The Sandy Steele Mystery by Roger Barlow

Author:Roger Barlow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, young adult, sleuth, ya, detective
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2016-04-06T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Checkmated

John Kennedy was an early riser. He had been so all his life. He had made no exception to his custom on this warm summer morning, rising with the first light of dawn.

But he was not happy to greet this day. It would mark the sale of the shipping line that had been in his family for close to a century. Though he hurried through his bath with his usual brisk, sure motions, Mr. Kennedy was a sorrowing man by the time he had walked out on the sundeck of his big stone house on Delaware Avenue.

168

Mechanically unwrapping his napkin and spreading it on his lap, he gazed without appetite at the breakfast laid out for him. His ears were deaf to the morning song of the birds, and his eyes were blind to the pleasant prospect of the gardens and green lawns that stretched away beneath him.

With a sigh, Mr. Kennedy picked up his knife and fork and began to eat.

There was the sound of footsteps and Mr. Kennedy glanced up to see his valet advancing timidly toward him.

“Well, Jenkins?”

“I, I’m sorry to disturb you, sir—but there’s a young gentleman on the telephone.”

“Jenkins,” Mr. Kennedy said gently, struggling to conceal his irritation, “must I repeat my very plain orders that I am not to be disturbed at breakfast?”

The valet’s face turned a deep red. He began to back away apologetically.

“I beg your pardon, sir. I will inform young Mr. Steele that he may call later.”

Mr. Kennedy’s eyebrows rose. “Steele? Did he say his name was Steele?”

“Yes, sir. He was quite excited, sir. Something to do with a discovery of ore, I gathered.” The butler shrugged with an apologetic air. “However, I will do as you say, sir.” He turned to go, and was all but knocked off his feet by the elderly, white-haired tornado that had shot past him.

169

Upon hearing those two words—“Steele” and “ore”—Mr. Kennedy had not hesitated. He had thrown down his fork, torn his napkin from his knees and leaped from his chair to bound into his bedroom and the telephone on his bedside table. Jenkins was shocked. He had never seen Mr. Kennedy run before—and never, never heard him shout over the telephone.

“Wha-a-at? What’s that, boy? Speak up, Sandy, I can’t hear you. What is that dreadful hammering noise?”

Wham! Wham! Wham!

That dreadful, hammering noise which Mr. Kennedy heard was the sound of a sledge hammer striking the door of the radio shack. Captain West was trying to batter it down.

He had run for a sledge hammer the moment he realized that his shouted commands to open the door were being ignored. Cookie stood a little aside, staring out of frightened eyes as the door jumped under the captain’s powerful, bludgeoning blows.

“Hurry, Sandy,” he whispered feverishly. “Oh, hurry! The lock’s going to give in another minute.”

170

Sandy had nodded. His own eyes were fastened on the door; his heart seemed to thump in time to Captain West’s hammering; he cradled the telephone as he waited for Mr.

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