2. The American Visitor

Paul Carson and his sister Nora seemed to succeed in catching a man wanted by the police. Were they successful or did they actually identify someone else? Did they get the fifty pounds reward or not?

The big red American car was much too wide for an English country road. When Paul Carson saw it coming towards him, he stopped his own car at the side, to make room for it to pass.

The big car went slowly past, so close that Paul could see its driver's face quite clearly. It was not a pretty face. The mouth was too large, and the ears were too small. The black hair was cut very short, and the eyes were hidden behind dark glasses.

"Where have I seen that face before?" Paul wondered. "Wait a minute. I remember now. It was in the newspaper." He turned to his sister. "Have you still got yesterday's paper, Nora? Or did you light the fire with it this morning? You usually do when I need it."

"No, I didn't," laughed Nora. "But it's rather dirty. I put the fish in it just now as they had no paper in the fish shop. It's on the floor at the back of the car. I'll get it if you like."

She opened the back door and took the fish out of the paper. Paul turned quickly to the middle page and showed her the picture. It was partly covered with wet fish's blood, but the face was clear enough. It was not a pretty face. It had a large mouth and small ears, and its eyes were hidden behind dark glasses.

"'Wanted by the police,'" read Paul, "'for paying bills with useless cheques at hotels and shops in Margate, Brighton and other large seaside towns. The City Bank will pay fifty pounds to anyone who helps the police to catch this man.'"

"Does it say anything about an American car?"

"No. But listen to this. 'He is English, but he usually talks and dresses like an American visitor.' Perhaps it's a stolen car. Men like him use a different car every week."

"That's true. What are you going to do, Paul? Call the police?"

"No. I want to make sure first." He turned the car and began to drive back the same way. "Let's follow him and watch for a few minutes. What's his car number? Where is he staying? To get our fifty pounds, we must be able to tell the police as much as possible."

Soon they saw the red car in front of them. It seemed to be going very slowly.

"Don't go too near, Paul. If he sees us, we'll never catch him. Oh, be careful, he's stopping!"

Paul stopped his own car behind an old farm-cart at the roadside, so that the man could not see him. The door of the red car opened, and its driver got out and looked round. Then he started walking towards an old white house, which was half-hidden by trees a little way from the road.

"That's Seldon Manor, the Lightfoot's house!" said Paul. "They're away in Greece this summer, staying with her family. Dick Lightfoot married a Greek girl, you remember? The gardener is taking care of the place, but there's no one living there at present." He looked once more at the picture in the newspaper. Then he got out of the car.

"Listen, Nora. You must stay here with the car. I'm going across the field to the side of the house. He won't see me, but I'll be able to watch him. If you hear me call, drive up to the house as quickly as you can."

He left her and ran across the field. The man was coming away from the front door and walking round the side of the house. The door of the garden-room was open, and he went inside.

Paul Carson did not stop to think or to ask questions. He ran across the garden and shut the door. Then he fixed it so that it could be opened only from outside. There was no other door or window. The man was caught.

Paul did not wait to talk. He ran back to the car as fast as he could. Behind him he could hear the angry man trying to break the door open. But it was a strong door; he would soon get tired of hitting it.

When they reached the police station, Paul went in and quickly told the police officer all about the man with the small ears.

The officer looked at him with surprise. "That man was caught in Bognor this morning, Mr. Carson. He tried to buy a diamond ring with one of his useless cheques. You've caught someone else, I'm afraid."

"Oh! What will my sister say? She wanted those fifty pounds very much. She was spending them—in her mind, you know—all the way into town. A week in Paris. Three new hats. All that kind of thing."

"I know, sir. Just like my wife," said the officer, laughing. "But we're wasting time. We must go back and set free your man in the garden-room."

"Perhaps he's wanted by the police too," said Paul hopefully.

"Perhaps, sir. But if he isn't, he may try to make trouble. He could say that you wrongfully shut him up."

"But what was he doing at Seldon Manor? Mr. Lightfoot's a school-friend of mine. I couldn't let the man go in and steal things."

Outside the police station Nora was talking to a newspaperman. Paul got into the police car, leaving her to follow. The newspaperman followed too.

When they reached the white house, they found the gardener standing in the road. He was pleased to see them.

"There's a man in my garden-room, Mr. Carson. Who shut him in, I wonder? I was afraid to open the door, because I don't like the sound of him. But if he stayed there any longer, he'll eat my dinner."

They walked quietly to the door, and the policeman opened it. The light was on inside, and a big man was sitting on a garden chair, looking at a book. He jumped to his feet when he saw a policeman.

"What kind of country is this?" he cried angrily. "I came to this house to ask for some water for my car. Nobody answered the front door. I looked in here, because the door was open, and somebody shut me in. Some small boy, I suppose." His face was getting redder every second. "If I catch him, he'll be sorry. Yes, sir! That boy's bottom will hurt him before I've finished, or my name isn't Howard L. King of New York City."

The newspaperman was busy writing in his notebook. This was his best story of the week.

Later that evening Paul and Nora were sitting by the fire, talking unhappily about the red car.

"What will the newspapers say tomorrow? 'American banker shut in a darkroom'—'He looked like a thief, says music-teacher Carson'—'I was going to spend those fifty pounds in Paris, says pretty dark-haired sister'. Why couldn't you keep your mouth shut? Everyone will laugh at us now."

"I'm sorry, Paul. You were so sure about it, and that young newspaperman had a nice face. I answered his questions without thinking."

"A nice face? My dear girl! If you can't—Listen! There's someone at the front door. I'll go and see."

Outside the door stood a boy from the Green Springs Hotel.

"Mr. Carson? A letter for you from Mr. King, who is staying at our hotel. Will you sign for it, please. Thank you, sir. Good night."

Paul took it into the sitting-room and looked at his sister. "A letter from that American, Nora. This means trouble, I'm afraid. I had to sign for it. Now we shall have to pay some lawyer to help us."

"What does it say? You haven't even opened it yet."

Paul opened it, threw the envelope into the fire, and began to read the letter to her:

Green Springs Hotel,

15th August 1964.

Dear Mr. Carson,

I have to thank you for shutting me up today. I said a lot of unkind things to you, and I'm sorry.

My family went to America a hundred years ago. This summer I came to England to look for the old family home. I couldn't find it, but you have found it for me.

This afternoon in the garden-room I asked for your name and address. You wrote it on a piece of paper that fell out of an old book. When I got to my hotel, I looked at that paper. It was a letter, written in 1867, from my house in New York to Sir David Lightfoot of Seldon Manor. Mr. Carson, you shut me up in my old family home!

I want you and your sister to come to dinner with me tomorrow. And I want you to spend this cheque as quickly as you can.

Yours very truly,

Howard Lightfoot King.

"A cheque!" cried Nora. "Oh, Paul, it was in the envelope, and you've burnt it!"

Before her brother could reply, the sound of the telephone came from the next room, and he went to answer it. He knew the voice.

"Mr. Carson. This is Howard King here. You got my letter! I'm sorry, I never put in that cheque for fifty pounds. I'll give it to you when you come to dinner tomorrow. And listen, Mr. Carson. I may have small ears like your man in the newspaper, but my cheques are good. Good night."

From Faces and Places, ed., A. G. Eyre,

Longman, 1966.