The Mystery of the Scar-faced Beggar - M. V. Carey [44]
i on
o e ha
h nd
n and a
a sm
s a
m ll
l
br
b ush
s
h in
i the
h ot
o he
h r.
. The
h od
o ou
o r of
o
pa
p in
i t was
s st
s r
t on
o g in
i the
h
e a
ir
i .
.
The
h truck
k tha
h t the
h men were
e
admir
i in
i g
g
ha
h d
fr
f esh
s l
h y
l
pa
p inted
d
le
l tterin
i g on
o the
h si
s d
i e,
, repl
p a
l cin
i g the
h
name of
o
f th
t e
h mov
o in
i g and st
s or
o ag
a e
com
o pa
p ny.
. The
h new
w le
l t
e terin
i g
g sa
s id
i :
d
Mc. CUTCHEON’S
MARITIME SUPPLIES
Bob
o
b grin
i ne
n d to
o hi
h m
i s
m e
s lf
l .
f
. The
h
men ha
h d
d dis
i g
s uis
i e
s d on
o e of
o
f the
h
mov
o in
i g vans
n .
s
“A lo
l t
o of
o
f tro
r u
o bl
b e
l to
o go
o to,
o ” sa
s id
i Ha
H rry,
, gest
s uri
r n
i g wit
i h
h hi
h s
i
s br
b ush
s .
h
“The
h re’s
s a lo
l t
o at st
s ake
k ,” said Str
t auss
s .
s
. “We can’t
t ta
t k
a e
k
e a
a ch
c a
h n
a c
n e
c .
e
. An
A y
n b
y o
b d
o y
d
y se
s e
e s
e
s a
a
mov
o in
i g van
n pa
p rked ou
o t
u s
t i
s d
i e Denic
i o
c l
o a
l ’s,
s
, the
h re mig
i ht
h be
b qu
q est
s io
i n
o s.
s ”
Strauss turned away and vanished into the open doorway of the huge, windowless building. After a moment his companion followed him, and for a time Bob heard nothing except the sound of wood scraping on concrete. At last Strauss appeared again. He was wheeling a dolly that held three wooden crates. Strauss trundled them to the newly painted truck.
Harry came bumping out of the building with a second load of crates. Before he had gone two metres, however, he ran his dolly into a rut. One of his crates slid to the ground and broke open, spilling dozens of small boxes into the dirt.
“Hey, watch it!” yelled Strauss.
“Okay, okay!” said Harry. “Take it easy, huh?” He knelt down and gathered up the smaller boxes, crammed them back into the broken crate, then hefted the crate on to the dolly again.
From his perch on top of the idle truck, Bob saw that one of the small boxes had split. Several objects had escaped from it, and they now lay on the ground. Bob held his breath and waited. Neither Strauss nor Harry noticed the fallen objects. They went on loading crates into the back of the refurbished truck, then returning to the building to bring out more crates.
The two worked for nearly half an hour. They loaded crates of all sizes and shapes.
Some were made of wood and some of corrugated cardboard. Some were so heavy that it took both men to lift them. At last, the men closed the doors at the back of the truck and secured them with a padlock.
“We could’ve used some help on that one,” said Harry. He mopped his forehead with his handkerchief.
“We don’t need more witnesses,” said Strauss.
The men moved off into the cement-block building, and Bob lay still, waiting. Five minutes went by, and then ten. Strauss did not appear again, and there was no sign of Harry. Bob judged that the two were not going to return to the loaded van.
Bob crawled to the front of the truck that had been his hiding place. He slid down to the top of the cab, then to the hood, and then to the ground. He went swiftly to the spray of small objects that had fallen from the broken box and knelt to pick one up.
It was heavy. Bob felt cold with fright when he saw what it was. A bullet!
Then he looked up, and his fright became utter terror. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. He was frozen — too paralysed even to tremble.
A dog was watching him! A Doberman! It stood at stiff attention not three metres away. Its black eyes were fixed on Bob, and its ears were erect. It made no sound. It watched, pinning Bob with its gaze.
“Hey!” said Bob. It was a whisper—a breathless, rattling little whisper. “Hey, fella!
Hey there, boy!”
Bob stood up slowly, and took one step back from the dog.
The black lips lifted from white teeth, and a low, threatening growl sounded.
“Hey!” said Bob.
The growl was louder. The dog