Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Thirty
I made it clear to the guests that the party was over. A few of
the reporters were quietly asked to remain while the others motored back to the
city. Dad entrusted the plates taken from room seven to Shep.
“Develop these right away, and see what we have. The solution of
the case may depend on your work,” Dad said to Shep. “You leave immediately,
and I’ll get to Greenville as soon as I can. Wait at the office for me.”
The reporters who had been sent to search the area around Old
Mansion returned. They had found no trace of Jack Bancroft.
“Keep searching,” my father ordered. “Until Jack is found, you’ll
be on duty twenty-four hours a day. Pick up any clues you can. Hawkes, round up
a man who knows the river and start dragging.”
“Oh, Dad,” I said. “You don’t think—”
“No,” he answered. “I believe that Jack is still alive. But we
can’t afford to overlook anything. By delaying in notifying the police, I am
assuming a responsibility that might result in a jail sentence. We must find
Jack and solve the case quickly! If I didn’t believe that Clarence Emerson is a
better detective than any on the police force, I’d never take matters into my
own hands so ruthlessly.”
“I know a local man who is familiar with every ripple and shoal in
the Grassy,” I said. “Mud Cat Joe. He could be trusted not to talk. However, he
has no equipment.”
“We can take care of that.”
Bill and I went in search of Joe. When we found Mud Cat, I didn’t
tell him the whole story, but I told him enough to impress upon him the
importance of dragging the river.
“It’s sho’ hard work rowin’ back and forth all day,” Mud Cat
sighed, “and it will keep me from a-huntin' for my own boat, but you been
mighty good to Jennie and me and the young ’uns, Ma’am. I’ll get at it soon’s
daylight comes.”
“You’ve not found The Empress yet?” I asked as we climbed back
into the car.
“No, I was much obliged to you fer that note you left. But when I
got over to Mulberry River, they wasn’t no sign of any houseboat.”
“My father will pay you well for your work,” I told him. “Maybe
even enough to buy lumber for a new boat.”
Mud Cat Joe’s problem had slipped to the back of my mind. I tried
to wonder what had become of the houseboat which Flo and I had viewed from the
bridge, but I didn’t really care. Every time I tried to focus my thoughts on
anything, I soon reverted to worrying about Jack.
The events of the night seemed unreal, like a nightmare. What had
become of the missing reporter? I refused to believe that his body
would be found in the river, yet as my father had said, we could afford to
overlook no possibility. I felt ill with dread and worry.
Arriving at Old Mansion once more, I learned that Clarence Emerson
had arrived during my absence.
“He hasn’t run into a single worthwhile clue so far,” Dad told me.
“He thinks our best bet may be that photograph Jack snapped. We’ll run over to
the Examiner office now and see how
it turned out.”
“What will be done with Mr. and Mrs. Conrad?”
“Clarence is questioning them now.”
“And Emma?”
“She’ll stay here, too. At least until Clarence has talked with
her.”
We made a record-breaking trip to Greenville. I refused to be left
off at home, so Dad and I went on to the
Examiner office. Many of the rooms were dark, for the final edition had
been run off the presses hours before, but lights burned on the second floor
where the photographers had their quarters.
As we came in, Shep Murphy emerged from the darkroom, his hands
dripping wet.
“How did it turn out?” Dad asked him.
“Well, there’s something on the plate. Come on in and look at it.”
We stepped into the darkroom. Shep lifted the plate from the
developer tray and held it in front of the red light.
“I can’t make much out of it myself,” he confessed. “Looks like a
picture gallery.”
“It’s the east wall of the room!” I said. “It’s a photograph of
those four hideous paintings!”
“You’re right,” Dad said. “Our best clue amounts to exactly
nothing.”
Even after the plate was sufficiently fixed so that it could be
safely exposed to bright light, we were unable to find anything in the picture
which offered a clue to the mystery of Jack’s disappearance.
“Well, print it up, Shep,” Dad said. “But unless Clarence Emerson
knows something we don’t, I can’t see that the photograph will be of any use to
him.”
“I blame myself for what happened,” my father said as we drove
toward home. “It was a crazy idea of mine, putting Jack in that room alone. If
we don’t find him—”
“We will find him, Dad,” I said. “We must.”
“I don’t give a hang about the story—now I’d sacrifice a hundred
scoops to prevent a thing like this from occurring.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Dad. You mustn’t blame yourself.”
“I’ll solve the case if it’s the last thing I ever do! It makes no
sense that three people could disappear under the same set of circumstances,
and each leave no clue!”
We’d reached home. I parked in the garage, but instead of
following me into the house, Dad announced that he was returning to White
Falls.
“There’s probably nothing I can do,” he said, “but I prefer to
remain at the scene.”
“Let me know if Jack is found or if anything new develops.”
“The very instant,” Dad promised.
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