I had to admit that it was a thrill to be seen driving up Fifth Avenue in a dashing motor car, with a handsome man beside me. The elegant neighborhood of the East Seventies soon faded, however, and the city became a collection of humble row houses mixed with ramshackle huts as we reached the northern tip of Manhattan Island. We crossed the icy bridge over the Harlem River with great caution and then had to proceed at a snail’s pace because the main road wasn’t as well maintained as Daniel had hoped. We passed signs of habitation, but it seemed that the towns were to the north of us. And we soon found ourselves in snowy countryside.
“Do you know where we are going?” I asked.
“We’re going to a police station,” Daniel said. “Just off the road here. It was apparently the first local station to respond to the accident,” he said. “I’m hoping they can show us the accident scene and maybe answer some questions.”
We found the police station in a little main street next to H. Bingler, dry goods, and R. Murray, greengrocer. It was lucky that Daniel was known to the sergeant on duty. He sent a constable with us who was only too eager to come for a ride in the rumble seat of our automobile and show us the accident site himself.
“It gave Ernie and me an awful scare, I can tell you,” he said, leaning between us from the back seat of the auto. “There was this horse less carriage, crashed into a tree, oil spilled out onto the snow, and not a soul in sight.
“ ‘Where can they have gone?’ Ernie says. ‘Someone must have been hurt, the way this thing’s smashed up.’ ”
“When was this?”
“It was the Wednesday morning. Later we found out that the vehicle must have collided with the tree the night before. But you’ll see how it ran off the road at a bend, so it wasn’t noticed until a farmer came by at daybreak.”
We rejoined the main road and soon the constable told us to stop in a wooded area where the road took a sudden swing to the right. “It was smashed into that oak there,” he said, climbing out of the seat. “See where it hit the tree?”
I could see a big gash in the trunk. I could also pick out dark patches in the snow. More snow had fallen the night before so it was hard to know if they were oil or blood.
“So the auto itself was pretty badly damaged?” Daniel asked.
“It sure was, sir. The whole front was smashed in. The steering-wheel column had been pushed clear out. I tell you, whoever was in there couldn’t have walked away, that’s my opinion.”
“And yet they did,” I said. “Were there any trails leading off through the snow?”
The constable looked sheepish. “Well, to start with we had no idea that this automobile was connected with a crime, so we looked all around to see if any wounded travelers had staggered away from the wreck and then collapsed. So a fair number of the tracks would be ours. But we saw no clear set of tracks leading away, I can tell you that. One strange thing. It did look as if a second vehicle had pulled up beside it at some time, then driven away again. It must have been another automobile because there were no signs of horses’ hooves. I think that must have been a good Samaritan just checking to see if anyone was hurt. He found nobody and drove off.”
He looked at us for affirmation.
“Where is the wrecked automobile now?” Daniel asked.
“We had it towed to the yard behind the police station. We thought that whoever owned it might want to salvage any parts that he could. But nobody showed up, and then we found out that it matched the description of the automobile that drove away from the Silverton place. When we gave it a thorough search, the sarge came up with the silver pot. ‘It’s part of the loot, boy,’ he said to me, and it was.”
“So was the auto ever checked for evidence?” Daniel asked.
“Evidence?” the constable looked confused.
“You know—scraps of clothing, hairs, that sort of thing.”
“I don’t think it ever was, sir. It was in pretty bad shape. Ernie says to me that it’s nothing but a heap of junk and we should help ourselves to the wheels, ’cos they were still good.”
“You didn’t, I hope?”
“Oh no, sir. By then word had come in that this particular automobile was wanted in a robbery.”
“Then I’d like to take a look at it,” Daniel said. “You can learn a lot with a magnifying glass and close observation, you know.”
“Really?” The young man looked impressed. “I know that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be able to pick up a cigarette end and tell you what kind of person smoked it, but I didn’t think that kind of thing was done in real life.”
“They are using fingerprints these days,” Daniel said. “Did you know that every fingerprint is different and they can be identified on most smooth surfaces?”
“No kidding, sir. Well, I guess I’d have to ask sarge if it’s okay for you to take a look. I’d sure like you see you find them fingerprints.”
“I don’t have a kit to do it with me,” Daniel said. “But I could come back with one. But it’s possible that clothing got torn in such a bad crash or even bits of skin and tissue were left behind.”
“Golly, sir,” the constable looked pale. “You surely wouldn’t want the young lady to see that?”
“The young lady has seen worse,” Daniel said. “She’s a bona fide detective, my boy.”
“No kiddin’, sir?”
He looked at me as if I were an exhibit in Mr. Barnum’s circus.
I felt that I should warrant the label so I left the motor car and walked around to examine the accident scene for myself. The ground was truly trampled, and to make things worse, a horse and cart had been used to tow away the wreck. A light coating of new snow had fallen, blurring the outlines of footprints, so that it would now be impossible for anyone to pick up a trail in the pristine woodland beyond.
My eye was caught by a scar on a nearby tree. A horizontal line cut neatly along the bark, about chest level. I followed the line and saw some kind of blemish on a tree beyond. I held my skirts free of the snow and waded across to see.
“Daniel, come here,” I called, my excitement mounting. I pointed at the trunk. “There is something stuck in the wood.”
Daniel produced a penknife and extracted it. “Good eyes, Molly. It’s a bullet.”
“And there is the path that it took grazing the outside of that tree trunk,” I said.
Daniel frowned as he looked. “Someone was shooting into the direction we have just come. A falling out among thieves, maybe. One of them tried to run off?”
“He obviously succeeded, since no body was found,” I said. “And remember what the constable said about the tracks of a second vehicle. Did another motor car catch up with this one and stop to offer help? Then why shoot?”
Daniel shook his head. “Interesting question. Was it just coincidence that a second vehicle showed up? Had it come to help them? Or come to take the loot from them?”
“You’re saying them, but we only believe that John Jacob Halsted was in the car, don’t we?”
“He could have been working with a partner.”
“Who then tried to double-cross him and run off with the loot, knowing he was injured.”
“And Halsted shot at him to stop him from getting away,” Daniel finished with satisfaction.
“In which case, where is Halsted?”
“It could be that the partner was the one doing the shooting and that he managed to kill Halsted and bury the body somewhere close by.”
“Don’t, it’s too horrible.” I shuddered. I looked up at the constable who was watching us with interest. “Were any dogs used in the search?”
“Wasn’t no need. You’d have seen the tracks, plain as day, if they’d gone off through the woods.”
“We were just speculating that there could have been a falling out among thieves here. We’ve just found a bullet imbedded in that tree. So it’s not beyond possibility that a body could be buried nearby.”
“I don’t think so, sir. It had snowed, remember. The snow would be all disturbed, wouldn’t it?”
“No harm in searching again, though,” Daniel said. “Does anyone nearby keep hounds?”
“Yes, sir. Farmer over Hatcher’s Corner way keeps a pair of coon hounds.”
“Did you ask at all the farms around this site, to see if the victims of the crash came to seek shelter anywhere?”
“Oh yes, miss. We asked, all right. And then when we knew it was a wanted man, we checked out barns and hen houses and everything. Didn’t find nothing though.”
“My money would be on the second automobile,” Daniel said. “It could even have been an arranged meeting, although I’m sure the crash wasn’t intentional.”
“So you are suggesting that someone met Halsted and whisked him and the loot away?”
“Exactly.”
“Then who was doing the shooting?”
“Ah. That we don’t know.”
It was cold and bleak standing there. I shivered. “I think we’ve seen enough. I’m freezing,” I said.
Daniel helped me in and the constable climbed into the backseat again. “Where to now, sir?”
“I think I’d like to examine the wreck,” he said, “and then, if your sergeant wouldn’t mind, I’d like to come back with an item of the missing man’s clothing and go over the area thoroughly with dogs.”
“You won’t find him, sir. He’s long gone,” the constable said. “We’d have heard by now if he was still hiding out around here.”
“Aren’t there marshes nearby?”
“Well, yes, there is marshland along the side of the sound, about half a mile from here, it would be. But those marshes are awful bleak and exposed. Not easy for a man to find a place to hide in the wintertime. Not much fun in the summer, either.”
Daniel started the motor and reversed carefully. The road was icy and we had no wish to repeat the disaster. Soon, with the sergeant’s blessing, the constable was opening up a yard in an alleyway and we saw the motor car for ourselves. It was a sorry sight, half hidden under a new dusting of snow. I felt sick and turned away. From the blackened state of the twisted metal, it looked like there had been a fire at some point. The red upholstery in the front seat was scorched and ripped. The backseat was intact, however, and Daniel examined it closely.
“Here’s a small prize,” he said. And he held up a long blonde hair. “Maybe Halsted wasn’t alone that night.”
“We know he was hoping to meet a young lady,” I agreed, “but why would her hair have been in the backseat?”
Daniel looked at me, went to say something, then thought better of it. “Of course we have no reason to suppose that the hair was from that night. I’m sure that he frequently transported young women, given what we know of his way of life, but it might be worth checking whether a young blonde woman has disappeared from New Haven or the surrounding area.”
“It’s too bad my speechless girl has chestnut hair,” I said.
Daniel shook his head. “I think we should rejoice that she is dark, because otherwise it would mean that the great trauma that robbed her of her senses was suffered at the hands of Halsted, and I would hate to have to break that news to his aunt.”
Nothing else was forthcoming from the automobile. We spoke with the sergeant, then drove to farms in the area, but none of the farm folk had any information for us. If John Jacob Halsted had managed to walk away from the damaged automobile, he had not sought sanctuary anywhere nearby. At least, he had not come knocking on any door and no trace of him had been found in barns or outbuildings. I now truly began to believe that he was a scoundrel after all, and that he had managed to get away safely with the loot.
“The next step should be to approach this from the items that were stolen,” Daniel said on the way home. “We’ll get a good description of them and they’ll have to show up somewhere. I’ll make some inquiries. I have some connections with fences in the area. They’ll let me know if any of the objects have shown up.”
“Poor Miss Van Woekem,” I said. “I rather think that we’ll have no good news for her, however hard we try.”
“You can’t pass judgment until you know all the facts,” Daniel said.
“Now who is being the optimist?” I asked.