Evening star., 1927-11-26
THE FOUR STRAGGLERS
By Frank L. Packard
doors the A0t Jimmie Dale ETC
Copyright H.

he expect to hear? What sound could
there be? The old fool was finished
for the night. There wasn't the
slightest chance that he would return.
WHY should he, Capt. Francis New
combe. waste time now, when with
moments work he could satisfy him
self that the half-million dollars. that
had brought him to Manwa Island was
definitely within his reach? was that
it? Was it psychological? Was 1t
that voice he was listening for again?
He swore fiercely under his breath
in a sudden flood of blind rage at him.
self: and, crossing the hut, stood the
,pade up against the wall within reach,
and knelt down on the floor with the
fiashlight playing on the two or three
ser tions Of board that the old man had
removed. Yes, they were quit loose.
His fingers worked their way into
crack between two of them. The old
maniacs half-million! Hidden under
the flooring. 1t was childs-
What was that?
He was on his feet, the fiashlight
out, every muscle tense, his revolver
outflung before him.
In Gcd's name what was that?
1t seemed to crash and thunder
through the stiffness.
only q KNOCK upon INC uOOT!
Againi
Once more-sharp, imperative!
He stood there motiOnleSs-his jaws
3lamped like iron. What was he to do?
If he answered the summons-what
then? How explain the presence here
of Capt. Francis NeWcombe, the
guest, who at this hour should be
peacefully asleep in his bed? Who was
it out there who had knocked upon the
door? Not the old fool himself who
might have come back. Old Marlin
wouldn't have knocked. Who, then?
Strange. A full minute must have
passed. Why were the knocks not re-
peated? There was no sound from
without. He had heard no one ap-
proach-he had heard no one go away.
Only the knocks upon the door.
He was listening now, every faculty
alert. Was some one standing outside
there, as tense, as silent, waiting-as
he stood tense and silent, waiting,
here within? If so. then, that was
another angle to the situation. 1t
must be so, There was not a sound
out there-there had not been a sound.
He had heard no one go away. Well,
two could play at a game like that
And it would be the other one who
would show his hand!
He moved softly toward the door.
In the darkness he felt out with his
hand. 1t touched the panel of the
door. crept down until it clasped the
knob-and then suddenly, even as he
moved swiftly to one side out of the
direct line. he flung the door wide
upon its hinges.
And where the door had stood, there
showed now but an obong of filmy,
hazy murk, scarcely more penetrable
to the eye than the black interior of
the hut. Nothing more! No, that
was not true. There was something
else-something white, small, white
fiuttering thing that seemed to drift
and fiutter downward to the ground
No sound from without-save the
night sounds Of the woods: The leaves
talking to one another; the stir in the
grasses; the low, faint, never-ending
chatter of insects.
els Newcombe's wrist became a loud,
discordant thing. 1t licked away the
minutes before he moved again.
His eyes became accustomed to the
murk outside the open door, There
was no one there.
That white thing lying by the
Threshold was an envelope. It had
been stuck in the door. He reached
out now. and picked it up. And now
he closed the door again, and, with
the fiashlight on, he tore the envelope
open.
He stared at the sheet of paper 1t
contained. The angle line of crude,
printed letters seemed to leap out at
him from the white sheet, scorchine.
burning. soaring it's message into his
consciousness. He raised his hand and
drew it across his forehead. 1t came
away wet with sweat. He looked
around him. snarling like a beast at
bay. A thousand minions of hell here
In the hut were screeching in his
ears the words he had just read:
Who murdered Sir Harris
Greaves?"