The Mystery Megapack

returning
    “Not a thing, I assure you! The truth is, cats sort of have it in for me. I rather like them; but they don’t reciprocate. Down at the office they poke a lot of fun at me about it. But let me introduce myself properly.”
    From an inside breast pocket he look a black leather case, and from it removed a business card which he handed to Weston It read: “Sanford Teller, Detective. Representing the Wallis Detective Agency. Boston.”
    “I may also add that I have full credentials in this pocket case, and a real, shiny new badge,” the stranger added. In proof of the latter assertion he unbuttoned the top of his vest and showed on the under side an oval silver shield, bearing the title of detective and a number.
    “Well, I declare!” said Annie. “You don’t look one bit like a detective! Of course, I never saw one before, to know him.”
    Mr. Teller bowed gracefully. “You flatter me, madam! The one man I don’t want to look like is a detective. And so, your words are balm to my spirit.”
    He turned to Weston. “Your name I know. I read of your arrival in a Boston daily; and I already knew more or less of your financial position in New York. Now, Mr. Weston, it is urgent that I have a few words in private with you. Will Mrs. Weston think me too rude, if—”
    Annie colored slightly. “Certainly not! But if you two will use one of the front rooms, I’ll finish getting dinner ready. For after all, this is my domain, Mr. Teller!”
    The urbane sleuth bowed gallantly. “Granted, Mrs. Weston! And I’ll explain to your husband how I came to call at the back door, instead of the front. And he has my permission to tell you as much as he chooses, of what I tell him.”
    He stooped over and picked up his grip, and followed his host to the front of the house, while Annie gingerly stuck a fork into one of the bubbling potatoes, as Lizzie Hooper had told her to do. She wasn’t at all sure whether they were done or not; the fork seemed to go in easily enough. She set them farther back on the stove, and began to cut thin slices from a ham.
    The two men meanwhile had seated themselves in the parlor, a room the Westons had not had any occasion to use so far. To Weston’s suggestion that they sit on the doorstep, the detective objected. Not only that, but he carefully closed the door, and took pains to sit far back in the room, out of range of the window.
    “All this seems very mysterious, and stagy,” he said. “But it is dictated by strict common sense. I am afraid your well-earned privacy is about to be invaded, sir! Almost overnight your little village has become unhappily notorious. And that is why I am here.”
    He leaned forward, his quiet voice pitched still lower.
    “I have been lurking in the cedar grove behind your house for half an hour,” he confessed. “When I was as certain as I could be that the coast was clear, I hustled across the backyard; and when you didn’t answer my knock, I didn’t waste a moment. It may have been impolite, but I simply came right on in!”
    Once more he took out his pocket case, glanced over a number of papers, selected one. “Here is a copy, on our official paper, of a letter received by Mr. Wallis—my employer—from the assistant district attorney, Mr. Frothingham. You will note that he requests that an agent be sent as soon as possible from Boston. The truth is, Mr. Weston, that the district attorney knows as well as I do—and as you probably do—that this case is a little out of the ordinary experience of country constables! While Thomas, the sheriff, is a good man as far as he goes, shrewd and energetic, he has never handled anything more intricate than chasing down an illicit still, or helping the fish warden stop the destruction of short lobsters, or lock up the village cut-up occasionally. Something a little more up-to-date than the hick constable is needed right now, and that is why I am here. Got in this morning, early, and have kept out of sight.
    “My experience has been almost entirely with bank men and loft workers in the cities; and the only reason for sending me up here is that I was pretty familiar with the country, because as a boy my father used to rent a summer place at Bar Harbor year after year. I’ve hunted and fished for miles up and down the coast.”
    “But just why have you called on me?” Weston asked. “I’m probably the one man within twenty miles who is least fitted to give you the slightest information or advice!