Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Ninety-One
For at least an hour, I waited in
the lobby of the Colonial Hotel. I watched the clock until the hands pointed to
six. Tantalizing odors wafted in from the dining room, but I was resolute. I
refused to give up my vigil even for a few minutes.
Finally, my patience was
rewarded. A man walked across the lobby to the reception desk. He wore
well-cut, tailored clothes and a low-brimmed felt hat, yet I recognized him
instantly. He was the Furstenberg’s gardener. The gardener asked the man behind
the desk for a key.
“Good evening, Mr. Harris,” said
the clerk, handing it over.
I noted that the key was taken
from box 381. The gardener was calling himself Mr. Harris. He had an alias.
Several of them, I suspected.
Another half-hour elapsed while I
waited patiently in my plush chair in the Colonial’s luxurious lobby. Each time
the elevator descended, I watched the people get off. At exactly six-forty-five
Mr. Harris stepped out of the lift and, without glancing toward me, dropped his
key on the desk and went into the dining room.
The clerk, busy with several
other guests, did not immediately notice that Mr. Harris had lain his key on
the reception desk. This was my chance. I slipped from my chair, sidled up to
the desk and pocketed the key. My heart pounded as I walked toward the
elevator, but no one called out to me to stop. It seemed I had gotten away with
the key unobserved.
“Third floor,” I said to the
attendant, and the elevator shot upward.
I located room 381 at the far end
of the hall. I glanced in both
directions, unlocked the door and entered the room.
A suitcase sat on the luggage
rack by the dresser. It was unlocked, so I opened it and in systematic fashion
riffled through the contents. There was
an assortment of interesting articles—a revolver and two wigs, one of gray
hair, the other black. There were no letters or papers, nothing to positively
identify the owner of the luggage. At the very bottom of the case, I found a
photograph. It was a picture of Cybil Furstenberg.
I slipped the picture into the
front of my dress, hastily replaced everything as I had found it, relocked the
door, and returned to the lobby. As I headed to the desk, intending to rid
myself of the key, I stopped short.
Jack Bancroft stood there talking
with the clerk.
“But I was told to come here,” I
heard him protest.
“There was a woman waiting in the
lobby until a few minutes ago,” the clerk replied. “But she went off
somewhere.”
“No, here I am, Jack!”
Jack turned around, and his face
lit up. My heart was doing weird things in my chest, but I told myself it was a
delayed reaction to breaking into room 381.
“Come outside, Jack,” I said,
without giving him any chance to speak. “I have a great deal to tell you.”
“And I have some news of my own,”
Jack said.
We left the hotel together. Once
beyond hearing, I made a complete report of my afternoon adventures and showed
Jack the picture of Cybil Furstenberg which I had pinched from the suitcase in
room 381.
“Now for my story,” said Jack.
“I’ve located a place not far from here where those two sailors buy supplies.
The owner of the store told me they tie their boat up there nearly every
night.”
“Where is Shep now, Jack?”
“He’s keeping watch at the place.
I came into town to telephone the
Examiner office. Your father made me promise to stop here and take you
in tow.”
“You’re not starting back to
Greenville already?”
“I don’t want to, Jane. I have a
feeling our big story is just about ready to break!”
“So have I, Jack. Let’s stay with
it. I’ll explain to Dad when we get home.”
“Then let’s be on our way,” Jack
said. “No telling what has developed while I’ve been in town.”
We took the river road which led
east from the Furstenberg estate. As we motored along, Jack told me how he and
Shep had traced the two sailors. They had made inquiry all along the river, and
quite by chance had encountered a fisherman who had given them a valuable tip.
“But so many rumors are false, Jack.”
“This tip was straight. Shep and
I found the white cruiser tied up at the dock not far from this store I was
telling you about. We’ve been watching it for the past two hours, and Shep is
still there.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“Wouldn’t have done any good. The
men we’re after haven’t been there all day. The only person on board is a
girl.”
“A girl?”
“Well, maybe I should say a young
woman. About twenty, I’d guess.”
“Jack, you must be watching the
wrong boat.”
Jack shook his head as he drove
the car into the bushes at the side of the road. “It’s the right one, I’m sure
of it. Well, we’re here.”
I followed Jack through the trees
down to the winding Grassy river. We found Shep in his hiding place, behind a
large boulder.
“Anything happen since I left?”
Jack demanded.
Shep scarcely noticed my presence
save to give me a quick nod.
“You got back just in time,” Shep
said. “The girl went away a minute ago. Took a basket and started for the
grocery store, looked like.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
Jack said. “Come on. We’ll take a look inside that boat.”
“Someone ought to stay here and
keep watch,” Shep said. “She may come back any minute.”
“You’re elected guard then. Jane
and I will look the boat over and see what we can find. If the girl starts
back, whistle.”
We darted across the muddy shore
to the sturdy white motor-launch which had been tied up at the end of a sagging
dock. We climbed aboard, took a hasty glance over the deck, and went down into
the cabin.
The room was dirty and in great
disorder. Boots lay on the floor, discarded garments were scattered about, and
a musty odor prevailed.
“Nothing here,” said Jack.
“Let’s look around carefully,” I
insisted. “We may find something.”
Crossing the cabin, I opened a
closet door. Save for a pair of oilskins which hung from a nail, it was quite
empty.
“Listen!” I said.
Jack stood absolutely still,
straining to hear. A long, low whistle came from the direction of the shore.
“A warning signal!” Jack said. “Come on, Jane, we’re getting out of here.”
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