The crooked cross

by Charles J. Dutton

“Do you know what he threw into the field?”

“Nope. I don't know he threw anything, but I saw him throw his hand out as if he did throw something away. I think he had something in it. And then he went down round the wall, and I did not see him any more.”

I quickly ran through in my mind what the boy had said. Though he might have been mistaken in thinking the man he saw climb over the wall had thrown something away, yet there was no doubt it was a valuable piece of information. It seemed to prove that some one besides the Chinaman had been on Warren's grounds about the time he must have been killed. And then I wondered if this could have been the person in the boat—that person whom no one had seen.

The boy had nothing else to tell. I gave him a dollar after impressing upon him that he must go at once to the chief of police and tell him the same story he had told me. He went away promising to do this, and I sat back to figure out his story. There was not anything suspicious, in a sense, in seeing a man climb a stone wall. But when I remembered that it took place around the time Warren had been killed, it began to look important. So far, from all the evidence we had, there did not seem to be any person who could have killed him. The secretary had come to the house at four, and Warren had not been killed until two hours later. I began to wonder who the man the boy had seen climbing the wall could have been.

It was still light, though the sun was low. As my eyes glanced lazily around, they fell upon the open door of Carter's boat house. The thought came to me, it might be worth while to take one of the boats and row along the shore until I reached Warren's land. There would be time before dark to at least have a look at the place where the boy said he had seen the man on the wall.

I went down to the boat house and went within. There were two row boats lying in the water, and upon the concrete floor was a red canoe. As the lake was very calm, I decided the canoe would be the easiest to manage. I carried it to the water and launched it. Climbing in rather carefully, I paddled out of the spillway, and then turned up the lake.

The lake was perfectly calm, without even a ripple upon its surface. Keeping close to the shore, I paddled rather slowly, enjoying the sight of the estates which I passed. All of them had fine lawns which ran to the water's edge, with little boat houses concealed among the trees. A little way from shore several people were fishing, and as I passed a little sandy beach, I saw some children bathing.

For a short distance the shore ran in a straight line, then curved around in a half circle to the right. As I struck across to the point of land which ran out into the lake, I saw from the stone wall which came down to the water's edge that I was opposite the Warren estate. I could see above the trees the library, its red roof being the highest in sight. But there were no signs of life, and as I paddled to the shore I saw no one.

At first I had thought I would not land upon the estate, but that I would beach the canoe at the other side of the wall. But changing my mind, I landed on the shore directly in front of the library, which was some hundred feet away upon the hill. I pulled the canoe upon the land, half hiding it behind the low-hanging branches of a willow tree. Then I started across the grass.

Passing round the front of the library, I saw that the door was shut and the blinds at the windows. I did not pause, but went down the other side of the hill, through a clump of trees, until I reached the rear wall. The wall was some hundred yards away from the library, and the boy had said that he had seen the man in a direct line with the building.