Chapter 13

Big Ed Wallington pulled the cruiser off towards the side of the road and slowed down. “Now it was right along in here somewhere,” he said.

Lieutenant Tyler said, “I’d like to find the exact spot if we can do so.”

“Well, I remember I went through a soft patch of earth just before I got out of the car. It should be... right along in here...”

“Take it easy,” Tyler said. “Put it in low gear.”

The car crawled along. Suddenly Wallington said, “This is the place. There are my tracks. There’s where I went through the soft verge.”

“Okay. This is good,” Tyler said. “Leave it here.”

They stopped the car. Moose Wallington put on the red blinker which warned traffic coming from both directions that a Slate Police car was parked by the side of the road. The two officers got out, carrying flashlights, and walked slowly along the ground, studying the car tracks.

“This is where I parked. Right here,” Wallington said. “When I pulled out you can see that I turned over to the left.”

“All right. Now where was this other car?”

“Well, now, I’d say he was about fifteen feet ahead of me. I wanted to have it so my lights would show him up good... and... yes, there are his tracks right there.”

“All right,” Lieutenant Tyler said. “Let’s look around.”

They examined the ground carefully.

“Don’t see any signs of a jack having been put down here,” Wallington said, “and there certainly wasn’t any flat tire on the car which pulled in here.”

Lieutenant Tyler walked slowly and carefully.

Wallington’s flashlight paused on a fence post. “Say,” he said. “Look at this. There’s a chip taken out of that fence post and it looks fresh.”

The two officers moved over and studied the light-colored surface of the fence post which showed in contrast to the dark, weathered exterior of the other portion.

“There’s the chip on the ground,” Wallington said. “Somebody cut it off very recently. It’s good and fresh... that’s a marker.”

Lieutenant Tyler examined the chip, took a can of pipe tobacco from his pocket, regretfully dumped out the tobacco and put the chip inside the can.

Wallington said, “I’m sorry I bungled this, sir.”

“You haven’t bungled it,” Lieutenant Tyler replied. “I had a man in Noonville give us a report on Rob Trenton. He’s pretty well-known there. Trains dogs. In fact he’s sold us half a dozen dogs that he’s given basic training. We’ve taken them on from there.”

“What does Trenton have to say?” Wallington asked.

“He doesn’t say anything. He isn’t there. But the man who works for him and has charge of the dogs when Trenton is away, said Trenton drove this car home and left it in the driveway. In the morning it was gone. Trenton started out in his station wagon and hasn’t been heard from since. He’s just back from a European trip. I telephoned Customs to see if they knew anything about the car and they told me Trenton had been subjected to quite a search because of association with a man by the name of Ostrander who was thought to have been mixed up in smuggling drugs.”

“What happened to Ostrander?”

“Ostrander was given a thorough search and a clean bill of health, but under the circumstances I’m not going to take any chances.”

The trooper’s flashlight moved slowly along the ground. Moose Wallington said, “Look here, Lieutenant. There’s fresh dirt on top of the grass and here’s a place where the sod has been cut.”

“Get the shovel out of the car, Ed,” Lieutenant Tyler snapped.

The trooper hurried over to the cruiser, raised the turtleback and returned with a short-handled shovel.

Lieutenant Tyler lifted the circular segment of sod, then dug cautiously downward. He stopped suddenly as the lip of the shovel rang on metal and a moment later he brought out the circular piece of metal and the packages wrapped in oiled silk.

Wallington whistled.

Lieutenant Tyler said, “Tune in on your radio. Give Headquarters code signal fourteen. That’ll get four more men on the job. What’s the co-ordinate here?”

“I’ll look it up,” Wallington said, taking his book from the glove compartment of the car.

A moment later he picked up the receiver from the hook on the two-way radio, said, “This is car seven calling Headquarters signal fourteen, co-ordinate AB north three hundred, and seventy-two east.”

Wallington could hear the dispatchers’ voice snap to quick interest, “Signal fourteen?”

“Right.”

“Okay,” the dispatcher said, then hung up.

Lieutenant Tyler said, “Now I want to put some of this stuff back in the ground. We’ll keep the rest of it and...”

“You mean we’re going to leave some of this stuff here?”

“That’s right. When the man who dug that hole comes back to pick up the stuff I want to be sure we have a charge against him that’ll stick. It’s not a crime to dig a hole in the ground, but it is a crime to have dope in your possession. I want to see that he has plenty in his possession.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right,” Tyler said, filling his pockets with packages from the oiled silk cache. “We’ll bury the rest and leave the ground just like it was. Then we’ll get out of here so that these passing motorists won’t wonder what we’re doing. Of course, we’re taking a chance that the man who buried it isn’t one of these passing motorists... I think it’s a little early. I wish those reinforcements would show up. When they do, I’m going to station a man over in that field with a telephone. We’ll plant cruisers down the road on each side. I don’t want these boys to get away. I want to catch them red-handed.”

They walked back to the police cruiser and sat down to wait, knowing that within a matter of minutes two more cruisers loaded with men prepared for any emergency would be on the ground.

The co-ordinates had located the position of car seven within two hundred feet.

The trap was ready to be set.

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