The Clue of the Screeching Owl (13 page)

“Well, pick up your napkin,” teased Joe. “That's the fifth time you've dropped it on the floor.”

“This is Brookwood, isn't it?” Frank asked the woman when she brought strawberry shortcake for dessert. Miss Elizabeth Donner lives here, doesn't she?”

“Oh, yes,” the woman answered. “Perhaps your mother has ordered dresses from Miss Donner. She's a perfectly wonderful designer, you know. Customers come to her from all over. She works right in her own home.”

“No,” said Frank. “It wasn't that. We know some other members of her family.”

“Oh, yes, Miss Donner comes from a very good old family. She's a lady, to be sure—but very firm, too, about her business. It's marvelous how well she does! The family has broken up though, I understand. I don't believe she ever sees her brothers now.”

The woman went off to seat a new group of diners, and the boys had no further chance to speak to her. As the three friends walked toward Elizabeth Donner's house, Joe exclaimed, “A dress designer! What are we going to say to her, for Pete's sake?”

“We'll think of something,” Frank replied confidently.

“You mean
you'll
think of something,” Joe corrected him. “Count me out!”

“Me too,” Chet chimed in.

With that, the two marched away, leaving Frank Hardy alone on the steps of a well-cared-for white clapboard house. Near the door a little sign invited:
Ring Bell and Walk In.

Frank found himself in a well-furnished parlor used as a waiting room. Since no one was there, he had time to examine the thick rug, the fine furniture, the tasteful wall decorations, and the well-filled engagement book which stood open on a little table. Evidently Elizabeth Donner's business was a profitable one.

A door opened softly and a tall, handsome woman in her late thirties, with dark hair and the commanding Donner look, came in. At the same time, a little brown dog scurried through the door at her feet and threw itself happily upon Frank.

Stooping to pat the animal, the youth noticed one white ear. His mind raced. A brown mongrel with one white ear! And no collar or tag. Could this be Bobby Thompson's dog Skippy?

Concealing his suspicions, Frank laughed and stood up. “Friendly little pup. Friend of mine had one just like him—maybe it's from the same litter. Where'd you get this dog, Miss Donner?”

“I really don't know where he came from.” The woman's manner was friendly but firm. “A brother gave him to me. The poor little thing was lost and he befriended it, but couldn't keep it himself.”

“Oh, was that the pleasant Mr. Donner who went with me into Black Hollow to look for a lost friend of my family's?”

Elizabeth Donner shot a searching look at her youthful visitor.

“I wouldn't know,” she answered evenly. “By the way, what brought you here?”

Carefully Frank side-stepped the question. Hoping his voice sounded casual, he said, “I was wondering, do you take clients living at a distance? My mother loves to wear attractive suits and dresses. Since I was in the neighborhood I thought I'd ask you.”

Miss Donner smiled. “You're an unusual boy, aren't you?” she said. “Not many sons are that thoughtful. Have your mother write to me. Then we'll see.”

Watching the tall, self-possessed woman narrowly, Frank wondered, “Is she playing a game? Does she believe me or doesn't she?” But Elizabeth Donner's smile told him nothing.

“I'll do that,” he answered, and quickly left the house. Deep in thought, he returned to the car. He told the others what had transpired, adding, “I think I found Bobby Thompson's dog! Donner probably gave the pup to his sister soon after he stole it.”

“Skippy?” Chet sat up, astonished. “What does that man do—steal dogs for the pleasure of giving them away?”

“Don't ask me,” Frank answered. “That's all I could learn. Except that Miss Donner does very well with her dressmaking. I'd say she doesn't need any estate money—or any dishonest money, either. But you never know.”

“Okay, so this is a blind alley,” said the disgruntled Chet. “Where are we cooking and sleeping tonight?”

“There's only one place to solve the mystery of Black Hollow, and that's Black Hollow!” declared Joe. “I vote we camp near there.”

Frank jingled the coins in his pocket. “We'd better solve it pretty soon,” he warned. “Money's getting scarce. What will we need for tonight?”

“A few cans of food,” answered Chet, “and a couple of flashlights.”

“And a pad and pencil, so Simon can communicate with us,” put in Joe.

After buying these necessities, the three friends started back for Black Hollow. At Joe's suggestion, they drove slowly. “Let's take our time,” he said, “and not get there until after dark. Then nobody will know we're around.”

Accordingly, Chet cooked supper for them at a roadside fireplace and picnic table. At eight o'clock they headed once more for the hollow. Showing only parking lights, the big car climbed slowly up Rim Road. When they passed the lighted Thompson house, the boys knew they had nearly reached the top. Once there, the trio hid the car among some trees and started off on foot.

Only a few stars sparkled in the sky. Clouds, black as coal, were massing in the west. With flashlight beam jabbing ahead into the darkness, Joe led Frank and Chet a little way along the hollow trail, and then off to one side.

“This spot's level and well sheltered,” the youth explained. “I've had it in mind, in case we had to sleep out.”

After unrolling their sleeping bags—Chet's had been kept in the car's trunk—the three boys removed their shoes and crawled in. Lying on their backs in the darkness, Frank and Joe stared upward at the trees. A light wind made the hemlocks sigh. From afar they heard a whippoorwill's call. Presently from the hollow came the sad, familiar wailing.

“Screech owl,” Joe murmured.

A few minutes later the night was broken by a number of screams.

“Oh, oh, there's the witch again!” said Joe.

“Joe, that isn't the same screaming we heard our first night here,” Frank noted. “It's not so harsh, so insistent. This really sounds like a barn owl. The screaming the other night, I'm sure, was human!”

“Maybe.” Joe yawned. “Anyhow, this one's an owl. Nothing to get excited about.” In another moment Joe was asleep, then Frank.

“Help! Leave me alone!”

The cries came from Chet Morton. Frank and Joe, starting up, blinked sleepily. “Chet's having a nightmare,” thought Joe.

But as he became wider awake, he saw a tall shadowy figure hovering over the bundle that was Chet Morton!

As FRANK and Joe got out of their sleeping bags, to spring upon the intruder, Chet Morton unexpectedly began to guffaw.

“Aw, stop it! Ha-ha! Cut it out, will you?”

The black figure had not moved, but Chet was thrashing about on the ground, laughing convulsively.

“Chet!” Joe cried as he groped for his flashlight. Then he muttered to Frank, “Has he gone out of his mind?”

“N-no,” gasped Chet. “Stop licking my face, Mystery! How can a fellow talk?”

Two flashlight beams illuminated the scene in the same instant. Standing nearby was the mute boy, Simon. The little beagle, with tail whipping about happily, was leaping on Chet with fierce affection.

“Oh boy!” Joe exclaimed, grinning. “You gave us a scare, Simon.”

“We can't keep Mystery with us now,” said Frank. “We don't know where we'll be from one day to the next.”

Scooping up Mystery with a quick movement, Frank thrust the animal into Simon's arms. “Simon, please look after our dog a little longer. Okay?”

To their astonishment, Simon placed the beagle on the ground. Then, pointing quickly at Frank, Joe, and Chet in succession, he waved them away frantically with both arms.

“He says for us to clear out,” interpreted Joe. “He must mean we're in some danger! What is it, Simon?”

Frank had already put pad and pencil into the mute boy's hands. Now, while Frank and Joe shone their lights on the page, he quickly sketched a picture of a small, windowless cabin, with a gun barrel pointing menacingly from the door!

“Donner's place,” Joe muttered. “And he has a gun. Well, we knew that already. We weren't going near there tonight, anyhow.”

“Hold on,” Frank warned. “He's drawing something else.”

Simon had not yet finished. Next to the cabin he drew sketches of two owls seated side by side. With amazing skill, Simon sketched in the fierce owl eyes and beak of each. But one of the birds had high-pointed ear tufts; the other seemed to have no ears at all, and had a round, masklike face similar to that of a monkey.

“Great sketches,” Joe commented. One of his hobbies was ornithology. Now, studying the drawings, he told the others, “The one with the prominent ears is the screech owl. He does the wailing. And monkey face, here, is the barn owl. He does the screeching.”

“Hey! What are you doing?” Chet asked suddenly.

Simon, after drawing two very accurate pictures, suddenly took his pencil and crossed them both out. Once again he waved the boys away from him.

“I don't get it,” said Frank, puzzled. “Are you afraid of the owls?” Simon shook his head vigorously.

“Do you connect their cries with the witch of Black Hollow and want to protect us from her?” Again Simon shook his head.

“Maybe he means Donner is going to shoot the owls,” suggested Chet. More denials.

“I give up,” said Joe. “But listen, Simon. Witches, owls, Donner—nobody is going to drive us out of these woods! We're staying! Get it?”

Peering intently at the determined faces of his new friends, the strange boy looked frustrated. He gathered up Mystery in his arms, and as silently as he had appeared, glided off among the trees.

“Wish I knew what he was driving at,” Chet remarked.

Meanwhile, Frank and Joe had switched off their flashlights to save the batteries. As the three stood together in silence, a faint flicker appeared in the sky.

“Lightning,” Frank commented. “Very far away as yet. Must mean a storm's coming, though. I wish there were a cave, without rattlesnakes, for us to take shelter in.”

“Don't worry,” Joe assured him. “The storm's far away; it may never reach here. Let's get some shut-eye.”

Thoroughly tired, the three friends lay down once more and fell asleep immediately. Some time later Joe suddenly found himself wide awake. His heart was pounding violently. The luminous dial of his watch told him that nearly two hours had passed.

The darkness seemed thicker, the air heavier than a few hours earlier.

“Frank! Chet! Did you hear it?”

“Yes,” came Frank's tense, whispered answer. “There it is again!”

The heavy, oppressive silence was shattered by a scream—a horrible drawn-out cry. Again it sounded, this time harsher and higher-pitched. Then a third time.

“That's a human being in trouble!” exclaimed Frank, leaping to his feet. “Quick! Roll up your sleeping bags and shove 'em out of sight underneath these bushes. Let's go! Somebody needs our help!”

“This witch may be more real than we thought,” said Chet as he hurriedly slipped into his shoes. “Do you suppose she's—she's torturing Captain Maguire?”

Fully awake now, and every sense alert, the boys listened intently while the blood-chilling screams were repeated. To add to the weirdness, the woods were illumined by a flash of lightning.

“That cry was in the hollow, and not too far from here,” Frank directed. “Let's go!”

“Turn on all flashlights!” Joe called as he rushed forward. “Speed is important!”

The three boys dashed along the path into Black Hollow.

“Halt!” Frank ordered, as the screams came once more. Carefully he placed their direction. “We won't go down to the floor of the valley,” he decided. “The cries seem to be coming more from the side. We'll stick to this upper path instead!”

Once again the young detectives rushed forward, halfway up the steep, partly wooded side of the hollow. But within a few seconds Frank halted them again.

“Now what?” Joe asked breathlessly. “I don't hear any more screaming.”

“There's something else. Don't you hear it?” Straining his ears to their utmost, Frank listened intently.

But hearing was difficult, for the night was no longer a quiet one. The wind that comes before a thunderstorm was now sweeping through the hollow like an onrushing wave. In the frequent flicker of lightning, huge trees could be seen waving wildly and showing the pale undersides of their leaves. The limbs creaked. The wind hissed in the leaves. But through it all, Frank's ears seemed to detect another sound.

“What is it?” queried Joe.

“A kind of thin, human voice calling. But with this wind, I can't be sure!”

Just then, there came a long flicker of lightning. Joe pointed to a nearby tree. Perched motionless on a limb was a full-grown owl, its huge eyes unblinking even in the vivid glare. Then darkness closed in again.

Suddenly the air was rent by a terrifying scream from the valley floor! Frank, Joe, and Chet were startled. As they crouched, breathless, upon the rock where they had halted, the snap of twigs on the ground alerted them to the movement of a heavy body in the woods just below.

Frank and Joe kept their eyes fixed upon a small grassy clearing to their left.

Suddenly something huge, black, and solid, moving catlike upon all fours, padded unhurriedly into the grassy area. Then noiselessly it glided into the blackness of the trees on the other side.