Reaching The Haven, Colonel Ashley, who had trailed LeGrand Blossom to the latter's boarding place without anything having developed, was met by Shag, who was up later than usual, for it was now close to midnight.
“What now, Shag!” exclaimed the colonel. “Don't tell me there are any more detective cases for me to work on. I simply won't listen. I wish I hadn't to this one. It's getting more and more tangled every minute, and the fish are biting well. Hang it all, Shag, why did you let me take up this golf course mystery?”
“I didn't do it, Colonel, no, sah!”
“What's the use of talking that way, Shag! You know you did!”
“Yes, sah, Colonel. Dat's whut I did!” confessed Shag with a grin. When the colonel was in this mood there was nothing for it but to agree with him.
“And it's the worst tangle you ever got me into!” went on Shag's master. “There's no head or tail to it.”
“Den it ain't laik a fish; am it?” asked Shag, with the freedom of long years of faithful service.
“No, it isn't—worse luck!” stormed the colonel. “I never saw such a case. The diamond cross mystery was nothing like it.”
“But I thought, Colonel, sah, dat de mo' of a puzzle it were, de bettah yo' laiked it!” ventured Shag.
Colonel Ashley tried to repress a smile.
“Get to bed, you black rascal!” he said with an affectionate pat on Shag's back. “Get to bed! What are you staying up so late for, anyhow?”
“To gib yo' a message, Colonel, sah,” answered Shag. “Miss Viola done say I was t' wait up, an', when yo' come in, t' tell yo' dat she wants t' see you.”
“Oh, all right. Where is she?”
“In de liberry, Colonel, sah!”
The detective made his way through the dimly-lighted hall, and, on tapping at the library door, was bidden by Viola to enter.
“Still up?” he asked. “It was time for you to be asleep long ago if you want your eyes to keep as bright as they always are.”
“They don't feel very bright,” she answered, with a little laugh. “They seem to be full of sticks. But I wanted to ask you something—to consult with you—and I didn't want to go to sleep without doing it. I want you to read these,” and she spread out before him the letters she had found hidden in the drawer of the safe.
Colonel Ashley, in silence, looked over one document after another, including the torn ones. When he had finished he looked across the table at Viola.
“What do you make of it?” she asked. “I don't know,” he frankly confessed. “But we must find out if your father owed the captain anything—for money advanced in an emergency, or for anything else. Who would know about the money affairs?”
“Mr. Blossom. He has full charge of the office now, and access to all the books. Aunt Mary and I have to trust to him for everything. It is all we can do.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” agreed the detective. And he did not speak of the scene of which he had recently been a witness.
“Then if you will come with me, we will go the first thing in the morning to father's office and see LeGrand Blossom,” decided Viola. “We will ask Mr. Blossom if he knows anything about the debt between my father and Captain Poland.”
“It would be wise, I think.”
And as the colonel retired that night he said, musingly:
“Another angle, and another tangle. I must read a little Izaak Walton to compose my mind.”
So he opened the little green book and read this observation from the Venator:
“And as for the dogs that we use, who can commend their excellency to that height which they deserve? How perfect is the hound at smelling, who never leaves or forsakes his first scent, but follows it through so many changes and varieties of other scents, even over and in the water, and into the earth.”
“Ah,” mused the colonel, “I think I must cling to my first scent, and follow it through or over the water or into the earth.”
Then, laying aside the little green book, with its atmosphere of calm delight, he picked up a little thin volume, which bore on its title page “The Poisonous Plants of New Jersey.”
And in that he read:
“The water hemlock (Cicuta maculata L.) is the most
poisonous plant in the flora of the United States, and has
probably destroyed more human lives than all our other
toxic plants combined. As a member of the parsley family
(Umbellifera) it resembles in general appearance the carrot
and parsnip of the same group of plants. It grows in swampy
land. The poisoning of the human is chiefly with the fleshy
roots.
“The active principle of this cicuta is the volatile
alkaloid canine, common also to the poison hemlock (Conium
macula turn L.) The symptoms of the poisoning are many,
including violent contraction of the muscles, dilated pupils
and epilepsy... No antidote for canine poisoning is known...
The active canine... was the poison employed by the Greeks
in putting prisoners to death, Socrates being one of its
illustrious victims.”
And having read that much, Colonel Ashley looked at a little slip in the book. It bore the penciled memorandum “58 C. H.—~161*.”
“I wonder—I wonder,” mused the colonel, and so wondering, and with fitful dreams attending his slumbers, he passed the night.
Jean Forette drove the colonel and Viola to the office. They arrived rather early. In fact LeGrand Blossom was not yet in, and when he did enter, a few minutes later, he was plainly surprised to see them.
“Is anything the matter?” asked the confidential clerk, as he quickly opened his desk. “I am sorry I was late this morning. But I had some matters to look after—”
“No apology necessary,” said Colonel Ashley, quickly. “We have not been waiting long. We have discovered something.”
If his life had depended on it LeGrand Blossom could not, at that moment, have concealed a start of surprise.
“You mean you have found out who killed Mr. Carwell?” he asked, and his tongue went quickly around his dry lips.
“Not that,” the colonel answered. “But we have found some letters that seem to need explaining. Here they are.”
Then when Viola had told how she discovered them, she asked:
“Did my father ever owe Captain Poland any money?”
“Yes,” answered LeGrand Blossom, frankly, “he did.”
“How much?”
“Fifteen thousand dollars.”
“Was it ever paid back?” asked Colonel Ashley.
“That I cannot say,” replied the head clerk. “The papers in that particular transaction are missing. I looked for them the other day, but failed to find them. I was intending to ask you, Miss Carwell, if you knew anything about them. Now, it seems you do not. The fact remains that your father was at one time indebted to the captain for fifteen thousand dollars. Whether it was repaid I can not say.”
“Who would know?” asked Colonel Ashley.
“Why, Captain Poland, of course,” answered Mr. Blossom. “One would think that it would be paid by check, but in that case the canceled one would come back from the bank, which it has not. It is possible that Mr. Carwell had an account in some other bank, or he may have paid the captain in cash. In either case a receipt would be given, I should say. Captain Poland is the only one who now would know.”
“Then we had better see him,” suggested Colonel Ashley. “Shall we call on him, Viola?”
She hesitated a moment before answering, and then replied in a low voice:
“I think it would be better. We must end this mystery!”
They left LeGrand Blossom and again entered the car. Jean Forette was driving, and the detective again noticed the strange and sudden change in his manner. Whereas he had been morose and sullen the first part of the trip, timid and watchful of every crossing and turning, now he put on full speed and drove with the confidence of an expert.
“He must have had another shot of dope,” mused the colonel. “I'll have to keep an eye on you, my Frenchie, else you may be ramming a stone wall when you're feeling pretty well elated.”
They were half way to the home of Captain Poland when Viola suddenly changed her mind.
“I—I don't believe I care to go to see him,” she said. “Can't you go without me, Colonel Ashley? You can find out better than I can. I—I really don't feel equal to it.”
“Of course, I can,” was the ready answer. “Drive Miss Carwell home, Jean, and then I'll go on to see Captain Poland myself.”
The car was swung around, and was soon in front of The Haven. The colonel, with his usual gallantry, walked with Viola to the steps. As the maid opened the door she said to her mistress:
“There is a lady to see you.”
“A lady to see me?” exclaimed Viola, in some surprise.
“Yes. She is in the library, waiting. I said I did not know how long you would be away, but she said she was a friend of the family and would wait.”
“Who is she?” asked Viola.
“I don't know. But she is a large, blonde lady.”
“I can't imagine,” murmured Viola. “Won't you come in, Colonel Ashley? It may be some one I would want you to see, also.”
As Viola, followed at a little distance by the colonel, entered the library, a large, blonde woman arose to meet her.
“I am so glad to see you, my dear Miss Carwell,” began the woman, and then Colonel Ashley had one of his questions answered. The voice was the same as that of the shawled woman LeGrand Blossom had met on the ferryboat the night before, and it was the voice of Annie Tighe, alias Maude Warren, alias Morocco Kate, one of the cleverest of New York's de luxe crooks.
“So you have a hand in the game, have you, my dear?” mused the colonel, as he caught the now well-remembered tones. “Well, I guess you don't want to see me right away, and I don't want you to.”
He had kept behind Viola during the walk down the hall, and the large blonde had not noticed him, he hoped. He whispered to Viola, who stood just at the entrance to the room:
“Learn all you can from her. I'll be back pretty soon—as soon as she has gone. Find out where she's stopping. Don't mention me.”
The hall was dimly lighted, and he had a chance to say this to Viola without getting into full view of the caller, and without her overhearing. Then, turning quickly, Colonel Ashley hurried out of the house.
“Morocco Kate,” he mused as he got into the car again, and told Jean to drive to Captain Poland's. “Morocco Kate! I wonder if she is just beginning her game, or if this is merely a phase of it, started before Mr. Carwell's death? Another link added to the puzzle.”
He was still pondering over this when he reached the captain's home. It was a rather elaborate summer “cottage,” with magnificent grounds, and the captain's mother kept house for him. But there was a curious deserted air about the place as Jean drove up the gravel road. A man was engaged in putting up boards at the windows.
“Is the captain here?” asked the colonel.
“The place is being closed for the season, sir,” answered the man, evidently a caretaker.
“Closed? So early?” exclaimed the colonel, in surprise.
“The captain has gone away,” the man went on. “I got orders yesterday to close the place for the season. Captain Poland will not be back.”
“Oh!” softly exclaimed the colonel. And then to himself he added: “He won't be back! Well, perhaps I shall have to bring him back. Another link! There may be three people in this instead of two!”
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