Dorothy Dixon Solves the Conway Case

Betty began to cry.

“I think you’re mean – of course I want to get out of here, but – but you n-needn’t – ”

Dorothy put her arm about the smaller girl’s shoulders.

“There, there,” she comforted, “cheer up. I won’t be cross any more. Here’s a hanky, use it and come along. Gee, I wish this rain would stop! It’s coming down in bucketfuls.”

“I’m sorry, too, for sniveling,” said Betty meekly. She made a strenuous effort to be brave as they walked away from the dark shape of the plane. “But don’t you think you’d better get out your revolver, Dorothy? Honestly, you know, we’re likely to run into anything out here in these woods.”

Dorothy burst into a peal of laughter. “Bless you, honey,” she chuckled. “I don’t carry a gun when I go calling – or any other time if I can help it. We’ll get out of this all right, don’t worry. I should have looked at the gas before we left home, but I thought there was plenty to take us over to Peekskill and back. Wispy eats the stuff – that’s the answer!”

They stumbled along on the outskirts of the woodlot, Dorothy keeping her light swinging from side to side before them.

“But I thought you always carried a gun – ” insisted Betty, her mind still on the same track – “you ought to, after all you went through with those bank robbers and then the gang of diamond smugglers!”

“Well, you’ve got to have a license to tote a revolver – I’ll admit I’ve carried ’em now and then – but not to a tea!” replied her friend. “Do try and help me now, to find a way out of this place.”

“But maybe there is no way out. We can’t climb those cliffs, and this meadow’s hemmed in by the woods. Oh, dear, I wish I knew where we are!”

“I’m not certain,” mused Dorothy, more to herself than to her companion, “but I think I caught sight of the fire tower on the ridge just before we sideslipped. That would mean that this meadow is on the eastern edge of the reservation – and that there’s a road on the hill across from the ridge. There must be a trail of some kind leading in here. They could never get the hay out or the cattle in, otherwise; this place must be used for something.”

They trudged along, keeping the trees on their left until the farther end of the meadow was reached. As they rounded the corner the light from the flash brought into view a narrow opening in the trees and undergrowth.

“What did I tell you?” sang out Dorothy. “There’s our trail! This certainly is a lucky break!”

“Where do you suppose it goes?” Betty’s question was lacking in enthusiasm.

“Oh, it’s the tunnel from the Grand Central to the new Waldorf-Astoria,” said Dorothy, squinting in the darkness. “I’m going to take a room with a bath. You can have one, too, if you’re good!”

Betty stumbled into a jagged wheel rut and sat down suddenly. “Oh, my goodness!” she moaned. “My new pumps are ruined – and these nice new stockings are a mass of runs from those nasty brambles!”

“Humph! Just think how lucky you are to be alive,” suggested Dorothy callously. “Look – we’re coming into another meadow. Yes – and there’s a light – must be a house up there on the hill.”

“What if they won’t let us in?” wailed Betty.

They were heading across the meadow, now, toward the hill. Dorothy stopped and turned the flashlight on her friend.

“You certainly are a gloom!” she declared angrily. “Do you think I’m enjoying this? My shoes and stockings are ruined, too, and this ducky dress I’m crazy about has a rip in the skirt a yard long. It will probably be worse by the time we get through the brush on that hillside. But there’s absolutely no use in whining about it – and there’s not a darned thing to be scared of. Is that clear to you, Betty?” She paused, and then went on more gently. “Come on, old thing, you’ll feel much better when we’ve found a place to get warm and dry.”

“I know you think I’m an awful baby.” Betty tried her best to make her voice sound cheerful, but her attempt was not a brilliant success. “But I’m just not brave, that’s all,” she went on, “and I do feel perfectly terrible.”

“I know. You’re not used to this kind of an outing, and I am, more or less. But I can see how it would upset you. Here’s a stone fence. Give me your hand, I’ll help you over. Fine! Now save your breath for the hill. We’ve got a stiff climb ahead of us.”

For the next fifteen or twenty minutes they fought their way up the steep slope through a veritable jungle of thickets and rock. In spite of frequent rests on the boulders that dotted the hillside, both girls were exhausted by the time they came to another delapidated stone wall that acted as a low barrier between the brush and an over-grown apple orchard. Through the gnarled trunks, they could dimly see the shape of the house whence came the light.

Dorothy sat down on top of the wall, and pulled Betty to a place beside her. Then she switched off her flash.

“Some drag, that!” Her breath came in labored gasps.

Betty was too weary to make any reply. For a time they sat, silently. Then Dorothy slid painfully off the wall into the orchard.

“You stay here, Betty. I’m going over to the house and reconnoiter.”

“Say! You don’t go without me!” Betty sprang down with sudden determination.

“Then walk carefully and don’t make any noise.”

A tone of startled surprise came into Betty’s voice.

“What – what are you afraid of, Dorothy?” she whispered excitedly.

“Not a thing, silly. But there may be watch dogs – and I want to get some idea of the people who live in that dump before I ask ’em for hospitality. I’ve got myself into trouble before this, going it blind. I know it pays to be careful. If you must come with me, you must, I suppose. But walk behind me – and don’t say another word.”

She stalked off through the orchard with Betty close at her heels.

As they neared the house, which seemed to be badly in need of repair, it was plain that the light came from behind a shaded window on the ground floor. Dorothy stopped to ponder the situation. A shutter hanging by one hinge banged dully in the wind and a stream of rain water was shooting down over the window from a choked leader somewhere above. She felt a grip on her arm.

“Let’s don’t go in there,” whispered Betty. “It’s a perfectly horrid place, I think.”

“It doesn’t look specially cheerful,” admitted Dorothy. “But there may not be another house within a couple of miles. There’s a porch around on the side. Maybe we can see into the room from there.”

Together they moved cautiously through the rank grass and weeds to the edge of the low veranda. There was no railing and the glow from two long French windows gave evidence that the floor boards were warped and rotting. The howl of the wind and driving rain served to cover the sound of their movements as they tiptoed across the porch to the far window. Both shades were drawn, but this one lacked a few inches of reaching the floor.

Both girls lay flat on their stomachs and peered in. Quick as a flash, Dorothy clapped her hands over Betty’s mouth, smothering her sudden shriek of terror.

Chapter II

TO THE RESCUE

The cold, wet wind of late September howled around the house. Dorothy wished she had brought a revolver.

“Stop it! Betty, stop!” she hissed and forced her friend to crawl backward over the rough boards to the edge of the porch. “Stay here, and don’t make a sound. Do you want them out after us? For goodness’ sake, take a grip on yourself! I’m going back to the window and – not another peep out of you while I’m gone!” With this warning, she slithered away before Betty could voice an objection.

Lying flat before the window once more with her face almost level with the floor, she stared into the room. The scene had not changed. Nor had the three principals of the drama being enacted on the other side of the pane moved from their positions. A sudden gust tore loose the shutter at the back of the house, sending it crashing down on some other wooden object with terrific racket.

“Must have hit the cellar doors,” thought Dorothy.

The man with the cigar, who stood before the cold fireplace stopped talking. She saw him cock his head to one side and listen. The bald-headed man in the leather armchair kept his revolver levelled on the room’s third occupant, and snapped out a question. With a shrug, the man by the fireplace went on speaking. He was a dapper person, flashily dressed in a black and white shepherd’s plaid suit which contrasted disagreeably with the maroon overcoat worn open for comfort. Dorothy took a dislike to him at first sight. Not withstanding his mincing gestures, the man had the height and build of a heavyweight prizefighter. Now he leaned forward, emphasizing with a pudgy forefinger the point of his oratory which was directed toward the third member of the party.

Dorothy uttered an impatient exclamation. She could not hear a word. The roaring storm and the closed windows prevented her from catching even the rumble of their voices. She continued to gaze intently upon the prisoner, a well set up youth of eighteen or nineteen, curly-haired and intelligent looking. Her sympathy went out at once to this young fellow. He was bound hand and foot to the chair in which he sat. A blackened eye and his shirt, hanging in ribbons from his shoulders, told of a fight. Then she spied an overturned table, books and writing materials scattered over the rumpled rug.

“Whew!” she whistled softly. “He staged a little battle for ’em, anyway, I’ll bet!”

She smiled as she noticed that the youth’s opponents had likewise suffered. For the bald-headed man held a bloodstained handkerchief to his nose, while the other’s overcoat was ripped from collar to hem and he nursed a jaw that was evidently tender.

The room which lay beneath her scrutiny offered a decided contrast to the unkempt exterior of the house. The walls were completely lined with bookcases, reaching from ceiling to floor. The shelves must have held thousands of volumes. Essentially a man’s library, the furnishings were handsome, though they had evidently seen better days.

In reply to a question barked at him from the dapper prize fighter, the young prisoner shook his head in a determined negative. The big man spat out an invective. This time the boy smiled slightly, shook his head again. With a roar of fury that was audible to the watching girl outside, the prize fighter-bully strode over to his victim and struck him across the mouth.