Mildred, peering over her husband’s shoulder, gave a short, startled gasp.
Beside the largest headline appeared a two-column picture of Walter Pearson. It bore a significant caption of two words:
Lawyer Missing
Harvey Chittenden read the newspaper story slowly. He placed the journal on the table, and quietly began to stir his coffee with a spoon. Mildred picked up the paper and studied the account. A troubled expression came over her face.
“This is terrible, Harvey!” cried the girl. “They don’t know what happened to Mr. Pearson! They haven’t been able to trace him for two days. Where can he be?”
“I don’t care where he is,” responded Harvey testily. “If you want my opinion, I think that Pearson is a crook at heart. He wouldn’t be representing my former family if he was on the level. He’s probably mixed himself up with some phony deal, and has taken to the woods. That’s the type of a scoundrel he is.”
Harvey gulped his coffee and arose from the table. He strode out on the porch, letting the door slam behind him. His ill humor had returned at the mention of Pearson’s name. Mildred was wondering. Harvey’s last remark had carried a double meaning.
“Taken to the woods -“
That was a slang expression, indicating that Pearson had purposely sought obscurity. But to Mildred, it carried a pointed recollection. The last time she had seen Walter Pearson, he was entering the grove beside the golf course. Did Harvey know that fact; and had he purposely used the phrase?
Mildred began to read the story more carefully, and Craig Ware sat down beside her. Pearson’s disappearance was unquestionably a mystery. The old lawyer seldom kept account of his actions, and the last time he had been seen was two days previously - first, when he had departed from the office; later, at the Beechview Country Club.
The office had received a call later in the afternoon, at which time Pearson had left the brief message that he could be reached at his uptown apartment. There, a servant reported that Pearson had called to state that he would not be in that night.
“ODD, isn’t it?” remarked Craig Ware. “Still, it is scarcely likely that anything could have happened to Pearson. Perhaps he decided to take a business trip. They will probably hear of him soon.”
“Craig,” said Mildred solemnly, “I saw Mr. Pearson two days ago.”
“You saw him? Where?”
“Over on the golf course. I had walked along the shore. Someone came with a message for him. He started off through the grove. That was the last I saw of him.”
“He was probably going to the clubhouse!”
“I suppose so, Craig, but the sight of him going among those trees frightened me. I had a terrible presentiment that something was going to happen to the man! I wonder - I wonder if he ever reached the clubhouse!”
Craig Ware laughed. He seemed to think lightly of Mildred’s fears. He stuffed his pipe with tobacco, lighted it, and gazed speculatively through the window.
“That is a silly theory, Mildred,” he objected. “Read the newspaper story again. You will see that Pearson was heard from as late as the evening. So he must have reached the clubhouse. I think it would be wise to forget the matter.”
“Why?” questioned Mildred, as Ware paused.
“Because,” said Ware, in a low voice, “Harvey feels very vindictive toward Pearson. You heard how he spoke just now. People sometimes attach significance to idle threats. You and I know that Harvey can mean no harm toward Walter Pearson; but others might not think the same.”
The door opened, and Jessup entered. The man was well dressed today. He looked more like a gentleman of leisure than an overseer of workmen.
“I’m going uptown, Mr. Ware,” declared Jessup. “I’ll have to see Mr. Chittenden, I suppose, before I leave the -“
“That’s right, Jessup,” responded Ware, with a smile. “Mr. Chittenden is head man around here. He went outside a few minutes ago. You will probably find him on the lawn.”
Jessup departed. Mildred, watching through the window, saw him meet Harvey down by the water front. The two talked for a few minutes; then Jessup left. The roar of a motor announced his departure from the premises.
“I’ve been worried, Craig,” declared Mildred. “Worried about Harvey. I haven’t been able to sleep for two nights. The night after I saw Mr. Pearson go into the grove, I was sure that I heard someone moving about the house. I went to Harvey’s room; the door was locked. When I entered, I found Harvey smoking a cigarette, while he rocked in a chair. He seemed very angry because I had disturbed him.”
“He is nervous - that’s all,” said Ware.
“I heard a noise outside, too,” added Mildred. “I think that Harvey must have been walking about the grounds. It worried me, Craig. I never knew him to act this way before.”
“Don’t worry, Mildred,” said the showman soothingly. “He will get over that restlessness before long.”
Mildred tried to calm her fears. She went out on the lawn. Harvey had disappeared.
The girl wondered why he had talked so long to Jessup. Where was Jessup now? Mildred recalled that he had gone on business up in the little town beyond the country club.
HAD Mildred been an observer of Jessup’s present business, she would have had new cause for worry. The solemn-faced supervisor was at that moment riding along the road that led to Upper Beechview, where the other Chittendens lived.
He reached a gateway that led into Galbraith Chittenden’s home, and drove beyond it. Leaving the car, Jessup moved through a clump of shrubbery. It was fully a quarter of an hour before he returned. He stepped in the car, drove back along the inland road, and parked beside the Beechview Country Club.
Here, Jessup became a man of singular demeanor. He entered the clubhouse with all the assurance of a member. No one challenged his presence, for no check was made on members except when one played golf. Walking through a spacious lounge, Jessup, remarkably inconspicuous, made a survey of all persons who were present. He was about to leave, when he spied a man standing by a door that led to the spacious veranda.
Something about the stranger’s appearance attracted Jessup’s close attention. He saw the man step out on the veranda, and turn to the right. With swift, soft stride, Jessup crossed the room and dropped out of sight beside a window. Peering at an angle, he saw that the man he was watching had encountered another individual, and that the two were shaking hands. Jessup dropped within the window, and kept his body out of sight behind a chair. On hands and knees, he listened to the conversation.
The man whom Jessup had first spied was speaking. This man, in the short glimpse that Jessup had gained, had appeared as a short, stocky fellow, clad in a checkered golfing outfit.
The other - whom Jessup had barely seen - was a tall man, of confident bearing. His face had been turned away so Jessup had not viewed it.
“Well, well, Mr. Cranston,” the stocky man was saying. “I didn’t expect to meet you here. I’m not surprised, though, to find that Lamont Cranston is a member of the Beechview Country Club.”
“I belong to a great many clubs, Merrick,” replied the tall man, in a quiet, impressive tone. “And, to be frank with you, I am rather surprised to find Calvin Merrick here. Business, I suppose?”
“You guessed it,” laughed Merrick. His voice became low. “There’s no use trying to keep it dark from you, Mr. Cranston. I’m out here on an important job.”
“Pertaining to Walter Pearson,” returned Cranston, in his quiet tone.
“You guessed it again!” Merrick’s words were confidential. “You’d make a real detective yourself, Mr. Cranston. I’m telling you why I’m here, because I know you won’t mention it to anyone. Our office has been asked to trace Pearson. It’s a big job for a private detective agency. They assigned me to work on my own - find out something, then report back. So I figured I’d come out here for a starter.”
