The Black Dog Mystery (22 page)

He folded his arms across his chest and looked at them, mocking them by his silence. A sneering smile twisted his lips.

“Water!” moaned Mr. Boots feebly. “Give me some water!”

Morrison threw back his head and laughed aloud.

“Water!” he chuckled, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. “Why, bless your heart, that’s exactly what I’m getting for you! I’m
so
glad to know that you appreciate what I’m doing!”

Djuna strained vainly at the ropes that bound him. “Let us go!” he screamed.

Morrison laughed again. “Take it easy, my boy,” he said mockingly. “Don’t get your throat raw. Nobody can hear you.”

“Water!” moaned Mr. Boots once again.

Morrison took a step toward him.

“Now, now, don’t get excited, Grandpa,” he said soothingly. “The water will be here for you in good time. Just be patient.”

Mr. Boots glared at him wildly. “Water!” he gasped.

“There’ll be plenty of it,” chuckled Morrison. Suddenly he leaned down and picked up the machine-gun he had placed on the ground. Djuna’s eyes widened in horror.

“Oh, don’t!” he pleaded.
“Don’t
shoot us!”

“Nonsense!” laughed Morrison. “I wouldn’t shoot you for the world, my boy. Shall I tell you a secret? I can’t bear the sight of blood! And, besides, I can’t afford to waste ammunition on
you
. I may need it in Clinton.”

Djuna was breathing in deep gasps. He could not take his eyes from Morrison’s cruel sneering face.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to hurry along,” Morrison continued. “I’ve got an important business engagement at the bank, you know.” He chuckled. “But, really, you’ve hurt my feelings. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I’m really very sensitive to criticism. Kill you? Why, my dear boy, I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing! But, unfortunately, I’m not a superman. I haven’t any control over the forces of nature. And I’m such a tender-hearted soul that I can’t even bear to linger and watch them at work!”

He snickered. Then he took a step nearer. His face was contorted with hate.

“Listen, you meddling little rat!” he said between gritted teeth, thrusting his face close to Djuna’s. “I can’t wait, much as I would like to. Nothing would give me keener pleasure than to watch you. But I’ll tell you now, so that you’ll have something to occupy that wonderful brain of yours in the next few hours!”

Djuna stared into the evil eyes so close to his, eyes that glittered as if they were the eyes of a snake.

“Did you ever hear that before they built the dam at the foot of Lost Pond there was a brook that ran past this house?” Morrison asked gloatingly. “That was long before you were born. But the forces of nature don’t change, no matter how many years go by, my dear boy! Hasn’t your school-teacher ever told you about the law of gravity? ‘Water seeks its own level. Water runs downhill!’ Isn’t that simple enough for a scientific mind like yours? Of course, as the years went by, a little earth and leaves choked up the old brook here and there, but the boys and I didn’t have much trouble in clearing them out. And it seemed such a pity that the law of gravity should have been interrupted! Especially when the level of the dam is twenty feet higher than the level of this cellar floor! All we had to do was to lift the water-gate in the dam. Your friend Mr. Boots wants water? Don’t worry—it will be here soon enough. Listen!”

He stopped, panting with the violence of his insane fury. In the sudden hush a faint sound suddenly became, to Djuna, the most dreadful sound of all. It was the trickle and drip of water, dropping slowly from one to another of the stone steps leading down into the cellar.

A triumphant grin spread over Morrison’s face as he watched Djuna’s eyes, and saw realization dawn dreadfully in them. Morrison had dug a trench from brook to cellar!

Djuna panted. “But—” he gasped, and then stopped short in what he was about to say.

Morrison laughed. “You were about to remark that the water will sink through this dirt floor?” he asked, grinning. “Oh, no, my boy—it won’t leak out that fast! It will just prolong your pleasure. And these walls are solid, never fear. They used better mortar in the good old days, didn’t they, Mr. Boots?”

Mr. Boots struggled helplessly. “You fiend!” he shouted hoarsely. “Haven’t you any mercy? Are you going to murder us, let us drown? Kill
me
, if you want, but not the boy! Oh, not the boy! Let him go, let him go!”

“Dear, dear, don’t be so noisy!” smiled Morrison. “I haven’t the slightest intention of murdering either of you. Haven’t I told you I’m going at once, and leave you in peace? I didn’t invent the law of gravity, not I. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going!”

Mr. Boots’s head dropped hopelessly as Morrison turned and started toward the cellar door, carefully picking his way around the shallow puddles that had already begun to form on the floor.

“Oh, wait, Mr. Morrison!” screamed Djuna, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Wait! Will you—please,
please
, Mr. Morrison!—please don’t hurt my dog! Oh, please, Mr. Morrison, let him go!”

Morrison laughed. “So you heard him, did you?” he asked. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. What you heard was Weeping Willie. It’s Willie’s only accomplishment, howling like a dog. As a matter of fact, I encouraged him in it. Your neighbors have always believed that this house is haunted. It seemed wise to encourage them in that quaint belief. No, my dear boy, I’m telling the truth. I haven’t seen that beloved cur of yours. I wish I had! It would have been so pleasant to picture your last moments together. So—goodbye once more, my friends! If you’ve nothing better to do for the next few hours, I suggest you compare notes on the subject of interfering with other people’s business. It’s a pity you didn’t do so before. But better late than never! Goodbye!”

He was grinning as he turned away. They heard him ascend the steps to the world outside. Silence settled again over the cellar—a silence broken only by the soft gurgle of running water. Djuna shut his eyes.

M
ISS
A
NNIE
Ellery woke up that morning at seven. The sun was streaming through her window. Dressing, she went out into the hall. Djuna’s door was closed; and there was not a sound from his bedroom. Miss Annie smiled, and tiptoed past his door. “Poor boy, he had an awfully long day yesterday!” she said to herself. “I’ll just let him sleep till he gets good and rested!”

She took care to go down the stairs very quietly. Reaching the kitchen, she put the coffee-pot on the stove, then set the table for two, as usual. This done, she threw open the kitchen door and sniffed the fragrance of the morning. Dew was sparkling on the grass and on every bush and flower. “What a perfectly lovely day!” Miss Annie exclaimed softly. “If I were Djuna I’d be up and enjoying every minute of it!”

She walked slowly around the garden path, bending down to look first at one flower and then at another, and picked a bouquet to put on the breakfast-table. “What a wonderful morning!” she murmured again. “That boy ought to be spanked, for sleeping so late!”

But still she hesitated to wake him. And as she went back indoors, it suddenly occurred to her that she had not heard a sound from Champ, either. He usually began barking as soon as he heard anyone stirring about the house. “What’s got into them both?” Miss Annie wondered, smiling to herself. “Do you suppose they’ve made a bet with each other, to decide which can sleep the longest?”

Breakfast by herself, without Djuna’s merry face opposite her, and without Champ’s funny face at the door, wasn’t so much fun. She sipped some orange juice, ate her toast and drank her coffee, and still there was no sign of either the boy or his dog. The kitchen clock ticked away on its shelf. Its hands pointed to half-past seven.

“Well, I’ll make him an especially good breakfast,” said Miss Annie to herself, as she put away her cup and plate. “I wonder if he wouldn’t like some hot biscuits and honey, as well as scrambled eggs. Or perhaps he’d like some waffles and syrup. I guess I’ll go up and see if he isn’t awake, to make sure.”

She climbed the stairs and stood at Djuna’s door, her hand ready to knock. But still there wasn’t a sound inside his room, and she hesitated.

“No, he’s still asleep,” she sighed. “I’ll let him sleep another hour, poor child.”

She turned, to go downstairs.

Morrison had gone. Mr. Boots turned his head feebly toward Djuna.

“Djuna,” he said weakly, “I hain’t given up hope. Someone will come and find us, sure! I don’t think Eddie will. He don’t dast t’ go out o’ th’ shop. But I’m countin’ on
somethin’
to save us! Just th’ minute Miss Annie finds you ain’t at home, she’ll git people out t’ hunt for ye. They’ll find us, don’t you fear!

“But there’s somethin’ I got to say, Djuna,” the old man went on, in a quavering voice, “If they don’t find us pretty quick, if it takes ’em all day t’ find us—why, then, Djuna, I dunno. I dunno if I c’n last much longer. You remember this, Djuna, if I’m gone before help comes—you tell ’em that th’ last thing I said was that Eddie is to get whatever I had—my shop, and this old house, where I was born and where he was born. Will ye tell ’em that? And I want you should have my boat, Djuna. I wish I had somethin’ more t’ give ye! I wish I could ha’ finished that leetle house for Champ, too! Oh, Djuna, boy, I wish things had been different!”

“Oh, don’t!” cried Djuna. “Don’t talk like that, Mr. Boots! Somebody will come soon, I
know
they will!”

The old man was silent for a moment and then he spoke again, fretfully.

“It keeps droppin’ on my head,” he muttered. “I can’t stand it.”

Djuna’s heart sank, and he bit his lips to keep from screaming. Had the old man’s mind given way? Had his wits begun to wander, under the torment he had gone through?

“What did you say, Mr. Boots?” faltered Djuna, struggling to keep the tears back. “What did you say?”

“I says there’s somethin’ droppin’ on my head,” the old man repeated querulously. “Bothers me, it does. Bothers me somethin’ turrible.”

Djuna’s alarmed eyes glanced upward, at the rough log above Mr. Boots’s head, resting on the post to which the old man was tied. On the flat under-surface of the beam were flecks of yellow dust. His eyes dropped to Mr. Boots’s head. Flecks of yellow dust spotted the old man’s bald forehead. Flecks of yellow dust spotted the old man’s shoulders. Djuna’s eyes dropped to the earthen floor of the cellar. Its black surface, glistening as if with sweat, was streaked by tiny mounds, mere dots of yellow. But the yellow dots were not scattered here and there—they made a long band of yellow on the dark floor, reaching from one post to the other, as straight as if some human hand had made that line.

Djuna’s gaze jumped upward again, to the beam overhead. The line of yellow on the black floor was directly underneath the beam!

A gasp burst from his lips.

“Look!” he cried. “Look, Mr. Boots! Look at the floor!”

The old man’s head stirred feebly. “Hey?” he said. “What is it?” But he looked downward, dully, as Djuna had urged.

“You mean that yellow stuff?” he asked, at last. “That’s sawdust. That’s what’s been droppin’ on me. That’s what them wood-borin’ worms do. They’re bound t’ git into a house as old as this ’un be.”

“I
know
!” shouted Djuna, his voice trembling with excitement. “But pull, Mr. Boots! Pull as hard as you can! Maybe they’ve chewed through the post!”

For a moment the old man stared at him in silent wonder. Into his old eyes slowly stole a light of understanding, a gleam of hope.

“Godfrey!” he gasped. “We’ll beat ’em yet!”

Miss Annie Ellery hesitated at the door of Djuna’s bedroom. “I’ll let him sleep another hour,” she whispered to herself. She turned away from the door, to go downstairs.

From within the bedroom came a sound that startled her so that she jumped.

The alarm clock! Its gong rang like a fire-alarm, clamorous, insistent, filling the whole house with its terrific racket. Miss Annie almost jumped out of her shoes.

And it did not stop. It went on and on, and Djuna made no move to stop it! Miss Annie put her hands to her ears to shut off the maddening clamor. “Great glittering glories of Golconda!” she exclaimed. “What’s the matter with that boy? How can he keep on sleeping with
that
racket going on?”

Marveling, she opened the bedroom door and peered in. Sudden fear clutched at her heart.

The bed was empty!

On and on rang the loud clamor of the alarm-clock by Djuna’s bedside. Miss Annie rushed in and seized it in trembling fingers. A sheet of paper was fastened to the clock. Miss Annie shut the alarm off. She lifted the paper, her hand shook. “Dear Miss Annie,” she read.

Miss Annie didn’t wait to read the whole letter. As soon as she got to the words, “please ask Mr. Pindler to get the police,” she began running as fast as she could toward Mr. Pindler’s house.

Tommy Williams had just come out on the front porch of his mother’s house. He was just in time to see Miss Annie dash out of her house and start running towards the road.

“Golly, what’s happened?” he wondered. “Gee, maybe Djuna’s sick, or something!”