Chapter II
THE THREE RED LAMPS
In the wooded valley of the Silvermine, some three miles from thevillage of New Canaan, lies the famous artists' colony which bears thename of that rippling little river. In the midst of this interestingcommunity, the artists have built their Guild House, where exhibitionsof paintings and sculpture are held. And here it is that once a yearthey give that delightful entertainment known as the Silvermine Sillies.
The casts of the Sillies invariably comprise the pick of local talentfrom the two communities. Dorothy had starred in the musical show givenby the New Canaan High School the previous winter. She had a lovelyvoice and a natural talent for acting. She loved amateur theatricals.But that she should have been assigned a part in the Sillies while yetin High School was a compliment beyond her expectations. She had workedhard at rehearsals and under an assumed calm was wildly excited on this,the opening night of the show.
She left Terry on the beach, after cautioning that young man again notto be late, and ran up the shingle to the Dixons' cabana, which,together with its gaily painted counterparts, flanked the long clubhouse at the top of the beach.
A surprisingly few minutes later, Dorothy reappeared, her bathing suithaving been discarded for an attractive linen sports frock, and jumpedinto her car.
The distance between Tokeneke on Long Island Sound and New Canaan backin the hills of the Ridge Country is slightly under eight miles.Luckily, on her drive home, Dorothy encountered no traffic policemen.Not withstanding summer traffic and the narrow, winding roads, shepulled into the Dixon garage on the ridge a mile beyond the village, abare ten minutes later.
Another change of costume and she ran downstairs to the dining room. Herfather and a friend were about to sit down at the table.
"Sorry to be late, Daddy," she apologized, slipping into her chair."Good evening, Mr. Holloway."
"Good evening, Miss Dorothy," returned the gentleman with a smile. "Youseem a bit blown."
"Some rush!" she sighed, "but I made it!"
"Youth," remarked her father, "is nothing if not inconsistent. We dineearly, so that Dorothy can get to the Sillies at some unearthly hour,and--"
His daughter interrupted.
"Please, Daddy. I had an awfully exciting experience this afternoon. I'dhave been home in plenty of time, otherwise."
"At the Beach Club?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Well, suppose you tell us the story, as penance." He turned to hisguest. "How about it, Holloway? This should interest you, one of theclub's most prominent swimming fans!"
Mr. Holloway nodded genially. He was older than Mr. Dixon, between fiftyand sixty, tall and rather thin. He had the brow and jaw of a fighter,and his iron-grey side-whiskers gave him a rather formidable appearance.But Dorothy liked him, for his eyes, behind his horn-rimmed spectacles,beamed with friendliness.
"The Beach Club, eh?" He leaned back in his chair. "Yes, I take a dipmost afternoons. Wonderful bracer after mornings in the city in this hotweather. You ought to get down there more often."
"Well, there's a pool at the Country Club, and I'd rather play golf,"argued his host. "I haven't been to the Beach Club this summer, butDorothy tells me that the cabana you've built is quite a palace--muchlarger and more 'spiffy,' I think was the word, than those we ordinarymembers rent!"
"I like to be comfortable and have some privacy when I entertain myfriends down there," Mr. Holloway admitted. "But I'm interested inhearing Dorothy's story. I was there this afternoon, but I didn't noticeanything unusual."
"Did you see the airplane that landed in the cove?"
"Why, no. What time was that?"
"A little after five-fifteen."
"I had already left for home. I'm rarely at the club after five o'clock.I like a bright sun when I'm in the water. What about the plane?"
While Dorothy told of her experience with the bearded pilot, the twogentlemen continued their meal in silence.
"A nasty customer--that!" snapped her father when she had concluded."But then, my dear, you shouldn't allow your keenness for aviation toover-excite your curiosity. Let it be a lesson to you not to interferewith other people's private business."
"You say that he wore a false beard?" interjected Mr. Holloway. "Now Iwonder why the man wants to disguise himself? And why he was sostandoffish about his plane?"
"He's probably in training for some test or endurance flight and wantsto keep his identity secret for the time being," suggested Mr. Dixon."There's often a lot of hush-hush stuff about such things--that is,until the stunt comes off--and then the secretive ones become theworld's worst publicity hounds!"
Dorothy remarked the change that came to their guest's face: the eyesnarrowed, the mouth grew harder; something of his levity disappeared.
"Perhaps," he said slowly. "But whatever his reason for wishing privacy,we can't have club members insulted by strange aviators in our own cove.I shall take it up at the board of governors' meeting tomorrow. Infuture we will see to it that no more airplanes land on club waters. Doyou think you would recognize the man without his beard, Dorothy?"
"I don't think so--but Terry, who was nearer to him, swears he couldspot him anywhere."
"If he should do so, ask him to report the matter to me, and I'll seethat the man at least offers apology."
"Thank you, Mr. Holloway." Dorothy was pleased at this interest. "I'lltell him."
"You three had better leave well enough alone," her father declaredbluntly. "The plane is probably being flown over a set course whichhappens to take it over the club. That aviator seems to be a surlycustomer. My advice is to forget it...."
Dorothy pushed her chair back from the table.
"You'll excuse me, won't you?" she smiled. "I've got to run, now." Shewent to her father and kissed him. "Please don't be late, Daddy. I comeon the first time right after the curtain rises--it will spoil myevening if you two aren't there!"
Mr. Holloway's kindly eyes twinkled behind his glasses.
"Nice of you to include me. I wouldn't miss the first number foranything. I'll see that we're both there in time."
"Don't worry, sweetheart." Her father patted her hand. "We've got asmall matter of business to go over and then we'll be right along.Success to you, dearest."
"'Bye!"
* * * * *
A fine rain was falling when Dorothy stepped into her car. As yet it wasmore a heavy mist than a downpour. But with the wind in the east sherealized that this part of the country was in for several days of wetweather. She drove carefully, for the winding wooded roads wereslippery. Upon arriving at the Guild House, she changed at once intocostume.
The Silvermine Sillies, like Mr. Ziegfield's more elaborate Follies, isinvariably a revue, consisting of eighteen or twenty separate acts. AsDorothy stood in the wings, waiting for her cue, shortly after the firstcurtain rose, she was addressed by the stage manager:
"Have you seen Terry?"
"Not since this afternoon. Why?"
"He's not here."
Dorothy was fighting back the stage fright that always assailed herwhile waiting to "go on," but which always disappeared as soon as shemade her entrance. She turned her mind to what the manager was sayingwith an effort.
"You mean he hasn't shown up?" she asked a bit vacantly.
"Your perception is remarkable," returned the harassed stage officialwith pardonable sarcasm. "No, Terry isn't here. Do you know whether hehad any intention of putting in an appearance at this show tonight whenyou last saw him?"
Dorothy was wide awake now. "Of course he had!"
"He didn't mention some more important date, perhaps?"
"Of course not. Terry wouldn't do such a thing!"
"Well, he goes on in less than two minutes. Who in blazes am I to get todouble for him? Deliver me from amateurs! There's your cue, MissDixon--better take it!"
"Hey, you, Bill!" she heard him call to a stag
e hand, as she made herentrance. "Duck into the men's dressing room and bring me Terry Walters'overalls and wig. Here's where I do his stuff without a makeup!"
Terry failed to show up during the first part of the program, so duringthe intermission, Dorothy slipped out front and sought the delinquent'sfather and mother in the audience.
"Why, my dear, I'm quite as surprised as you are," gurgled Mrs. Walters."Isn't this rain disgusting? You looked perfectly lovely Dorothy--andyou did splendidly, splendidly, my dear. I thought I'd die when yourrope of pearls broke and you went hunting for them--a perfect scream, mydear--the funniest thing in the show!"
"Those were Betty Mayo's pearls," said Dorothy. "I wasn't in that act.You say Terry left the house in plenty of time, and he expected to drivestraight down here?"
Mrs. Walters had said nothing of the kind, but Dorothy had known thelady for years, and had long ago devised a method of securinginformation from her.
"He didn't even wait for dessert, my dear. He probably went to themovies or remembered some other date. Boys are like that!"
"Terry isn't." His father spoke up. "He must have been going to picksomeone up and give them a lift down here--then blew a shoe orsomething. Still, I don't like it. I hope the boy hasn't met with anaccident."
"Oh, don't say that, Reggie! You make me feel positively faint. I knowhe has gone to the pictures." Mrs. Walters was nervously emphatic."Don't be so silly, dear--I know he has."
"You know nothing of the kind," declared her husband.
"But, Reggie dear--"
Dorothy hurriedly excused herself and went back stage.
But by the time the final curtain was rung down, no Terry had appeared.Dorothy was really worried. Betty was giving a party to a number of thecast at her house in White Oak Shade, but despite protests, Dorothy madeher regrets and went to look for her father.
"I think I'll beat it for home, Dad," she announced, buttonholing himnear the door.
"I'll be along in a few minutes, darling. I certainly am more than extraproud of you tonight. I never realized what an actress you are. But youlook troubled--anything the matter?"
"I'm worried about Terry. I know he wouldn't deliberately put us all inthis hole. He's not that kind."
"Probably had a break-down," consoled her father. "Excuse me, dear, Iwant to speak to the Joneses over there."
* * * * *
Dorothy drove a six-cylinder coupe whose body had seen better days,though she claimed for its engine that the world had not seen its equal.With her windiper working furiously, she came cautiously along ValleyRoad, her big headlamps staring whitely ahead. The rain was pelting downnow, and since she must have a window open, and that window was on theweather side, one arm and part of the shoulder of her thin slicker weresoon black and shining.
"Something he couldn't help--that's what made Terry let us down," saidher subconscious mind, and she wondered how any of the cast could haveexpressed contrary opinions. She was glad she had refused Betty'sinvitation. She liked Terry and was deeply concerned about him. Hewasn't the sort to default unless something unforeseen and unusualoccurred. Mrs. Walters said he had been full of the show at dinner andhad spoken about getting to the Guild House early. Something had comeup, that was certain. And that something, after he had started forSilvermine in his car. The more she thought about it, the moremysterious it seemed. She would phone the Walters again as soon as shereached home. Maybe he would be back by that time.
The car skidded round the turn into the Ridge Road that ran past theDixon place. A mile farther on, Dorothy decided it would be well for herto keep her mind on the road ahead. A few minutes before, a lumberingtruck had almost driven her into the ditch, and now, with a mile to go,she saw ahead of her three red lights. She slowed her engine until shecame within a dozen yards of them.
They were red lamps, placed in a line across the road, and if they meantanything, it was that the road was under repair and closed. Yet she hadpassed the truck going at full speed just beyond the corner. From itslights, she was sure it had come along this stretch of road.
She peered through the open window and saw on her left a dilapidatedstone fence, the top of which was hidden under a blanket of wildhoneysuckle. She saw by her headlights a gap where once she knew afive-barred gate had blocked the way to the open field. All this shetook in at a glance, for Dorothy knew exactly where she was. Then sheturned again to her scrutiny of the road and the three red lamps.
"Well!" said Dorothy to herself. She switched out all the lights of thecar, and taking something from her pocket, she opened the door quietlyand stepped into the rain. She stood there for a while, listening.
There was no sound except the swish and patter of the storm. Keeping tothe centre of the road she advanced slowly toward the red lights, pickedup the middle one and examined it. The lantern was old--the red had beenpainted on the glass. The second lantern was newer, but of entirelydifferent pattern. Here also, the glass pane had been covered by somered, transparent paint. And this was the case with the third lamp.
Dorothy threw the middle light into the ditch and found satisfaction inhearing the crash of glass. Then she came back to her car, got inside,slammed the door and put her foot down on the starter. The motor whinedbut the engine did not move. The car was hot and never before had itfailed. Again she tried, but without success.
"This looks suspicious," she muttered to herself.
She sprang out into the rain again and walked to the back to examine hergasoline tank. There was no need, for the indicator said, "Empty."
"I'll say suspicious!" she muttered again, angrily, as she stared downat the cause of her plight.
She had filled up just before dinner, but notwithstanding that fact,here was a trustworthy indicator pointing grimly to "E"; and when shetapped the tank, it gave forth a hollow sound in confirmation.
Dorothy sniffed: the air reeked with fumes. Flashing her pocket light onthe ground she saw a metal cap and picked it up. Then she understoodwhat had happened. The roadway, under her light, gleamed with opalescentstreaks. Someone had taken out the cap and emptied her tank while shewas examining the red lamps!
She refastened the cap, which was airproof, waterproof, and foolproof,and which could only have been turned by the aid of a spanner--she hadheard no chink of metal against metal. She did not carry reserve fuel,but home was not more than a mile down the road, round the turn. And sheknew there was a path from the gap in the stone wall, across the fieldand through a belt of woods that would halve the distance.
She sent her flashlight in the direction of the open gateway. One of theposts was broken and the rotting structure leaned drunkenly against alilac bush. In the shadow behind the bush, she was certain that a darkform moved.
Dorothy lingered no longer, but switching off her light, she turned onher heel and raced up the road.