I was at the store by quarter of eleven, but the gang of creditors was there to meet me, seven of 'em altogether. Cahoon, the chicken man, and Bangs, the milk man, and Hall, the ice man, and Alpheus, and Caleb Bearse, who'd been supplyin' meat to that road-house, and Peleg Doane, who'd done carpenterin' and repairs on it, and Jeremiah Doane, his brother, who'd painted the repaired places. Seven was all the creditors Perkins could scare up on short notice, though he cal'lated there was more.
"There's one more, anyway," says Bill Bangs. "That dark-complected woman—the one you call the stewardess, Cap'n Zeb—was sick a spell ago and Frank told Doctor Goodspeed he'd be responsible for the bill. I see the doc this mornin' and he's with us. Says he may be down later."
They elected me chairman of the meetin' and we started deliberatin'. The debts amounted to quite a lot, though the Ostable Store's was the biggest. Some was for doin' one thing and some another, but we all agreed we must see Colcord, the lawyer, afore we did much of anything. While we was still pow-wowin', somebody knocked at the door. 'Twas Doctor Goodspeed, on the way to see a patient.
"Well," says he, "how's the consultation comin' on? Judgin' by your faces, I should imagine 'twas a autopsy. Time to take desperate measures, if you asked me. I never did believe that Frank chap was anything but a crook, so I'm not surprised. I'm with you in spirit, boys, though I can't stop. However, here's a couple of pieces of information which may interest you: One is that 'The Sign of the Windmill's' account was overdrawn yesterday at the bank and the bank folks sent notice. T'other is that Lawyer Colcord is out of town for a couple of days, so you can't get him. Otherwise than that, the patient is normal. By, by. Life's a giddy jag of joy, isn't it?"
He grinned and shut the door with a bang. The eight of us looked at each other. Then Alpheus Perkins riz to his feet.
"Humph!" says he. "Account overdrawn, hey? Well, maybe that Windmill ain't made enough to pay its bills, but it's been takin' in consider'ble cash. If it ain't at the bank, where is it? I'm goin' to find out. And if I can't get a lawyer to help me, I'll do without one. That Frank critter's store clothes are wuth somethin', and, if I can't get nothin' more, I'll rip them right off his back. So long, fellers. Keep your ear to the ground and you'll hear somethin' drop."
He headed for the door, but he didn't go alone. The rest of us got there at the same time, and I—well, I wouldn't wonder if 'twas me that opened it. I was desperate, and I've commanded vessels in my time.
Anyhow, 'twas me that led the procession up the front steps of the "Sign of the Windmill" and into the dinin'-room. The two waiters was busy. They had five of the tables set end to end and covered with cloths, and they was layin' plates and knives and forks for a big crowd. 'Twas plain that special customers was expected.
"Mr. Frank in his office?" says I, headin' for the skipper's cabin. The waiters looked at each other and jabbered in some sort of foreign lingo.
"No, sare," says one of 'em. "No, sare. Meester Frank, he is away—out."