THE MIDNIGHT MARAUDER.
“What do you think of it, chum?” asked Joy, as they rapidly retraced
their steps.
“Hard to say,” replied Clif, briefly. “Perhaps a plot to rob the house.”
“Valuable pearls, eh?”
“Yes.”
“We may be mistaken after all,” persisted the lanky plebe. “Limbs have
a habit of dropping from trees, you know. We would feel rather foolish
if we aroused the house, and found only a cat or something like that.
Miss Windom would laugh.”
“I’ll take the risk of that. I’d take any risk rather than see----”
“See the pearls stolen,” interrupted Joy, with an internal chuckle.
“Confound the pearls.”
“Oh, I meant girl. Excuse me.”
By this time the villa was reached. The extensive grounds were
separated from the street by a stone wall ten feet in height and
surmounted by an ornamental iron railing.
Clif halted near one end of the wall and announced that he would try to
enter there.
“No use arousing the lodge-keeper,” he added. “There may be nothing in
it after all, and I don’t want to raise an alarm without proof. You can
stay here and I’ll take a peep through the grounds on the quiet.”
Joy protested, but Clif was firm.
“Well, it won’t be long until I follow you,” muttered the former as he
gave his friend a “boost” to the top of the wall. “You are altogether
too fond of getting into danger. I’ll have to look after you, sonny.”
Clif found it an easy matter to drop into the grounds. Once inside he
crouched close to the wall and took his bearings.
The night had assumed that depth of blackness usual before the rise of
a full moon. The villa grounds presented one smudge of darkness with
no alternating patches of light and shade. A cool breeze came from
the direction of the river, bringing occasional bursts of noise and
commotion from the central portion of the city.
Clif moved away from the wall, stepping carefully and with hands
outstretched.
He had not covered a dozen feet when he plumped squarely into a
depressed flower bed, and sprawled headlong, creating what seemed to
him a prodigious clatter.
He lay quiet for a brief period, then not hearing any sounds, rose to
his feet and once more moved in the general direction of the house.
He knew that somewhere in the blackness in front was the tree, but of
its exact location he was ignorant.
Suddenly a twinkling light appeared through the gloom.
It gleamed for a moment, then vanished.
“Guess they have gone to bed,” muttered Clif.
The thought gave him confidence, and he proceeded with less caution.
The cadet had no desire to be discovered prowling about the Windom
grounds. Explanations would be awkward, especially if the robber up the
tree proved to be some marauding cat or restless fowl.
Clif was not so positive in his belief now. The simple fact that the
limb had been snapped from the tree was no longer a convincing evidence
that something underhand was in progress, and he proceeded in a
half-hearted manner, almost decided to turn back.
Presently his feet touched gravel, and he knew that he had gained the
path leading to the gate.
He paused and glanced about, at the same time listening intently. The
only sounds came from Nature’s voice in the chirping of night insects
and the distant murmuring of the city.
“Everything seems all right here,” muttered Clif. “I guess I was
mistaken after all. I think I will----”
He ceased speaking and glanced upward, attracted by a rustling among
the leaves of a tree under which he was standing.
Before he could move or cry out, a heavy object dropped swiftly upon
him, and he sprawled headlong upon the path unconscious!
Out in the street Joy paced up and down impatiently in the shadows of
the trees.
As the minutes passed without sign or sound of Clif, the lanky plebe
became uneasy, and he reproached himself for permitting his friend to
make the venture alone.
“There was no sense in it, anyway,” he muttered. “I could have gone
along just as well as not. If he don’t come out in three seconds, I’ll
follow.”
Joy’s “three seconds” soon elapsed, and the plebe made good his word
by boldly scaling the wall. This he did by propping a piece of wood
against the brick barrier, thus gaining the ironwork at the top.
Dropping lightly upon the soft earth on the other side, he started
across the grounds.
He had barely taken a dozen steps when there came through the night air
a crash of splintering glass, then a scream of terror.
A moment of breathless silence, then a hoarse murmuring of excited
voices, interspersed by occasional shouts. By that time Joy, armed with
a stout stick, was bounding in the direction of the uproar.
The intense blackness of the night had given way to a subdued light
from the rising moon, whose silvery rim was even then showing above the
city.
Suddenly, outlined in this faint illumination, Joy saw the figure of a
man dash away from the house.
As the plebe turned to follow, shouting at the top of his voice,
another figure rose up in front of the fugitive and grappled with him.
The two were struggling fiercely when Joy reached the spot. There was
light enough for him to recognize in one of the combatants his chum,
Clif.
That was enough for the brave lad. Calling out encouragingly, he sprang
upon the back of the other.
The cadets found their hands full. The stranger fought like one
possessed. He bit and kicked and rained blows upon his antagonists, but
they clung to him with unswerving courage until he at last sank to the
ground exhausted.
“Bring a rope here, quick!” gasped Clif, as Mr. Windom, accompanied by
a number of servants, ran up. “Bring a rope to tie this fellow. We’ve
got a prize.”
“My pearls, my pearls!” wailed the old merchant, wringing his hands.
“They are gone. I tried to save them, but the robber----”
“We’ve got the robber all right,” interrupted Clif, cheerily. “And
there are your pearls over yonder.”
He inclined his head toward an indistinct object lying upon the path.
Mr. Windom snatched it up with a cry of joy. It was a bag containing
his priceless collection.
The servants returned with a rope and several lanterns. Several of the
men assisted the cadets to bind the prisoner, then he was turned over
with his face to the light.
Cries of amazement came from all save Clif.
“Great guns!” gasped Joy, “it’s the Englishman! It’s J.
Chesire-Cheshire Cate!”
“The would-be assassin!” cried Clif. “Seize him!”
There was a desperate struggle, in the midst of which several neighbors
and two mounted policemen arrived.
It was decided not to reveal the identity of the prisoner, for this
would have aroused the citizens to the fury of a lawless mob.
So the would-be assassin was locked up as a common burglar.
From Juanita, Clif and Joy learned that it was she who had discovered
the presence of the Englishman. She had gone into the library for
something, after her father had retired, and had been just in time to
see a strange man tiptoeing from her father’s apartments.
She screamed, and the intruder made a dash for the nearest window, and
leaped boldly through the sash. It was plain the desperate man had
worked quickly.
Clif explained the arousing of his suspicions by the broken tree
branch, then he and Joy took their departure.
It was long after midnight before they reached the ship, and they had
already been marked in the log as “absent without leave.”
Clif’s story speedily caused the erasing of the entry, and on every
hand he and Joy were hailed as heroes of the first water.
The authorities failed to get any account from Cate of how he had
escaped from the river. The man was locked up in a dungeon, and there
remained a long time.
During the balance of the stay at Lisbon, Clif was made a social lion
to such an extent that he was glad when the announcement came that the
training ship would up anchor and away for the island of Madeira. Clif
hated to part with Juanita, but she promised to write often, and with
this he had to be content.
As the gallant old _Monongahela_ left the port of Lisbon, all the river
craft saluted her with a prodigious din of whistles and cannon shots.
It was a time never to be forgotten, and it must be admitted that the
plebes enjoyed it immensely.
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|Transcriber’s note: |
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|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. |
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