XXIV
THE POLICE DOG
Craig faced us, but there was no air of triumph in his manner. I knewwhat was in his mind. He had the dagger. But he had lost Inez.
What were we to do? There seemed to be no way to turn. We knewsomething of the manner of her disappearance. At first she had,apparently, gone willingly. But it was inconceivable that she stayedwillingly, now.
I recalled all the remarks that Whitney had ever made about her. Hadthe truth come out in his jests? Was it Inez, not the dagger, that hereally wanted?
Or was he merely the instrument of one or all of these people beforeus, and was this an elaborate plan to throw Kennedy off and prove analibi for them? He had been the partner of Lockwood, the intimate of deMoche. Which was he working for, now--or was he working for himselfalone?
No answer came to my questions, and I reflected that none would evercome, if we sat here. Yet there seemed to be no way to turn, withoutrisking putting ourselves in a worse position than before. At least,until we had some better plan of campaign, we occupied a strategicadvantage in Whitney's own house.
The hours of the night wore on. Midnight came. This inaction waskilling. Anything would be better than that.
Suddenly the telephone startled us. We had wanted it to ring, yet whenit rang we were afraid of it. What was its message? It was withpalpitating hearts that we listened, while Craig answered.
"Yes, Burke," we heard him reply, "this is Kennedy."
There came a pause during which we could scarcely wait.
"Where are you now? Cold Stream. That is about twelve miles fromRockledge--not on the New York road--the other road. I see. All right.We'll be there. Yes, wait for us."
As Craig hung up the receiver, we crowded forward. "Have they foundher?" asked Lockwood hoarsely.
"It was from Burke," replied Kennedy deliberately. "He is at a placecalled Cold Stream, twelve miles from here. He tells me that we canfind it easily--on a state road, at a sharp curve that has been widenedout, just this side of the town. There has been an accident--Whitney'scar is wrecked."
Lockwood seized his elbow. "My God," he exclaimed, "tell me--sheisn't--hurt, is she? Quick!"
"So far Burke has not been able to discover a trace of a thing, exceptthe wrecked car," replied Kennedy. "I told him I would be overdirectly. Lockwood, you may take Jameson and Alfonso. I will go withthe Senora and their driver."
I saw instantly why he had divided the party. Neither mother nor sonwas to have a chance to slip away from us. Surely both Lockwood and Ishould be a match for Alfonso. Senora de Moche he would trust to nonebut himself.
Eagerly now we prepared for the journey, late though it was. No one nowhad a thought of rest. There could be no rest with that mystery of Inezchallenging us.
We were off at last, Lockwood's car leading, for although he did notknow the roads exactly, he had driven much about the country. I shouldhave liked to have sat in front with him, but it seemed safer to stayin the back with Alfonso. In fact, I don't think Lockwood would haveconsented, otherwise, to have his rival back of him.
Kennedy and the Senora made a strange pair, the ancient order and theultra-modern. There was a peculiar light in her eyes that gleamed forthat the mere mention of the words, "wreck." Though she said nothing, Iknew that through her mind was running the one tenacious thought. Itwas the working out of the curse! As for Craig, he was always seekingthe plausible, natural reason for what to the rest of us wasinexplicable, often supernatural. To him she was a fascinating study.
On we sped, for Lockwood was a good driver and now was spurred on by ananxiety that he could not conceal. Yet his hand never faltered at thewheel. He seemed to read the signs at the cross-roads withoutslackening speed. In spite of all that I knew, I found myself compelledto admire him. Alfonso sat back, for the most part silent. Themelancholy in his face seemed to have deepened. He seemed to feel thathe was but a toy in the hands of fate. Yet I knew that underneath mustsmoulder the embers of a bitter resentment.
It seemed an interminable ride even at the speed which we were making.Twelve miles in the blackness of a country night can seem like ahundred.
At last as we turned a curve, and Lockwood's headlights shone on thewhite fence that skirted the outer edge of the road as it swung arounda hill that rose sharply to our left and dropped off in a sort ofravine at the right beyond the fence, I felt the car tremble as he puton the brakes.
A man was waving his arms for us to stop, and as we did, he ranforward. He peered in at us and I recognized Burke.
"Whe-where's Kennedy?" he asked, disappointed, for the moment fearinghe had made a mistake and signalled the wrong car.
"Coming," I replied, as we heard the driver of the other car soundinghis horn furiously as he approached the curve.
Burke jumped to the safe side of the road and ran on back to signal tostop. It was then for the first time that I paid particular attentionto the fence ahead of us on which now both our own and the lights ofthe other car shone. At one point it was torn and splintered, as thoughsomething had gone through it.
"Great heavens, you don't mean to say that they went over that?"muttered Lockwood, jumping down and running forward.
Kennedy had joined us by this time and we all hurried over. Down in theravine we could see a lantern which Burke had brought and which was nowresting on the overturned chassis of the car.
Lockwood was down there ahead of us all, peering under the heavy bodyfearfully, as if he expected to see two forms of mangled flesh. Hestraightened up, then took the lantern and flashed it about. There wasnothing except cushions and a few parts of the car within the radius ofits gleam.
"Where are they?" he demanded, turning to us. "It's Whitney's car, allright."
Burke shook his head. "I've traced the car so far. They were gettingahead of me, when this happened."
Together we managed to right the car which was on a hillock. It sank alittle further down the hill, but at least we could look inside it.
"Bring the lantern," ordered Kennedy.
Minutely, part by part, he went over the car. "Something went wrong,"he muttered. "It is too much wrecked to tell what it was. Flash thelight over here," he directed, stepping over the seat into the back ofthe tonneau.
A moment later he took the light himself and held it close to the rodsthat supported the top. I saw him reach down and pull from them a fewstrands of dark hair that had caught between the rods and had beenpulled out or broken.
"No need of Bertillon's palette of human hair to identify that," heexclaimed. "There isn't time to study it and if there were it would beunnecessary. She was with him, all right."
"Yes," agreed Lockwood. "But where is she now--where is he? Could theyhave been hurt, picked up by some one and carried where they could getaid?"
Burke shook his head. "I inquired at the nearest house ahead. I had todo it in order to telephone. They knew nothing."
"But they are gone," persisted Lockwood. "There is the bottom of thebank. You can see that they are not here."
Kennedy had taken the light and climbed the bank again and was nowgoing over the road as minutely as if he were searching for a lostdiamond.
"Look!" he exclaimed.
Where the Whitney car had skidded and gone over the bank, the tires haddug deep into the top dressing, making little mounds. Across them nowwe could see the tracks of other tires that had pressed down the mounds.
"Some one else has been here," reconstructed Kennedy. "He passed, thenstopped and backed up. Perhaps they were thrown out, unconscious, andhe picked them up."
It seemed to be the only reasonable supposition.
"But they knew nothing at the next house," persisted Burke.
"Is there a road leading off before you get to the house?" askedKennedy.
"Yes--it crosses the line into Massachusetts."
"It is worth trying--it is the only thing we can do," decided Kennedy."Drive slowly to the crossroads. Perhaps we can pick out thetire-prints there. They certainly won't sho
w on the road itself. It istoo hard."
At the crossing we stopped and Kennedy dropped down on his hands andknees again with the light.
"There it is," he exclaimed. "The same make of anti-skid tire, atleast. There was a cut in the rear tire--just like this. See? It is thefinger-print of the motor car. I think we are right. Turn up here andrun slowly."
On we went slowly, Kennedy riding on the running-board of the carahead. Suddenly he raised his hand to stop, and jumped down.
We gathered about him. Had he found a continuation of the tire-tracks?There were tracks but he was not looking at them. He was lookingbetween them. There ran a thin line.
He stuck his finger in it and sniffed. "Not gas," he remarked. "It musthave been the radiator, leaking. Perhaps he ran his car intoWhitney's--forced it too far to the edge of the road. We can't tell.But he couldn't have gone far with that leak without finding water--orcracked cylinders."
With redoubled interest now we resumed the chase. We had mounted a hilland had run down into the shadows of a valley when, following in thesecond car, we heard a shout from Kennedy in the first.
Halfway up the hill across the valley, he had come upon an abandonedcar. It had evidently reached its limit, the momentum of the previoushill had carried it so far up the other, then the driver had stopped itand let it back slowly off the road into a clump of bushes that hid alittle gully.
But that was all. There was not a sign of a person about. Whatever hadhappened here had happened some hours before. We looked about. All wasCimmerian darkness. Not a house or habitation of man or beast was insight, though they might not be far away.
We beat about the under-brush, but succeeded in stirring up nothing butmosquitoes.
What were we to do? We were wasting valuable time. Where should we go?
"I doubt whether they would have kept on the road," reasoned Kennedy."They must have known they would be followed. The hardest place tofollow them would be across country."
"With a lantern?" I objected. "We can't do it."
Kennedy glanced at his watch. "It will be three hours before there islight enough to see anything by," he considered. "They have had atleast a couple of hours. Five hours is too good a start. Burke--takeone of the cars. Go ahead along the road. We mustn't neglect that. I'lltake the other. I want to get back to that house and call O' Connor.Walter, you stay here with the rest."
We separated and I felt that, although I was doing nothing, I had myhands full watching these three.
Lockwood was restless and could not help beating around in theunder-brush, in the hope of turning up something. Now and then he wouldmutter to himself some threat if anything happened to Inez. I let himoccupy himself, for our own, as much as his, peace of mind. Alfonso hadjoined his mother in the car and they sat there conversing in low tonesin Spanish, while I watched them furtively.
Of a sudden, I became aware that I missed the sound of Lockwood beatingabout the under-brush. I called, but there was no answer. Then we allcalled. There came back nothing but a mocking echo. I could not followhim. If I did, I would lose the de Moches.
Had he been laying low, waiting his opportunity to get away? Or was heplaying a lone hand? Much as I suspected about him, during the past fewhours I had come to admire him.
I sent the de Moche driver out to look for him, but he seemed afraid toventure far, and, of course, returned and said that he could not findhim. Even in his getaway, Lockwood had been characteristic. He had beenstrong enough to bide his time, clever enough to throw every one offguard. It put a new aspect on the case for me. Had Whitney intended thecapture of Inez for Lockwood? Had our coming so unexpectedly into thecase thrown the plans awry and was it the purpose to leave themmarooned at Rockledge while we were shunted off in the city? That, too,was plausible. I wished Kennedy would return before anything elsehappened.
It was not long by the clock before Kennedy did return. But it seemedages to me.
He was not alone. With him was a man in a uniform, and a powerful dog,for all the world like a huge wolf.
"Down, Searchlight," he ordered, as the dog began to show an uncannyinterest in me. "Let me introduce my new dog detective," he chuckled."She has a wonderful record as a police dog. I got O'Connor out of bedand he telephoned out to the nearest suburban station. That saved agood deal of time in getting her up here."
I mustered up courage to tell Kennedy of the defection of Lockwood. Hedid not seem to mind it especially.
"He won't get far, with the dog after him, if we want to take thetime," he said. "She's a German sheep dog, a Schaeferhund."
Searchlight seemed to have many of the characteristics of the wild,prehistoric animal, among them the full, upright ears of the wild dog,which are such a great help to it. She was a fine, alert, upstandingdog, hardy, fierce, and literally untiring, of a tawny light brown likea lioness, about the same size and somewhat of the type of thesmooth-coated collie, broad of chest and with a full brush of tail.Untamed as she seemed, she was perfectly under Kennedy's control andrendered him absolute and unreasoning obedience.
They took her over to the abandoned car. There they let her get a goodwhiff of the bottom of the car about the driver's feet, and a momentlater she started off.
Alfonso and his mother insisted on going with us and that made ourprogress across country slow.
On we went over the rough country, through a field, then skirting aclump of woods until at last we came to a lane.
We stopped in the shadow of a thicket. There was an empty summer home.Was there some intruder there? Was it really empty?
Now and then we could hear Searchlight scouting about in theunder-brush, crouching and hiding, watching and guarding. We paused andwaited in the heavily-laden night air, wondering. The soughing of thenight wind in the evergreens was mournful. Did it betoken a furthertragedy?
There was a slight noise from the other side of the house. Craigreached out and drew us back into the shadow of the thicket, deeper.
"Some one is prowling about, I think. Leave it to the dog."
Searchlight, who had been near us, was sniffing eagerly. From ourhiding-place we could just see her. She had heard the sounds, too, evenbefore we had, and for an instant stood with every muscle tense.
Then, like an arrow, she darted into the underbrush. An instant later,the sharp crack of a revolver rang out. Searchlight kept right on,never stopping a second, except, perhaps, in surprise.
"Crack!" almost in her face came a second spit of fire in the darkness,and a bullet crashed through the leaves and buried itself in a treewith a ping. The intruder's marksmanship was poor, but the dog paid noattention to it.
"One of the few animals that show no fear of gun-fire," mutteredKennedy, in undisguised admiration.
"G-r-r-r," we heard from the police dog.
"She has made a leap at the hand that holds the gun," cried Kennedy,now rising and moving rapidly in the same direction. "She has beentaught that a man once badly bitten in the hand is nearly out of thefight."
We followed also. As we approached we were just in time to seeSearchlight running in and out between the legs of a man who had heardus approach and was hastily making tracks away. As he tripped, theofficer who brought her blew shrilly on a police whistle just in timeto stop a fierce lunge at his back.
Reluctantly, Searchlight let go. One could see that with all her canineinstinct she wanted to "get" that man. Her jaws were open, as, withlonging eyes, she stood over the prostrate form in the grass. Thewhistle was a signal, and she had been taught to obey unquestioningly.
"Don't move until we get to you, or you are a dead man," shoutedKennedy, pulling an automatic as he ran. "Are you hurt?"
There was no answer, but, as we approached, the man moved, ever solittle, through curiosity to see his pursuers.
Searchlight shot forward. Again the whistle sounded and she droppedback. We bent over to seize him, as Kennedy secured the dog.
"She's a devil," ground out the prone figure on the grass.
"Lockw
ood!" exclaimed Kennedy.