Chapter VI
CORNERED
"There's one thing about it," Bill Bolton told the others seated at thesupper table. "This letter that Mr. Conway is supposed to have writtento Stoker is at the bottom of all this queer business."
"But that doesn't get us anywhere, does it?" objected Terry. "We mustfind out what that letter's about. Get hold of the underlying motive,you know."
"Say, you got that out of a detective story--'underlying motive'--I knowyou did." Betty shook an accusing finger at him.
"Well, what of it? That's the thing we've got to do--and I guess itdoesn't matter how you say it."
"Enter Doctor Watson!" Bill grinned and winked at Dorothy. "Look out foryour laurels, Miss Sherlock Holmes!"
"Oh, come on--this isn't any jazz number," she returned with spirit."What's your big idea, Terry?"
"Why, hunt for the letter of course. When we find it, we'll havethe--ahem!--underlying motive as well."
"Maybe. Who's going to do the hunting?"
"All of us. We'll each take a room, and--"
Dorothy laughed. "You're some organizer. Suppose you start in with thelibrary. It won't take you more than a week to go through all the booksin that room!"
"But listen, Dorothy--"
"Don't be absurd. We'll have a hunt tomorrow, if you want. But Betty andI have got to get home now--and anyway, I know where that letter is."
The four about the table stared at her in unfeigned amazement.
"_Where?_" they cried in chorus.
"I'll give each of you three guesses," she went on mischievously.
"Oh, don't be horrid," pleaded Betty.
"You know we're absolutely up a tree--" chimed in George.
"Come on and tell," invited Bill.
"How did you find out?" added Terry.
"Simply by keeping my eyes and ears open," retorted the object of thiswordy bombardment, "and by knowing that two and two make four, notsometimes, but all the time. Every one of you has heard as much aboutthis as I have tonight, and every one, excepting Stoker, has kidded mebecause I found out some things about the bank robbery and thatsmuggling gang this summer. Now you won't even take the trouble to thinkfor yourselves. The whereabouts of that letter is clear enough; to beable to put our hands on it, is something quite different."
"Well, I apologize for us all," Bill leaned across the table, "we wereonly kidding you--weren't we, Betty?"
"Why, of course--she knows that, she's only trying to--"
"Come on, Dorothy," Terry coaxed her with a grin.
"The letter is--?" George asked soberly.
Dorothy pursed her lips, then smiled.
"In your father's copy of Jones' Aircraft Power Plants," she repliedcalmly. "Find that book, which Mr. Lewis was so keen to locate that heoffered to buy this house in order to get it--and you'll have theletter."
"I believe you're right," conceded Bill, "you generally are--but thatbook is going to take some finding, or I've got another guess coming."
"If there really is a letter and it's in the book," said George, "Mr.Lewis must have hired those men."
"Not necessarily," returned Dorothy, "but I'll admit it's possible."
George's face wore a puzzled frown. "What I can't understand is whyoutsiders should know about this letter, when I have never heard of it."
"And if your father really wrote a letter to you, and they knew it--whydid they wait nearly three months before they tried to steal it?" Billshook his head. "It's beyond me."
"And why did they start in using strong arm stuff right off the bat?"Terry propounded this question to the table at large.
"Well, I think it is the most mysterious thing I ever heard of," saidBetty, struggling to stifle a yawn.
Dorothy stood up.
"Well, we can't talk about it any longer tonight. Betty and I must begetting home." She turned to Bill. "Did you bring some extra gas for_Wispy_?" she asked. "From the sound of things outside, the storm seemsto be pretty well over. I don't want to leave the plane in that woodlotall night. Some tramp might come across her and bust something."
"I've brought enough gas to fly back to New Canaan and then some. I'llgo with you in the plane."
"How about me?" Betty looked surprised, yet oddly hopeful.
"Terry'll drive you home," said Bill.
George looked disappointed, but voiced no objection to the plan, andBetty merely shrugged.
Dorothy spoke up quickly. "No, I think you'd better stay here tonight,Terry. Somebody ought to stay here with George ... pardon me, Stoker!But as it's Sunday to-morrow, there's no school to get up early for, andStoker can drive Betty over to my house and come back here. Bill and Iwill bring her over after breakfast and we can see what we can do tolocate that letter."
"Good plan," agreed young Conway enthusiastically. "I'll be back in lessthan an hour."
"But who's going to wash all these dishes?" grumbled Terry.
"Not afraid to stay here, are you?" said Dorothy.
"Oh, if you put it that way I'll wash them," he retorted.
"You do 'em tonight, and we'll do 'em tomorrow--but we really must begoing now."
Ten minutes later, Betty and George chugged out of the drive in hisflivver. Terry parked Bill's car in back of the house, then he helpedhis friend to lift out the three large tins of gasoline they had broughtwith them from New Canaan.
"I'll take two," announced Bill, "and you'll have to tote the other one,Dorothy."
"Hadn't I better carry it down the hill?" suggested Terry. "It's kind ofheavy."
"No, thanks, I can manage it all right." She lifted the can by itshandle. "It's not so heavy. Your job is to stay in the house. As it is,I hate leaving you here alone."
Terry waved them off.
"I'll be all right," he scoffed. "I think we've got those guysbuffaloed--for the time being, anyway."
"Keep your rifle handy," advised Bill, "and don't open up to anyoneexcept Stoker."
"You bet I won't."
"Good night, then--"
"And good luck," added Dorothy, switching on her flash.
"Good night, both of you--see you in the morning."
He watched their light travel into the orchard and turned back to theempty house.
Dorothy and Bill reached the rear wall of the orchard and came to astop. Although the storm had passed and with it the driving rain, heavycloud formations obscured the stars.
"Better hop over the fence, Dorothy," said Bill, "then I'll pass thesecontainers across to you. Gee whiz! It sure is some black night. Youcame up this way, didn't you?"
"Yep." Dorothy's voice came from the other side where her light wasflashing. "Hand over the cans. That's right."
Bill joined her and picked up his load again.
"The ground slopes down to the valley from here," she said. "Drops wouldbe a better word, I guess. It goes down like the side of a roof. Watchyour step! This wet grass is slippery as ice."
"I've found that out," said Bill, sitting down suddenly. "Which way isthat woodlot trail from here?" He got to his feet. The tins had savedhim from a bad tumble.
"Off to the right--down in the valley."
"Then let's steer off that way. Take this hill on the oblique. It'seasier walking. By the way, which side of the river have you got the busparked?"
"River? What river? I didn't know there was one."
"Well, there is. Stone Hill River, it's called. If you didn't cross itgoing up to Stoker's house, the plane must be on this side."
"You've got a master mind," she retorted and her light went out.
"What's the matter?"
"Followed your example, and sat down."
The light flashed on again.
"Aren't hurt, are you?"
"Don't be personal," she laughed. "How did you know there was a riverdown in the valley?"
"Why, I brought a map of the Reservation with me--studied it on the wayover while Terry drove. We'd never have foun
d that dirt road Stoker'shouse is on otherwise. Part of it is really in the Reservation, you see.The concrete road from Poundridge Village that runs to South Salemparallels it about a quarter of a mile to the east."
"Route 124," said Dorothy, walking carefully for fear of slipping again."I know that road. Ever been in the Reservation, Bill?"
"No--have you?"
"When I was a little girl, we used to drive over, for picnics sometimes.I don't remember much about it, though, except that it's a terribly wildplace--all rocks and ridges and forest. It covers miles. The state hascut trails and keeps them open, otherwise the woods have been left intheir virgin state."
"There are cabins, too, the map calls them shelters," Bill informed her."The state rents them to camping parties. Well, it's quite wild enoughto suit me right here. How are you making out?"
Dorothy was leading the way with her light.
"Fine, thanks. I'm on the level again."
"Glad to hear that you are," chuckled Bill.
"Silly! I mean I'm on fairly level ground again. And look what I'vefound."
Her light flashed to the left and came to rest on the wreck of a sevenpassenger closed car.
"Good enough!" exclaimed Bill. "Those thugs won't do any more riding inthat bus. See how the car smashed that big tree--it must have torn downthe hill like greased lightning!"
They deposited their gasoline tins on the grass and inspected the massof twisted metal more closely.
"Hello!" ejaculated Dorothy. "Someone's been here before us."
"How do you figure that?"
"The license plates have been removed. I know they were on the car whenI sent it down here. I was in such a rush I forgot to take the number,worse luck!"
"Too bad--now we won't be able to trace the owner."
"Oh, yes, we will. Unless we've got an unusually clever mind bucking us,I'll bet we can trace it through the factory number and the number ofthe engine. Give me a hand, Bill. Let's get the hood up."
"Master mind number two," grunted Bill when Dorothy's flash was turnedon the motor. "Him and me both, eh? The number plate has been removed,and the one on the engine chiseled off. Those lads must have had alovely time doing it, with their hides full of salt."
Dorothy switched off her light with a click.
"_They_ never came down here, in their condition," she said decisively."It must have been somebody else--probably the man who is back ofthem--or others of that gang."
"Old Lewis?"
"I don't know. Of course, he himself couldn't have done this--"
"Yes, he's a bit too old to come traipsing down to this valley all alonein the dark."
"Too bad we've showed our light on the hill and around here just now,"she said slowly.
"You think they may still be in the offing?"
"I hope not. Chances are they don't know about the plane."
"You'd better go back to the house," he advised. "I can lash two ofthese tins together and sling them over my shoulder. If there's going tobe a shindy, you'll be better off up the hill with Terry."
"Thanks a lot," said Dorothy. "If there's going to be trouble, we'll goit together. Anyway, you'd never be able to find the trail to thewoodlot in the dark. It's great of you to suggest carrying on withoutme, but it just can't be done."
"You sure are a good sport, Dorothy." Bill picked up his tins. "Where dowe go from here?"
"Follow me. And the less noise we make, the better."
With Bill close on her heels, she led across the clearing toward thedark line of trees on their left, winding her way around rockyout-croppings and stunted bushes that made traveling in the dark adifficult proceeding.
"Think you can find the cart road?" she heard him whisper. "It's blackas your hat without the flash."
"Sure can," she replied cheerfully. "All we have to do is to turn rightat the woods and follow them up the valley until we come to it. Quiet,now--if anybody's, watching, we may be able to get by them in the dark."
They had gone another twenty yards or so, when Dorothy stopped suddenlyand caught at Bill's arm.
"There's somebody behind that big rock to the left!" she whisperedfiercely. "I'm sure I saw something move."
"You sure did, young lady," announced a gruff voice close to theirright. "Tell your girl friend not to make a fuss, Mr. Conway. My men areall around you."
A tall figure, hardly more than a blur in the darkness, stepped frombehind a tree and came toward them.