And over on Stark's mountain as the morning dawned a heavy foot climbed
the haunted stairs and a blood shot eye framed itself at the little
half moon in the front window that looked out over Lone Valley toward
Economy, and down over Sabbath Valley toward Monopoly commanding a
strategic position in the whole wild lovely region.
Down in the cellar where the rats had hitherto held sway a soft chip,
chip, chipping sound went steadily forward hour by hour, with spaces
between and chip, chip, shipping again, a new kind of rat burrowing
into the earth, over close to the edge of the long deserted scanty coal
pile. While up under the dusty beams in a dark corner various old
parcels were stowed away awaiting a later burial. From the peep hole
where the eye commanded the situation a small black speck went whirling
along the road to Monopoly which might be a boy on a bicycle, but no
one came toward Stark's mountain on that bright sunny morning to
disturb the quiet worker in the dark cellar.
Billy was on his way to Monopoly, his aunt appeased for the time being,
with the distinct purpose of buying the morning paper. Not that he was
given to literature, or perused the dairy news as a habit, but an idea
had struck him. There might be a way of finding out about Mark without
letting any one know how he was finding out. It might be in the paper.
Down at Monopoly no one would notice if he bought a County paper, and
he could stop in the woods and read it.
But when he reached the news stand he saw a pile of New York papers
lying right in front, and the great black headlines caught his eye: "FATE OF LAURENCE SHAFTON STILL UNKNOWN."
"Son of multimillionaire of New York City who was kidnapped on Saturday
night on his way from New York to a week-end house party at Beechwood,
N. J., not yet heard from. No clew to his whereabouts. Detectives out
with bloodhounds searching country. Mother in a state of collapse. It
is feared the bandits have fulfilled their threats and killed him.
Father frantically offering any reward for news of son!"
Billy read no further. He clapped down a nickel and stuffed the paper
indifferently into his pocket, almost forgetting in his disgust to
purchase the county news. "Aw Gee!" he said to himself. "More o' that
Judas stuff. I gotta get rid o' them thirty pieces!"
He stepped back and bought a County paper, stood idly looking over its
pages a moment with the letters swimming before his eyes, at last
discovering the column where the Economy "murder" was discussed, and
without reading it stuffed it in the pocket on the other side and rode
away into the sunlight. Murder! It was called murder! Then Dolph must
be dead! The plot thickened! Dead! Murder! Who killed him? Surely he
wasn't responsible for that at least! He was out on the road with Mark
when it happened. He hadn't done anything which in the remotest way had
to do with the killing, he thanked his lucky stars for that. And Mark.
But who did it? Cherry? She might be a reason for what Mark did last
night.