About this book

The trouble at Pinelands A detective story

Ernest M. Poate

Lewis stared and stroked his little black mustache. His face was square, and his high cheek bones gave it a solemn look, almost Indian. “About ghosts? Nonsense! There’s no such thing as a ghost!” If my nephew had a fault, it was that he was a shade too serious, a bit too literal-minded. He was not overendowed with humor. His pronouncement provoked a frank laugh from Dorothy. I think she thoroughly enjoyed his solemnity. But Miss McGregor bridled. “Indeed! Young man----” Then she broke off quite suddenly and resumed her normal sweetness of temper. One might have fancied that she did not care to discuss spirits with Lewis. “My niece is jesting,” she went on, with a pale, patient smile. “I’m afraid I wearied her. It is too easy to bore the young and healthy, when one is an old, worthless invalid. I’m sorry, my dear. I know I must be a great trial, but I’m thankful that I can drop into the background gracefully. I bear my trials as best I can. You all know I never complain. I realize that I can’t expect much attention from happy, care-free young folks, and I don’t look for it. I know an invalid is always a burden, so I try not to make things too hard for poor Dorothy; she’s so self-sacrificing! Ah, if I were only able, how I would love to turn in and help get ready for the wedding! But all I can do is sit back and wish you well, children, and say nothing when my few wants are forgotten. I know I can’t expect attention with a wedding only three days off, and I don’t expect it. I just love the happy stir and bustle of preparation; I seem to grow young again, because I share Dorothy’s pleasure so keenly. Perhaps it’s that which has made me so restless of late. I’ve suffered much more than usual this week; no doubt it has been the excitement. But I wouldn’t have it changed for worlds; I enjoy it so! What are a few more sleepless nights, a few more pains, to me? I have had so many--so many!” She sighed deeply, with that sweet, suffering smile of one too ethereal for this rough world. “You must bear with me, children. A few days, and you’ll be gone, happy in each other, leaving me to my solitude and suffering. Ah, it’s better so! I shall be happy, knowing that I am no longer a damper on your joys.” Aunt Mary wiped away a tear and looked more seraphic than ever. Dorothy and Lewis, unreasonably enough, appeared rather downcast. The girl looked whimsically at Lewis; I fancy she squeezed his hand under the table. Then she dropped her napkin and, under cover of retrieving it, whispered swiftly to me: “Don’t mind aunty--in bad temper!” So she seemed to be. I was rather taken aback by the revelation. I wondered how often Miss McGregor was in this mood, and my sympathy for her niece increased momently. If the old lady had been humanly irritable it wouldn’t have been so bad; but this pious, sweet-toned flood of indirect complaint was hard to bear. One felt hopelessly in the wrong; one felt that Aunt Mary was forbearing and magnanimous in spite of her pains; and one rebelled thereat. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad time,” said Lewis apologetically. “Is there anything I could do, Aunt Mary?” She sighed. “I think I could stand everything else if it weren’t for the quail. Doctor Parker”--she never could be induced to call my nephew “Lewis”--“Doctor Parker, those birds drive me almost mad! You know, I sleep very poorly; about dawn I used to be able to settle down for a little nap. But it’s just then that the quail begin: ‘Bob_white_! bob_white_!’--until I could just scream with the knots in my neck. I don’t know what’s going to become of me; I can’t stand it much longer. You know I’m not one to complain; I try to bear my burdens patiently, but I’ve reached the end of my strength. Dorothy and Peter don’t realize how I’ve been tried, because I never talk about it; Peter just laughs, when he could have taken his gun and driven them away. But, if those quail keep whistling under my window much longer, I shall go mad!” She finished in a rush of words, as her face contorted queerly, and her eyes reddened and filled with tears. “Oh, aunty!” cried Dorothy remorsefully. My nephew rose and came round the table to pat the old lady’s hand comfortingly. “Never mind, Aunt Mary; I’ll see to it for you. Peter won’t be back till to-morrow night, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind my borrowing his shotgun. I’ll get up at daybreak in the morning and come over here and shoot those quail for you. There can’t be more than three or four, I don’t think; they’ve nested into the scrub oaks out back, most likely. I’ll see to it, Aunt Mary, don’t you fret any more!” Miss McGregor seemed a little comforted. “I’m a troublesome old woman,” she sighed, “but you don’t realize what I suffer!” Then she rewarded Lewis with her sweet, patient smile, albeit a bit weak and watery. CHAPTER III A BAD SPELL The nurse wheeled Aunt Mary back to her room to rest, and we others rose. Our breakfast had been pretty effectually spoiled; none of us, except Aunt Mary, had managed to eat much. The old lady, however, had put away an excellent meal in spite of her sufferings. “Poor old dear!” sighed Lewis. “Honey, I’m afraid we’ve been selfish in our happiness; we haven’t thought enough of Aunt Mary. After all she’s a great sufferer.” I started; that was so exactly Miss McGregor’s opinion. Dorothy looked at her lover almost suspiciously, but he was perfectly serious. As I have said, my nephew was very serious-minded. The girl sighed in relief and flashed an impudent glance at me. “Yes, poor aunty,” she said. “She’s a great sufferer, and she never complains.” “That’s what makes it so pitiful,” declared Lewis soberly. “But come out doors a minute, honey; let’s look over things and see if we can’t locate those quail.” Knowing very well that I wasn’t wanted, I watched through the window, as the two young folks walked, hand in hand, down the path, which led through the pines at the east of the old house, into the thick scrub oak jungle behind it. Although in the heart of a sizable village, it was a solitary spot. The grounds of Fort House took in an entire block; and in its center one might well have fancied himself in the heart of the wilderness. Thinking themselves out of sight, no doubt, the two lovers stood very close. Dorothy’s head rested against my nephew’s shoulder; her face was upturned to his. I sighed and turned away. I am a lonely old man. Then I heard Rosina’s voice behind me. “Mist’ Uhlman, is Mist’ Lewis done gone? They’s a telegrum comed, an’ the boy done fotch it oveh, seein’ they wa’n’t nobody home to his place.” I took the yellow envelope. “All right, Rosina. He’s out back with Miss Dorothy. There they come, now!” I stepped through the open French doors to meet them. Lewis took the telegram, with that hint of flurry which touches every one at sight of the yellow envelope. “What? Oh, yes! It’s from old Floyd Somers. He was my classmate at medical school, you know; he’s on the staff of some hospital for the insane up North. See what he says.” He read the message over and scowled and smiled rather doubtfully, then scowled again. “‘Sincere condolences. Glad to act as chief mourner. Arrive Monday.’” Dorothy flushed and bit her lip. “I don’t care, I think that’s a great way to promise he’ll be your best man. No wonder he’s in a lunatic asylum.” My nephew laughed rather uneasily. “Oh, that’s just Somers’ way. He’s a queer old chap, but I’m sure you’ll like him, honey.” “I’m not, then! ‘Condolences!’ The very idea!” Then she chuckled. “After all, it is kind of a funny telegram. Maybe he won’t be so sure you need condolences”--very demurely--“after he’s seen me!” “You little minx!” Lewis kissed her soundly. “But really, honey, Floyd Somers is a fine old chap. He may seem queer at first, but, when you get to know him, he’s one of the very best.” “Huh!” Dorothy made a little face. “Run along now, boy, and get to work. You’re going to have a very expensive wife presently, and you can’t afford to neglect your practice.” As we came down the front steps, Doctor Gaskell’s big twin-six coupe backed silently out of the garage behind his house, just opposite, and started down street. I caught a glimpse of the doctor’s face, incongruously young beneath his crown of snow-white hair; he smiled and raised an arm in greeting. I lifted my hat. To my mind Gaskell was a fine chap. Some twenty-five years older than Lewis he had been located in Pinelands for more than twenty years, and the cream of the practice was naturally his. But he had been very gracious to my nephew and had sent him more than one case. Lewis, however, was less grateful. Now he scowled blackly. “Darn his patronizing ways!” “My boy, he’s been awfully good to you.” “Huh? Oh, yes--very good! He’s sent me a few dead beats because he was tired of treating them for nothing; and he’s turned over half a dozen night calls because he hates to get out of bed. And he goes round saying: ‘Parker? Oh, yes, Doctor Parker. Yes, hum, hum! Fine young chap, that; bright, too. Of course he hasn’t had much experience yet.’ And it does me more harm than if he’d slam me outright.” I was silenced. So we went on home, only a short block, and the boy got out his modest flivver to begin his own rounds, which were short enough. As I have said, Lewis had been only a year in Pinelands. He was making a living--and no more. Fortunately I had some money. But he was not destined to make his calls yet. For, just as he climbed into the little car, while I stood on the steps to watch him off, Rosina came panting around the corner. “Oh, Mist’ Lewis!” she wheezed. “Mist’ Doctah! Come a-runnin’! Miss Dor’thy’s Aunt Ma’y, she’s done been took dretful bad.” Rosina’s eyes rolled fearsomely. “She’s a-hollerin’ an’ a-takin’ on terrible. Yassuh! Whyn’t you-all answer the phone? Miss Dor’thy, she wants you t’ come a-runnin’. Yassuh!” “Oh, the poor old lady! I’ll be there directly. Come along, Uncle George; you can help, maybe. Quick!” Lewis urged me into the little car and, scarce waiting for me to close its door, started at top speed for Fort House. In thirty seconds the flivver was sliding to a stop, and my nephew leaped out, leaving me to turn off the engine and follow. I entered to find Aunt Mary in her wheel chair in the big living room. Dorothy, white-faced, stood at one side, wringing her hands; the nurse, Miss Christie, was behind the chair, bathing the old lady’s forehead. As I came in the nurse yawned widely. She did not seem one to distress herself unduly. Lewis leaned over the chair, counting Miss McGregor’s pulse. The old lady was very pale; her eyelids fluttered, her head drooped, as if she were half fainting; she talked in a weak, trembling voice. “No, I can’t go to bed. I can’t lie down; I couldn’t breathe, my heart pounds so. I--I think I’m going to faint. I have such queer feelings all down my left arm, and my limbs are just numb, way up to the hips. Am I having a stroke, doctor? I’m afraid so. Oh, my heart! There’s a great ball in my throat, and the back of my neck knots so terribly! Miss Christie! Not there? Please, rub my neck very gently. Ah-h-h! I’m a great sufferer--a great sufferer! Don’t trouble about me, Dorothy--run off and do your shopping. I know you’ve lots to do, getting ready to be married. Ah, well! I shan’t be here long to be a trouble to you!” She groaned aloud; her face began to twitch alarmingly; her eyes rolled up until only the whites were visible. “I--I’m f-fainting!” My nephew put his stethoscope to her chest, felt her pulse once more, then stepped back, irresolute. “Lewis! Lewis!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Aren’t you going to do anything for poor auntie? Quick!”