CHAPTER IITHE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER
TheCubs’ bare knees were splashed with mud as they pounded along the lane, looking out keenly for the little scraps of white paper that formed the “scent” of the hares.
“Phew!” panted one of the hounds, “I’m hot.”
“Stick—to—it!” panted back his pal.
“Are we downhearted?” called Jim Tate, the Sixer, as he had heard Tommies call out at the end of a long route march.
“No—o—o!” came the answer right down the road, for some Cubs were getting left behind.
But Danny, having lived all his life in London, had not done much in the way of long runs. He had got a bad stitch in his side almost atonce, but remembering the second Cub Law—“A Cub does not give in to himself”—he had set his teeth, and determined to bear the pain, and not to give in. Then his legs began to ache as if they were ready to break. But he stuck out manfully. Finally his wind gave out.
“I’m done,” he gasped.
“No, you aren’t,” called his Sixer. “Here—hang on!” and he held out a hand to his recruit. “We shall get them, I bet. We’ve kept it up hot so far.”
Just then the white paper showed up a bank, and over the fence, into a field. With a howl the Cubs scrambled up the grassy bank, clinging to weeds and sticks and stones, and were soon in full cry across the grass. On they went, and through a hedge on to the road beyond. But there was no “scent” on the road; no paper showed on the brown mud.
“False trail!” groaned the hounds.
“Bad luck,” called Jim, the Sixer, “we must go back. We may get them yet.” And the hounds dashed off again across the field to getback to the old “scent.” But it was too much for Danny. He sank down, tired out.
“Theycanrun!” he said. And he thought, a little sadly, that they would think him a rotter to have fallen out. “I stuck it as long as I could,” he said. “I did my best—I couldn’t do more.”
He was just going to start back to Headquarters when something happened which was the first step in the curious adventures that befell him from that day onwards.
“Swish-sh-sh!” sounded the tires of a bicycle on the muddy road, as it flew past him like a streak. The rider was bareheaded and seemed in an awful hurry. Then something happened that made Danny jump up and start running down the road for all he was worth, quite forgetful of his weary legs. A dog had jumped out from the hedge, and, in trying to avoid running over it, the cyclist had skidded badly, and now lay quite still on the road.
Danny panted down the muddy lane, hoping the man was not dead, but, beforehe reached the place where the accident had happened, the stranger had got up and was sitting on the bank, his head in his hands.
“Can I help you, sir?” said Danny eager to do a good turn.
The young man started and looked up at the boy with wild eyes; then peered about him and looked up and down the road, as if he were afraid of being followed. Blood was streaming down his face from a nasty gash in his forehead.
“Can I help you, sir?” repeated Danny. “Let me tie up your head—it’s bleeding badly.”
“Thank you,” said the young man in a shaky voice.
Danny was glad to find he had put a large, clean handkerchief in his pocket before starting. He knew enough about first aid to realise the danger of putting on an open wound anything that is at all dirty. So he opened out the handkerchief and laid the part that had been folded up inside, on the wound. Whatcould he use as a bandage? There was nothing handy.
So, with a sigh of regret, he realised he must sacrifice his beautiful new brown neckerchief. He took it off and folded it neatly into a “narrow bandage.” This he tied firmly around the young man’s head, securing it with a reef knot.
“You’re a bit shaky, sir, aren’t you?” he said. “My home is in the next village. Won’t you come back and rest? Mother will give you some tea, and I’ll run for a doctor. I think your head will want stitching.”
“No, thank you,” said the young man quickly, looking down the road again. “I assure you I am quite all right now. I was just a little stunned. I thank you for your assistance, my little friend.”
There was something curious about the way the man spoke. Danny wondered what it was. “Foreigner,” he said to himself, as he picked up the bicycle and held it for the stranger.
“Could you tell me the way to Thornhurst?” asked the man.
Danny thought a moment, and told him as well as he could.
“Thank you,” said the stranger. He was about to mount his bicycle when a thought seemed to strike him. Turning to the Cub, “Little boy,” he said, “should any person ask you if you have seen me on this road, tell them you have seenno one—no one at all.”
Danny grinned.
“Sorry, sir,” he said. “Can’t tell a lie.”
The man swore under his breath. “Little fool,” he muttered.
Then he held out a bright half-crown. “That will keep you quiet,” he said.
Danny flushed, and then laughed scornfully. “Not much—it won’t,” he cried.
“Well,” said the man angrily, “tell them I’ve gone to Thornhurst, and am taking a train to London. I shall be in Dover to-morrow. You won’t forget—London and Dover.”
Danny nodded, and the man jumped on his bicycle and rode away.
“He’s a queer chap,” said Danny, “and I bet there’s something on somewhere. Wish I knew what it was.” The detective spirit was roused in him. Suddenly he forgot all about Cubs and paper-chases. He was a private detective again, as in the old London days. Kneeling on the ground, he examined the man’s footprints in the mud, and made a sketch of them and of the bicycle tracks in his notebook. Then, feeling very important, he wrote a short report of the adventure in his pocket-book, added the date (July 1, 1914), and started off across the fields to get back to the Pack Headquarters.
About half a mile on, his path lay across the yard of an old deserted mill. As he clambered over the wall, something made him glance at the mill pool a hundred yards away. By it, in the shadow of the mill, stood the mysterious stranger, who had bicycled away half an hour ago towards Thornhurst!His head was still bound up with Danny’s scarf.
Remembering the law of the jungle, Danny “froze.” Squatting perfectly still on the top of the wall he watched, breathlessly. What could the stranger be doing there? Thornhurst was in the opposite direction. He had said he was going there, and on to London.
Looking about him warily the stranger picked up his bicycle and flung it into the dark waters of the pool. Danny heard the splash, and all was still.
Then the man looked about him again, turning his head from side to side, as if to make sure he was not perceived. What was he going to do? Then, alas, he saw Danny! For one moment he stood quite still, gazing up at him, as if in dismay. Then, like a shadow, he vanished behind the crumbling walls of the deserted mill.
For a moment, Danny stood quite still, his eyes and mouth wide open with utter surprise.
The stranger picked up his bicycleLooking about him warily the stranger picked up his bicycle and flung it into the dark waters of the pool.
Looking about him warily the stranger picked up his bicycle and flung it into the dark waters of the pool.
Looking about him warily the stranger picked up his bicycle and flung it into the dark waters of the pool.
Then the detective instinct in him realised that there must be something very “fishy” about a person who threw a good bike into a pond! He also realised that if he was to find out anything about this fishy person there was not a moment to be lost, so he scrambled down off the rickety old wall that he had been scaling, when he got his glimpse of the man, and set off across the yard.
The man had caught sight of Danny, he felt sure, just after flinging the bicycle into the pond. This was why he had vanished so quickly. The pond was hidden from Danny’s view when he got down from the wall. Would this give the stranger a chance to escape?
A moment later Danny was hurrying down the steep bank towards the marshy ground where the pond lay.
When he reached the pool there was no sign of the man. He peered about in the old barns, the rickety sheds, and the broken pig-sty—the man was nowhere. He went up into the mill. He climbed up ladders to the topmostfloor. He peered between the great millstones. He leant far out of the windows and looked up and down the road and across the fields. There was no sign of the stranger.
“He must be a jolly good scout to have hidden so quickly,” said Danny to himself. “I wasn’t more than two minutes getting to the pond, but he managed to bunk.”
The only thing to do was to track the man down. Yes, there were the footmarks and a bicycle track in the soft mud of the little path that led down from the road to the marshy ground by the pond. Danny examined them carefully; they were quite fresh. He compared them with the drawing he had made in his pocket-book half an hour before, and they tallied exactly. So thiswasthe same man; there could be no mistake.
With his heart thumping hard, Danny followed up the tracks. They led to the pond in a roundabout way, showing that the man had taken cover behind a hedge, the old barn, and a broken wall. By the side of the pond thewheel tracks stopped. Danny could see the firm, deep marks where the man had stood while picking up the machine and throwing it into the water.
Then the footmarks went off at right angles; four long strides—and they stopped behind the broken wall, where the man seemed to have stood still. Danny searched all round, but the footmarks did not go any further. And yet there was no cover here!
He walked in a circle round the spot at about five yards’ distance, but no tracks were to be seen. Danny the Detective was sorely puzzled. But, returning to the place by the wall where the man had stood, he suddenly saw what he had missed before. The footprints did leave the spot, but they went straight back to the pond-side, treading almost where the first footprints showed!
He followed them up. But at the water’s edge he was as puzzled as he had been at the wall. The footprints did not lead away!
Danny was stumped. There was nothingmore to be done. It seemed a mystery with no solution—a riddle with no answer. He determined to put the matter into the hands of wiser people than he.
Squatting on the old wall he wrote in his notebook an account of what had passed. Then he set off homewards. At the Pack Headquarters, he found Fred Codding, his Sixer, ramping on the step.
“You little rotter!” he cried, as soon as he saw Danny. “What did you want to fall out for, and then play about and not come back? All the other chaps have gone back to tea. But when we found that you were not at your house I was told to wait here and report to Mr. Fox if you were not back by 6.30.”
“Awfully sorry, Fred,” said Danny, “but I wasn’t playing about. I was having a wonderful adventure. I——”
“Oh, shut up!” said Fred, impatiently. “We know all about your ‘adventures.’”
“But this istruth,” said Danny, in despair. “A most extraordinary thing happened——”
“Dry up!” said Fred.
But Danny was determined to make him listen.
“Look here,” he said, “it’s all very well for you to say, ‘Dry up,’ but what would you say if you saw a chap chuck a good bike into a pond and then make off?”
“I’d say the chap who told me such a yarn was a liar,” said Fred. “I must go and report that you’ve got back,” he added. “You cut along home and stop telling everyone detective stories. Remember you’re a Wolf Cub, and not a kid any more. A Cub is truthful.”
Danny flushed to the roots of his hair. But he had the sense not to answer back, for he knew that if he did he would not be able to resist punching his Sixer’s head—and that would not be loyalty. So he turned and went sadly home.
But the strange thing he had seen was not to be put out of his mind so easily. Something must be done. He decided to go to the Scouts about it that night.
After tea he set out for the Scouts’ Headquarters. There was a meeting on. He banged at the door.
“What d’you want?” said the Second who opened it.
“I want to speak to Patrol-Leader Church,” said Danny. He felt sure his friend would give him a fair hearing.
“He’s away,” said the Scout, “gone to see his uncle at Thornhurst.”
“I’ve got something very important to report,” said Danny.
“Sorry,” said the Scout kindly, “there’s a Court of Honour sitting just now. Come another time.”
But here the Chairman’s voice broke in.
“Bring the kid in,” he called. “Let’s hear the ‘important’ matter!”
Danny entered the brightly lighted room shyly. The eight Leaders and Seconds stared at him. Then one of them, Fred Codding’s big brother, burst into a shout of laughter.
“Hullo!” he cried, “it’s ‘Danny the Detective!’I hear from my young brother that he’s got a wonderful yarn about a mysterious stranger and a bike and a pond!”
Danny flushed. Then he looked straight at Patrol-Leader Codding.
“Your brother wouldn’t believe me,” he said, “but I’m a Wolf Cub, and I wouldn’t tell a lie for anything. It’s the truth, and that’s what I’ve come about.”
The Patrol-Leaders smiled.
“All right, youngster,” said the Chairman, “sit down. And when we’ve done the job we’re on now, you can make your report.”
Danny sat down, wishing himself a hundred miles away. Presently the Chairman called him up.
“Please give the Court your report about this stranger,” he said solemnly.
Danny forgot his shyness. It seemed to him that he was a chief witness, giving evidence at a court of law. Very clearly he told his story.
The Court deliberated for a few minutes.
“It’s a good yarn, anyway!” said the Chairman, “though I can’t see the chap’s idea in throwing his bike in the pond. Look here, youngster, we’ll take the matter in hand. Kangaroo Patrol shall go with you to-morrow and drag the pond. If they find the bike we will take further steps.”
This was duly recorded in the minutes by the Secretary.
Danny was delighted.
“Thank you very much indeed!” he said, and, saluting, withdrew.
“Smart little chap!” said the Leaders, as they turned once more to the business on hand.