The Cold, Cold Clue
The boys were late to breakfast the following morning. They had fallen into bed, pleased and exhausted, and the noise of the household stirring had failed to waken them.
Mrs. Miller greeted them as they came downstairs. "I hear you were ghost hunting again last night. Did you find any?"
"I'll say we did," Scotty replied. "Where is Dr. Miller?"
"Right here," the scientist said from the living-room doorway. "And I have news for you. Collins called this morning and renewed his offer. I told him I'd think about it and let him know later. And Steve Ames called. The powder is definitely carnotite, and it matches ore produced on the Colorado Plateau. Steve has reported to the Atomic Energy Commission, and they'll be able to track down its origin without too much difficulty, since no two ores are precisely alike. Now, how did you two do last night?"
The two girls came into the kitchen in time to hear the question, and Rick almost hated to give the answer, knowing that it would disillusion them, and particularly Barby.
"We trailed three ghosts," he said. "All human."
Scotty added, "And one of them was named Carleton Hilleboe. At least that was the name on the registration of their car."
They told the story in detail while Mrs. Miller and Jan fried eggs and bacon and made toast for their breakfast. Barby listened quietly, but if Rick had any idea she would be convinced, he was mistaken. When the recital ended she pointed out, "There's no reason why mortals shouldn't take advantage of a ghost. You still haven't proved that the ghost at the mine isn't real, or how the cold almost knocked you out last night."
"True," Rick had to admit. "We're not making much progress there."
Over breakfast Dr. Miller told them about the Hilleboes. "They were one of the big families in this vicinity two or three decades ago. They had the biggest house in this part of Virginia, but it burned down about twenty years ago and the kids moved away. There is no house on their land now. They rent some of the land to tenants. Carleton Hilleboe is the eldest son. He's in a business of some kind in Washington. He either controls or owns the property, I'm not sure which."
"Including the upland cornfield above the mine?" Rick asked.
"Yes, and all the property to the east of ours for a mile or two."
"Could he be the mysterious buyer Collins is acting for?" Rick asked.
"It's possible, although why he would want our share of the mine and the field opposite is beyond me. I think a talk with Collins is in order. If you two want to come to town with me, I think I'll beard him in his den. I've no intention of selling, but I won't tell him that."
On the way to town the boys agreed it would be best for Dr. Miller to talk with Collins alone. He obviously didn't like young people—at least them—and he would be more apt to confide in Dr. Miller if the scientist interviewed him alone.
The scientist agreed. "Why don't you two wait in the drugstore? You can have a coke or something."
Dr. Miller parked the car in front of Collins' house and the boys crossed the street to the drugstore. Although it was early in the day, both ordered a dish of ice cream. They were eating it and exchanging small talk with the druggist when the Frostola scooter pulled up outside. Both tensed as the Frostola man came in, but he greeted them impersonally and turned to the druggist. "I'd like a tin of aspirin, please."
"That infected hangnail still bothering you?" the druggist asked sympathetically.
"No, it's okay today," the peddler answered swiftly. "I've got a slight headache, that's all."
He paid for the aspirin, accepted the druggist's offer of a glass of water, downed two pills, and left.
"Seemed in a hurry," Rick commented.
The druggist nodded. "Seemed so. He usually stops to pass the time of day. Had a terrible time yesterday with an infected hangnail. They can be pretty painful. I tried to sell him a new analgesic ointment, but he insisted on methyl chloride. He had an old refillable prescription from some doctor over in Arlington. Said he got it because infected hangnails bother him all the time. Lucky I had some. It used to be used all the time for pain from superficial wounds, but it went out of style. He bought a whole pint. Enough to last for fifty hangnails. Told him he didn't need it, but he insisted."
Rick said thoughtfully, "His hands seemed to be all right today. No bandages."
"All he had was a plastic-tape bandage around his thumb yesterday, anyway. Guess the infection must have cleared up."
"What's methyl chloride?" Rick asked.
"A highly volatile chemical. It's not a painkiller in the usual sense, like aspirin. You spray it on the area that hurts, and it evaporates in seconds. You know what that does."
Rick did! And suddenly last night's events were perfectly, transparently clear.
"Evaporation cools the surface," Rick said for Scotty's benefit. "The faster the evaporation, the faster the cooling. This methyl chloride must act pretty fast."
"It does," the druggist agreed. "That's how it kills pain, partly. It chills the outer layer of skin almost instantly."