June 9, 2025 • 20 mins
Dive into Last Drive, an intriguing mystery from famed crime author Rex Stout, the mind behind the enduring Nero Wolfe detective series. This riveting tale, which inspired the inaugural Nero Wolfe novel, Fer-de-Lance, revolves around a golfer who suddenly drops dead of an apparent heart attack on the golf course. However, the plot thickens when the death is ruled a poisoning. Canby Rankin, the country clubs president, steps up to the challenge of unmasking the killer. This riveting summary is brought to you by Ben Tucker.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter four of the Last Drive by rex Stout. The
LibriVox recording is in the public domain read by Ben Tucker.
Chapter four. As Rankin turned, he saw the man in
the rear dodge hastily into the shadow of a tree,
with the mental shrug of the shoulders. The detective turned
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again and strode on. His chief concern was with the
man in front. If the other came along, so much
the better. In the bright moonlight, the straight Macatam Road
stretched ahead like a pale silver ribbon, embroidered at more
or less regular intervals with the bunchy shadows of bordering trees.
And so still was the nocturnal country side that the
footsteps of the man two hundred yards in front rang
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sharply out staccato. Rankin, keeping to the turf at the
edge of the Macatam, followed noiselessly. An automobile passed, honk
honking at the man in the road, its lamps piercing
the moonlight with two cones of yellow fire. And they
had gone perhaps a mile when a dog came out
from a gate and ran barking after the pedestrian. Rankin
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crossed to the other side of the road to escape
the dog's observation, and got safely by. At the crossings.
A little further on, the man turned to the east.
This Rankin knew was the detour to Brockton, three miles away.
He kept straining his eyes ahead in an effort to
guess the identity of the man he was following, But
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all he could certainly discern was that the youthfulness of
his figure and gait made it probable that it was
one of the Atoms Boys, if any one who belonged
at Green Lawn a mile beyond the crossing, A quick
glance over the detective's shoulder showed him the man in
the rear, trudging doggedly along. Thus the queer procession wound
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its way along the country road. Now and then, even
at that late hour, an automobile whizzed by in one
direction or the other. In the tonneau of a big
touring car. Rank and Fair fancied that he recognized Harrison Matlin,
president of the Corona Country Club, which was not improbable. Finally,
lights shone ahead, and the houses began to come closer together.
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They were entering the village of Brockton. Rankin quickened his
step and drew a little closer to the man in front,
who kept straight ahead as one who knew where he
was going and wanted to get there. Reaching the main
street of the town, he turned swiftly to the right
and went on past a block of business buildings to
the next corner, where stood an old three story frame hotel,
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the only one in the place. It was past midnight now,
and save for one or two stragglers, the street was deserted,
but the bright moonlight over everything like sunshine strained through
a silver cloth. In front of the hotel stood a
racy looking roadster. Rankin was on the heels of his
man as he sprang up the steps of the hotel
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porch and entered the door. But there the detective stopped
and tiptoed to a window a little distance to the right,
through which he could observe the interior. The man was
indeed one of the Adams brothers, Harry the younger. He
advanced a few steps into the room, a typical country
hotel office with wooden chairs and a fly specked cigar case,
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then stopped and turned at the sound of a voice, Harry,
Thank god. Rankin two heard the voice from his vantage
point outside the window It came from a man who
had been seated in one of the chairs by the
windows at the front of the room, and who now
sprang forward toward Young Adams with an eager and anxious countenance.
He was a young fellow about Harry's age, but of
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a very different mold. The quick, shifty eyes, the whitish
cheeks already too often shaven, the nervous oiliness of his manner,
even in his excitement were all quite familiar features to
one who had had opportunity to observe a certain type
of young man who infests Wall Street. Have you got it?
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Came from his eager lips before the other had time
to return his greeting. Harry shook his head. No, I haven't.
I you haven't a man. You must have. You promised,
Why I can't, My god, you promised, Harry. Young Adams
took him by the arm. His voice was commanding, don't shout,
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so I'll explain. I don't want to talk in here.
It was risky. You're sitting in here where everybody could
see you from the street. Come outside. As they turned
toward the door, the detective retreated hastily from the window
and dropped noiselessly over the porch, railing on to the
grass below. As he crouched there in the shadow, he
heard their feet descending the steps and saw their shadows
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on the lawn. The unknown's voice came, I've got my roaster,
shall we No? Came Harry's reply, we'll walk a little.
He continued in a lower tone, and Rankin, straining his ear,
couldn't catch the words. The two young men turned down
the sidewalk to the left. Rankin prepared to follow. As
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he straightened up, he caught sight of a form disappearing
in a doorway a little down the street. Probably the
man that followed us from Green Lawn, thought the detective.
Who the devil can he be? And what is he
up to? Well, we'll attend to him later. The two
young men continued on down the street, talking earnestly in
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low tones. Their voices came, but not the words. Rankin
stepped cautiously after them at a distance, if only he
could hear what they were saying. He drew a little closer.
The sidewalk here flanked by trees with in heavy shadow,
which made it less risky, But though he got within
thirty feet of them, he could only catch a meaningless
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word now and then. Otherwise, the silence of the night
was almost unbroken. The call of insects sounded occasionally, the
hoot of an owl came from the woods toward the river,
and the horn of a motor car tooted faintly somewhere
far down the road. Subconsciously, the detect have noted the
curious resemblance between the two latter sounds, as if one
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were answering the other. At length. The two young men
halted and half turning, stood still talking. The detective crept closer.
The nearest street lamp was a block away, and the
moonlight tried in vain to penetrate the thick foliage of
the trees. Rankin moved cautiously and silently from one protecting
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trunk to another. He was quite close now, one more advance.
His foot bent a twig, but it was unheard, and
he stood behind a tree so close that he could
almost have put out his hand and touched the unknown
who was nearest him. Harry's voice came scarcely more than
a whisper. I simply don't see how I can help you, Gil,
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But as I say, I'll try, you can see, it's
not my fault. It's a horrible mess, and that's all
there is to it. I'll telephone you tomorrow morning at
Miggs at ten o'clock. You go back there and stay there,
and whatever you do, don't show your face anywhere, or
you're gone er they may be after you. Now I've
been thinking it over. The interruption came from the street.
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An automobile had come up from the other end of
the village and threw it with dimmed lights. Here it
was approaching the country again, and the lights turned on
suddenly blazed forth with startling brilliancy. Like two monstrous, flaming eyes.
They glared down the road, and as the wheel turned
a little in among the trees flanking the sidewalk, and
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the form of can be Rankin behind one of the
trees was revealed as in the light of noonday, Young
Adams saw him not ten feet away, stopped and sprang forward,
What the who? Why it's mister Rankin. Feeling profoundly foolish,
the detective stepped out. The unknown, who had leaped away
like a scared rabbit, halted and turned, holding himself in
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readiness for flight. Who's mister Rankin? He demanded, in a
voice that rasped what Harry stammered, He's a friend of
Uncle Carson's. That is, he's a detective, a detective. Damn you, Adams.
With a first word, the Unknown was off down the
sidewalk at a bound Rankin leaped after him. Harry called out,
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it's all right, Gil, come back, He's not after you.
The last was a rather absurd remark, since, as it
was uttered, Rankin was quite obviously after Gil in the
most literal sense of the word. Heedless of Harry's shouts
repeated from the rear, the Unknown rushed madly down the street,
his feet pounding on the bricks sidewalk as he leaped
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forward like a stampeded steer, and fifty feet behind was
the detective, running low on his toes, almost silently. A
window went up in a house as they passed, doubtless
that of some sleeper awakened by Harry's shouts, and a
call came through the night unheeded. A block ahead shone
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the lights of the hotel. At sight of them, the
Unknown wounded forward with fresh energy, increasing a little the
distance from his pursuer. He made for the front of
the building, where stood the racy looking roadster, and Rankin,
guessing his purpose, strained every muscle. Reaching the roadster, the
unknown jumped to the seat. Almost instantly came the buzz
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of the engine. A lever clicked, the car started, jerked,
and started again, but too late, Rankin, leaping through the air,
was beside him. There was a short, sharp struggle over
the levers, and the car jerked to a stop and
stood still, with the engine worrying madly yelling an oath.
The unknown stooped and rising again, with a heavy wrench
in his hand, swung it at the detective's head. Rankin
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parried the blow, catching his arm, but in doing so
lost his balance and tumbled from the car to the ground,
dragging the other with him. At that instant, Harry came
running up. It's all right, Gil, for God's sake, mister Rankin,
let him go. But Rankin's blood was up now, and
even if he had heard, he would not have heeded.
The murderous look in the other's eyes as he struck
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with the wrench had roused him to fury, and he
loved to fight. He got one. He landed on his
knees on the pavement, with Gil pulled after tumbling on
his shoulders. The impact knocked Rankin prostrate, with the other
on top, raining wild blows on his face and neck.
With a mighty heave of his body, the detective half
unseated him, twisting about and caught his arms, holding with
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a grip of steel. He worked to his knees, then
one foot to the ground, then both. He was upright.
With a desperate effort. The unknown got an arm loos
and swung, but Rankin sprang forward to clinch before the
blow could land. Breathing heavily, grappling fiercely, together they swayed
back and forth over the pavement, and with the superhuman
strength of fear in him, Gil was holding his own
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Harry Adams stood on the sidewalk, starting forward and then
halting again, as if unable to decide which man to help,
and all the time calling frantically to Gil that it
was all right, and to Rankin to let him go.
They lurched back and forth across the sidewalk, struggling silently.
Then suddenly Rankin's foot caught on the edge of the
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curb and he stumbled, loosening his hold on the instant
Gile jerked away, then hurled himself forward and bore the
other to the ground, knocking the breath out of him,
and then jumped to his feet and sprang for the
car with a triumphant oath. Swiftly Rankin was back on
his feet and after him, dragging him from his seat.
Though's head was dizzy and stunned from the impact of
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the pavement, Gile clung to the edge of the car.
Rankin tugged at him, and when the hold was suddenly released,
they tumbled backwards together. Gile was up first. His eye
caught something on the ground a quick swoop, and he
straightened and turned with the heavy iron wrench in his hand. Now,
damn you, he screamed, and rushed forward. Rankin dodged swiftly
and got a glancing blow on the shoulder. Again, the
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wrench was raised, but the detective leaped forward and caught
the arm before it could come down. There was a
sharp pain in his shoulder, but he grabbed and held on,
jerking at the wrench with one hand, and finally got
it loose and sent it spinning through the air. Then
he drew back and swung his clenched fist at the
other's jaw unexpectedly and successfully. He felt his knuckles crunch
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on the flesh and bone, and the Unknown went down
like a log. Rankin sprang astride of him and sat
on him, and then Harry Adams's agitated voice came, let
him go, mister Rankin, Please let him go. He's done
nothing that is not what you think. You must let
him go, sir. The detective merely grunted, pinning down his
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captive's arms. You must, mister Rankin. He meant no harm
to you, of course, not panted the detective. He just
wanted to see how close he could come with that
wrench without hitting me. You were after him, and I
got him. You must let him go. Don't be a
damned idiot, Harry. Of course I won't let him go.
(12:56):
The Unknown stirred a little. The detective tightened his hold,
resting breath. But I say you must. Young Adams moved
so that he stood directly over the two men on
the pavement and spoke rapidly. Listen, mister Rankin, it's a
question of my honor. Gil came down here to see me.
It would be the same as if I'd betrayed him
when I promised to help him. You must let him go.
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It's a matter of honor. Your honor is your own.
Look out, my boy. As for me, I'm going to
have a good long talk with your pleasant mannered friend
and find out why he's so free with his ranches.
Mister Rankin, let him go, silence. The detective shifted his
hold a little, and leaning over, saw the shifty eyes
open and simultaneously felt a reawakening of the muscles of
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the man beneath him. And then he felt something else,
two strong hands gripping him from above. I'm sorry, sir,
keep off, Harry. The detective sat harder. Gil's body twisted
feebly about. Young Adams seemed to hesitate an instant. Then
he stooped swiftly and encircled Rinkin with his arms. The
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detective struggled, but in vain. He was still all but exhausted,
and the strength of the young athlete was too much
for him. Inexorably, he was dragged from his captive and
across the sidewalk. He tried to twist about, but the
arms held him in a grip of steel. The unknown
left free, stirred and turned, lifting himself to his knees,
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where He stopped for a moment, swaying as if dazed,
then hastily scrambled to his feet. Young Adams was calling
to him quietly, Get in the car, gill and beat
it quick. Come on, pull yourself together, beat it, I
say you might have known. I'll phone you in the morning.
Lay low till you hear from me. The unknown lost
no time nor wasted breath in speech. For a second
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he stood uncertainly in the attitude of a man who
asks where am I? Then turned without a word and
staggered to the roadster and pulled himself in. The engine
was still running, a jerk of a lever, and the
car leaped forward into the night. Harry waited till the
red light had completely disappeared in the darkness, then released
his hold on the detective and stepped aside. I'm sorry,
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sir Rankin made no reply. He was feeling gingerly about
his shoulder for broken bones, and moving his arm cautiously
up and down. It seemed to work all right now
that the passion of battle was leaving him. He felt
a little silly as he looked at the young man
standing there quietly before him in the peaceful moonlight. Hoo,
the deuce is Gil, he asked abruptly. Then as Harry
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hesitated with his reply, the detective looked at his watch,
shook himself together, and brushed the dust from his clothing.
Nearly one o'clock, he observed, no use standing here. Let's
get back to Greenlawn. You can tell me about it
on the way. So it was as they trudged back
along the moonlit country road side by side that Harry explained.
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Until they reached the border of the village, he was silent,
and when he began to speak, his words came jerkily.
I'll have to tell you about it, I suppose, he
said slowly, So you'll understand my position. Not that there's
anything really wrong about it as far as I'm concerned,
but I well, I'm not very proud of it. They
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walked on a moment in silence. Then he continued, Gil
Gil Warner was a classmate of mine at college. He
did me a mighty good turn one night. In fact,
he saved my life and more too. But that hasn't
anything to do with the worst part of the business.
That is my worst part. The beginning. I never really
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liked Gil, but I was under a great obligation to him.
So when he came to New York, I saw more
or less of him, got him, invited places, and so on. Finally,
about four months ago, he started after me to go
in on a stock speculation with him. At first I
wouldn't listen, but he tucked it up and it really
sounded good. He wanted me to interest Uncle Carson in it,
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and at length I consented, but I didn't have much success.
Uncle looked into it a little and turned it down.
Coal said it wasn't worth a sin. Did the colonel
meet Warner? The detective put in no, I didn't mention
Gil's name. Then Gil got after me to go in
on my own hook. You know I have. I had
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about one hundred thousand left me by fathering good securities.
I refused twenty times, but he kept after me, and
at last I gave in. That's where I was a
blank dass, but it really looked good to me. I
went to mister Mawson. What did you go to Mawson for?
He handled things for me, he has since father's death.
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I told him all about it, and he agreed to
help me realize on the securities. Without telling Uncle. I
got it and put it all in United traffic. We
and what United traffic? What's the matter? Oh you've heard
how it blew up? A course, I said, I was
a blank dass. The detective had stopped short, with an
expression of surprise on his face. Now he was a
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little as the surprise deepened into perplexity. Yes, I heard
how it blew up, he replied, as he moved on again.
But it wasn't that. It was nothing go on, that's all.
It blew up. The bottom fell out. And then Gil
came to me and said he had embezzled a big
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sum from the brokers he works for and sunk it
in United traffic. He was frantic. This was only day
before yesterday. As I said, I was under a great
obligation to him. I promised to see uncle and try
to get alone to help him out. I meant to
do it tonight and this afternoon, and Uncle's dead. I
had an appointment to see Gill at Brockton. He's you
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saw what condition he's in. They're on to him and
he's laying low. I don't know what to do. I'm
all broken up about Uncle Carson, and I can't think anyway.
I thought maybe i'd see mister Mawson in the morning.
The young man finished, and the detective began to apply
him with questions, all of them he answered readily and consistently.
About them was the soft silence of the country side,
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broken only by their voices and the rhythmic pat of
their feet on the mac adam as they swung along
side by side. The moon was dropping to the horizon now,
and there was a new ghostliness in the long, narrow
shadows of the trees. As they stretched into the fields
and moved their lazy fingers to and fro over the
quiet grass, The two men became silent, walking more swiftly.
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An abrupt question now and then, and its answer was
all that was heard for half an hour. The best
thing you can do is to drop this, gill Warner entirely.
Rankin observed as they came within sight of the gate
of Green Lawn. Obligation is one thing, in common senses another.
He is a crook anyway, and the more you do,
the more you'll have to do. You say you think
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he's not been in this neighborhood before I'll find out
about that. He may know. The detective stopped short by jove,
I'd forgotten, he exclaimed. After a moment, Harry turned inquiring
eyes on him. There was a man following me, Rankin explained.
He came out of the Greenlawn gate and followed us
all the way to Brockton. I saw him there in
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a doorway. In excitement, I forgot all about it. He
came out of Green Lawn, Yes, not far behind me.
He followed all the way. Half involuntarily. The detective wheeled
and looked back down the road. The next instant he
grasped Harry by the arm. There he is now, he cried.
(20:33):
End of Chapter four.
Chapter four of the Last Drive by rex Stout. The
LibriVox recording is in the public domain read by Ben Tucker.
Chapter four. As Rankin turned, he saw the man in
the rear dodge hastily into the shadow of a tree,
with the mental shrug of the shoulders. The detective turned
(00:21):
again and strode on. His chief concern was with the
man in front. If the other came along, so much
the better. In the bright moonlight, the straight Macatam Road
stretched ahead like a pale silver ribbon, embroidered at more
or less regular intervals with the bunchy shadows of bordering trees.
And so still was the nocturnal country side that the
footsteps of the man two hundred yards in front rang
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sharply out staccato. Rankin, keeping to the turf at the
edge of the Macatam, followed noiselessly. An automobile passed, honk
honking at the man in the road, its lamps piercing
the moonlight with two cones of yellow fire. And they
had gone perhaps a mile when a dog came out
from a gate and ran barking after the pedestrian. Rankin
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crossed to the other side of the road to escape
the dog's observation, and got safely by. At the crossings.
A little further on, the man turned to the east.
This Rankin knew was the detour to Brockton, three miles away.
He kept straining his eyes ahead in an effort to
guess the identity of the man he was following, But
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all he could certainly discern was that the youthfulness of
his figure and gait made it probable that it was
one of the Atoms Boys, if any one who belonged
at Green Lawn a mile beyond the crossing, A quick
glance over the detective's shoulder showed him the man in
the rear, trudging doggedly along. Thus the queer procession wound
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its way along the country road. Now and then, even
at that late hour, an automobile whizzed by in one
direction or the other. In the tonneau of a big
touring car. Rank and Fair fancied that he recognized Harrison Matlin,
president of the Corona Country Club, which was not improbable. Finally,
lights shone ahead, and the houses began to come closer together.
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They were entering the village of Brockton. Rankin quickened his
step and drew a little closer to the man in front,
who kept straight ahead as one who knew where he
was going and wanted to get there. Reaching the main
street of the town, he turned swiftly to the right
and went on past a block of business buildings to
the next corner, where stood an old three story frame hotel,
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the only one in the place. It was past midnight now,
and save for one or two stragglers, the street was deserted,
but the bright moonlight over everything like sunshine strained through
a silver cloth. In front of the hotel stood a
racy looking roadster. Rankin was on the heels of his
man as he sprang up the steps of the hotel
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porch and entered the door. But there the detective stopped
and tiptoed to a window a little distance to the right,
through which he could observe the interior. The man was
indeed one of the Adams brothers, Harry the younger. He
advanced a few steps into the room, a typical country
hotel office with wooden chairs and a fly specked cigar case,
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then stopped and turned at the sound of a voice, Harry,
Thank god. Rankin two heard the voice from his vantage
point outside the window It came from a man who
had been seated in one of the chairs by the
windows at the front of the room, and who now
sprang forward toward Young Adams with an eager and anxious countenance.
He was a young fellow about Harry's age, but of
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a very different mold. The quick, shifty eyes, the whitish
cheeks already too often shaven, the nervous oiliness of his manner,
even in his excitement were all quite familiar features to
one who had had opportunity to observe a certain type
of young man who infests Wall Street. Have you got it?
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Came from his eager lips before the other had time
to return his greeting. Harry shook his head. No, I haven't.
I you haven't a man. You must have. You promised,
Why I can't, My god, you promised, Harry. Young Adams
took him by the arm. His voice was commanding, don't shout,
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so I'll explain. I don't want to talk in here.
It was risky. You're sitting in here where everybody could
see you from the street. Come outside. As they turned
toward the door, the detective retreated hastily from the window
and dropped noiselessly over the porch, railing on to the
grass below. As he crouched there in the shadow, he
heard their feet descending the steps and saw their shadows
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on the lawn. The unknown's voice came, I've got my roaster,
shall we No? Came Harry's reply, we'll walk a little.
He continued in a lower tone, and Rankin, straining his ear,
couldn't catch the words. The two young men turned down
the sidewalk to the left. Rankin prepared to follow. As
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he straightened up, he caught sight of a form disappearing
in a doorway a little down the street. Probably the
man that followed us from Green Lawn, thought the detective.
Who the devil can he be? And what is he
up to? Well, we'll attend to him later. The two
young men continued on down the street, talking earnestly in
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low tones. Their voices came, but not the words. Rankin
stepped cautiously after them at a distance, if only he
could hear what they were saying. He drew a little closer.
The sidewalk here flanked by trees with in heavy shadow,
which made it less risky, But though he got within
thirty feet of them, he could only catch a meaningless
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word now and then. Otherwise, the silence of the night
was almost unbroken. The call of insects sounded occasionally, the
hoot of an owl came from the woods toward the river,
and the horn of a motor car tooted faintly somewhere
far down the road. Subconsciously, the detect have noted the
curious resemblance between the two latter sounds, as if one
(06:04):
were answering the other. At length. The two young men
halted and half turning, stood still talking. The detective crept closer.
The nearest street lamp was a block away, and the
moonlight tried in vain to penetrate the thick foliage of
the trees. Rankin moved cautiously and silently from one protecting
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trunk to another. He was quite close now, one more advance.
His foot bent a twig, but it was unheard, and
he stood behind a tree so close that he could
almost have put out his hand and touched the unknown
who was nearest him. Harry's voice came scarcely more than
a whisper. I simply don't see how I can help you, Gil,
(06:46):
But as I say, I'll try, you can see, it's
not my fault. It's a horrible mess, and that's all
there is to it. I'll telephone you tomorrow morning at
Miggs at ten o'clock. You go back there and stay there,
and whatever you do, don't show your face anywhere, or
you're gone er they may be after you. Now I've
been thinking it over. The interruption came from the street.
(07:08):
An automobile had come up from the other end of
the village and threw it with dimmed lights. Here it
was approaching the country again, and the lights turned on
suddenly blazed forth with startling brilliancy. Like two monstrous, flaming eyes.
They glared down the road, and as the wheel turned
a little in among the trees flanking the sidewalk, and
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the form of can be Rankin behind one of the
trees was revealed as in the light of noonday, Young
Adams saw him not ten feet away, stopped and sprang forward,
What the who? Why it's mister Rankin. Feeling profoundly foolish,
the detective stepped out. The unknown, who had leaped away
like a scared rabbit, halted and turned, holding himself in
(07:52):
readiness for flight. Who's mister Rankin? He demanded, in a
voice that rasped what Harry stammered, He's a friend of
Uncle Carson's. That is, he's a detective, a detective. Damn you, Adams.
With a first word, the Unknown was off down the
sidewalk at a bound Rankin leaped after him. Harry called out,
(08:15):
it's all right, Gil, come back, He's not after you.
The last was a rather absurd remark, since, as it
was uttered, Rankin was quite obviously after Gil in the
most literal sense of the word. Heedless of Harry's shouts
repeated from the rear, the Unknown rushed madly down the street,
his feet pounding on the bricks sidewalk as he leaped
(08:36):
forward like a stampeded steer, and fifty feet behind was
the detective, running low on his toes, almost silently. A
window went up in a house as they passed, doubtless
that of some sleeper awakened by Harry's shouts, and a
call came through the night unheeded. A block ahead shone
(08:56):
the lights of the hotel. At sight of them, the
Unknown wounded forward with fresh energy, increasing a little the
distance from his pursuer. He made for the front of
the building, where stood the racy looking roadster, and Rankin,
guessing his purpose, strained every muscle. Reaching the roadster, the
unknown jumped to the seat. Almost instantly came the buzz
(09:17):
of the engine. A lever clicked, the car started, jerked,
and started again, but too late, Rankin, leaping through the air,
was beside him. There was a short, sharp struggle over
the levers, and the car jerked to a stop and
stood still, with the engine worrying madly yelling an oath.
The unknown stooped and rising again, with a heavy wrench
in his hand, swung it at the detective's head. Rankin
(09:40):
parried the blow, catching his arm, but in doing so
lost his balance and tumbled from the car to the ground,
dragging the other with him. At that instant, Harry came
running up. It's all right, Gil, for God's sake, mister Rankin,
let him go. But Rankin's blood was up now, and
even if he had heard, he would not have heeded.
The murderous look in the other's eyes as he struck
(10:02):
with the wrench had roused him to fury, and he
loved to fight. He got one. He landed on his
knees on the pavement, with Gil pulled after tumbling on
his shoulders. The impact knocked Rankin prostrate, with the other
on top, raining wild blows on his face and neck.
With a mighty heave of his body, the detective half
unseated him, twisting about and caught his arms, holding with
(10:26):
a grip of steel. He worked to his knees, then
one foot to the ground, then both. He was upright.
With a desperate effort. The unknown got an arm loos
and swung, but Rankin sprang forward to clinch before the
blow could land. Breathing heavily, grappling fiercely, together they swayed
back and forth over the pavement, and with the superhuman
strength of fear in him, Gil was holding his own
(10:48):
Harry Adams stood on the sidewalk, starting forward and then
halting again, as if unable to decide which man to help,
and all the time calling frantically to Gil that it
was all right, and to Rankin to let him go.
They lurched back and forth across the sidewalk, struggling silently.
Then suddenly Rankin's foot caught on the edge of the
(11:09):
curb and he stumbled, loosening his hold on the instant
Gile jerked away, then hurled himself forward and bore the
other to the ground, knocking the breath out of him,
and then jumped to his feet and sprang for the
car with a triumphant oath. Swiftly Rankin was back on
his feet and after him, dragging him from his seat.
Though's head was dizzy and stunned from the impact of
(11:29):
the pavement, Gile clung to the edge of the car.
Rankin tugged at him, and when the hold was suddenly released,
they tumbled backwards together. Gile was up first. His eye
caught something on the ground a quick swoop, and he
straightened and turned with the heavy iron wrench in his hand. Now,
damn you, he screamed, and rushed forward. Rankin dodged swiftly
and got a glancing blow on the shoulder. Again, the
(11:51):
wrench was raised, but the detective leaped forward and caught
the arm before it could come down. There was a
sharp pain in his shoulder, but he grabbed and held on,
jerking at the wrench with one hand, and finally got
it loose and sent it spinning through the air. Then
he drew back and swung his clenched fist at the
other's jaw unexpectedly and successfully. He felt his knuckles crunch
(12:12):
on the flesh and bone, and the Unknown went down
like a log. Rankin sprang astride of him and sat
on him, and then Harry Adams's agitated voice came, let
him go, mister Rankin, Please let him go. He's done
nothing that is not what you think. You must let
him go, sir. The detective merely grunted, pinning down his
(12:33):
captive's arms. You must, mister Rankin. He meant no harm
to you, of course, not panted the detective. He just
wanted to see how close he could come with that
wrench without hitting me. You were after him, and I
got him. You must let him go. Don't be a
damned idiot, Harry. Of course I won't let him go.
(12:56):
The Unknown stirred a little. The detective tightened his hold,
resting breath. But I say you must. Young Adams moved
so that he stood directly over the two men on
the pavement and spoke rapidly. Listen, mister Rankin, it's a
question of my honor. Gil came down here to see me.
It would be the same as if I'd betrayed him
when I promised to help him. You must let him go.
(13:17):
It's a matter of honor. Your honor is your own.
Look out, my boy. As for me, I'm going to
have a good long talk with your pleasant mannered friend
and find out why he's so free with his ranches.
Mister Rankin, let him go, silence. The detective shifted his
hold a little, and leaning over, saw the shifty eyes
open and simultaneously felt a reawakening of the muscles of
(13:41):
the man beneath him. And then he felt something else,
two strong hands gripping him from above. I'm sorry, sir,
keep off, Harry. The detective sat harder. Gil's body twisted
feebly about. Young Adams seemed to hesitate an instant. Then
he stooped swiftly and encircled Rinkin with his arms. The
(14:01):
detective struggled, but in vain. He was still all but exhausted,
and the strength of the young athlete was too much
for him. Inexorably, he was dragged from his captive and
across the sidewalk. He tried to twist about, but the
arms held him in a grip of steel. The unknown
left free, stirred and turned, lifting himself to his knees,
(14:21):
where He stopped for a moment, swaying as if dazed,
then hastily scrambled to his feet. Young Adams was calling
to him quietly, Get in the car, gill and beat
it quick. Come on, pull yourself together, beat it, I
say you might have known. I'll phone you in the morning.
Lay low till you hear from me. The unknown lost
no time nor wasted breath in speech. For a second
(14:42):
he stood uncertainly in the attitude of a man who
asks where am I? Then turned without a word and
staggered to the roadster and pulled himself in. The engine
was still running, a jerk of a lever, and the
car leaped forward into the night. Harry waited till the
red light had completely disappeared in the darkness, then released
his hold on the detective and stepped aside. I'm sorry,
(15:04):
sir Rankin made no reply. He was feeling gingerly about
his shoulder for broken bones, and moving his arm cautiously
up and down. It seemed to work all right now
that the passion of battle was leaving him. He felt
a little silly as he looked at the young man
standing there quietly before him in the peaceful moonlight. Hoo,
the deuce is Gil, he asked abruptly. Then as Harry
(15:27):
hesitated with his reply, the detective looked at his watch,
shook himself together, and brushed the dust from his clothing.
Nearly one o'clock, he observed, no use standing here. Let's
get back to Greenlawn. You can tell me about it
on the way. So it was as they trudged back
along the moonlit country road side by side that Harry explained.
(15:51):
Until they reached the border of the village, he was silent,
and when he began to speak, his words came jerkily.
I'll have to tell you about it, I suppose, he
said slowly, So you'll understand my position. Not that there's
anything really wrong about it as far as I'm concerned,
but I well, I'm not very proud of it. They
(16:12):
walked on a moment in silence. Then he continued, Gil
Gil Warner was a classmate of mine at college. He
did me a mighty good turn one night. In fact,
he saved my life and more too. But that hasn't
anything to do with the worst part of the business.
That is my worst part. The beginning. I never really
(16:33):
liked Gil, but I was under a great obligation to him.
So when he came to New York, I saw more
or less of him, got him, invited places, and so on. Finally,
about four months ago, he started after me to go
in on a stock speculation with him. At first I
wouldn't listen, but he tucked it up and it really
sounded good. He wanted me to interest Uncle Carson in it,
(16:54):
and at length I consented, but I didn't have much success.
Uncle looked into it a little and turned it down.
Coal said it wasn't worth a sin. Did the colonel
meet Warner? The detective put in no, I didn't mention
Gil's name. Then Gil got after me to go in
on my own hook. You know I have. I had
(17:15):
about one hundred thousand left me by fathering good securities.
I refused twenty times, but he kept after me, and
at last I gave in. That's where I was a
blank dass, but it really looked good to me. I
went to mister Mawson. What did you go to Mawson for?
He handled things for me, he has since father's death.
(17:36):
I told him all about it, and he agreed to
help me realize on the securities. Without telling Uncle. I
got it and put it all in United traffic. We
and what United traffic? What's the matter? Oh you've heard
how it blew up? A course, I said, I was
a blank dass. The detective had stopped short, with an
expression of surprise on his face. Now he was a
(18:00):
little as the surprise deepened into perplexity. Yes, I heard
how it blew up, he replied, as he moved on again.
But it wasn't that. It was nothing go on, that's all.
It blew up. The bottom fell out. And then Gil
came to me and said he had embezzled a big
(18:20):
sum from the brokers he works for and sunk it
in United traffic. He was frantic. This was only day
before yesterday. As I said, I was under a great
obligation to him. I promised to see uncle and try
to get alone to help him out. I meant to
do it tonight and this afternoon, and Uncle's dead. I
had an appointment to see Gill at Brockton. He's you
(18:41):
saw what condition he's in. They're on to him and
he's laying low. I don't know what to do. I'm
all broken up about Uncle Carson, and I can't think anyway.
I thought maybe i'd see mister Mawson in the morning.
The young man finished, and the detective began to apply
him with questions, all of them he answered readily and consistently.
About them was the soft silence of the country side,
(19:04):
broken only by their voices and the rhythmic pat of
their feet on the mac adam as they swung along
side by side. The moon was dropping to the horizon now,
and there was a new ghostliness in the long, narrow
shadows of the trees. As they stretched into the fields
and moved their lazy fingers to and fro over the
quiet grass, The two men became silent, walking more swiftly.
(19:28):
An abrupt question now and then, and its answer was
all that was heard for half an hour. The best
thing you can do is to drop this, gill Warner entirely.
Rankin observed as they came within sight of the gate
of Green Lawn. Obligation is one thing, in common senses another.
He is a crook anyway, and the more you do,
the more you'll have to do. You say you think
(19:49):
he's not been in this neighborhood before I'll find out
about that. He may know. The detective stopped short by jove,
I'd forgotten, he exclaimed. After a moment, Harry turned inquiring
eyes on him. There was a man following me, Rankin explained.
He came out of the Greenlawn gate and followed us
all the way to Brockton. I saw him there in
(20:10):
a doorway. In excitement, I forgot all about it. He
came out of Green Lawn, Yes, not far behind me.
He followed all the way. Half involuntarily. The detective wheeled
and looked back down the road. The next instant he
grasped Harry by the arm. There he is now, he cried.
(20:33):
End of Chapter four.
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