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Page 67
With might and main he tried to push the grating aside. It refused to
budge, and he grew frantic, for his breath was fast leaving him. It
looked as if he would be drowned like a rat in a trap.
Desperately and with all of his remaining strength he threw himself at
the grating. It bent at one end and came loose. Then he made another
attack and the grating dropped to one side and his body shot upward to
the surface of the river, out into the life-giving air. He gasped,
spluttered, almost tumbled down again, and then staggered to the shore,
which was close at hand. He had been under water less than three
minutes, yet the time had seemed an age.
He sat on the grassy bank for a long time, trying to get back his
strength and wondering what he had best do next. All was silent around
him, saving for the hooting of some owls and the occasional far-off cry
of a whip-poor-will. He gazed around, but not a light was in sight.
The old mill was beyond him, partly screened by a number of trees.
Should he return to the vicinity of Matlock Styles' house and set a
watch? This he thought a good idea, but there were two objections. He
was wet to the skin and wanted some dry clothes, and he did not relish
running into one or more of the Englishman's savage dogs, when he had
nothing with which to defend himself.
As he sat there meditating, a stream of light shot across his feet and
then disappeared. It had come from an upper window of the old mill and
he scrambled to his feet to see what it meant. In a moment more he saw
another stream of light and then a curious white cloud floated up from
another window of the mill. At the same time he heard loud groans and
then a hoarse note coming from what appeared to him to be a fog horn.
The groans and the white vapor lasted for several minutes and then died
away together.
It was a most uncanny happening and made his heart beat a little
quicker than was its usual habit. Then of a sudden his face brightened
and he smiled to himself.
"Make-believe ghosts and nothing more," he mused. "I wonder who is
trying to scare folks away from the old mill? Most likely it is this
Matlock Styles and it is part of another game of his. He must have
gotten his idea from the old miser in the 'Chimes of Normandy,' only he
works his ghostship a little differently."
He was about to move forward when a sound reached his ears which caused
him to pause. A dog was approaching--one of the mastiffs he had met
before. The animal growled ominously and would have attacked Adam
Adams had not the detective leaped into the water and begun to swim
away. The dog halted on the edge of the bank, and then there seemed
nothing for the detective to do but to swim to the other side of the
river, which he did, and then disappeared into the bushes.
"I think this investigation will keep--at least for to-night," he
reasoned. "I may as well get back to town, get some dry clothes, and
go to bed."
His adventures had tired him and he was thoroughly exhausted by the
time he reached the Beechwood Hotel. Here he explained that he had
slipped into the river and readily obtained some dry garments, after
which he went to bed, sleeping soundly until sunrise.
He obtained an early and substantial breakfast and then visited a
clothing establishment for another suit of clothing and a hat. From
the clothing store he stepped into a drug shop, purchasing a number of
chemicals and also an atomizer. Then he visited a barber shop and got
a close hair cut.
At the post-office he received a letter, dropped by Charles Vapp the
evening before. It was short and to the point:
"The man is keeping me on the jump. He went to see Matlock Styles and
Styles threatened him with something again and Ostrello was greatly
disturbed. After that Ostrello sent a money-order to his brother Dick
for fifty dollars. He is now going to New York again and I shall
follow."
This communication set Adam Adams to thinking once more. That Tom
Ostrello and Matlock Styles had something in common there could be no
doubt. The question was, What?
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