Anderson Crow, Detective Part 29
"Now that I've got you all together, I hereby order you in my capacity as an official of the State and county, to close up your stores an'
consider yourselves organized into a posse. You will close up immejately an' report to me here, ready for active work."
Shortly after ten o'clock a group of fifteen or eighteen men moved silently away from Jackson's cigar-store, led by their commander-in-chief. He was flanked on one side by Bill Kepsal, the brawny blacksmith, and on the other by Sim Jackson, who happened to possess a revolver.
After the posse had turned into the unrelieved shades of Maple Street, Mr. Crow halted every few yards and said: "Sh!"
He had related a portion but not all of his experiences, winding up with the statement that poor Mrs. Smith had been terribly frightened by the mysterious prowler, and that it was their duty as citizens to put an end to his activities if possible.
"Her description of him don't fit anybody livin' in this town," he had said during the course of his narrative. "We ain't got anybody who c'n jump thirty foot, or who c'n shin up a chimbly like a squirrel. You never saw anybody as quick as he is, either. Supposin' you think you see him standin' right beside you. Zip! Before you could blink an eye, he's over there in front of Mort's store--just like that. Or up a tree!
Spryest cuss I ever laid eyes on. Made me think of a ghost."
"Ghost?" said Newt Spratt, pausing in the act of rolling up his sleeves.
"You say you saw him, Anderson?" inquired Alf Reesling.
"Course I did. Tall feller with--"
"And the lady saw him too?"
"She saw him first, I been tellin' you. She seemed to be able to see quicker'n I could, 'cause she saw nearly every move he made. My eyesight ain't as good as it used to be, an' besides, she could see plainer from where she stood. Come on now--no time to waste. We got to post ourselves all around the place an'--an' nab him if he shows himself again. All you fellers have got to do is to obey orders."
At the corner of Maple and Sickle streets, a few hundred feet from the Nixon cottage, the cavalcade received a whispered order to halt. The Marshal, enjoining the utmost stealth, instructed his men where to place themselves about the grounds they were soon to invest from various approaches. After stealing over the stone wall, they were to crawl forward on hands and knees until each man found a hiding-place behind a bush or flower-bed. There he was to wait and watch. The first glimpse of the mysterious intruder was to be the signal for a shout of alarm; whereupon the whole posse was to close in upon him without an instant's delay.
In course of time, the posse successfully debouched upon the lawn and occupied crouching positions behind various objects of nature. The minutes slowly consolidated themselves into half an hour; they were pretty well started on the way toward the three-quarter mark, and still no sign of the sprightly stranger. Lights were gleaming behind the yellow shades of the downstairs window in the cottage; through the j.a.panese curtains enveloping the veranda a dull, restricted glow forced its way out upon the bordering flower-beds.
Suddenly out of what had become an almost sepulchral silence, came the sound of a woman's voice. The words she uttered were so startling that the listeners felt the flesh on their bones creep.
"But wouldn't poisoning be the surer and quicker way? Slip a few drops of prussic acid into his food, and death would be instantaneous."
Marshal Crow clutched Bill Kepsal's arm. "Did you hear that?" he whispered. She had spoken in hushed, quavering tones.
Then came a man's voice from the porch above, low and suppressed.
"Why not wait till he is asleep and let me sneak up to him and put the revolver to his head--"
"But--but suppose he should awake and--"
"He'll never open his eyes again, believe me. Poison isn't always sure to work quickly or thoroughly. We don't want a struggle."
"You may be right. I--I leave it to you."
"Good! The sooner the better, then. If we do it at once, Francois and Henry can bury him before morning. I think--"
"I cannot bear to talk about it. Creep in and see if he is asleep. Don't make the slightest noise. He--he must never know!"
Stealthy footsteps, as of one tiptoeing, were heard by the listeners below the porch. Then, a moment later, the sound of a woman sobbing.
The foregoing conversation was distinctly heard by at least half of Marshal Crow's posse. Three of the watchers, crouching not far from Anderson Crow and his two supporters, abruptly left their hiding-places and started swiftly toward the front gate. The Marshal intercepted them.
"Where are you going?" he whispered, grabbing the foremost, who happened to be Elmer K. Pratt, the photographer.
"I was sure I saw that feller you were telling about skipping down toward the street," whispered Mr. Pratt, his voice shaking. "I'm going after him. I--"
"Keep still! Stay where you are. Alf, you round up the boys--collect 'em up here, quiet as possible. We got to prevent this terrible murder. You heard what they were plottin' to do. Surround the house. Close every avenue of escape. Three or four of us will bust in through the porch an'--You stay with me, Sim, an' you too, Bill. Get your pistol ready, Sim. When I give the word--foller me! Where's Alf? Is he surrounding the house? Sh! Don't speak!"
Shadowy figures began scuttling about the lawn, darting from bush to bush, advancing upon the house.
"Now--get ready, Sim," whispered Anderson.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a dull, smothered report, as of one striking the side of a barrel, reached the ears of the a.s.sembling forces. Then a sharp, agonized cry from the lady in the veranda.
"Too late!" cried the Marshal, and dashed clumsily up the front steps, followed by four or five of his henchmen.
Yanking open the screen-door, he plunged headlong into the softly lighted veranda. Behind him came Sim Jackson, brandishing a revolver, and Bill Kepsal, clutching the hammer he had brought from his forge.
[Ill.u.s.tration: _Yanking open the screen-door, he plunged headlong into the softly lighted veranda_]
They stopped short. A woman in a filmy white gown, cut extremely low in the neck, confronted them, an expression of alarm in her wide dark eyes.
She was very beautiful. They had never seen any one so beautiful, so striking, or so startlingly dressed. She had just arisen from the comfortable wicker chair beside the table, the surface of which was littered with magazines, papers and doc.u.ments in all sorts of disorder.
"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" she demanded, recovering her composure after the first instant of alarm.
Mr. Crow found his voice. "Surrender peaceable," he said. "I've got you completely surrounded. Won't do any good to resist. My men are everywhere. Your partner will be shot down if he--"
"Why, you--you old goose!" cried out the lady, and forthwith burst into a merry peal of laughter.
The Marshal stiffened.
"That kind of talk won't--" he began, and then broke off to roar: "Quit your laughin'! You won't be gigglin' like that when you're settin' in the 'lectric chair. Hustle inside there, men! Take her paramour, dead or alive!"
"Oh, what a stupendous situation!" cried the beautiful lady, her eyes dancing. "You really are a darling, Mr. Crow--a perfect, old dear.
You--"
"None o' that now--none o' that!" Mr. Crow warned, taking a step backward. "Won't do you any good to talk sweet to me. I've got the goods on you. A dozen witnesses have heard you plottin' to murder. Throw up your hands! Up with 'em! Now, keep 'em up! _An' stop laughin'!_ You'll soon find out you can't murder a man in cold blood, even if he is a trespa.s.ser on your property. You can't go around killin'--Say, where is Mrs. Smith? Where's the lady of the house?"
"I am the lady of the house, Mr. Crow," said the lady, performing a graceful Delsartian movement with her long bare arms. Mr. Crow and his companions stared upward at her arms as if fascinated. "I am Mrs.
Smith--Mrs. John Smith."
"I guess not," said Anderson sharply. "She wears a veil, asleep an'
awake. Hold on! Put your hands down! She's signalin' somebody, sure as you're alive," he burst out, turning to the group of mouth-sagging, eye-roving gentlemen who followed every graceful curve and twist of those ivory arms. "What's the matter with you, Sim? Didn't I order you to go in there an' grab that b.l.o.o.d.y a.s.sa.s.sin? What--"
"Not on your life! He's got a gun," exclaimed Sim Jackson. "S'pose I'm goin' in there, an'--Oh, fer gosh sake!"