The Case of the Musical Cow

Chapter 8

It was a new and disquieting experience for Rob Trenton to feel that he was dodging the law. However, he felt certain Linda could have had nothing to do with the cache of smuggled drugs and welcomed the opportunity to clear her by ascertaining the real culprit.

However, this ambition which seemed so thoroughly logical to him as he drove along began to present practical difficulties as he started planning his moves. Every mile that he covered brought new dangers to his mind. Quite obviously someone who would have used Linda Carroll as an unwitting tool in a smuggling operation running into the tens of thousands of dollars would hardly submit tamely to such amateurish outside interference as Rob Trenton could at the moment think up. A vague disquiet filled him with apprehension. He had a few hours of grace at the most. Then the smuggler would find that the cache had been disturbed. And then what?

Rob thought of several possibilities, none of which appealed to him. Quite obviously he could never go to the police. It was too late for that now. He had burnt his bridges so far as the police were concerned. Not only could he offer no adequate defense that would protect Linda, but he could never explain his actions in burying the oiled silk packages; and the date of the newspaper in which they were wrapped would be a damning link in the chain of evidence.

Rob realized that he was definitely and entirely on his own, realized also the very strong possibility that he was dealing not with one man, but a gang. There must have been more than three pounds in those oiled silk packages, and even Rob’s comparative ignorance of values was not such that he failed to recognize a well-planned operation of considerable magnitude.

It was nine-thirty when Rob Trenton picked up the lights of the little village which was so familiar to him. The T & C café was open and an oblong of light spread out from the window to splash in vivid orange on the sidewalk. A filling station was a blaze of white illumination. Aside from that the town was closed up for the night and the headlights of the little car danced along the road as Rob passed the town, went a mile and a half, turned to the right for two miles, then turned in at his little farm.

He had sent Joe Colton a wire stating that he would arrive late that night. There was a light on in the kitchen and one by the kennels.

Rob Trenton gave two rapid blasts of the horn as he turned in at the gate, and then realized that the horn would do no good because of Joe’s deafness.

However, as Trenton piloted the car around the back circle of the driveway and the lights shone on the kitchen window, old Joe came hobbling out, his face wreathed with a welcoming grin.

Leaning heavily on his cane, Joe hurried over to the car. “How’re you coming, boss?”

Knowing Joe’s deafness, Rob waited until the door was open before he shouted, “Hello, Joe, how’re you feeling?”

It was at the sound of Rob Trenton’s voice that pandemonium broke loose in the kennels. The dogs had been carefully trained not to bark, but the sound of Rob’s voice put too great a strain on their self-control and once the first bark of the younger dog broke the precedent, they were beyond all restraint.

Even Joe’s calloused old ears took cognizance of that racket. He grinned at Rob Trenton as he shook hands and said, “Reckon you’ve got to speak to ’em now they’ve heard your voice.”’

Lobo standing up in the back of the car, was growling throatily, then whining.

Trenton said to the big German Shepherd, “You wait there, Lobo, till I’ve gone over and paved the way.”

There were ten dogs in the kennels, and ten eagerly whining canines greeted their returned master. Ten moist snouts had to muzzle against his hand and then, the greetings done, Rob returned to the car, brought Lobo back with him and introduced him to the dogs, one at a time, through the wire-meshed doors of the individual kennels. He then returned with Lobo to the house and said “I hate to make the other dogs jealous, Joe, but this boy is strange and he’ll have to sleep on my bed tonight until he gets accustomed to the place and knows the other dogs, then we’ll fix a kennel for him and he can live with the others and take training.”

Joe, in the cracked monotone of a man who cannot hear the cadences of his own voice, said, “Things been going all right while you’ve been gone. Kept all the dogs on training, putting them through the regular routine every day. Kept them fed up nice, and they’re all feeling pretty good. What kind of a trip did you have?”

He showed that he hardly expected an answer. Hearing was such an effort with him that he preferred to ramble on.

“How’s Europe anyway?”

Rob nodded and smiled, motioned towards the car and said, “I’ll get my baggage in.”

“How’s that?”

Joe cupped his hands back of his ears and Rob shouted, “I’ll get my baggage in.”

Joe hobbled out to give what help he could and the men carried Rob’s bags in. Rob stacked them in the corner of his bedroom, leaving them unopened, taking only pyjamas and toilet articles from his overnight bag.

Lobo walked stiff-legged around the room, his nose inspecting every nook and corner, then, finally deciding that the bed belonged to that of his new-found master, looked inquiringly.

Rob nodded and said, “All right, boy,” and Lobo jumped up on the bed with such light grace that his feet barely seemed to depress the covers.

“Got her all made up fresh for you,” Joe said. “How about something to eat? Want to have a little bite?”

Rob shook his head.

“Well, I reckon you’re tired. How about that car? I didn’t understand about that.”

“I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“How...”

“Later on,” Rob shouted.

“Okay,” Joe said, and went hobbling about the kitchen getting things ready for the night, asking a hundred questions without waiting for the answers.

“Get to Paris?... Did, eh?... How’s that Folies whatchamaycallit?... Good, eh?... Right up to specifications... heh-heh-heh... Bet you had a front seat. Liked that Switzerland scenery all right, eh? Thought you would... Lots of lakes and mountains, I s’pose...”

And so old Joe went on with a rambling interrogation, answering all the questions himself. So far as any contribution to the conversation was concerned, Rob might as well have remained in Europe. But his physical presence was all that was required to give Joe’s answers to his own questions sufficient authenticity to satisfy him. For years now he had been too deaf to bother with the long drawn-out process of listening to the other man, save in matters of great importance, so he contented himself with a series of one-sided conversations.

It seemed good to Rob Trenton to be once more splashing in his own shower, working up plenty of suds in the soft water, then drying off, getting into pyjamas and climbing into bed.

The huge windows were wide open, and through the heavy screen came the myriad night noises of the country and a benediction of fresh, pure air which gave the tired traveler’s lungs a feeling of drinking in pure, cool refreshment.

Rob settled under the covers. Lobo adjusted himself so that he was curled against the feet of his new master, and Trenton slept.

Some time towards morning Trenton was aroused by the dog. The animal was growling throatily.

“That’s all right, Lobo,” Trenton assured him drowsily. “Lie down, it’s just a new home.”

But the dog stood stiff and rigid, growling. Then with his paw he scratched at the covers over Rob’s legs. Annoyed, Trenton said, “Down, Lobo. Down, I say.”

The dog sank back down on the bed, but his muscles were taut as springs.

Trenton fought his way back from a deeper bliss of refreshing slumber to put out a hand in the general direction of the dog. He patted the animal once or twice reassuringly, said, “It’s all right, boy, keep quiet,” and promptly went back to sleep.

In the morning he awoke with sunshine streaming through the windows, the lace curtains fluttering with the morning breeze. He felt that his blood had been washed clean in an oxygen bath, that he had been aerated, renewed and filled with vitality.

Lobo, stretched out on the bed in complete oblivion, seemed to be enjoying the advantages of his first day off the ship.

“All right, Lobo,” Rob grinned. “It’s time to arise and greet the dawn.”

The dog opened his eyes, thumped his tail against the foot of the bed, then came crawling up for a morning greeting, putting his head on Rob’s chest, letting Rob’s fingers rough the hair of his forehead and around his ears.

“All right, boy, let’s go,” Rob said, and Lobo gained the floor with a quick leap.

Trenton stretched, yawned, kicked his feet into slippers, and went out into the kitchen where Joe, with a fire going in the wood stove, water boiling merrily in the kettle, was frying bacon.

Rob poured himself a cup of coffee from the big fire-blackened pot that was over in the back of the stove.

Joe grinned a greeting, and said, “Got you some orange juice in the ice-box.”

Rob motioned that that would come later. He’d take a shower, then have fruit juice and breakfast, but now he wanted coffee and a chance to relax.

He sipped the coffee, said to Joe, “I’m going to keep Lobo as a house dog, Joe. I’d like to make him a personal dog. I’ll train the others but Lobo will be a companion.”

Joe cupped his hands back of his ears, squinted his eyes with a concentration of effort at hearing, and Rob smiled, waved his hand and said, “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

He walked to the door and inhaled the freshness of the air, looked out over the rolling acres of the countryside, out to the kennels where the dogs were eagerly awaiting their morning schooling, dogs that had been trained to maintain silence unless they had been specifically ordered otherwise.

Rob opened the doors, strolled out into the back yard, inhaled deeply, then suddenly stiffened to attention as he looked at the circle and the driveway.

The little car was gone.

Rob rushed back into the kitchen, put his hand on Joe Colton’s shoulder, his mouth close to Joe’s ear. “Joe, what happened to the little car?”

“The one you came home with? It’s out there.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“What?”

“I say it isn’t out there.”

Joe started for the door, then after the manner of a good cook, turned, carefully drained the grease from the bacon and set the frying-pan over on the back of the stove. He grabbed his cane, hobbled to the door, and stood looking at the driveway. “Well, I’ll be doggoned,” he said.

The two men were silent for a moment.

“How about the keys?” Joe asked. “Didn’t you lock her up?”

“Sure I locked it up,” Rob Trenton said. He went swiftly to his bedroom, searched the pocket of his coat and came back with the keys to the car. “I locked the ignition,” he said.

“Well, she’s gone now,” Joe told him, and seeing there was nothing for the moment that could be done about the situation he returned to the stove, gave a little shake to the coffee-pot, brought the frying-pan of bacon back over the warm part of the stove and carefully resumed his slow, methodical cooking. “The station wagon’s out back of the barn. Anyhow, I hope she is. We’ll take a look around as soon’s I get this breakfast out of the way.”

Rob Trenton dashed in to put on clothes, then out again to look at tracks. It was difficult to tell much about man tracks because Rob and Joe had made so many tracks the night before in unloading the baggage, but there were tire tracks going in the driveway and there were tire tracks going out of the driveway. These last tracks showed unmistakably, that the car had been turned north on the highway, in a direction away from town.

Trenton returned for breakfast and said, “I’m going to have to notify Linda Carroll. She has all the data on motor number, engine number and all that, and I suppose, of course, the car is insured.”

Joe Colton didn’t hear him, but he nodded with that vague agreement which characterizes the gesture of a deaf man. “Now you’re cooking with gas,” he said. “That’s the way to handle it.”