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.His game went like this.First he told Crabb that he’d seen spook lights among the abandoned cars and to watch for them himself.Then, past midnight, he slipped out, went to one of the cars, flashed the kite about to create the illusion of an otherworldly glow, used a tool made of a piece of wood and several nails…which you’ll also find in his trunk…to make clawlike scratches on the walls and floors, and then fled with the kite before Crabb or anyone else could catch him.”Meeker asked dully: “How could he run across the tops of the dunes without leaving tracks?”“He didn’t run across the tops, he ran along below and behind the dunes with the string played out just far enough to lift the kite above the crests.To hold it at that height, he used these”—Quincannon held out one of the lead sinkers he’d found—“to weight it down so he could control it in the wind.On dark, foggy nights, seen from a distance and manipulated by an expert kite flier, the kite gave every appearance of a ghostly figure bounding across the sandhills.And when he wanted it to disappear, he merely yanked it down out of sight, drew it in, and hid it under his coat.That was what he was about to do when Crabb shot him.When the bullet struck him, the string loosed from his hand and the kite was carried off by the wind.I saw flashes of phosphorescence, higher up, before it disappeared altogether.This morning I found the remains on the beach.”Dooley said grudgingly: “By Godfrey, it all makes sense.You, Crabb, what do you have to say for yourself now?”“Just this.” And before anyone could move, Crabb’s hand snaked under his coat and came out holding the large-bore Bisley Colt.“I didn’t let that feather-brain kid get his hands on this money and I ain’t about to let you do it, either.The lot of you, move on over to that car of mine.”Nobody moved except Crabb.He backed up a step.“I mean it,” he said.“Be locked up until I’m clear or take a bullet where you stand.One killing or several, it don’t make any difference to me.”He backed up another step.Unfortunately for him, the direction he took brought him just close enough for Quincannon to swat him with the wrecked kite.The blow pitched him off balance; before he could bring his weapon to bear again, Quincannon thumped him once on the temple and once on the point of the jaw.Crabb obligingly dropped the revolver and lay down quietly in the sand.Quincannon massaged his bruised knuckles.“And what do you think of fly cops now, laddybuck?” he asked Dooley.“Do you mark John Quincannon higher in that book of yours than before?”Dooley, bending down to Crabb with a pair of handcuffs, muttered something that Quincannon—perhaps fortunately—failed to catch.Artemus Crabb, with a certain amount of persuasion from Dooley and the bluecoat, confessed to the robbery and the murder of Jared Meeker—the details of both being for the most part as Quincannon had surmised.The Wells Fargo money turned out to be buried beneath one of the abandoned cars; the full amount was there, not a penny having been spent.Crabb and the loot were carted away in the police hack, and young Jared’s remains in the morgue wagon.The Meekers followed the coroner in their buggy.Neither had anything to say to Quincannon, although Mrs.Meeker fixed him with a baleful glare as they pulled out.He supposed that the $1,000 Barnaby Meeker had promised him would not be paid, but even if it was offered, he would be hard pressed to accept it under the circumstances.He felt sympathy for the Meekers.The loss of a wastrel son was no less painful than the loss of a saintly one.Besides, he thought as he clattered the rented buggy after the others, he would be well recompensed for his twenty-four hours in Carville-by-the-Sea and his usual brilliant detective work.The reward offered by Wells Fargo for the return of the stolen funds was ten percent of the total—the not inconsiderable sum of $2,500 to fatten the coffers of Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Ser vices.A smile creased his whiskers.A reward of that magnitude might well induce Sabina to change her mind about having dinner with him at Marchand’s French Restaurant [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]