The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [5905]
And then there was Bartlett. It was true he walked the streets - 0r rather rode around them in his "Spanish Omelet" - a free man; yet the finger of suspicion was constantly pointed at him.
More than once in the town he met people who sneered openly at him, as if to say, "You are guilty, but we can't prove it." And once on the golf course he went up to three men who had formerly been quite friendly and suggested a game of golf, upon which one after another the others made trivial excuses and begged to be excused. Upon this occasion the young man had rushed away, his face scarlet, and he had only calmed down after a mad tour of many miles in his racing machine.
"It's an outrage!" he had muttered to himself. "A dastardly outrage! But what is a fellow going to do?"
Meanwhile Colonel Ashley and Jack Young were puzzling their heads over many matters connected with the golf course mystery. Jack had obeyed the colonel's instructions to the letter. He had played many rounds on the links and had gotten to a certain degree of friendship with Jean Forette. He had even formed a liking for Bruce Garrigan, who, offhand, informed him that the amount of India ink used in tattooing sailors during the past year was less by fifteen hundred ounces than the total output of radium salts for 1916, while the wheat crop of Minnesota for the same period was 66,255 bushels. All of which information, useful in a way, no doubt, was accepted by Jack with a smile. He was there to look and listen, and, well, he did it.
"But I've got to pass it up," he told Colonel Ashley. "I've stuck to that Jean chap until I guess he must think I want him for a chauffeur if ever I'm able to own a car bigger than a flivver. And aside from the fact that he does use some kind of dope, in which he isn't alone in this world, I can't get a line on him."
"No, I didn't expect you would," said Colonel Ashley, with a smile. "But are you well enough acquainted with him to have a talk with his sweetheart?"
"You mean Mazi?"
"Yes."
"Well, I s'pose I might get a talk with her. But what's the idea?"
"Nothing special, only I'd like to see if she tells you the same story she told me. Have a try at it when you get a chance."
"On the theory, I suppose, of in any trouble, look for the lady?"
"Somewhat, yes."
They were talking in The Haven, for Jack had been put up there as a guest at the request of Colonel Ashley. And when the bell rang, indicating some one at the door, they looked at one another questioningly.
Then came the postman's whistle, for Lakeside, though but a summer resort, with a population much larger in summer than in winter, boasted of mail delivery.
A maid placed the letters in their usual place on the hall table, and the colonel quickly ran through them, for he had reports sent him from his New York office from time to time.
"Here's one for you, Jack," he announced, handing his assistant a letter.
While Jack Young was reading it the colonel caught sight of a postal, with the address side down, lying among the other missives. It was a postal which bore several lines of printing, the rest being filled in by a pen, and the import of it was that a certain library book, under the number 58 C. H - I6I* had been out the full time allowed under the rules, and must either be returned for renewal, or a fine of two cents a day paid, and the recipient was asked to give the matter prompt attention.
The. colonel turned the card over. It was addressed to Miss Viola Carwell at The Haven.
"So the book is out on her card," murmured the detective. "I must look for her copy of 'Poison Plants of New Jersey,' and see if it is like the one I have."
"Were you speaking to me?" asked Jack, having finished his letter.
"No, but I will now. We've got to get busy on this case, and close it up. I've been too long on it now. Shag is getting impatient."
"Shag?"
"Yes, he wants me to go fishing."
"Oh, I see. Well, I'm