‘It’s Marty Wiseman,’ he snapped, ‘he’s only been out of prison a few months. You remember him, don’t you, Tommy? He’s the chap they couldn’t pin that coast guard’s murder on some time back, and he only went down on a charge of smuggling.’
Before the young detective could reply, the night air was shattered again by that terrible howl. Reminded of their initial task once more, the two men plunged after the ghostly form which was still visible amongst the rocks above them. Odell now had his revolver in his hand. One moment the beast was visible, the next it had completely vanished.
When Raymond Odell and Tommy Bourne reached the place where they had seen it there was nothing but rocks and stony ground. They searched the area in the hope of finding a clue to the mystery, but there was no clue to be found, not even a footprint.
‘We’d better get back and have a look at Wiseman’s body,’ Raymond motioned to his companion.
A further shock awaited them, for the body had disappeared! Completely disappeared. Raymond Odell was not a man to stand still with amazement. Seconds later he was on his hands and knees, followed by Tommy Bourne, carrying out a minute inspection of the ground around where the body had lain.
Suddenly a satisfied exclamation burst from his lips. ‘See these footprints,’ he snapped, directing the beam of the torch onto the grassy surface, ‘Wiseman wasn’t dead, only shamming. That wolf was a decoy. While we were chasing it, Wiseman got away. We must have surprised him earlier on, and his only chance was to sham death and rely on the wolf. And these footprints,’ he shone his torch on another set a few feet away, ‘were made by somebody who joined him, probably the man who set up the decoy. See that sawdust in the footmarks? That can mean only mean one thing. There isn’t a woodyard in these parts, so they can only have come from the sawdust covered floor of the ‘Old Mariner,’ that pub that stands on its own about a mile down the road.’ There was a grim look on the detective’s face. ‘Late as it is, Tommy, we’re going to pay the landlord of the ‘Old Mariner a visit!’
No lights were showing at the inn when Raymond Odell brought his car to a halt outside. He and Tommy got out. They pounded on the door for a full five minutes before a light finally came on, and they heard footsteps shuffling down the stairs. There followed the sound of heavy bolts being drawn back, and a red bearded giant of a man appeared in the lighted doorway. Before he could speak, Odell thrust a printed business card into the man’s hand followed by a curt, ‘We’d like to have a word with you.’
Roker, the landlord, seemed taken aback, perhaps frightened, and he motioned for them to step into the sawdust strewn, untidy bar. He waited for Odell to speak, but before the detective could fire a staccato question at the other, a dismal howl came from below their feet. Roker cowered back.
‘So that’s where you keep your wolf, is it?’ Raymond Odell rapped. ‘Chained up in the cellar.’
Another howl rent the night air, but this time from outside. Tommy Bourne was at the window in two strides pulling back the shutters. There was nothing in sight. Next second a shot rang out. Odell and Tommy dropped to the floor, seeking cover but the bearded landlord slowly sank to his knees, a crimson stain spreading across his chest.
For some minutes the detectives kept low, and then Raymond Odell wormed his way across the room. Reaching up, he pushed the shutters closed. A glance showed him that there was nothing they could do for the landlord. Roker was beyond help.
‘Our wolf decoy again,’ Odell muttered bitterly. ‘That’s the second time we’ve been caught tonight. Let’s get down and see what kind of an animal they’ve got in the cellar.’
Tommy Bourne followed at his chief’s heels as they descended the stone steps to the cellar below. Fortunately there was an electric light fitted, and having found the switch they felt much more relieved. The howling began again, and on rounding a corner they saw, chained to the wall in a small alcove, a large Alsatian dog. It was pulling at the chain, but showed no signs of animosity towards the two men.
‘Interesting.’ Odell murmured as he hesitantly advanced towards the dog. ‘This certainly isn’t our mysterious wolf. See, it’s dripping wet.’ He bent down and examined the pool of water which had run off the beast’s coat. ‘Salt water, eh! This dog’s been in the sea, Tommy. Another thing, it doesn’t live here either. See the way it’s straining to get away. I’d say, Tommy, that we’ve rather upset somebody’s plans by being out there on the moors tonight.’
Odell paused, and drawing his pipe from his pocket he lit it. Drawing steadily on it, he remained lost in thought for some minutes. Finally he spoke.
‘I’m going to take this dog out on to the moors and let him lead me to wherever he’s going, Tommy,’ he said. ‘In the meantime I want you to take the car, and contact the police. I’ve an idea that we’re up against something far more sinister than just
