The Last Drive Read Online Free PDF Page A

serious effect when taken internally, but almost instantly fatal when introduced into the blood through a wound. It was used by South American Indians to infect the tips of arrows; tiny arrows shot from blowpipes. The abrasion of the skin on the Colonel’s chest is final proof of the agent. The point is, how did it get there? It must have been done sometime within the ten minutes immediately preceding his collapse. Who did it, and how?”
    Silence greeted the detective’s pause. Mawson glanced at Doctor Wortley, then at the window; the two brothers had their eyes fixed on the detective. Nobody spoke.
    â€œDid anything unusual happen during that time?” Rankin continued. “Was there anyone about except you four men and the caddies?”
    There was a simultaneous “No” from the two young men, and Fraser Mawson shook his head in negation.
    â€œNo one,” the latter declared. “Nothing unusual occurred, absolutely nothing, until poor Carson suddenly cried out and fell to the ground. To me, Mr. Rankin, the whole thing is incomprehensible. There was absolutely no way it could have happened. And I can’t believe—why, Carson Phillips hadn’t an enemy in the world.”
    â€œNevertheless, it did happen.” The detective’s tone was grim. “And I don’t suppose you intend to suggest suicide, Mr. Mawson.”
    â€œGood heavens, no!” the lawyer protested. “I simply can’t understand it.”
    â€œOne of the caddies was a West Indian,” Fred Adams put in suddenly.
    Rankin sent him a quick glance. “Which one?”
    â€œMine. His name’s Joe; that’s all I know about him. Never had him before.”
    â€œM-m-.” Rankin didn’t seem particularly interested. “I’ll talk to him. You can never tell. But as a matter of fact, I expect to find nothing here. The sooner we’re away the better. Doctor, I’ll ask you to go with us. An examination should be made of that wound. Telephone to Brockton for a conveyance for the body. It can follow.”
    The detective paused, then turned to Fred Adams:
    â€œI’ll spend the night with you at Greenlawn, if you don’t mind. And Doctor Wortley—”
    â€œVery well, sir. But I don’t see how you expect to find out anything there.” The young man was plainly surprised, as were the others.
    â€œPerhaps I won’t. We’ll look around a bit, though. Will you do that telephoning, Doctor? It would be best to go down at the rear; no use running past all those curious eyes.” He turned to the others. “You came over in the Colonel’s car, I suppose. Run it out on the drive and wait for me there. I’ll be only a minute or two.”
    Downstairs again, Rankin observed that the excitement was beginning to quiet down a little. Groups had broken up and scattered, and when he reached the piazza he saw several pairs and foursomes making their way to the first tee. On the lawn he found Harrison Matlin and surprised the club president by informing him of his decision to depart at once for Greenlawn, Colonel Phillips’s country estate; then the two men proceeded together to the caddie-house. Joe, the West Indian mentioned by Fred Adams, proved to be one of those indolent, ignorant half breeds who seem to consider the process of breathing an unwarranted tax on human energy; he had been with the club now for more than two seasons, and the caddie-master declared him to be inoffensive and fairly competent. Rankin asked him a few guarded questions, then dismissed him with a shrug of the shoulders; clearly there was nothing to be suspected here.
    He found the motor car on the drive near the gateway, with Fred Adams at the wheel and Harry seated beside him with a bag of golf clubs between his knees. To an observation of Rankin’s as he climbed in the young man responded:
    â€œThey’re not mine, sir. Uncle Carson’s. I didn’t want