inclined to shield. Just to show you what a bungler you really are, I think I’ll tell Pickle myself.”

In a moment the visitor was thrown into the utmost consternation. Seizing Fred by the arm, he cried:

“Don’t do that – don’t! Why, if you did, and Pickle should happen to catch the man and he turned out to be the right one, you’d get part of the reward! That wouldn’t be fair to me, Fred, and you know it. Give a chap a square deal, old man.”

“If you’re right in your suspicions, Piper, it’s a bad thing to have this jail-breaker prowling around Oakdale, and it’s your duty to notify the local officers.”

“But supposing,” protested Sleuth, “that, by some unusual chance, I should be mistaken? You can see what that would mean. I might get the wrong man arrested and make an awful mess of it. I might become the laughing stock of the village. My professional reputation might be blasted.”

“Oh, then you’re not nearly as confident as you pretended to be? It seems to me like a huge joke, Piper, and if you’ll take my advice, you’ll stop cramming your head with foolish detective yarns and abandon the idea that you possess any special talents in the way of detecting criminals or fathoming mysteries. The last I heard about you, you were trying to write stories, and, by the way of amusement, I advise you to rely upon that occupation. Not that I imagine you’ll ever write anything printable, but it might serve to keep you from the rather obnoxious habit of poking your nose into affairs which don’t concern you.”

Thus reproved, Sleuth found it difficult to restrain his indignation and resentment.

“You’re like everybody else around here,” he cried. “But you should remember the old saying that a prophet is never without honor save in his own country. Some day I’ll show these people a thing or two, see if I don’t. I’ll make them sit up and take notice. They may think Billy Piper’s a fool, but I’ll show them. Say, Sage, give me a little time on this case; don’t run straight to Pickle with what I’ve told you. Promise me you won’t do that.”

In spite of himself, Fred laughed. “If I really thought there was one chance in a hundred that you had guessed right, I might insist on telling Pickle, providing you refused to do so. Not having the slightest confidence in your so-called ‘deductions,’ I’m willing to keep still.”

“Thanks,” said Piper. “Some fellows I wouldn’t trust, even on their promise; but I know you, and I’m sure you’ll do nothing without first consulting me. I think I’ll be going.”

Sage descended and bade Piper good-night at the door, watching Sleuth slouch away toward the distant lights of the village, a few of which gleamed through the darkness. Andrew Sage glanced up as the boy returned to the sitting-room.

“Well,” he said, “been discussing football, son?”

“Not exactly,” answered Fred. “Piper had something else on his mind.”

“Isn’t he a bit queer?” asked Mrs. Sage, who was employing herself with some needlework in front of the open fire.

“Most persons think he is.”

“He behaves so oddly. Does he always act like that?”

“Oh, it’s Piper’s way. The fellows don’t pay much attention to it, though they josh him sometimes.”

Fred attempted again to interest himself in his book, but in spite of his efforts, his mind wandered from the story, and he repeatedly found himself thinking of Sleuth and the matter they had discussed. There was, of course, a remote possibility that Piper had not made a mistake in fancying the stranger in Oakdale was James Wilson, for whose capture a large reward had been offered; and only for his promise to remain silent Fred might have told his parents. He was inclined to regret that unconsidered pledge. Presently, his eyes drooping, he decided to go to bed, and bade his father and mother good-night.

In his room he paced the floor, thinking it all over, his perplexity increasing.

“I can’t understand why that man ran away after asking about us,” he muttered. “That’s what gets me. If I hadn’t been afraid of giving mother uneasiness, I’d have told about it when I first came home. Piper can’t be right, for certainly we don’t know any convicts and jail-breakers.”

As if his final words had given him a shock, he stopped in his tracks, his lips parted, his face paling somewhat, and for some moments he stood thus, without moving. Presently he resumed his walk up and down the room, his brows knitted, his manner absorbed. At last he stopped and laughed shortly as he thought of Piper pacing the floor in almost precisely that same way.

“Oh, he’s a joke. I’m going to bed.”

The strenuous diversions of the day had given him a healthy weariness which he was now feeling, and it did not take him long to undress. He had put out the light when he remembered that his window was still closed, and he turned to open it.

With his hand on the sash he paused, an electric thrill shooting through his body. Directly beneath his room the light from a lower window shone forth into the darkness, falling upon the dimly seen figure of a man, who, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, was standing where he could look into the sitting-room.

For some seconds Fred remained rigid, watching the motionless man. In an instant he had become convinced that it was the stranger with whom Hooker had talked, but the baffling hat-brim prevented Fred from seeing the fellow’s face.