Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 18, No. 3, September 18, 1926
- Автор: Bailey H. C., Bechdolt Jack
- Год: 1926
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Red Star News Company
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 18, No. 3, September 18, 1926». Краткое содержание книги:
The pair went off, running in the direction of Les Rochers. Pierre was gazing earnestly at the American.
“Well, monsieur?” he asked.
“Is there another boat about, Pierre?”
“There is one on the strand a quarter of a mile to the south.”
“Well,” said Van Duyven, “we are going to be in the chase, too, and we have no time to lose.”
They ran all the way to the boat and were lucky to find a pair of oars beneath her. They had her quickly afloat and went off in the wake of the old blind man, who, fortunately for them, had changed his course slightly to the south.
Their boat was making water, however, and Van Duyven had to keep baling her out while Pierre worked at the oars like one possessed. In the spirit of the chase he had forgotten his fear. The daylight was failing fast, but the distance between them and the quarry grew every moment perceptibly less.
Suddenly, on the evening silence, there broke a strange noise, the vibrant hum of a motor boat which, even as they perceived it, grew more and more distinct.
“There comes the Marguerite,” said Van Duyven.
They were now some distance out at sea, and the whir of the motor boat began to fill the universe. Lanneau had stopped his rowing to listen to the strange noise, and they gained quickly on him.
Out from the dusk, the motor boat swung into view, making a grand curve toward the blind man’s boat. Van Duyven and Pierre were ten yards from their quarry when Leon Gaveau and his companion came alongside the blind man’s little craft.-.
“Well, M. Lanneau,” cried Gaveau as he shut off the engine and laid his hand on the gunwale of the fishing boat, “have you caught many oysters?”
Lanneau did not reply. He was sitting quiet and still on the thwarts.
“He will murder the two of them,” said Pierre in a whisper.
“I dare say, you are surprised at my familiarity,” continued Leon Gaveau, “and I must introduce myself. I am Leon Gaveau, highwayman, at your service, and with me is my friend, Marcel Fayard.
“Now, I’ll trouble you, M. Lanneau, to hand me over that little treasure you picked up. And,” he continued, raising his voice, and turning toward Van Duyven, “I want you, messieurs, whoever you are, to stand off. If you come closer, I shoot you dead!”
The old blind man began to whine, as if in fear of his life.
“For the love of God, monsieur,” he said as he leaned toward the motor boat, “don’t murder me, I’m only a poor old fisherman.”
“Very good,” said Gaveau, “I’ll buy your fish. How much shall we say?”
“Ah, sir, you shouldn’t—”
“Silence,” cried Gaveau, “I want no play acting. Just hand over the treasure without any more talk.”
There was a ring in his voice which showed he was in earnest. Lamenting loudly, the blind man lifted the box to the edge of the motor boat. He overbalanced himself and tumbled in after it. Then he lay in a heap, crying that he was hurt. Fayard went to his assistance, and leaned over him.
“Look out, Gaveau!” cried Van Duyven in his excitement, standing up in his own boat. “Look out for treachery!”
He had just realized that Gaveau did not know the fiend he had to deal with. Even as he spoke, the blind man flashed his right arm upward, and, with a fearful cry, Fayard, his face covered with blood, sprawled over the boat’s side, slid off into the water and disappeared.
On hearing the warning cry, Gaveau had stepped back a pace. The action saved his life, for the blind man’s hand, bearing the bloody dagger, cut the air not an inch from his chin. The force of the futile blow staggered the old man, and Gaveau on the moment jumped in under his guard. Locked in a fierce embrace, the pair rocked this way and that.
Van Duyven seized an oar, and started paddling toward the motor boat. But before he reached it, both men fell, and all at once the engine started and the boat leaped forward. Gaveau was seen to rise in the air, the blind man holding his legs. The former gave a sudden twist, and they both tumbled into the water and disappeared. Almost at the same moment, Van Duyven’s boat, which had been slowly filling, went under.
“Are you all right, monsieur?” asked Pierre as he came to the surface.
“All right,” answered Van Duyven.
IV
They climbed into the blind man’s boat and peered all around for a sign of the others, while away in the distance they could hear the whir of the motor boat as she careered madly out to sea bearing the accursed treasure with her.
A white object came into view on the surface of the darkening waters. Pierre, without a moment’s hesitation, dived off and swam to it. He grasped by the hair the unconscious body of Leon Gaveau. With difficulty they got him aboard, and Pierre attended to him as well as he could while Van Duyven rowed around, vainly scanning the sea for signs of the others.
They were gone for ever. After awhile, the purring of the motor boat became a faint hum and then died away altogether. Van Duyven rowed toward the land, and Leon Gaveau, the highwayman, slowly opened his eyes.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“You’re all right,” replied Pierre.
Painfully, Gaveau sat up.
“You are Van Duyven,” he said, addressing the American. “It was you who shouted that warning. He would have had me but for that. Where is he?”
“He is gone,” said Van Duyven.
“Well, he nearly brought me with him,” said the other. “Poor Fayard is dead, too, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m sorry for that.” He stopped speaking and leaned weakly over the side. Then he took a violent fit of vomiting.
“I’m not used to drinking,” he said. “Where’s the treasure?”
“Gone off in the motor boat.”
“And no one with it?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s a pity.”
He turned to Pierre.
“Boy,” he said, “from all I have heard, I have a liking for you. If you take the dagger out of my back, I will let you have it for a keepsake.”
“The what?” cried Pierre in amazement.
Gaveau shifted his position so that Pierre could step behind him. Sticking in his back, near the shoulder, was the blind man’s dagger. The highwayman did not wince as Pierre drew it out.
“I suppose,” continued Gaveau, while Pierre undressed him to bind the wound, “I should thank you people for saving my ’ife. I am not sure that I am very grateful, to tell you the truth.”
“You ought to thank your Maker,” said Van Duyven with some solemnity.
“I suppose so,” said Gaveau, and was thoughtful for awhile.
When the boat grounded he stepped ashore and stood about while the others dragged her up on the beach. Then he came forward, offering his hand.
“I may do as much for you people another time,” he said and, turning on his heel, he disappeared into the darkness.
The Persecuted Rector
by H. M. Egbert
All New York was puzzled, and the police were baffled, while one of the strangest of torture devices was practiced
In the month of February, 1880, there was not a man in New York City who stood in higher esteem or acknowledged fewer enemies than the Rev. Dr. Morgan Dix, rector of Trinity Church. Yet he was singled out for an apparently aimless persecution, which was carried on with such malicious ingenuity that the venerable clergyman was reduced to despair and the police were at their wits’ ends before a happy suggestion enabled them to lay hands upon “Gentleman Joe.”