<h2 id="c5"><span class="sc">Chapter V</span> <br/><span class="small">STRANGE DOINGS AT TURNER’S</span></h2>
<p>The flivver pulled up at the side of the
dirt road and stopped. Ezra Parker, behind
the wheel, switched off the motor and likewise
the lights. Patches of moonlight filtered
through interlocking branches that arched
the grassgrown highway. These silvery
patches seemed but to deepen the velvety black
of the woods. After the noisy chugging of
four ancient cylinders the silence of the forest
was oppressive.</p>
<p>“Yonder’s the road to Turner’s,” Ezra
volunteered, pointing toward a narrow track,
choked with weeds, which led off to the right.
“The house is two or three miles farther on.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_68">68</div>
<p>“I know! I’ve been over it twice in a car—and
gee whiz!—it sure is a tough one to
drive,” piped Charlie from the back seat.</p>
<p>“We’ve got to hop it now,” said Bill.
“Hand me the extra rifle, and come on.”</p>
<p>Followed by young Evans, he stepped down
to the roadway.</p>
<p>“So long, fellows,” Ezra bade them, “better
watch your step when you get near Turner’s.”</p>
<p>“We will,” returned Bill. “Got the times
fixed in your mind, Ezra, and all the rest of
the instructions?”</p>
<p>“You bet. I’ll write them down soon as I
get home. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fellows
down.”</p>
<p>He backed the car across the road, swung
round his front wheels and chugged off in
the direction of Clayton.</p>
<p>“And that’s that,” said Bill.</p>
<p>“I hope Dad will approve,” said Charlie.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_69">69</div>
<p>Bill’s face took, on a look of grim determination
in the darkness. “It’s just too bad if he
doesn’t. Don’t shoulder that rifle, Charlie.
It’s likely to hit a branch and go off. Hold
it in the hollow of your arm, like I’m carrying
mine. Keep three or four paces behind
me—and remember, no more talking until
we are inside the garage. If you see me drop
down—flop!”</p>
<p>“O.K.” grunted the youngster. “On your
way. If anybody spots us it won’t be my
fault.”</p>
<p>They strode down the road toward Turner’s
for a mile or more. Neither the tall lad nor
the short one uttered a word. Bill drank in
the crisp, cool night air, pleasant after the
dusty highway. On either hand dense woods
shut out the moonlight. Directly overhead,
however, light filtered between the treetops,
flecking the overgrown trail with splotches of
silver.</p>
<p>When they came to an open woodlot, Bill
paused.</p>
<p>“Yes, I think from what Ezra said, we go
to the left here. We’ll see where it lands us.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_70">70</div>
<p>Shortly after passing round the field, a
dense wood of pines showed up against the
moonlight on their right hand. Between
them and the pines was a broad stone fence.</p>
<p>“We’ll hang out here for a few minutes,”
Bill remarked. “There’s nothing like making
quite certain. If you hear anyone following,
Charlie, it means we were noticed in the
car, and we’re probably in for a rousing time.”</p>
<p>After an interval he got up and stretched
himself, gave a curt order and plunged abruptly
into the heart of the woods. Bill had
no idea how far they penetrated, but they
appeared to go forward for a good fifteen
minutes before they struck upon a grassgrown
avenue or drive among the trees, and
at the end of it they saw a clearing. Both
lads stopped.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_71">71</div>
<p>A gentle wind stirred in the tree-tops, and
above its rustle, they suddenly heard the soft
wash of the sea. Bill turned and Charlie followed
his gaze. Set back, quite close to the
woods, amid overgrown lawns and shrubbery,
there glimmered in the pallid moonlight, the
outlines of a house.</p>
<p>“Turner’s!” whispered Bill as Charlie
came close. “It looked different from the
air, but I guess it’s the place, all right.”</p>
<p>“Sure—and there’s the garage, see it?”</p>
<p>“Come along.”</p>
<p>Emerging stealthily from the trees, he
quickly glanced about, crossed the path, cut
in behind a screen of shrubbery and made his
way round the side of the house to the garage.
Without hesitation he went forward, pulled
the right hand door slightly ajar and slipped
in, with Charlie at his heels. The darkness
closed in upon them.</p>
<p>“Just a moment, and I’ll be with you,” a
cautious voice spoke nearby, and Bill recognized
it as Mr. Evans’. The door behind
them shut with a slight click, and Bill felt
one of his hands caught in a firm grasp.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_72">72</div>
<p>“Charlie, take Bill’s other hand. We
won’t show a light just yet. Come this way.”</p>
<p>They passed on until they came to what
Bill decided was a closet in one corner of the
garage. He heard Mr. Evans open a door,
and at the same time he spoke again.</p>
<p>“Shut the door after you, Charlie, and see
that the lock snaps. There are twelve steps
down, Bill. Come along—the youngster
knows his way from here.”</p>
<p>Bill, still grasping Mr. Evans’ hand, felt
for the first step, found it and descended after
his guide. On level ground once more, he
counted eighty-four paces and two turns in
the dark tunnel before he was led up a flight
of twenty-two steps at the farther end.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_73">73</div>
<p>There came a pause, followed by a click.
Then he was pulled gently forward and his
hand released. He waited; then a leaping
shaft of light from a single unshaded lamp
disclosed a large and soundly furnished room,
with books lining the walls and deep armchairs
grouped about. On a table in the center
were a large plate of sandwiches, some
glasses and several bottles of ginger ale.</p>
<p>“Me for that!” cried Charlie, his face
shining in anticipation.</p>
<p>“That boy’s head is in his stomach,” declared
Mr. Evans. “But I suppose at his age
I was always hungry too. Well, I’m glad to
see both of you. I need your help, Bill, because
I can’t drag in the police on this matter—at
least, not yet. They would spoil everything.
Help yourself from the table, lad,
before Charlie gobbles all the sandwiches.
Then tell me about your trip. Something
happen to the car? Or did you think your
plane would prove the more useful?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_74">74</div>
<p>“Both,” said Bill from the table, where he
was pouring himself a glass of ginger ale.
Taking a couple of sandwiches, he went over
to an armchair and sank back in its comfortable
depths. “Your friends, or enemies, or
whoever they are,” he went on, munching as
he talked, “are quite active around New
Canaan. They made things hum for a while,
and wrecked your car into the bargain. If
their shooting hadn’t been putrid, you’d be
minus a son now, Mr. Evans. It’s not my
place to criticize, but don’t you think it was
pretty risky, sending a boy his age on such a
dangerous undertaking?”</p>
<p>Mr. Evans started up from his chair in
consternation. “You don’t mean they tried
to shoot the boy!”</p>
<p>“I certainly do mean just that.”</p>
<p>The father put an arm about his son’s
shoulders and held him close. “The devils!”
he muttered. “I’d no idea they would dare
resort to such methods! If I had, he never
would have been sent. And I don’t blame
you, Bill, for thinking me a heartless parent.
If anything had happened to this boy——But
there’s no sense in making excuses now.
Tell me just what happened.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_75">75</div>
<p>He carted Charlie, sandwiches and ginger
ale over to his chair and deposited them there,
seating himself on the broad arm at his son’s
side.</p>
<p>“Well, the first I knew of it,” began Bill,
and continued with a recitation of their adventures
since the thunderstorm had awakened
him the night before. When he had
finished, he got up to replenish his glass.</p>
<p>“Splendid! I’m extremely proud of you
both. Now tell me of the arrangements
you’ve made with Parker.”</p>
<p>“Starting tomorrow night, he is to fly the
<i>Loening</i> over this property. If he sees a light
in the garage he will know that we want him.
He will then continue on his way out to sea
for a few miles, come back over Twin Heads
and land in the harbor near the channel that
leads out to the Atlantic. We will get in
touch with him there. In any case, unless he
is molested, he is to wait on the water until
daylight.”</p>
<p>“And if we do not need him, what then?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_76">76</div>
<p>“Why, the garage will be dark, and he’ll
go out to sea, swing round and go back to
Clayton.”</p>
<p>“Did you arrange any set time for his
flights?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Tomorrow he will be over this house
at midnight. The next night at one o’clock.
The night after, at two, and the following
one at three. Then he starts all over again.
I arranged his trips in that order, so that anyone
spying would not be able to count on a set
time.”</p>
<p>Mr. Evans nodded his approval. “That
is very satisfactory, Bill. You think Parker
is to be trusted, of course?”</p>
<p>“I’m sure of it, sir. Hope you don’t think
I set his salary at too high a figure?”</p>
<p>“I’ll double it if he proves useful,” Mr.
Evans declared. “Now get off my knee,
Charlie, while I pay Bill back for what he
has spent on my account.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_77">77</div>
<p>He dug into a trousers’ pocket, fished out
a roll of bills and handed it to Bill. “That’s
what I owe you—and keep the balance for
expenses. You may need it before long.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, sir.” Bill pocketed the money.
“Can you tell us something of what we’re up
against, sir?”</p>
<p>Mr. Evans glanced at his watch. “Goodness!
It’s time you fellows were in bed. I’ll
go into details, Bill, after breakfast.”</p>
<p>“But, Dad, we slept all day!” Charlie expostulated.</p>
<p>“Never mind, son. You won’t be the worse
for a few hours more. We’ll all need clear
wits in the morning.”</p>
<p>Beckoning the lads to follow, he went to
the door. Their feet echoed on the polished
tiles of the hall, a vast place which looked
like a black cavern above them, the dim shape
of a wide staircase beyond. Following Mr.
Evans’ lead, they mounted the stairs, his flashlight
flickering on the thick carpet and heavy
oak banisters. In the corridor above, he
stopped and flung open a door.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_78">78</div>
<p>They entered a large, square bedroom.
Twin beds stood against opposite walls, and
heavy dark hangings concealed the windows.
These curtains, Mr. Evans drew back, and
through the shutters there gleamed the faint
gray light of a waning moon. A solitary
night-owl made eerie music in the
woods.</p>
<p>“Sleep well,” said Charlie’s father. “I’ll
call you two at seven. We’ll have breakfast
and I’ll explain my problem to you. Good
night.”</p>
<p>“Good night, Dad.”</p>
<p>“Good night, sir.”</p>
<p>Mr. Evans departed with a wave of his
hand. “I forgot to say,” he added, putting
his head inside the door again, “if you wake
earlier than seven, don’t raise a row. No
bursting into happy song, Charlie....” He
grinned at his son, nodded, and was gone.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_79">79</div>
<p>Bill sat down on his bed and took off his
shoes. “I wonder why he warned us about
noise,” he remarked as he struggled with a
knot.</p>
<p>“Ask me something easy,” yawned Charlie.
“You’ll soon find out that there’s more hush
stuff about this house than there is at a
funeral.”</p>
<p>“Cheerful simile!” grunted Bill. He
dropped a shoe, stripped off his outer garments,
and got into bed wearing his underclothes.</p>
<p>He was dreaming of masked foes, who
kept climbing up from airy depths, to creep
on him unawares, when one of these fiends
clutched him by the shoulder. Suddenly he
found himself sitting up in bed, shaking with
the terror of nightmare.</p>
<p>“Are you dead—or what?” Charlie stood
beside him, and leaned over to shake him
again. Through partly opened shutters daylight
streamed into the room.</p>
<p>“I’m awake,” said Bill with an effort.
“What time is it, anyway?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_80">80</div>
<p>“Nearly nine o’clock—that’s why I’m
worried. I just woke up myself—Dad hasn’t
called us or come near us yet. Do you s’pose
something has happened to him, Bill?”</p>
<p>Bill jumped out of bed. “Wait till I get
some clothes on—then we’ll find out.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_81">81</div>
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