“Come in, come in,” he said genially1, shaking hands with Davis and nodding to the lads. “Deborah, I’m glad to say, is much better. She is just finished with her supper. We can go up in a moment or two.”
“I’m sorry to intrude2 at this time, Mr. Dixon,” apologized the secret service man. “Chief Osceola tells me that your maids departed, bag and baggage, this morning, to further complicate3 matters, and I should think your household must be very much upset.”
146
“Dorothy,” pronounced her father, “is a mighty4 good little housekeeper5. She’s been running the place in great shape, with the help of a girl we got in from the village. You haven’t met my daughter yet, have you, Mr. Davis?”
“No, but I’ve heard of her flying exploits. She’s by way of being quite a detective, too, isn’t she?”
“Yes, indeed. She saved me and my bank a heap of trouble earlier this summer,” said her father proudly. “Dorothy—” he called, “come here for a moment, please.”
147
“What is it, Daddy?” A door at the back of the hall burst open and Dorothy ran toward them. Her girlish figure was clothed in a blue linen6 frock and a white apron7 covered her from throat to ankles. There were some faint traces of flour clinging to her wrists as if she had been suddenly summoned from the bread bowl. She looked fresh and sweet, strong and healthy, and a certain grace of manner pleased Mr. Davis instantly. He saw that she had her father’s eyes and coloring, his air of self-reliance. He noticed, too, that when she spoke8 to her parent her voice was tempered with a particular tenderness. This pleased him most of all, for he had expected to see somewhat of a hoyden9. This girl, for all her prowess as a flyer, was totally feminine. Mr. Dixon introduced them.
“I didn’t know young ladies made bread these days,” said the detective as he shook hands with her.
Dorothy smiled and glanced at her arms. “Not bread, Mr. Davis, rolls for breakfast. Daddy likes them home-made, and I hate to get up early, so I’ve been mixing dough10.”
“Do you think, dear, that Deborah can see Mr. Davis now? He is in charge of the case, you know.”
148
“Why yes, that will be perfectly11 all right, Daddy. When I took down her supper half an hour ago, the nurse said that any time would be convenient. She stipulated12, though, that Mr. Davis have only one other person with him, and that the interview be as brief as possible.”
“Certainly, we want to spare her as much as we can,” said Mr. Davis. “I have only a few questions to ask. And I think I’ll take Bill with me. He’s been wounded in the fray13, and I think that under the circumstances he has the right to hear first whatever Miss Lightfoot has to tell us.”
“He certainly has,” chimed in Osceola. “He saved Deb’s life. I’ve seen her this afternoon, but the nurse wouldn’t allow us to talk. Make it snappy, you two. I’m on pins and needles to learn her story.”
“All right—” Bill waved a bandaged hand, and with Dorothy leading the way, he and Mr. Davis went upstairs.
When they reached the door to Deborah’s room, Dorothy excused herself and went in, leaving them waiting in the corridor.
149
“Let me do most of the talking,” cautioned the detective. “And if she can’t remember, be sure not to press her. It might have a very serious effect on the girl’s health.”
Dorothy opened the door. “You may go in now. The poor child feels rather rocky still. Those brutes14 hit her over the head, you know, and she is still in a good deal of pain.”
Deborah lay on a lounge by the window. When they entered she was apparently15 asleep. Across her forehead, covering her temples, two narrow bandages bound up her wound. As the detective and Bill crossed the room, she opened her eyes, and her bruised16, discolored face broke into a smile. Then, noticing their evident anxiety, she sat up, leaning an elbow on her pillow. A trained nurse hovered17 in the background a moment, then noiselessly left the room.
150
“Bill—don’t look so upset. It’s nothing—I’ll be all right in a day or two. We Seminoles are hard to down, you know. They tell me you saved my life, Bill. I don’t know what to say to thank you—”
“Please don’t!” Bill smiled down at her and took one of the two chairs that had been placed near her couch. “I’ll bet they forgot to tell you that I was saving my own life just about that time!”
“Oh, your poor hands!” she cried, spying the bandages. “Are they very badly torn?”
“Only scratched up a bit. We Boltons haven’t the honor to be Seminoles, but we’re pretty tough articles, just the same.” Deborah smiled, and Bill indicated his companion. “This is Mr. Davis, Deborah. He is in charge of the case and he wants to ask you a few questions.”
“How do you do, Mr. Davis?” Deborah spoke brightly enough, but Bill could see that the excitement of their visit was proving a strain.
151
“Now, if you don’t feel well enough to talk, Miss Lightfoot, we’ll postpone18 our chat until tomorrow,” said Mr. Davis in his pleasant voice.
Deborah shook her head. “No, Mr. Davis—I know that if I can tell you anything which will help you in your search for these men, then the sooner you have the information, the more valuable it will be to you. Of course, except for the fight with them in this room, after which they carried me downstairs, and then, for a few minutes in the automobile19 before they jabbed a hypodermic needle into my arm, I really know nothing—”
“I realize that, Miss Lightfoot. Bill said ‘questions’ just now, but there is only one thing I’ve come to ask you.”
Deborah looked relieved, yet faintly puzzled. “What is that, Mr. Davis?”
“Do you think you could describe the old man whose mask you pulled off in the automobile? We have reason to believe he is the leader of these kidnappers20.”
152
“I am sure I can. You must know that the car was a seven-passenger Packard. I was placed in the middle of the rear seat between two men, who held me. The man you mentioned was sitting in one of the two extra seats that let down, just in front of me. Although I was still struggling with my captors, and half frantic21, I noticed him particularly because he wore a black mask that entirely22 covered his face. Above the mask, a fringe of white hair showed at the edge of a black silk skullcap. Although I never saw him standing23, I judged he was not much taller than five feet two or three. He was thin and small-boned, and narrow-shouldered. His head was very large, it seemed too large to be supported by his skinny neck. His voice was high-pitched and shrill24. He wheezed25, too, as though he might have asthma26....”
“Splendid!” said Mr. Dixon, as the nurse brought Deborah a glass of water. “What did he look like when you pulled off the mask?”
153
Deborah smiled a little grimly. “For all the world like an old bird of prey27, Mr. Davis. And a very much frightened bird, at that. Those men, you see, had gagged me with a handkerchief. I managed to get the thing out of my mouth and in the struggle that followed, the old man, who was wheezing28 orders all the time, leaned toward me. He tried to get hold of my right arm which I had wrenched29 free. The man on that side of me was temporarily out of the running, because I had jabbed him with my elbow just under the heart a moment before. Well, when the old man leaned toward me I made a grab for his head. My idea was to get a grip on the back of his thin neck and hurl30 him into the man on my left who had me by the arm. As it was, the old boy drew back suddenly, and instead of his neck, I got the mask.”
“Can you describe his features?”
154
“I’m quite sure I can. His forehead, below the fringe of white hair, was high and broad; the brow of a scholar, almost. Bushy white eyebrows31 shaded little dark eyes, brown, probably, which seemed too small for his face. Between these a very thin, high-bridged nose jutted32 out. He was clean-shaven, with rather high cheek bones and hollow cheeks. His mouth below his beak33 of a nose was a straight, thin-lipped line. From his nostrils34, two deep furrows35 ran down to the corners of his mouth, and his chin was long and pointed36. His throat was flabby and the Adam’s apple prominent. Oh, I forgot to say that, his entire face, nose and all was crisscrossed with the deep wrinkles of old age.”
“You are a most observant young lady, Miss Lightfoot. I never expected to receive such a detailed37 description. I can picture the old villain38 perfectly.”
“I am glad.” Deborah smiled back at him. “I am Seminole, you must remember, Mr. Davis. Indians, men and women, are trained from childhood to notice detail.”
155
The secret service man nodded. Then suddenly he uttered a sharp exclamation39 and leaned toward her.
“Can you tell me,” he asked, and all three of his hearers felt the excitement in his tone. “Can you remember, Miss Lightfoot, anything peculiar40 about this old man’s ears?”
“Yes, I—I can, Mr. Davis. I did notice them, particularly. They were small, set close to his head and absolutely lobeless41. Also, with the single exception of Napoleon’s death mask, which I saw in New Orleans last year, I had never seen ears set so low on a person’s head. The top of both this man’s ears and those of the great French Emperor were on a line with the outside corners of their eyes!”
Mr. Davis leaned back in his chair, an oddly puzzled frown on his handsome features. “Miss Lightfoot,” he said slowly, “you will understand and pardon me when I say you are a very remarkable42 young woman—with a very fine memory.”
156
“I’m afraid I can’t agree with you, Mr. Davis. If my memory was really good, I could place the man. From the moment I glimpsed his face, I had a feeling that I’d seen him somewhere. Yet I haven’t the slightest idea where it could have been.”
“But you have told me who he is, just the same, hard as it is to believe the truth!”
“You know his name?” exclaimed Bill and Deborah simultaneously43.
“I most certainly do. What’s more, I am pretty sure I know where Miss Lightfoot saw him—Excuse me for a moment.” He stood up. “I’m going downstairs, but I’ll be right back. In the meantime, I don’t want you young people to talk any more. Miss Lightfoot needs a rest and she must have it.”
He went swiftly out of the room and Deborah, now that further conversation was unnecessary, closed her eyes and lay back on the pillows. Bill sat, lost in thought, until Mr. Davis returned in a surprisingly short time.
157
In his hand he carried the Sunday roto-gravure section of a New York newspaper. Deborah looked up as he spread out the page and held it before her.
“Do you see your abductor here?”
Bill, who had risen and was looking over the detective’s shoulder, saw her point unhesitatingly to a large photograph at the top of the page, which portrayed44 two men, one middle-aged45 and the other old and wrinkled, seated in garden chairs on a lawn. Both were familiar faces, and the older was undoubtedly46 the man Deborah had just described. The picture was captioned47: “President lunches with savant.”
Below, he read: “The President visited Professor Fanely on the latter’s ninetieth birthday, when he was the principal guest at the ‘Great Old Man’s’ birthday luncheon48.”
“‘Great Old Man’ is right,” snorted Bill. “It takes some doing to run away with a young girl at ninety!”
“Do keep quiet, Bill!” Deborah’s pale face was serious. “Why, it seems impossible, doesn’t it, Mr. Davis? Of course I know Professor Fanely’s reputation as a scientist, everybody does, it’s world wide. Yet impossible as it may seem, I’m surer than ever that the old gentleman in the photograph there, sitting beside the President of the United States, was the man I unmasked early this morning!”
Mr. Davis took her hand in his. “I believe you, young lady,” he said kindly49. “But Bill and I have a first class job on our hands. And I must ask both you and nurse over there not to breathe a word of this matter. What was formerly50 a serious affair has become a hundred-fold more so now. To know the truth is one thing: to be able to prove that truth quite another. And believe me when I say that if I am able to prove Professor Fanely, who is respected and loved the world over, the man who abducted51 you and tried to kill you, Bill and Osceola—I shall consider that I, too, am a world beater! Only I might as well say now that I haven’t the ghost of a show.”
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1
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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complicate
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| vt.使复杂化，使混乱，使难懂 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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hoyden
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| n.野丫头，淘气姑娘 | |
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dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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14
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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kidnappers
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| n.拐子，绑匪( kidnapper的名词复数 ) | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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asthma
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| n.气喘病，哮喘病 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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28
wheezing
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的现在分词 )；哮鸣 | |
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29
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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32
jutted
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| v.（使）突出( jut的过去式和过去分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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33
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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lobeless
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| adj.无爱情的，不可爱的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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44
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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45
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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captioned
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| a.标题项下的； 标题所说的 | |
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48
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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49
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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50
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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51
abducted
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| 劫持，诱拐( abduct的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（肢体等）外展 | |
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