The Clue Of The Screeching Owl Part 7

Startled, Simon turned and the rock slipped from his grasp. Frank quickly scrambled to his feet and dived forward to make a fast, clean tackle. In another moment Joe and Chet arrived and made the capture complete.

As Frank and Joe held onto the tall, mute boy, Chet demanded angrily, "Where's my dog?"

"Take it easy, Chet," Frank warned. "Simon's injured, and he's frightened.

Remember, he can't answer you."

There was no need for Chet to hunt for Mystery. The drenched, trembling little beagle came 82 leaping frantically and joyfully to his master.

"Get that piece of clothesline on Mystery's collar," Frank directed. "We'll tie Simon's hands for safety, until we get him back to the cabin."

Slowly the three friends and their captive made their way up out of the hollow. Frank and Joe supported the limping mute boy on either 83 side as they climbed the steep trail. Simon made no further attempt to escape.

By the time the drenched boys reached the cabin the rain had stopped and a fresh wind was clearing away the storm clouds. "Mission accomplished," Chet declared delightedly. "Now for something to eat, and then a nice, dry bed. What d'you say, Mystery?" After changing his clothes Chet went im84 mediately to the kitchen. In a few moments he had a big pot of soup heating on the stove, then made ham sandwiches for everyone.

Meanwhile, Frank and Joe had untied their prisoner, told him to remove his wet clothing, and given him a warm bathrobe of Captain Maguire's to put on.

In the brightly lighted cabin, Frank and Joe had their first chance for a close look at Simon.

He was about fourteen, but extremely tall for his age and wiry in build. He had dark, tangled hair that had not been cut in some time.

"That's what makes him appear wild," Frank thought.

As Simon sat disconsolately, Frank examined a deep, ugly cut on the boy's leg.

"No wonder he was limping. Get the first-aid kit, Joe."

Though Simon watched them all suspiciously, he seemed frightened rather than savage. Both Hardys were struck by the gentle look in the boy's face. When Joe returned with the first-aid kit he submitted meekly while his wound was washed and dressed. Joe applied a stinging antiseptic, but Simon barely winced with pain.

"Don't worry, Simon, you'll live," said Joe in a friendly voice as he straightened up. "And what a basketball player you'd make with your height!"

Bewildered, the boy continued to watch the Hardys closely, as though fearing some harm.

85 "Here we are, Simon," Chet Morton called cheerily as he entered with the soup and sandwiches.

Simon ate greedily. Chet winked at Frank arid Joe, then went to make more sandwiches and bring in some doughnuts. They were soon gone.

Chet grinned. "I'm glad to see that somebody besides me has a healthy appet.i.te."

While Chet and Simon were finis.h.i.+ng the food, Frank and Joe moved out to the kitchen.

In a low voice Joe said, "Simon doesn't look so fierce to me. I'm certain he's not the person we saw spying on us in the hollow yesterday. Simon's tall, and has long legs, but his face sure isn't the same one we saw."

Frank nodded agreement. "It was Donner who told us the person was probably 29 Simon."

The boys were puzzled, but had no chance to talk further, as Chet and Simon came into the kitchen.

Chet began to play with Mystery. "Poor little pup," he said fondly. "Old Chet won't forget to feed you, too. No, sir. He'll do it right now."

He opened a can of puppy food, dumped it into a bowl, and set it on the floor.

The little dog attacked it happily.

Simon, meanwhile, had put on his clothes, now dry from the heat of the stove.

He watched Chet intently, then gave a shy, approving smile.

"Say," the stout boy muttered as he poked into 86 a cupboard, "here's some dog food. Captain Maguire must have had a dog. Wonder if he went with him?"

Frank had noticed the mute boy's smile. "Simon likes the way Chet treats dogs," he thought. "Now's our chance to find out why he stole Mystery! But how can he answer us?" he asked himself, baffled. "He can't talk!"

Suddenly Frank had an idea. He went back to the living room and returned with a pad of paper and a pencil which he placed on the kitchen table in front of the mute boy. Simon looked up questioningly, but without suspicion now.

"Simon," said Frank slowly and distinctly, "tell us-why did you run away with the dog?" At the same time he pointed to the beagle.

The boy's eyes looked puzzled for a minute. Then he seized the pencil and began to sketch.

Swiftly the picture of a tall, broad-shouldered man took shape. Simon darkened in heavy eyebrows and a mustache.

"It's Donner!" cried Joe in amazement.

"Wait!" Frank warned. "Simon hasn't finished."

As Frank, Joe, and Chet crowded around, Simon rapidly drew the tall man's arm and hand in the act of grasping a little dog with Mystery's markings!

"He's telling us that Donner stole Mystery!" Joe cried out.

CHAPTER XI.

The Tailor's Clue "there's no doubt!" Joe exclaimed. "Simon's sketch tells us that Donner is the one who took Mystery!"

"Wait!" Frank commanded. "He's drawing something else!"

With a series of swift, sure strokes, the mute boy surrounded his drawing of Donner and the beagle with sketches of various dogs-a c.o.c.ker spaniel, a German shepherd, and two hounds.

"What's this little one he's shading in with the pencil?" Joe asked. "A gray dog?"

"Gray or brown," Frank returned. "See, he's left one ear white."

"Brown with a white ear-that's Bobby Thompson's Skippy!" exclaimed Chet. "So Donner stole Skippy, too!"

Upon hearing the man's name, Simon raised his head once with an angry scowl, then finished his picture by drawing a line from each dog to Donner.

Then the mute boy stood up quickly from the table. His eager eyes showed that he had something more to communicate. He pointed to Donner's picture, then to Mystery. Suddenly Simon crouched down behind a chair and peered out.

"He's trying to tell us that he was hiding-behind a tree, perhaps," Frank interpreted.

Simon's one arm was tensed, with the fingers spread as though holding something heavy. "As if he's holding a rock or club," Frank deduced.

Abruptly Simon leaped out from behind the chair. He struggled with an imaginary antagonist, swinging the hand that held the "rock." Next, he seemed to clutch something else, in both arms and to be running away with it.

"That's Mystery he's holding now!" diet said excitedly. "He means he waited in ambush for Donner tonight, then hit him with a rock and ran off with Mystery 30 himself!"

"Oh, great!" thought the bewildered Joe. "Simon and Donner are blaming the dog stealing on each other now. Who is guilty?"

While Frank and Chet, too, looked puzzled, Joe said aloud, "Well, there's one thing I want to know." He turned to Simon. "Why did you throw stones at us this afternoon?"

89 Going to the table once more, Simon quickly produced sketches of three very lifelike rattlesnakes. Frowning, he looked at Frank and Joe, and made as though to push them away with his hands.

"I get it! He was trying to warn us about those deadly snakes, not hurt us,"

Frank said.

"Well, he sure picked a forceful way to do it!" Joe rubbed his forehead ruefully. "That would mean he didn't think we were in cahoots with Donner."

Frank nodded. "Simon's given us something to work with. It seems pretty clear the self-styled hermit has been stealing dogs, and for my money, that ties him in with Captain Maguire's disappearance, too."

"You think the captain went after the dog-naper himself and ran into trouble?"

Joe queried.

"Well, apparently the captain had a dog," his brother reasoned. "Now suppose Donner stole the animal and Captain Maguire traced him to the hollow. Then suppose when he got down there the captain saw something he wasn't supposed to see."

"Then Donner, or somebody, had to get him out of the way because he knew too much!" Joe finished grimly. "Remember the blood we found on the leaves?"

Absorbed in this new possibility, Frank, Joe, and Chet failed to notice that Simon had been 90 making his way quietly toward the back door. In a moment the tall boy had slipped out into the night!

"Hey!" called Chet. "Stop him!"

"No, let him go," said Frank Hardy calmly. "Simon's on our side, all right."

"I just wish we could do something to help him," Joe put in. "With his talent for drawing he might make out very well in spite of his handicap. He should go to a special art school."

Frank agreed, then said reflectively, "I can't seem to get Colonel Thunder out of my mind, and his resemblance to Donner. Also, I wonder if it could be more than coincidence that the German word for thunder is donner. What do you say we find the carnival, and talk to the colonel? He just might be a relative of Donner."

"Suppose we drive to Forestburg in the morning," Joe suggested. "Maybe we can learn something there about the Donner family, and find out where the carnival is. Besides, it's about time we called Mother to see how things are in Bay-port!"

Morning dawned bright and fresh after the rain, everything seemed greener than before, and the boys' spirits rose. Frank and Joe emerged from the cabin, followed by Chet, who cradled Mystery in his arms. But suddenly Frank stopped and frowned.

"Oh-oh! So much excitement last night we 91 forgot to put up the convertible top before the storm. Now look!"

Sure enough, there were puddles on the floor of the Hardys' car, and the seats, though protected by covers, were wet. The boys mopped up the water.

"Let's take Captain Maguire's car," said Joe. "If the captain's enemies see it, they may think he escaped, and that will bring them into the open."

The three set off with Joe at the wheel, Frank beside him, and Mystery and Chet in the rear.

Apparently the back seat was comfortable, for by the time the car entered Forestburg, both Chet Morton and the beagle were fast asleep.

"Let 'em alone." Frank laughed. "Last night was too exciting, I guess. You and 31 I can do the detective work, Joe."

The two boys walked a block to the courthouse. Because it was only eight o'clock, the streets had little traffic. Frank and Joe, alert with curiosity, looked around. Many stores had offices above. In one upstairs window, which Joe pointed out, was a small sign: WYCKOFF WEBBER.

A ttorney-at-Law The brothers crossed the street to the courthouse. No one was at work yet.

"Well, let's try the stores," suggested Joe.

92 "Somebody here must know the Donners."

During the next hour the two young detectives went from shop to shop asking questions about the Donner family. Although one or two clerks or storekeepers admitted the name "sounded familiar," n.o.body could give any definite information.

"I'll tell you what we're up against," said the exasperated Joe. "Some of these people are new in town, and they just don't know the Donners. The others know them, but won't talk to us. We're outsiders, and they think we're prying into local affairs that aren't any of our business!"

"Maybe so," agreed Frank. "But there's one shop I have to visit fast!" He indicated a tailor's establishment at the end of the block.

"What for?" demanded his brother, puzzled.

"Just discovered," muttered Frank, "I have a hole in my slacks-must have caught them on the rocks last night!"

A little man with s.h.i.+ning bald head and thin black hair at the temples greeted them across the counter of the shop. "Yes?"

"Can you mend a pair of pants while I wait?" Frank asked him.

The little man smiled, showing two gold teeth. "Of course. Will you come in back, please?"

A moment later Frank and Joe were seated in the back room. Articles to be mended lay in a heap on the floor. Snippets of cloth were every93 where. Taking Frank's trousers, the man sat down at his worktable and examined the rip.

A bolt of handsome, untouched flannel drew Frank's attention. "Do you have many orders for custom-made suits?" he asked the tailor curiously.

The little man sighed. "In this country, no," he answered. "Now it is all factory-made suits. There is no real work for a tailor any more, only patching holes, altering pants.

"Forty years I've had this shop," the man went on reminiscently as he mended.

"Now my main business is dry cleaning. But twenty, thirty years ago, we had people that liked fine clothes, custom clothes! The Blackwells, Altgelts, Donners. Many fine suits I have made for them!"

"Donner?" repeated Frank.

"Yes, the Donners. A fine old family when I first came here. A family with style, distinction-they knew good clothes. There was old Mr. Donner, a tall, handsome man. And his wife, oh, she was stylish. And a beautiful daughter there was, and twin boys-tall, good-looking fellows like the father. Looked so much alike you couldn't tell them apart."

"Twins!" Joe exclaimed. But instantly he suppressed his excitement, and asked casually, "Must have been quite a family. What became of them?"

The tailor shook his head. "Scattered. Old folks gone, of course. . . .The young lady? I 94 don't know. Mr. William, one of the twins-he's left town too. Only Mr. Walter I see once in a while." The man sighed. "He doesn't dress up like he used to.