"Dr. Silsby--Inspector McCausland."

The men clasped hands.

"Didn't meet a maniac with a gash in his forehead on the way back, did you?" laughed McCausland.

"Maniac--well, no; but I've rooted out a peeping Tom there, that's been frightening the women."

"How was that?" asked s.h.a.garach.

"It was those ferns did it. Aren't they beauties, though? Feel! Silky! Maidenhair! Rare variety."

"They helped you find the peeping Tom?" said s.h.a.garach, who knew the botanist's tendency to forget.

"Oh, yes," said Dr. Silsby. "I was just about to tell that story. You know the hemlock forest back of the blue hills in Woodlawn--marshy place thereabouts, lots of clay in the soil--some of it on those boots, eh? Well, those ferns came from there. Didn't walk in of themselves, I guess. No, I had to wade for them. Pretty boggy, but not quite up to the Dismal swamp. Well, I was feeling about, pulling up things, when I came on the hut."

"A hut?"

"I call it a hut by courtesy. Begging your pardon, said I, and tumbled in the sides of it. Hadn't any door that I could see--only two loose boards--and was mighty poor carpenter work all over. Just a roof and three sides, the whole thing backed against a pudding-stone ledge that juts out into Hemlock lake."

"Had it an occupant?" asked s.h.a.garach.

"Three squirrels," answered Dr. Silsby, "investigating a can of corn."

"Nothing else?"

"Some old newspapers, a blanket, a stool and a mighty ugly collection of instruments, I tell you, including this article, which I confiscated."

He removed a pistol which lay at the bottom of his basket, handling the specimens as carefully as if they had been wounded kittens.

"Is it loaded?" asked McCausland, taking it in his hand and unhinging the b.u.t.t. The backs of three cartridges stared out from the cylinder.

"You kept the second bullet, s.h.a.garach, I believe," said McCausland, removing a cartridge. s.h.a.garach rolled out a flattened bullet from a pen box in his drawer.

"Same caliber," said McCausland. "This looks like the pistol that was aimed at you that evening."

"So you know peeping Tom, then?" asked Dr. Silsby.

"Mr. McCausland and I have two of the three bullets that round out his pistol's complement," answered s.h.a.garach, "and the third is lodged in my ceiling at home too deep for the probe to reach."

"I thought the hut had a human atmosphere. There were fresh tracks around, and the station-master spoke to me about a scoundrel that's been frightening the country-folks--frightening them by running away from them, as far as I could see. But you don't suppose he was fern-gathering down in that swamp, do you?"

"Hardly," said McCausland. "Could you take us there now?"

"Now? I've my lecture at Hilo hall--A Study in Ingrat.i.tude; or, the Threatened Extinction of the Great Horned Owl."

"It is an important piece of evidence in the Floyd case," said s.h.a.garach, though McCausland still smiled incredulously. "We want the occupant of that hut."

"Robert's case. Command me," said Dr. Silsby. "Sorry Mr. Hutman wasn't at home when I called. I'd have had him here dead or alive."

"Wolf!" said McCausland. The great dog started up, wagging his tail. "Smell." He offered him the revolver b.u.t.t. The hound barked and smelled his way to the door again, but McCausland pulled him back.

"It is our man," he said, thrusting the paper-weight in his pocket.

"My pathfinder, Aronson," said s.h.a.garach, who sprung to his desk.

"The next train for Woodlawn doesn't leave till 4:03."

"We can go more quickly by team," said McCausland. "I will have one here in ten minutes."

Then he departed with his hound, and s.h.a.garach sent Aronson to announce at Hilo hall that an imperative summons compelled the defender of the great horned owl to neglect for once the cause of that calumniated biped.

"This is where I left the road," cried Dr. Silsby, an hour later. "A good, smart journey lies before us."

"It's uncertain when we'll return," said McCausland to the driver. "Probably not before 6 at the earliest. You'd better drive home. We'll take the train into town."

The driver wheeled his team and drove away, while the party of three--s.h.a.garach, McCausland and Silsby--crossed a bush-skirted meadow with the bloodhound still in leash. But they were not destined to remain long unattended. The curious folk had got wind of their intention to unearth the peeping Tom, and the sight of an officer in b.u.t.tons emboldened many to follow in their wake. Several men offered to help in the search, and McCausland did not refuse their a.s.sistance.

"The more the merrier," he said, whereupon not only men but women trailed behind them.

Among these followers was one young woman, familiar to two of the three leaders of the party.

"Good evening, Miss Wesner," said s.h.a.garach and McCausland almost together, and the great inspector was not above entertaining that somewhat vulgar curiosity many of us feel as to the relationship of any chance couple we meet. For Miss Wesner was attended by an exceedingly attentive young man. Courting? Engaged? Married? The question rises as naturally as a bubble in water. In this case the truth lay midway. What more natural than that she should spend her afternoon off with Hans Heidermann at the picnic park in Woodlawn?

"Now you've left the cheap bombast of the town behind you," said Dr. Silsby, looking at the great trees as if he would embrace them one and all. "Isn't this grand? Isn't this Gothic? Pillars, gloom, fretted roof--don't tell me art's cathedrals are any improvement on nature's."

The bloodhound interrupted his rhapsody.

"We may leave Dr. Silsby behind, if he chooses, as well as the town bombast," said McCausland. "We shall not need his guidance any farther. Wolf has caught the trail again."

Two or three times on the march the inspector had held the gla.s.s paper-weight out so that the dog might smell the blood-clot on its edge. His joyful bark and eager straining at the leash announced that he had scented the fugitive.

"Not I," said Dr. Silsby.

Pulled on by the hound, McCausland and his two companions were soon trotting far ahead of the plodding laggards behind them. Their talk had died away. The heart of each was tense. Not a sound broke the mid-forest silence save the harsh screams of purple jays resenting their intrusion, and the snapping of twigs and branches.

"There are the ferns," said Dr. Silsby.

"Are we near?" asked McCausland.

"Within a hundred yards, I should say. This is the hemlock grove."

"Step on the moss. It will deaden our footfalls," said the detective. "Slow, Wolf, slow!"

He reined in the impetuous animal as best he could and his companions crept behind him softly.

"I see it," whispered s.h.a.garach, pointing through the trees. It was nearly 5 o'clock and the light was beginning to slant more dimly through the aisles of the forest. But following his finger, the eye of the detective made out a rude shelter, sharply distinct by the smoothness of its boarded walls from the rough bark surfaces around. It seemed to lean against the steep ledge which Dr. Silsby had described and the roof derived most of its support from the projecting arms of two great trees whose roots spread up into the crevices of the rock. Osiers and strong withes took the place of nails, and the c.h.i.n.ks were stopped with moss. No log cabin or camper's shed was ever more roughly joined. It had every appearance of being recent and temporary.

"We must surround it," said McCausland. The loud barking of the hound, re-echoing in the stillness, had betrayed their presence to the occupant. s.h.a.garach and Dr. Silsby stationed themselves each at one side, the former empty-handed, the latter clubbing his stout cane. McCausland waited for the followers to arrive through the woods, but most of them hung back at a safe distance, only three or four of the men coming close to the besiegers.

"Who is inside there?" asked the detective loudly.

The silence succeeding his question was intense and prolonged.

"We have come to take you in the name of the law, and we will take you, living or dead," said the detective.

There was no response but the rustling of the leaves. Song-birds were few in the deep recesses, and these few had been frightened from their nests. A creeping fear entered the hearts of the ring in the background and they edged farther away. For the gloom was gathering swiftly. Only one patch of sky was visible, above the steep ledge, and that lay toward the darkening east.

"I prefer that he should be taken alive, if possible," said s.h.a.garach in a low voice to the detective. The latter gave three strong raps with a bough on the trunk of a mighty tree, then cried again to the secreted fugitive: "Once more, I will state our errand. We are officers of the law. You are wanted for the murderous attacks you have made on Meyer s.h.a.garach----"

A hoa.r.s.e snarl of rage burst from within the hut, causing some of the distant spectators to turn in alarm. But it angered the bloodhound, as the spur a proud horse, and with an answering roar he burst loose from his leash and sprung at the hut, forcing a loose plank in with his impetus. Then a sharp tool was seen to descend in the opening--apparently an adze--and the hound's head sunk under the blow. He leaped from side to side in agony, and as he ran back whining to his master the blood dripped into his eyes from a hideous wound that had bared the bone of the skull. McCausland swore furiously and the lingering shadow of a smile vanished from his face. He unwound the rope which he had brought along and secured one circle of a double handcuff to his left wrist.

"We'll march home Siamese fashion or my name is Muggins," said the inspector, between his teeth. Then he began gathering brushwood in a heap before the hut.

"What are you at, man?" cried Dr. Silsby.

"Smoke him out," said McCausland.

"And fire these woods? Are you crazy?" The botanist was greatly excited.

"Confound your woods! Good Wolf! Poor Wolf!" said the inspector, alternately petting the hound, who, amid all his pain, licked his master's hand, and throwing f.a.gots on his pyre.

"But--but--name o' conscience, man," stammered Dr. Silsby. "This is the finest hemlock grove this side of the White mountains."

"We could demolish the walls, I think," said s.h.a.garach, "and capture him with a rush."

"Where are the axes?" asked McCausland.

"Poles will do." There were heavy boughs and light saplings lying about, which would make excellent impromptu crowbars. Without a word s.h.a.garach seized one of these and wedged it into the crack between two of the boards. The roar of rage within told them the occupant was watching.

"Fall to!" said McCausland, scattering his brush-heap with an angry kick. The three men began prying the boards apart. Several of them creaked and gave way, and soon nearly the whole front lay in ruins.

"Surrender!" cried the inspector, pointing his revolver into the cave-like gloom. There was no reply. The three men peered in, then entered. The hut was empty!

CHAPTER XLII.

THE SECRET OF THE POOL.

Suddenly a shout from the onlookers behind called them back to the breach.

"The roof!" they cried. "He is climbing out by the roof!"

McCausland and Silsby stepped back to see the top of the hut, while s.h.a.garach rushed in once more and reached at the ceiling with his bough.

There on the top of the hut, his body half emerging where the planks had been shoved aside, McCausland for the first time saw the long-missing oaf, and Dr. Silsby his peeping Tom. But s.h.a.garach was groping within, vainly smashing upward in the darkness.

With wonderful strength the fugitive raised himself erect, sprung from the insecure footing of the slippery boards, and began clambering up the ledge.

"After him, Wolf!" cried McCausland, and the bloodhound, nerved by his tones, tore up the ledge in the monster's wake. McCausland and Silsby clambered as best they could on all fours, and presently s.h.a.garach, hearing the outcry, followed them. The crack of the inspector's revolver was heard once, but the fugitive had turned like lightning and hurled his adze. McCausland uttered a sharp cry as the pistol was struck from his hand. The fugitive then stood for a moment on the crest, twenty feet above them, outlined in hideous distinctness against the pale patch of sky. But, espying the hound at his heels, he had given a mad plunge, and the onlookers, who had drawn nearer, heard a heavy splash behind the ledge. The bloodhound paused at the summit.

"After him, Wolf!" urged McCausland, and the dog's plunge was heard, as heavy as the man's.

"It is a pool," said s.h.a.garach, gazing into the black water below him.

"Hemlock lake," answered Dr. Silsby. "The land beyond it is marshy for miles."

"And no boat?" asked McCausland.

"One at the upper end, a mile or so, kept by a farmer."

"Then it all depends upon Wolf," muttered the detective. The water side of the precipice afforded no stair for descent, and the party slowly picked its way down the ledge which it had climbed, and made a circuit, so as to stand on the gra.s.sy edge of the pool.

"Wolf!" cried McCausland. The dark heads of man and dog had long vanished from sight. No answer came but the night sighing of the trees that fringed the dark lake. A pale quarter-moon arose in the open sky and lent a translucent gloss to its opaque surface. The swallows twittered high in air, reduced to the size of a bee-swarm. But the lake gave back no tale of the two that had entered it.

"Wolf!" cried McCausland, again and again. He whistled till the woods echoed. He clapped his hands with a hollow reverberation. A plash close by startled the listeners. But it was only a pickerel rising to his food or a bullfrog plunging in. Again the mysterious terror invaded the hearts of the pursuers, and the women clung nearer to the men, clutching their bosoms.

Had man and dog reached the other side in safety, there to continue their terrible race? Had they fought their death struggle in the water, and one or both of them sunk to his doom? Who could tell? The lake guarded its secret.

"It is dark," said s.h.a.garach, but McCausland lingered on the bank, shading his eyes with his right hand. In his left the empty handcuff clanked.

"We have failed," said Dr. Silsby. Then McCausland started with a jerk.

"To-morrow," he said. "To-morrow may tell."

"The way back will be hard to find," said s.h.a.garach.

"Light these," said Dr. Silsby, cutting a pitch-pine bough. It blazed up almost at the touch of a match, and as the others followed his example the forest was strangely illuminated, weird shadows playing about the party. One coming upon them might have taken them for some brigand band en route to their mountains with plunder.

"We'll miss the guidance of the hound going home," said s.h.a.garach, and the women shuddered at the prospect of being lost in the forest at nightfall. It was an unfrequented place. But there were boys present whose holiday ramblings might now be turned to good account.

"Yes, we shall miss Wolf," said McCausland, looking behind him, as if still hoping for a signal from his faithful hound.

"Let us explore the hut," proposed s.h.a.garach, entering.

"And tear it to pieces," cried Dr. Silsby.

Instantly the roof was torn from the rude pile, and its remaining timbers, hardly more than rested on end, almost fell asunder of themselves. A strange heap was revealed by the flickering torches. A stool, a sheet of tin laid over a clam-bake oven, some cans of prepared food, half-empty, an old coat, a blanket and a collection of knives, spikes and other weapons, picked up or stolen, that would have made a formidable array in the belt of a pirate. One of the lads, who had lighted a dry rush for a torch, was about to touch off the newspapers that lay about in great profusion, when McCausland sharply checked him.

"Bundle those up," he said, and the boys obeyed, while the inspector curiously scanned one of them by Dr. Silsby's torch.

"I thought so," he cried in triumph, motioning to s.h.a.garach. "This is dated, like the others, only two days back--a New York paper again. The----" he pointed to the name. "He knew where to look for sensations, you see."