STOPPED BY THE HAND OF FATE
Though such an idea had been finding a home in the brain of Frank
Allen, it was a distinct shock to him when he saw the contents of
that chest.
Lanky gasped in the utmost surprise, and looked at the many pieces
with wide eyes.
There were knives and forks, and many spoons of all sizes and kinds;
there were plates and salad pieces, small pitchers and shells, some
gold lined and others plain sterling silver; literally hundreds and
hundreds of pieces, enough for a dozen families.
Lanky Wallace looked at Frank, and Frank looked at his chum. Across
the face of each stole a smile, just a wee smile of one who knew his
honor could now be vindicated.
No sound of warning had come from below, yet Frank quietly closed the
lid, strewed the hay over the box as carefully as it had been done
when they found it, and led the way toward the ladder leading to the
floor below. Down he went first, followed very closely by Lanky.
In a few minutes more they were on the trail leading up from the
river, beckoning to Buster, Paul and Ralph to join them. Not a word
thus far had been spoken by either.
Not knowing what had been found, completely at a loss to understand
why Frank and Lanky said nothing, Paul and Ralph and Buster followed
meekly behind, picking their way along the trail, until they had
reached the _Rocket’s_ landing place.
“Let’s get it out into the stream as quietly as possible,” whispered
Frank as they climbed aboard, and Lanky, whose particular business it
appeared to have become, waited to push the _Rocket_ well into the
river.
Away it shoved off, Lanky grabbed an oar from its convenient place to
pole the boat out against the fouling of the propeller blades, and
Frank headed the _Rocket_ toward midstream, trying to get far enough
to drift with the river’s current before starting the engine.
Still not a word came from either of the two boys as to the
happenings within that barn on Jed Marmette’s place.
Having gotten a full eighth of a mile below the landing, Frank gave
Lanky the signal to start the motor, and the muffled exhaust set up
its song.
“Well?” Paul could hold himself no longer. “Please tell what you saw
up in the barn! You must have seen something of interest or you
wouldn’t be so quiet.”
“All right, fellows,” replied Frank graciously (for he surely could
afford to be in a gracious mood right now) “gather close up and we’ll
tell you what we saw.”
As the sun was sinking farther and farther into the west, as the
long, last, struggling rays which it threw out upon the world were
cast across the rippling current of the Harrapin River, Frank and
Lanky, piece by piece, told what they had seen at the arbor and what
they had seen in the loft of the old barn.
The three listeners sat with mouths open, their eyes bulging,
listening to this tale as children do to the wonders of princes and
princesses and giants and kings in fairy tales.
“And all the Parsons’ stuff is in that chest?” Paul asked the
question.
“I don’t think it is. I think all the silverware and such heavy
pieces as they stole downstairs in the dining room are in that chest,
but I believe the jewels which they got upstairs in her safe are in
that metal box which is buried.”
“Why do you suppose he buried it?” again Paul queried.
“Hump——”
“Do you think he was putting it there so that no one would find it
in case they were discovered?”
“I certainly do not!” spoke up Lanky Wallace.
“And I’ll bet Frank agrees with me, too! I believe that fellow was
double-crossing his partners—that’s what I think! I believe he put
that box of jewels, which is the easiest of all things to get off
with, away in a safe place so that he could come back himself some of
these days and get it—after his pals are in jail or away from this
part of the country.”
“But, suppose Jed goes to jail?” asked Paul.
“Listen, Paul Bird! You’d better start using your head pretty soon.
This detective agency has no place for weak sisters. We run a
first-class, efficient detective agency, we do! Don’t we, Frank?”
teased Lanky.
“Why kid me?” Paul stuck to his questioning.
“Oh, listen to him! Say, Mr. President, we’ll have to call this
operative. He’s a mess!”
This had the effect of quieting Paul, who wondered what could be
wrong with his question. Suppose Jed Marmette went to jail, what
would become of the jewels?
“Youthful aide-de-camp to the world’s leading detectives, will you
kindly notice that when Jed Marmette starts to jail we’ll have the
little box of jewels safely back in Mrs. Parsons’ hands?”
Paul said nothing more, yet they had not answered his question for
him. For his question must not, of course, include the knowledge
which Jed Marmette did not have—that he had been seen burying the
jewel box.
Quietly the _Rocket_ drifted along for a while, the motor running
slowly and smoothly, Frank making no effort to get back to Columbia
in a hurry. He was trying to lay out a plan in his own mind, and held
the boat to the center of the stream while he thought it all out.
“You know,” said Frank, speaking to Lanky more than to the other two
boys, “those two fellows in the boat that night were the same two who
were with Cunningham that same day when he tried to run us down.”
“Sure,” agreed Wallace instantly.
“Next, you remember they dropped a large box of some kind off the
_Speedaway_ when I swerved and struck them aft.”
“Yes,” again agreed Lanky. “And it’s my impression the box they
dropped off the _Speedaway_ that day and the box we saw on the
rowboat that night and the box we saw in the loft to-day are all the
same box.”
“I’ve just been wondering if that is true.”
Again silence reigned on the _Rocket_.
Frank called for the lights, which Lanky attended to without further
ado. The sun’s rays had passed out below the horizon, the day was
coming to an end, and the boys were getting toward home in the
beautiful hour of twilight.
The whole scene was different. Things which had appeared plain and
definite during the sun’s hours were now blots and blurbs on the
dancing surface of the river. Paul and Ralph and Buster saw things
which were new to them.
What was the proper move to make? Frank asked himself the question
time after time. Should he go back and recover the trunk or chest of
silverware and also the metal box of jewels and restore them to the
widow from whom they had been stolen?
Frank knew that he and his four friends in this boat, without any
help, could very easily return to the Marmette place an hour or two
later, quietly recover both the large chest and the smaller box, and
he believed they could get away without being discovered.
But, if this was done, what would be the result?
Simply that he and Lanky, already accused of knowing something of the
robbery, would still stand accused by those whose minds had become
poisoned. True, the goods would be returned, but the attitude of the
poisoned minds would be that the boys had become fearful and had
restored the stolen goods in fear of being caught with them in their
possession.
On the other hand, if some plan were worked out by which the actual
thieves could be caught removing the stolen goods or dividing their
booty among themselves, two very necessary ends would be achieved:
First, their own skirts would be shown to be clean of the robbery;
second, the thieves would be removed from further contaminating
contact with society.
Certainly, the locating of the thieves was the way to proceed. But
how do it?
Could they expect help from the police department?
Were they to carry their news to Chief Berry would that dignitary
of the law send out his officers in an effort to find the men, or
would they merely uncover and bring in the booty without locating the
thieves, thus leaving Frank and Lanky in a rather anomalous position?
The distant lights of the town were coming into sight as the _Rocket_
made the last bend in the river when Lanky finally broke the silence
which had fallen upon the lads.
“What shall we do, Frank? Shall we go to the chief or shall we follow
this thing out ourselves?”
Frank was not surprised at the question, realizing that Lanky had
probably spent the many minutes of silence in going over the same
questions which had kept his own mind busy.
“It seems the only thing we can do, Lanky. If we keep this knowledge
to ourselves we are apt, in some unforeseen manner, to find
ourselves in a tight box.”
“I had thought of that, too,” replied the long lad. “If some one else
discovers anything, or if something slips, we’ll be in for trouble.”
“Absolutely!” Frank rehearsed the chance for trouble. “For instance,
it is plain as can be that since we know where that silver is, it
is our duty to see that, so soon as possible, it is returned to the
rightful owner. If, through any fear on our part that we may not get
right and just treatment, we permit the thieves to get away with it,
we are accessories after the fact, aren’t we?”
The other boys nodded their assent to this statement.
“This very evening we could have retrieved every piece of the silver,
and I haven’t the slightest doubt we could also have gotten that box
of jewels. Why didn’t we?”
No one replied; they waited for Frank to reply to his own question.
“Simply because we were selfish, thoughtful only of our own
reputations. That’s rough, but it’s true, isn’t it?”
“But if we don’t think of our own reputations when our motives are
impugned, who is going to help us?” Lanky came fighting back to the
aid of themselves and their first ideas.
“Quite so, Lanky,” Frank replied slowly, as they drew nearer and
nearer to Columbia. “But the facts are just as I have stated. Now, if
they be true, what is our best move? Isn’t it to report to the chief
of Police?”
The boys felt that there was nothing but to admit it was the
straightforward thing to do—leaving their reputations in the hands of
the chief or of the public when the story should be told.
It being agreed among them, no other course suggesting itself to any
of them, they fell silent while the _Rocket_ headed straight for its
boat-house on the Harrapin.
“Well,” said Paul, “I’ve enjoyed the day immensely, and we’ve learned
more than we expected to when we started. Now, as to the outcome.”
“I feel that things will come out all right in the end,” Frank
replied serenely. “There is a path that we must follow—the rules of
right living demand that—and we shall merely follow that path. It
runs straight, to say the least.”
The _Rocket_ ran slowly, easily, quietly into the boat-house, and
everything was made ready for the night. It was already well past
dark, and along the river front all was still.
The door at the river side was closed and locked, the ignition
locked, and the key placed where the boys could find it, the battery
switch thrown safely off, and the day was done in so far as the
motor boat was concerned.
“Now, it’s up to the chief’s office for us, and if he isn’t there
we’ll have to find him.”
They stopped at the first drug store to quench their thirst with
soda-water, and from there proceeded in the direction of the police
headquarters.
Stopping along the street to pass remarks with other boys of their
acquaintance, answering questions about the speed of the _Rocket_,
they found themselves a few blocks nearer to the large brick
structure without having attracted any undue attention.
This, though unplanned, was the best way to proceed.
Buster Billings met his father on the way and was asked to look after
a family matter of extreme importance. Buster could not have refused,
even if he had wished to, so after promises on the part of the other
boys to tell him everything that passed in police headquarters and
with assurances that his name would be given to the chief as knowing
something of the matter, he said good-bye and went on his way.
Finally, when the others reached the police department, Frank led
the way in. He saw Chief Berry sitting in his office, his feet
comfortably cocked up on his desk.
Just then one of the attendants at the hospital came rushing up,
touched Frank on the shoulder and whispered:
“Come to the hospital quickly. The doctor wants you.”
Before Frank could ask questions, before he could get any
information, the attendant was gone.
Frank turned and dashed for the hospital at full speed, all of the
other boys right behind him.
Not waiting to reach the gate, Frank vaulted the fence and raced for
the building. Just inside stood the doctor.
“Frank!” he cried, “They just told me you were here. You’ve got to
act quickly. Your father’s weaker, suddenly, and there’s only one
thing I know to be done. The drug we need for his heart is not in
town nor at Bellport, and we’ve only one chance to get it—a druggist
at Coville has it. I’ve just telephoned. Can you make it there in
your boat—is it fast enough—can it be trusted to come back at once?
It’s life or death. You’ve got to get to Coville and back with the
utmost speed!”
Frank stood dazed for a moment.
“Tell the druggist I’m coming!” he cried, turning to the door.