The thing in the woods
still played and flickered among the broken boxes and tumble-down
sheds, lit up the loathsome scrap-heaps and the trampled mire
underfoot. The prisoned chickens, startled from sleep, kept up a
mournful squawking, pushing and struggling in their coops. The
efforts of the men had been directed to the barn and cowshed. They
stood now, an awed, strangely silent little group, gathered near a
broken bureau and a pile of household goods that had been dragged
somewhere from the burning and huddled forlornly in the open yard. I
remember that a wooden clock, still ticking, and a filthy and ancient
foot-tub were among the collection. I spoke to one of the men; it
was old Paddy's son-in-law.
"We done all we could; the old place was no better'n tinder. Pop was
fur lettin' it burn an' not lift a hand. We got Miss Mennin' out.
Hiram Scholl he bust the door in an' got her. She's over to the
house now. Aaron ain't here. It's funny about him. He ain't took
the horse anyway. They was sayin'..."
He stopped short and looked at me, the glare of the fire on his
sweat-streaked face.
"They was sayin' he started it. I dunno. It broke out downstairs.
They ain't no one seen Aaron."
And after a moment he added: "He'd oughter be insured. There's no
savin' anything."
I went back to Lennox and the sheriff, standing a little apart.
"Aaron's gone," I said.
"I know. There's nothing to be done here. We'll go and see the old
woman."
I stayed behind with the inspector and Lessing while the other two
went over to the Nevills' cottage, and together we made a thorough
search of the barn and outhouses. There was nothing to be learned.
Filth and disorder reigned everywhere. To describe the condition of
the place, as we found it, would only be to recall the actual
physical sickness that overtook me during the task.
The neighbours had gradually dispersed during our search. By the
time the others rejoined us the place was deserted. The fire had
completely burned itself out; only a tiny smouldering flame pulsed up
here and there, to die down again immediately into blackness.
McWade and the sheriff exchanged a few words, and the latter turned.
"Well, gentlemen, I think there's nothing more to be done," he said.
"I expect Jackson has the car ready by now. We'll walk back to the
house, and if Mr. Lessing has no objection I should like a few words
with him before we go."
We did not meet the car, nor was it in sight when we reached the
bungalow. Mary Lessing was on the porch, and while the others went
indoors I stayed outside to smoke a cigarette in the open air and
watch the road in case Jackson turned up.
"I'm glad it was Menning's house, if it had to be somebody's," said
Mary, with really feminine lucidity. "I wanted to go, but Dick
wouldn't let me. I guess I wouldn't have been much use. Doctor
Haverill, is it ... Aaron they're after?"
"They think he had something to do with that business last spring.
It's Lennox's story. I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet.
Anyway I'll take back all I said against him last night."
She had heard nothing of the accident at the dam, and I told her as
briefly as I could all that had happened since we left the bungalow
last evening. She listened breathlessly.
"So it was Doctor Lennox all the time! Now I know why he didn't want
to meet me that morning. I was sure I knew him, somehow."
"You were smarter than we were," I admitted. "He took us in. Only I
don't see why, now."
"Sliefer's is near to Aaron's place," said Mary, "and if he was
watching Aaron he wouldn't want anyone to know who he was. You think
it was Aaron who attacked Freeman last night?"
"I am nearly sure of it."
Mary shivered. "It's horrible," she said. "It's horrible! I wish
now----"
"What?"
"I wish I'd known," she said quickly. "That poor girl! I shall go
over and see her first thing tomorrow. I know Rebecca quite well.
We get our milk from there."
"Do," I said. "You'll cheer her up a bit." I rose as I spoke and
peered down the road. "It's time that car put in an appearance."
"Your car? Where did you leave it?"
"Just down the hill there. It had a breakdown," I explained. "The
man was going to catch us up."
"I thought I heard a car," she said, "a little while ago. It was
while you were over at the fire. It didn't come past here. Do you
suppose Menning knew what you came for?"
"Lennox thinks he must have suspected it. Anyhow he's far enough
away by this time."
She looked at me, as I thought, a little uneasily.
"You aren't afraid of Menning?" I exclaimed. "Far or near, he'll
take good enough care to keep out of anyone's way just now. Well,
I'll go and see if I can find the car. He may have misunderstood the
directions. You might tell the others if they're looking for me."
As it happened, I had barely gone a dozen paces up the road before I
heard the cheerful approaching throb of a motor, and a moment later
the car, with Jackson in it, swung into sight.
"I was just coming along to look for you," I said as he drew up. "I
thought you'd missed us."
"Thought the spooks had got me!" He grinned appreciatively. "No,
sir! I just pulled up the road a bit--didn't know which way you'd
gone. I guess they weren't huntin' company tonight." He laughed.
"Mighty thick these woods are. I don't know this part of the country
much. Do you get any big animals, round about?"
"Nothing bigger than a badger," I said. "Why?"
"There was something crossed my path, coming up the hill there. It
might have been a dog, now I think of it, but it didn't look like no
dog I've ever seen. Rather high in the hindquarters, and grayish ...
I on'y saw the back of it. It slunk off in the bushes as I come up."
"There aren't any very big dogs that I know," I said, "except Mr.
Lessing's setter, and that's generally chained up at night."
"It weren't no setter," said Jackson. "Weren't the build of a
setter. And it weren't no badger, for I've seen 'em. Low-running,
brownish beasts they are.... Is this the house, sir?"
We drew up outside the bungalow, and I jumped down to join the
others, waiting on the porch.
"It wasn't anything _like_ a dog, now I think of it," said Jackson.
XVIII
LENNOX'S STORY
Lennox's face, when the car had deposited us once more at our door,
expressed utter chagrin and annoyance. He flung himself down in the
surgery arm-chair and lit a cigar.
"That's what comes of not acting on the minute," he said. "I had my
hand on the man last night. I tell you, Haverill, you can't drive
plain facts into people's heads. There's formality and formality,
and the end is your man gets a clear twelve hours to lay his plans
and the game's up."
"Bad luck," I rejoined.
He sat staring moodily down at the carpet.
"While I think of it," I remembered, "I've got some property of
yours. You might as well have it back."
I pulled out the envelope he had left for me that morning. Lennox
took it without a glance and thrust it into his pocket.
"Considering that I didn't have the opportunity to open it," I
remarked, "I think you might let me into the story now."
He pulled out his watch. "Well, I don't know but what sleep's out of
the question, anyway, tonight. Get the whisky out, Haverill, there's
a good chap, and we'll go into it."
"One moment," I said as I unlocked the cupboard. "Have you any
objection if I fetch Herrick down?"
"Not in the least."
I roused Herrick accordingly, and he bundled sleepily into a
dressing-gown and joined us below, where his sleepiness rapidly
vanished in the few moments that it took to grasp the new turn of
events, and the part that Lennox himself had played in last night's
happenings.
Put briefly, this was the story as Lennox put it to us, gathered
round the surgery table in the chilly half-hour that precedes dawn.
The Menning household, when Lennox first came here, had consisted of
the two half-brothers, Jake and Aaron, and the old mother, who kept
house for them and helped more or less in the business. They were of
Westphalian origin, but had settled in this country for two
generations. The mother, according to Lennox, was a curious survival
of the original peasant stock. Stolid, hard-working, and
uncommunicative, she preserved always a certain aloofness from her
neighbours, a taciturnity that marked her out even among the Dutch
families about. She had preserved a great deal of her native
superstition and traditions, and was reputed to have a great
knowledge of herbs and some skill in home doctoring and decoctions,
when she could be induced to use it, by reason of which the
neighbours, ready enough in such gossip, believed her to have actual
powers of witchcraft. Superstition dies hard, even in a new country,
and there was at all events a marked unwillingness among them to
annoy or "cross" her in any way. About thirty years ago she had
married a young Pennsylvania Dutchman, Menning by name, who had
deserted her shortly after. Aaron, their son, had his mother's
characteristics in a modified degree. He was inclined to be
friendly, if not sociable, a good business man, thrifty but
honest-dealing, and very religious. Jake, the half-brother, was some
years older than Aaron, and, in Lennox's phrase, a "throw-back."
There was considerable mystery and gossip about his birth. Some said
that he was born before the mother's marriage, some after. He was
certainly only half related to Aaron, and the wide difference between
them was in curious contrast to their strong physical resemblance, a
result in both cases of the virile persistence of the mother's
peasant type. Jakey was mentally deficient, but not enough to debar
him from ordinary tasks. He occupied himself in the huckstering
business, and took the wagon round in turn with Aaron, week and week
about. In many ways he could be trusted, but he was malicious and
cunning, and the bad streak seemed to predominate with age. Lennox
never considered him safe. There was always the possibility, in his
opinion, of a serious outbreak, and he had even gone so far as to
suggest to Aaron the advisability of having him put under definite
restraint. At first Aaron had been disposed to consider the idea
favourably, then later, for no given reason, he changed his mind.
His manner, at about this time, in regard to any discussion about
Jakey, changed also so noticeably that Lennox supposed there must
have been words between Aaron and the mother about his (Lennox's)
interference in the matter, and that Aaron had perhaps been naturally
induced to range himself upon the mother's side. Lennox urged him at
least to have his brother medically examined, but he always met with
a dogged refusal.
"Jakey's all right in the daytime," Aaron persisted. "He ain't doin'
harm to nobody. Nights we lock him in."
Once only he went so far as to say that if it became necessary he
would take his own steps in the matter, rather implying a resentment
at outside interference, and Lennox, to avoid making further bad
blood, was forced to let the matter drop. So things went on till
last March, and the events which led to the finding of Jakey's body
by the creek at Dutchman's Hill.
Lennox saw the body, and there was no doubt in his mind at the time
that death was due to an epileptic seizure. There were no marks of
any sort on the body. The ground was fairly soft at the time--a thaw
had set in that same afternoon--but there were no footprints to be
found other than those of the man himself, leading down to the creek,
and the tracks of some large dog which had evidently passed that way
in the night, sniffed at the body and gone on. At the word "large
dog" I saw Herrick shift in his chair.
"Do the Mennings keep a dog?" he asked.