CHAPTER XVI. THE HUT ACROSS THE BAY
It was with a grunt of relief that Updyke called Central for the last time pending the three o'clock date with Carver. This time it was a certain switchboard operator who answered him.
"Miss Johnson," said the big fellow, toning down the rasping voice that had been vibrated a thousand miles within the short space of four hours.
"I think she has retired for the night," lisped the girl in charge.
"Quit thinking and connect as directed," snapped Updyke, forgetting that his voice was in training for a certain event at the Swathmere. "You are expected to act! And say—no listening. Get that?"
The next voice he heard was that of Mary Johnson.
"It's about time you said something from somewhere," said she, knowing that the unusual had happened.
"That fellow showed up at Dreamy Hollow to-night—you know who. Much to say to-morrow morning—no holiday dinners for us yet. Get to the office early, say, eight thirty and I'll spin the yarn."
"Big Case?"
"Getting bigger all the time."
"That little dinner, by the way—next winter—some time?"
"Not on your sweet young life! The first breathing spell."
"I was joking dear—you——"
"Of course you were, we're always joking, aren't we? As long as we joke, we won't quarrel!"
"Speaking of—you know who—did you see him?"
"No—he had done his mischief and skedaddled a few moments before I arrived. First real bad luck in a long time. Bad mess down here!"
"There is satisfaction in knowing that so and so is in the web. Will he go out to his old haunt on the outer drive?"
"In time—but not now."
"Why?"
"He would expect us to look for him there—and we will—for a much longer time than he thinks."
"Had you thought of Julie Hayes—she still runs Winifred's stand. She has sharp eyes and sharp wits. She can keep mum."
"Now that is a first-class tip. I'll put George onto that. I'm phoning him at three o'clock to wake him up. He doesn't know it yet, but I'm going to have him at the hut very early to-morrow morning. He can see Julie and put her wise."
"I believe it is the Swathmere that I'm saving up that pretty new dress for—is it not?" teased Mary Johnson.
"Exactly so, dear girl—if we ever get around to it," mourned the big fellow. "I am more anxious about that little you-and-me dinner than any other thing in life, except one—that's you!"
"It's time you got back on your job—good night!"
"So long, dear—I'll ring you at the office soon as possible to-morrow morning."
"Take a little nap—why don't you?"
"Yeah!—take a little nap!—I hardly see myself shutting my eyes on a night like this. But I might—so you go to bed yourself and get that beauty sleep."
As the phones clicked off Updyke with stubborn tenacity, lunged back into the woof of his spider web. Everything seemed well in hand. Inquiry as to Villard showed satisfactory progress. He would live, but how he would come out of it was a question for Father Time to solve. Finally he called for Santzi and told him to sit by and wake him at prompt two-forty-five, and in two minutes more from the depths of the lounge he was competing with the fog horns of South Bay.
To George Carver three o'clock was an unearthly rising hour, as many a man would willingly bear witness. But Winifred, at two-thirty, had switched on the current under the percolator, and only awaited the presence of her liege lord and master before connecting the toaster.
It was the enticing odor of the bacon and coffee, not the alarm clock's mad music, that sent the young husband under the shower.
At two-forty-five the telephone tingled, and Winifred ran forward to answer.
"Are you up?" shouted a well-known voice, in a drowsy tone.
"Can't you smell the coffee and bacon?" replied Winifred, gaily—"and the noise of that awful man under the shower? I'll tell him you're waiting. He's making more fuss than a porpoise," she concluded as she hastily snatched a bathrobe and hung it on a hook near the shower room.
"Parkins has disclosed himself and his whereabouts," were Updyke's first words, as Winifred's husband took up the receiver.
"That sounds interesting," replied Carver, with enthusiasm.
"Glad to hear you say so, and I'll add—especially so, to you!"
"Humph! Give me the details," replied Carver, who analyzed quickly.
"Listen carefully, boy, and don't get excited about anything I tell you. By all means don't repeat any part of it to Winifred that concerns herself."
"Yep—I get you—what's up?"
"The scoundrel was here at Dreamy Hollow, just after dark. I was on my way down but he had done his mischief and gone before I arrived. The scene was in so and so's office where he appeared suddenly—bound and gagged Jacques who was taking out a tray of dishes. Then slipped over to so and so and covered him with a silencer automatic."
"You don't say!"
"Yep—he demanded the whereabouts of a certain girl—accused so and so of stealing her and gave him a third degree. So and so steadfastly refused all information, giving no inkling of her marriage or address. Julie Hayes is the only one in Patchogue who knows her real address—get me?"
"Yep—go on—what happened between so and so and——"
"So and so was beaten over the head with the butt of the revolver—knocked senseless. Santzi and Jerry looked in, wondering why Jacques had not returned with the tray of dishes. Unarmed they ran to spread alarm, but the whelp had escaped on their return."
"How—only one door to the room?"
"Just one—and only two windows—north and east corners, for light on his desk. No furniture to speak of—just his big square flat-top, council table—chair, lounge, and filing cases. The scoundrel disappeared through the east window."
"What do you suggest for me to do?"
"Light out as quickly as possible for Patchogue. See Chief Mack. I couldn't reach him by phone. Had gone somewhere—not expected back until very late. I left word for him to call me, but he hasn't so far."
"Any one else?"
"See Julie Hayes—she's safe. Have her keep sharp eye out and phone me here anything she sees or learns about the scoundrel. Then you go to his hut on the outer drive—pick up a ranger at Patchogue and have him stay there day and night. Have him supplied with provisions—Julie will help him, without exposing our hand. Tell her I'll pay all bills—have them sent to me, here."
"You must feel pretty certain that he will turn up at the hut—sooner or later?" said Carver enquiringly.
"I do—and I think he is more likely to go there by water," answered Updyke, with a ring of conviction in his voice.
"Why would he come here at all?"
"Because he has a lot of gold to conceal that he can't deposit without answering questions."
"Why?"
"It's Canadian coinage mostly, and would come under suspicion."
"Give me a reason for that," said Carver. "I'm not very well posted in such matters."
"He was sent to Quebec with the pay roll of a lumber company, up in the timber country, where I had sent him for keeps. The shyster played square and seemed so honest that they intrusted him with a check on a bank in Quebec. He kept on going, changing into American money as fast as he could without arousing suspicion. He has a lot of gold left and I think he has it cached near the hut. But he may not go near it for some time. He now wears whiskers and mustache, raven black—I'd say from description, but he is easily recognized. Jacques says Villard knew him the moment he saw him. Better write out a 'John Doe' and have it ready. I don't want his real name to come out—yet," said Updyke, yawning loud enough to be heard at Riverhead.
"All right, Henry, I'll be on my way. I'll let you know my whereabouts from time to time. Better turn in for a three hours' nap while I'm getting to destination."
"That's just what I'll do, now that you're on the job. So long, and good luck."