Chapter Fourteen
HASTILY Boyle dashed out the back door with the letter. He hadn't had time to grab the magazine too. He only hoped the spy wouldn't notice the missing letter.
He heard the spy calling to the other men, wondering why his locker was open. Of course, no one knew.
Boyle breathed a sigh of relief. That was a close one. Another second and he'd have met up with the spy, who would have realized that Boyle now knew all.
"How far back do you want them?" the librarian inquired.
Boyle tried to remember a date that would help him. "1959," he said finally.
He was reading the issue from the week of September 14th, 1961 when a picture of a woman captured his attention. The article read:
Boyle stared at the photograph. There was no mistaking those bewitching eyes and brunette hair. The hair was cut short in the picture, but 1961 was nine years ago. It would have had plenty of time to grow long again. And what better place to hide out than in a small town where odds were that no one would recognize her? And, just to be on the safe side, she'd altered her name slightly.
He returned the newspapers to the librarian, thanked her, and, dashing to a pay phone, dialed the number of the L.A. branch of the FBI.
Towards late afternoon, the thunderstorms that had been predicted began. Lightning sliced through the sky. Thunder boomed. And rain poured down in buckets.
As Boyle typed away, alone in the duty hut, a particularly loud clap of thunder suddenly brought to memory the suspense movie that he and Gomer had seen the previous night. A thunderstorm! The ringleader's hide-out—an old, vacated house! In that instant, he knew where to go to get the mystery wrapped up.
"Are you the one who called to report seeing Florence Arthurs?" he asked.
"Yes," Boyle said, wondering what was coming.
"Well, she's flown the coop!"
"What?" Boyle exclaimed.
"That's right. We went to the Congo Club to find her, and then to her apartment, but she was gone. The landlady said that she'd paid her rent and departed, not even leaving a forwarding address. Somehow she must have found out that we're on to her."
"Oh brother," Boyle sighed.
"One big oh brother," Spier agreed. "We're getting a posse together to look for her, but no luck yet."
After he and Agent Spier had hung up, Boyle dashed over to the barracks. Sergeant Carter still wasn't speaking to him, so Gomer was his only hope.
"Oh, Pyle! Thank goodness you're here!" he greeted the Private upon arriving and finding him reading his suspense novel.
Gomer closed the book. "Oh, hey, Corporal! What's up?"
"I know how to wrap up this mystery, Pyle," Boyle told him.
"Shazam!" Gomer said delightedly. "You do? Where?"
"At the old Crawford mansion," Boyle replied, running out the door. "C'mon, Pyle, come with me!"
Gomer followed Boyle to a Jeep and they got in. "But Corporal, aren't we going to get Sergeant Carter?"
"No, Pyle," Boyle said regretfully as he started the engine and the Jeep slowly moved forward.
"We aren't? Well, why not?" Gomer was clearly puzzled.
"He's mad at me, Pyle."
"What on earth for?" Gomer exclaimed.
"He thinks I ruined things for him and Flo by reporting her in as a spy's assistant." He explained about the newspaper article and how Carter thought it was all baloney. "And now he won't speak to me, let alone go anywhere with me," Boyle concluded.
Gomer shook his head. "Why, that's terrible!"
"So I figured we'd give him a little time to cool off." Boyle steered the car off the base and towards the highway.
Gomer sighed. "Well, I guess that would be best. But I sure hope he doesn't stay mad at you long, Corporal. You were just doing what you had to."
Above them, the storm continued on.
"I should have brought new batteries," the Corporal sighed.
The gate blew open from the wind and the two Marines hurried up the driveway and onto the porch.
"Maybe we should have called the police," Gomer remarked as they entered the creepy old house, this time via the front door instead of the coal chute.
"There's not any time," was the response. "Everything makes sense now, and we've got to hurry."
"Well, what is it, Corporal?" Gomer asked, curious. "What's going to happen?"
Boyle was going to explain very briefly when he looked around and saw that Gomer wasn't with him.
"Pyle?" he called. "Pyle?" Then he called loudly. "P*Y*L*E!"
No answer.
Boyle glanced around uneasily. Somehow he felt like he was being watched, but he tried not to show it.
He had to find the missing Marines before it was too late!
He picked up the phone. A dial tone could be heard. Good! It worked! He dialed the number of Camp Henderson and waited.
When the operator came on, Boyle asked to be transferred to Company B's duty hut.
"Hello?" a gruff voice said.
Boyle glanced around the dark, creepy room before responding, "Hello, Vince? It's me—Corporal Boyle."
On the other end of the line Carter started to hang up. Boyle sensed he was doing that and immediately called into the phone, "Vince! Wait a minute! Please don't hang up! Pyle and I are in trouble! We're in the Crawford mansion. Pyle got separated from me and I can't find him."
"So? Keep looking," Carter replied icily.
"But Vince! This is urgent! I know who the spies are! And who knows what they'll do to Pyle and Lieutenant Masters and Private Nelson and Private Brighton!"
Carter took a slight interest. "Private Nelson? How do you know he's not the crook?"
"I've got the proof, Vince. I'll tell you later. But for now, can you please call the police and tell them to get out here right away?"
Carter nodded impatiently. "Yeah, yeah! But, Boyle? Who is the criminal?"
Several seconds passed. No answer.
"Hello, hello? Boyle? Answer me, Boyle!" Carter was beginning to grow panicky. What had happened to him?
Hacker came in at that moment. "Hi there, Vince! Don't you know you're not supposed to talk on the telephone during a thunderstorm?" he said jokingly.
Carter hung up the phone and paced the room.
"What's the matter with you, Vince? I hardly ever see you so jittery!"
Carter stopped pacing. "It's Boyle. I was talking to him on the phone. He knows who the real criminals are! Then suddenly he wasn't on the line anymore! I called and called but I didn't get any answer. Frankly, Hacker, I'm worried about him!" He resumed pacing. "Boy, was I ever stupid to be mad about something like that!" he burst out. "He was just doing what he had to. He wasn't trying to break Flo and me up!"
Now Hacker was puzzled. "Huh? What are you talking about, Vince?"
Carter didn't pay any attention. Instead, he got out the phone book and looked up the number of the local police department.
"How long did you call for him?" Hacker asked.
"Five minutes," Carter replied.
Hacker turned to the door. By this time he was also worried. "You call the police, Vince, and then drive on over to the Crawford place. I'll go over there now."
And without another word, Hacker was out the door and diving for a Jeep.
He went up the driveway and opened the front door. Inside, everything was dark and dim. The mess sergeant brushed aside a cobweb that suddenly flew down at him.
"Boyle?" he called softly. No reply.
Hacker wandered into each room, searching. Finally he made his way to the library.
Books were here, there, and everywhere. Most were in the bookcases, but some were on the floor. Lightning flashed outside.
Hacker shined his flashlight over some of the book titles. Most were mysteries, he discovered. The Spy in My House, Shadow at the Window, and White Night Terror were amongst them. Ominous titles, Hacker thought.
The library was a large room. Over on the far north side, almost entirely concealed by a curio cabinet, was a telephone, its receiver hanging down. Hacker didn't see anyone. "Hello? Boyle, are you in here?" he called softly. No reply.
Several minutes later, Hacker had given up and was going to leave the library when suddenly he heard someone walking by!
