The Clue of the Screeching Owl (12 page)

The trio, huddled in their blankets, stared at the flaming cabin.

“The walls seemed to go up all at once,” Frank remarked to the others. “It wasn't as if the fire had started in the kitchen and spread to the living room. Everything went up at once.”

Joe looked grim. “No fire could start that way —unless—unless it was set deliberately by someone!”

CHET gulped. “The cabin was set on fire?” he cried.

“Right,” said Joe.

Frank nodded. “From the way the fire spread, I'd say someone poured kerosene all around the foundation and then lighted a match to it. I smelled kerosene strongly right at the beginning!”

Suddenly Frank and Joe recalled Webber's words: “I'll attend to the boys.” Could it be that he was the incendiary?

“But that would make him a murderer!” Chet exclaimed. “Is he that bad?”

“Oh, we're not accusing him yet,” Joe said quickly.

“Or anyone else,” Frank added. “When it's safe to look in the ruins, we'll hunt for clues.”

Helplessly, Frank, Joe, and Chet watched the blaze. Though the mysterious fire had begun suddenly, it burned for some time. The logs of the cabin, soaked in creosote to withstand the weather, now burned fiercely until consumed. When morning came, the once trim cabin was a mass of rubble, glowing here and there with orange sparks.

“It's a crime!” Joe said. “If somebody did burn down the cabin, I'd like to get my hands on him!”

Suddenly Chet pointed out, “Fellows, we haven't a stitch of clothing except our underwear!”

Despite the gravity of the situation, all three boys began to laugh. “This is a fine situation,” said Frank.

“Of course we have blankets and sleeping bags,” Joe spoke up. “We can play Indian.”

“But there's no chow,” Chet reminded him, “to have a feast.”

“It seems funny that no one has come here to see where the fire is,” Frank remarked. “You'd think a forest-fire observer would have spotted it from his tower and investigated.”

No one arrived, however. When the intense heat had abated, Frank went toward the ruins. He noted that Captain Maguire had built his cabin on a stone foundation, using concrete for mortar. After finishing, he had spread his surplus gravel around the entire foundation.

Now the three young detectives found that this gravel still preserved the warmth of the fire. But even more important, it had preserved something else—several deep, distinct, footprints!

“You were right, Frank, about somebody seting this fire!” Joe exclaimed. “The prints are on all sides. If only we'd brought our moulage equipment from home, we could have made some fine plaster casts for evidence.”

“We'll have to do without,” replied his brother. “But we can still take measurements.”

He placed his own bare right foot over the right indentation left by the suspect. “Somebody with a short, wide shoe,” Frank observed. “And look here! All the left prints have this ragged outer edge. Looks as if the sole of the man's shoe had been damaged by a stone or a knife!”

So absorbed were Frank, Joe, and Chet in examining the fresh prints that they were suddenly startled to discover someone standing directly behind them. Simon, the mute boy, had just appeared from the encircling woods. He gaped in astonishment at the blackened ruins.

“Hello, Simon,” Joe called. Instantly he dropped his eyes from the boy's face to his feet. Frank and Chet, having the same idea, also looked down.

In spite of his long legs, Simon had average-size feet. And his battered tennis shoes could not have made the footprints in the gravel.

“Somebody burned us out, Simon,” explained Joe. “Take a look at these prints!”

Though Simon followed Joe's pointing finger obediently, he merely shook his head and shrugged.

“Well, what do we do now?” Chet asked.

“First, let's get some clothes,” Frank answered.

“Oh, sure,” said Chet. “And what are we using for money and clothes to go into a store with? Every cent we had was burned in the fire. We can't go shopping in our underwear!”

Mysteriously, Frank's face brightened. “Simon,” he said, “you'll have to do our shopping for us.” Frank quickly explained their needs to the mute boy. Simon nodded comprehension and consent.

“Now, the money.” Taking a small screw driver from the glove compartment of the car, Frank pried up the horn button. As the piece popped out, a bill, folded very small, fell out too.

“Emergency money,” explained Frank, grinning.

“Thank goodness,” said Chet.

Once more the yellow convertible made its way over the hilly country roads to the town of Forestburg. Purposely, Frank parked the car a good hundred yards from the first house of the town.

“Nothing like driving in bare feet,” he remarked. “Tickles!”

“What a sight we must be!” Joe laughed. “No clothes, singed eyebrows—refugees from a circus, or something!”

“At least Mystery still has his coat on,” Chet joked.

“Quiet!” commanded Joe, and grinned. “I'm writing down sizes for the clerk. Let's see—trousers about six feet around the waist, Chet?”

Finally the lithe figure of Simon emerged from the car. He made his way, with some hesitation, down the street toward Giller's General Store.

As soon as he had gone, the three boys began to talk over the footprints around the burned cabin.

“I'll bet anything they belong to Webber,” Joe declared.

Frank's suspicions were nearly as strong as Joe's, but he advised caution.

“Better hold your horses a little, Joe. This is a very serious charge. We'll need airtight proof before we can accuse Webber.”

“And even if you're right,” Chet spoke up, “why did Webber and Donner want us out of the way? What is it that he didn't want to go wrong?”

“Wish I knew,” said Joe. “Since we're not involved in the estate, I'd say Webber and Donner must be tied up in some kind of underhanded business. Maybe Colonel Thunder is in it too, and got word to his brother about our visit to him.”

“What a mess!” Chet said with a sigh. “Say,” he added, looking at his watch, “Simon's been gone twenty minutes. What's he doing all this time! Suppose somebody should come by?”

“Duck, fellows! Here comes a lady!” Joe warned.

“Where? Is she close?” Chet and Frank scrambled to the floor.

“Guess I made a mistake!” Joe chuckled.

“Why, you joker,” Frank threatened.

“Hey!” Chet moaned. “Maybe Simon has just run off with our money, and won't bring us any clothes!”

This remark made all the boys glum. But at last Simon's tall form could be seen approaching from the town. In his arms the mute boy carried a huge package wrapped in brown paper.

Eager hands reached from the car to snatch the package and change from the astonished Simon. Flying fingers ripped open the paper and tugged at the clothing inside.

“Keep watch, Simon. Warn us if anybody comes,” ordered Joe.

In a few minutes three fully-clothed boys joined Simon on the sidewalk. All wore identical blue dungarees, red flannel shirts, checkered socks, and black shoes.

“Jumpin' goldfish!” complained Chet. “We look like a comedy team on television!”

Simon grinned and from under his right arm produced a package containing three extra shirts. He threw them into the rear seat, as the boys looked relieved.

While Frank and Joe merely laughed at each other's singed hair and eyebrows, Chet said, “Breakfast before anything else!”

Customers in Forestburg's chief diner peered in amusement over their morning coffee as the door opened. First came three boys, all wearing red shirts and blue dungarees, with their hair and eyebrows partly singed away. Then came a tall, gangling boy with trousers too short and a wild shock of hair. Disregarding the curious stares, the four were soon putting away vast quantities of griddlecakes.

“Must be some of them carnival fellas,” muttered one man to his neighbor. “Looks like somebody ran a blowtorch over those three!”

“Who's the other one—the wild man of Borneo?” returned his companion.

But Frank, Joe, Chet, and Simon ate heartily, still ignoring the customers' stares. While Simon and Chet worked on a third helping of griddlecakes and cocoa, the Hardys consulted briefly in whispers.

“Think we ought to try to reach Dad?” Joe asked his brother, “and tell him our suspicions about the fire?”

Frank, after a moment's reflection, decided against this. “Dad has enough on his hands, and he'd probably drop everything and come rushing over. Let's wait till we have proof to give him.”

Joe then proposed, “How about seeing Webber before we try Elizabeth Donner?”

“Right,” Frank approved. “But we'd better report to Sheriff Ecker first.”

The face of the lawman became grave as he heard of the boys' narrow escape. He agreed to keep the matter quiet until the culprits' identity could be established beyond a doubt.

“Something funny's going on out at Black Hollow, all right,” he admitted at last. “I'll send some men out there right away. We'll look over the wreckage and take casts of the footprints. I've sort of neglected you fellows, but this is serious business. I'll drop everything and get on to it. Where are you headed now?”

Frank shot his brother a quick warning look.

“We have to pick up a few things. That fire cleaned us out.”

Sheriff Ecker and two members of his force started off to Black Hollow to investigate the fire. They took Simon and Mystery with them.

“I've arranged for Simon to take care of Mystery until we get back,” Chet announced when the three were back in the car again. “Especially since we don't know where we'll be sleeping tonight!”

The boys then made straight for the building in which they had seen Wyckoff Webber's office. Frank parked and the three companions climbed the office building stairs. A small gray-haired woman, with a sharp nose, answered their knock.

“Are you Mr. Webber's secretary?” Joe asked her.

“Secretary indeed! Him with a secretary. He's too miserly,” the woman snorted. “I just drop off his mail. I can tell you he's out of town for a few days, if that's what you want to know!”

“Thank you,” said Frank, and the boys trudged down the steps to the street.

“Now let's try to find Elizabeth Donner,” declared Frank, leading the way back to the courthouse.

As he had hoped, the courthouse had a stack of telephone books for the towns some distance around.

“Everybody take a book,” he directed. “Look up Miss Elizabeth Donner.”

Less than ten minutes of silent work brought a sharp exclamation from Joe. “Here she is-Miss Elizabeth Donner, with an address in Brook wood!”

The boys made sure there were no other women with the same name, then went to their car. After consulting a road map, the three chums set out for Brookwood, where they hoped to find out more about the strange Donner brothers!

SHORTLY before noon the yellow convertible rolled along the quiet main street of Brookwood. Large, pleasant white houses with wide lawns and lovely shade trees stood on either side.

“A nice old town,” Frank commented, then added, “Fellows, let's be careful with Miss Donner, and not make the same mistake we did with Colonel Thunder.”

“How do you mean?” queried Chet.

“We insulted his family pride. These Donners are touchy people. If we aren't careful of what we say, we won't learn anything.”

“True,” Joe agreed, “and maybe we can find out a little about Elizabeth from somebody here in town before we call on her. Then we can say we met her attractive brother while searching the woods for a man believed lost.”

“Attractive!” snorted Chet.

“Okay, Chet,” said Frank. “I'd like to know what this town thinks of Elizabeth, too. And here's the place to learn something.”

Before Joe and Chet could protest, Frank had pulled up before one of the old town houses which had been converted into a business establishment.

“ ‘Blue Willow Tearoom,' ” Chet read from a sign outside. “Oh, no! We're not eating in a tearoom. They wouldn't serve hot dogs, and that's what I want. Most of their customers are probably fussy old ladies on diets.”

“Right you are.” Frank chuckled. “And who should know more about Miss Donner than the old ladies? Anyway, I remember Mother's mentioning that she once ate in this town. Let's go!”

A little bell tinkled discreetly as the door opened. Frank, Joe, and Chet, their singed hair combed as well as possible, and their red shirts buttoned at the collar, sat down awkwardly on dainty chairs placed around a little table.

“Good morning!” A tall woman of middle age, wearing a tiny starched apron, came forward and eyed them with sharp suspicion.

“Good morning,” Frank responded with a wide smile. Rising to his feet, he said, “I think my mother stopped here one time. We'd like to have some luncheon. How cool and restful a nice tearoom is on a hot day!”

Charmed by Frank's manner, the woman smiled. “What would you like, boys?”

To Chet's astonishment, he was soon enjoying a puffy omelet, tasty vegetable salad, and a tall glass of iced tea spiced with a sprig of mint fresh from the garden.

“Say,” he declared, “I'll have to eat in tearooms more often!”