Free The Forgotten Door by Alexander Key

and shook his head at Thomas Bean’s silent urging to leave. How strange, he thought, looking intently at Anderson Bush, that people here would want to make life such an ugly sort of game. Somewhere, wherever he had come from, there couldn’t be this ugliness, or any of these secret hates and desires that darkened everything …
    â€œNow, Jon,” Anderson Bush was saying, with a friendliness that Little Jon knew was completely false, “I’m glad you decided to come out and clear this thing up. We don’t like to see young fellows like you being sent to reform school. So, if you’ll tell me where you put those things you took the other day …”
    â€œMr. Bush,” he said, “may I ask you a question, please?”
    â€œYou’d better start answering questions instead of asking them,” the deputy said testily.
    â€œI only wanted to ask you where Mr. Macklin said his boys were Sunday afternoon.”
    â€œYou can’t blame this on the Macklin boys. The whole family was in town all Saturday, at church the next morning, and at Blue Lake with friends all Sunday afternoon. I checked it.”
    Little Jon turned to Thomas. “Mr. Bean, do you remember when Mr. Macklin rode by Monday, looking for his boys? Can you tell Mr. Bush what he said?”
    â€œLet me think,” said Thomas. “H’mm. He said Tip and Lenny had skipped school and were out hunting that wild boy. Gilby Pitts had told him about it at church. He said —” Suddenly Thomas sat up and snapped his fingers. “I’d entirely forgotten it, but Angus said his boys were away all Sunday afternoon doing the same thing. That means Angus was lying if he said Tip and Lenny were with them at Blue Lake.”
    In the darkness it was hard to see the deputy’s face.
    But his voice was cold as he spoke. “You have a very convenient memory, Mr. Bean. It proves nothing, and it doesn’t explain what this boy — this Jon O’Connor as you call him — was doing when Gilby Pitts caught him Saturday. Just who is this boy, Mr. Bean? You’ve admitted you’re not his guardian. Who brought him here — and why is he staying with you?”
    â€œBlast your nosiness!” Thomas exploded. “He’s the orphaned son of Captain James O’Connor of the Marines, who was killed in North Africa three months ago. The boy has lost his memory, and he was brought here by regular Marine channels because he needs a quiet place to recuperate. I happen to be O’Connor’s friend, and his former commanding officer. Enough of that. The only thing that concerns you is the robbery. If you don’t believe what I’ve told you about Macklin, you’d better go over there and have it out with him!”
    â€œWe’ll all go over,” Anderson Bush snapped back. “Get in the car, you two.”
    It was less than a half mile up the valley. The deputy drove grimly through the night. Little Jon could feel the coiled danger in him, and he wished Thomas hadn’t lost his temper and told the lie. He loved Thomas for trying to protect him, but the lie was a mistake. There were old hates in Anderson Bush, ugly things of the past that made the man the way he was now. Little Jon wished the thoughts were not there to be seen, but they leaped out as strongly as if the deputy had shouted them aloud. Anderson Bush had been in trouble in the army, and he hated all officers because of it. Later there had been trouble over a son …
    The car stopped with an angry jerk before a weathered farmhouse. Anderson Bush slid out, and they followed him up to the dim porch where a hound backed away, barking.
    The door opened, spilling light upon them, and Angus Macklin stood there blinking. As Angus recognized the deputy, Little Jon was aware of a flicker of uneasiness in him.
    â€œWhy, it’s Mr. Bush!” said Angus, smiling. “Thought you was Gilby at