The Best Wadsworth Camp Mysteries. Charles Wadsworth Camp
ask questions,” Miller said. “Thank the Lord you’re here. Get me up. Get me away from that snake.”
Morgan stared at him. The fisherman kept his eyes on the little man. At last Morgan pressed his hands together then spread them in a wide gesture.
“I can do nothing, Miller. This is pretty tough.”
“What do you mean?” Miller cried.
Morgan hung his head.
“Just that. I’m helpless to save you. If you’d only come to spend the night with me as I asked! You’d be safe in bed now.”
“You mean—” Miller gasped. “It’s impossible!”
“I can’t tell you what I mean,” Morgan answered.
“Tell me,” Miller begged.
Morgan turned away.
“No—not even to dead men.”
The fisherman still watched. At last Morgan made a quick gesture. The fisherman’s fingers twitched at the cord which imprisoned the snake’s head. Then his hand grew rigid.
“Better not!”
Morgan and the fisherman swung around at the quiet command which Miller had hoped for, had almost felt sure would come.
“Andy,” he said with a trembling laugh, “Don’t shout ‘hands up’ until you’ve put a charge of shot in that snake.”
Anderson stepped inside.
“Cover them, Tony,” he said.
Tony entered, raising his revolver. Anderson lowered his shot-gun and fired.
Miller saw a piece of flaming wadding from the shell bury itself in the brushwood, but his relief at watching the snake’s body torn by the shot drove everything else for the moment from his mind.
The fisherman tossed the pole and the shattered snake behind him. He turned as though for guidance to Morgan; but Morgan, his face twisted again, faced the revolver with which Tony threatened him.
“Don’t lose sight of that fisherman, Andy,” Miller said. “Keep an eye on him while you cut this rope.”
Anderson stooped and cut the cord. He helped Miller to his feet.
“Morgan?” Anderson said. “What does this mean?”
“He’s been asking that.” Morgan answered. “Well, find out if you can. I can’t tell you.”
“I’ve found out one thing—how Jake died. It’s murder, Morgan.”
“You try to connect me with that!”
“I’ll try. And this attempt—”
“Fortunately he wasn’t hurt,” Morgan answered.
“My story,” Miller said, “and the evidence of these snakes, collected here, will hurt!”
“Evidence! There goes that evidence.”
He pointed to the brushwood in the corner where the flaming wadding from Anderson’s gun had fallen. The brushwood was beginning to blaze. Miller tried to stamp it out, but the twigs were like tinder. They crackled in the fire that quickly swept the length of the wall. The rattling of the snakes, just now menacing, arose in a staccato appeal. In a moment the fire would be at the door.
“Take these two out and keep them covered,” Miller said. “Don’t let them get away. We’ll reach the bottom of this business now,”
He followed the others into the gale-swept semicircle. The fire was through the doorway almost at his heels. It licked its way in the dry grass along the wall towards the opening between the quarters. There the wind would catch it finally and deliver to its hungry tongues the evil piece of woods.
As the flames rose the trees of the avenue sprang into gargantuan, twisted motion. Through their straining branches the rear of the plantation house gleamed white. The flames also showed Miller the backs of Molly and the girl, seated on a fallen log at the side of the avenue. The girl’s head was hidden on Molly’s shoulder. He looked away. The difficulty of the situation stifled him. Her father involved in this brutal scandal! Undoubtedly she had saved his life, yet what was her own share?
He swung on Morgan angrily.
“Answer my questions. Explain this business.”
“I can explain nothing,” Morgan answered. “As far as I am concerned there’s nothing to explain beyond the fact that I found you in the hands of that giant and told you the obvious thing that I couldn’t handle him and get you away. What do I know 1 These natives I Their purposes are beyond me. You people seem determined to incriminate me somehow or other. That’s nonsense. Let’s be sensible and go to the house and have a drink while Rome burns.”
Miller grasped Morgan’s arm. He shook it savagely.
“You say I’m too determined. Understand, I’m determined to find out what it is you won’t tell even to dead men—why you’ve played this Judas part, why you’ve put the Andersons on the rack, why you killed Jake, why you tried to kill Tony and me. And I’ll find out. There isn’t a rat-hole in that house of yours I won’t search for a reason. And your daughter! Look at her sitting there.”
Morgan turned wildly.
“My daughter!”
“She warned me,” Miller said. “She saved my life. Even if your fisherman is a sphinx, do you think she’ll keep silent now?”
Morgan’s jaw dropped. An animal-like cry left his mouth. As Tony, momentarily surprised, lowered his revolver, Morgan ran to the corner of the building, sprang across the flames now blazing there, and leaped into the tangled undergrowth.
Tony raised his arm. He aimed at the broad back. Miller struck the gun up.
“No, Tony. It isn’t necessary.”
For as Morgan had jumped, the wind had seized the flames and had leaped shrieking with them into the forest after his retreating figure. The thicket crackled like a scattered skirmish line. The fire licked along the trunks to the waving tree tops. The glare became blinding.
Miller turned gravely to Anderson.
“That thicket will hold him back like a thousand hands. Perhaps it’s better than he deserved. You and Tony take that tongue-tied fellow to the plantation house. I’ll bring Molly and th—the girl.”
He walked slowly, reluctantly to the fallen log where the two sat with their backs still turned. He touched the girl’s bowed head. He spoke gently :
“Your—your father got away.”
Her head went a little lower. He had to stoop to catch her answer.
“He is not my father.”
She said no more. He did not have the heart to question her then.
CHAPTER XX
NOYER’S RELICS
They entered the plantation house through the kitchen. They saw no one. A lamp turned low burned in the library—that same dim eye that had regarded Miller the night he had sailed into the inlet. They left Molly and the girl there and debated in the hall what disposition to make of their prisoner. Miller suggested the cupola.
“Noyer rigged it up,” he said, “as a corrective for his house servants. We can’t lock him in, but it has wrist and leg irons. I dare say we would be justified.”
It was the best expedient. With the revolver at his back the silent fisherman climbed willingly enough.
Miller set