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Chapter VII. I Make Discoveries · The House of Skulls

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Chapter seven of the House of Skulls by H. Bedford Jones. This LibriVox
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recording is in the public domain. Read by Ben Tucker. Chapter seven,
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I make discoveries. To see me sauntering along with a gun under my arm
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seemed to cause her some alarm. And two she seemed very self repressive.
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Her greeting was cold. Then with a quick change of mood, she smiled,
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are you going hunting like every one else? Mister Desmond, I am,
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Miss Balliol, I responded. An adorable flush stole into her cheeks,
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but her blue eyes did not falter. I must apologize for that, she
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said, simply. It was abominable. But at first I I said that
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I was a friend, and you turned out to be a sister. I
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cut in. Please, Miss balliol don't explain. I figured it out for
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myself later on, and I understand perfectly. But if it is not an
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impertinence, may I ask what on earth your doing? This is an outlandish
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place in which to meet any one, particularly a person of one whom has
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thought so much, and often her gaze dwelt upon me thoughtfully, searchingly,
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even suspiciously, to be candid, mister Desmond, I hadn't the least intention
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of confiding in you, she stated coolly. But I can't help believing that
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you are honest. Oh who said that? I Wasn't you implied as much
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by buying my brother's property. Here, thanks, I murmured, feeling pretty
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well dazed. I'm going to Dawson's farm for a short visit, she went
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on, if you care to see me there, I'll be very glad to
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explain matters fully. I think the up Lake launch is about due. I
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did not know anything about the up Lake launch, but I took chances no,
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I said positively. She ran on a mud bar this morning and is
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stuck with a broken propeller. If you want to get the Dawsons, will
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you let me take you in my launch? There's not another to be hired,
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I assure you. Besides, it will let us talk on the way.
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I have a suspicion that she knew I was lying, but if so,
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she did not mind at all. Events. She accepted my invitation as
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she had only her suit case. We were chugging away from Lakeport in side
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of ten minutes. She added to the mystery by stating that Dawson's took borders
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and that while she was totally unknown here, she had determined to pay a
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visit to the lake on business. I began to feel somewhat uncomfortable. There
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are several things to straighten out, miss Balliol. I observed, first your
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remarks about my honesty. Then, if you remember when I told you about
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your brother, you exclaimed that they had killed him. She whitened a little.
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Please, she checked me swiftly. Let me take things in order,
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mister Desmond, I should not have made that remark about your honesty. It
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requires another apology from me. Now, let me get these things out.
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She opened her hand back and began to look over papers. Meantime, she
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went on to give me some idea of her brother's past life and of her
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own. Balliol Senior, who had been a wealthy life lawyer in Boston,
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had died suddenly six years previously. He had left few resources except a family
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residence near Boston and two small undeveloped ranches here in Lake County. Martha Balliol
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had at once fitted herself for a position as stenographer, remaining at home with
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her mother. John Balliol, a boy nearly through Harvard, had come to
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California and had to set to work developing the two ranches on clear Lake.
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He had worked like a trojan too. As the girl told me of what
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he had accomplished lone handed, I felt a pang of pity for him.
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Two years before this present time, he had sold one of the ranches for
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a handsome sum. He had sent a large part of the money home to
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relieve conditions there and pay off the mortgage on the family home. Then,
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meaning to bring his mother and sister to Clear Lake, he had built his
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house on the twenty acre ranch, and had built it well. The work
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had taken him nearly a year, for he had done most of it with
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his own hands. During that time, however, some trouble had developed.
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To balance this, he had made money off his crops and had ordered his
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Paragon car specially built. What with one thing and another, he had spent
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every red scent that he could raise, Being confident of the future, then
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went on the girl. The trouble increased. What it was, I don't
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know. I can't find out. He only wrote about it once, and
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then he sent this photograph. It explains itself so far as I can discover.
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Jack must have made an enemy of this man and took his picture while
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they were having an argument. I was like Jack. He had no lack
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of nerve or of nerves either, I added to myself as I took the
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letter in picture which she handed me. The picture was a Kodak snapshot of
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a very angry young man shaking his fist at the camera. There was no
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doubt about his anger. A snarling, venomous rage was stamped all over him.
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As I recognized his face, however, an exclamation escaped me, for
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beyond all question, it was the same swarthy young man who had tried to
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cut my tires at my Gray's tavern. What's the matter? Broke out Miss
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Balliol. You know him, I've seen him, tell you about it in
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a minute. Beneath the picture was written John Talkso, registering rage. Taking
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the letter, I read a marked paragraph. It dealt with the same John
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Talkso, a name whose very queerness made me wonder what nationality the young man
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could be. Balliol had not explained this, but had written, I am
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having more trouble with the individual whose picture I enclose. However, I hoped
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to obviate further trouble with him. The whole thing is so silly that one
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hesitates to write any explanation. Don't worry about it. That was finally indefinite,
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was it not. It was about six months ago, resumed Miss Balliol.
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We got into terrible trouble, and I was afraid to write Jack about
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it because we were trying so hard not to increase his worries. Mother was
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very ill, and we had to mortgage the house again. Then a private
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bank failed, a bank in which father had left us a block of stock.
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The stock had never been any good. And then on the failure of
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the bank, we had to pay a t tremendous assessment to secure the depositors,
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and that finished everything for us. Mother died suddenly. When it was
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all over, I wrote Jack, what had happened? Then I went back
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to work. I did not hasten her recital, and she paused for a
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few moments. We were chugging merrily down the lake, and the heat of
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the sun was relieved by a cool breeze, which brought stray locks of Martha
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Balliol's hair about her face in distracting fashion. It was a hard blow to
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Jack. Of course, she went on, now, what has happened?
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I don't know and can't discover mister Desmond. He wired me a month ago
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to meet him in Los Angeles at once. He wrote little or nothing in
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the interim. I came to Los Angeles and he did not turn up.
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I could not get in touch with him at all. Then one morning he
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called me up on the telephone and told me to catch the night train for
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San Francisco and to meet him at the station an hour before the train left.
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I felt that something terrible was happening, but he gave no explanation.
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When we met at the station, he was a nervous wreck, and he
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was frightfully mysterious about everything. He told me to go on to San Francisco
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and that i'd hear from him en route. How did you recognize his car
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from the train, I broke in, You've never seen it, No,
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but he had sent us the colored pictures when he had ordered it built,
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and he had sent photographs of it after he had received it. It's such
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a distinctive car that no one could possibly mistake it. That was very true,
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as I had discovered well that night at the station, she pursued.
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Jack gave me an envelope and said to open it after the train had started.
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He made me promise him. Then he kissed me good bye and said
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not to worry, that he had fixed everything all right for me. That's
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the last I saw of him, mister Desmond. Later on the train,
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I opened his letter and found your check to him with this note. She
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handed me a note in Balliol's writing which read as follows, Dearest Sis,
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the game's up as far as I'm concerned. You'll hear about it soon enough.
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They were too much for me at the ranch. They drove me out,
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to put it bluntly. If I hadn't had too much cursed pride,
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I might have done otherwise. But I fought them, and now they'll get
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me sure if I go back. Besides this, I've got in bad with
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another deal. If I go through with it, then you'll lose everything,
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and I can't face it. I guess I'm pretty well broken down, says
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I've been a fool, that's all. There's only one way to secure to
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you what can be secured, and I've taken it. I've sold the ranch
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for ten thousand, which is far below its value, and enclosed the check.
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Cash it immediately in San Francisco. Goodbye, dear little siss, and
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make the best of it, Jack, that was, on the face of
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it a cowardly letter, considering that an hour later Balliol had killed himself.
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But I could not help remembering all that he must have endured and fought for
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in the past years. Still we haven't solved the secret of the mysterious they
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I observed, except that John talkso whoever he is, is concerned in it.
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This letter, too, speaks of another deal, vague and mysterious as
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ever, Miss Balliol, do you have any idea why your brother did what
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he did in Los Angeles? She shook her head. His suicide was still
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a mini to her. I told her about my encounter with John Tosa and
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with a shot from the hills. She had warned me in San Francisco merely
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on impulse, for she had felt that there was something vaguely but distinctly hostile
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about that ranch. Also, she had been distrustful of me, for she
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had imagined that I might have been concerned in some conspiracy to beat down the
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value of the ranch and get it cheap. There is the contradiction of woman
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for you. Well, in sight of twenty minutes, we were on a
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solid footing of friendship. I managed to convince her as to my entire ignorance
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of the trouble, and I could see that the poor girl had been driven
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nearly wild by the mystery which had shrouded Balliol's latter days. As we drew
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up the lake, I suggested to Martha Balliol that she might care to stop
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at the ranch and look over the house. There may be books or other
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personal belongings of your brothers that you'd like to keep, I explained, really,
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miss Balliol, I'd feel much relieved if you'd go through his effects and
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take everything that you'd like to have. I felt very badly over the deal,
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because I've seemed to take undue advantage of his circumstances, and I feel
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as though some repper and expiation were due you. Later, I thought I'd
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add at least five thousand to the purchase price of the ranch, but of
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course this was not the moment to broach such a matter, since it was
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early in the afternoon. Miss Balliol thanked me and consented to stop in at
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the ranch for Dawson's lay just across the bay, and we could run over
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there in ten minutes. Accordingly, we ran into the dock, and on
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this occasion there was no red flare in the skull sockets. Nor did I
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say anything to her about the skulls, for the subject was not a very
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pleasant one to bring before the girl's mind. I was careful to steer her
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up the hill and then around to the side of the house. As we
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reached it, I heard a bell buzzing away. Hello, I ejaculated.
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I ordered the telephone unplugged this morning. The instrument was in of course,
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some one's calling to see if the line's working. Maybe go right in and
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make yourself at home, miss Balliol. I'll answer the call. The telephone
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was in the kitchen, and a moment later I was at the instrument,
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York Desmond speaking. I said, Hello, it was my friend, the
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banker lay Port speaking. And what he had to say was one little earful
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It certainly was. What he wanted from me was the address of John Balliol.
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For no one in these parts seemed to know that Balliol was dead.
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I wanted to know why he wanted it. Being a banker, he was
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mighty hard to pin down and hold on the mat, but at last I
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made him cough up the information. It appeared that some time previously Balliol had
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gone on the note of a friendly rancher to the tune of six thousand dollars.
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Fire had wiped out the rancher's property. This was over in High Valley,
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and the man himself had broken both legs in an accident, and it
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was up to John Balliol to make good the six thousand now overdue. What
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date was it due? I demanded. The banker told me that note had
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become due the day after I had bought balliol ranch. You listen here,
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I said, thinking fast. I'll come in to Lakeport tomorrow and see you,
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and I'll make good that sum. Savvee. Never mind my reasons.
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I owe Balliol that money, so I'll explain further tomorrow. I rang off
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and dropped into the nearest chair. Light on the subject, I should say.
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So this was the other deal to which Balliol had referred, and he
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sure had been a fool to indorse the other man's note. He knew it
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also, and knew that to make it good would wipe him out. That
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was why he had given up the fight. He had sold out his ranch
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to me at a giveaway price in order to secure the ten thousand to his
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sister. He had given her the money then killed himself. He had left
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no estate whatever. Whether or not the law could reach that ten thousand,
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I did not know at all events. He had, of course figured that
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it was safe to Martha. The banker had told me that Balliol had sent
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back one thousand from Los Angeles, the thousand of which I had given him
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for his car. Of course, this explained Balliol's haste to get the money.
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It did not explain the enmity which had existed between Balliol and Miss John
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TALKSA but of that I took little heed at the moment. Instead of giving
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Martha Balliol the extra five thousand, I would pay it over to the bank,
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clear Balliol's name, and square myself with the dead man. As I
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looked at it. Martha Balliol need never know of it. I had figured
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this out to my own satisfaction as the best possible course. When from the
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front of the house I heard a cry followed by a scream. Then I
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remembered that cursed Pterodactyl for the first time. End of Chapter seven