The Mystery Megapack

in a bad way. They took him over to Allsworth, to the hospital. He’s hurt, some; but the shock to his nerves is worse, the doctors say. So, you see Hodge’s warning isn’t one to be taken lightly.”
    Weston was genuinely shocked. Coming as he had from a city where atrocious crimes were the familiar headlines of his breakfast paper, he had expected to forget such things in the peaceful country of scattered farms, deep woods, and majestic ocean. They seemed worse, somehow, these brutal assaults, than they had back home. They seemed to desecrate the loveliness of nature; to make the bird songs and the fleecy clouds and warm sunshine a mockery.
    He was seeking to find some expression of his feelings when Thomas spoke again.
    “Just you and your wife here? So I understood. And you got in—when?”
    “Yesterday, about four o’clock. Jed Hooper drove us over from Cherryville Junction in his car. We came up on the Down-Easter through train from New York.”
    “Strangers here, I take it? How’d you come to learn about the place?”
    Weston smiled. “I picked out about the location we desired, on a road map. Then I wrote the postmaster at Cherryville, and he sent me a number of names; Hooper’s was among them. So then I wrote him, and from his description I engaged the Jarvis house.”
    He looked the sheriff steadily and a trifle quizzically in the eyes. “I guess you’re asking me to establish a sort of alibi, Mr. Thomas?”
    The sheriff reddened slightly, then laughed. “There isn’t a chance in the world that you had anything to do with these two affairs, Weston. But one of the things I have to do is check up on every man, woman and grown child who lives hereabout and could by any chance, however remote, have been to the Bronson and Tucker places last night. That’s dry detail; but it has to be attended to, or I’ll get what-for from the district attorney!”
    He turned to go; then paused for a final word.
    “Don’t let this fret you and the missus too much. We’re bound to get that murdering dog. I’ve got men that know every mile of this district like it was their own woodpile. Besides which, the roads will be patrolled. I’m swearing in deputies today. You’ll see some of ’em before sundown. And if you hear or see anything suspicious, no matter how trivial it seems to you, be sure to notify one of my men right off. G’bye!”
    Weston watched until he swung himself into the waiting car, and was driven rapidly down the sandy road towards Hooper’s place.
    “That was the sheriff,” he explained to Annie when he returned to the kitchen for a final cup of coffee. “There was another holdup last night—an old man miles away up the beach somewhere. Nobody was killed or seriously hurt. And before night there’ll be someone on guard along the highway. If they don’t catch the fellow, they’ll at least make it too dangerous for him to attempt anything further around here.”
    Annie tried to believe him; her common sense argued that he was right. But somehow, the warmth seemed to have gone from the sunshine. And the birds seemed to have stopped their song, this was natural enough, as their early chorus was over, and they were busy about their affairs. Only Romeo, the bobtailed cat, seemed oblivions of the dark cloud that had descended over the peaceful little hamlet of Fast Harbor. Promptly after he had lapped up his saucer of warm milk, he wandered forth to investigate the life and habits of the field mouse, as found in his dooryard.
    When Weston would have imitated his cat to the extent of strolling away from the house, Annie entered a terrified protest.
    “Where are you going with that pail, Frank?” she cried. To his reply that he was thinking of going down to the beach which lay just beyond a clump of cedars, to see if he could dig some clams, she objected: “But there’s nearly a peck of clams from those Mr. Hooper left here for us!”
    He hesitated, glancing longingly at the short iron clam hook in his hand, “Well, I thought it would be rather good fun. And they will keep indefinitely, if I leave a little water in the pail and sprinkle some corn meal over them. I read that in a newspaper.”
    Annie’s voice was a little sharp with terror as she answered him. “Yes, and first thing you know, you’ll be reading in a newspaper that Mrs. Frank Weston was found murdered in her summer camp, while her husband was amusing himself on the shore!”
    Half vexed and half amused, he yielded.