Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Thirty-Seven
The face vanished so quickly that there was only one thing I was
sure of, it had been the face of a man. A cold chill passed over me. The man at
the window had been staring, not at me, but at Jack as he lay on the bed.
I ran to the cottage door, not taking the time to wake Flo. No one
was in sight. I went out into the cool night air and quickly did a circuit
around the cottage. The yard was deserted, and the only sound came from the
bullfrogs down by the river.
I knew I should go back and wake Joe—or at the very least retrieve
the cosh I kept tucked into the bottom of my handbag—but I paused to look down
by the dense bushes overhanging the river banks. It was the perfect spot for a
prowler to lurk, but I dared not beat the bushes on my own.
I knew what I had seen, and even if I’d had any doubts, those
would have been dispelled by the large footprints embedded in the soft earth
underneath the bedroom window.
With a final uneasy glance toward the river, I retreated to the
cottage and woke up Mud Cat Joe.
“I’ll have a look around,” he said, reaching for his lantern.
“Maybe ’twas only Silas Slocum you saw. He’s a feller to go prowlin’ around at
night, takin’ care of his nets.”
Mud Cat made the rounds, returning to report he could find no one
near the cottage. I said no more and resumed my vigil by Jack’s bedside, but I
did not believe the prowler had been Silas Slocum.
Later, when Flo woke up, I told her about the face at the window.
“Is it safe for Jack to remain here?” Florence asked.
“Probably not very, but until the doctor says he can be moved,
we’d better not do otherwise.”
“At least Jack should be well guarded,” Flo said.
“Yes, I mean to talk with Dad about it when he comes.”
“Jack must have gone through a dreadful experience. What do you
suppose happened to him?”
“I wish I knew. It’s not certain if we ever shall.”
An hour later, Dad arrived at the cottage. He was taken aback at
Jack’s condition. I’d tried to prepare him over the telephone, but he’d
obviously not fully grasped the seriousness of the situation until presented
with it face to face.
“I’ll get the fiends who did this if it’s the last act of my
life!” Dad said. “Has he tried to talk, Jane?”
“Yes, but he’s not very coherent. He keeps repeating the word
‘houseboat,’ and something nonsensical about flaming eyes.”
I was so weary I let Dad take charge. He was disappointed that Jack could not be
removed at once to a hospital, but in his usual efficient way, he quietly made
the best of the situation. The nurse finally arrived, and Mud Cat Joe patrolled
the yard.
I wanted to stay, but Dad insisted that Flo—who’d at least
snatched a few winks in an armchair—drive me home. I protested, but Dad
prevailed. Flo and I returned to Greenville, arriving a few hours before dawn.
When I awoke the next morning, the events of the night seemed
unreal, yet my aching joints and muscles were evidence otherwise.
I had intended to wake early and motor back to White Falls, but
instead, I’d slept until well past dawn. I was just finishing breakfast when
the doorbell rang.
“That may be someone with a message about Jack,” I said to Mrs.
Timms. “I’ll answer.”
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