Maxwell Grant - The Shadow 336 by Blackmail Bay

Author:Blackmail Bay [Bay, Blackmail]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-11-14T23:19:14+00:00

SHORTLY after six o’clock, a sharp rap brought Margo to the library door.

She opened it to find stoop-shouldered Judge Kroft standing there, beaming a very wise smile.

“Hobbs is on his way here,” said Kroft, “to take the two of us to Beacon Point. Cranston will remain here to handle contacts by telephone. I will carry the money bag” - he lifted a suitcase as he spoke - “and you will bring along a

box lunch that Hulda has made up for us in case we have too long a wait.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were riding past the landing in Hobbs’

jalopy.

Since the ‘Priscilla’ had left on her six o’clock trip, the wharf was almost deserted, with only a few late customers coming out of the general store.

Those

few stared, somewhat puzzled, as they saw the ancient taxi take the little used

two-mile road along the shore to Beacon Light. The terrain was barren and the wind had swept sand in from the narrow beach, beyond which Margo saw the broad mud flats, a somber, almost ominous sight in contrast to the highly tinted sunset. A blue sparkle off beyond the flats proved that the bay was still there, despite the low tide.

The causeway was a raised, stony road, too narrow for a car to take, but providing a firm path across a solid, level strip straight to the old lighthouse that loomed from a mound of rock at the far end. Alighting from the jalopy quite spryly, the judge paid Hobbs a fee and told him to return around midnight, an order which gave Margo a slight shudder for, with the settling dusk, the surroundings were becoming spooky. Judge Kroft was wearing an oversized yellow oilskin slicker draped around his shoulders, so as he led the way over the narrow causeway, it was easy for Margo to follow. Again, she was surprised at the agility he showed, particularly in the handling of his long, heavy cane.

When they reached the old lighthouse, the judge pulled open a shaky, creaky door and Margo saw tables and benches on the stone floor. Old-fashioned lanterns hung from the walls of a large, rounded room. The judge explained that

the islanders occasionally held picnics in the place. Still in a spry mood, he moved about, lighting enough of the lanterns to offset darkness, which was now complete; and as an afterthought, he chortled: “Speaking of picnics, Miss Lane,

let’s open Hulda’s box-lunch and have one of our own!”

They did as suggested and after the repast, Kroft regaled Margo with accounts of his legal career and legends of Cobosco Bay. As minutes turned to hours, the judge seemed to grow younger, though at times his voice became wheezy and he was forced to pause. Then, the only sound was the lapping of waves from the slowly rising tide around the base of the lighthouse until suddenly Kroft said: “Listen!”

As he raised his hand for silence, the creaky door swung open with a clatter and in from the threshold stepped a sinister figure heavily muffled in baggy trousers and a thick sweater topped with a hunter’s cap.

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