Dorothy Dixon and the Mystery Plane Page 6

  Chapter VI

  THE HOUSE ON THE DUNES

  Having come to agreeable terms with Mr. Yancy and having secured thename and location of Babylon's best restaurant, Dorothy left thewaterfront and walked uptown. A glance at her wrist-watch told her itwas not yet seven o'clock. She was in no hurry, for she had more thantwo hours to wait before it would be dark enough to start. So shestrolled along the bustling streets of the little city, feeling verymuch pleased with the way things were progressing.

  Arrived at the restaurant, she ordered a substantial meal and whilewaiting for it to be served, sought a telephone booth. She asked for thetoll operator and put in a call for New Canaan. A little while later shewas summoned to the phone.

  "Is that you, Lizzie? Yes. I--no, no, I'm perfectly all right--" shespoke soothingly into the transmitter. "Don't worry about me, please.I've had to go out of town, and I wanted to let you know that I won't beback till morning. Never mind, now. I'll see you tomorrow. Good-by!" Shereplaced the receiver and went back to her table, a little smile on herlips at the memory of Lizzie's distracted voice over the wire.

  "Poor Lizzie! She's all worked up again at what she calls my 'wilddoin's'," she thought. And with a determined glint in her eyes, sheproceeded to eat heartily.

  When she had finished, she asked at the desk for a sheet of paper and anenvelope. She took these over to her table, ordered a second cup ofcoffee, and began to compose a letter. This took her some time, for init she explained her maneuvers during the afternoon, and gave the exactlocation of the cottage on the dunes, where she believed the MysteryPlane's pilot had been bound. She ended with a sketch of her plans forthe evening and addressed the envelope to Terry Walters' father. Withher mind now easy in case of misadventure, she paid her bill and walkedback to the water front.

  "Good evening, Miss Dixon," greeted Yancy as she stepped into hisoffice. "I've done what you asked me to. You'll find a pair of cleanblankets, some fresh water and eatables for two days stowed in the MaryJane's cabin. I know you don't intend to be out that long, but it'salways wise to be on the safe side with the grub."

  "Thanks. You're a great help. Now, just one thing more before I shoveoff. Although I've rented your boat for twenty-four hours, I reallyexpect to be back here tomorrow morning at the latest. If I don't turnup by noon, will you please send this letter by special delivery to Mr.Walters in New Canaan?"

  "I sure will, Miss Dixon. But you're not lookin' for trouble, are you?"

  Dorothy shook her head and smiled. "Nothing like that, Mr. Yancy. I justwant Mr. Walters to know where I am and what I'm doing."

  "Good enough, Mam. Anything else I can do?"

  "Not a thing, thank you. Don't bother to come down to the wharf with me.I've got several things I want to do aboard before I set out."

  "Just as you say. Good luck and a pleasant trip." Yancy's honest facewore a beaming grin as he doffed his tattered cap to Dorothy.

  "Thank you again. Good night."

  Dorothy went outside and found that Yancy's prediction of rain earlierin the evening had been justified.

  "Lucky this is drizzle instead of fog," she thought as she hurried downto the landing stage. "I'd be out of luck navigating blind on GreatSouth Bay!"

  She dove into the Mary Jane's cabin and after lighting the old fashionedoil lamp in its swinging bracket, put on her slicker and sou'wester.Then she fished the chart of the bay out of the locker and spent thenext quarter of an hour in an intensive study of local waters.

  Having gained an intimate picture of this part of the bay, she plottedher course, and checked up on the blankets and food. That done, she blewout the lamp, picked up the anchor and left the cabin, closing the doorbehind her.

  Outside in the drizzle, she deposited her burden in the bow, making theanchor rope fast to a ring bolt in the decking. Then she put a match tothe side lights and coming aft, cast off from the staging. Next, shestarted the motor, a difficult undertaking. At the third or fourth heaveof the heavy flywheel it got away with a series of barking coughs. Sheslid in behind the steering wheel and they headed out across the bay.

  Night had fallen, but notwithstanding the light rain, visibility on thewater was good. The tide, as Dorothy knew, was at the flood, so she cutstraight across for the dull, intermittent glow of the Fire IslandLight. The boat ran strongly and well and Dorothy gave the engine fullgas. She knew from experience that one of its primitive type was not aptto suffer from being driven, but on the contrary was inclined to runmore evenly.

  It had been at least two years since she had sailed on Great South Bay,but she remembered it to be a big, shallow puddle, where in most placesa person capsized might stand on bottom and right the boat.

  "No danger of capsizing with the Mary Jane," she reflected, "she's builton the lines of a flounder--I'll bet she'd float in a heavy dew!"

  The two and a half feet of tide made it possible for her to hold astraight course and presently she could see the dim outline of sanddunes. The faint easterly draft of air brought the roar of the Atlanticswell as it boomed upon the beach outside. It was time to change hercourse.

  A quarter turn of the wheel swung the Mary Jane to port andstraightening out, she headed across the inlet. Five minutes later shehad picked up the dunes on the farther side. With the dunes off herstarboard quarter, Dorothy made the wheel fast with a bight of cord shehad cut for the purpose, and going forward, extinguished her sidelights.

  Back at the wheel again, she steered just as close to the shore assafety permitted. For the next couple of miles she ran along theshallows.

  "Thank goodness!" she muttered at last. Swinging the Mary Jane inshore,she cut her motor and headed into a small cove, to ground a moment lateron a pebbly beach.

  Springing ashore, Dorothy dragged the anchor up the beach and buried itat its full length of rope in the sand. Then with a sigh ofsatisfaction, she straightened her back and took a survey of hersurroundings.

  The little beach ran up to a cup-shaped hollow, encompassed by high sanddunes. She had noticed the inlet on the large-scale chart, and chose itbecause she figured that it lay about a mile on the near side of thecottage she sought. And since she had decided to use the motor boatinstead of the plane because she wanted to cover her approach, this spotseemed made to order for her purpose.

  Her eyes scanned the skyline, and for a moment her heart almost stopped.Surely she had seen the head of a man move in that clump of long, coarsegrasses at the top of the incline! Standing perfectly still, althoughher body tingled with excitement, she continued to stare at thesuspicious clump.

  Then with characteristic decision, she drew a revolver from her pocketand raced up the side of the dune. But although she exerted herself tothe utmost, her progress was much too slow. Her feet sank deep in theshifting sand until she was literally wading, clawing with her free handfor holds on the waving sandgrass.

  Panting and floundering, she pulled herself to the top, only to find noone there. Nor so far as she could see was there any living thing insight. The deep boom of the surf was louder here, and peering throughthe rain, she made out the long stretch of beach pounded by combers, notmore than a couple of hundred yards away. Some distance to the right,facing the ocean twinkled the lights of a row of summer cottages. To herleft nothing could be seen but tier after tier of grass-topped dunes, anarrow barrier of sand between Great South Bay and the Atlantic Ocean,bleak and desolate, extending farther than the eye could reach.

  Despite this evidence to the contrary, Dorothy still retained theimpression that she was not alone. She had an uneasy conviction that shewas being watched. She shivered.

  "My nerves must be going fuzzy," she thought disgustedly. "I can't riskusing a flash, and if there were any tracks this stiff breeze from thesea would have filled them in while I was climbing up here. Well, getgoing, Dorothy, my girl--this place is giving you the creeps--good andplenty."

  The Colt was slipped back into her slicker, and she trudged through thel
oose sand to the black stretch of ocean beach. Here, walking wasbetter, and turning her back on the lighted cottages, she set out alongthe hard shingle by the surf.

  Several times during that walk, Dorothy stopped short and scanned thelong line of dunes above her. Try as she might, it seemed impossible torid herself of the idea that someone was following. When she judged theremaining distance to the cottage to be about a quarter of a mile, sheleft the beach and continued her way over the dunes.

  Although Dorothy had no tangible fact to connect the Mystery Plane withher holdup in New Canaan and Terry's disappearance, she approached thelonely cottage with the stealth of a red Indian. And even if this nightreconnoiter should prove only that the bearded aviator had a sweetieliving on the shore of Great South Bay, or that he was making dailytrips to visit friends, she had no intention of being caught snooping.No matter what she should learn of the cottage's inmates, if anything,she proposed to return with the Mary Jane to Yancy's wharf and spend therest of the night aboard. She had no desire to tramp about Babylon aftermidnight, looking for a hotel that would take her in.

  As she slowly neared the cottage, taking particular pains now not toappear on the skyline, she wished that this adventure was well over. Shestill felt the effects of her adventure with the thunderhead. The tinycabin of the motor boat seemed more and more inviting to the weary girl.Trudging through the rain over sand dunes was especially trying when onewas walking away from bed rather than toward it.

  Then she caught sight of the house roof over the top of the next duneand her flagging interest in her undertaking immediately revived.

  Dorothy skirted the shoulder of the sandy hill, using the utmostprecaution to make not the slightest sound. Then she squatted on herheels and held her breath. Directly ahead, not more than thirty or fortyfeet at most, gleamed the light from an open window, and from where shecrouched, there was an unobstructed view of the room beyond.

  There were three men sitting about an unpainted kitchen table which heldthree glasses and as many bottles. All were smoking, and deep inconversation. One man she knew immediately to be the bearded aviatorwith whom she had talked on the Beach Club shore. But although Dorothystrained her ears to the bursting point, the heavy pounding of the surffrom the ocean side prevented her from catching more than a confusedrumble of voices.

  For a moment or two she waited and watched. The other two men wore golfclothes, were young, and though they were not particularly prepossessingin appearance, she decided that they were American business men on aholiday. They certainly did not look like foreigners.

  Miss Dixon, crouching beside the sand dune, felt vaguely disappointed.She did not know exactly what she had expected to find in the cottage,but she had been counting on something rather more exciting than thetableau now framed in the open window. But since she had come this far,it would be senseless not to learn all that was possible. Taking care tokeep beyond the path of the light, she crept forward on her hands andknees until she was below the window. Here it was impossible to see intothe room, but the voices now came to her with startling distinctness.

  "Why?" inquired a voice which Dorothy immediately recognized asbelonging to the aviator, though oddly enough, it was now withoutaccent. "You surely haven't got cold feet, Donovan?"

  "Cold feet nothing! The man don't live that can give me chills below theknee," that gentleman returned savagely. "But I won't be made a goat ofeither, nor sit in a poker game with my eyes shut. Why should I? I'vegot as much to lose as you have."

  "Those are my sentiments exactly," drawled a third voice, notunpleasantly. "Listen to that surf. There's a rotten sea running out bythe light. Raining too, and getting thicker out there by the minute. Bythree o'clock you'll be able to cut the fog with a knife. What's thesense in trying it--we're sure to miss her, anyway."

  "Perhaps you chaps would prefer my job," sneered the aviator. "You makeme sick! But you'll have to do what the old man expects of you,--so whyargue?"

  "How come the old man always picks days like this to run up his redflag?" Donovan was talking again. "There's just as much chance of ourpicking up that stuff tonight as--as--"

  "As finding a golf ball on a Scotchman's lawn," the third man finishedfor him. "I know there's no use grousing--but it's a dirty deal--andwell, we've got to talk about something in this God-forsaken dump!"

  "I don't blame you much," the aviator admitted, "but look at theprofits, man. Well, I must be shoving off, myself. We'll have anotherbottle of beer apiece and--"

  But Dorothy did not hear the end of that sentence. Her vigil wassuddenly and rudely interrupted. Someone behind her thrust a rough armunder her chin, jerking back her head and holding her in an unbreakablegrip. The sickly-sweet odor of chloroform half suffocated her. For amoment more she struggled, then darkness closed in about her.