The Abandoned Mine Mystery Read online

  “Maybe that’s the whole trouble, Ted. She may be afraid of just what she did stir up.”

  But as soon as they arrived at the Allen home, and were admitted to the living room, they realized what the trouble was. Mr. Allen was there, too, and he told them that he had not known about his wife’s letter until Ted called. Obviously, the Allens were arguing about it.

  “I still say you shouldn’t have written to the newspaper, Mary,” said Mr. Allen, after all the introductions had been performed. “You don’t have a shred of proof. If Mr. Dobson had printed your letter, you could have been sued for libel.”

  “I asked him not to print it,” she replied, “but suppose someone did sue us, what difference would it make? We have nothing they could take from us.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Dobson wouldn’t have printed such a letter without proof,” said Ted, “but we would like to know more about the situation.”

  “You’ve wasted your time coming here,” said Mr. Allen bluntly. “We can’t tell you anything that you will be able to use. After all, there was a safety inspection following the explosion.”

  Nelson spoke up for the first time. “What was the conclusion?”

  “That the miners, in setting off an explosion, had happened to touch upon a gas pocket inside the wall, giving them a much bigger explosion than they had bargained for. It’s just one of those things that happens once in a million times. There’s no way you can guard against it, except to be as careful and alert as you can at all times.”

  “How could the committee know what caused the explosion,” asked Mrs. Allen scornfully, “after all the evidence was blown up? I’m sick and tired of the way everyone has whitewashed that terrible man. Mr. Sorrel prospers while the rest of us live on charity and wonder how we’re going to educate our children.”

  Mr. Sorrel! Ted and Nelson looked at each other, and Mr. Allen noticed that they did so.

  “Do you know Mr. Sorrel?”

  “We’ve met him,” said Ted.

  Mr. Allen turned to his wife. “Now do you see what you’ve done? You’ve made a vicious charge against a responsible man—in front of witnesses. If that should get back to Mr. Sorrel, he would have a sound basis for a slander suit.”

  “Then let him sue,” said Mrs. Allen bitterly. “He would have to sue the whole town. I’m only saying what everyone else is saying, too—though not openly, of course.”

  “I can promise you that what you say here won’t go any further,” said Ted with a frown. “But I would like to know just what basis you have for your charge against this man. If the safety committee declared it to be accidental, I don’t see how anyone else can claim it was not.”

  Mrs. Allen looked at her husband, who shrugged his shoulders as though to say that the damage had already been done. With this encouragement to go on, Mrs. Allen continued:

  “I don’t think the report of the safety committee means anything at all. The committee doesn’t know what caused the explosion, and so they are making the best guess they can. And remember, all the evidence didn’t come out at the hearings. There was evidence that no one had the courage to step up and present to them.”

  “What evidence?” asked Ted sharply.

  “There was the timing of the explosion, for one thing. Now I’m sure, in spite of my low opinion of him, that Mr. Sorrel never really intended to kill anyone. The explosion went off between shifts—or when the shifts would normally have been changed. There was an exception that day for some reason. Many of the workers were out, but some remained in the mine. The miners, or a supervisor, knew about the change, but Mr. Sorrel didn’t. It had to be somebody who knew something about what was going on, but not everything.”

  “Then Mr. Sorrel wasn’t a miner at the time?”

  “No, he was the head of the union. You see how that fits in? He did know about the different shifts, but not about the change that had been made.”

  “And so did a lot of other people,” Mr. Allen objected.

  She turned to her husband. “Then what about that visit he made to the state safety committee, just a few days, or a week, before the explosion?”

  “Wouldn’t that tend to clear him?” Ted inquired. “His concern with safety must have been because he suspected something was wrong. Did he ever explain why he went to the committee?”

  “Yes, he said he wanted some information about gas and gas explosions. I think it was just a cover-up, so he would have something to blame the explosion on.”

  Though Ted didn’t think much of this point, Mr. Allen backed his wife up. “There was something a little strange about that visit to the committee, Ted. It’s never been explained just what he suspected. If he really thought a dangerous situation existed in the mine, as union steward he should have demanded that the mine be closed until it could be corrected.”

  “And then,” Mrs. Allen went on eagerly, “he resigned from the union right after the explosion. He wasn’t interested in the men, or their problems, or getting the mine back open again. He was determined to get the mine closed, and now that he had had his way, there wasn’t anything more for him to do.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” said Mr. Allen, more cautiously. “He may have felt that there was little chance of getting the mine open again, and that he had better get into something more profitable.” The miner spread out his hands to examine their backs. “My hands are finally clean again, after all these years, though I must say that I’d much prefer to have them dirty, if it would mean getting back to work. That grime eats into your knuckles so that you never have clean hands, no matter how often you wash them. In a way there’s something respectable about dirt, especially in a coal-mining town, where people are likely to be suspicious of a man whose hands are always clean. That’s how a good many people feel about Mr. Sorrel. They think he didn’t want to have dirty hands, like all the rest of us.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Ted. “Just why would Mr. Sorrel want the mine closed? How could that be profitable to him?”

  Mr. Allen looked surprised. “Didn’t you hear about his housing development, across the river in what he calls West Walton? Do you think retired millionaires want to look across the river at a busy coal mine?”

  “We were out there this morning,” Nelson pointed out, “and it didn’t look so bad to us.”

  “Maybe not, but before the explosion there was talk of strip mining. You know how strip mining pretty generally tears up the landscape. You work from the surface, and go down with bulldozers and get the coal with no nonsense, and you get it all. No tunnels, or anything like that. State law requires the mining companies to do something to restore the landscape when they are finished. But the mining might go on for many years, and afterward the attempt to restore things might be pretty ineffective.”

  “Was strip mining being considered for the East Walton mine?” Ted asked.

  “It was under consideration for at least part of the mine.”

  “I should think the explosion in the mine would make the possibility of strip mining more rather than less likely,” Nelson observed.

  “Well, I’m only telling you what people think. If he could cripple the mine badly enough to make it close, it might be difficult to open it again. Everybody loses money with the mine closed, and the financial position of the company would get steadily worse.”

  “I’d been wondering about that,” Ted remarked thoughtfully. “After the explosion, and a safety inspection, why wasn’t the mine reopened? Even if this man caused the explosion, he couldn’t have kept the mine closed.”

  “The way things are going with the coal industry, Ted, it was pretty much touch and go. A good deal of equipment had been destroyed, and the explosion suggested the need for further changes. And the money just wasn’t there.”

  “I don’t know that the newspaper will be able to do much about the explosion, Mr. Allen, but I’m pretty sure that Mr. Dobson intends to run a story about East Walton. Would you mind telling me how the closing
of the mine has affected you? Have you ever considered leaving East Walton?”

  “How could I leave here? I’ve been a miner for thirty years. How could I learn a new trade at this stage of my life? Of course I’d rather be working, but it seems my best chance is to sit tight and wait for the mine to open.”

  He told them that he had two children of high-school age. He was determined they would get their diplomas, and then he was going to send them away with his blessing.

  He talked about some of the other unemployed miners. “I can tell you how it is. People can’t afford the big things in life, so they settle for the little things instead. Education is one of the first things that is abandoned. Then insurance, so that any sort of emergency becomes a catastrophe. Home ownership goes, people make do with old appliances, health is neglected.”

  Finally Mr. Allen gave Ted the names of a dozen people to interview, including the president of the mine, the present head of the union, the mayor, and others. Then, thanking both the Allens, the boys took their leave.

  CHAPTER 6.

  FELONIOUS ENTRY

  THINK they’ve really got anything on Mr. Sorrel, Ted?” asked Nelson as they got into the car.

  “Nothing that would hold up in court, that’s certain. I’m really surprised that they could suspect him of such a thing. I don’t suppose everybody does, but apparently a great many people do. It seemed strange when he told us about no one offering to help him on the road, but I can understand it now.”

  “Are you going to talk with Mr. Sorrel again?”

  “Sure, I’m more anxious to talk to him now than before.”

  “Are you going to accuse him of setting off the explosion, or just ask him if he did it?”

  “I’m certainly not going to accuse him. Mr. Dobson would have me off the staff in ten seconds flat if he heard about that. And I don’t suppose there’s much point in asking him, either. But it will be interesting to see what he has to say, now that we know a little more about him.”

  “He didn’t mention the explosion when he talked to you this morning, did he?”

  “No, and why should he help spread rumors about himself? But he didn’t know I was a reporter, either. He’ll know that soon enough, if I go around talking to all the people on this list, and he’ll figure I’m nosing into something.”

  “He’s in something of a spot, all right. How could he prove that he didn’t do it?”

  “No way that I know of, except by finding the guilty party.”

  “And what if there isn’t any guilty party, that it was just an accident as the safety board decided?”

  “Then I guess he’s just out of luck.”

  They found a neat little snack bar where they had lunch, and then returned to the motel. Both were feeling tired after less than two or three hours’ sleep the previous night. But after a nap and a shower they were ready to look up Phil at the drugstore.

  “Are we going to tell Phil anything about what the Allens told us?” Nelson asked Ted as they walked the few blocks to the store.

  “We promised not to, remember? Anyway, a good reporter doesn’t tell everything he knows.”

  “That’s all right by me, Ted, only I thought maybe Phil was like a member of the family.”

  The sign on the door had been removed, but the shades were still down. Until they tried the door and found it open, they were not sure if the store was ready for business. But inside a scene of confusion greeted them. Packages had been swept off the shelves, magazines were lying about on the floor, and there was even some broken glass here and there. A young man was trying to put things to rights. He looked up inquiringly as they entered.

  “I’m Ted Wilford of the Town Crier,” said Ted, extending his hand.

  “Oh, Ted, how are you?” Phil exclaimed, coming out from behind the counter to greet him. “Glad to see you. I’ve certainly heard a lot about you.”

  “And I’ve read enough of your copy to feel that we’re acquainted,” Ted responded. “This is Nelson Morgan, who takes pictures for us once in a while,” and Nelson and Phil also shook hands.

  “What goes on here?” asked Nelson, sweeping his arm about in a wide arc.

  “Burglary,” said Phil disgustedly.

  “Lose very much?” asked Ted.

  “Not really. Thirty or forty dollars in cash, and they picked our merchandise over, apparently knocking down everything they didn’t want to take. It was a bunch of juveniles, I suppose. Professional burglars only take what they want, and don’t ask for trouble.”

  “Were you at home at the time?”

  “Yes, but I was the only one home, and I sleep like a log. Anyway, my bedroom is in the rear, and sound doesn’t carry very well.”

  “Still, it must have been someone who knew his way around pretty well.”

  “I suppose so. And another thing he would have to know is that our burglar alarm is just a decoration. It’s been out of order for years, and somehow we never felt we could spare the money to get it fixed. Of course we didn’t broadcast the news, but I guess these kids have ways of catching on.

  “Anyway, you got yourself a story for the Town Crier,” Nelson remarked.

  “No, I don’t think so, Nelson,” Phil answered. “I hate to say it, but things like this are sort of commonplace around town ever since the mine closed down.”

  “It sounds like a tough situation,” Ted acknowledged. “By the way, we stopped in earlier, but the store was closed.”

  “Yes, I had to go down to the police station for a while, and then I wanted the insurance adjuster to see everything the way it was, before I started cleaning up. He was here a little while ago. We’re close to an agreement, but he wants as accurate a list as I can make up of what was taken.”

  “Don’t you have some narcotics and other dangerous drugs?” asked Ted.

  “Yes, but we keep them in a separate locked compartment. Nothing was touched there, which makes it seem more than ever like the work of juveniles.”

  Then Phil asked them about their errand.

  “Something came up that made us think about East Walton and the closed mine, and Mr. Dobson suggested that I run up here and look the situation over. So I rounded up my photographer and chauffeur, and came along. I hope there won’t be any misunderstanding about this story, Phil. It isn’t that Mr. Dobson didn’t think you could handle it, but it was outside the regular routine. Of course, if you’re interested, I don’t see why we couldn’t work on it together.”

  “That’s generous of you, Ted, but no thanks.” Phil waved his hand at the debris about him. “It looks like I’m going to have my hands full here for a while. Even under normal conditions I’m more or less tied up here at the drugstore. My father and I are trying to run it between us—we can’t afford to hire any additional help—and that keeps me pretty busy. Anyway, I think you’re a better man for this particular job than I am. I’m going to have to go right on living here, even after the story appears. That means I’d have to be a little cautious about whose toes I stepped on. If you come up with a story that might do East Walton any good—and I know that’s what you have in mind—then you’ll have to come in here, get your own facts, form your own judgments, and let the chips fall where they may. It would take an outsider to do that.”

  “I’m glad you see it that way,” said Ted, much relieved. “I appreciate it.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m not interested in this story, Ted. After all, we both work for the same paper. If there’s anything I can tell you, or anybody I can steer you to, just let me know. By the way, whom have you talked to already?”

  “Not very many people. There’s Mrs. Llewellyn—we happened to run into her children when they were out looking for their mule.” Phil did not seem at all interested in the mule, but looked up as Ted went on: “And then we came across Mr. Sorrel stranded on the road this morning, and had quite a long talk with him.”

  “Patrick Sorrel—there’s a man for you. He’s not really a clown; he’s got a good deal
more on the ball than he shows at first. But let’s see if I can guess what he told you. First he said everybody in town hated him, right?”

  “That was one of the first things,” Ted admitted. “But he seemed to have something to back him up. He said half a dozen people he knew passed him up while he was stranded on the road.”

  “Probably true,” said Phil. “Would you stop to help a man who might snap your head off? When a person says everybody in town hates him, what he probably means is that he does the hating.”

  “Why should he hate everybody?” Nelson inquired. “Does he have any reason?”

  “He doesn’t hate people as people, but what they stand for. It’s the coal mine, and the dirt, and the danger, and the poverty, and the ignorance that burns him. The miners felt that as a union official he should have been in there fighting to get the mine open again. Instead he walked out. Then it came out that he had been working on this property development scheme of his for years, even while he was acting as a union official. Naturally, the miners feel that while he was representing them, or ‘pretending’ to represent them, as they call it, he was really more interested in his own scheme. And when they see those fine homes going up across the river, and compare it with their own poverty—well, people are only human.”

  “Won’t a development like that brings jobs to the community?” asked Nelson.

  “Oh, yes—surveyors and contractors and masons and carpenters and electricians and all the rest. But not coal miners. Workers in East Walton are going to feel left out once more.”

  “I can see where people in East Walton might feel that Mr. Sorrel had deserted them,” said Ted, “but still it seems kind of petty to leave him stranded out on the road.”

  “You’ve encountered that famous personality of his, haven’t you, Ted? For some reason he can’t talk to a person for five minutes without insulting him—and it doesn’t matter who it is.”