The Golden Eagle Mystery (15 page)
Read The Golden Eagle Mystery Online
Authors: Ellery Queen Jr.
“Of course not!” said Djuna decidedly. “It was a real egg, all right, the one in the box, I mean, and the other one was stone. But it’s certainly queer, how much they look alike.”
“Why don’t you take that handle thing to Doctor Holder and show it to him?” Billy suggested. “I’ll bet he could tell you about it.”
“I can’t,” said Djuna. “It’s gone.”
Billy stared at him. “Gone?” he echoed. “Why, you showed it to me!”
“Yes, but it isn’t there any more,” said Djuna. “I don’t know what’s become of it. Somebody took it out of the bureau, after I showed it to you.”
“For Pete’s sake!” exclaimed Billy. “Well, it must have been Aunt Patty. Nobody else could have. Didn’t you ask her?”
“No,” said Djuna. “She was all worried about something else, so I didn’t say anything to her about it. I guess she just took it to show it to somebody and forgot to tell me about it. It doesn’t make any difference, I don’t want it, anyway.”
“Well, I would ask her if I was you,” said Billy.
They walked on a little farther. Champ trotted on ahead.
“Do you suppose we’ll ever find out who took Aunt Patty’s boat and smashed it up?” asked Djuna in a discouraged tone.
“Gee, I don’t suppose so,” said Billy. “But what made you think of that?”
“I think of it all the time,” said Djuna, gloomily. “I can’t stop. But it doesn’t do a bit of good. We didn’t find any footprints, we didn’t pick up anything, there just aren’t any clues at all. They didn’t keep the boat, and nothing was stolen out of the boat. There just isn’t a single thing to show who did it. Not a thing!”
Billy shook his head. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “We don’t even know what they were looking for.”
Djuna plodded on, thinking hard. Suddenly he straightened up. “That’s just it,” he exclaimed. “Aunt Patty doesn’t know why they took the boat away, but they must have been looking for something in it. That’s what we’ve got to find out, first of all. If we can find out
what
they were hunting for, then we’ll know
who
wanted it. Maybe.”
Billy looked gloomier still. “I don’t believe we’ll
ever
find out,” he said. “I don’t believe anybody could.”
“Well, I’m not going to quit,” said Djuna. “No, sirree!”
And he took Champ home and gave him an extra big dinner, just to keep up his morale.
D
JUNA
SAT
on the front step after supper, resting his chin in his hand, and trying to think of some way to solve the mystery, but it was no use. Clouds began to gather in the sky, and soon a few drops of rain fell. He went to bed early, and fell asleep listening to the rain steadily pattering on the roof.
When he woke up next morning, it was still raining. After they had finished their breakfast, Aunt Patty began to do some sewing, but Djuna did not know what to do with himself. It was raining too hard to go out. He wandered around downstairs for a while and then decided to go up to his own room and read a book which he had left lying on top of his bureau.
As he picked the book up, he saw the little bundle of old letters he had brought down from the attic several days before, and had forgotten about.
“My gollies!” he said to himself. “I forgot all about them!”
He untied the string around the bundle and opened the letters. There were only four of them. The first one was very short. It was written by someone who did not know how to spell. This is what it said:
deer siR I have Kleened out the EeGull Ness minE Yore oaN Biz Ness mi Wife an I doAN NeeD no Dark Ter
W. TUBBS
Djuna’s eyes grew big as he read this strange letter. He guessed at once who had written it. The name signed to it, “W. Tubbs,” must surely be that of Aunt Patty’s husband, William Tubbs, who had been killed by falling from the big pine tree where the eagles’ nest had been. “I have cleaned out the eagles’ nest”—of course that meant that Mr. Tubbs had taken the last egg in the nest. But how could he have written the letter after falling from the tree? And why did he say that his wife—that meant Aunt Patty, of course—didn’t need a doctor? Of course she didn’t—
she
hadn’t fallen out of any tree! Djuna shook his head wonderingly. He put the letter aside. He would have to study it more, later.
The next letter in the bundle was written very neatly, and not a single word was spelled wrong. But Djuna thought it just as puzzling as the first. It said:
Stony Harbor,
July 28, 1897
My dear Wife:
The eagles nest in stony harbor and what came from Patagonia must go to Patagonia.
AMOS GREENE.
Djuna read the strange message over and over again, but the more he looked at it the less he could understand it. At last he put it down and picked up the third letter. It was no less puzzling than the first two!
City Hotel, Broadway, New York,
August 7, 1858
My dear Wife:
I am distressed to find that I carelessly left behind me an object of considerable value. You know to what I refer. Please take great care of it till I return.
I am glad that little Amos was pleased by the curio. I purchased it in San Francisco from a miner who had obtained it while prospecting in the lofty Sierra Mountains. On reaching Canton, it occurred to me that a representation of it, if carved from some durable material, would form a most appropriate adornment. A skilful Chinese artisan was recommended to me, and when I had told him what I wished, he intelligently selected a stone exactly resembling it in color. For the foot, ebony was used. The workmanship is wonderful, as you can see.
I hope that you and our son are enjoying the cool breezes of Stony Harbor. The weather has been extremely warm in this city since my return. Expect me by Saturday’s steamer.
Your husband,
H. GREENE
Djuna frowned, and began to read the fourth letter. It was much longer than any of the others. And this letter was the most puzzling of all:
Philadelphia
27
th
Nov
br
1795
My dear Wife:
I trust this letter finds you in the best of health, and I pray that I shall soon see you, my beloved Partner, an Event which will give me more happiness than any thing on Earth.
The violent Gales which we met off the Capes, obliging us to seek shelter in Delaware Bay, and thus prompting me to continue up River to this City, have now revealed themselves as a blessing from God, for here we have been able to dispose of our ship’s cargo at a price higher than that obtainable elsewhere. Part of the money has already been paid over, and the remainder will be paid within a few days. I shall then be able to resume the voyage Homeward, to Stony Harbor, where, if your Emotions are equal to mine, our rejoicings will be complete.
As it is the duty of the Mate, of the Osprey, to supervise the unloading of our Barrels, I have seized upon an hour of leisure to walk about this wonderful Capital city and to view some of the streets. Learning that Mr. Wolcott, had been appointed a few months ago by President Washington to be Secretary of the Treasury, succeeding General Hamilton in that important post of Government, I made bold to call upon Mr. Wolcott and introduce myself. We discovered ourselves to be of exactly the same age. He welcomed me with every protestation of friendliness, as a fellow citizen of Connecticut, and flattered me by asserting that the Whaling Industry of Stony Harbor was of great importance in the commerce of our young Republic. Upon my remarking that I had brought back with me a pouchful of a heavy sand, in weight about one pound or more, obtained by trading with the natives of Patagonia, we having touched upon the coasts of that country on our return voyage from the whaling seas, Mr. Wolcott honored me by introducing me to Mr. Elias Boudinot himself. This Gentleman, who served our Country so devotedly during the late War, and who, being President of the Congress at the end of the War, signed the Treaty of Peace, was named by General Washington only one month ago to direct the business of providing our People with Moneys suitable to our needs as a nation. He received me at his offices, the very first buildings which have been erected especially for the business of Government. They are situated in Seventh Street, north of Market Street, on Sugar Alley, being very close to the house in which Mr. Jefferson lived at the time his pen inscribed the glorious words of our Declaration of Independence. You may well imagine the interest with which I gazed at that Edifice as I passed by it.
Upon being received by Mr. Boudinot, and exhibiting to him the sands I had brought from Patagonia, he informed me that their value was not less than 300 Dollars! When we are blessed with a child, let us set at least this sum aside, in the hope that it will increase. With this in mind, I will bring these same sands (though changed in appearance) home to you. Though not large in number, the Pieces will be of lasting value, and will mark the number of your years, reached upon your Birthday. To accomplish this fancy, I was obliged to confide to him the information that your age is five years less than my own. You may rest assured that he will keep this secret locked in his Bosom, for he is a Gentleman of the strictest probity. For the rest, he has promised that he will set about the work at once, and that it will be completed within the week.
I must now hurriedly bring this letter to an end, as the hour at which the Stage departs for New York is close at hand. The Gentleman to whose care I entrust this has assured me that he will place it on the first Stage leaving for Boston, after his arrival.
Your Husband,
BENJ. GREENE
Across the bottom of the letter was written, in another handwriting:
Father’s gift is still guarded. This day I have increased it, ten times.
HIRAM GREENE, August 15th, 1858
When he had finished reading this letter, Djuna stood staring at it as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was different from any book. Books talked about great men like George Washington as if they were a million miles away, and never made them seem real. But this was a letter written by Benjamin Greene, Aunt Patty’s own great-grandfather, and he was talking about something George Washington had done “only a month ago.” Why, it was almost as if George Washington was right there in Stony Harbor!
And there were a dozen queer things in the letter that were enough to make anybody wonder himself sick! “Sand,” for one thing. What kind of sand could it be, that would be worth bringing all the way from Patagonia? Why had Captain Greene had to give the Indians anything for it? Why couldn’t he have just scooped it up from the beach?
Djuna thought back about the story that Captain Atterbury had told him, about Captain Benjamin Greene’s adventures in Patagonia. Captain Greene didn’t get anything at all from the Indians in Patagonia, Djuna remembered. He was lucky just to get away from them without being killed. But, wait—hadn’t he landed first in a country south of Patagonia? And wasn’t that the place where he had traded with the Indians?
Sand! And why had Mr. Boudinot, the man who had been President of Congress, been so interested in it? That was another riddle!
Djuna wrinkled his forehead, trying to puzzle it out. He would
never
guess, unless he could guess how old Captain Greene’s wife was.
But as he stared at the letter, Djuna’s heart gave a sudden jump. What if that mysterious gift, “of lasting value,” was the thing that the unknown robber was hunting for!
Gathering up all four letters, Djuna hurried downstairs to show them to Aunt Patty.
“Look!” he said excitedly. “Did you ever read these letters we found in the attic?”
“My gracious!” said Aunt Patty, putting down her sewing. “I thought the house had fallen down! Letters? What letters?”
“The ones we found in the sea chest,” said Djuna. “Don’t you remember?”
“Oh!” said Aunt Patty. “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. No, I don’t believe I ever looked at them. What are they about?”
“Well, just you look at them, Aunt Patty,” urged Djuna, handing them to her.
Aunt Patty put on her spectacles and read all the letters carefully. She seemed to get more and more puzzled as she went on, shaking her head, and repeating some of the words out loud, as if she thought that might help her understand what they meant. The last one she read was the very short one that was signed “W. Tubbs,” her husband’s name. When she came to that, she flushed indignantly.
“Captain Tubbs never wrote that at all!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know what to make of it! He was a very good speller! Somebody else wrote it, and signed his name to it, just out of meanness! Why, it’s dreadful!”
“But what does it mean?” asked Djuna. “Don’t you know?”
“I don’t believe it means anything at all,” Aunt Patty declared. “It’s just a lot of nonsense. Cleaning out an eagle’s nest, indeed—why, nobody but a crazy person would think of such nonsense!”
“But how do you suppose it got into the attic?” Djuna persisted. “It was written to a doctor, you can see that, but why wasn’t it sent to him?”
“It’s all a mystery to me,” said Aunt Patty. “The only doctor I know is Doctor Holder, and I wouldn’t think of writing such a letter to him, and my husband wouldn’t have written such a thing, either.”
“Isn’t that Mister Tubbs’ handwriting?” asked Djuna.
“Certainly not!” snapped Aunt Patty. “You’ve seen his handwriting.”
“Where?” asked Djuna, wonderingly.
“Why, on that scrap of paper you found,” said Aunt Patty. “The one that said something about a nest egg. He wrote that. Oh, dear, I wish I knew what it all meant!”
Suddenly her eyes filled with tears, but she brushed them away.
“Gee, I’m sorry, Aunt Patty,” stammered Djuna. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It’s just that there never
was
a nest egg in this house. Never mind, dear. I’ll get along, somehow.”
Djuna didn’t know what to say. He felt embarrassed, and sorry for Aunt Patty. He fidgeted from one foot to the other.
Aunt Patty looked at the letters again, and sighed. “I declare, I believe my own father must have been out of his mind when he wrote this one,” she muttered, as she came to the one signed “Amos Greene.” “‘The eagles nest in Stony Harbor.’ Why, of course they did, when he was living. What a thing to say! And ‘what came from Patagonia must go to Patagonia.’ It just doesn’t seem to make sense. As far as I can see, all my great-grandfather brought from Patagonia was a pound of sand!”