--
-----
- "-
- -
-4ſ º:
-
--
ſiliili
º
º
-
- - - -
Ellililllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll III'll
FROM THE LIBRARY OF
WARREN P. LOM BARD. MD. SCD
Professor of Physiology, 1so 2-1923
|
ºl-
Filmſ
-------------------------
IIID.IIIllutiliillilililuliitullilillºtiliululu


* * * *
* *
St 34-27
f


----








Green Wood Burns Slow
MM





Copyright 1938
MONICA BRICE
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be re-
produced in any form without permission in writing
from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes
to quote brief passages in connection with a review
written for inclusion in magazine or newspaper.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMEIICA


To PALMYRE, MY MOTHER





:
s:
****
w) *…!
12 - 1
chapter
II
III
WI
VII
VIII
IX
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
CONTENTS
A LINK SNAPs .
“IT's Up To You, JIM” .
“HELEN’s NoT CoMING!” .
MR. McKAY QUARRELs witH HIs
WALET
Miss ALLIson’s DENTIST
DEATH of A GooD CAR
THAT ExTRA TICKET
DRINKs CoME HIGH .
“I CAN WAIT,” .
A Door Is LEFT OPEN
Evans MEETs A LADY
ALLIANCE By MoonLIGHT .
BARGAIN
JoAN TRIEs BLACKMAIL
NEws FRom THE RIVER PATRol
JIM WIEws THE BoDY
RENcontRE
pace
II
20
34
43
51
61
77
87
99
II3
131
144
161
164:
176
187
203
vii


CONTENTS
chapter
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
“You WERE HIS FRIEND”.
Journey AT Twilight
*TIME Is Mon EY”
“RICHES HAVE WINGs”
TIME WILL FLY
rage
218
230
242
253
264


Green Wood Burns Slow
MM





1
A LINK SNAPS
s
Pete looked away from the little pool of light where
Jim's hands moved, deftly molding a shallow rim about
the edges of the safe door. Smiling faintly, almost in
mockery, he searched the shadows of the great room with
confident blue eyes and listened for possible sounds.
"Keep that flash steady!" said a tense voice. Pete
looked again at the safe, and centered the light on his
partner's swift hands. Radiance thrown back from the
polished door lighted the big man's face, bent intently
over the long, powerful fingers; it emphasized high
cheek-bones and square jaw, the strength of the short,
straight nose. More faintly, the reflections touched
humorous grey eyes, peering under a sagging hat-brim,
and outlined the clean, broad shoulders.
Pete studied the giant, his smile fading; his free hand
crept up impatiently to shove back the limp felt that
shielded his own flaming hair.
Jim fitted detonator and wires, reached for the bottle
of "soup." He said, "There's no one in the house—
You said you saw them all leave—and yet there's some-
thing wrong—"
Interrupting his words, the two heard the clangor of
11


12
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
ironwork, as a grilled front door, swung back too hastily,
struck a wall. The sound of muffled voices, gaily up-
lifted, followed.
"Damn!" cried Jim, whirling to his feet. He raced
down the long room, dodging half-seen furniture, to
listen at the great doors. Pressed against the carved
panels, he waited. Outside, the faint voices were becom-
ing louder. He slid the oiled bolt into place, while think-
ing furiously, confusedly, to himself, "I had a hunch
—I had a hunch something was going to happen. Some-
thing had to happen—and this isn't the half of it! We
ought to quit and run for it now, while we have the
chance. But it's so easy—and we'll never be able to try
it again. With both doors closed, and packing against
the safe— Why, we can open it, empty it, and be out of
the house before they stop trying to open the door!
They won't even be sure the noise came from this room
at first—and all we need is two minutes."
Behind him, Pete said sharply, "Window's clear,
Jim!"
"Right! We'll open the safe and—"
Turning too late, he saw Pete's nervous thrust at the
plunger, knew that the other thought the packing safely
in place. "Pete! Duck! The—"
Orange and blue and blinding white, a veil of flame
swept up across the unmasked iron door! Ripping,
deafening noise beat at Jim's horrified brain. For an
instant he saw Pete, kneeling, arms half raised, outlined
against the dazzling curtain. Then he vanished, swal-
lowed up in new, paralyzing radiance; the far end of
the room dissolved in stabbing light, as the partly empty
bottle, left so carelessly near the safe at the interrupting
sound of voices, made its tremendous contribution to


14
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
wreckage, but the flying seconds let him think only of
his immediate business. He sprang to the safe, struggled
furiously for a moment with the jammed door. It
opened at last with such suddenness that he stumbled,
almost crushing the light he had laid down at his side.
He saw the cash-box first, beside orderly piles of
papers. He took it up and reached, mechanically, his
glance on the jewel-boxes which were the object of his
raid, for his dispatch case. His hasty fingers met only
splintered wood. Impatiently he looked around—
Shocked into paralysis, he stared at the empty, mangled
floor and remembered that the case had been left beside
the nitro bottle. An open safe, and no way to carry off
the contents!
In the hall, the noise had reached an insane pitch.
Someone had found the small door and was beating on
it. The phone expired with one last annoying jangle.
There were thuds from near the window. Then Pete
said, in a tone of plaintive wonder, "Dempsey must've
fallen on me—or the Empire State! Hurry up, Jim,
before the audience breaks in. I'm shy."
Jim smiled suddenly. He struck the lid of the cash
box heavily against the armored edge of the safe door,
twice, then wrenched at the distorted metal with fum-
bling hands and drew out an unexpectedly bulky sheaf
of bills. Pulling the old felt from his dark head, he
dropped the bills into the hat, reached for the likeliest-
looking jewel-case, snapped it open; he caught the bril-
liance of massed diamonds and poured the necklace on
top of the bills. Twice he snatched hastily at the re-
maining cases, like a child grabbing candy, and dropped
the assortment of boxes into the hat. He gathered up
the felt rim, retrieved the flash-light, and started at a


16
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
He caught one shocking glimpse of blackened face and
staring blue eyes. Pete said, looking straight into the
white radiance,
"Turn on the flash, Jim!"
The tube slid from Jim's numbed fingers, to thud
heavily on the beaten earth and lie, still lighted. After
a dizzy moment, he stilled his whirling brain, found his
voice and said, with creditable steadiness,
"Sorry! Dropped it! We'll do without. Come
along."
He caught the shorter man's arm, fiercely, and
dragged him, almost carried him through the thin
cover of shrubbery, away from the voices, converging
now on the abandoned lamp. He raced Pete through
flower-beds and across lawns, hurried him, stumbling,
down flagged garden paths. In the headlong, awkward
flight, Jim lost his bearings disastrously. Twisting
through a clump of small evergreens, where he had ex-
pected, beyond an easily crossed fence, the lane in which
the car waited, he found instead a smooth high wall of
stone. They brought up against it without warning, vio-
lently. The shock of the impact broke Jim's savage
grip on his partner's arm, for a second stunning him.
In that moment of inaction, the fears which he had put
away so firmly on finding Pete alive, which he had suc-
cessfully ignored in the heat of action, slipped their
bonds and swept unchecked over him. The shouts, till
then a half-heard accompaniment to< desperate motion,
were now clear and terrible, stabbing at his panicky
mind. The car might be gone— He could never reach
the lane with time enough to start the engine, if he
stuck to Pete— The police might arrive at any min-
ute— He thought wildly of climbing the nearest pine


A LINK SNAPS
17
and trying to cross the wall, realized with a gasp the
madness of such an idea. Almost anything might lie
beyond that unfamiliar wall; time was too precious for
senseless gambling.
"If we keep still, Jim, they'll lose us. It's very dark—
so dark I can't see at all."
"No such luck, Pete! They know—"
Across the dim lawns, people were running, heavy-
footed, eager, closing in on the barrier wall. Above the
wild shouts, the cracking of branches and the crunch
of gravel, he heard Pete give a gasping cry. Quickly, he
said,
"Come on, old man! We've got to be moving."
He slipped his right arm about the red-haired man's
waist, pulled him to his feet, and started along the wall.
With a yell the hunters fanned out, racing to reach
the wall and hem the two into their half-circle. Some-
one, too far away and too excited to be accurate, began
to shoot.
Jim stumbled along, breathless, tiring rapidly, shaken
out of his stride at each misstep that Pete made. They
gained another group of pines. Jim thought, hope-
fully, of abandoning Pete in this shelter and racing for
the car. "They'd follow me and I could come back for
him." But there were too many of them; they wouldn't
all follow. "Well, suppose they found him? I'd be free,
to get him away from them!" They had almost crossed
the grove now. He slackened pace a little, choking for
breath.
"Jim! Jim, my eyes! I can't—"
"Run, you fool!"
Leave him behind, alone, in the dark? Leave Pete?
He tore on, clinging to his partner's sagging form, half


18
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
blind himself with the sweat pouring into his eyes and
the creeping blackness of exhaustion.
Just beyond the pines, at the edge of the open lawn,
came the end of the wall. They reached it, twenty yards
ahead of the nearest pursuer, and swung round the cor-
ner into a tangle of waist-high brush and weeds. Roots
tripped, briars caught at them; branches beat their
faces. Lurching, falling, forcing their way by the
weight of their tired bodies, they fought through an end-
less tangle of undergrowth, Jim's slippery hand always
tight about Pete's wrist or arm, and always behind them
the noise of the hunt—terribly close behind now. They
plunged on, sobbing for air, forcing numb muscles to
pull and shove. Quite suddenly, Jim saw the lane and
the steady glow of the car's taillight. One last sway-
ing run, and he was reaching for the doorhandle.
With both arms, he heaved Pete onto the seat, fell
after him, switched on the key and stepped on the
starter. The engine caught, died, caught again. Some-
one flung himself onto the running-board with a tri-
umphant yell, and grabbed Jim's collar. Jim let in the
clutch with a jerk, and careened down the lane, while
the other man pulled madly at his coat and pounded his
head. The car swerved wildly, missing trees and ditches
only by a succession of miracles. Abruptly, Jim braked
and turned on his captor. They traded punches, with
short-range, blind jabs, Jim wedged under the wheel
and his assailant doubled precariously over the side of
the car, holding his place only by a vicious grip on the
driver's collar. With two hands at his command and the
sound of the running motor to urge him on, Jim con-
centrated his blows on his opponent's body, and, after
thirty vicious seconds of battle, felt him wilt. He tore


A LINK SNAPS 19
free of the man’s grip, half shoved, half flung him toward
the ditch; shifted into high and swung out on the high-
way.
Beside him, crumpled and still in the far corner of
the seat, Pete said, in dull repetition,
“Oh, God!—oh, my God, blind!”


2
"IT'S UP TO YOU, JIM"
i
"The devil of all this, Pete," said Jim to the now-
silent figure beside him, "is that we're going to have to
ditch the car and get back to the room some other way.
They'll trace us far too easily, anyhow."
The car was running south through almost deserted
streets. Once or twice they saw a man walking, another
car, or a policeman, strolling his beat with evident bore-
dom. There were just enough people abroad to make
the car memorable, thought Jim wearily.
"But we planned to, Jim, didn't we? I thought that's
why you got the thing from one of those Drive-Your-
self places—so that we'd just leave the car and have the
trail end there!"
"I know, but then you—well, I didn't count on hav-
ing half Long Island on our heels right away. We
missed one of the wires—you must have heard that phone
ringing! And, to make it worse, I've no idea what we
left behind. I haven't checked up. Now, we haven't a
spare second!"
After a moment, Pete suggested, "The subway? Do
we look respectable enough to use it?"
"We'll have to. We can't afford to waste time walk-
20


"it's up to you, jim"
21
ing, or fooling around on busses, and taxis are certainly
out. Those men remember too much! Did you leave
your hat in the car?"
"Of course not. I wore it to hide my hair."
"I hoped— Then it's back in the Carey library."
"The devil! I'd forgotten that."
"Better wear mine; and put on your gloves and over-
coat. You look as if you'd been playing with a cat!
Can you manage?"
"Sure," said Pete, and Jim, watching his struggle,
cursed the Carey diamonds for the hundredth time.
After a long ten minutes, the coat and gloves were mas-
tered. "Now, where's that hat?" asked Pete.
Then Jim really thought of the diamonds. Vividly he
recalled pulling off the hat, and stuffing the diamonds
into it, saw himself climb through the window with them
and start to run. But after that? He had not been con-
scious of the stones since that minute when he turned
the flash-light on Pete's face. The hat might be any-
where! And the hat, now, was far more important than
the loot it contained.
Pete said, "The hat, Jim?" in a puzzled voice.
"Just a second. I've got to empty it. Been using it
as a bag."
He finally located it, jammed behind the seat, where
he had thrust it before pushing Pete in. He slipped
the necklace caressingly through his fingers, sighed
and asked, "What'U we do with it, Pete? Think it's
too dangerous to hang on?"
"Do with what?"
"The ice! Have you forgotten what we—?"
"Oh, hang it on the radiator-cap! Present it to the
chief of police on a silver tray! / don't give a—"


22
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
Jim put a quick hand on his friend's shoulder, and
heard the bitter voice thicken suddenly into choked
laughter. After a silence, Pete said, in sane and quiet
tones, "It's up to you, Jim. I'm not thinking very clearly
just now, and I don't know where we stand. If you
think it's worth the risk—"
The stones ran through his fingers, hard and cool
and tempting; the glinting fires from their bright sur-
faces filled his eyes. "I'll take care of the risk, Pete."
One by one he opened the smaller boxes, and trans-
ferred their rings and pins to his pockets. Then he
stowed away the necklace and the comfortingly large
mass of bills, and tossed the boxes out into the deserted
street. He smoothed the hat as nearly as possible into
respectability, and set it on his partner's flaming head.
A few blocks later, in a side street, he parked the car,
pulled his overcoat from the floor and shrugged it into
place on his wide shoulders. Turning up the collar as
he went, he rounded the hood and helped Pete out.
"The sidewalk's level and we've got to move as fast
as we can, without seeming to run. Thank the gods, it's
a bit cool, so we look all right in coats! Step out, old
man. I'll hang onto you."
He took the other's arm and they set out, managing
to present the appearance of men on their way home
from a late but thoroughly sober evening. The descent
into the subway was more of a problem, for, try as he
would, Pete was unable to walk down those unseen steps
with confidence. He fumbled for solid ground, in spite
of Jim's assurances. The knowledge that three other
late travellers, waiting for the next train, were watch-
ing, amusedly convinced that his partner was drunk,
did little to reassure Jim. "I couldn't feel more unpleas-


"it's up to you, jim"
23
antly conspicuous if I were already wearing handcuffs!"
he said to himself, and shivered when he realized the
form of his statement. "Fool! How can you win, if
you expect to lose already?"
He led Pete some distance down the platform, to give
the observers as little chance as possible. Anxiously, he
examined his partner. Hat pulled so low the flaming
hair was invisible, long chin buried in his upturned col-
lar, Pete stood with an odd, drunken semblance of inse-
curity, all his tall, rangy body tense. What could be
seen of his features gleamed, beaded with nervous mois-
ture. Jim, standing bareheaded in the platform lights,
grew more than ever conscious of his own scratched face
and memorable height. "No man over six feet should
take up this game," he said ruefully, aloud. There's
a regrettable scarcity of giants nowadays to hide
among."
Pete replied, not too steadily, "Too bad we didn't
think of the spectators sooner. I'd have looked well in a
blonde wig. And you could have the black moustache
and the pith helmet."
Jim laughed. "We'll try it next time. Here comes
the train, Harpo."
It slid up to the platform. They got aboard with very
little trouble and took seats in a corner. The follow-
ing hour was an endless succession of lighted platforms
and noisy trains, of awkward transfers and periods of
tense waiting. Jim himself could not afterwards have
told where or how long they wandered below ground,
miserably conscious of the notice of fellow travellers, yet
unwilling to abandon their travels and return to the
room where police might already be awaiting them.
"We've already wasted too much time," Jim said at


24
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
last, studying, not his watch but the damp, twitching
face of the younger man.
"Back to the room?"
"Of course. There's no other place we dare try. We
look like sailors just escaped from a brawl! We can't
afford to be so conspicuous."
Changing to a train bound for Forty-second Street,
Jim had to support his partner almost entirely. Once
seated, Pete sagged, little more than half conscious,
against the shoulder of the other. The train slowed.
Jim's fierce, whispered encouragement could not call
up more than a feeble response; he dragged his part-
ner to his feet and almost carried him up the steps
toward street level.
When, at last, they came to the dingy house on
Thirty-seventh Street, Pete was advancing with me-
chanical, dragging steps, barely moving. Jim paused
below the high stair, panting; then, with the last of his
strength, he lifted them both, tread by tread, to the
street door. He managed that and the ascent to their
own room without bringing his landlady's suspicious
head into view.
Once safely behind their own door, Jim guided the
swaying Pete to the nearer cot, then went back to turn
the key in the lock. He switched on the light and set
the room's only chair before the entrance. Over the
chair he hung the cumbersome coat he had been wear-
ing; then, shedding hat and gloves, he set about an ex-
amination of his partner. Pete had folded up on the
bed; he lay, a half-conscious heap, breathing jerkily.
Jim found brandy, poured some into a glass, and forced
the liquid between the partly open lips. He was him-
self badly in need of a drink, for the night had left him


"it's up to you, jim"
25
with shaking hands and swimming head. He reached
for the bottle again, then reluctantly set it aside. "I've
got to get us patched up and mend a few of the mis-
takes we made tonight. A drink now, and I'd fall
asleep."
Pete already looked a little more human, the blue
gone from his lips, the death-like stillness from his body.
Jim undressed him, forcing his own twitching muscles
to lift and turn his partner's awkward length. He
washed the grime and blood from Pete's face and body,
then searched him for wounds. Nothing was broken,
but there were several ugly bruises on his back and
sides, and quite a few cuts. "Looks as if he'd gone
backward through a plate-glass window. Probably did
hit a china-cabinet. No wonder he looks like the devil!"
Then Jim found a deep and bloody cut on the back
of the head. Clotted blood and hair hid the extent of
the injury, but it was clearly serious. Careful search
disclosed no further damage. The lifeless blue eyes were
untouched; no cut or burn anywhere near them ex-
plained their sightlessness. Over and over again he
looked.
"Pete, old man," he said at last, gently, "do your
eyes hurt?"
The answer was a flood of disconnected words. More
brandy had no effect. Pete tossed and twitched un-
easily, pulling himself away from the other's hands.
Jim had to give up his efforts to restore the injured man
to consciousness; it took his full strength to keep him
still while he washed and dressed the head wound. He
managed, by putting his knee on the bruised shoulders,
to hold him face down long enough to wash away the
dark blood, trim back the hair around the cut and cover


"it's up to you, jim"
87
tired of blocking the other's uneasy efforts to shake him
off, had accused his companion of trailing him. Though
the unforeseen attack had not disturbed his shadow's
easy smile, some flicker in those dangerous, gay eyes
confirmed Jim's suspicion that their object was the
lady's pearls, rather than her indiscretions. He gloated
drowsily over that splendid, week-long joke—for
though, that first night, he pretended to believe in
Pete's bewilderment, succeeding evenings gave him
glimpses of the watcher, and finally opportunity to ac-
cuse him of too great an interest in pearls. A worth-
while joke, since without that encounter, he would never
have grown fond of Pete and suggested partnership.
The strong odor of coffee woke him at last. He found
daylight struggling into the small room; a few spar-
rows shrilled. Pete slept quietly. Jim rose as fast as
he could and rescued the coffee, then dressed. He trans-
ferred the money and jewelry to one of their two suit-
cases and packed their other possessions, making the
clothes he and Pete had worn the night before into a
special bundle. Ready, he delayed, wondering if Pete
would be all right, left alone and helpless,—hoping he
wouldn't wake. After two false starts, he picked up the
bags, turned off the light, and left.
Jim set off, by devious ways, for the Pennsylvania
Station. From one subway to another, from bus to ele-
vated, he changed, taking care to be as unobtrusive as
possible so that he could not be traced. Far uptown, un-
observed, he slipped the bundle of clothes from a suit-
case to a trash can. For another hour he wandered,
alert, uneasy, divided between plans for the future and
thoughts of Pete. Full daylight had come. Traffic was
stirring. He finally headed direct for the station.


"it's up to you, jim"
29
you up. Now just keep quiet and let him get to work.
Dr. Ward will fix you up in no time." Pushing the
quivering form gently back onto the pillow, he added,
"I'll do all the talking for this team!"
Ward nodded. "That's it. Don't try to talk—you've
your work cut out for you, just keeping still." He be-
gan to explore the patient's head. As he worked, he in-
quired about the accident but hardly listened to Jim's
vague references to a party and a fight. Jim watched,
his clammy hands tight about the brass bedpost, one
dejected lock of black hair streaming across his damp
forehead. After cleaning the cut, Ward brought a sur-
gical needle and thread from his bag.
"Hold his head. I'm going to put in three stitches."
"But, aren't you going to—?"
"He won't feel it. He's not half conscious, yet. Just
keep him still."
Jim obeyed. Though, at each stitch, Pete shivered a
little, shrinking between his partner's tense fingers, he
made no sound. And Jim, watching the sure, almost
casual efficiency of the doctor's pudgy hands, began to
worry about the consequences of this visit. In silence,
Dr. Ward finished the dressing then closed his bag and
turned to the watcher.
Jim led him into the hall, shut the door, and mutely
questioned him.
"He'll be all right in a few days. There's no fracture,
and not much danger of concussion. Keep him quiet, in
bed today—and, when he's back on his feet, don't go on
another party like that!" The gesture toward the door
was disgusted, brief.
"His eyes, Doctor— Are they— Will they—?"
"I don't know. They may be right again in a few


80
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
days—it may take months, or years. It may never hap-
pen."
"Isn't there something—?"
"No one can do anything. We don't know enough
about the visual centers in the brain. It may be just
shock—or there may be some permanent damage. All
that can be done is to wait. Or, if you believe in prayer,
try that!"
He picked up his bag.
"You can do everything that's necessary yourself—
but, if you want me, call my place about noon and I'll
w stop in."
Jim thanked him, said he thought he could manage,
and settled the bill. After he saw the street door shut, he
went back to Pete. The red head shifted on the pillow
as he entered.
"Jim?"
"Yes, Pete."
"Did he say—? Will I ever see?"
"Not at once, old man. It'll take time—that crack
on the head, you know. You'll have to be patient."
"Patient!" Pete laughed, a thin, flat sound. "You
both mean I'll never see again!"
"Pete, you fool, we don't mean anything of—"
Pete's laugh cut through his sharp denial. Jim bit
his lip and turned away. As the sound went on, rising
into hysteria, he stepped over to the bed and, slipping
an arm under the quivering body, lifted it until he held
the bright head on his shoulder. Gently, silently, as if
he soothed a child, he held Pete in his arms.
The laughter died. After a pause, the blind man
said, "All right, Jim," and tried to release himself.
Jim moved away, set about changing his clothes.


"it's up to you, jim"
31
"Pete."
"Yes?"
"Our pal Ward may be cleverer than he seemed—fig-
ure out a few things we don't want the cops to know. So
we're getting out of this. And, Pete!" He thrust one
leg into the most impressively staid pair of trousers ever
seen, discreetly formal as a butler's best uniform.
"You'll have to get up, you know. Do you think you
can transform yourself into a middle-aged crank, just
for a few days? You're to be one of the grouchy lead-
ing lights of the great city of Goshen—or somewhere—
come to town on business, complete with valet."
"Valet?"
"Oh!—if you prefer—nursemaid! Anyhow, I'm it.
You're afraid of drafts and diseases, so you're naturally
a bit bundled up, even indoors. That may be a bit un-
comfortable, but so's jail, if they spot us!"
"Seems to me that you've mentioned everything but
the point, Jim. Where do we put on this performance?
For whose benefit?"
"Hotel Caronia. We're going to sneak across town,
very snakily, and arrive from the station, quite prop-
erly, with porters and bags, and take rooms there.
Okay?"
"We—ell,—is that the end of the program?"
"No. I—You see—" Jim adjusted the sober tie with
care, frowned, retied it. With a deeper scowl than ever,
he picked up his coat.
"I can see—" At the word, Pete's voice failed. He
tried again. "Something tells me I'm not going to like
this. Go on, Jim! Let's have it!"
"Pete, at least one of that gang saw us both quite
plainly. You're not hard to describe so that people can


32
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
spot you. And I'm over-size. So, together we're quite
easy to trace, even if we do our best to smear the trail."
"You mean, you're going to run out on me."
"That's what it comes to, Pete, if you feel that way
about it!"
"What the devil d'you mean by that?"
"I'm not running out on you—permanently, that is.
Don't you see, you ass? Even a flattie can catch us, to-
gether. So I'm splitting the trail. I'm going to estab-
lish you as an invalid guest of the hotel, then go and
wave red herrings, violently. And when attention is
safely distracted, the valet will return from his vaca-
tion, collect his master and—we can both settle down
and forget about Sing Sing for a while."
Pete said nothing.
Jim looked severely at his reflection, smoothed his
collar, and put on his hat, very carefully.
"I know it's rough on you, old man, having to sit
and wait. But I'll arrange to have an attendant for
you, and I won't be gone long—not a second longer than
I can help. If you've any friends in town you can
trust—?"
"Would I have taken up safe-cracking if I had any-
one I could get to stake me in my own racket? And now
you're running—"
"Take it easy, Pete! I trusted you, enough to give
you a hand in my game. You can trust me now! You
know damn well you can! Perhaps we don't know any-
thing about each other, but we're friends, and if you'd
stop to think, you'd know it! If I were going to cross
you, I'd have done it last night—" He thought briefly
of the ticket-window, but said nothing about that mo-


"it's up to you, jim"
88
ment of madness. "Pull yourself together, man; be
reasonable! Give me a chance!"
Pete mumbled something about not meaning to sound
suspicious. "It's so dark, Jim, and I—I'm trying to be
sane, but you can't expect me to like losing the only
person I can trust. Without my eyes, I—" He was up-
right on the bed. Jim sat down beside him and put an
arm about his shoulders.
"It's your show as much as mine, Pete. If you say
so, we'll stick together and take our chances. But when
you decide, Pete, remember we've a fighting chance if
you let me go, and just a prayer the other way."
After a silence, Pete threw back the covers. "Help
me dress, Jim. You'll have to drill me on the way to
the hotel. I never was much of an actor! And, Jim!"
"Yes, old man?"
"Get back as soon as you can. It will be—"
"Hell. I know, Pete. I won't be gone twenty-four
hours, with luck."


3
"HELEN'S NOT COMING I
"It's time something was done about this!"
"About what, dear?" Mrs. Grandon put two lumps
of sugar into the cup she held, and handed it to the wait-
ing maid. "Annie, please tell Cook I want to see her at
ten-fifteen, as soon as I've finished breakfast."
"About what, Dad?"
"About these jewel thieves. The police are an incom-
petent lot, to give them the benefit of the doubt! And
I'm not so sure that's the whole of the matter. That
man Hawley was—"
"Dad, dear, let's forget about our emeralds and poor
Inspector Hawley for a minute! He did his best and—"
"Did his best! Why, Ruth! The robbery was three
months ago, and surely, if he'd been trying, when he
was in charge, he'd have found some trace—Oh, thank
you, Miss Allison." Mrs. Grandon smiled at the black-
haired girl who now entered the breakfast room, and
accepted the letters she brought. "I wonder what train
Helen is coming by?"
Ruth looked across at her mother, already absorbed,
sighed and abandoned the protest she had begun.
"Well, Dad?"
34


36
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
finished up the mail. And call up Reade, before you
go, and ask him what he's done about tracing the
emeralds. You can have the afternoon off— I'm play-
ing today."
"I wish you wouldn't, Alec. You'll break something
again. And you know you're getting too heavy for the
ponies!"
"Are you worrying about Dad, or the ponies,
Mums?"
"Why, Ruth! You know I didn't mean—I meant—
I—you've got me all mixed up; you're just being hor-
rid!"
"Sorry, darling. Of course we know what you
meant."
"Alec, dear, you really ought to go to this concert!"
"Hard seats, and a lot of modernist noises that sound
like cats on a back fence! Lee, you know I'll hate it—
but, if you want to go, dear—"
"Well, I—Ruth, do you want the tickets?" She
looked up, saw the grimace her daughter made, and
smiled. "Oh, I know you don't want to go. You're as
bad as your father! But some of your friends might.
It seems to me that, after all the trouble we had to get
the tickets, it would be nicer to give them to someone
who really wants to go."
"Of course, Mums! Grace! She and Freddie wanted
awfully to hear this program—you must have heard
them at tea yesterday. How sweet of you to remember,
darling! I'll phone her now. That'll save you the trip
to Gray's, Miss— Why, what happened to Miss Alli-
son?"
From her place by the sideboard Annie replied,
"Someone wanted her on the phone, Miss Ruth. About


"helen's not coming!"
87
five minutes ago." She rearranged the silver noisily,
then raised her head and added, meaningly, "A man—
the one who's always calling, Richards told me."
Ruth Grandon shrugged faintly. "Checking up on
Miss Allison's friends again, Annie? Mums, Annie's
getting worse than the gossip-writers. Always digging
up romances!"
"I know," Mrs. Grandon agreed. "She probably
could tell us whom you're going to marry."
"I hope not!" exclaimed her husband. "There's
plenty of time for Ruth to—"
Ruth slid back from the table. "Thank you, Dad.
But Mums won't endorse that; she's beginning to get
worried. Aren't you, dear?"
Passing her mother's chair, Ruth dropped a hand
lightly against Mrs. Grandon's cheek and pinched it
very gently. Over one shoulder, she added, "Annie, I
haven't finished. I'm coming back."
She ran through the open French doors of the break-
fast room, down the short and sunny hall, to the closed
panels of the little, bright room called the den. As she
swung open the door, she caught sight of Miss Allison,
her black dress outlined against the vivid chintzes. She
stood braced on the back of the low sofa, with the
French telephone at her ear; light from the window
struck sharply on her white cuffs, and the restless,
small hand playing jerkily with the ornamental but-
tons.
Ruth stepped back, started to shut the door. She
heard Miss Allison saying, ". . . The Carey boy saw
you— No, I haven't read the papers yet, but the police
know enough to . . . Darling, I've been afraid, ever
since you told me . . . Not over the phone! It's not


38
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
safe! ... Of course, my dear; I'll come at once . . .
Where? . . ."
Ruth shut the door softly, stepped across the hall
and sank onto the cushioned window seat, lighting a
cigarette. She picked up a section of yesterday's paper,
not yet tidied away, and looked, without seeing, at the
contorted faces of athletes and sportsmen. Rapidly, she
thought:
"I knew that girl was up to something! Even before
Annie spoke to me about her, I knew she wasn't used to
being a secretary. That was pure luck, though! Any
other moment, and I'd have thought it was just a harm-
less private chat, and closed the door again.
"Tell Dad? No. He wouldn't believe it, and he'd
insist on explanations and all that, and then she'd know
we were on to things, and nothing would happen. We'd
never find out what was up. But, if they're the same
gang that took the emeralds, what are they hanging
around for now? She only came after the robbery—
and the rest of Mother's stuff is in the bank. She must
know that! If they're not, why in the world should one
of them hide in a house that has just recently been
robbed? It doesn't make sense!"
The flicker of a black skirt attracted her preoccupied
gaze. Ruth looked around, then sprang up, unfolding
hastily, yet gracefully, to her full five-foot-ten.
"Ailsa!" she called after the disappearing figure.
The maid stopped. "Yes, Miss Ruth?"
"Look here—never mind about that dress for a
minute. Dump it on a chair. Now answer some ques-
tions. You and Annie have been cooking up all sorts
of stories about Father's secretary, haven't you?"
"No, Miss Ruth!"


"helen's not coming!"
39
"Why, the other day didn't you insist on telling
me—?"
"Yes, but, Miss Ruth, it's true. With my own eyes,
I saw her!"
"You're quite sure it's not something Annie in-
vented?"
"Now, Miss Ruth, why should I be repeating the
nonsense that young hussy puts about? I've better
things to do with my tongue, at my age!"
"All right, Ailsa. Sorry! Now tell me the whole
story, all over again. I'm all balled up. First," she
pointed the glowing cigarette end at the ruffled woman,
"when was it?"
"The first time was—why, near ten days ago! I was
going up to change my dress and when I opened my
door, there she was sitting on my bed. She said she'd
come to get thread for a button—but she's always come
to the sewing room, before, and she'd no business up
on the fourth floor, at all! After she'd gone with the
thread, I found one of my drawers in a terrible mess—
and the bed that night—well, someone had taken it
apart! Sadie never in her life left a bed that way. Oh,
and the desk—the button box was in the left corner and
my letters all messed about. Someone had been in
every corner of that place, and I'd swear in any court
in the land, it was that Allison chit!"
"You don't like her, Ailsa?" The girl kept a cau-
tious eye on the closed door of the study.
"She's a lady, Miss Ruth." The tribute was reluc-
tantly given. "Very considerate and polite, and knows
, her place—but she's up to something! Sunday, I saw
her in the laundress's room—at least, I'm sure that's
who it was. She closed the door, and wouldn't answer;


40
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
but Bessie was away then, so nobody should have been
there. And once I walked into the library suddenly,
with a message—and there she was on her knees by
the safe, looking for a pin, she said. Oh, it's not at all
the way Annie says, really. She's done nothing that
can't be explained, but there's always something to ex-
plain. And she's always asking questions and being
found in queer places. When you've interrupted some-
thing, you can't help feeling it, Miss Ruth, though
there's nothing said and no sign of it. Well, I keep on
interrupting Miss Allison at something, something she
doesn't want known!"
"You think she's looking for something?"
"Well, someone is! I'd take oath to that!"
"I see. Well, keep your eyes open—and try to keep
Annie quiet, too, Ailsa." Ruth paused and rose. "Oh,
about that dress; I put my heel through the underskirt,
wrecked it."
Thoughtfully, she strolled back to the window seat,
found and lit a new cigarette, and again armed herself
with the papers.
Almost at once, the door of the den opened. She
looked up into the surprised blue eyes of the secretary,
smiled and said, lightly,
"Been delivering Father's messages to Reade? He
must have been furious—you look pale."
The other answered something confused about a
dentist and a tooth, nodded briefly, and hurried back
to the breakfast room. Ruth looked after the slender,
graceful figure, the short dark curls, shaken by her
swift walk, and thought, quite suddenly, "But she's
only a child! Why, she can't be more than eighteen!


"helen's not coming!"
4-1
A thief?— Ruth, you've been listening to Annie too
much!"
She made her way to the telephone, found a con-
venient ashtray and perched it on the back of the sofa,
asked for her number. While she waited, she added
softly, to herself, "Just the same, I'm going to know
where she goes, if I have to take her there myself!"
Two minutes later, she was pouring out the tale of
the concert to Grace Ballew. It was received with all
the proper excitement, and the offered tickets promptly
accepted.
"Freddie will be so pleased. You're a brick, Ruth!
Thanks tremendously!"
"Can you use all three, Grace?"
"Aren't you going?"
"Lord, no! I'd hate it. You know that! Can you
use the other?"
"Can't think of a soul. But, Ruth, really you
ought—"
"I know. 'Never a chance like it again!' But I
couldn't bear it."
In the breakfast room, she found her father talking
to Miss Allison, who looked more pale than ever. She
turned to her.
"I'm afraid you'll have to go to Gray's after all. I've
only found a market for two tickets!"
Mr. Grandon said, "Never mind about that, Miss
Allison, if you're feeling badly. It's rather a shame to
leave one unused, when so many people want to hear
the concert, but it's not important enough to worry
about. If you feel better this afternoon, stop in there
before you leave town. Otherwise, let it go."


42
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
Ruth picked up her coffee cup and emptied it.
"Toothache?" she asked, in the cheerful tone of a sound
person trying to be sympathetic to a sick one. "What
a rotten shame!"
"Annie," Mrs. Grandon laid down her last letter,
"when you take the things down, tell Murdock to have
the car ready to take Miss Allison to the station for
the eleven-fifteen."
"I've a much better idea, Mums. I sort of promised
Elise I'd go in and look at the new dresses this week.
I might as well do it today— I've nothing else on. So I'll
drive Miss Allison in."
"That's very kind of you, Miss Grandon. But please
don't trouble. The train will be perfectly all right."
"No trouble at all. I've had this on my mind for
days, and the sooner I get it over, the better. So get
into your things and we'll be off."
"Truly, Miss Grandon, I'd rather—"
"Don't be silly. You know that a train will bump
you around perfectly fiendishly! Be ready in fifteen
minutes. Annie, tell Murdock to bring the roadster
around."
To herself, she added, "If I have to take you there
myself! Before the day is over, I'm going to know what
this girl is up to, or I'm a far worse detective than I
think I am!"


4
MR. McKAY QUARRELS WITH
HIS VALET
Up from the lower levels of the station, where trains
came and went almost without pause, streamed the
crowd from the nine o'clock train. From the subway exit
near the stairs stumbled a tall and heavily-clad gentle-
man, who clung to the arm of a larger companion as the
jostling mass swept them up to the glass-roofed wilder-
ness of the upper level. The guardian led his charge
to a bench, established him—an untidy, formless bundle
of muffler, overcoat and wrappings, further extin-
guished under an ill-tempered hat—in solitary splen-
dor near the main passage of the waiting-room, then
hastened to a door marked "Telephones." He made no
effort to use the instruments, but walked out of a
farther door, strolled over to the parcel-check room,
and presented his checks, with the air of a man in no
great hurry. The bags obtained, he called a porter and
started back to his companion, telling the ambling Red-
cap,
"Hurry it, will you? The old man's feeling grouchy
today, and I've kept him waiting fifteen minutes al-
ready!"
43


MR. MCKAY QUARRELS WITH HIS VALET 45
"The Caronia, driver, not the river! And if I were
you, I wouldn't waste much time about it, for it will
cut down your tip!"
The driver braked suddenly, pulled into the curb,
and backed into the Avenue as the lights changed, ig-
noring the heated comments of the traffic officer. He
headed downtown, turned east, completed the circuit
and drew up before the hotel in record time.
His fares vanished in the wake of a small page who,
stumbling under the weight of two heavy suitcases,
made an uncertain way to the registration desk. He
waited while the two guests spoke with the clerk. To
be more exact, Raymond, the clerk and the page listened,
and the other man gave a discourse on his requirements,
and the many faults of all hotel service. The clerk as-
sented soothingly to all statements; the page amused
himself by wordless conversation with his fellows; the
whole episode was one that recurred at least once in
every working day. At last the guest allowed himself
to be assigned a room. Raymond, peevishly ordered
to sign the register, complied. The page picked up
the bags, led the way to an elevator, and trium-
phantly ushered the two into a room on the seventeenth
floor.
The boy had hardly left the room before Jim, tossing
his dark outer clothes on the bed, began to unpack the
suitcases. Working at top speed, he sorted the contents,
put the greater part away in drawers, and made the
jewelry into a neat package. While he worked, he
talked.
"Nice work, Pete! I think the invalid Mr. McKay
has made himself perfectly understood. You oughtn't
to have the least trouble keeping it up. I'd have sworn


46
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
you'd been grumbling at the world for the last thirty
years, at least!"
"Yes, but— Well, what do you do now?"
"Change my clothes. Get away from here and break
my trail. Then I'll grab a car, get out of town fast and
pretty noticeably, shake them when they've tracked me
far enough to be sure I'm not in New York any longer,
come back here and pick you up. All you've got to do
is sit tight for a day. It won't take me much longer
than that."
He carefully included the new bank-notes taken from
the safe in the package, after removing several fairly
large ones. He began emptying his pockets.
"Pete."
"Huh?" The reply came through several folds of
muffler, while Pete struggled to remove a few of his
many wrappings.
"The rest of the stuff I'm making into a package.
I'll leave it in the hotel safe. The bills are on top, so
that you can get them out without disturbing the stones,
if you need cash. But I hope you won't for it's not safe
to use them just now. They're brand new, so the bank
may have the numbers on record. I'm leaving you half
of our supply, to take care of anything that may go
wrong. I can't spare more."
"All I need to make me quite comfortable is a pair
of handcuffs! And something tells me I'll walk or talk
myself into a pair as soon as you're not around to do
my seeing for me. It may sound easy enough to you
to 'sit tight,' but try closing your eyes for a minute
or so!"
"I know, Pete. But we're in this together. If you
quit, we both rate those handcuffs! I told you I'd stand


48
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
stalked down the hall, rang viciously for the elevator,
and rode down in the car talking to himself, in a fierce
and occasionally comprehensible snarl. Broad shoul-
ders hunched, he marched swiftly into the street, care-
less of crowded traffic. Doormen and porters stared,
swore, and made brief conjectures about the mental
condition and sobriety of the hurrying storm-cloud.
Once safely inside the station again, obscured by
the numberless preoccupied travellers, Jim made an
inconspicuous way to the lavatories, quickly exchanged
hat, tie, muffler and overcoat for the more colorful ones
concealed in his case, repacked and returned to the up-
per level. There he checked a dark overcoat and a
dispatch case. He went through the turnstile to the
subway.
• • •
Back in Room 1706, the echoes of the slammed door
died away. A clock in a dark corner ticked inexorably;
the window-shades rustled in the warm draft from the
radiators. Pete sat with idle hands. The clock ticked
more insistently than ever. It cleared its throat ex-
asperatedly, and announced the hour with ten sharp
bell-sounds.
Pete stirred, put out a tentative hand. He found a
table, grasped it firmly and climbed to his feet. His
right hand explored, at first cautiously, the surface of
the table. It met a book, lingered over it, traversed the
surrounding inches repeatedly, blundered into an ash-
tray and was delayed for some time. The gropings be-
came wilder, full-armed sweepings of the air, futile
grabs at space, now and then interrupted by contact
with the lamp, a chair-back or a bed-post. Pete lost


MR. MCKAY QUARRELS WITH HIS VALET 49
the table, and began plunging madly about the small
room. He tripped on a chair and landed heavily on the
floor, knocking over the lamp. It struck him on the
shoulder and he swore, sobbing through gritted teeth.
The clock ticked on.
He pushed the lamp away, tried to set it on its feet,
and left it leaning drunkenly against the side of the
desk. Then he crawled to his own feet, and the lamp
subsided with a dull crash in front of him. He froze.
He examined the air above the ruined shade with timid
hands, put a hesitating foot forward, struck the wreck-
age, and retreated two hasty steps, hitting the arm-
chair. Very suddenly, he sat down, letting every muscle
go limp and making no effort to save himself. Fingers
buried in his disordered red hair, head bowed, he re-
mained, a crumpled and hopeless figure, motionless.
Once he said, "That damn phone!" and fell silent
again.
Later, much later, it seemed, he rose and started the
search again.
The telephone itself came to the rescue. From its
position on the bedside stand it sent out an impatient
buzz. Pete hurled himself toward the noise, stumbling
and falling across the bed, which lay between him and
the phone. The sound came again. Pete pulled him-
self toward it, located the table. At last his hand found
and closed over the base of the receiver. He breathed
a long sigh, relaxed against the lumpy cushion and
waited, a dismayed crease between his brows. It could
only be Jim—but it might be someone else, someone
dangerous.
The bell chattered on, spasmodically, like a fly
against a windowpane. Pete, his face more tense than


50
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
ever, listened without stirring. Then it stopped, worn
out.
All at once, Pete gave a short nod, laughed softly,
and lifted the instrument. Into the mouthpiece he said,
"Calling Long Island, please!"


5
MISS ALLISON'S DENTIST
"Well, Miss Allison, where shall I take you?" Ruth
broke the silence that had fallen when, some half hour
earlier, she gave up her efforts to trick her companion
into careless speech.
The other girl, staring blankly at the passing crowds,
did not seem to hear. No change came over the half-
averted face; the brows, drawn close above brooding
blue eyes, failed to relax; the lines about the soft mouth
never' softened. Ruth took one hand from the wheel,
reached gently, almost caressingly, for the other's
shoulder. At the last moment, she withheld her gesture,
returned her fingers to the wheel, and looked back at
the road. Frowning herself, she said, quite sharply,
"Miss Allison!"
The girl beside her jumped, but answered in clear
and steady tones, "Yes, Miss Grandon?"
"What's the street address?"
"Street address? Why, the—" She stopped,
abruptly as a silenced radio; the tiny, clear-cut moment
of stillness was alarmed, desperate. Then she contin-
ued, easily, "I'm sorry! I forgot I hadn't told you.
It's just above here, the corner building east of the
Avenue, on Twenty-ninth Street."
51


52
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"North?" Ruth began to edge the runabout into
the outside stream of traffic. "What an odd place to—
I never knew any dentists had offices in this neighbor-
hood."
Miss Allison answered only, "North, please," and
wrapped herself again in the silence that had been an
hour-long armor against the insistent questionings of
the driver.
Ruth pulled up at the curb with a quite unnecessary
jerk, and put on the hand-brake. "I'll be back in an
hour to pick you up," she said.
Miss Allison met her gaze, blue eyes wide with sheer
surprise. "Why—! Thank you, Miss Grandon, but
it won't be necessary. Mr. Grandon told me not to
come back, as he's going to be at the polo field all after-
noon. It's very kind of you, but it really won't be
necessary."
"That's all right! There's that ticket and the er-
rands. I'll be back in an hour! I've nothing else to do."
"I won't be ready for hours! You'd have to—"
"I'll wait!" Ruth smiled sweetly into the blazing eyes
that looked down at her; after a moment of angry
hesitation, the blue fires died, and she was looking into
bland and depthless mirrors, as friendly as her own.
In another moment, Miss Allison swung on her slender
heel, and hurried across the sidewalk, calling back as
she went a light "Thank you!" Ruth watched her go,
then leaned forward to switch off the humming engine.
Before she completed the gesture, someone was at her
side, saying, in weary tones,
"You can't park here, lady!"
"But I only want to leave it a—"
"You can't park here, lady!"


miss Allison's dentist
53
"But I haven't time to—"
"Lady, it's no use. You can't park here. I'd let you
if I could, but the sergeant's just across the street, and
he won't stand for it. Now, if it was me, lady—" The
red face creased into an admiring smile; big, awkward
hands tugged the tunic into perfect fit. Reluctantly,
Ruth turned her head and studied the tired face, lighted
with its absurd smirk. Her frown melted into a spon-
taneous, grateful smile. She even laughed aloud, softly.
"All right, officer! Where can I park?"
"Try 'round on the side street, lady. But a garage"
would be less trouble in the end. There's one two blocks
over."
"Thanks!" Ruth dimpled at him, nodded, and
backed away. She was still chuckling as she shot up the
length of the block. Before she could swing clear of
the north-bound traffic, the lights changed, and she
found herself trapped, while her chance of following
Miss Allison vanished. Disgustedly, she sat back
against the leather cushion and considered a wasted
morning.
The lights changed, but still the cars ahead were
motionless. Ruth scowled, waiting, her hand on the
gear lever. The car at her left crept forward. She
swung her wheel and edged over, but into the widening
space a taxi charged, scraping her front fender lightly.
Furious, Ruth looked across at the driver. Before
she could speak, her attention was distracted by the
hat of the taxi's passenger—a most familiar blue hat
that, scarcely three minutes earlier, had disappeared
into an office building not a block to the south. Ruth
smiled again, and said to her murmuring car, patting
the wheel as she waited,


54
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"So Miss Allison's dentist moved? Well, old boy,
we'll have to see where she's off to now."
The chase was short. On Thirty-second Street, the
taxi went west, and drew up almost at once in front of
the Caronia Hotel. Ruth hung back, allowing another
car to slip between her and the quarry; as soon as Miss
Allison had stepped through the revolving doors, she
swung in to the curb, switched off the engine and sprang
out.
She tossed the keys and a dollar bill to the doorman,
and called, "Garage it for me, please. I'm late!"
Without waiting to hear the protests she was sure
would follow, she ran across the pavement and in her
turn entered the hotel. Miss Allison was not in sight.
Ruth hesitated a moment, frowning, then hurried up the
steps and across the lobby toward the desk. One of the
elevators to her left was discharging passengers, while a
little knot of people waited to enter. Idly, she noted
the group, then, too late, saw in it the blue hat she was
following. She reached the shaft doors, just after the
car had started up.
"It's just as well, for there weren't many people and
she'd have seen me— I wish I could think what conies
next! She hadn't time to go to the desk, so it's no use
my trying to think of some way to ask them where
she's gone, and— I wonder whether I can persuade the
elevator boy to tell me where she got out. There were
only five or six people—" She waited patiently.
Other cars descended, paused, and rose again. To
fill in the waiting time, she crossed to the nearby news-
stand, and bought a paper, in which she found a later
account of the Carey robbery. But it was a disappoint-
ment, for the only fact which her father had not found


miss Allison's dentist
55
in the earlier edition was that one of the two men seen
seemed to have been disabled, so that police hoped to
locate the thieves through some doctor's report. She
had glanced casually through the article when the car
for which she waited returned.
She stepped in and was, for a moment, the only pas-
senger. The operator, a smiling youngster, rested,
watching for a signal to start; she studied him a second,
decided to risk his good nature, and said, hopefully,
"The girl in the blue hat? What floor did she get off
at?"
"I beg your pardon, ma'am?"
Ruth told herself, exultantly, "He's from the South!
I'm sure I can do it!" Then she smiled at him, dimpling
confidentially, "You must remember—you took her up
just the time before—a little girl, with black hair, very
pretty."
"Why, yes, ma'am, I do remember, but—"
"You see, I wanted to get a paper, and she got cross
and wouldn't wait, and I've forgotten what floor it is,
so— You'll help me out, won't you?"
The boy smiled back, said quickly, "The seventeenth,
ma'am," before additional passengers claimed his at-
tention. When she stepped out, he answered her grate-
ful nod with an understanding grin.
"/ got sisters, too, ma'am. Funny, the things they
get mad at!" And with that attempted consolation he
vanished up the shaft.
Ruth had stepped out like one who knew her goal,
but, as soon as the car was gone, she came to a stop.
The passages before her stretched away empty; even
the floor clerk, whom she had hoped to question, had
left his desk untenanted; there was no way of guessing


56
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
where Miss Allison had gone. Ruth's vague plan to
follow and listen to the meeting between her father's
secretary and the man whom she had, tentatively, nomi-
nated chief of the robber band, died a reluctant death.
"Of course," she told herself, "it was an absurd idea,
but it's even stupider to be stumped now, after man-
aging so well!"
She looked around her again, then took a seat beside
the floor clerk's desk, and opened her paper. Behind
its cover, she watched for the return of the clerk, or
the appearance of anyone who might have seen the
girl in the blue hat. No one came, except occasional
guests on their way to the lobbies. Each one of these
she studied carefully, over the top of the opened pages
—a middle-aged man; a boy and girl, arm in arm; a
family from out of town, arguing over the day's shop-
ping plans; an elderly gentleman, carrying a bored
and sleepy Pekingese. But of waiters, chambermaids
or floor clerk there was no sign.
Ruth read, without understanding or caring, a good
half of the articles on the front page. Then, somewhere
to her left, an unseen door closed. Hearing the sharp
sound of it, she watched, not very hopefully, for the
maker of the noise. After a moment, a slim young figure
came from a side corridor into the main one. Ruth looked
for a moment at the small blue hat, perched over dark
curls, at the light, familiar fall of small feet, then be-
came deeply interested in an item near the bottom of
her paper.
Miss Allison passed, without pausing, quite close to
her, rang the elevator bell, and waited, restlessly. Ruth
saw that one toe beat repeatedly on the floor and twice,
the girl pulled back her gauntlet, frowned over her


miss ai-lison's dentist
57
watch and smoothed the glove back into place. Ruth
leaned forward to speak, then thought better of it. She
waited quietly and saw an elevator appear. Miss Alli-
son stepped in and disappeared.
Ruth walked quickly down the corridor to her left.
She came to the branch passage and paused, for, short
though it was, there were three doors along its left wall
and one at its end. A closer inspection narrowed the
field of suspicion, for the nearest door proved to be-
long to a housekeeper's cupboard of some kind. Be-
fore the three other doors in turn, Ruth stood, but there
was nothing about the varnished surfaces of any, no
sounds from behind them to mark out one as the ob-
ject of her search. Come to the end of the short alley,
she stood for a while, slowly and with great care fold-
ing the paper she had carried with her. Once she folded
it, opened it again and again began to close the pages.
With an impatient little shake of the head, she aban-
doned this amusement, and, crumpling the sheets in her
hand, stepped up to the door before her and began to
knock. Her eyes glowed and her mouth was fixed in an
excited smile; at its corner the dimple came and went;
as always, in moments of excitement, the gold-brown
hair which she wore straight and long, smoothed back
from her face, had broken from its training and curled
softly above her ear, in little, shimmering amber
threads. She held herself straight and tense, waiting
for the answer to her knock, her tall body poised like a
swordsman's before he lunges.
There was no reply. She knocked again. Slowly, as
the seconds passed and the silence remained undis-
turbed, she relaxed her position. The signs of excite-
ment faded; the smooth classic mask of her face settled


58
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
into its usual grave lines; the sparkle went from her
dark eyes; a mechanical gesture of her free hand re-
stored the curls to place. She nodded at the unrespon-
sive panels, said, musingly, "One," and turned her back
on them.
Her second venture was made with less excitement.
She rapped quickly on the door, and very shortly saw
it swing open for her. Two hasty steps carried her past
it and into the room, crying,
"Grace, dear, I'm so glad you're back in—"
She stopped abruptly, staring with every evidence of
surprise at the baldish, lean man who had admitted her.
He stared back, speechless, clutching, through the dis-
ordered folds of his dressing gown, for trousers which
had already slipped beyond his reach. They collapsed
with a faint, thudding sound at his feet.
"Gu—Gu—Grace?" Ruth stammered, choking, "Is
—isn't this room 1702?"
He waded toward her, tripping over the trouser legs,
moist and purple with distress; his right hand, ex-
tended to shove her away, waved uncertainly. "This,"
he told her in dry, savage tones, "is room 1704!"
Ruth backed into the hall and, leaning against the
further wall, scarcely waited for the slam of the door
before dissolving into hysterical laughter.
"If that's 'darling,'" she told the handkerchief in
which she tried to stifle her outburst, "he's certainly
having his full share of troubles!"
Then she put away the handkerchief, tidied her hair
and powdered her nose carefully. After a short pause,
she stood erect, lifted her chin and advanced on the
last door under suspicion. She knocked, waited, then
began again, impatiently. The tattoo was interrupted


miss Allison's dentist
59
by a muffled, peevish voice, clearly masculine, which
growled, "Come in!"
She turned the handle and, adopting her previous
tactics, burst into the room, talking. "Bill, I found the
nicest—the nice—est—" Her voice wavered, then died,
for, unfolding himself like some vision out of a night-
mare, a startlingly tall man rose from a low chair al-
most at her feet and swayed uncertainly over her, his
eyes fixed on the empty hall from which she had come.
The scant light from the half-shaded windows at his
back showed her the outlines of his slender, well pro-
portioned body and, less clearly, the clean, chiselled
features of the long-jawed face. Even in that shadow,
the red of his hair was vivid and unmistakable.
Within arm's reach of her he stood, silent, reeling,
and never bent his head to look at her. She waited, but
he said nothing, and made no voluntary movement. In
the thick stillness, she heard a clock ticking.
At last, desperately, she spoke.
"I—I beg your pardon—I thought this was my
brother's—" She stopped, hunting with nervous fingers
for the handkerchief she had tucked into her bag, and
after a silent moment, went on, "I must have mistaken
the room. Please forgive me."
"Of course," said a deep and pleasant voice. "This,
I'm afraid, is 1706." It was a clear voice and a sober
one, and gentle; but still he stood, looking over the top
of her head, swaying a little.
"Oh." She added, "Thank you," then turned her
back and ran into the hall, leaving the door open. A
nervous glance across her shoulder showed him, still
erect, still turned towards her, at his feet her forgotten
newspaper. She flew on to the elevators, passing a sur-


60
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
prised and disapproving floor clerk at the desk in the
hall.
• • •
After a disturbed wait, of almost an hour, occupied
by reviewing her two victims and trying to fit either
of them into the sketchy version of a conspiracy which
she was fashioning for herself, Ruth left Twenty-ninth
Street.
"She either got scared, because I insisted on meeting
her, or phoned and heard about my breaking in. I never
thought of that till now! Well, it wouldn't have done
any good just to hang around. They might never have
come out. I'll go see Elise!"
As she swung uptown, Ruth added, "I wonder if she's
his mistress? Probably. She's so darn attractive!"
She never stopped to wonder why Ruth Grandon
should resent, for the first time, the little secretary's
appealing, impertinent charm. Or why "he" meant, as
a matter of course, the red-haired man.


6
DEATH OF A GOOD CAR
Jim, still in checked cap and sporting overcoat,
walked out of the 139th Street subway station into the
unfamiliar streets of uptown New York. On the op-
posite corner, enormous and brilliant with paint, im-
possible to overlook, a sign announced, "Used Cars
For Sale."
Jim stood on the curb and read the persuasive words,
while around him people hurried about the pavements
already thronged by the midday crowds. Jim read,
hesitated, then with a shrug stepped off the sidewalk
and made his way across the street. He cast a final look
at the store window, then pushed open the door and
entered. From the rear of a moderately tidy showroom
three eager young men advanced upon him. Jim felt
for his wallet.
Half an hour later, Jim was at the wheel of his new
car, a black, low-hung, compact little car, a two-year-
old model that was still quite familiar on the roads. On
his new possession the salesmen fastened their chief's
own license plates, and Jim started in search of the
Post Road, leaving behind him, for the assistance of an
alert police force, several crisp bank-notes from the
sheaf he had taken the night before.
61


62
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"For, you see, Jeremiah," he told the car immediately
after starting, "first, I want them to be quite sure that
I've left town, and, second, I haven't much cash of my
own, anyhow! We'll give them a good race, before we
shake them, though, Jerry!"
It was a crisp and sunny autumn day. The road
stretched north, smooth and wide and inviting, and
Jerry spun along it, humming a pleasant song. Jim
tipped the awful cap over his ear, settled his long fin-
gers about the wheel, and himself burst into song, tune-
less scraps of sound, light-hearted and confident.
At judicious intervals, Jim slid in to a gas station,
one that was fairly large, but not too busy, and had the
tank refilled. Cap dragged low over his dancing grey
eyes, collar turned high, unlighted cigarette drooping
from his carefully twisted lips, he sat nervously while
the attendant examined oil and radiator. He paid for
service hastily, not waiting for change, and left at high
speed, followed by suspicious glances.
Toward mid-afternoon, the sky clouded over. The
pleasant breeze rose into a cold wind, blowing hard
from the Atlantic. Jim reached the outskirts of New
Haven, stiff fingers locked about the wheel, half-closed
eyes red with strain and cold. He slipped across the
bridge, burrowed through the town's confusing streets
and, in the course of half an hour or so, had made his
way to the harborside on the east. In East Haven he
made his fourth stop for gas, although the tank was
still quite full, so that yet another station could re-
port his passage.
He came spinning up to the pumps, braked, switched
off the ignition and flung open the door. The man in
overalls took down the hose and walked toward the car
without raising his head.


DEATH OF A GOOD CAR
63
"Gas, water, and probably oil," Jim demanded
curtly. "Anyhow, check it. I'll be right back." He
gestured toward a sandwich stand beside the station
and swung his legs clear of the running-board, setting
numb feet on the gravel.
"All right, Mist—" The attendant had raised his
head to reply and now stood, mouth partly open, wide
eyes looking fixedly at Jim's cap. The abrupt silence
startled the wearer, who turned his head, met the
stunned gaze of the other, and himself froze. For a
long moment neither moved.
With a faint sigh, the attendant came back to life,
and took a step backward. Painfully, like a man mov-
ing in deep water, he retreated another yard, reaching
up to replace the tube on its hook.
"I'll get a rag to clean your windshield, sir," he said.
Jim let his hand return to the wheel, very gradually;
with equal deliberation, he let himself down on the cush-
ion, and slowly, very slowly, curled up his long legs and
replaced them in the car. The attendant had turned
his back and was walking quickly toward the station.
Jim called, his voice sharp:
"Never mind that! Fill the tank!"
"It won't take—"
"Fill the tank! I've changed my mind!" His right
hand was deep in the empty pocket of the overcoat.
He turned his head, watched the man unscrew the cap,
arrange the hose and go back to the pump. When it
was finished, and the tank refastened, Jim fished with
his left for change, dropped it into the other's uncer-
tainly extended palm, and, still with his left, started the
engine. As he shot onto the highway, he caught a last
glimpse of the overalled figure running madly across
the narrow strip of gravel toward the glass door.


64
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"The man who sold you must have banked that
money in an awful hurry, Jerry!" Jim said through
his teeth, as he shifted into high.
He passed through East Haven at racing speed, and
hit the uplands beyond just as the rain, promised by
the thickening clouds, began. Over the crest of the
rise, on which he was badly delayed by the increasing
storm, he abandoned his attempt to out-distance his
probable pursuers. Stopping the car a moment on a
tree-hidden stretch of empty road, he removed the
overcoat and the cap, rolled them into a tight bundle,
then carried them to the roadside and shoved them
deep in the weed-grown ditch. The storm had pretty
well stopped all traffic.
He went on at moderate speed, slowing at every
branch and crossroad. Quite soon, he found one, on
his left, that seemed to promise help. Well surfaced, al-
though narrow, it branched at an acute angle from the
through highway, heading back toward the district he
had left, and disappeared north around a sudden cor-
ner. Taking it, he discovered that it continued on its
northward route for some time, although interrupted
by many crossroads and forks; the road itself was full
of bends and corners which cut down driving speed
considerably. A marked deterioration in the surfacing
caused Jim to abandon his first route for one of the
numerous branches, after almost an hour of travel. His
second choice was worse. His third, drenched by a two-
hour cloudburst, was almost liquid mud. Its rutted,
wandering length, together with the grotesque out-
lines of the bramble thickets that bordered it and the
glimmer of rain, all at once recalled vividly the half-
forgotten day in childhood when his father ran from


DEATH OF A GOOD CAR
65
the consequences of a theft at once too daring and too
inexperienced. Slippery clay had mocked at his stum-
bling, tired feet and the unfamiliar terrors of night far
from his snug nursery had swallowed up even his awe of
the ill-tempered man he followed. For a moment, hear-
ing again distinctly that irritable voice, Jim heard in it
the fear he had then been too young to understand. . . .
The sun, near its setting when the storm began, had
long since vanished. The car's lights were almost use-
less in the drizzle, which they could not pierce for any
appreciable distance. The tires, in spite of treads that
were nearly new, could gain no hold in the fluid road
surface. As he fought to check frequent skids, his
thoughts swung back to that half-remembered stranger,
his father, who had thrown away what must have been
a pleasant life, tempted by some shady opportunity for
millions! Poor, blundering amateur! His reward had
been fear-driven wanderings, grey corners of some city
tenement, and death.
Halfway up a small slope, the car bogged down. Jim
turned off the engine, crawled stiffly into the open, and
set to work to dig out the car. He had no chains, no
boards, and no shovel. Nevertheless, after an hour's
work, he managed, using brush and stones from the
soaked fields alongside, to build up a few feet of surface
solid enough to give the tires a hold. As he labored, his
thought ran on. How blindly ignorant of his own good
fortune that other man must have been to be tempted
to risk it! He would have known better if, like his son,
he had struggled to that ease up the crooked, dangerous
way from stolen crusts and a bed in some dark alley.
If he had ever had to learn the risky art of picking
pockets and snatching purses, had been bullied by


66
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
larger boys into breaking store windows and crawling
through half-closed shutters, until he had grown old
and clever enough to shake off the gang—
It took almost an hour and a half to reach a point on
the hill where the rise was steep enough to have shed
most of the rain. Once there, however, the worst of the
road was over.
He went on fairly steadily, through a light but un-
broken rain, he and the car equally unrecognizable
under plastered mud. Soaked, half-frozen, and quite
light-headed with hunger, Jim clung to the cold wheel
and droned on his way, swinging in a wide arc toward the
southeast. As time passed, into his foggy brain floated
an absurd parallel. Like his father, he was running
from trouble he should not have invited! Only he had
known the worth of the existence his brains and his
risks had gained for him: the moderate income, the
education pieced together as he came to see his lack,
the hard-learned polish, and the pleasant, cultivated
circle of acquaintance which his father had once for-
feited. Knowing what he did, he had hazarded all this,
yielding to the twin temptations of collecting other
men's jewels and playing the market!
He fought off the unwelcome notion, and scowled
at the featureless countryside. There seemed to be no
towns in the liquid wilderness, no main roads, and no
sign-posts. He blundered on.
"If your gas lasts, Jerry, and my luck, we'll cross the
Boston road again, before morning," he told the car—
then fell to wondering whether, somewhere on those
winding roads, he had grown confused and quite lost
track of his direction. Traveling blindly through an
unfamiliar country, knowing nothing of his goal ex-


DEATH OF A GOOD CAR
67
cept that it must be a city of large size, with a busy
railroad station, it seemed absurd to hurry—yet every
minute wasted out in the rain and dark increased the
danger from watchers in the ports and towns, added
centuries to the slow hours of waiting which Pete must
endure.
It was nearing eleven o'clock when, quite unexpect-
edly, the car flew onto a paved surface, a wide road,
gleaming with rain, that stretched into the southeast,
straight and far. Jim drove the accelerator down to the
floor, went rocketing down the black path, past rock-
covered hills and twisted, leafless scrub, pines soggy
with rain and thorny hedges. There was salt mist in
the air, sweeping across the valley bottoms in ragged
wisps, but the heights were clearer.
The car swung over the crest of a hill, into a re-
gion of suburban villas and scattered street lights. As
they rushed down the slope, one of the shadows at the
base of a lamp, moving, became recognizable as a man,
wearing a raincoat.
"Jerry," said the driver, "we're going to find out
where we are, finally." The suddenly-applied brakes
screamed, and he fought his rocking car to a stop,
half across the curb, but only ten feet beyond the lamp
post. The short and ponderous figure in oilskins seemed
to leap across the space, and a rusty voice growled
through the window:
"What th' d'you think you're doing, hitting
sixty?" Jim's body went limp with shock; icy fingers
still curled about the wheel, brain numb, he listened,
while the tirade continued. "Your lights are on full—
you've no chains—an' you go tearing out 'round a
corner, over sixty an hour, on the wrong side of a


68
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
curve. Say, who d'you think you are, anyhow? It's
guys like you, with the brains of a louse an' pockets
full of dough, that make the roads hell, an' keep me
up all night. Think of the helpless women an' innocent
little children—"
Jim thought, his first coherent thought in several
minutes, and barely checked a laugh. Mentally he
called himself all kinds of a fool, then flashed a quick
smile at the lecturer and said, in rueful tones,
"Of all the luck! I would pick a cop, of course! Be
a sport, Pat. I'm hours late and I've lost my way." He
restrained an impulse to squirm and sat quietly, while
reddened eyes checked him over, from his hatless black
hair and smeared face, down the length of his dripping
dark suit to his splashed shoes. "I look like a car-thief
on the run," he told himself, bitterly, "and this flattie
is just thick-headed enough to think a thief would
stop to ask a policeman the way!" His smile was very
tired; but he met the man's suspicious gaze without
faltering.
"You sure look as if you'd had trouble! Where you
headed, buddy?"
"Boston. I—"
The reluctant words were hardly spoken before the
other, at a pace between a run and a waddle, had cir-
cled the bonnet and was tugging at the farther door.
He opened it, stepped in and slammed it, hastily; Jim,
his breath unsteady, turned startled grey eyes toward
his passenger and sat rigid, motionless.
"Get going, buddy!"
Jim never moved. The other looked impatiently to-
ward him, then laughed and explained.
"It's not a pinch, brother—just give me a lift into


DEATH OF A GOOD CAR
69
Providence and we'll call it square! It's on your way,
anyhow."
"You had me scared! The family would disown me
if I landed in a police court." Jim backed the car into
the road, swung it around and started forward.
"Where d'you say I was?"
"Couple miles west of Providence. You go straight
through on the Post Road. Lucky for me you got lost!"
"How d'you land so far out in the wilds, anyhow?"
"I live here—house with a garden an' chickens an'
all the rest. Got it on installments, with the reward
money for a big arrest, mostly. We been pretty lucky
up this way, past few years. Caught quite a bunch of
the big-timers."
"How d'you get in and out? Car?"
"Bus. They run one an hour; miss the darn thing
an' it makes me half an hour late to report! If I get a
coupla good breaks, I'll buy me a car. This Raymond
guy, f'rinstance, if he gets this far."
"Raymond?" Jim took his foot off the gas pedal,
felt the car slow jerkily, and carefully replaced it.
"Some dope in New York—blew a safe, an' darn
near blew the whole house with it! Did it at one in the
morning, with the family standing in the front hall,
just home from a party! Even an amachoor shoulda
known better— Didn't you see it in the papers this
morning?"
"Didn't see the papers—I had a hangover." He ran
past a crossroad, slowed. "Should I have turned?"
"Nope. You're okay. But for God's sake, buddy,
take it easy. I'd rather be late than dead!
"You'll never make Boston tonight—not with this
weather. Might as well stop off in town—get some sleep.


70
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
You look done. If you go on, you'll get there about
five a.m. an' have to hang 'round for hours. Why
the hurry, anyhow?"
"A friend of mine, getting married next week, wired
me to come up. He's got cold feet and wants company
to take his mind off the big event. I told him I'd be on
hand tonight."
"Ah, hell. If the guy's in love, he won't notice if
you're there or not!"
Jim said, "I look like a tramp—and it's nearly mid-
night."
"I'll show you where to go, an' tell 'em you're all
right. I'll even take you round where you can get
drink—best place in town. You sure look as if you
could use one!"
"Thanks. I can!"
"Have to make it a short one, though. I'm on the
reception committee tonight."
"What d'you mean?"
"I told you, awhile back. This yegg, Raymond."
"I thought you said he was in New York?"
"Naw—the fool hadn't sense enough to stay there.
He beat it out of town—bought a car with the money
he stole, an' ran for it. What these dopes have in their
skulls for brains beats me! They traced him—or think
so—as far as New Haven. So now, besides spending
eight hours on my beat in the daytime, I have to waste
good sleep standing around in the railway station—
an' I hope he comes along. Martha an' I have our car
all picked out!"
"Station?" Jim sounded amused, but his thoughts
were bitter. "What about his car?" He measured the
man beside him with a thoughtful eye, and told him-


DEATH OF A GOOD CAR
71
self, "He can't be as big a fool as he looks and acts! If
only I were sure he's spotted me, I'd fight it out with him
now; but if he hasn't, I'm throwing away a fifty-fifty
chance to get back into New York."
The policeman answered, with kindly contempt, "He
knows we've spotted that, so he may try the trains.
Some one of the radio cars'd have picked him up hours
ago, if it hadn't been for the storm."
"I see." Jim tried to get the right amount of indif-
ference into his tone. But chill drops of sweat slid down
his back, and his fingers on the wheel were so tense that
they ached.
The passenger consulted a tremendous watch. "Look
here, buddy, you better put me down at the precinct
house, put away the car, an' then come up to the de-
pot. I've got to report now. That is, if you really want
the drink?"
"You bet!" But Jim added to himself, "Not enough
to come inside the police station. If he says anything
about that, I'll knock him cold and take my chances
with the radio patrol."
"You go on over to Mike at the Luxuria—they're
open all night—an' tell him Ed Shaughnessy sent you
down. He'll do right by a friend of mine. You drop
me at this next corner, go about four blocks further
down the street, turn right for about ten blocks, take
the left fork an' it's about three blocks after that."
"Good Lord!"
"It's easy! Here, I'll draw it for you." And he dug
through his coverings, pulled out his notebook and dis-
figured a blank page with shaky lines. He tore it off
just after Jim had brought the car to a halt by the
curb.


72
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"There you are. It oughtn't to take you more'n half
an hour. The railway station's that building over the
hill, to your left, that we passed a few blocks back."
"All right, Ed. See you there."
With every step that the small round figure took
away from him, Jim's heart beat stronger and his breath
grew steadier. He watched the waddling form pass
down the side street, and at last disappear. He put the
car in gear and crawled thoughtfully down the street.
"It's as clear as ink, Jerry! If I stick to you, I'll
spend days dodging around back roads, with the radio
cars on my tail—and they'll probably get me, too! If I
ditch you somewhere, I can't take a train, because Ed-
die's waiting up there on the hill, hoping the price of
his new car will stroll up! Ah, the devil!" Jerry hummed
gently on.
Ignoring the careful instructions of the policeman,
Jim went straight ahead, wandering into a region of
iron sheds and great stone warehouses, almost all of
them placarded with offers to sell or rent. Quite sud-
denly, Jim stopped, staring. Then,
"Of course," he said, softly. "He told me to meet
him at the station, so I go up there. If I'm careful and
lucky, he doesn't see me and I catch a New York train.
If he sees me, I was looking for him."
He sat a moment longer, then got out, lifted the
seat and found a wrench. With it, he removed the license
plates, so battered and mud-covered by the day's jour-
ney that not even their colors had been recognizable.
He found and did his best to obliterate the engine num-
ber. The plates he buried in a pile of junk beside the
nearest warehouse.
He returned to his seat and drove on, coming soon


DEATH OF A GOOD CAR
78
to the docks, a region almost empty of human life. Far
in the distance, he saw a uniformed figure plod out of
sight. He drove the other way, slowly now, for he had
to make his next move without spectators. The first
great pier he came to was lined with sheds; by the
second an untidy coast freighter lay, with a sleepy
watchman hanging over her bulwark. The fifth was
an answer to prayer: deserted, wide, with neither shed
nor railing to guard its sides and the piling at its outer
edge levelled to the concrete of the surface, it had no
watchman and the great gates stood wide.
It lay some distance from its neighbors, its shore-
ward territory the charred remains of a vast yard of
lumber.
Jim ran the car through the open gates, waited for
one last inspection of the empty yard, then stepped out
on the running-board. He set the wheel straight ahead,
pushed the hand throttle as far on as it would go, then
with his right foot on the clutch, shifted from neutral
into second gear and sprang quickly to the ground.
The car jerked forward, gathered speed rapidly and
flashed over the smooth concrete. Jim, from the shadow
of the gates, watched it race forward and, leaping out-
ward, plunge beyond his sight. He heard a great splash.
He turned away. There was no one to be seen; no
sound. He set off down the nearest side street. As he
went, he brushed the caked mud from his clothes and
as far as possible made himself inconspicuously tidy.
Some ten blocks later, on a wider street, he saw, coming
toward him, a street-car. He hailed it and swung
aboard. Quite a few night workers lined its benches.
Fishing for a nickel, he asked, "Does this car run any-
where near the station?"


74
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"Sure. It goes straight through the square!"
Jim nodded his thanks, walked the length of the car,
and settled himself in the far corner. He was thinking,
anxiously, of Pete. If for any reason—and he could
think of several very probable causes—he failed to get
back into New York tonight, he might be delayed sev-
eral days. "And if little Eddie gets suspicious, it'll be
more like ten years! Pete can't use the money we got
from the safe; he was pretty near strapped when we
teamed up, and what I left him won't go very far. I'd
better tell him where he can find a reserve supply."
He sighed, hesitated, then made up his mind. "Well,
suppose you do hate to part with the stuff, after all this
trouble to keep it. In jail, it'll do you no good! And
if you bluff through, Pete won't need it. You'll get there
before the letter does!"
Squaring his shoulders, he found and smoothed out
the crumpled page from Shaughnessy's notebook and
got out a stub of pencil. Then an unpleasant thought
struck him. If Pete's eyes were still out of commission,
not only would he be unable to find the cache, but the
valet would be the one to read the directions and would
probably pass them on to the police. "Which won't
help either of us!" He sat frowning at the scrap of
paper while the car lurched forward. It had only a few
more blocks to travel when Jim began to write, hastily,
a slow smile creeping over his face. He covered only a
few lines, added a signature and took from his pocket a
dusty, crumpled but unused envelope, already stamped.
He addressed this, enclosed his composition, and sealed
it.
Barely had he finished this when the car halted at the
foot of the hill. Jim stepped quickly from the rear door,


DEATH OF A GOOD CAR
75
then, stopping on the sidewalk to mail the letter, crossed
the pavement and started to climb. A thought stopped
him.
He drew out his wallet, rolled the last of the Carey
banknotes into a compact wad and dropped the ball into
the gutter. With his toe he pushed it through the grat-
ing. A swift inspection of the remaining contents of his
pockets reassured him—there was nothing now to iden-
tify him as "that guy Raymond," if his attempt were
unsuccessful. "And the longer they stay in doubt, the
more time I'll have to break away again," he told him-
self, walking steadily up the abrupt slope.
The hands of the illuminated clock announced the
time as two minutes past one. A lusty voice echoed
through the deserted sheds and waiting-rooms, inform-
ing the night that "the one-four for New York leaves
from the far platform in two minutes." Jim started
eagerly down the passage, at the end of which a black-
lettered sign pointed the way to the New York trains.
Almost at once, however, he checked, for, to the right
of the underground passage, a wide archway marked a
shallow flight of steps just above which, talking idly
with the sleepy girl at the magazine stand, stood Ed
Shaughnessy. Though his shoulder was turned to the
passage, there was not much chance to pass unnoticed.
Jim stood a moment in the shadow, uncertain, hoping
that the policeman would move further away and give
him a chance. The voice of the porter, crying his "All
aboard!" drove him on.
He drew a long breath, squared his shoulders and
stepped out quickly, as Ed leaned forward across the
counter. Without turning his head, Jim covered the
four yards of brilliantly lighted space and gained the


76 GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
protection of the further wall. Once out of sight, he
lengthened his stride until it was almost a run—but to
no purpose. He heard heavy footfalls behind him, and
a breathless voice calling,
"Here I am! Hey, Boston!"


7
THAT EXTRA TICKET
Ruth, leaving the car some yards from the door,
raced through the drizzle with her arms full of pack-
ages. She tried to open her handbag, found it impos-
sible, and rang the bell instead. The light rain, driven
in gusts along the face of the house, swept under the
roof of the wide porch to where she stood, beading again
the blonde hair that was already damp. She smiled as
she waited, eyes sparkling. The door did not open. She
wriggled a finger free of her burdens, set it firmly on
the bell and left it there.
Almost at once, the great white panels swung back,
disclosing a footman still fighting his way into his coat.
He stammered, purple of face,
"I'm very sorry, Miss Ruth. I thought the butler—"
"That's all right, Richards. I should have used my
key." She ignored his frantic struggles with the twisted
sleeve, "I had so many packages I couldn't get at it. I
left some big ones in the car. Bring them in and tell
Murdock I shan't need the car again today."
"Yes, Miss Ruth."
She called after him as he ran down the steps,
"Where's mother? In the house?"
"In her study, Miss Ruth."
77


78
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"Bring the grey box up there, then; everything else
in my room."
She ran up the curving staircase, and along the wide
passage, chuckling softly at the final glimpse of Rich-
ards' face. The door of the small study was not quite
closed, so she pushed it open with one elbow and dashed
into the room.
Mrs. Grandon looked up from the letter she was com-
posing, laid down her pen and smiled, but before she
could speak Ruth began to pour out her news.
"Darling, I should have gone in to see Elise before.
You've never seen such darling things! And one of
them—the most heavenly rose and blue lame you can
imagine—is just your size."
"My size! Ruth, my dear, I thought you were look-
ing for—"
"Yes, I know—but you'll look so lovely in it. I
brought it out with me and—"
"You crazy child!— Oh, before I forget, Grace
called up to say something about those tickets. You
shouldn't have told her they were mine—and you're to
call her right away. She sounded excited. You'd bet-
ter— Oh, yes, Richards! Put the box over there on
the sofa. Thank you—Ruth, you'd better call her now."
"Bother! I wanted to show you my things. I'll be
right back!"
She went to her own room, picked up the telephone
there and called her friend, idly speculating, as she
tried with one hand to untie a parcel, on the possible
causes of Grace's excitement. The next moment en-
lightened her, for Mrs. Ballew, in tearful accents, de-
manded at once:
"Wouldn't you know that Freddie would have to go


THAT EXTRA TICKET
79
to a meeting tonight? As if they couldn't have a crisis
any other night this week!"
Ruth laughed, agreed that it was a darn shame, and
asked,
"Where do I come in?"
"You go in his place."
"/? Grace, you know I loathe that sort of thing. I
told you this morning I wouldn't and—"
"Yes, I know, but I can't go by myself! Please, Ruth!
You can always go to sleep—the seats used to be fairly
comfortable—and afterwards Freddie will meet us and
take us to supper somewhere, Childs' or a very inex-
pensive night club. Do, like an angel!"
"Well, all right. As you say, I can sleep."
"We'll have to have your car—Freddie stayed in
town, so ours is still there."
"Are you sure it was me, and not the car? Because
I can send Murdock over for—"
"Idiot! Just for that, you'll have to come over and
have dinner with me."
"Delighted!"
"And make it snappy. With this weather, we'll prob-
ably be late to the concert."
"Be right over!"
She hung up, skinned her dress over her head and
rang for her maid. By the time Ailsa, running, had
reached the room, her mistress had changed to fresh
stockings, and was pulling on her left pump.
"Tell Murdock I'm taking the roadster back to town,
leaving at once. He'll just have time to refill the tank
before I'm ready. And I shan't be in to dinner, Ailsa."
The woman left at once, and Ruth spread creams on
her face, in furious haste.


80
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
Not five minutes later, she was running back do\^n/
the passage to her mother's bedroom, where she found
Mrs. Grandon, magnificent in the lame dress, pirouet-
ting slowly before a long mirror.
"I knew—oh, I knew it! It's perfect!"
"It is. Are you going out again, Ruth?" Mrs. Gran-
don looked sadly at the window, against which the small
raindrops beat.
"Going over to Grace's for dinner, and in to the
concert. Fred can't go. I may stay the night with
her if the weather gets worse."
Mrs. Grandon laughed and called after her daughter
a teasing word or two about concert-lovers, but Ruth
was through the front door before she had finished. She
had put on a heavy woolen coat, thick enough so that
the moderate rain would not penetrate it. The dark,
street-length silk dress she wore beneath it and the small
hat were also chosen because they were not apt to suf-
fer from the weather.
She took her place at the wheel and sent the small car
racing over the wet gravel. To save time, she turned
off the main highway, and cut through the grounds of
the place opposite, a hotel called the Greenwood Tavern,
whose summer popularity depended largely on its many
acres of well-kept links and woods, laid out in drives
and riding paths. The main drive, which swept through
flower gardens to the overhanging roof of the Inn's
front door, ran straight through from the road on which
the Grandon estate faced to a parallel road at the other
side. By taking the private way, she avoided having to
to go a mile further down the highroad and, after cross-
ing, come back the same distance. In the winter months,
when the hotel was closed, the neighboring dwellers


THAT EXTRA TICKET
81
sometimes cut through these grounds. Ruth chanced
the condition of the thinly surfaced drive and turned
in. She was fortunate, for in spite of the undoubted
sogginess of the road, she made fair time over it, and
even better time on the highway beyond. She reached
the Ballew cottage barely half an hour after leaving her
own front door.
Grace appeared while she parked the car, and wel-
comed her with a flood of disjointed items of local news.
"Grace," Ruth asked, laughing, as she came up the
steps, "I've often meant to ask you before, are you on
a party wire?"
"Why, no. We've a private phone. Why?"
"You always have such a complete record of all
neighborhood scandals, my dear!"
Grace explained with a light shrug, "My grocer has
something like sixteen phones on his, and his wife—"
She didn't trouble to finish, but added as she led the
way in to dinner, "I think the Tavern storekeeper must
be one of them, for in summer she has all their news. It's
quite a convenience!"
The meal passed quickly, for both were anxious to
be on the way. They talked very little, drank their cof-
fee scalding hot, and did not even stop for cigarettes be-
fore they set out.
Once on the way, Grace returned to her discourse.
The Careys, it seemed, had not known that young Bill
was interested in Joan Andrews until the robbery last
night; the girl's cousin, who lived next door to Grace,
had told her. And the Georges had been quarrelling dis-
gracefully about the dancer. And—
The two friends gossiped merrily of neighbors, ac-
quaintances and schoolmates all the way in, ceasing oc-


82
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
casionally to smoke a cigarette in companionable silence.
The state of the roads, wet and slippery, cut down their
speed very greatly, so that the trip took all of an hour
and a quarter. It was after nine before they had garaged
the car and walked the short distance to the Hall.
They waited in the corridor for the end of the first
selection, a fairly long one, and Ruth observed with dis-
may that the music was even more discordant and in-
comprehensible than she had feared. Gloomily, she fol-
lowed her friend down the aisle in the short pause that
divided the first onslaught from its successor. It was
only as the girls stood uncertainly in the darkened
house, near their seats, and regarded the motionless in-
dividual who blocked their way, that Ruth realized that
in her haste that morning she had given the best seat of
the three to Miss Allison to return.
The usher pointed with his small beam of light, then,
when they hesitated, addressed the sprawling man with
an impatient "Pardon me." But the dreamer seemed
not to hear, remained quite motionless until their guide
touched him on the shoulder. The start he gave then
was tremendous.
"Asleep," whispered Grace, amusedly.
"Don't blame him," replied her friend, watching the
man stumble awkwardly to his feet in response to the
plea of the usher. They squeezed past and sat down.
Ruth fell into an idle reverie, careless of the rising flood
of sound which filled the auditorium; having no more
important focus for her thoughts, she made her adven-
ture of the morning the starting-point for several excit-
ing solutions of the mystery of the lost emeralds. Still
vaguely disturbed by the possible relationship of Miss
Allison to the second man on whom she had intruded,


THAT EXTRA TICKET
88
Ruth tried to fit him into one fantastic scheme after an-
other, finding none sufficiently plausible to amuse her
long. When the lights went up for the first intermission,
Grace even had to tell her twice, "There are Bill and
Joan," before she heard. Then she shook her head im-
patiently at the suggestion that they go over and get the
details of the robbery.
"All right, then. I'll go alone. I want to find out if
those two are really planning to get married, and it's a
marvelous chance!"
"Gossip-monger! You won't get anything out of
those two! But go ahead."
She rose to let her friend pass and noticed idly that
their neighbor was still asleep, for he sat unheeding,
even when the girl asked him to move. Disgusted, Grace
began to force her way past; as she touched his knee,
the sleeper jumped convulsively, muttered something
and blundered to his feet, striking her violently as he
rose. She disentangled herself and left, casting back an
angry glance over her shoulder at him. Ruth looked,
too, intending to speak a heated word about his careless-
ness, and made the startling discovery that she had seen
him before! For the man who stood, swaying a little,
beside her, was the red-haired man on whom she had
called so unceremoniously in the morning!
She sat down, abruptly, and after a moment he too
returned, uncertainly, to his original position. Ruth
watched him and tried to make sense of the fact that
one of the two men on whom Miss Allison could have
called was using the ticket which Miss Allison had
brought in to return! Of course, she told herself, if she
hadn't heard that telephone conversation earlier, it
would be quite logical to think that the secretary had


84
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
simply known someone who wanted a ticket, and sold
it to him. But the girl had spoken of being afraid, and
of the Careys and the police, had said she would be
right in, and gone straight from Ruth to this hotel
room.— And given or sold the red-haired man the
ticket! Why? Just because he liked music? It didn't
make sense, although she might have done it as an after-
thought, after finishing her business with him. Again,
the whole thing might be pure coincidence. But that
Ruth refused to believe. "At any rate," she told her-
self, "now I'm quite sure which of them she went to see.
It might be a good idea to get acquainted." After hesi-
tating a moment, she acted on the thought.
She drew from her bag a small compact and let it
slip from her fingers. Her swift attempt to catch it
only sent it spinning to the floor, just beyond the red-
haired man's feet. It struck with a clatter. He never
stirred. She waited a moment, then leaned toward him
and said, gently,
"My compact, please. I can't reach it. Could you
hand it to me?"
Her hand, extended to show him where the box lay,
touched his, which was spread, passive, on his knee.
"There," she tried to explain; at once, the hand she
touched moved; long fingers closed fiercely about her
own, and he turned toward her, saying in low, unsteady
tones,
"Al! My dear, thank God you've come! I—I
thought I'd go mad, waiting! You didn't come and—
let's get out of this, right away, dear!"
Looking into the quivering face so near hers, she
knew, suddenly, that the clear blue eyes were sightless,
and felt a wild, overwhelming pity. The hand that


THAT EXTRA TICKET
85
gripped hers painfully tight shook with his hysterical
relief; the wide, normally smiling mouth was pressed
thin, in a useless effort to prevent its twitching.
"You'll never know—" he told her. "It's been
ghastly! People—and noises—and—Al, darling, be
quick. I can't stand it much longer."
He rose awkwardly. Before she quite understood what
she was doing, she found herself going up the aisle, lead-
ing him by the hand. There were a number of people
standing in the passages, talking or slowly making their
way out to smoke; the girl in the dark dress and her tall
companion went unnoticed, out of the auditorium and
on into the lobby. Her first thought, when the shock had
passed had been to explain, as kindly as possible, that
she was not the "Al" for whom he waited with such ter-
rible eagerness. Then, with dazzling clearness, she
understood that here, at last, was the chance for which
she had hoped; here, clutching her hand, was the answer
to all her questions, the jewel-thief wholly at her mercy.
Unless she misplayed her cards very badly, she should
be able to solve the emerald robbery within the next hour.
Already she knew, beyond question, that all she wanted
was to get back the necklace and see the thief go free.
She wished, feverishly, that she had some hint as to
what Miss Allison—odd that she should be called that,
"Al," instead of her first name!—what Al was sup-
posed to do. But she found, before she reached the end
of the aisle, that she could do as she pleased. Her
companion, who was already much calmer, asked
quietly,
"Where are we going, Al? Did you find a place?"
She patted his sleeve with her free hand, thinking
fast, then whispered, so that he should have no chance


86
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
to realize her voice sounded unfamiliar, "Out of town,
by car."
She had caught up her coat, automatically, when
she left. He had had his on all evening, as well as his
muffler, so that he had only to put on the hat he held
to be ready. With some difficulty, for he was reluctant
to release her fingers, she got her wrap on as they
crossed the lobby.
They descended to the wet streets, she whispering
instructions to him at every step. A sudden thought
made her lead him into a nearby drug-store and leave
him, seated obscurely in a corner. She dashed back to
the Hall, scribbled a note to Grace, which she gave
to an usher to deliver. It ran, abruptly and not very
legibly,
"Sorry, darling. Couldn't possibly sleep in that row!
Going to a movie. May join you in Childs' after. For-
give me. Ruth"


8
DRINKS COME HIGH
Overhead, iron wheels began to roll, thunderously,
and a whistle wailed its farewell. The New York train
was moving out. Jim contemplated the distance be-
tween him and the lighted sign with haggard eyes,
almost broke into a run, then controlled himself and
walked on. At Ed's next frantic call, he stopped and
swung about, to greet the man with a smile:
"There you are! I was going to hunt for you on
the platform—poked my head in the waiting-room
and didn't see you."
"Guess that was because I was riding the candy
kid—nice youngster, but she's got a temper! What
happened to you, brother? It's after one!"
"Got lost, after all. Thought I counted the blocks
right, but I got nowhere rapidly."
"Did you find Mike's at all?"
"Nope. But I found some place, in the end. Now,
what about this drink? I need it worse than ever!"
"Ryan'll take you down to Tonelli's. I asked him to
stick around and do it. He's the man I relieve—a
good man, and my partner."
"But—doesn't he have to report?"
87


88
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"Oh, sure! But," explained the policeman, "he'll
say he stopped to investigate a suspicious shadow, or
thought he heard a cry and hunted 'round or the like.
We often do, on cold nights. Of course, the sergeant
doesn't like it, but he lets it pass, now an' then."
"Fine."
They were standing in the shadowy waiting-room
now. Ed walked to a bench in a dark corner, caught
the figure that slouched on it by its blue cloth shoulder,
and shook it vigorously.
"Wake up, Ryan!"
The man stumbled to his feet, yawning, and followed
his partner back to where Jim stood, smiling pleasantly,
his ears still ringing with the dying whistle from the
vanished engine. He knew that somehow he had to get
away from Ed and his friend, make his way unseen to
the far platform, and catch the next train to New
York. But he very much wanted to do it without ex-
citing suspicion, or leaving any loose ends that curious
brains could puzzle out; he gave Ryan his gayest, most
grateful smile.
Ed gestured. "This is my pal from Boston—Buddy,
my friend Ryan! We work together, always have."
"Glad to meet you, Ryan." As he spoke, Jim took
the extended hand of the policeman in his own. But,
long and powerful as his fingers were, they were engulfed
by the broad, heavily-muscled paw offered to him. Be-
side his future escort, Jim seemed small. Both were
big men—indeed, Jim stood some two inches taller
than the other and his shoulders were quite as broad
as the Irishman's. Yet he was easily twenty pounds
lighter than the officer. The older man was thewed and
built like a wrestler, his wide frame covered with great


90
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
the alcohol, raw and powerful though it was, in no
way affected his brain, but was absorbed by his starved
tissues. He felt only a great disinclination to move,
which he knew was dangerous. He could not remain in
Providence until the watch at the station was discon-
tinued, for other, more suspicious, policemen would
come to question and examine him. Ed, whom he had
told of his hurry, would learn of his stay and wonder.
And Pete, alone and helpless, waiting for his immediate
return, could not be overlooked. He was perhaps
more dangerous than the entire police force, for his
blindness and his fear, combined, would act in ways
quite unpredictable.
Jim must get out of town before daylight, if it could
be managed. And, thinking of the casual watch kept
by Ed, it seemed possible to return to the station, wait
—hours if necessary—until he left the passage un-
guarded, and get safely to the far platform. With
patience, he could be aboard a southbound express in
a few hours. It was only necessary to get away from
Ryan before he became inextricably involved with hotel
clerks, boarding-house keepers, and the rest of the
watchful crew.
Then Jim heard the big man say, gently, staring
at his empty glass, "And now we'll be getting along
to the station."
For a moment, the full meaning of the quiet sentence
was hidden from Jim, then the blood stood still in his
veins and his breathing ceased. So overwhelming was
the shock that not a muscle quivered. Only, as he sat,
the blood drained slowly into his heart; his lips turned
grey; his fingers were clumsy blocks of ice.
Ryan searched patiently through the vast depths of


DRINKS COME HIGH
91
his trousers pockets. ("So they really do carry hand-
cuffs around with them," Jim thought, bitterly amused.)
The great hand reappeared, holding gingerly a tat-
tered bank-note. Jim made an effort to rally and asked,
feebly,
"We? Station?"
"I've got to report at the precinct house, before I
go home," explained the giant, placidly. "You see,
you're spending night with me and Jane."
"Wha—wha—what!" Jim felt as if he were choking.
"It's all right! We've got a spare-room. This job
pays pretty well, and we're getting along fine! And
you can't go waking up landladies at this hour!"
"But I couldn't possibly—the hotel—"
"Now, look here! You're a friend of Ed's and he's
my friend, and I'll be proud to have you stay the
night."
Jim protested, babbling incoherently but in vain.
Ryan was determined—and Jim, weak and suspicious
from his fright, equally so. Not for all the money in
the Treasury would he have walked with Ryan to the
station, however innocent the errand. They argued,
politely enough at first. But the whiskey had not soothed
the big man, and the younger, unstrung by the exer-
tions and alarms of the preceding twenty-four hours,
had begun to lose control of himself. As the argument
waxed bitter, quite suddenly a thought came to Jim.
The stage was already set; he had only to knock the
kindly Ryan unconscious and walk out. A drunken
quarrel and the complete disappearance of an intoxi-
cated stranger would be events commonplace enough
to cause little suspicion. He had only to return to the
railroad station and watch for his chance. It would be


92
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
necessary to do the job as quickly as possible, with
one blow, for a long fight would draw too much atten-
tion, and would also damage his face and clothes badly,
making travel risky.
He forced the quarrel, becoming caustic and incoher-
ent, then, at his chosen moment let drive. But he had
underestimated either the suspicion or the speed of his
opponent. Ryan ducked the smoking blow and grap-
pled. Jim poured a wild flurry of short-arm punches
into the heavily armored ribs, doing little harm, as he
tried to break loose. His reward was a glancing blow,
murderous as a pile-driver, on the cheek-bone.
The table and glasses had gone flying at the opening
second. Now the few other drinkers had abandoned
their glasses to watch the show and Tonelli came with
his guards to stop it. Jim and Ryan were unaware of
the cheers and the protests.
The guards tried to drag Jim away from his an-
tagonist, but Ryan would not relax his crushing hug.
So they hauled the two, still locked together, still ex-
changing punches, to the outer door—as if they had
been pit terriers who disturbed the quiet of their own-
er's home—and threw them into the silent street.
The force with which they hit the pavement broke
Ryan's grip. Jim rolled away, and tried to get on his
feet, but the other beat him to it and, before he could
deliver the vital blow, was on him again. Tonelli's
customers, cheering, crowded the narrow entryway.
Jim knew now, clearly, that he had never had a chance
of knocking the policeman out. The man outweighed
Jim and outclassed him; his tremendous strength was
opposed only to Jim's desperate fury, for the drinks
had not really repaired the ravages of last night's


DRINKS COME HIGH
98
struggle and the day's fast. Jim tried to stave off
the end, to dodge Ryan's occasional ponderous blows and
hold him back for a moment. He meant only to run,
believing that his adversary would not trouble to chase
him. But even this wretched plan was beyond his power.
For suddenly, the noisy, scuffling handful of onlookers
faded away, as a crisp voice shouted,
"Here! Here! What the devil's going on here?"
Made careless by despair, he failed to see the swift
approach of Ryan's massive fist. It caught him full on
the chin. Jim's head snapped back and he crumpled,
sliding from the policeman's relaxing grip onto the
pavement.
Ryan settled his uniform carefully into place, look-
ing thoughtfully at the limp figure at his feet.
"Sure, the man's intoxicated, sergeant! He lit into
me and I had to knock him out. But, drunk or no, the
man can fight!" He touched his jaw tenderly and
began to explore his left eye.
The sergeant considered him with moody, incredu-
lous eye. "'Sure, the man's intoxicated,' is it? We'll
see what he has to say about that when he comes to, Mr.
Ryan," he mocked. "And if I find—as I shall—that
you've been getting drunk at Tonelli's again, you'll
be saying good-bye to police work, Ryan! I've had
about enough of this!"
"I was not, sir!"
"Then where the devil have you been this past hour?
Would you just tell me that? You came off duty at
twelve-thirty—and it doesn't take fifteen minutes to
get back to the station." He added, after a pause,
"Well, go along and make your report—and take your
'attacker' with you. And God help you if his story


94
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
doesn't back you up! You are, barring Shaughnessy,
the worst slacker that ever drew city pay!"
Ryan dragged the unconscious Jim onto his broad
shoulder and set off. His arrival broke up quite ef-
fectively the nightly game of poker that had been dron-
ing on its languid way. The desk sergeant, as always
the heavy winner, reluctantly deserted his cards to
write the charges brought by Ryan, who, having some-
where learned that attack is the best defence, was now
applying the lesson at the expense of the man who had,
quite inexcusably, blacked his eye. Told as Ryan told
it, the story was epic. For the stranger, it seemed,
was a friend of Ed's, who had introduced him to Ryan
before he went off duty. The man had been drinking
and was a bit wild, so Shaughnessy asked Ryan to keep
an eye on him, take him back to the station with him,
and then take him on home with him—for he was from
Boston, didn't know the town, and Ed was afraid he'd
get into trouble. Ryan agreed. But, not far from the
station, the lad spotted Tonelli's where he'd spent the
evening, and wanted to go back. Ryan had objected;
had argued until the drunk got angry and tried to
knock him out. So they fought. Blow by blow Ryan
described the battle, vividly and with enthusiasm he
accounted for every minute of this hour's delay, paint-
ing the warfare of giants.
The amused reporter, only too glad to leave a game
that ate up his weekly wages with depressing regularity,
sat on the charge desk, listening and copying down the
best bits of the narrative.
One of the patrolmen found water and poured it
over the disregarded villain of the tale. Jim choked,
half opened grey eyes, then let the lids fall again and


DRINKS COME HIGH
95
listened anxiously to the concluding paragraphs of
Ryan's tale. "It's just the sort of tale he would tell,
when he caught me quite by accident, the boastful old
devil," the listener told himself, amused in spite of his
despair. "Well, why shouldn't he? It was a pretty good
fight while it lasted—and I don't suppose it will matter
to me in Sing Sing how I was caught."
The officer emptied the rest of the bucketful on
Jim's head and the full shock of the cold water startled
him into an exclamation. He tried to sit up, forced
open his swollen lids and grinned at the gathering
through battered lips. And, telling himself it was
wasted breath, he bluffed:
"Sorry, but I'm a little hazy about things. What
did I hit—a truck?"
The reporter, a freckle-faced boy in rumpled tweeds,
grinning, enlightened him. "Well, you hit Ryan—and,
though it's a pretty fair description of him, I wouldn't
let him hear you!" He ducked that officer's swinging
fist, laughed and added, "You're due to spend the rest
of your life in jail, anyhow, if he has anything to say
about it! Look here—tell me where you got it? I've
spent years in this town, and never been able to find
anything with half the power."
"It? What?" Jim was dazed and weary, and the
conversation didn't seem to be going as he had expected
it to.
"The drink, brother. The alcohol."
"So I was drunk?" Jim had not thought of that
explanation of his fiasco, before.
"Thoroughly, my boy!" The other shook his head,
sadly. "A dreadful example to the young! Where
did you get it?"


96
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"No idea. I'm a stranger." Jim expected some re-
action to his remark, other than acceptance—laughter,
or cutting jokes, some bitter reminder that he had
lost. But the audience only nodded gravely. He drew
a long breath and asked, "What did I do, anyhow?
What happened?"
"I'll tell you what you did, my lad!" Ryan jumped
at the chance of making clear to Ed's friend the story
he must tell. "You got so plastered that your friend
Shaughnessy didn't dare let you go 'round alone, and
asked me to take you home. And you tried to murder
me because I wouldn't let you go into Tonelli's. If I
hadn't been a friend of Ed's, I'd have let you go in and
poison yourself, instead of risking death to stop you.
Sure, and I was a fool to try!"
Jim had been holding his breath, tensely awaiting the
end of the story, almost from the first word, for there
had been a note of urgent warning in the speaker's
voice that had waked new hope. When he stopped,
Jim sighed deeply and slumped with closed eyes against
the desk, too weak to act. The reporter wrinkled up
his freckled nose as he watched, then came to the
rescue, unearthing a flask and pouring a small drink
into a paper cup.
"Here! You need a pick-up, after trying to pound
Ryan."
"I seem to have been attacking one of the monuments
of the township," Jim murmured, accepting the drink.
"How many years does that add to the sentence?"
"About twenty," laughed the reporter. "I rather
like you, brother! And I don't usually like drunks
when I'm sober, particularly when they've just finished
my private supply of Scotch," he wound up, ruefully


98
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
amined for a moment the vista of barred and gloomy
cells beyond and looked away quickly. Hastily his
hand went to his pocket. There it stayed, frozen,
while a look of sheer horror flashed over his face.
Swiftly he withdrew his hand, to explore the remaining
pockets of his battered clothing. He groped in the
depths of the last one; but understanding had already
come. Tonelli, or one of his henchmen, had spent a
profitable evening!
"I've not got a cent," he told the watching Evans,
sadly. "Someone's gone through my pockets."
"Expensive evening," agreed the other. "You've
been a godsend to several people in this town, it seems."
"Well, what do I do now?"
"You spend the night behind bars, brother—and
tell your folks the glad news tomorrow, early. I'd lend
you the dough, myself, if I could, but these thieves have
about cleaned me!"
"The family'd disinherit me if they heard I'd been
arrested for drunkenness, of all things—and an unsuc-
cessful author can't afford that!"
"Can he afford a week in jail?" scoffed the ser-
geant. "Because that's what you'll get!"
"Easier than a row with my folks," said Jim, firmly.
"Well, you can always write a book about it," com-
forted Evans. "There are only nine hundred and eighty-
three like it on the market now."
"Thanks. You're a great help."
"Old Randolph will love this," said one of the others
to Ryan, picking up his abandoned cards. "He hasn't
had such a break since he jailed those Brown boys last
month, after the Harvard game."


9
I CAN WAIT"
Ruth went hastily back to the red-haired man, pa-
tiently sitting in the obscure corner where she had left
him, unnoticed by the crowds around. "All right," she
said, taking his hand, and felt an odd tenderness stir,
answering the quick smile he gave at her touch. She
slipped an arm through his, and they went along the
wet pavement swiftly. A block past the garage where
her car stood, she left him again, this time standing
beside a window, by the corner. All the way back, she
kept looking over her shoulder, tormented by the fear
that someone would blunder into him and knock him
into the street, or in some way injure him.
The three minutes that dragged by while she waited
inside for her car were interminable. Somehow, it was
not so much the fear that she would lose him, and
with him her chance to recover the family necklace,
which obsessed her, as a terror that some accident
would set him adrift, utterly helpless. She hurried into
the car, as soon as it came, and went flying down the
dark street. When, as she drew up to the curb, she
saw him, standing safe and quiet where she had last
seen him, she almost cried aloud her relief. She forced
90


100
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
down the exclamation, slipped from her seat and ran
to him. Almost immediately, they were off again,
headed, more by custom than plan, for Long Island.
Now that the time had come for her to ask questions,
she had no idea where to begin. Even a brief study of
his face had warned her that he was stubborn; she dared
not demand outright that he tell her where the emeralds
were; and she could think of no way to find out with-
out letting him know that she wasn't Al.
The car slipped over the bridge, on through the dark
streets. The longer she thought, the more impossible
she found it to plan a conversation which would not
betray her. Instead, her thoughts wandered to him, as
he lay back, relaxed now, the tortured lines about his
mouth and eyes smoothed away by the darkness, only
the glimmer of light along his hard, narrow jaw and
on the angles of his cheek-bone and his forehead dis-
tinct. He seemed to be smiling a little, she wondered
at what.
She shook her head, sharply, and told herself, "You've
got to do something. You can't drive around all night!
And if you're going to kidnap people, you ought to get
what you set out after, at least! It would be too absurd
to quit now!" Still she was unable to start.
He shifted a little and crossed his legs, then asked,
"Did you have much trouble?"
"Why, no. No trouble." She spoke as low as pos-
sible.
"But you said you'd come after the first intermis-
sion, so that he'd read about the disappearance in the
early edition and come back to recover his share, before
the police started investigating a probable suicide;
you're so late—"


"i CAN WAIT"
101
"No. That symphony is very long."
"It seemed years."
"I know." She laid a gentle hand on his. He took
possession of it and began to play with her fingers, as
if the feel of them gave him comfort.
"When—when I knew I shouldn't see again, Al, the
only thing I wanted was you. It seemed that just the
touch of your fingers would set everything right, like
those old people we used to read about, who had the
gift of healing. You remember? Jim helped, while
he stayed but—you know, Al, I wish we'd never started
this! He's been very decent—" He sighed and fell
silent.
She had almost forgotten that the man was a stran-
ger, a nameless thief, whom she had abducted to trick
into betraying himself. The somber echoes of his words
rang in her mind. She heard him laugh, very low.
"When you came, this morning, it wasn't at all like
that. You were so sweet and hopeful—but everything
was still wrong, and we were both sure it would stay
wrong, though you wouldn't tell me so, or I you. After
you'd gone, I found the window and opened it and—
It seemed such an easy way out, and there wasn't much
sense in staying."
Two absurd large tears were sliding down her face.
She bit her lip, and made no effort to free her hand.
"Tonight, it's quite as I knew it would be. Everything
will be all right—I knew that almost as soon as you
spoke." He added softly, "It's good to know that
you're beside me—like standing on firm ground after
an earthquake, you know."
She frowned at the road, looking straight ahead to
avoid seeing his face, and spoke fast:


"i CAN WAIT"
103
enough, for the car took up too much of her attention
at the moment. His fingers touched her hat, moved
lightly down to her hair and came, uncertainly, to
the smooth coil, low on her neck, in which she always
wore the long masses. She felt him fumble at the hair-
pins, wander aside to touch her ear.
His hand fell.
After a long silence,
"Al never wore earrings," the red-haired man said
quietly, almost explanatory. Then he asked, "Who
are you? And why did you do it? You knew it was
someone else I was waiting for; you must have known!
What were you trying to do?"
"Find out what you and your partners have done
with the Grandon emeralds."
He began to laugh, wildly. She shot one look at his
bitter mouth and turned away, shivering. Fixing her
eyes on the road, she went on, steadily,
"Tell me how I can get them, and I promise you
that you won't be punished for stealing them."
"My good woman, you're dreaming! I don't know
anything about those emeralds of yours! Why should
you think I do?"
"I don't think—I know! You and your partner
broke into the Carey house last night; and three months
ago you took the emeralds. I can't prove that, but I'll
have no trouble proving that you did the job last night!
Unless you want to end your life in jail, tell me what
I asked!"
"Don't be absurd! You'll only get yourself in trou-
ble, you know, if you try that bluff. There isn't a
reason in the world why I should be afraid of the
police!"
"No? Well, maybe I misunderstood the articles in


104
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
the papers today, Red-head, but I doubt it! Go on
and call my bluff!" Ruth smiled, watching the frown
deepen between his brows.
"Believe everything you read in the papers?" he
mocked. "If one of the men had been a Negro, would
you hijack all Harlem? You shouldn't jump to con-
clusions so wildly, my dear!"
"It isn't only the papers—I know a lot they don't.
So if you want to keep your blue-eyed Al out of
jail—"
He caught his breath, audibly, then began, quite
suddenly, to laugh. "Whatever you know or don't
know, you're in no position to go to the police with your
suspicions. If you were, you'd never have gone to all
this trouble to kidnap me! Now stop being foolish and
take me back. The lady is waiting for me."
"I'm afraid she'll have quite a long wait! We aren't
going back until you answer me."
He began to swear, in a bitter monotone; at the
names he found for her, she paled, quivering. He wound
up with a command: "Take me back at once. I'm tired
of this nonsense!"
"Where are the emeralds?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't tell you—you creeping, spy-
ing, verminous little thief!"
"Thief! From you, Mr. Robber!— Where are the
emeralds?"
He reached for her blindly. To avoid wrecking the
car, she braked, and the instant's delay was sufficient
for him to catch her. His fingers sank deep into her
shoulders, bruising even through the heavy cloth. Ruth
tried to tear free, pulling at his hands, and found that
she lacked the strength to break his grip. He was shak-


"i CAN WAIT"
105
ing her, violently and clumsily, so that now and again
her body struck the wheel, driving the breath from her
lungs. She was certain that if he could have seen to
do it, he would have beaten her; shortly, she began to
fear that he would try it anyhow. Alarmed, hurt, and
furiously angry, she struck out with her fists, but could
not reach his face. Then sanity returned. She stopped
struggling and spoke to him.
"Stop it! You'll break my ribs!"
"I'd like to break your neck," he growled.
"No doubt; but if you do, who'll drive the car? You
can't!"
He groaned, hesitated, then threw her heavily from
him. Ruth landed against the side of the car, and lay
still, winded. He was gasping now. The girl watched
his face, beaded with moisture. Neither spoke. The
light rain drummed faintly on the car roof, and whis-
pered among the grasses, transforming the saturated
earth of the fields to mud. The only other sound was
the heavy, irregular breathing of the two listeners; for
the car had stalled when Ruth put on the brakes. There
were no other travellers abroad, and the open country
around them was deserted.
Long after they had both regained their breath, he
said:
"Take me back."
"No. Tell me what I want to know."
"I can't."
"That's a lie, and a stupid one."
"It's true—but if I did know, I'm damned if I'd
tell you!"
"Can't you see, yet? You haven't any choice! So
you might as well give in gracefully."


106
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"I haven't any intention of giving in at all. I can't,
because I don't know the answer to your question! So
you've lost—and as you can sit wherever we are for
very long after daylight—"
"I'm not going to. If you won't be reasonable, you
can just cool your heels till you change your mind!"
"You mean," he seemed appalled, "you really are
going to turn me over to the police!"
Ruth laughed. "Don't worry! You're going," speak-
ing a little viciously between closed teeth, "to tell me
what you've done with that necklace." Feeling her sore
ribs, she thought, "I'll teach him, the stubborn brute!
Singlehanded!"
"It's a grand idea!— Only I don't like thieves, even
clever young ladies like you, and I certainly wouldn't
do one a favor!"
"How magnificently honest! But I'm not interested
in your opinion of thieves, well-grounded though your
comments are—" She heard him growl and went on.
"All I'm interested in is a little information."
"I've told you you can't have it. By the way, do
you run this game by yourself, or do you belong to a
gang?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Hijacking, or highway robbery plus blackmail, or
whatever you want to call your specialty!"
Ruth turned on him with blazing eyes, then recovered
herself and smiled. "Don't be disagreeable, Red! It's
most ungentlemanly! And, besides, as I'm the only
person you'll have to talk to for some time—unless
you've changed your mind?—"
"Hell, no! Well, get on with it! What mad idea are
you playing with now?"


"i CAN WAIT"
107
"It's not mad at all! Quite logical, in fact, brilliant!
You see,—I mean, you can't see; so anywhere I put you,
you have to stay—and you will stay, until you get tired
of being stubborn!"
She sat up, pressed the starter, and swung out of
the shallow ditch where the car had stood, onto the high-
way. "Red" was muttering, like a sulky child, a flat
denial that he would stay where he was put, but she
ignored him and hurried the machine through the night,
toward home.
Coming to the Grandon estate, she turned into the
drive opposite, and drew up before the Greenwood
Tavern. She stopped the car, descended, and came
around to the other door.
"Here we are!" She took his hand, adding, "The
ground is quite level."
He told her, grinning, "I'm not going to get out. If
you want me out, lift me!"
For a moment, she was baffled. Then, looking about
the empty, tree-grown acres that shielded the great
building, she realized that there was no hurry. "If
you'd rather sit out here in the damp, go right ahead.
I have plenty of time to waste."
She went back to her place and they sat, in a silence
that, oddly, soon became very pleasant. She found and
lighted a cigarette, and began to review her knowl-
edge of the interior of the hotel. The beds, of course,
would be dismantled, but she remembered a very
comfortable living room on the second floor, the chief
room of a suite which lay, cut off from the rest of the
rooms, at the end of the wing. Among its other furnish-
ings had been a very wide and comfortable divan,
long enough even for the man beside her. Since the


108
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
suite was cut off from the other rooms, and since all the
windows of the buildings were shuttered and bolted
against house-breakers, she had only to turn the key
in the lock, and Red would be safe. The caretaker, who
lived in a cottage by the main gates, made his weekly
examination in perfunctory fashion, never going beyond
the lobbies at the front of the building. To save himself
trouble, he even left the keys above the lintel of the
smoking room door! (It was the memory of those
keys, handily concealed on the narrow ledge, that
had suggested the Tavern to her, when she found it
necessary to think of a hiding place.) The question of
bedding troubled her, for the hotel had been closed
some two months already, and would be unpleasantly
cold. She tried to remember something that would do
for a temporary cover, could recall nothing that would
not have been put away for the winter, and finally de-
cided that she would have to bring some from the
house.
It was only when the man, breaking a long silence,
said, "You're cold!" that Ruth knew her teeth were
clicking noisily, like the roll of drumsticks on wood,
and that she was shaking.
"I'm all right." 't
"You're not! You're frozen—and so am I. There's
no sense in our catching pneumonia."
"Your idea. I told you to get out."
"Let it go!" He sounded annoyed, then his tones
softened. "Anyhow, the strike's over now. Let's get
indoors."
Ruth got down, stiffly, and came around to take
his hand. The gravel creaked under foot as they went,
and the damp wood of the veranda steps whined loudly,


"i CAN WAIT"
109
sprang back into place behind them with the sound of
pursuing footsteps. "Red" was bothered by the whis-
pering accompaniment and kept turning, as though his
sightless eyes could find the invisible companion. She
tried to stop him, explaining that it was only the warped
boards. Still, as, leaving the door unlocked, she led
the way across the hardwood floor of the smoking room,
and up the great stairs, he continued to look back,
questioningly, until the uncanny performance affected
her nerves. She found herself watching over one shoul-
der as they went along the upper hallway. It was a
relief to come to the end door of the wing and step
inside the living room, crowded by sheeted furniture
though it was.
The flash-light, which she had taken from its custo-
mary place in the side pocket of the roadster, woke a
friendly gleam in the golden panels of the room, which
seemed to take all hostility from the shapeless white
huddle in the center of the floor. Ruth dropped her
captive's hand, ran forward and quickly stripped off
the dust-sheets. With his aid, she moved the couch
and the rest of the furniture back against the walls.
She tried the shutters, found them safely padlocked.
There were no carpets, and, of course, no light-shades
or bulbs (even if the current had been left on, which
she was sure had not been done). Once her inspection
was over, she led him to the divan, explaining that she
would return shortly with blankets, and then left him.
There was no key in the door, or any in the neighboring
keyholes. But, after a moment's consideration, she
decided that a key was not a necessity, and went quickly
back to the car.
Because she was not anxious to make the short trip


110
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
to her home and back, before she started she explored
the rumble seat—and found there, the forgotten acces-
sories of last week's football party, two cushions, a
nest of blankets, and a flask half full of brandy.
"There are times when Murdock's laziness comes in
handy," she reflected, scooping out the lot. Bundling
it all into a ball that she could barely get her arms
around, she made her way back to "Red's" apartment,
a slow and dismal trip, for her hands were so full that
she left the lamp in the car, and the pursuing steps in
total darkness, were more alarming than ever.
When she entered he was exploring the windows; in
the darkness, she knew only that blundering feet came
toward her from the opposite wall, instead of from
the sofa to her left. She called out, not wanting to
puzzle him needlessly,
"I brought the blankets, Red! and some brandy,
too."
"I wasn't sure it was you," a voice, quick with re-
lief, answered from very near, and she felt his coat
against her hands.
From the heart of the blankets she drew the flask and
pressed it into his fingers. "Take some now," she di-
rected, "and put the flask in your coat, where you'll be
able to find it easily!" While she struggled to straighten
out the rugs and shawls so that he could use them easily,
she replied to his earlier remark.
"It couldn't have been anyone but me. We're the
only two people in the place. It's a summer hotel,
closed for the winter. Better not try to explore, because
there are miles of rooms, and you'll never find yourself
again. So don't do it. Think what a nasty shock the
staff would get, if they found your starved body in


"i CAN WAIT"
111
the bridal suite, or the Ladies' Lounge, when they open
again in June!"
"A dreadful picture! I wouldn't for the world alarm
them so! But, my stubborn young—are you young?—
You must be, to be so childish!"
Ruth interrupted with a sharp "Oh!" of protest, but
he disregarded it. "My stubborn young friend, don't
you think the joke has. gone far enough? You don't
really plan to leave me in this—this—"
"Whatever the adjective is, don't use it," she ad-
vised. "It's not a bad place to be marooned in, so,
unless you'll tell me where you put the Grandon em-
eralds, you'll have to make the best of it. How about
it? Tell me where the necklace is?"
"Not in a million years!"
"I can wait!"
"You have to—ages."
"Okay! But take a word of advice, Red. These days,
there are an awful lot of tramps—unemployed, and
just plain bums—drifting around these parts, and
they all try to break in here. That's why the place is
boarded up like a fortress. Well, if you hear people
around, don't try to get them to help you break out.
Even if they could—and I don't think they could—
they aren't good companions for a blind man. They
—well just sit tight and hope the doors hold! I'd hate
to find you with your throat cut!"
"Can't say it would please me, either!"
"Remembered about that necklace?"
"I can't remember what I don't know!"
"Have it your own way! Good night, Red!"
She closed the door on his protesting voice, and went,
slowly, feeling her way through the black corridors


112 GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
peopled with self-created terrors, to the outer door.
Only the familiar touch of the car’s worn wheel dis-
pelled the visions.
A quick glance at her watch told her it was too late
to join the Ballews for supper, but, on the off chance
that they had not yet gone to bed, she headed for the
cottage to make her apologies.


10
A DOOR IS LEFT OPEN
The sound of running water, at first a faint accom-
paniment to the horrible shouts of the searching figures,
swelled rapidly to a pitch which blotted out their chill-
ing cries. As these faded, so did the distorted, angry
faces and armed hands. Ruth opened one suspicious
eye, laughed sleepily, and rolled over, prying the other
lid up. She yawned, poked the pillow gently, and buried
her head in it.
Almost immediately, Ailsa tapped briskly across the
bathroom tiles, over the soft carpet, and stood beside
the bed to say, sadly,
"It's eleven-thirty, Miss Ruth!"
"G'way! Ailsa, you know it's too early to get up!"
"But, Miss Ruth!—"
"Don't be a pest!" She burrowed a little deeper.
"Miss Ruth," said the patient Ailsa, holding out a
bathrobe toward its motionless owner, "get up! You
have a lunch appointment in town at one."
Ruth groaned faintly, "I don't care! I won't get
up—"
"Miss Ruth, it's eleven-thirty!"
Ruth rolled over, stared with dazed hostility at the
maid, then suddenly sat bolt upright.
113


114
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"Oh, my Lord!" She gasped it, and before the last
syllable was spoken she was flying barefoot across the
deep carpet. "The green wool, Ailsa, with the match-
ing gloves and shoes, and my fur coat and hat. Hurry!"
Ignoring the partly filled tub, she caught up a
rubber cap and plunged into the shower. Ten minutes
later, she was viciously yanking at the knots in her
damp hair, while Ailsa paraded the room, the green
dress over one arm, finding such essentials as hand-
kerchiefs, lipstick, and powder-box. A sharp rap on
the door interrupted both. The maid answered it, dis-
appeared into the hall and returned, shaking her head.
"What's wrong?" inquired her mistress, without
turning.
"Richards thought I might have seen Mr. Grandon's
list when I helped Millie dust the study this morning."
"His list? Doesn't Miss Allison know where it is?"
"She's gone, Miss Ruth. Called up this morning
to say that she has to have three teeth out and all sorts
of things, so she has to stop working—"
"What!"
"Mr. Grandon's awfully upset. He can't find any-
thing without her and—"
"Damn it!" Ruth told the mirror. "I might have
known it, but— Poor Dad! He never knows where
things are."
She finished dressing, hastily, and raced downstairs,
to be caught up in the search-party. Mrs. Grandon,
her hat perched over one ear, was directing operations,
and offering suggestions, while she fastened on her
earrings and bracelet. Mr. Grandon dug frenziedly
through tidy piles of letters, reducing them to chaos,
while in more orderly fashion Millie and the butler


116
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
stub; the last coffee cup was empty; the ladies had found
their wraps, the men told their final jokes.
The entire party crowded into automobiles, and was
whisked off to the Horse Show. Ruth heard, after-
wards, that the events which she watched that after-
noon were the best that had been seen for some years;
but, at the time, she might have been sleep-walking,
for all the attention she paid. Spectacular jumping,
beautiful horses, even a bad spill went unheeded. Her
father's proudest possession, the nimble and mercury-
swift grey Arab, won his tenth cup; but Ruth scarcely
saw, although about her the party went wild with de-
light. After the winner passed, a shape of gleaming
silver, from the ring, Alexander Grandon and his wife
left to catch their train. Ruth saw them go with con-
cealed pleasure, since it meant that the afternoon was
almost over.
Before the party broke up, however, Bill Carey left
his box on the other side of the ring and took a seat
beside Ruth.
"Going to Joan's cocktail party?"
"Yes," she replied quickly, seeing a chance to get
away at once.
"Then we'd better be going."
"But you're not—!"
"Taking you? Yes, I am. I don't care who you
promised— Please, Ruth! I've got to talk to you."
She agreed, after a moment's thought, and they
took their leave at once. As soon as the two were out
of hearing of their friends, Ruth tried to explain to
her escort that she had no intention of attending the
Andrews party.
"I'm not really going to Joan's—I've got to get


A DOOR 18 LEFT OPEN
119
ment about Ruth's desertion, still unsettled when Ruth
turned homeward. At first, Grace's joking reproaches
distressed her. However, someone who had seen the
morning papers, gathering from the dialogue that
Grace had been at the concert the evening before, be-
gan talking of the mysterious disappearance of a blind
man, a Peter McKay, who had last been seen at that
very concert. The rest of the group at once fastened on
the subject, and on Grace, who was known to be a keen
observer, more dependable than Joan and her escort
would have been. In the heat of discussion, Ruth's aban-
donment of Grace was overlooked. The new topic was
more exciting than teasing the girl about her possible
companion of the previous evening.
Ruth waited long enough to get a quick sketch, read
aloud to eager listeners, of all that was known about
the lost Mr. McKay. It was very little—merely that
he had registered from Buffalo, arrived with a valet
(who had left after a quarrel of some sort, but whom he
apparently expected to return in a few days' time), and
hired a temporary attendant, supplied by the hotel,-
whose duties were to read the news aloud, help his em-
ployer to dress, and accompany him to the concert.
(McKay had not dressed for the concert, and had ac-
tually allowed the attendant to remain with him only
for brief moments, to read the papers to him.) The at-
tendant had been told to return for Mr. McKay at
eleven, but when he presented himself, the usher found
the aisle seat empty. An immediate search of the house
had been unsuccessful. Police had examined the man's
single suitcase, but had found nothing in the nature of
a clue, except the marked absence of any identifying
matter. There were no labels of any sort in the linen,


120
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
no papers, no marks of manufacturer or store on the
luggage. The one possible aid to search was a heavily
sealed package, at present in the hotel safe, which the
absentee had entrusted to the hotel's care soon after
his valet had left. This package, said to contain per-
sonal papers, the police would open only if their other
means of locating the missing man failed.
Ruth waited for the end of the account, then said
good-bye and left, pursued by last-minute pleadings
from the couple.
The autumn night, clear and crisp, was an invita-
tion to speed, and she was glad to lie back, while the
chauffeur sent the heavy car flying through the dark-
ness, its tires singing on the frost-bound roads. She
shut her eyes.
When, it seemed only seconds later, Murdock opened
the door, she said, "I'm sorry to keep you from your
dinner, Murdock, but I want the roadster right away.
Fully serviced."
"Right away, Miss Ruth."
He backed the car around, and headed for the distant
garage, while Ruth, in the doorway, explained her
needs to Richards.
"Large sandwiches, the filling kind; some cold
chicken, if there is any; a thermos of hot coffee; a flask
of—make it Scotch; and put in some fruit and a lot
of cake, too. Leave the basket in the car, with a few
rugs— It's a midnight picnic and we'll probably freeze!
No one's to wait up for me. I'll let myself in. I've no
idea when we'll be back!"
She went into the living room and, after hesitating a
moment, took out several packs of cigarettes. With
these, matches, and all the papers she could find, she


A DOOR IS LEFT OPEN
121
wandered back into the hall. The car was not yet in
sight. Richards and the kitchenmaid, hampered by the
absence of the cook, were exploring the larder, and con-
ferring in faintly audible shouts. Ruth stared at the
logs, neatly laid in the black fireplace, at the gleam of
paper and kindling, and at the nail-studded leather of
the huge old wood-box in the shadows. She moved
slowly over, lifted the massive lid and studied, wist-
fully, the tidy store within.
Murdock ran the light car up the drive, left it stand-
ing below the steps and went off. Still, Richards did
not come with the basket. Ruth pulled off her gloves
and tucked them into a pocket. Drawing a long breath,
she stooped, lifted two of the smaller logs and carried
them out to the car. She put them in the rumble seat
and ran back up the steps, trying uselessly to brush
the splinters from her woolly skirt. A cautious look
around told her that still there was no one in sight.
Six more times she made the trip. As she worked, she
tried to remember whether the fireplace she imagined in
that room could possibly be real.
She was on her way up the steps to attempt an eighth
trip when Richards, carrying blankets and a market-
basket, opened the door from the servants' hall. Rarely
heeding his confused apologies for the basket— "That
there Murdock hasn't brought the picnic things from
the garage, yet, though he's had almost a week, Miss
Ruth!"— she ran back to the car, closed the rumble
seat, and slipped into her place behind the wheel.
When the footman would have opened the cover again,
she stopped him.
"Never mind about that! Put it on the seat here be-
side me. I'm late again."


122
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
She was off, with a wave of her hand, calling thanks
and good-night as she went.
Though Richards stood looking after her, she was
soon out of his sight, for the thickly-grown shrubbery
that lined the curving drive masked the house front.
Pausing only to make sure that no other car was about,
she crossed the highway at once and spun down the
drive to the Tavern.
In spite of her haste, she drew up by the porch, un-
loaded all her supplies, and then ran the car back into
one of the open sheds behind the building, before she
went to investigate the condition of her prisoner. Once
the car was out of sight, however, she caught up the
hamper and hurried, leaving rugs and firewood in a
mingled heap, through the deserted halls to the second-
floor door that had been in her imaginings all day.
There, she set down her burden, swung open the
door, and turned the rays of her flash-light on—empty
space. The furniture stood as she had left it, backed un-
comfortably against the walls; the dust-sheets were
heaped in their corner; pillows and rugs were tumbled
on the couch. The user of them had gone, leaving only
their untidiness and blurred tracks in the dust of the
floor to witness his former tenancy.
After a moment of shocked immobility, Ruth melted
into action. Lamp in hand, she searched out every cor-
ner, half convinced that "Red" had struck himself and
fallen. But that fear died at once. The room was quite
empty.
The adjoining bedroom and the bathroom that lay be-
tween were also unoccupied. Once she had convinced
herself of that, Ruth's fears got out of hand. She ran
the length of the building, calling "Red!" and again,


A DOOR IS LEFT OPEN
123
"Peter McKay!" wildly as she ran. All through the
lobbies, floor by floor over the six far-spreading stories
of bedrooms, and in and out of the attics and basements
she passed, stumbling and calling, spent, furious, and
afraid. At last, she collapsed, huddled somewhere on
a back staircase, exhausted.
No answer had come to her calls; no voice sounded in
all the great building except her own, echoing through
the vacant rooms in ghostly mockery of her need. The
distorted tones came back to her still, she thought, deso-
late and absurd, while she shivered in the darkness, and
slowly rational thought crept back, limning a grim
picture of the wooded acres surrounding the hotel—and
the dangerous creatures who sometimes lurked there.
If Red had found his way out of doors, only luck or
an organized search-party could find him again. And
if a tramp found him first—
She stood up, switched on the dimming flash-light
that she still clutched, and began the search again,
starting from the room where she had left McKay,
twenty hours earlier. This time, deliberately plodding,
she opened and examined each room and closet, each
stairway and alcove. If, at times, panic throbbed at her
heart, she beat it down and continued her methodical
quest. Hours that seemed like centuries later, she was
rewarded.
She found him, unconscious, in the disused store-
room in the cellars, stretched on the cold concrete, sur-
rounded by a wilderness of boxes, empty packing cases
and stacked kindling. He seemed dead, lying there in
the dust, his crisp hair flaming above the set, blue pal-
lor of his face, the nervous hands, clay-colored now and
lax, flung wide. Ruth stared down at the quiet features,


124
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
blurred with smudges of cobwebs and dirt and the deep
shadows of fatigue, until before her smarting eyes the
picture wavered, changed. She knew, almost without
caring, that she was falling; but, until she felt the dull
shock of contact, made no effort to remain conscious.
Then, indeed, she tried, wildly, to pull herself together,
and found herself on her knees beside Pete, feeling for
a heart-beat. Breath and pulse were dead to all her tests,
as with hands almost as impotent as his she struggled to
bring back a trace of life. Then she heard the faint beat
of his heart and went flying up the steep wood stairs to
find the Scotch, leaving the almost useless flash-light
behind her.
Hunting for the flask by the uncertain gleam of her
pocket lighter, she tore apart the carefully packed sup-
plies and scattered them on the floor. She dropped and
extinguished the flame, wasted feverish minutes finding
it again, and, at last, was on her way back to the cel-
lars.
It was not easy, with her shaking fingers, to pry open
the icy lips and pour the liquid between the clamped
jaws. She spilled quantities of the small stock, but
managed to get a drop or two into his mouth. She
waited tensely, watching the blue lips and closed eyes
for a sign of returning life, and found none until long
after despair had seized her. Then, faintly, the muscles
about the slack lips moved, and the eyelids trembled.
She tried more whiskey. The man opened his eyes, chok-
ing slightly, tried to lift his head and fell back, power-
less; only the ghost of living blood creeping into his
cheeks told Ruth that he was reviving.
She left the precious flask and the dead lamp on the
concrete, and set about carrying her victim back to the


A DOOR IS LEFT OPEN
125
second-floor room. By dragging him, only his head and
upper body lifted from the ground, with her arms passed
under his shoulders, and her back bent almost double
by his weight, she got him to the foot of the stairway,
by slow degrees hauled him up the high steps, and
backed stumbling through the winding passages of
the kitchen quarters, her skin damp and flushed with
effort, the blood thundering in her ears, every nerve and
sinew throbbing its exhaustion, her toiling lungs afire
with pain. Mechanically she felt the agonies of her
body; her whole mind was filled with the imperative need
to get this man where she could do something to save
him. She crawled slowly on, clinging to her burden, like
one of the damned in an icy hell, stumbling eternally
through darkness, bound to his victim.
She came to a staircase and, now tugging, now push-
ing, now slumped beside her quiet fellow, made her way
up. On the short journey from the stairhead to the
room, she stumbled over the strewn packages of food,
and fell heavily, bruising her shoulder. Weary, stunned,
she lay for minutes with no desire to move. Then she
forced herself to rise, brushed the obstacles away, and
seized the unseen shoulders again. With a brief revival
of strength, she got her load across the room, and
dragged him awkwardly onto the couch, finding it al-
most beyond her power to raise the long, sprawled body
the necessary eighteen inches from the floor.
She piled rugs thickly upon the motionless form, then,
with her pocket lighter, descended to the storeroom for
the flask. It was as she turned away, the useless torch
in her pocket, the half-empty bottle in one hand, that
the dim flame of her lighter, reflected back from the
packing-cases, first made her conscious of the nature of


126
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
the objects filling the room: kindling, paper, and light
wood boxes, the means of obtaining heat in this frozen
world. She stepped back, selected an orange crate, and
loaded it with sticks. In one corner, tightly stoppered,
she set the flask, and tried to lift the box in her arms.
It was almost as unwieldly, to her weakened powers, as
the tall man she had previously hauled up the same
weary path. The box had to be dragged, inch after
painful inch. That second journey, through endless
blackness, was a nightmare never to be altogether for-
gotten, but it too was over at last.
Ruth knelt beside the fireplace, located by a brief
glow from the cigarette lighter, and arranged paper
and brittle wood with leaden hands. The last sheet she
twirled into a loosely crumpled twist and set alight, send-
ing up a prayer that the builder had supplied the fire-
place with a flue and not designed it for ornament only.
The doubt lasted only a moment; then the small flame
flickered into a long streamer that leaped hungrily up
the chimney. At the last possible second, Ruth thrust
the burning spill into the ordered kindling and saw the
wood and paper catch. She watched a moment, sitting
back on her heels, then ran to the couch and pushed it
slowly across to a position before the fire.
She seated herself, lifted the bright head to a rest-
ing-place in the curve of her arm, and started to trickle
Scotch into Red's mouth. A few drops must have passed
his throat, for he coughed a little, stirred, and settled
back with a perceptible color in his lips. She gave him
more of the whiskey. He opened the blind eyes, moved
jerkily in her arms, and began to speak, very faintly.
The words were so low, so badly formed, that she could
not understand one sound of all that poured, in an ir-


A DOOR IS LEFT OPEN
127
regular stream, from him. Meaningless babble, that
grew louder quickly.
Ruth left her place in the corner of the davenport,
and fed much of the remaining store of kindling to the
dancing flames. By their light, she gathered from the
corridor the basket and its scattered contents, and
brought them into the room, setting the whole mass be-
side the hearth. Then, because Red lay quietly—bab-
bling, indeed, without listening to her repeated, caress-
ing sentences of reassurance, but still not moving—she
left, after tucking the uppermost shawl firmly about
his long body. She went to the veranda, where she had
left the extra rugs and a small heap of firewood.
The faint starlight revealed them, waiting forlornly
where she had left them. After a moment's thought,
Ruth spread the blankets, wide open, in layers, and set
the logs on top of them. The gathering of the four cor-
ners made the rugs into a large sack, loosely filled. Ruth
found that on the level, polished floors of the main
rooms, she could move the load, although slowly. At the
stairway, however, she was forced to change her tactics
and carry the logs and shawls, one by one, to the second
floor. When she arrived with her freight in the fire-
lighted room, she cast only a cursory glance toward the
cocoon of wrappings. She had begun to close the door,
when a scraping sound from near the fireplace caught
her ear. She let go of the rugs, gave the door a shove,
and before the sound of its closing had reached her, she
was across the room, kneeling on the hearth with her
arms wound tightly around the neck of the man who
crawled, blindly, toward the warmth and sound of the
blazing fire.
Nothing she could say stopped him. Her voice could


128
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
not pierce the fog of delirium; her weight was not great
enough to hinder him, in the sudden mad power of his
fever. Only, the frantic tightening of her arms began
to choke him; he halted, tore them off, and began to
move forward again.
The contest ended abruptly, for all at once Red
crumpled and lay still. Ruth tried to get to her feet,
felt her knees fail under her, and after a short pause to
gather her spent energies, advanced on her knees to his
side. She rolled him, as gently as possible, to the divan.
But she could not lift him from the floor, for she stag-
gered uncertainly, barely able to stand.
With the last of the whiskey, she brought him to, and,
between the two of them, he got back on the couch. She
took off his shoes and the tie and collar, then brought
the rest of the rugs from across the room. Even in that
short moment, the fever had taken hold again. As fast
as she spread the blankets over his feet, he would kick
them aside. He tossed wildly, throwing his arms and
body about, as if he struggled in an invisible net, or
fought with rising quicksands, and as he fought, he
cried aloud, strange words and sounds with no human
sense. By the weight of her body, she held him down
till the fit was spent and she could fasten the coverings
securely about him. Then she sat on the floor by
his head, leaning wearily against the upholstery, and
watched the feverish brightness of his eyes, the color
in his cheeks, the quick, irregular breathing.
Alarmed at his exhaustion, she gave him lukewarm
coffee and the dregs from the flask she had emptied long
before. He opened his eyes, sighed, and, before she quite
realized it, was fast asleep. She put a fresh log from
the almost depleted store on the embers, stuffing papers


A DOOR IS LEFT OPEN
129
and the splintered sides of the crate under it, then went
back to him. She seated herself deep in the angle of the
davenport, and settled down to watch, with his head pil-
lowed on her lap.
The room grew comfortably warm, once the log be-
gan to burn. Ruth had set the other pillow behind her
head, for she was very tired and ached from head to foot.
She rested, head tipped back, and watched the small,
blue-sprinkled flames, and listened to their whispered
song. Under one outflung, guardian hand, she felt the
slow rise and fall of Peter McKay's chest.
Soon, she too slept.
Not long before moonset, while, in that isolated wing,
Ruth still struggled with her delirious captive, a stocky
little man came stumbling through the autumn woods.
Shivering in his patched rags, flinching at each gust
of the rising wind, he plodded with hunched shoulders
and drooping head. When he reached the edge of the
gardens and saw, silver in the moonlight, the great
building, he stopped abruptly, then, with a fierce little
cry, ran wavering into the shadows of the Tavern ver-
anda. Feverishly, he went from window to shuttered
window, trying unsuccessfully to force an entrance.
In time, he found it—the door of the smoking room,
left carelessly ajar. Hesitantly, with the suspicion of a
starved animal entering the jaws of a baited trap, the
little man at last crossed the sill. No attack came.
Relieved, he set about exploring the darkened rooms,
at first with wild-eyed eagerness; as time passed and
each new apartment failed him, the excitement was re-
placed by sullen fury. The hotel staff had done their
work too well. There was nothing in all the great halls


11
EVANS MEETS A LADY
BLIND MAN CONNECTED WITH CAREY
THEFT!
Stolen Gems in Parcel Left
in Safe by Vanished McKay
mysterious letter to mckay
The necklace taken from the safe of Henry K.
Carey, when burglars broke into the Carey home on
Long Island, less than sixty hours ago, and, using
a nitroglycerine preparation to open the safe,
wrecked the library where the jewels were kept, was
discovered this morning in the sealed package which
Peter McKay left behind him when he disappeared
two days ago from the Carnegie Hall concert.
It will be recalled that on Friday night, Novem-
ber third, McKay, who had that day registered as
a guest of the Hotel Caronia, was escorted to the
Zarev concert by a valet supplied by the hotel, be-
cause his usual attendant had left him. The hotel em-
ploye left McKay in the care of an usher at eight-fifty
and returned for the blind man at eleven, as the audi-
ence was leaving. Attendants searched the thinning
crowd, discovered no trace of McKay, and Sanford,
131


132
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
the valet, reported the disappearance to the hotel.
The manager of the Caronia, E. P. Donsworth, at
once put the matter in the hands of the police.
When, hours later, the searchers were still without
a clue, the inspector in charge of the case, Daniel
Tiller, ordered an examination of McKay's belong-
ings. There was no jewelry, and no correspondence
or papers of any sort. The only article which prom-
ised aid was a sealed parcel, left in the hotel safe by
McKay's request. It was in this parcel that the
Carey gems were found.
Some fourteen hours after the disappearance of
Peter McKay, in the noon mail delivery, a letter ar-
rived for the blind man which, it was hoped, would
afford some clue, as the absent man, who gave his
residence in the hotel register as Buffalo, had not
yet been identified there. The arrival of the letter,
instead of solving the problem of the man's identity,
deepened the mystery, for the contents, which appear
to be proverbs, collected at random and set down on
a sheet torn from a ruled notebook, have no discov-
erable connection with McKay. The sheet does not
even bear his name, although the envelope, addressed
in the same hand, does. The message is as follows:
"A word to the Wise—
Green wood makes a slow fire!
They say time is money; but riches have wings!
Time flies.
Patience is a virtue—
Jim"
On the reverse side is a rough sketch, evidently a
plan. The words "garden" and "hotel" are scribbled


EVANS MEETS A LADY
133
in the upper left and right hand corners, repectively.
A line through the center of the page is broken by a
short line across and below it, bearing the numbers
12-3.
The letter was postmarked from Providence, Rhode
Island, and the time given on the cancellation is 5:30
a.m. Appeal to the Providence postal authorities has
not yet brought further information.
Four hours ago, Tiller, abandoning hope of trac-
ing the blind man by ordinary methods, ordered the
opening of the parcel left with Donsworth and found
the celebrated diamond necklace of the H. K. Carey
family, together with a large sheaf of bills and all
of the smaller items of jewelry with which the thieves
had made off. Inspector Tiller at once communicated
with Mr. Carey, who came and identified the gems.
Fresh Clues Reported
A report, the answer to Inspector Tiller's request
for immediate news of the vanished McKay or any-
one resembling his description, was sent in by Dr.
Arnold Ward, of 291 West 41 Street late last night.
He said that he had been summoned to attend a red-
headed, blind man, suffering from a deep scalp wound
and several bad bruises. Dr. Ward took three
stitches and treated some minor cuts. The patient's
companion told the doctor that both had been mem-
bers of a drunken party. Dr. Ward's account tallied
with the rather sketchy descriptions the police have
of McKay. However, as the incident took place about
two hours before the missing man arrived from Buf-
falo, the authorities were inclined to deny its con-
nection with the McKay case, until the opened parcel


EVANS MEETS A LADY
135
on the lookout for this McKay. If he turned up there,
the police would have the news at once; it was time
wasted to make the rounds of the hospitals now. How,
he demanded heatedly, could a man, a blind man and
therefore a helpless one, disappear completely? Not
by himself— Dave stopped to yell for sandwiches and
mustard, then stared wildly at a begger on the sidewalk
outside, and at the small patient dog who piloted him.
Not by himself, Dave went on firmly, for he would have
to ask directions, and he would probably hurt himself,
or be run over. And so far, he hadn't been reported
by anyone. If someone had helped him, and not re-
ported it, the assistant must have been a member of the
gang, a fellow thief. And would a planned disappear-
ance, such as that would have made it, have overlooked
the spoils so singularly? It didn't seem possible! Dave
munched stringy ham and watched the clerk, at the
other end of the counter, make a chocolate soda for the
girl in grey who had just come in.
She was a very pretty girl, he noticed, watching the
gay, childish smile with which she accepted the drink.
Her manner was youthful, eager and confiding; she be-
gan an aimless conversation with the boy, playing idly
with the straws. Dave listened. They were arguing the
correct way to make some concoction with an outland-
ish name, when an elderly customer entered and de-
manded service, snappishly. Dave went back to his
thoughts.
It was a name, spoken in the clear, warm tones of the
girl, which next caught his attention. She was saying:
". . . this man McKay? Or are you too far away
from the Hall here?"
"Oh, they asked us a few questions, but it wasn't much


EVANS MEETS A LADY 137
“Well, how many men taller than you can you re-
member?”
After long thought, he produced, “After nine o'clock,
I think there were six. Earlier, I can’t be sure. We were
pretty busy.”
“Young men? They oughtn't to count if they
Weren’t l”
The boy grinned and described them, visibly inspired
by the girl's admiration for his memory and descriptive
powers. Four of them were young men: they sounded
to Dave like truck drivers or neighborhood loafers.
Two were steady customers; the third a hatless ruffian
in overalls; and the last a gentleman in checks, with
gold teeth and a broken nose. The other two had been
middle-aged and wore evening dress. The girl decided
gravely that that wasn’t enough to prove anything by.
She fished for coins, dropped them on the counter and
slid off the stool.
Dave watched the slender young figure pass through
the door and start down the sidewalk. The wind caught
at the swagger coat, tossing the grey folds about her,
and flattened the heavy skirt against her legs as she
stood hesitating on the curb. She jammed her hands
into the coat pockets, lifted her head, and crossed the
street. From where Dave sat he could see her turn into
the door of a small restaurant not a hundred yards
away.
Dave paid for his coffee and sandwich, then started
back to his task. To his surprise, an idle glance into
the restaurant as he passed showed the girl in grey, sip-
ping a lemonade as she talked gaily to the waitress.
Puzzled, he stared, then in his turn entered, curious to
know what so amused the waitress. He heard, as he


EVANS MEETS A LADY
139
now that I'm out of a job, I thought that if I could find
out something—"
"Two of us," agreed Evans, sadly. "I know if I
could, my boss would give me a raise."
Lights woke in the wide-open eyes, and her quick
smile flashed. "You're a reporter? What paper? You
must be new, or I'd know you."
"Out of town," he told her. "Just got in today. I'm
Evans, of the Providence Gazette."
"I'm Kay Allison, of nowhere at all." They shook
hands, while the wind eddied about them, stirring dust
and bits of paper.
"Come on! Let's get out of this wind, and sit some-
where," Dave urged. "I'd like a chance to talk to you,
if you don't mind?"
She smiled, "A grand idea!" and accepted the arm
he offered. They walked quickly along the street, the
lamps throwing absurd, distorted shadows ahead of
them, then blotting them out.
Beside an awninged entrance, he halted.
"D'you think, if the chairs were soft enough, you
could stand the sight of more food? Not the drug-store
brand?" Dave asked, and at her laughing nod, turned
to the doorman. "Does your restaurant have com-
fortable chairs?" he demanded.
The man gaped, and after a speechless moment told
him that the chairs were very comfortable. Dave con-
sulted Kay with his eyes, then gravely handed her
through the door.
The headwaiter, appealed to, found them a small table
in a corner, set by a deeply cushioned wall-bench. They
sat down, and smiled at each other. The waiter offered
a menu which neither took. Instead, through the faint


140
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
smoke of the cigarettes which Evans had produced, they
studied each other.
Then the girl said, softly, "I need a partner—some-
one who can go where I can't, who can walk into police
headquarters and ask for what they know. And some-
one who—well, the boys on the sheets here would grab
everything the team got, for their own papers, to get
themselves raises. Someone from out of town could af-
ford to play fair. You—you wouldn't—?"
"Kay," Dave thrust forward a glowing countenance,
"I'd like nothing better! From this minute on, the
team of Evans and Allison is in the field; and it'll show
'em all how to get news!"
The waiter, drifting back, found two absorbed heads
bent over a notebook. The team was busy pooling its
experiences, looking for a starting-point somewhere in
the mass of negatives that had met the activities of both.
Hastily, they ordered dinner, not bothering to ask what
it would be; before the waiter had moved to fill the or-
der, they were again deep in discussion.
"Of course," Kay said, "this Raymond was probably
the same man who bought that car. But he's probably
in Canada by this time, worse luck! Or—you don't
suppose he came back and—?"
"Why leave the parcel, if that was it? They must
both have known what was in it! McKay can't have
disappeared on purpose! But, if they quarrelled, really,
the first of them may have gone off, and McKay hid-
den the stuff behind his pal's back."
"And vanish completely, by accident? But, Dave—"
"No. It was what you said about coming back that
I meant. Suppose he did come back, to try to get his
share, and the other one wouldn't give it to him, told


EVANS MEETS A LADY
141
him to beat it. Raymond wouldn't know where it was
hidden, and, never thinking that McKay's disappear-
ance would be giving the stuff to the police, kidnaps the
other man to force him to give up the stuff."
She admitted, "He was only traced as far as the other
side of New Haven; he had plenty of time to come back,
see McKay, go on with the quarrel and—no, he couldn't.
That valet, Sanford, swears he stayed in sight of
McKay's door, within call, whenever he wasn't in the
room with him, from noon till he took him to the con-
cert."
"Perhaps he waited for McKay to go out then. He
could have known he was going to the concert. The
hotel didn't sell that ticket to McKay. He had it all
the time—I wonder how he got it, anyhow? The agency
sold that ticket to Mrs. Alec Grandon ten days before
the concert. Finding that out might help, Kay."
"They're not in town now. Left on Saturday."
"Yes, you said that was no good, before. Anyhow,
this way, Raymond quarrelled with McKay, lit out,
changed his mind, came back, followed the man to the
Hall, got in somehow—probably got standing-room—
and kidnapped him. It makes sense that way!" Dave
sat back, pleased.
"But, how do you explain the letter, then?"
"Explain it! I don't—I'm no wizard!"
"I mean, it was mailed from Providence— Dave,
perhaps you ran away from the answer! Perhaps the
trail begins in Providence, instead of here!—and it was
mailed after midnight, because it has the 5:30 cancella-
tion on it, instead of the midnight one. What would he
be doing, back in Providence, that night? Oh, I know
he could get there, but if he'd got McKay by then, why


EVANS MEETS A LADY
143
notes, or just scribble on. They're scattered about the
page just like that."
"After all," she went on, when he shook his head.
"The report says it was all crumpled up, as if it had
been used for scratching notes, and then thrown away.
It was just torn out of a memorandum-book—look at
the ragged edge and the lines—and whoever wrote the
message didn't even bother to turn it the right way,
and use the lines. If you were writing a message on two
sides of a page, would you write in different direc-
tions?"
"Might have been an afterthought. Or perhaps he
couldn't draw that insane outline the other way—"
"But why couldn't he? Would it have made any dif-
ference if he made it half that size?"
Dave sighed and offered Kay the salt. "And it may
have nothing at all to do with McKay's disappearance!"
"It must! I know it has something to do with it!"
She sounded like a stubborn child, half pleading, half
commanding.
He shrugged. "All right! It must. But only a
miracle will help me to find out what. And there are
other things that may help. The Grandons, when they
come back, may be able to tell us something—"
"You'd better see them," Kay agreed. "And we ought
to check up on garages."
"Let's put 'em all down and divide up the jobs so
that we don't waste too much time chasing back and
forth."
They pushed aside the barely touched plates and the
paper, to bend again over Evan's notebook.


12
ALLIANCE BY MOONLIGHT
Something heavy and rather warm was lying on his
chest.
Pete tried to say, "Get down, Chips!" but his tongue
was too thick to frame the words. He shifted uneasily,
a dim feeling of annoyance invading his dreams. After
all, the little pest had his cushion; he hadn't any busi-
ness spoiling his master's rest. Anger prevented Pete
from sliding back into the pleasant dreams from which
that weight on his chest had driven him. He wormed a
hand from under the warm blankets and pushed sleepily.
But the object under his fingertips felt not at all like
a terrier's rough coat. It was soft and fuzzy. The man
plucked at it peevishly, and it moved lightly in his fin-
gers, coming away from the form behind it.
Pete made a more determined effort to move the dog.
This time his braced palm touched warm, soft human
skin; searching, he came upon hollows in the curved
flesh, wisps of hair, more complicated outlines—the ob-
ject translated itself into a face. Somebody's head
was resting on him.
The knowledge startled him awake. He lifted heavy
eyelids, and stared into the same unchanging blank-
144


ALLIANCE BY MOONLIGHT
145
ness that had been there before. He screwed up his
eyes, rubbed them, without result. Slowly, remembrance
came back. The darkness would always be there. Pete
lay very still while the bitter knowledge swept over him
again.
Breaking into his thoughts came sound, the regular,
almost inaudible stir of breath not his own, very near
by; then, the farther whisper of tiny objects sliding and
thudding to the ground. Pete again considered the
puzzle of the sleeper interfering with his comfort. With
both hands he examined the problem, while he searched
his memory. He was by now wide-awake. Gradually,
beginning with that ill-fated robbery of the Carey safe,
he pieced together the events of the immediate past—
the explosion, their nightmare escape from capture,
Jim's plan and his departure, the telephone call, Al's
visit, that ghastly afternoon of waiting. He came at
last to the concert, and the girl who had led him out of
it, the relief which had filled him because of her pres-
ence, and the panicky resentment with which he learned
that she was a stranger. "It wouldn't have been half so
awful, if I hadn't felt safe and peaceful just the minute
before," he told himself, smiling as he realized that, just
now, his chief fear was that the sleeper—his fingers had
told him that it was a woman—should not be his captor.
Again and again, doubtfully, he traced the invisible
curve of her jaw, the smooth coil of hair, the earrings—
hoping, and at heart convinced, but unable to trust the
fragmentary evidence. He wanted to shake her awake
and listen to the deep, remembered music of her voice.
Instead, he lay very quiet, restraining even his doubt-
ful hands, and listened to the quiet rhythm of the sleep-
er's breath, and the inexplicable falling sounds. He


146
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
waited, unwilling to hurry the moment of proof. His
thoughts went back to the cold hours of uneasy slumber
after the girl had left him, to the countless times he had
waked and called her, hopefully; he recalled the increas-
ing torment of thirst—the salt dryness of his mouth at
that moment vividly illustrated how he had felt; hunger
that grew minute by dragging minute, and increasing
cold; vain efforts to go back to sleep and so get through
the time until the girl's return; the idle thought that
perhaps she and her confederates meant to torment him
into answering their questions, mounting rapidly into
certainty that he had been abandoned by intention or
forgetfulness; suspicion growing into conviction, into
panic, into active madness; and then the long, confused
agony of his efforts to find a way out of the prison,
groping on hands and knees, up and down stairs, along
endless walls, through a silent maze, forever; he remem-
bered shouting, beating against the walls, cursing and
pleading, and sobbing in utter weakness. Reality
merged into nightmare.
There had been unforgettable moments of struggle,
seconds of terror so intense that even now thought of
them brought on the old madness. Again the smell of
dusty concrete drifted to him; the salt taste of blood,
his own blood, was in his mouth; the wet surface of
stones he had torn at with his nails came back, and the
feel of splintering wood— He tried hard to think of
something else, and at first found occupation in taking
an inventory of his bruises and aching muscles.
Then he gave himself up to wondering about the girl
who had kidnapped him, trying to build a picture from
the scraps of knowledge he had. He decided, at once,
that she was attractive, probably beautiful; but no


ALLIANCE BY MOONLIGHT
147
specific feature that he could think of satisfied him. He
was arguing the rival merits of dark and blonde hair,
when the sound of her breathing changed, and he felt
her head shift against his chest. There was a slight,
protesting sound, a second movement, and suddenly
the pressure on his lungs was gone.
The voice for which he waited said, wearily, "Murder!
That fire's almost out again! And if I move, I'll wake
him."
"I'm awake," Pete told her, through dry lips.
There was an exclamation, then the girl asked, "Can
you sit up a moment; I can't move until you do—"
A hand slipped under his head as he tried, stiffly,
to lift it, and with that firm pressure for aid he sat up.
By the touch of her moving body, and the creak of the
couch springs, he knew that she was sliding to the floor.
There came the sound of a body against planking, loud,
as though she had fallen, and a small, sharp protest of
pain.
"What happened?" he called, far too loudly in the
stillness.
Her answer came from very near. "My legs were still
asleep. They wouldn't work. I—I sat down." The dry
rustle which accompanied the explanation he identified,
before long. She was rubbing her stockinged legs.
"I'm very sorry," Pete told her. "Are you hurt?"
He pulled at the blankets, trying to free himself and
go to her.
"Don't! Please don't move!" The warm voice
sounded anxious. "You'll make yourself sick again.
Stay where you are. I'm quite all right!"
He paid no attention. A firm hand caught his shoul-
der and forced him back. He struggled, but found that


148
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
his weakened muscles could not lift his head and shoul-
ders more than a short distance from the pillow. Lying
inert, he listened to the tap of her heels on the uncar-
peted floor, a crisp and rhythmic little noise that went
busily to and fro. He heard the scrape of objects
dragged across the boards, the thump of logs on the
embers, a number of noises that meant nothing to his
incurious ears. Her reassuring footsteps were all that
he listened for; while he was sure of her presence, he
could lie still, confident and at peace.
Later, she came back and, resting the warm fingers of
one hand on his forehead, she asked how he felt. Pete
asked for water. The voice said, "Oh," blending dis-
may and apology in its tones, then explained,
"There's none here. I'll have to get some."
He heard her move away, and called after her, beg-
ging, "No, don't! Please don't go away. I don't really
need—"
The laughter that greeted his protest was gay, but
very gentle. "I shan't be gone long, Peter McKay. Not
more than half an hour—perhaps a good deal less, if
they've left the water on in the kitchens." She moved
back to his side, and put something smooth, almost
round, into his left hand. "While I'm gone, try this ap-
ple. It's quite juicy and ought to help."
Mechanically, he began to turn the apple in rest-
less fingers, while he tried to persuade the girl not to
leave. Although he was quite sure she meant to return
at once, a fear which he could not reason away seized
him at the very thought of solitude. But she would not
be persuaded; lying helpless on his back, he heard her
walk to the door, heard the sharp noise of its closing, and
the terrible silence which followed.


ALLIANCE BY MOONLIGHT
149
Occasionally, in the eternity of stillness, the fire spoke
aloud, with sudden cracklings, and ghostly, small whines,
with hisses and chuckles and whispers of settling ash and
wood. At first, the sounds disturbed him. Soon, he
strained to catch that single voice in the empty quiet.
He lay passively at first, trying to accept his loneliness
as purely temporary; but before long, his self-com-
mand failed, he made spasmodic efforts to rise, or nibbled
restlessly at the fruit he clutched, only dimly aware of
the grateful, tart moisture against his parched lips.
The first attempt to sit up exhausted him without near-
ing success; repeated experiments proved that his
strength was returning. At last, he found himself seated,
trembling uncertainly. Only physical weakness now pre-
vented him from going in search of the girl. The sec-
onds which he could not count seemed to have measured
off hours since her departure; Pete wanted, with a mad
and aching need, the sound and feel of human compan-
ionship, a voice, a step, some contact with living flesh.
He was very near to madness before the unheralded
click of the latch and the slight creak of the opening
door rescued him.
Her voice, quick and a little breathless, said, "They
left it on—I told you it would only be a moment! Oh,
Red! Why did you sit up? You know you shouldn't
have!" She put down some heavy object quickly, with
a rattling clink, and the swish of water overflowing.
"Why not?" The relief made him contrary, even
snappish. "I'm not an invalid!"
"No," the voice agreed, somewhat huskily. "I am.
You're tired, and still a little mad, but no invalid.
You've crippled me for life, I think!" She was speak-
ing very close to his ear now, and he could feel the sup-


150
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
port of the soft objects she was heaping up behind him.
Then she touched him on the shoulder and urged, "Lean
back now; and, please, keep quiet! I'm much too stiff
to have to argue with you."
"What the devil is all that supposed to mean?" he
growled, after the retreating heels, although he relaxed
onto the cushions.
There was no answer. He muttered to himself, sulk-
ily, while with painful tenseness he listened for the ex-
pected proof that again she was leaving him. Instead,
he heard her return.
"Drink some water," she ordered, and checked his
grumblings by pressing cold metal to his lips. He
drank, emptying the cup with hasty gulps. She gave
him more.
Not long afterward, he was chewing, with lively ap-
preciation, a rather soggy mass that tasted deliciously
of chicken. For a while, it was enough to eat and drink,
companioned by the girl's faintly audible presence. But
when at last his hunger was satisfied, Pete remembered
several questions.
"Why McKay ?" he wanted to know. "Where did you
get that name?"
"The papers yesterday. They're full of the disap-
pearance of a red-haired, blind man named Peter
McKay, who was last heard of when his attendant left
him at Carnegie Hall Friday night. The man was stay-
ing at the Hotel Caronia—just like you. I couldn't help
thinking it must be you that—"
"'Just like me'? How did you know I was staying
at—"
"I saw you, Friday morning, walked in on you, when
I was looking for somebody."


152
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
he had mentioned the robbery, and Jim's departure,
and asked Al to come to him. Too much had happened
since then; he had no idea whether or not he'd admitted
his part in the theft. Stubbornly, he stuck to his role.
"You can't have heard of anything of the sort! I
never told anyone, over the phone or otherwise, such
nonsense as that!"
The girl sighed. "Don't be absurd! It doesn't mat-
ter which of you said it—and it doesn't matter to me
whether you admit or not. It's the Grandon emeralds I
want. But, whether you admit it or not, you did steal
the Carey necklace—and it won't be very pleasant for
you to have the police know it! Think it over for a
minute."
Pete thought, and decided he knew nothing of either
theft. After all, as long as she thought she could get
some information out of him, she would take great care
that no officer came near him—and he certainly didn't
want to be returned to the hotel now! It was too bad
he couldn't get in touch with Al, but, since he couldn't,
he'd be as well off where he now was as any other place.
The only trouble would be in keeping her sure that he
knew something, without telling her too much.
"Of course, if I were this thief of yours, you'd have
been quite safe in your kidnapping operations. But, as
it is, the mistake will be quite expensive!"
She laughed, "At least, you're consistently stubborn,
though, really, it's rather silly. In a day or two, the
proof will be spread all over the front pages. Why not
tell me what I want to know, and cut your losses? You
have an even chance of staying out of jail, if you'll
only be sensible!"
"Quite an attractive idea," Pete agreed. "Too bad


154
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
Pete stopped trying to talk. His sides ached, his lungs
were empty, but still he roared, deafeningly, whole-
heartedly.
Long minutes afterward, when his last chuckle was
over, and the echoes of his mirth were still, a subdued
little voice said, "I still like the name.'-'
Pete fought down another spasm. "All right, Ruth.
I do myself. But you aren't a bit like her, you know."
"I don't see how you can say that! You've never seen
me!"
"That's not hard. You—well, you thought of blan-
kets and food, and stuck around to take care of me.
She wouldn't have—hasn't the imagination. And then,
your voice. It's so—sort of alive, friendly, sympa-
thetic. It changes so much. Why, I'd never have to see
your face to know how you felt! I can hear it. You
laugh—and get mad—too easily ever to look dignified.
And your hands—you know how to do things with them.
They don't fumble and hesitate—"
She cut in swiftly, "But why shouldn't—I mean, this
girl isn't completely helpless! She probably drives a
car, and plays tennis, and rides; her hands wouldn't—"
"You've never seen her picture," Pete firmly put a
stop to this. "She's the complete spectator—the 'we
are not amused' kind. The kind who rings a bell and
has a footman come to pick up her gloves."
"In a way, I suppose that's a compliment." But an-
noyance and delight fought in her tones, so that Pete
could not be sure of his reply. He took the safe course
and said nothing. Instead, he tipped back his head
against the support and told himself, with surprise,
that after all life was quite pleasant. A fire and a
friend and a good smoke were all—


ALLIANCE BY MOONLIGHT
155
Aloud he said, "I wonder if it's true?"
"What? All you were saying about—?"
"That it's no fun to smoke when you can't see. I
never was quite sure—"
"Why not try? I always thought it was just another
of the stupid ideas they always have about smoking."
Pete heard the snap of an open case, knew by the shift
of the springs that she had moved, and was leaning to-
ward him. The paper felt stiff, uninteresting against
his lips; there was no sense in the hard little cylinder
pressed between them. He put up a doubtful hand and
rearranged the cigarette. Close at hand, a match
cracked and fizzed; faintly, the biting, strangling odor
of sulphur reached him. The warmth of the flame
touched his cheek. He inhaled, a deep and greedy
mouthful, let the breath trickle out again in a long
sigh. Something burned against his tongue, not pleas-
antly; there was no fragrance, no satisfaction. There
was nothing there at all but the wilting, tasteless paper.
Pete let the limp thing burn away in his fingers, send-
ing up a faint trail of aromatic smoke.
The girl got to her feet, went across to busy herself
with the fire, then returned to where Pete lay.
"So they're right?" she asked, taking the cigarette
from him.
"It's just—nothing."
"I'm sorry. You see, I can't stay, and I hoped—
Well, don't go wandering around again, please. I'll
come back tomorrow. When the fire goes out, it will be
pretty cold, so stay under the blankets."
Pete heard the tap of her heels, going toward the
door. He called,
"Please stay! Please don't go!"


ALLIANCE BY MOONLIGHT 157
lurching, guided only by the sound and by occasional
contact with the corridor walls. He passed the head
of the stairs, realized without understanding his mis-
take, and turned, searching for the break in the pan-
elling.
Frantic, hasty, he found the stairs by stepping too
far forward in his quest. Balance hopelessly lost, he
pitched down head first, grabbing wildly at space.
Above the noise of his descent, he heard cries, and the
thump of another fall. His outflung hands guarded his
head from the worst of the plunge. He tried to gather
his legs under him, instead shifting so that he rolled,
a disorganized, many-limbed pinwheel, quite helpless.
He brought up unexpectedly against a human body,
the speed of his fall wrapping him around the legs
when he struck. From the blackness, a fist whirled,
landing on his throbbing shoulder. Still dazed, inex-
tricably wound around his assailant, Pete reached out
futile hands, tearing and pounding. Once he felt a
blow reach home on flesh; three or four of the unaimed
stabs raked a moving body. The other man slipped,
and they both rolled, a struggling, kicking, clawing
unit, further down the steps. A foot caught Pete in
the wind, doubling him up. A second kick found the
back of his head.
He fell suddenly into a world of spinning golden
stars, and sank whirling into darkness.
Pete heard somewhere far away, the banging of a
door. It swung to, crashing, rattled exasperatingly,
squeaked open, and did it again. Pete moaned, and
grabbed with both hands at the top of his head, which
was dancing up and down like the lid on a boiling


158
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
kettle. One hand never got there, but stayed twisted
and useless, doubled under his back. Pete let his head
take care of itself, and explored the shoulder, where
playful fiends were pulling out the tendons like rub-
ber bands and snapping them back. He decided to sit
up, moved his head perhaps an inch, and abandoned
the experiment. Instead, he opened his eyes.
Light pouring silver-white through an open door-
way met his glance, and sent painful needles through
his brain. He promptly closed his eyes. He sorted out
his legs, assembling them carefully with the workable
hand, moving them gently just enough to be sure they
were still whole. The door slammed again, blasting his
skull a good two feet into the air. Pete, dimly logical,
decided to try again, and cautiously pried his lids
apart.
At first, there was only darkness, then a band of
white slipped past the wavering door, and spread into a
pool on the wooden boards. Pete found that the knives
at work in his brain were fewer. He propped one eye
open and tried to sit up. It was only after, disregarding
the antics of the top of his head, he had with the aid of
his right arm forced himself into a sitting position,
that he fully realized that he was seeing. Then he sat
up and stared, with hot and stinging eyeballs, at the
dark shapes of the furniture about, the door frame, and
the blinding, changing pool of light. Head and shoul-
der throbbed; he ached from crown to sole; huddled
on the chilly floor, heedless, wet-eyed, he sat in speech-
less happiness, watching the moving shadows.
When the freezing gusts of air from the banging
door brought him out of the trance, he realized that he
was covered only by his thin and scanty underwear,


ALLIANCE BY MOONLIGHT
159
scarcely an adequate protection against the winter
breeze. Groping confusedly into the dark spaces
around, his fingers closed over cloth—cloth that felt
thin and unfamiliar and tattered. He was almost blue
with cold. He climbed upright, huddled into the per-
plexingly small, ragged garments which were all that
his stiff hands could find among the shadows, and
steered his shaky course for the stairs. Pete was never
quite sure at what point in that painful advance he
remembered the scream, or even if he did, actually, re-
member it. However it came about, some vague idea
made him turn and drag himself down the stairs again.
Beyond a fallen chair, tossed uncomfortably against
another, he found the girl, the shining hair spread in a
cloud-like shadow about her grey face. Pete slid to his
knees in torment, tried with his stiff, weak hand to
lift her from the floor. He managed after furious strug-
gles to draw the body clear of the chairs, and rest her
head on his doubled knee. She was breathing faintly,
but her lips were so colorless, her hands and arms so icy
that Pete was terrified. Unable to lift her, afraid to
leave her while he went to find water, he simply watched
in dumb misery for signs of consciousness and tried
awkwardly to rub her wrist. The unlatched door swung
and rattled, and the wind snatched gustily at loosened
dust-sheets, flinging them about crazily, ghosts in the
uncertain light.
Pete, staring at the quiet face, was surprised into
saying, "She really is Ruth Grandon!"
The knowledge left him stunned, desolate; cheated of
something very precious. That proud, impassive mouth,
the questioning brows, were coldly arrogant, hostile.
The face was that of an unfriendly stranger. He


160
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
wanted desperately to hear again the warm, deep tones
of her voice, to feel the living touch of her fingers. He
touched, tenderly the soft lobe of one ear where a tiny,
wet crimson drop marked the place of the remembered
earring. He called to her, shook the limp shoulders,
searching wildly about in the darkened room for aid
of some sort. A faint sigh made him look down. Her
lashes moved; she stirred, turned her head on his knee,
feebly. Her eyes flew wide open and she stared at Pete.
"Red, you're hurt! Your cheek—I—" Before he
could stop her, she sat up, a bit shakily, and put out a
hand to touch his face.
He caught it, swiftly, gathering the slim, cold fingers
in his own clumsy ones.
"Are you all right, Ruth? Did he hurt you? Dar-
ling, say you're not hurt!" Pete's voice broke, unstead-
ily. The questions he could not frame with his hps
burned from tired, anxious eyes.
"I'm not hurt, Red—really. Just bumped a little.
I didn't mean to scare— Why, Red, your eyes? They—
you can— Oh, Red, my dear! I'm so glad!"
Raising her prisoned hands, gently, she laid them
against his cheek. Her dark eyes, suddenly bright with
tears, were almost level with his, her trembling mouth
very near.
He bent and stilled its quivering with a kiss.
The silver pool of moonlight shifted until at last not
even a thread of light touched the two who clung there
in the darkened room, whispering broken, tender words
to each other.
At last, it went away entirely.


162
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
barman and the only other guest. With difficulty, the
newcomer persuaded this hero to postpone his recital
and remove to a quiet corner.
When they were settled, the little man grabbed the
drunkard's collar. "Taylor, I got to have money!"
With unsteady dignity, the big man shook him off.
"So what? Why bother me?"
"'Cause I've got something you can use—these
clothes. What'll you give me for these?"
"Those rags! Look like a preacher's, too. About
fifty cents—G'wan away. Yer drunk!"
"Rags nothing! They're class—and just about your
size. The's only a couple tears you can fix easy. You'll
make the Swede look like a rag-picker— How about
it?"
"Give you twenty—"
"Make it thirty, Taylor."
"On yer way, dope! I don' need the dam' rags, any-
how. I'm getting me a new outfit—"
"Not like these! The's—"
"Where'd yuh pinch 'em? Never thought yuh'd come
to—"
"Pass that. I got 'em—and I need dough. My
kid—"
"Ah, the devil with yer brat! I'll give yuh twenty!"
The little man looked bitterly at the drunken face
for a while, then nodded, and pulled from a torn pocket
two shining bits of jewlry. "These earrings—you can
have 'em for eighty bucks."
Taylor snatched both from the open hand, with a
greedy, indrawn breath. Then he dug up a roll of notes,
and began stripping from it tattered bills. He shoved
them over.


BARGAIN
163
The little man protested, "The's only sixty the'e!"
"'S all yuh get."
"But, dam' you, Taylor, the stuff's real. The girl I
took 'em off of wouldn't be wearin' fakes—"
"Yuh gonna argue with me? Yer lucky I give yuh
anything fer 'em, yuh thieving little rat! Now skin
outa that outfit, fast!"
The barman, open-mouthed, leaned across his filthy
counter, listening, with his unpleasant, red-lidded eyes
fastened on the jewelry Taylor held so jealously. The
other drinker, attracted by the note in the speaker's
strident voice, looked too. The little man had turned
in appeal toward him, but, at a glimpse of the suddenly
intent faces, he shivered and surrendered.
A few minutes later, the exchange was made, a nerv-
ous little figure in ragged clothes, tightly clutching his
sixty dollars, slipped away from the cellar.
Behind him, a sudden angry cry rang out—broke
off. Voices rose clamorous for a moment, mingling with
a sound of blows.
The little man muttered, "The di'muns—when
they've finished him off and got them, they'll remember
this dough—"
He scuttled on at top speed.


JOAN TRIES BLACKMAIL
165
The damp leaves that masked the turf muffled the
sound of racing feet, as Bill Carey flew down the nar-
row path from the Tavern drive. She turned with a
start at his welcome shout,
"Joanie! Sorry I'm late. Been waiting long?"
"Ages—but it's quite okay! I've been having lots
of fun."
He swept her into furred arms, crushing her ribs, and
kissed her solemnly, on forehead and both closed lids,
and the tilted pink tip of her nose; then again, prop-
erly. When he let her go at last, she sighed contentedly,
leaning against his shoulder.
"Lots of fun, without me! What were you doing,
infant? Cross-word puzzles?"
"Thinking about the last time I saw that sundial,
darling." The sweet smile underlined her words, fram-
ing the claw-pricks in velvet. Bill recognized the chal-
lenge, growling.
"Joanie, if you don't stop waving that imbecile Lar-
rabee in my face, I'll—I'll—" He floundered a mo-
ment, then finished earnestly, "I'll spank you!"
Joan gurgled, mocking him with demure glances.
"Will you, dearest? But Jim really wasn't an imbecile,
you know! At least, he never made love to a lady by
spanking her!"
He shook her, furiously. "I've never spanked you,
you little pest! Though why I didn't last summer I
don't know—you might be fit to know if I had!"
He was interrupted by her laughter, and grinned a
sheepish acknowledgement of her victory. "Joanie,
there ought to be a special police force to handle you!
Come on! Let's get out of here before we freeze."
Arms linked, they hurried over the brown autumn


166
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
grass, past stone and brazen statues, and shaggy box-
wood figures, to the shallow flight of steps that brought
them onto the garden terrace in front of the buildings.
"If I'd thought of Ruth's car," he apologized, as
they climbed, "I'd have told you to make it the Club.
Then you could have kept fairly warm—without think-
ing of Jim Larrabee!"
"It's your own fault for being so jealous, my dar-
ling! If you hadn't begun gnashing your teeth and
making cracks about what I could see in him, I'd'never*
have thought of it. Why, he must be twenty-nine or
thirty! Did you think I was insane? Do I have to go
around with middle-aged wrecks? You know perfectly
well, Bill Carey, that you were just being horrid be-
cause I caught you making love to Angie and—"
"Well, why did you go 'round with him, then? And
let him take you to Ruth's dance? Why did you keep
meeting him in the garden when you knew I was— For
pretty near two weeks, every time I called you—"
"That's just plain nonsense!" Joan sniffed mourn-
fully. "After making me wait for hours in a north
wind, you come breezing in and pick a fight—when you
know it was only five times! And he was nice." She
hunted vainly for a handkerchief.
"Here." Bill gravely handed her his. "Now, Joanie,
don't. You know I didn't mean to! Please, quit it!
I'm sorry."
His reward was a brave smile. "I'm all right now,
Bill. Thanks." She returned the barely crumpled linen.
"But it's just as well you didn't think of Ruth's car—
She's never home these days. I couldn't have gotten it.
I tried to get hold of her this morning to ask her again
to help us out, and she's off somewhere."


JOAN TRIES BLACKMAIL
167
"But you came in her car!"
"You're crazy, Bill Carey! I walked over—two miles,
in this wind."
"Good for you. You're getting fat." Then, before
she could utter the flaming retort that sprang to her
lips, he continued, "If you didn't come in Ruth's car,
what's it doing out front?"
"Bill, my angel, what are you talking about?"
"Ruth Grandon's black car. It's sitting under a
«shed near the garage, all among the old lawn-mowers and
things, like a rabbit trying to hide behind a carrot. Of
course, I thought you'd left it there, Joanie, so it would
be out of sight."
"Well, I didn't. I haven't seen her since my tea on
Saturday. Why, she never even called me up and that's
four—no, today's Wednesday, isn't it?—that's five days
ago!"
"Well, what d'you suppose her car's doing out there?
If she didn't want people to see it hanging around, she
could just walk over from her house, in ten minutes,
easy!"
"Maybe she wanted her family to think she'd gone
somewhere else, Bill."
"Why'd she want to come here, anyhow?"
"Why do we? To meet someone, silly!"
"To meet—" Bill rubbed his head and began to
laugh. "You know, Imp, I never in a million years
would have thought of Ruth falling for someone she
had to meet on the sly!"
"People do funny things when they—I'm sorry I
teased you, Billy."
"Sorry I made you cry, dimples."
It was as the boy was tucking Joan into tte car that
•


170
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"No go. Windows. You take the left."
"But Billy—"
"You started this, darling. Get going!"
They separated, starting to work around the build-
ing toward a meeting point on the terrace from which
they had come. Joan had gone the length of the south
wing, perfunctorily testing the barred and shuttered
windows, when she heard Bill call from the other end,
"Got it, Joan! This door's not fastened!"
Then he heard the clatter of her hurrying feet on
the veranda boards and remembered, a little late, that
it would be wiser to be as quiet as possible. She arrived
panting.
"That's done it. They're probably in Little America
already, with that warning!" At her frown, he added
hastily, "My mistake, darling. Sorry. All set, now?"
He led her to the smoking room door, which he had
opened a few inches, and pulled it wide. He followed her
in, saying in her ear, "And here goes for the big black-
mail scene! But I have a hunch, Joanie, that it won't
turn out at all the way we expect."
"Coward!" was the girl's reply. "I do believe you
think something will hurt you." But she caught his
hand and clung to it as they advanced into the dark-
ened building.
The first object to catch their curious gaze was a
pile of sheets, heaped carelessly near the door. All
about, the furniture which the cloths had guarded was
scattered, in the same senseless disorder that attends
moving operations. Here a stuffed chair rested, its legs
pointed at the ceiling; there a desk lay on its side;
cushions had been lifted from the fireside benches and
left untidily on the floor; even the mounted heads which


JOAN TRIES BLACKMAIL
171
looked down from the panelled walls had been dis-
turbed, and left glaring at ridiculous angles upon the
confusion. Bill had not moved to close the door behind
them. The cold autumn light invaded the room only a
short distance, but it was sufficient to show him a par-
ticularly large moose-head, leering coyly at him from
the shadows. He gasped, startled into explosive laugh-
ter, then recovered himself quickly.
"If Ruth has anything to do with this, Joanie, she
certainly has odd notions of fun. And if she hasn't,
my love, we've walked into something mighty queer! I
think you'd better go back and wait in the car."
"Nothing doing! Bill, you chump, if I had to sit in
that bus for ten minutes, wondering just what was hap-
pening to you, I'd be white-haired by the time the deal
was over!"
"Now, Joanie, be sensible. People don't smash
chairs," he pointed to the splintered legs of one lying
near the stairs, "at a friendly meeting. And hotel em-
ployees don't pack up for the winter and leave the
furniture lying about as if there'd been a brawl going
on. So go back to the car, like a good, sweet—"
"Sap!" she filled in. "No, thanks! I want to keep
an eye on you. I'm staying right behind you."
He argued, but without success. Joan could be, and
was, by turns tearful, angry, affectionate, and delight-
fully funny, but never reasonable. Bill dropped the
subject, and set out to examine the neighboring rooms,
his imperious little conqueror at his heels, smiling at
the annoyed stiffness of his back. Her pleasure did not
prevent her from darting nervous looks at the shadows
which surrounded them.
The next room proved to be in the same state of dis-


JOAN TRIES BLACKMAIL
173
even in the gloom, slipped past and ran to the closed
door.
She put a shaking hand on the knob, turned it very
gently and pushed the unlatched door away from her.
Bill, not daring to struggle because of the risk of
noise, tiptoed up behind her and peered over the girl's
head. There on the floor stood two electric lamps.
By their light, a tall, slender, obviously masculine
figure showed, bent over one of the empty glass show-
cases. As the watchers gazed, he set a shoulder to the
frame, and, grasping it gingerly, swung the whole
case gently onto its side in the center of the floor. A
second figure crouched under the boarded-up window,
armed with an electric torch. At the rasping sound
which accompanied the man's act, it lifted its head
and said, reproachfully,
"Red, you promised to let me help with those. You've
no business straining your shoulder that way!"
Joan's involuntary cry of "Ruth!" stopped what-
ever explanation Red had prepared. The blonde girl
dropped her flash-light and sprang up suddenly as
she turned. Her companion stumbled against the case
he had just moved, barely avoided putting a foot
through it, and moved swiftly on the intruders, his
face grim. He was halted by Ruth's answering cry.
"Joanie!"
The two girls stood, astonishment and uneasiness
alike keeping them silent. Red, even by the insufficient
light an absurd figure in clothes all too clearly made
for a shorter, heavier man, waited with doubled fists
and threatening eyes, watching the boy, whose fur-
concealed frame promised a dangerous opponent. But


JOAN TRIES BLACKMAIL
175
can't help us, I shall start talking about your very
curious hobby. It's quite odd, but there's a story in
the papers about a blind man with red hair, who sat
in the seat next to you at the concert on Friday—"
Bill gasped, cast one look at the now frowning Red,
and dug a frantic elbow into her shoulder, muttering,
"Shut up! For God's sake, stupid, lay off! Shut
up!"
Joan went serenely on. "He disappeared, you know,
and they found he'd left behind a lot of stuff that
was stolen from the Carey safe the day before. I think
they'd be rather glad to find him—don't you?" She
looked at the man.
"I shouldn't be surprised if you're right," Red an-
swered in a carefully expressionless voice.
Bill blinked and gathered himself for a desperate
resistance.
"Of course, you don't look or act in the least blind
to me, Mr.—McKay, isn't it?"
He nodded.
"Thank you." Joan continued, "I don't think the
police will mind that very much, though. He must
have left dozens of finger-prints and besides, there
must be lots of people who could identify him. I
think it would be rather awkward, don't you, Ruth?"
Judging by her frown, Ruth did. She stared at the
younger girl for a long minute, then sighed, turned
to her partner and said,
"I think it's about time for introductions, Red."


15
NEWS FROM THE RIVER
PATROL
Jim pushed open the door of the precinct house, one
hand jerkily loosening the newly donned tie, and stepped
into the quiet room. A sergeant whom he had never
seen before looked up from the charge book and said,
"Huh?" trying to subdue a cavernous yawn. Jim
felt, uneasily, that there was recognition in the man's
sleepy stare.
He explained, slowly, "I'm looking for the news-
hound—Evans, I think his name is."
"Knew I'd seen you before!" the angular man before
him exclaimed in triumph. "You're the guy who tried
to beat up Ryan, week or so back! How'd you like
your stay in the jug?"
"Well, I can think of pleasanter vacations," ad-
mitted Jim, grey eyes shadowed. He opened his hands
briefly, palms upward, and examined their surfaces.
"Evans around?"
The cop shook an envious head. "Nope. He's gone
—New York. On vacation. Lucky dog! And the darn
fool hasn't even sense enough to lay off work—been
176


NEWS FROM THE RIVER PATROL 177
following up that McKay business for the Gazette.
Ryan do you any good?"
Jim swallowed twice and asked, carefully, "What
McKay business?" but there was an edge to his voice.
"Of course! Forgot you'd not know about it. Man
who disappeared just after that big theft—the Carey
diamonds. They found the swag in his baggage, or
something, when they were looking for clues to where
he'd wandered to. Man was blind. They fished him
out of the river yesterday." He pointed to a heap of
sheets on a corner table. "That's yesterday's paper,
if you want to look at Evans's story. I've forgotten
how much there is in it, but you can take it with
you."
Jim moistened his lips, but all he could manage was
a grunt. Instead of trying again, he picked up the
rumpled sheets, which set up a betraying rustle in
his unsteady hands.
"Do you think Ryan'd be likely to lend me ten
bucks?"
"You broke?" The sergeant looked amused.
"If I'd had a few dollars, you don't think I'd have
put in the last week in jail, do you? I've a car garaged
somewhere in this town, and if I can get together enough
cash to pay the bill and buy some gas, I'm getting out
of here so fast you can't see me!"
"Didn't like it here, eh?" The man laughed aloud,
joyously. "Don't blame you. I'd be sore as hell! But
you should have known better than to pick on Ryan,
no matter what you'd been drinking!" He picked up
the phone, barked a number and yawned again, almost
swallowing the mouthpiece. "Hey, there, Mrs. Ryan!
This is Sergeant Strode, calling from the precinct house.


178
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
How's things with you? Haven't seen y'around for some
time! . . . Well, now! That's fine, just grand . . .
Pretty good, thanks . . . Can I speak to Ryan for a
bit? . . . Why, he can't be asleep yet; he just went
off duty forty minutes ago . . . Thanks!"
Strode looked up from the blotter to see that the
tired, bareheaded man in the rumpled dark suit had
folded the paper, put it in a pocket, and was staring
out into the street, a burning cigarette sending up
interrupted threads of smoke from his trembling fin-
gers. The sight of those hands frankly startled the
policeman.
"Hey, listen, kid! Take it easy! If Ryan has it, he'll
be glad to let you have the dough; and if he hasn't,
why, we'll take up a collection. By the Lord, if I didn't
know where you'd been, I'd think you'd spent the past
month doping! Calm down. It can't have been as bad
as that!"
The answer was a tired little smile. "It wasn't so bad,
thanks! Only I'm out of training."
At that moment, Ryan came to the phone, taking
Strode's full attention with a rather heated oration.
The sergeant interrupted hastily at the first opportu-
nity. "Sure—sure, I know, Ryan; but I— Hey, lay
off a minute! . . . Listen, will you? . . . You remem-
ber that guy you picked the fight with? Ed Shaugh-
nessy's pal, that Randolph jailed? . . . Well, the boy's
broke and needs ten bucks or so— Can you—? . . .
Sure, he's here. They let him out this morning. He
only got a week . . . Okay, I guess." He turned from
the phone. "Hey, you—Jimsson! Jimsson!" But he
had to repeat the name, more sharply before the brood-
ing, vacant eyes came to life and gave him a ques-


180
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
dusty boards, watching uneasily for the pursuer whose
presence he still feared. Once he took the paper from
his pocket, but even before unfolding it, he gave up
the idea, stuffed it back and returned to his restless
march. When at last the local steamed its slow way
into the shed, Jim was bathed in icy sweat from his
matted dark hair to the tips of his uneasy feet. By
a tremendous effort, he forced himself to wait quietly
while passengers descended and others climbed aboard.
He stood, motionless, beside the car steps until the
platform was empty and the engine began to creep
forward. Then he swung himself up, made his way
into the car, and slumped into an empty seat.
He spread the paper and stared with sick despair
at the headlines whose faded neatness put a deadly
period to all his deeds and plans.
McKAY'S BODY FOUND IN EAST RIVER
"BLIND THIEF" SUICIDE OR MURDERED?
New York, Nov. 10—At two o'clock this morning,
the River Police, under the direction of Captain
Overton, took from the East River a body which
has been identified as that of Peter McKay, the blind
man, an alleged member of the gang that took
from the library safe of Henry K. Carey the well
known Carey diamond necklace and some $8,000
in bills.
Captain Overton's boat, making its customary in-
spection of the waterfront off Canal Street, struck
a floating object which on examination was seen
to be the mutilated body of a man. The body was
fished from the water and brought to the Ferry


NEWS FROM THE RIVER PATROL 181
Street landing. The police surgeon who examined
it there declared it to have been in the water from
four to six days.
The body, which was taken to the Morgue, is that
of a middle-aged man, approximately five-foot-
eleven in life, with hair that was light brown or
ginger-colored, irregular teeth, and pale eyes which,
as far as can be ascertained, were always capable of
sight. It was dressed in a heavy black overcoat, of
excellent quality, from which all tailors' labels had
been removed, a well-cut suit of dark grey wool,
also stripped of identifying labels, old cotton under-
wear of a popular, inexpensive brand, and ordinary
black Oxfords and socks. The deceased had been
drinking heavily just before his death.
There is some doubt as to the identity of the corpse,
for, owing to the effects of the water, the man's
face is not recognizable. Greskie, the desk clerk of
the Hotel Caronia, where McKay had been staying,
as well as the manager, Thomas Donsworth, have
been unable to identify the corpse positively. How-
ever, Sanford, the employe of the hotel who was
engaged to attend the blind man, believes the body
is that of Peter McKay. The overcoat and suit are
duplicates of those worn by the missing man.
The fate of McKay leaves the story of the Carey
diamond theft a deeper mystery than ever. Com-
missioner Reade had hoped by McKay's capture to
learn what had become of his confederates, and why
the gems and money were left unclaimed in the cus-
tody of Manager Donsworth at the Caronia.
It will be recalled that, the afternoon following
the sensational and almost unsuccessful looting of


182
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
Henry K. Carey's safe, a report from an uptown
bank led to the discovery that a man resembling the
taller of the Carey thieves had purchased a small
car of a popular make. The car, bearing the dealer's
plates, was traced up the Boston Post Road to the
other side of New Haven, and there, in the heavy
storm which swept this seaboard that Friday after-
noon, was lost. No further reports of this man
have been verified, and he is thought to have taken
refuge in Canada.
The evening of the same day, police were sum-
moned by the management of the Hotel Caronia to
locate a blind guest, Peter McKay, who had attended
the Zarev concert at Carnegie Hall and could
not be found by the valet who came to take him
home. Inquiry revealed that McKay had been ac-
companied on his arrival at the hotel by an attendant
called Raymond, with whom he quarrelled. Ray-
mond has not been heard of since that moment, early
on Friday, when he left the hotel and was seen to
enter the station. It has since been noted, however,
that there is a distinct resemblance between the de-
scriptions given of Raymond and the man who made
good his escape in the direction of Quebec.
Buffalo authorities were unable to identify the de-
scriptions given them of McKay, and no one of the
name could be found who knew the blind man, or
could offer a suggestion as to his identity. When no
other means of ascertaining his whereabouts brought
results, the investigators examined the missing man's
baggage and opened the sealed parcel which McKay
had entrusted to the care of Mr. Donsworth. It was
found to contain almost the whole loot of the Carey


184
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
waited, hourly, for some sharp-eyed guard to recog-
nize in him the wanted man; of the terrible nights,
when it had seemed inevitable that he was caught, and
he had struggled not to believe that he would spend
the next ten years in the same weary, hopeless captivity.
Waking or sleeping, that nightmare certainly had
filled his mind, lurking behind every breath and move-
ment, making of the constant need to act, to guard his
tongue and smile, pure torture. Madness had slunk at
his heels—
Jim closed his eyes, dropping his face into the cupped
palms; and at once the deliberate clashing of the car
wheels on the rails became the monotonous clangor
of steel doors, barred doors, that swung to behind his
tired feet, shutting him into a hell where no other
sound was ever heard. Jim shivered, and quickly lifted
his head.
Watching the bare winter fields slide past the win-
dow, he told himself bitterly that it was entirely his own
fault. "If you'd had any sense, you'd never have
gone into partnership with a petty thief you hardly
knew, in the first place; and you certainly should have
known better than to go soft over him in the second
place! Dragging him all over town—and then de-
liberately going out of your way to attract the cops,
when if j^ou'd grabbed the swag and lit out you'd have
been all set! You fool!—you sentimental half-wit! And
now, of course, you've got to do some more tight-rope
walking and go see if it is Pete they pulled out of the
river, as if you hadn't already sent out gilt-edged in-
vitations to the judge and warden!"
The telegraph poles, clicking off the speeding miles,
blurred into a waking vision of iron bars; beating into


NEWS FROM THE RIVER PATROL 185
Jim's brain, a terrible and familiar song, came the
sound of steel thundering against steel. Spurred by
the maddening picture, Jim swore that he would not
again involve himself with the ill-omened theft, that
he would forget Pete and the diamonds from that
second on. He knew as he said it that he lied. Even
in the fearful strain of the past week, half his mad-
ness had been the thought of Pete, alone and defense-
less, waiting for his promised return. Now, obsessed
by the suspicion that the red-haired man had been
driven to suicide by his blindness and Jim's own failure
to reappear, he found that even the certainty of dan-
ger could not prevent him from going to see the body
of the drowned man. He had to be sure of his part-
ner's fate, even at the price of ten years in hell.
All through the long hours of the journey, Jim
argued with himself, and knew as he did it that it was
no use. As surely as the train would in time reach
New York, he would shortly after see the body said to
be Pete McKay's. And if, by some fortunate impos-
sibility, it was not Pete who now lay, safe and peaceful,
in that chill meeting-place, Jim knew he would spend
every cent he had and every minute of time, to find his
lost partner, though the search took him into the hands
of the police at every turn.
The engine flew snorting into the great shed, and
screamed to a stop by the dim platform. Almost before
the train ceased rolling, Jim was flying up the incline.
He sprang into a cab, slamming the door almost on
the fingers of the outraged traveller who had already
signaled for it, and ordered the grinning driver to take
him to the Morgue.
Two blocks or so from the station, the chance sight


186 GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
of a placard announcing a sale of headgear reminded
him that he was still bareheaded. He broke the jour-
ney long enough to equip himself—using the last of
his borrowed dollars—with a very ugly, flat-brimmed
felt hat.


16
JIM VIEWS THE BODY
The girl called Kay Allison perched on a bony
chair in the grim little anteroom of the Morgue. She
had a notebook on her knee, and, as she spoke, she was
idly covering the open page with pencilled sketches.
"Now, don't be cross, Hank! That's the fourth time
today you've told me I can't stay here, but I can't
help it, can I?" She waved her pencil persuasively at
the frowning attendant and wheedled, "Someone in
the family has to earn money! You wouldn't condemn
an old friend to starve, would you?"
"But you can't stay here, Miss Al! Honest, I'm not
supposed to let anybody in without a pass, and you—
you know you can't get one!"
"That's why I didn't try," agreed the girl, serenely,
adding a pair of neatly curled mustachios to a timid
face, "That's why I'm lucky to have such an old friend
on duty here."
The man groaned. "Won't you be reasonable? What
am I to do for a job, if the Captain or the Commissioner
blow in and see you sitting there? Why, yesterday was
enough to turn every hair on my head white, sneaking
you into a closet every time I heard a footstep! Now,
Miss Al, please go 'way! I'll tell you everything that—"
187


JIM VIEWS THE BODY
189
sideration, you young devil; you never did care about
an old man's peace and comfort! But if that fool of a
partner of yours shows up again, I'll—I'll shove him
in the ice-box! I'll not have the two of you pestering
me!"
The girl shook her head commiseratingly, and con-
soled him, "Poor old Hank! And he'll be along in an-
other half hour! Never mind; if they hold out your
pension on you, you can share my royalties! Now
isn't that nice of me?"
"It's a cell I'll be sharing, more like!" Hank mur-
mured, scowling at her bent head. "I've a feeling in my
bones— Mother of Saints! Get in that closet, quick!
There's someone stopping here! Miss Al! Please—
get out of sight."
She sprang to the floor and went toward the indicated
hiding-place, reluctantly, looking back over her shoul-
der, leaving a trail of fallen gloves, paper and coat
to mark her passage. Before she reached the corner^
however, the outer door flew open and a tall man came
swiftly in upon them. Miss Allison stopped and quietly
returned to her place, ignoring a fierce scowl from
Hank. The newcomer swept a hasty glance about the
clean little empty space, shuddering slightly, then
addressed the attendant.
"I want to see the body of the man who was found in
the East River, early Friday morning," he announced
crisply.
"Got a permit?" Hank was surly.
"Permit? Why, no! I just got in and came
straight—"
"Can't show you anything, without you got a per-
mit to see him!"


192
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
Hank sighed, picked up his keys and led the way,
while the visitor, with a grateful nod to the girl, stalked
after him. Kay tagged along, nervously ruffling her
dog-eared notebook and staring at the tips of her
shoes. The man ahead of her, after one hurried glance
up at the high walls, lined with innumerable steel draw-
ers, fixed his interest on the bent shoulders of his guide.
They proceeded in tense silence across the floor to a
locker toward the farther end of the room. There
Hank paused, picking out a key. The girl drew a
harsh breath, grey-faced, and lifted a sharp gaze to
the visitor's countenance; steadily, she watched, in-
quiring eyes wide for the slightest flicker of expression,
her whole existence for the moment concentrated in
seeing.
The man's face was very white. A muscle twitched
along his cheek; his lips were pressed to a narrow blue
thread. He stood with bared head, grey eyes averted
from the sheeted thing which the attendant had drawn
from its place in the wall. Hank drew off the cover—
the girl saw the movement from the corner of her
unwilling eyes, and shivered involuntarily. With an
impatient jerk, the man lowered his strained, sick gaze
to the dead man's dreadful face. Kay saw the uncon-
scious spasm which swept the searcher's countenance,
then saw the taut disgust swept from it by a terrible
eagerness. Eyes very bright, the man bent over that
dreadful thing, studying it with tremendous atten-
tion.
Kay almost heard the sudden, deep breath he drew,
while relief stole the rigid lines from his face. For
one moment his whole expression was radiant, softened,
amazingly young and cheerful. Kay felt the notebook


JIM VIEWS THE BODY
193
sliding from her loosened fingers, grabbed and caught
it before it touched the floor.
When she looked back at the visitor's face, it was
simply a mask of polite interest. He had straightened,
turned away from the corpse on its white shelf, and
was murmuring, almost inaudibly, comments about
the wound and the state of the body to Hank, who lis-
tened with blank incomprehension. There was no ex-
pression in the visitor's faintly moving lips, or the
steady grey eyes, no tremor of muscles, no flush in the
cheeks. He seemed to be thinking aloud. From the
look in Hank's scornful eyes, the girl realized that
the old man thought him drunk, or at least mildly in-
sane. He listened with an air of exaggerated patience,
then said, gruffly,
"Got what you wanted?"
"Oh, yes thanks! It's grand, splendid! Even better
than I'd hoped! My theory—"
"That's all, then. You gotta clear out—I don't
want to take any more chances than I have to for that
thirty bucks, see?" He slammed the shelf with its
shrouded burden back into the wall, and with frantic
gestures herded the other two before him into the outer
room. Kay followed, her attention still on the stranger,
and saw him, after standing a while, with vacant
gaze, in the center of the little room, come suddenly
to life, and dash into the street, forgetting even to
utter thanks to the other two for their assistance.
"Thirty bucks? Not thirty cents! Why, he's forgot-
ten all about us already!" cried Hank in outraged fury,
but he made his complaint to empty space, for Kay,
snatching her purse and coat from the floor, had raced
after the visitor. The old man reached the sidewalk in


194
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
time to hear the waiting taxi-driver drawl a repetition
of his fare's directions.
"East Sixty-eighth Street? That's over beyond Lex-
ington, ain't it?" The cab started with a jerk, drown-
ing any sound of the passenger's reply in the rasping
noise of the gears.
Kay, her hat over one ear, coat half on, was trotting
briskly after the moving car, waving urgent signals to
someone whom Hank could not see. A moment later,
however, a gleaming crimson taxi swept out of the
intersection and skidded to a stop at the curb. Hank
was distracted from further observation of the girl's
departure by wild shouts and pounding feet on the op-
posite pavement. He looked across, and there, racing
up the sidewalk, his freckled face purple with exertion,
went the girl's partner, Evans, shouting like a mad-
man and beating the air with frantic hands. Hank gave
a disgusted shrug.
"They're all nuts!" he decided wearily, and went in-
doors.
He was laboriously gathering up the papers and
pencils with which Kay had Uttered the floor during
her stay, when feet trudged heavily to the outer door,
that grim barrier was flung unceremoniously aside, and
a breathless voice yelled,
"Where the devil d'she go to?"
"Huh?" Hank lifted his head, and frowned re-
provingly at Dave's scarlet face.
"Miss Allison—my partner—the kid with blue eyes—
Where'd she go?"
"I don't know, and, so long as she stays gone, I'm
suited! Get the hell out of here, before I throw you
out!"
"But you've got to know! She'd never have gone


JIM VIEWS THE BODY
195
off without waiting to see me if it wasn't important! You
must know!"
"I tell you, I don't! And I don't care, what's more!
At my age, to be pestered by a lot of feather-brained
kids, that have ideas six to the minute, and can't be
bothered to stick to one long enough for a man to
understand what they're after!"
Dave caught the man by the shoulders, and said,
heatedly, "Stop wasting time, and tell me what hap-
pened. Something must have happened, to get you all
hetup!"
"For two hours, I tried to get her to quit and leave
the place, and then, after persuading me against my
common sense to break all the rules, she goes flying
off, like she was shot out of a gun, not even stopping
to thank me!"
"Henry Moriarty—" Dave actually whispered, his
excitement was so overpowering, "stop maundering and
tell me— Where did Kay go? Why?"
"Why, when the young man got stupid and silly
acting, she went and imitated him, that's all!"
"What man?"
"The one who came, without a permit, to see that
McKay stiff."
"What!" the boy's freckles were splashes of rust
on marble.
"I'm telling you she chased—"
"I know. That's all right. She followed him. Now,
try to remember and tell me— Do you know where
the man went to?"
"Sure. He told the taxi that was waiting for him,
East Sixty-eighth Street. Somewhere beyond Lexing-
ton, the driver said."
"Hank, you're marvelous!" Dave turned on his heel


196
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
and went pounding down the street, to hail the first
passing cab. He left Moriarty staring open-mouthed
after a third madman, too stunned to appreciate the
praise. But Dave had already forgotten the easy-going
Hank. All he cared about was getting to East Sixty-
eighth Street, in time to have a useful finger in the
trouble his partner had scented.
He managed to persuade the driver of the aged
vehicle into which he tumbled to rocket uptown with
miraculous speed. Almost before he had stopped try-
ing to figure out what Kay had spotted to make her
abandon the sentry duty at the Morgue and set out
on the trail of a visitor, the cab was drawing up at the
corner of Lexington and Sixty-eighth. Dave scrambled
out, tossed the driver a bill—for once too preoccupied
to husband his decreasing supplies—and began to walk
slowly east, searching for a crimson taxi, which could
have brought Kay on her errand. One glance, however,
told him that the hope was vain. Fast as he had come,
he was still too late. Nowhere along the length of the
short block could he spy any flash of the color for
which he hunted.
It was a quiet street, rather deserted. One or two
cars slipped through it; a few men idled on the side-
walks; a couple of women tapped briskly along the
north pavement; near the further corner, three very
small children tumbled gravely about their play, to
the loud anxiety of a large dog, their companion.
Beyond this group, a taxi stood with engine running
before the door of a small, pleasant apartment house,
its driver leaning idly against the grey bonnet of the
machine to watch the tiny players. There was another
watcher, a slim little figure in dark blue, who drifted


198
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
took a few hesitant steps after him, heedless of the four
eager playmates who ringed her about. The dog laid
hold of her coat and tugged; she started, looked down,
then seemed to come to a decision. She turned away from
her companions, spoke briefly and gaily to the grin-
ning doorman, and, with him at her heels, vanished into
the apartment house.
Dave considered briefly, then crossed the street. In
his turn, he spoke to the children, found himself adopted
as a substitute for his vanished partner. He told stories,
with his attention divided between the door from which
Kay should step at any moment and the flushed, serious
little faces which encircled him. And if the stories were
a bit disjointed, the audience made no complaint. They
only asked for another.
Dave told himself, suddenly, that Kay had been in-
visible too long. Something might have happened to her,
even in this quiet, wholly respectable building which
had swallowed her. He married off the prince and the
peasant girl in a phrase, patted the dog, smiled at the
children, and marched up to the watching doorman,
thoughtfully tamping a cigarette.
"Got a match?" was his hopeful opening.
The other found one, lighted it and offered Evans
the carefully shielded flame. Dave, aided by the er-
ratic breeze, extinguished the light before his ciga-
rette touched it. While the man searched for another
packet, the reporter spoke:
"Cute little kids! And their mother sure is clever
with her pencil, even if she takes—"
The doorman laughed, "She's not their mother!
Though she did seem to get along with them like one
of the family. They're the grocer's kids, live around


JIM VIEWS THE BODY
199
the corner." He triumphantly produced fresh matches.
"Why, she's not even a neighbor! second time I've ever
seen her."
"Now that's odd!" Dave bent to light his ciga-
rette. "I was sure I met her here one day, a couple
of months ago, when the Smiths gave a party. Just
after they moved in." His eyes were turned to the
children, who had already forgotten him.
"Here, sir? In this building?" The doorman was
a little surprised and troubled.
"I thought they said she lived here, but I may have
been mistaken."
"Not since I've been here, she hasn't, sir. And she
never has called on the Smiths, I'm sure. I think she's
a friend of the Amorys, for both times I took her up
to the fourth floor. Or perhaps it's the Trimbles. It
wouldn't be D4, for Mr. Larrabee was away the first
time she came, and, besides, she saw him go out just
now. The other two places are still empty."
"I guess it was somewhere else I saw her, then. But
I'm sure I've met her." Dave thought it time to change
the subject. Drawing on his forgotten cigarette, he
said, "That grocer sure takes chances with his kids!
Wonder they haven't been killed!— Are the Smiths
home?"
"Been in about an hour. Shall I announce you?"
"I'll just go up. They won't mind. I told 'em I'd
be round with the tickets and stop in if they were in."
The attendant nodded, cast a worried glance at the
busy children, and led the way into the dim foyer, where
a lighted elevator waited with open doors. Dave stepped
in after his guide and was shot up to the ninth floor.
The man, as he let him out, waved casually toward the


200
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
left and the reporter obediently turned in the direc-
tion indicated. However, as soon as the useful guide
had disappeared below, Evans abandoned all semblance
of interest in the Smiths and looked about for means
of getting down to the fourth floor and Kay. It took
only a moment to find that one of the six doors which
shut in the short hallway bore the red inscription,
"Exit."
Dave let himself into the narrow, iron-walled shaft,
and groped his way down five flights of echoing stairs.
The door to the fourth floor hall, when at last he
reached it, stuck. It took three rather vicious attacks
to drag it open. Dave tumbled out into the light, breath-
less and annoyed, almost colliding with an Amory—
or it might have been a Trimble—who was drawing
on her gloves with great dignity and, in high-pitched
tones, lecturing a sulky-looking school-boy as the pair
waited for the elevator. Dave shrivelled under the
matron's icy stare, mumbled very mixed apologies and
dodged back into the stair-shaft, making a pretense of
examining the refractory latch. The woman turned an
unforgiving back, and Dave allowed his work to take
him to the farther side of the door, so that when the
car arrived, he was completely out of range of the oper-
ator's vision. The unpleasant pair vanished, and he
came out of hiding, cautiously, prepared to meet other
representatives of the family. Fortunately, the corri-
dor was empty.
Dave looked at five cream-colored doors, all alike
in their clean pallor and utter blankness. Kay might
be anywhere— She might even have used his trick and
gone to quite another floor.
But Dave thought of the look she had given "D4's"


JIM VIEWS THE BODY
201
retreating back and knew he was wasting time. He
moved over to the right of the elevator door and studied
the panels marked D4. Like their neighbors, they were
closed, not even broken by a letter-slot. Evans put a
hand on the dark knob, questioningly, and shoved
gently. The door gave a little. The latch had not
caught.
Dave opened the door boldly and walked in over thick
carpet that muffled his steps. The small square hall
was unlighted, but beyond glass doors lay a sitting
room with tall windows facing the street. Bright Novem-
ber daylight flooded through the cloudy panes, allow-
ing the intruder a glimpse of his surroundings—a
bench of dark wood, a table which bore a great blue
Chinese bowl, and dim golden-brown walls.
Dave went to the partly closed glass doors, and looked
into the inviting living room, where, against walls
of the same deep amber, comfortable chairs, covered
in wine-reds and blending russets, encouraged rest.
Tall Chinese vases, of warm red and blue and green,
echoed the tones of the mellow rug above which they
stood. Two stormy seascapes commanded opposing
walls; the cool, sullen colors of one in sinister contrast
to the sunset brilliance of its rival.
Dave stepped in and looked about. At each end of
the wall to his right was a door, also glass-paned. The
nearer of these stood open, and someone could be heard
moving beyond it.
He forgot his interest in the pleasant rooms, at once
occupied by speculations as to his unseen companion.
Was it Kay, or the servant to whose existence the or-
derly rooms bore witness? Or some quite incalculable
stranger? He hesitated a moment, then advanced to


202
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
settle the question, thrusting his head into a tiny cor-
ridor that ended at his left, in the dining room. Imme-
diately ahead of him, with door ajar, lay the scene of
the unknown's activities. Dave stepped in, very quietly,
moving the panels back until he could see.
Kay was kneeling before the window, in front of a
desk littered with the papers which she had taken
from its open drawers.
"What in the world," demanded the startled on-
looker, "are you doing now?"


17
RENCONTRE
The dark head jerked up, and startled blue eyes
met Dave's disapproving stare. Then Kay, sighing
deeply, settled back on her heels.
"For a second, I thought you were the owner," she
confessed. "Where did you come from, Dave?"
"Suppose I had been the owner, where'd you be
now? I mean, burglary is all very well in its way, but
—d'you always do it so casually? Why not give your
partner a look-in at the game? It's what I'm for."
"You weren't around, silly! I had a hunch and—
Give me a cigarette, Dave, darling; I forgot mine—
so I just came to try it out." She waved one impatient
hand at him, still lifting out papers with the other.
"Kay, honey, you can't smoke here! If this guy
should come back, we'd be in the soup. Get this over
with fast, so that we can get out of here."
"Dave, don't be mean! I haven't had a cigarette
in ages! If you can't be a help, at least don't be nasty!"
"If you'll tell me what you're doing—"
"Looking for clues, stupid. Detecting."
"But why'd you pick on this poor fish? And what
kind of clues? I don't see—"
908


204
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"Dave, darling! Have you forgotten everything we
agreed about yesterday morning? That if this—McKay
—and the other man hadn't been together, the other
one would come to see if it really was his partner, prob-
ably?"
"Of course not! And I also remember that you
wouldn't tell me then how we were going to spot him
when he came—and you certainly aren't doing it now!"
"Well, he acted sort of queer and—"
"If I remember anything, you did too, when you
first saw the body! And so, we break into his private
rooms, and tear them apart, just because he acts queer?"
"Now you're being disagreeable! Let me finish, can't
you? He didn't have a permit—and Dave, he didn't
want to get a permit! He just wouldn't think of it! He
wanted like anything to see the body, but not if he had
to do anything official. He said he was a writer, in a
hurry for some dope, but you don't have to be that
rushed, even if you're doing an article in next Sun-
day's sheet. And then, he knew that wasn't McKay."
Dave almost strangled in his surprise, but in the
end he managed to gasp, "What the—? How d'you
mean, wasn't McKay? Of course it's the guy!"
"Well, he didn't think so. He was sure it wasn't!
He was afraid he'd see someone he knew. And I saw
his face when he realized it was a man he'd never seen.
He—he got ten years younger, right off! It was a
friend he came to see—"
"But—but Kay, you dear idiot! Even if you're
right, what's that got to do with it? He may have
thought he knew the thief and be relieved to find Peter
McKay isn't the man he knew. I mean, if he had a
friend who could have been the thief, and hasn't seen


206
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"Skeleton key—the one I showed you. For the other,
Pete sent—" She hesitated, sighed. "Now, Dave, run
along, while I—"
"Don't be stubborn, Kay!"
"It's my bet, and I'm playing it. Go on back, Dave.
No sense in our both wasting time."
"I'm not going till I've seen you safe out of this house!
I'd go crazy—"
"You are crazy, my love," Kay told him, wearily.
She pushed the last of the drawers into place and stared
disconsolately at a little scrap of paper in her hand.
"There won't be a thing in it," she murmured, pushing
the curls back from her forehead with dusty palms. "If
only Red—" She sighed and dropped into a little heap
before the uncompromising door of a small wall-cup-
board, topped by bookshelves. The light wood panel,
drawn back, disclosed the face of a small, built-in safe,
modern and capable-looking. As she put her hands up
to the dials,
"You're not going to open his safe?" demanded Dave
in undisguised horror. "For the Lord's sake, child, cut
it out! You've gone mad! It's bad enough to break
into a law-abiding man's home without rhyme or reason,
but—Kay, honey, a hunch is a damn unsatisfactory
thing to go to jail for!"
She studied the paper, then began to work at the dials,
paying no attention to the frantic man. Dave came up
behind her and caught both shoulders, meaning to lift
the girl to her feet.
"How very obliging," remarked an amused voice
from the doorway at their back. "No,—please don't
move your hands!"
Dave jumped, but at the note in the speaker's voice


RENCONTRE
207
restrained his desire to wheel about. Kay had stiffened
instinctively, then settled back on the floor. Dave felt
her taut muscles go slack, quite as if, the first surprise
over, she was satisfied with the turn of events. Her voice
continued the illusion. Resting the back of her curly
head lightly against her companion's knees, she told the
unseen newcomer,
"We didn't expect you so soon, Mr. Larrabee." She
might have been welcoming a dinner guest, Dave
thought, divided between admiration and furious resent-
ment at being caught in such circumstances. If only
they had been trapped by a crook, he would have been
far less distressed; but to be stumbled on by an innocent
householder, when engaged in such a foolish errand, was
mortifying. He thought, but found no way of escape
that did not include confessing their errand.
Their host broke the little silence. Drily, he agreed,
"You don't seem to have expected me! Perhaps I can
assist you?"
"I wish you would," sighed the girl. "I never was
much good at opening safes. Tell me what's in it, and
save me the trouble."
Dave gasped. The other man laughed.
"Scarcely enough to repay you, I'm afraid," he sym-
pathized. "Fifty dollars; no, I'm not even sure I left
that!"
"Money!" scoffed Kay. "I was looking for papers.
Where d'you keep them? There's nothing much in the
desk—"
"I thought I locked—"
"It's not much of a lock, Mr. Larrabee!"
The man's grunt of admission came from right be-
hind Dave, and he felt a searching hand pass over him.


RENCONTRE
209
the paling countenance of the reporter. The voice which
replied to Dave's startled exclamation was puzzled but
friendly.
"Of course! You're Ed—no, Evans—the reporter.
And you're the girl from the Morgue, who helped me
out so kindly. But why— What are you doing here in
my-my cousin's place, opening his private desk and—?"
Evans smiled, "It's a pretty complicated story and
we—well, I'm glad it's you who's asking for it, and not
a complete stranger!"
The other smiled, "If it hadn't been for that episode
in Providence, you'd never have had to tell the story at
all. I'd have tended to Larrabee's business last week,—
whatever you were looking for, you'd have come and
gone without interruption—and I'd have the pleasant
job of explaining to the old boy when he got back that
while I was in charge he'd been robbed!"
"We're not thieves!" Kay disclaimed, indignantly.
"No?" Jim managed a look of polite disbelief. "Sup-
pose we sit down to finish this?" He indicated the easy
chair which stood near and himself dropped down on the
cushioned window seat. "There are cigarettes in that
enamelled box—I think—though nothing's been touched
here for weeks." He watched the slim little figure settle
back, a vivid, enchanting picture against the faded
leather. Smiling faintly, she took a cigarette and bent
forward, lit it from the match which he offered.
Evans had taken the other corner of the window seat.
He rolled a battered pencil between restless fingers, then
looked up at Jim and said,
"We weren't going to take anything, Jimsson. We
were just trying to find out who this cousin of yours—
funny, that! It could have been almost anyone, and


RENCONTRE
213
"East Sixty-second, Number 38."
Dave, scribbling on a slip of paper, made him repeat
this twice. Then he sat up with sudden energy, waving
the paper.
"Before I left Providence, I copied your address from
the charge-book, meaning to look you up before I left
New York, and find out how you'd weathered the sen-
tence. And I have that address here, Jimsson—or who-
ever you are. That time, you said it was on West Thir-
teenth Street!"
There was a sudden, breathless pause. Through
slitted eyes, the reporter watched dismay flash over the
other man's face. For a moment, the grey eyes went
wide and dark with shock. Then Jim closed his lips in
a tight smile, lifting his head.
Evans urged acidly, "How about it?"
"Well, I didn't want my real address on the police
records—"
"You didn't have to lie now, though?"
"But I gave you—"
"Don't waste your breath, man! You've been lying
like a press-agent for the last half-hour! Your cousin—
and his business—and his keys—and his anger—!"
"Evans, you don't think—?"
"I don't have to. I know. You own this joint; you're
Larrabee—unless you've been lying to the owners as
well—and Jimsson is just something you invented when
you were in a hole. Not that I blame you; but you were
pretty lucky to get away with it. You'd have spread
the good old family name all over town, if the cops had
found out you were handing them a fake line. We had
a pretty good reason to think you belonged here, though
I couldn't spot it when you asked. I saw you go out—


214
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
though I didn't get enough of a look to recognize you
then. And the doorman said you were Mr. Larrabee.
But why couldn't you tell the truth, instead of filling us
up with lies?"
"And have you spread the glad tidings in a nice, ex-
citing story? Not if I could help it!"
Dave, staring through narrowed eyes, said, "You
poor punk! After I'd done everything— If you weren't
so damn big, I'd paste you for that! You know—or
ought to know, you ham—that I'm a reporter, not a
gossip-writer, and that a trumpery bit of news like that
wouldn't, now, be worth enough to me for that!"
Jim Larrabee reminded him, bitingly, "You printed
the news of my arrest!" His resentment was bitter.
"The whole precinct knew it. Every news-hound in
town got it before daylight. You didn't expect me to
shut them all up, did you? And what good would it
have done you to have my editor fire me for passing
up news? But this is New York and we're the only ones
that know— Of all the lousy—! Can't you think of a
better lie than that?"
"Lie!" Jim jerked upright, and stood over the
smaller man, that strange, white-lipped fury in his face
again, his hands strained shut. "It was—lousy, if you
like—stupid, ungrateful, anything you want to call it,
but, damn it all, it's true! Why in heaven's name
shouldn't it be? I don't lie for the fun of it!"
"J don't know why you said it. I just know it's the
fishiest, flimsiest excuse for a lot of pretty poor lies that
I can think of. Why, besides being the most insulting
nonsense I ever had to listen to, it's so weak it's laugh-
able! You hadn't a reason in the world to think I'd pull


216
GREEN WOOD BURNS 8LOW
"Then I'll see you to the corner and get over to the
library myself. I'm behind schedule on everything; and,
you know, if I hadn't forgotten some notes and come
back for them, I'd never have known about this. I'd
like tremendously to hear all about it."
They drifted into the living room, and from there to
the outer hall, making arrangements to meet and dine
two days later, and became so absorbed in the plans that
they rode down in the elevator quite oblivious to the
wide-eyed bewilderment of the doorman, to whom their
cheerful intimacy was inexplicable. For, hadn't he
taken the freckled boy up to the Smiths? How had they
all gotten together? The conversation gave him no clue.
Dave was busy with new ideas for the hunt, Jim blind
to all but a pair of alarmingly wise blue eyes, and Kay
far too absorbed in conquest to have ears for the at-
tendant's astonished mutterings.
At the Lexington Avenue corner, Jim saw the other
two into a cab, and they started downtown, leaving him
in search of a second taxi. Hardly had Al settled into
her corner before Evans began to lecture her, with
tender amusement, on her impulsiveness and the neces-
sity of consulting him before leaping into action. Al's
reply was gentle.
"All right, Dave darling. I suppose I should but—"
The glance she gave him was not gentle.
Evans, quite unaware, continued in the same vein of
paternal wisdom, his tone proprietorial.
"I know. But don't be so sure. Give me a chance to
know what you're up to, so that we won't get in any
more jams."
The girl bit her lip, said only, "Let me out at Fifty-
first, Dave."


RENCONTRE
217
"But I'm taking you—"
"Someone has to get back to keep an eye on things
right away, Dave. And it's your turn now, I'm afraid,
even if Hank doesn't like it. I can't go on—I'm starved
and dead for sleep. I'll get some lunch and then go back
to the hotel and sleep. You go down."
Dave observed, startled, "Why, I'd no idea— It's
after two!" and gave the driver instructions. The car
swerved, halted at the curb, and Kay took her leave, at
once disappearing into a restaurant. There, instead of
finding a table, she paused at the counter and bought
a package of cigarettes and some candy. Very deliber-
ately, she made her way into the street again, after
making sure that her partner was safely out of sight.


18
"YOU WERE HIS FRIEND"
At four that afternoon, his thoughts revolving vainly
all that he had read of the disappearance of Pete Mc-
Kay, Jim Larrabee let himself into his apartment. He
tossed aside hat and gloves and let the heavy coat fall
on a chair, thinking in passing that he ought to get in
touch with his absent servant; then, with the telephone
in his hand, he decided against it. It might be rather
awkward to have a spectator in his search for his part-
ner. He replaced the phone and strolled through the
living room to his study, deeper than ever in his exami-
nation of the problem.
He was halfway to the window before his brain ac-
cepted the information which his eyes conveyed. His
favorite seat was already occupied—not, as he at first
thought, by a remembered picture, but by Kay Allison
herself, curled impertinently in the depths of the great
chair, with a cigarette in one hand and a magazine in
the other. She nodded friendly greeting, closed the
book, and said, carelessly,
"Glad you're back, Jim Larrabee. I'd begun to be
afraid you'd left town again." She waved at the carpet,
adding, "Got any ash-trays? I've been making the
most awful mess of your floor."
218


"you were his friend"
219
Jim stared at her, speechless, while quite uncon-
sciously he lifted a copper bowl from the desk and car-
ried it over. The girl was smiling, with irritating
assurance, through a thin veil of blue smoke, the shining
depths of her eyes unfathomable yet mocking. Before
he could rally, she inquired lightly,
"Or do you prefer Raymond?"
Hoarsely he told her, "You're quite mad, of course."
"No," she answered, offering a cigarette with bland
gravity. "Just provoking. Nasty of me, but I've been
waiting hours, and I do hate wasting time, specially—"
She choked, steadied herself and began afresh. "Be-
sides, I do think Dave's insufferable!"
"Well—I mean, I— Well—"
"You think he's nice, I suppose, just because he's too
dumb to figure out who you are, Mr. Raymond?" Be-
fore Jim could answer, she went on, "Still, I was pretty
blank about that Providence business myself! You
must have been sick about that jail sentence, Jimmy.
And it's the one thing that could have happened to you
that I never dreamed of. It was rotten luck, and it
certainly balled things up completely!"
"Nice of you to sympathize!" countered Jim desper-
ately. "Even though it's mistaken, I appreciate it, Miss
Allison."
"Don't be stuffy. We're going to be partners, so you
might as well call me Al." At the man's horrified stare,
she chuckled. "I am being disagreeable, but you look
so funny, trying not to know what I'm talking about.
It's quite all right, really. You see, I'm not trying to
blackmail you or anything. I'm just Peter McKay's
sister, Allison."
"You're what!"


"you were his friend"
221
I'd known anything besides what the police know, I'd
even have told them all about the robbery, just to find
him."
"Thank God you didn't! You'd have had him serv-
ing a ten-year stretch, and me with him! Did he get in
touch with you, or did you just happen to come along
that morning?"
"After you left, he phoned me, and asked me to come
to him. He'd been sitting alone, thinking, and sounded
miserable. I was so glad to hear his voice— I'd seen
accounts in the papers of how the job at the Careys
was interrupted, and the reporters seemed to think that
one of you had been badly hurt. I'd been frantic! I
hurried over, and stayed as long as I could, then I gave
him the ticket, meaning to get one myself and meet him
at that wretched concert—"
"The ticket! Do you mean that you're the Grandon
secretary, the one they're hoping can give them a clue
to what happened?"
"I was. Someone got me the job when Pete— Well,
his racket didn't pay awfully well, and the Grandons
are rich and careless—" She left it at that, and went
on, "When Pete disappeared, right in the middle of
things, I quit to hunt for him. I didn't dare hire detec-
tives—to hound us ever after they found him. I
thought it would be easy enough to find him. Then,
when it wasn't, and I couldn't even get a trace, I
thought— I'd never seen you, Jim, only heard about
you; I knew Pete liked you, but I did think you were
crossing him. I thought for some reason you'd come
back and kidnapped him. I kept thinking that, what-
ever else I figured out, the first few days, and then, when
you didn't show up and more time went by, I got so


"you were his friend"
223
when I started after you, or I'd never have come. I'd
have got hold of your address from the cab-driver later.
But that Hank told Evans about you, while he was tell-
ing him I'd gone off! Dave followed me—how he found
the apartment I don't know—and read me the riot act
when he found me here. I had to tell him something, so
I told him you were acting suspiciously. He just
thought I was crazy. If you'd come in ten minutes after,
we'd both have been gone. He'd have been very pleased
with himself for his cleverness and me for behaving so
foolishly that he had a chance to show off; and, of
course, he'd never have believed for a minute that you
were anything but the victim of my insane notions. If
I could have gotten rid of him, or got us both out of
there, it would have been better than this way, but it's
not so bad. I know all about why you couldn't have had
anything to do with what happened to Pete, so we're
saved a lot of time. I might still be half believing that
you double-crossed Pete, otherwise! I was scared when
he remembered about that address, though!"
"Nothing near as scared as I was, youngster! It
looked like the end. But you're right about not know-
ing much that would help, Al. I've spent the afternoon
reading the back files, hoping to get an idea about what
really happened, and I'd decided the answer was that
phone call. That was you, of course?"
"I'm afraid so. They only knew of the one call."
"Damn!" said Larrabee and fell to staring at his
shoes. He came to the surface a moment to explain,
"My name really is Larrabee. I'd almost forgotten that
you asked that."
The girl watched him; then, as the minutes dragged
by and he neither stirred nor lost the grim frown with


"you WERE HIS friend" 225
"After all the chances you took to keep from doing
that, you'll sell—"
"It's either that, or fixing up another theft, and I'm
not up to that now. Not after all the scrapes I've had.
Besides, to get away with it, we'd have to take a week
or two to plan it. We can't! Where's Evans now?"
"Back at the Morgue. We arranged it that he was to
watch this afternoon and evening. I've been there for
hours."
"Then, it would be quite safe for you to come down
with me? It's a nice drive, and we can talk over things
a bit more fully, and have our plans in working order,
fix up how we're to meet without starting him off, and
how—we might as well use him, as long as he's in the
game. We'll figure some way of heading him off at the
end. If not, we can always pay him to shut up."
"We can't do that." When Jim looked his doubt at
the positive statement, she explained, "He's young, and
he thinks he's hard-boiled, but, about his job, and his
duty as a reporter, he's as sentimental and idealistic as
a kid. He is only a kid, really."
Jim inquired, curiously, "How old are you, Kay?"
"I'm twenty-two," she said.
"You irrepressible liar!"
"Oh, it's true; but I feel sixty. If Pete is—"
"Don't, Al! We'll find him, safe and well—I wouldn't
put it past the thoughtless young devil to be carrying
on a romance while we worry our lives away about him.
Besides, it's my turn to do the worrying. You've had
a monopoly too long."
She laughed. "Pete romantic? The ones he isn't
scared of, he thinks are a total loss—you know, 'pam-
pered, brainless, greedy products of a degenerate so-


226
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
ciety!'" Thoughtfully, she snapped open a compact
and smoothed fresh powder over her face, considering
her companion with wide, grave eyes, frank as a child's.
"I hadn't wanted to laugh since—Jim, you are reassur-
ing!"
Larrabee told her, "You just hadn't had anyone to
talk things over with, so of course you got scared. We'll
find him; truly, child. And now, if you're willing, we'll
get out the car and start down."
While Al collected her hat and coat, Jim telephoned
to order his car brought around. He stuffed into a
pocket the notes he had taken about the news accounts,
then joined her by the elevator.
The motor had not yet appeared. They stood, im-
patiently, under the awning, shivering a little in the
chill wind, watched by a frankly interested attendant.
Larrabee, after a short wait, proposed that they go back
indoors to keep warm.
"It may take another fifteen minutes to get the bus
in shape and serviced. It's almost a month since I've
used it. There's no sense in starting an hour's drive,
which will be pretty cold in an open car, already frozen."
"Yes, let's. The sun's almost down now. It'll be icy
soon."
Then Jim, watching her taut, close-wrapped form,
had an idea. "Why don't we go over to the drug-store
there, and have some hot coffee? It's almost five now,
and we won't be able to find any place to eat until after
seven, because none of the joints near the Tavern are
anything but summer tea-shops and such."
"The Tavern?"
"The Greenwood Tavern. That summer hotel on
Long Island, where—"


"you were his friend"
229
even now that I know about the Tavern and the garden,
I've no idea at all what the rest of it means."
"I'll show you when we get there," he promised. "It's
not so hard when you're on the spot."
"Did that scrawl on the back," she puzzled, "have
something to do with it, or was it just on the paper?"
"It was a sketch that Shaughnessy, the Providence
cop who guided me into town, made. I added a couple
of lines, but the street-car jerked so that it wasn't
much good."
Al considered a moment, then sat up. "You can't
tantalize me with bits of the story and get out of telling
me the rest! Dave didn't say anything about Shaugh-
nessy, or street-cars! Start from where you left Pete,
and tell me everything that happened."
"But that would take a week! I'd bore you stiff!"
he protested.
"No," she denied. "I truly want to hear about it.
Besides, you've got an hour—probably two!" She
flicked an explanatory gesture at the crowd of home-
ward bound travellers whose cars jammed the bridge
approaches, and murmured, "Football crowd, break-
ing up. It gets worse every Saturday."
Jim nodded agreement, jazzing the idling motor to
get a little more heat.
Turning, he met the still, eager admiration of Al's
gaze, flushed, looked away quickly, and then yielded.
Both quite forgot that on this journey they were to
plan their campaign, plunging instead into his recent
adventures.
s


19
JOURNEY AT TWILIGHT
"You take my advice, young Evans, and don't let
Miss Al talk you into anything. She always was a head-
strong little devil, getting notions of one kind or an-
other. Then she'd persuade us into doing what she
wanted, and get the whole Division into hot water."
It was mid-afternoon.
Dave was bored, for the past two hours had brought
no fresh clues. Once or twice, when some visitor came
on routine business, he had retired to the closet until
Hank gave him the all-clear signal; each time, he re-
turned to his post disappointed; the arrivals were not,
except officially, concerned with the body of Peter Mc-
Kay. To fill in the time, since he had nothing better
to do, he began an article on the keeper of the Morgue,
taking down whatever bits of Hank's interminable
speech particularly amused him, and dozing between
chuckles. On the subject of his partner, however, the
listener was alert enough.
"You've known her a long time?" he inquired, and
mentally agreed that she was an irritating team-mate,
as well as a charming one.
"Five years or so. Ever since she grew up."
230


JOURNEY AT TWILIGHT
231
"But she's not grown up yet," Evans objected, puz-
zled. "She can't be more than eighteen now!"
"She does look an innocent little bit of a baby," Hank
granted. There was in his tone an amusement which
provoked his listener into demanding,
"What d'you mean?"
"Why, she's pretty clever, for an amateur. And that
childish look of hers fooled more than one smart bird
into talking too much! They'd tell her things that no
dick could have clubbed out of them! She used to help
Inspector Hawley out, now and then, when a job came
along that was important enough and needed someone
who didn't look like a dick."
"Who," Dave asked feebly, "is Inspector Hawley?
I've heard of him somewhere."
"The guy that was handling the Grandon theft,
until— You remember, some egg swiped the Grandon
emeralds, last summer? Busted the study safe, neat as
a whistle, while some kind of big party was going on,
an' about five hundred guests were all over the place?
Old man Reade's a friend of Grandon's an' promised
to get the stones back. Then, when Inspector Hawley
didn't fish 'em up, like rabbits out of a hat, he got sore.
There was a row, an' Red quit the Force."
"I remember," Evans nodded. "But what became of
him?"
"Well, Hawley swore he'd find the emeralds anyhow,
and show up the Commissioner. We all hoped he'd do
it. But these stones are gone for good. No one's had
a sign of 'em. And pretty soon, Red left town. I guess
he got sick of Reade's cracks about finding the stones.
Then the newspaper gang, who'd gotten on to the fight,
began tagging around an' drove 'em both wild. I guess


232
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
Hawley thought he'd better get out of town and get a
job somewhere. He couldn't here. Why, old man
Reade even swears Red had a hand in the robbery him-
self! That's why Miss Al had to come here on the sly—
Reade'd have a stroke if he knew about it!"
Dave had been listening in stunned silence to the
stream of information. Now, speaking in the slow tones
of a man who thinks out loud, he said,
"She's good at finding things out ... so good she's
worked for this Hawley . . . and she thought that
Larrabee—she was so sure of him that she went ahead
until I recognized him and put her off the track! . . ."
He ignored some query directed at him by Moriarty
and went steadily on listing facts.
"And Larrabee lied to us—tried to make us think he
was— By the Lord, he was in Providence all last week,
and it was on the way to Providence the cops lost track
of the other man! He is the other man! She was right!
He's the other—" Dave sprang to his feet, grabbed the
startled Hank, and danced him wildly around the room.
In the middle of a particularly mad pirouette, he
checked abruptly and demanded, "Have you a phone?"
The other man pointed automatically to the instru-
ment on the wall, too breathless for speech. Dave caught
up the receiver, called the hotel at which his partner
was living, and asked to speak to her.
"Miss Kay Allison, please . . . Well, go on ring-
ing! ... Of course she's in. Go on ringing . . . But
I tell you she left me to go back to the hotel for
the day . . . Are you sure you're calling the right
room? . . . She hasn't been back since breakfast? You
don't know what you're talking about! I tell you she
went back . . . Let me have the room clerk, please."


234
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
But the man answered, promptly, "No, sir. He and
the young lady left about ten or fifteen minutes ago."
"Young lady?"
"Why, yes, sir. The one that you and Mr. Larrabee
were talking to when you came down at noon. They
took his car—and a cold ride they'll have of it, if this
wind gets any worse!"
Dave explained, "I have to see Mr. Larrabee at once."
"I'm sure he won't be back till after dinner, sir. He
said it'd take an hour to get there, and maybe more."
"It's most important," the reporter complained.
"You don't know where they went, do you? I could try
phoning them."
The doorman considered a long time, then ventured,
doubtfully, "It was some place on Long Island—"
"That's not much help," he was told, gloomily.
"There are millions of places on Long Island! Were
they going for dinner or tea or dancing, or what?
Private or public? Didn't you hear the name at all?"
"It was a pretty odd name—the kind that you hear
a lot, mostly in summer. The—something with a "T,"
I think."
Dave whose knowledge of Long Island was not ex-
tensive, searched desperately in his memory for "some-
thing with a tea."
Then, "Greenwood!" the man cried. "That was it,
Greenwood!"
The cab-driver cut in to explain that the Greenwood
was a summer hotel, well known as a golf resort. "It's
called the Tavern, though, usually—name of the joint's
the Greenwood Tavern."
Evans asked, "Do you know the way?" already back
inside the cab. Upon being informed that the driver


236
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
hands. If the girl were safe, he meant to tag along and
wait for his opportunity.
For the twentieth time, Evans picked himself off the
floor. The taxi, finding an opening, had plunged ahead
of its competitors to spin across the bridge. Cautiously,
he abandoned the vain clutch on the frame, to fish
through his dusty suit for cigarettes. He decided to
leave his story to the inspiration of the moment, and
just hope to strike the right line.
They passed through the interminable streets, from
the bridge to where street-car tracks ceased. Leaving
the factories, the shops and the grim little suburban
houses, they swung onto the Jericho Turnpike. Dave
asked his driver, once, momentarily suspicious, whether
he knew where he was going.
"Sure, buddy!" came the scornful answer. "Every
so often, one of those birds misses a train, or gets
stewed, or sumpin, and I gotta drive him out to the
dump. I could do it sleeping. Maybe this guy you're
chasing don't know the way so good. There are two or
three other ways, all longer."
Not long after, rounding a wooded turn, the taxi
found itself spinning down the wake of an enormous,
maroon roadster, which had swept from a side crossing
onto the Turnpike, and now purred down the concrete
ahead. Dave said, quickly,
"That's probably him! Pull even and give me a
look."
The cab racketed down the even surface, and drew
alongside, while Dave hung out the window. Peering
through the roadster's curtains, he made out Larrabee
at the wheel, and Kay's unmistakable, perky hat top-
ping a dark bundle of rugs. Dave let out a yell, waved


240
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
"Then we'd really get a chance to figure out the
next move, at dinner, Kay, instead of cooking something
up in a hurry now. I'll just send the taxi back to
town and pile in with you. How does that sound?"
"Splendid," said the girl in faint tones, oddly stran-
gled. Dave thought she might be laughing, but a look
at her eyes showed them feverishly bright.
"D'you mind, Larrabee?"
"Not at all," said the other, with the hollow polite-
ness of tone usual to a man whose carefully planned
twosome has been utterly destroyed. "It's the logical
thing. But it's only fair to warn you that I mean to
take advantage of Miss Allison's kindness and try out
this new orchestra. You mustn't expect to spend every
minute in sober discussion."
Dave laughed. "We'll share you, Kay. And you'll
have to be prepared to endure my dancing too!"
With her laughter ringing after him, Dave set off
to settle his score with the taxi-driver. Jim waited until
the other man was safely away, then murmured to Al,
leading her back to the car,
"It's all right! You keep him busy for about ten
minutes—insist on having a look about the front of
the place, or something of that sort. That'll give me
time enough to pick up the stuff. Then we'll sight-see
a bit, and go on to the White Horse for dinner and a
good time. I've been aching for an excuse to take you
dancing, anyhow!"
"But—Jimmie, if he catches you! Why, you'd get
ten years, just for this one alone, and—"
He laughed. "They couldn't keep me behind bars
for ten minutes, now! Why, I'd walk right through
them, to come back—"


"time is money"
243
"Why bother? Tomorrow we'll be married, and it
won't matter if you did go with me!"
Pete looked up briefly from his paper. "Cheer up,
Bill! We won't start till tomorrow, after we've seen
you off! If I could figure this darn letter out, we'd
certainly save time! Why don't you kids take a hand?
I've worked on the thing so long I can't even think!
I wake up muttering, 'If e represents o' and go to bed
trying to solve it by numbers!"
The other two sighed, but gathered obediently over
the creased paper, the girl murmuring, "Why does
it have to be a cipher, anyhow? We've tried everything
Poe ever thought of, or anyone else. Why doesn't it
mean what it says?"
"Joanie, darling, just what does it say? Tell us,
won't you?"
At Bill's tone, she reddened, then grabbed the sheet
and read, indignantly,
"'A word to the Wise— Green wood makes a slow
fire! They say time is money; but riches have wings!
Time flies. Patience is a virtue—Jim.' And on the other
side, it says, 'hotel,' then '12-3' and 'garden." And
there's a picture of a sail-boat, or something, besides.
Can't you see?"
"My life, we know all that—but what does it mean?"
Joan looked at him scornfully. "Don't you ever do
any of the work?" She appealed to the red-headed man,
busy lighting a cigarette. "But I'm sure it's not a
cipher, Pete. Why would he send you something so
complicated it couldn't be solved, to start with? It
would be different if you'd had some plan or code.
But this—well, you said, the other day, that you thought
the line about the fire was a direction to the Tavern.


“TIME Is MoMEY” 245
their plans to locate the missing emeralds, on which
all their later dreams hinged. Some remark of Bill's
reminded Ruth of an encounter.
“By the way, Joanie, I saw an old friend of yours
this morning, in the station, while I was waiting for
your tickets. Someone I hadn’t seen in months!”
“Who, Ruth?” Joan laid the tickets down tenderly,
stroking them with loving finger-tips.
“Jim Larrabee. That awfully nice man you ran
around with so much last summer. The one you brought
to my dance, to annoy Bill—”
But Pete, gulping hard, had found his voice. “You
saw Jim Larrabee, this morning? Was he leaving
town? Did you speak to him?”
“Why, no. He raced past me, toward the cab en-
trance, as if he were late for his own wedding, or some-
thing. I waved but he didn’t see— Red, I didn’t know
you knew Larrabee! What is it, Pete? What did I–?
What has he—?”
Red groaned, pacing the floor. “And you don’t know
where—? But never mind. Now that he's back in town,
we’ll make him tell us—” He broke off, conscious that
three people were staring with puzzled attention. He
put his hands on the tall girl's shoulders, triumph audi-
ble in his voice, blazing from his eyes. “We’re all right
now. We can make him tell us. Ruth, honey, we’ll order
the ring tomorrow. We—”
“Red.” She interrupted firmly.
Confused for a moment, he paused, then explained.
“Larrabee's the man—Raymond, or whatever you want
—the one who has the emeralds. I never thought of
telling you—”
“What!” His voice was drowned by the combined


246
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
cry; then they all burst into questions and exclamations,
too swift to be coherent, pressing around him eagerly.
Joan, spinning like a top about the group, waved both
hands in sputtering excitement, protesting that the
whole thing was impossible.
"My Jim Larrabee! You're all wrong! Why, he was
the nicest—I used to spend evenings in the garden with
him, talking about life—" She stopped dead, staring
at the paper which she still held in her hand. Suspi-
ciously, as if at any moment some concealed bomb might
explode, she opened out the crumpled wad, and with
incredulous eyes read over the much-studied message.
In a piercing voice, she began,
"In the garden! the garden! And all this time, I
knew—"
Then she flung at the abruptly silent, watching
three, "Billie! Ruth! Pete! It's the sundial, the sun-
dial in the garden! That's where we should have looked.
The emeralds are in the sundial, or under it some-
where! Come on! Bring a light and come."
She was already through the door and speeding along
the crooked passages to the stairs. For a stunned in-
stant, they stared after her. Bill attempted protest,
"But, Joanie. It's cold, and too dark—"
"Bring my coat, too," she ordered without checking
her pace.
Quite suddenly, the others began to race after her,
trailing flash-lights and overcoats, shouting questions
as they tumbled in her wake. Snatches of explanation
floated up the stairwell to them, shrieked whenever the
runner had breath enough,
**. . . he said it was a—a synonym, or syllogism, or
something . . . It's logic, you know . . ."


"time is money"
247
Ruth, catching her heel on the stairs, pitched for-
ward, barely saving herself by a frantic grab at the
hand-rail. Before the two men could reach her, she
was up again, calling something caustic about Joanie's
idea of logic. The leader tossed back, from a lower
flight, further explanation,
". . . the motto, I mean, silly ... he said it was
awfully clever . . . and I told him to make sense it
ought to cover a buried treasure . . ."
Threading the main floor rooms, she was held up a
moment by the smoking room door, which jammed. By
the time she had got it open, the other three were close
behind her. They poured outside, struggling to pull
on protecting wraps, far too excited to let even the
bitter cold distract them from their errand. Around
the wing, over frozen turf, down the terraces they flew.
Joanie was still intent on her tale.
"... I said it was just the place for a treasure . . .
Why, we even figured out the nicest story for it . . ."
Tripping and blundering, in the uneven light of
the electric torches, they sped between naked hedges,
stirring up a rustling cloud of fallen leaves, and emerged
onto the formal lawn where the bench and the sun-
dial gleamed silver in the darkness. Joan, shaking with
excitement, caught a flash-light from Bill and turned
the wavering beam upon the slim column, upheld by
its serenely languorous maidens.
"There," she said. "You see!"
The others read the deeply graven legend, while
excitement faded as suddenly as it had come. At last,
Pete explained, gently,
"Joanie—almost every sundial uses that proverb,
'Time flies.' It doesn't mean anything, I'm afraid."


250
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
over the hollow shaft and four hands, at the same mo-
ment, plunged down to catch up the orange-wrapped
bundle at the bottom of the narrow hole. The width
was not sufficient, so the others withdrew and left Joan
to lift out the package. As the cloth flashed into view,
Ruth laughed.
"It's that mat-tapestry mother used on the library
table. She accused father of burning a hole in it and then
throwing it out, so she wouldn't know about it!"
The others laughed, too, a little hysterically, while
Joan's uncertain hands fumbled. At last, the packet
came open, spread carefully on the bench between
the clustering onlookers. Frozen, dazzling, barbarously
beautiful, the great emeralds, on their bed of orange
silk, gleamed up at their mute admirers.
Joan touched the magnificent pendant wistfully,
then shivered. "It's like—the heart of a breaking
wave, too green," she said. "I don't like emeralds—
they're dangerous—not human."
Bill sighed, "It's the weather and the excitement.
Most days, you'd almost think she was sane!"
Ruth nodded to Pete. "Wrap them up. We'll take
them straight to Dad. They make me nervous, too!"
While Bill, with a surprising effort at tidiness, lifted
the dial back into position and pressed the screws a
little way into their slots, Red transferred the heavy
collar, the earrings and the great pendant to an opened
handkerchief, added the smaller pieces, and made a
tight package which he put in his coat pocket. "And
now," he said, "for the triumphal march! Thank the
Lord, I can keep my promise, after all!"
Bill suggested walking over to the Grandon house,
in solemn delegation.
"And waste a good effect? Dad and mother are at


"time is money"
251
the apartment in town—party tonight, so they're not
coming out. We'll all drive in and—why, we can have
the Commissioner there to see!"
Bill consulted his fiancee with doubtful glance. Joan
shook her head. "I promised to show up for the Barns-
well tea. You did, too, Ruth, but I'll tell her you
couldn't make it."
"She means, she'd rather tell the story to the gang,
than listen to Pete telling it to the police," sighed
Bill. "Well, at least, I'll get some food out of it. And
a chance to drive the kid again. She insisted you were
chauffeuring her, Ruth."
"Then we'll go straight in, Red. And Bill can phone
Dad to have Reade come over for cocktails and wait
for us. We'll do this with flourishes."
Bill said, "The phones here aren't working, you
know. It'll have to wait till we get to—"
"Dad may be gone!" Frowning, she slipped an arm
through Pete's and the four started back to the hotel,
walking rapidly, huddled together. Quite suddenly,
the tall girl lifted her head from the protecting fur,
exclaiming, "Of course, there's a phone! In the Gift
Shop! Grace told me the grocer she uses is on a party
line that includes the Gift Shop. That one must be
working!"
"I'll try it," promised the boy. He started to hand
his car keys over to Joan, then paused. "The dickens!
I left that knife mother gave me back at the sundial.
By the time we get to the Barnswells', they'll think we've
come for dinner! And if I leave it, it'll rust!"
"Go and phone. I'll get it." Joan took the bright-
est of the flash-lamps, snatched the keys, and ran back
along the path.
As Bill started toward the hotel, Ruth looked up at


252
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
her companion, her smile a little shaky. "Red," she
said, "oh, Red, darling, we're so very lucky! Every-
thing's coming out right—"
The last words died in the collar of Pete's coat, as
the red-haired man, standing very still with her close
in his arms, forgot for a little while emeralds and all
the world besides.


21
"RICHES HAVE WINGS"
The maroon roadster, flying along the Turnpike,
carried a talkative crew. Silence had become an un-
bearable strain.
Somehow, they began to speak about Jim's experi-
ences in Providence, laughing at his brief sketches of
what he could remember of the fight, and of the pompous
lecture of "Old man Randolph," the magistrate whose
chief joy it was to be able to teach "impudent young
scoundrels" a lesson. All their efforts to change the sub-
ject failed. With brittle phrases and edged laughter,
they still skirted the one topic which all three wished,
wholeheartedly, to forget. Al, sitting between the two
men, knew that each was growing increasingly taut.
Jim would touch her shoulder with an encouraging
hand, each time the topic seemed put away. Evans, at
her right, nudged her occasionally, urging on any
other subject, no matter how silly. And still, they spoke
of Jim's adventures.
* Each mile that vanished under the singing wheels,
bringing the trio nearer to the Grandon estate, was
gratefully left behind. When the lodge gates of the
Tavern moved into sight, all three started to exclaim
at once, relieved to have found a safe topic of speech.
253


"riches have wings"
255
He can go after the keys, while we take a quick look
at the grounds. That path there"—she questioned Lar-
rabee mutely, with intent gaze—"looks interesting
enough to be worth a frozen ear or two."
Jim smiled. "It's quite picturesque, in summer. And
you should come back along the path that turns left,
by the little bridge you'll find. I'll get the keys, if
it can be done, though I'm not so sure. Then I'll meet
you here. If you get through before I come, sit in the
car. It'll be warm; the engine's still going."
A wave, and he stepped out of the brilliance of the
distant headlights. They heard his swift tread on the
gravel, more faintly on the hard turf, then he was gone.
Dave caught the girl by the shoulders, holding her
back from the path.
"You clever imp! That sure was neat! I've been
trying to get a word with you alone, ever since I caught
up with you!"
"I know. I could see that. What was it, Dave?"
"I was talking to your pal, Moriarty, and he let
slip that you'd done a good deal of work for this bird
Hawley; so then, I knew that you'd had a perfectly good
reason for being suspicious of Larrabee, or you wouldn't
have done it. I tried to phone you to tell you I'd
figured the other end of it—I mean, that he could
have been the thief and still be in Providence that Fri-
day night. Why, the letter was even mailed from there,
and none of us tumbled! He must have figured he was
in a tight spot and tried to tell the McKay guy some-
thing about it—"
"Yes. You phoned?"
"And found you'd never been near the hotel. I did
go up, then thought you'd decided to watch Larrabee
r


256
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
again, and went after you. When the admiral told me
you'd gone driving with him, I went crazy! You
shouldn't have taken a chance like that, Kay, honey.
Why, if he'd been suspicious about this morning, he
might have hurt you—kidnapped or killed you!"
"Don't be silly, Dave!"
"Silly! Great Scott! It's the most probable thing
in the world, particularly after you'd picked out this
deserted, frozen piece of wilderness to explore. It's
an invitation to murder!"
"So you came along." Her tone was empty of emo-
tion.
Dave shot her an uneasy look. "Now, don't get mad!
I couldn't let you go tearing off that way and stay
behind. And I could hardly tag you around the coun-
try in a New York taxi! It would be too darn obvi-
ous. I didn't spoil your show, anyhow. Whatever
you meant to do, you can still do it."
"You don't think he swallowed that story, do you?
He's probably leery as the dickens of us both, by this
time. If I couldn't see the car from here—"
"Heck, he just thinks I'm jealous! He knows I'm
jealous, in fact; jealous as the devil. Even if I'd
known he was a safe, harmless writer, I'd have man-
aged to add myself to the party, when you said you
were going dancing! Darn it, Kay, I—"
The girl laughed, avoiding his outstretched hands.
"Maybe you're right."
They still remained where Jim had left them, on
the drive in front of the Tavern, where the wind, slip-
ping through the bordering trees, beat down on them
with unbroken force. Kay started toward the corner
of the building.


"riches have wings"
257
"Never mind about that path. We'll just make a
quick trip along the building, then get back to the car.
And I hope he doesn't get those keys! I'm so cold now
that I don't much care whether I get any local color
or not!"
"Then you really did mean to write up the thing?
I thought it was just one of your best lies."
"I've always been interested in the case—because it
was Inspector Hawley's," she explained. "And, of
course, I wanted to see as much of Jim as I could
manage."
"But why should we?" he argued. "We know the
story, now. Practically from beginning to end. Ex-
cept, of course, what really did happen to McKay, be-
fore he fell in the river, and whether or not he was
knocked on the head. When we get back, we can just
go round to the Commissioner, and let him and his flat-
ties do the rest. We'll just write our copy, and we're
all set!"
"Uh-huh. Right in the middle of the year's best
libel suit!"
Dave stopped walking and stared at her. "Libel
suit! What ever ails you, Kay? We'll only be telling
the truth, ahead of the rest!"
"Bringing charges against a respectable citizen, you
mean!" she corrected. "We haven't any proof, Dave."
"But the police will have. Why, they have wit-
nesses!"
"And not one finger-print! If you really thought
that, you'd have got the police on our trail today,
instead of chasing along in person, alone. Now, wouldn't
you?" She smiled a little oddly. "You know, your-
self, any good lawyer could tear it to shreds in one


"riches have wings" 259
past week, and was silent. Then he rallied bitterly.
"It's puppy-love. Or you've just lost your balance,
pitying him, now we're so near the end. Once he's safely
in jail—and you can bet I'll get him there now, if I
have to go with him—you'll come to."
She said, only, "That's no good, Dave," and her voice
pitied him.
"I'll phone Reade—"
She touched his arm. "Dave—please, Dave, don't
look like that— It can't matter so much to you—"
In the silence that fell, they stood looking at each
other for endless minutes. Sharply, he turned away his
head, fixed his unseeing gaze on the clouded heavens.
"Kay—darling—I—you see, I hoped—"
She sighed, and patted his arm uncertainly.
Jim had walked rapidly to the farther corner of the
building, and paused to look over his shoulder toward
the spot where he had just left Al and the reporter,
then broken into a run along the side of the house.
He loped swiftly, without hesitation or error, through
the paths, down the terraces, to the secluded lawn where
the sundial stood, a dim outline against the dark hedges.
Snapping on his lighter, Jim bent for a moment's in-
spection of the dial, reaching at the same time for the
small screw-driver he had brought with him. The wav-
ering light gleamed on the shining head of a screw,
standing a good inch above the stone! Jim stared, swore
impatiently at the wind which almost at once blew away
the flame, and spun the flint again. The blaze held for
a moment, time enough for him to see that all four of
the screws had been moved, quite recently, and left half
out of place, the newly exposed surfaces of the metal


260
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
gleaming. Jim dropped his lighter, grabbing at the
dial, which he found came up from its base quite freely.
He set it on the bench and, by the aid of his lighter,
confirmed his fears. The package was gone.
Staring into the hollow shaft, the spent lighter use-
less in his hand, he cried out one clear, furious word
and fell silent. Instead of that empty, useless stone pil-
lar, he was seeing Pete's thin face and bitter mouth, hear-
ing him say again, with gallant calm, "It's up to you,
Jim"; hearing another voice that cried, "I'm afraid,
Jim." Two pairs of blue eyes, the first tragically blank,
the other lighted with hope; two faces, turned to him,
two people who had trusted him, whom he had meant to
help—and whom, with the going of that absurd parcel
of orange silk, he must fail. Stunned, tormented, he
lingered motionless even in that icy blast.
Joanie, running along the most sheltered of the paths
toward the sundial, heard the swift beat of feet crossing
the lawn ahead of her. She slowed, called questioningly,
"Bill?"
The wind whipped away the cry. She tried again,
hesitated a moment, shivering in the cold, then went
on. As she reached the arched entrance to the terrace,
she made out a tall form, silhouetted like a giant shadow
against the grey night, standing near the sundial. She
called a third time, but the wind was against her. After
another few steps, she was almost near enough to touch
the still figure. Some vague, unfamiliar detail about
him made her turn the flash-light, till then forgotten,
full on the man.
He whirled, staring wide-eyed into the blinding yel-
low ray. Joan gasped,
"Jim! Jim Larrabee!"


"riches have wings"
263
peals that left him no breath to run and shook his great
frame like sobs.
At the dark entrance to the path, shoulder to shoul-
der in head-on collision, a runner met him. Shaken by
the impact, Jim swayed a moment, listening to the other
man call, as he picked himself up,
"Joan—Joanie, are you hurt?"
He said, deep in his throat, "Pete! Damn you—!"


TIME WILL PLY
265
forcing himself free of the heavier body. But he never
got clear. Larrabee heaved onto his knees, lunged wildly,
and fell forward across Pete, pinning the thrashing
form to earth.
Joan, standing near the forgotten flash-light, cried
forlornly for Bill.
Pete tried to break his opponent's thumb, forcing it
back from his own aching throat with all the power in his
arms and back. Jim let go suddenly, snapped a numb-
ing blow at the other's jaw, and fastened grimly on the
exposed throat again, before the man underneath could
rally. Pete drove the heel of one hand up under Larra-
bee's nose, forcing back his head; but Jim drew away
from it and hung on savagely, feeling that painful
thrust grow weaker. A hampering drag at his collar
forced him to abandon for the moment his campaign
against Pete and try to drive off Ruth, who, following
more slowly, now joined the struggle.
From then on, the swift battle was three-cornered.
Ruth, blinded by the darkness, quite impartially laid
hold of the nearest collar and tried to drag the fighters
apart. The two men, absorbed in their duel, drove her
off, returning to business. Neither meant to hurt her,
even in the general madness; they tore away the clutch-
ing hands, shoved her back with unconscious roughness
when her nails and sharp heels became too painful to
ignore, and with singleminded purpose fell on each other
again. Pete would have welcomed the girl's help, for
he was in a desperate position; but, as often as not, her
furious sallies aided his attacker. Not once did Haw-
ley regain his feet, or win time enough to get beyond
the reach of the bigger man's arms. And second by
second he grew weaker, shorter of breath.


266
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
Beaten away from the struggle, Ruth looked toward
the lawn. "Joan!" she called. "The light! Bring the
flash-light—"
Joan, screaming still, ran toward the narrow alley
where the fight raged, leaving the torch where it had
fallen, spilling a useless beam across the cropped grass.
"Joanie!" Ruth sobbed. "Oh, if I could only see!"
She scrambled up and ran for the abandoned light.
Free of his second assailant, Jim set to work to finish
his business. Disregarding the furious, harmless rain
of blows which Pete still showered on him, he succeeded
in pinning first one and then the other arm of the strug-
gling man under his superior weight, then fastened re-
lentless fingers about the red-haired man's throat.
Joan stumbled and lay still against the hedge, pant-
ing a little, silent.
Pete made one ghastly effort to free his hands; then,
he gave up the struggle. He lay spent and still, star-
ing up into the mad eyes of his conqueror, while he tried
to speak. The dark blood poured through his swelling
veins, blinding and deafening him, but he managed to
articulate before his strength was quite gone,
"Jim, you fool! Quit! They'll hang you—wit-
nesses—"
It was hardly a whisper, but the victor heard.
He growled, savagely triumphant, "It's worth it!" not
knowing that the other man was past hearing. Suffoca-
tion was too near.
Ruth turned the flash-lamp on the fighters, shrieked
and ran forward.
Vividly in the sudden, sharp light, Jim saw the start-
ing eyes, the distorted, terrible face, bruised and dark
already with the marks of the fight, swiftly turning


268
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
rolled weakly at Dave's every step; but the blue eyes
were clearer, and already the contorted face looked more
alive. Jim could hear, in spite of Carey's panting breath
close behind him, the rasping sobs with which Pete sucked
in air.
He looked on as Dave laid Pete on the grass and Alli-
son's dark curls bent tenderly, close above the red ones.
Then, speechless, he turned his back on the group.
Crumpling to a slack heap on the nearest marble bench,
he dropped his torn face into his hands and stared, un-
seeing, at the ground.
Vaguely, he knew that someone followed him and
leaned, alertly, against the further end of the bench.
He listened to Joan's excited babblings, and the quieter
voices of the other two girls, without feeling. The moon,
poking its dim face, already a little lopsided, above
the Tavern roofs, frosted the dead grass at his feet. It
was very cold.
Much later, Jim heard other steps cross the lawn
toward him. He did not look up, even when a hand was
laid on his shoulder. He only flinched, drawing away
a little, then laughed drearily.
Pete's voice said, huskily, "Jim."
"Larrabee," he corrected, with resigned politeness.
"It's more official—if you don't mind." He never
lifted his head.
The husky voice said, "Official, Jim? What—?"
"Ah, don't!" he blazed, savagely scornful. "It's not
necessary now!" Then, in quieter tones, he went bit-
terly on, "You've got your emeralds—Inspector Haw-
ley—and you've got your thief, thanks to the very clever
tricks of that smooth little, baby-faced devil, your sister.
Why bother to act?"


274
GREEN WOOD BURNS SLOW
be off. But, I used to be an officer of the law; I can't
turn you loose to go on thieving. Even if I have to
tell Reade the whole story to stop you. I don't want
to put you behind bars, Jim— I'm too fond of you and
I owe you too much—but I'll give up my dream and—
and hurt Ruth, if you make me play it that way!"
"Damn it, I believe you mean that!" Larrabee stared
at his former partner.
Pete said, "I'm not bluffing, Jim. Get this, and get it
straight. I've broken so many laws, I couldn't look my-
self in the face if I accepted my old job again! I'm out
of the Force for good. But that doesn't mean that you're
free to go on with your racket. You take anyone else's
property, now or later—and one month after I hear
about it, we'll be sharing a cell, up the river! If you
don't believe me, call my bluff. You're paying the bill!"
"I know that! And it's my own fault, for getting soft
over a dick! A fool trick to pull, after all these years—"
Pete stood up. "Forget it! It mayn't have been such
a mistake, after all. With my share of the reward, I'll
get into some business or other. And, Jim, when—if—
you decide it wasn't such a mistake to 'get soft over a
dick,' phone me. I'll be needing a partner and you—
I—"
Slowly, Jim turned to look at Evans, and Allison in
his arms. He scoffed, "Hawley, Evans and Larrabee,
Conspirators! What a firm!"
"Evans?"
"You'll have to buy him off, won't you?" Looking
deep into Al's wide eyes, Jim added scornfully, "These
newshounds don't keep quiet for love!"
Dave cut in, "Buy me?" He released Allison, step-
ping further into the bright moonlight. "Brother, I've


TIME WILL FLY
277
Grimly the reporter challenged, "Want to test that?
If you're wrong, quite a few people will get hurt!"
Jim heard Allison gasp. Her cold fingers fumbled
desperately at his wrist. "Oh, Jim, I'm sorry. Jim-
mie—"
The small, white face hid itself in his coat. Her hands
clung fiercely; half unconsciously, Jim's long fingers
tightened about them. He stared down at Al's shaking
curls, unseeing, for at the sound of each choking breath
the blood throbbed into his brain.
He looked up and met Hawley's gaze, trying to for-
get the weight of that dark head pressed close over his
heart. He forced his lips apart.
"Magnificent!" He looked steadily at Pete; but all
consciousness centered around the small hands he held
and the curly head he dared no longer watch. His
words were a faraway croak in his ears. "Almost the
best act you've put on, Miss Hawley! Gives you an ex-
cuse for sending me to jail, after making a play at let-
ting me go. Very neat! Only I'm less of a fool than you
think!" Pete's eyes were blank, incredulous. Jim
watched them darken to anger; saw the thin face red-
den as he spoke on. "I bit once—but not twice in one
afternoon!" Al stiffened against his side. Clumsily, he
freed her fingers and tried to shove her away. "I
wouldn't—have anything more to do with the Hawley
tribe—even if the Grandon emeralds came with them!
As for you—"
Allison had stumbled back, staring up at him. "Jim
—please, Jim! you've got to believe me! I'm not fool-
ing you—I never was, except at the very first. Jim—"
He shifted so that the moonlight could not touch his
face. "You tricked me. Lied to me and used me—" He


TIME WILL FLY 279
She was such a short distance from him. Even as
he told himself he must not, he had crossed the nar-
row space and finished that broken sentence, gravely.
“—Only a moment, my dear. If you want it to be so.”
His answer was the fearless smile with which she
lifted her mouth for his kiss; very gently, he gathered
her into his arms.
Ten years would be a little price, after all.











*** *- -**
*
sº * * *: º
º