The Mansion of Mystery Part 40

"I don't believe she was as sick as they pretended," said one of the number. "This is only a bluff to let her get away. I said all along she was a sly one."

"Perhaps she pulled the wool over the doctor's eyes," came from another. "And over the eyes of that young fellow who's in love with her, too."

Raymond heard some of these remarks and they made his face burn. He longed to knock some of the speakers down, but held his temper in check as best he could. He realized that no argument he might advance would make an impression where opinions were so set.

Tom Ostrello joined in the search as diligently as the rest, and he and Raymond ran through the woods from end to end several times. Then they procured a boat and rowed up and down the river, and crossed over to the other side.

"She could not have gone far," said Raymond. "Her strength was not equal to it."

It was dark by the time they came back to the river, to cross to the town side. As they rowed along, slowly and silently, Tom Ostrello noticed something floating on the water. He steered toward the object and picked it up. It was a girl's summer hat.

"Margaret's hat!" cried Raymond. He dropped his oar and his face turned as white as death. "I know the truth now! She has drowned herself in the river!"

CHAPTER XXIV

ONE AGAINST MANY

Surrounded by his enemies, Adam Adams stood in the center of the stone room under the old mill, speculating upon what was to happen next. He saw that the men were thoroughly aroused and ready for any crime.

Although all were masked by the hoods over their heads, each showed his rage and temper by his movements and his tone of voice.

"Well, now you are in our power, what have you to say for yourself?"

came from Matlock Styles, after a pause.

"What do you want me to say?" returned the detective. "You have the best of the game just now, so it would seem."

"You're right--and we mean to keep it; eh, boys?"

"That's so," answered several.

"As a spy, he must suffer the fate of a spy," put in one of the number.

"Unless he consents to join us," added another.

"I'd never trust this b.l.o.o.d.y rascal," broke in Matlock Styles. "He's too sharp for us. He's a detective."

"If you don't mind telling, what is your business down here, Matlock Styles?" asked Adam Adams. He thought it best to put on a bold front, even with matters looking as black as they did.

"Ha! So you think you know me?" questioned the Englishman harshly.

"Of course, I know you."

"Well--it don't matter much--now," was the significant return.

"Are you transacting business down here?"

"Don't you know?"

"I do not."

"In that case, it's best to keep you ignorant."

"That's right, don't tell him a thing," came from one of the men who had first caught the detective.

"I want to know why you followed me up?" continued Matlock Styles.

"You'll find it to your interest to answer me."

"I might answer as you have done and say it is best to keep you in ignorance. But I won't do it. I followed you up because I think you were connected with the Langmore murders."

At this Matlock Styles started, but quickly recovered.

"What made you think that?"

"Certain things I discovered around the mansion."

"Bah! That shows how you detectives often miss it. I was not near the Langmore house when the murders were committed."

"You can prove that?" questioned Adam Adams curiously.

"Of course I can. I was over to Stony Hill with my team, doing some trading. I stopped at the tavern and at the hardware store, and had quite a chat with several people there. I left home at eight o'clock in the morning and didn't get back until one o'clock in the afternoon.

If you had taken the trouble you could easily have found out that what I have told you is the truth."

"You can prove that you were at Stony Hill from ten to twelve that morning?"

"I can easily do it. You can ask Doc Mason, at the hardware shop, Sam Ross at the tavern, and d.i.c.k Stout at the stables, besides a dozen others. Why, I was even talking to Mr. Anderson, the minister. He is thinking of buying a horse from me."

"That detective ain't going to prove anything," broke in one of the men.

"That's right," came from another. "He has got to take his medicine as a spy."

"Of course," said Matlock Styles. "I only wanted to satisfy his curiosity. Maybe he'll die feeling easier now."

His cold-blooded way of speaking made a chill run down Adam Adams'

backbone. He was beginning to see the Englishman in a new light. The man was a master of deception, not as clumsy in thought and action as he a.s.sumed to be. And he was as heartless as a stone.

"Would you murder me?" asked the detective.

"It is the rule of our order that no man who acts the spy on us shall get away to tell of what he has discovered. How did you get away after I put you in that other room in the dark?"

"It was an easy trick."

"Won't you explain?"

"I might, but it would hinder my getting away in the present instance."

"You'll not get away again, never fear."