The information that Ben obtained that afternoon from Mr. Haskins
concerning his sale of the snuff-box gave a new direction to his
thoughts. He could not follow up this new clue just yet, however,
without telling the others, and this he didn’t want to do. They would be
waiting for him aboard the _Argo_, and so, after a fifteen-minute talk
with the shopkeeper, he hurried away to join them at the wharf.
One other thing he did, however, before the sailboat left Barmouth, and
that was to get a canoe he owned out from a shed on the waterfront and
fasten it behind the _Argo_. If he had the _Red Rover_ with him—he had
laboriously painted that name in orange letters on a scarlet background
on the canoe—he would be able to come and go about the harbor as he
wished and to leave the island without explaining his plans, as he would
have to do if he wanted to take the sailboat.
“What’s the idea?” asked David, who never overlooked a chance to ask a
question. “Are you going to teach the Professor how to paddle a canoe?”
Ben nodded. “I thought that ought to be part of his education. The _Red
Rover’s_ steady enough for any beginner to paddle.”
Tuckerman looked askance at the little craft bobbing up and down in the
wake of the _Argo_. “Any canoe’s unsteady enough for me to upset in, I
guess. However, I like Ben’s idea. It was thoughtful of you, my lad.”
At that they all laughed, for whatever Ben’s reason had been for wanting
the canoe at the island it was fairly obvious that he was not taking it
there to further John Tuckerman’s seafaring education.
That evening, however, Tuckerman reminded Ben of his suggestion. The
water was calm, the breeze was light. “How about a paddle?” he asked.
“Just along the shore? I promise not to rock the boat.”
“Righto,” said Ben. “Come on.”
They went to the landing-stage at the pier and put the canoe in the
water. Ben got in at the stern and balanced the boat while Tuckerman
gingerly stepped in and squatted down at the bow.
“Not much room for long legs,” said Tuckerman. “I’ll have to tie mine up
in a bow.”
“You’ll get used to it soon,” encouraged Ben. “I’ll do the steering. All
you have to do is to put your paddle in, give a long, slow push, and
take it out again.”
“Sounds easy enough.” Tuckerman tried to shift the position of his
knees, with the result that the canoe rolled over almost far enough to
ship a gallon of water. He threw his weight the other way, and the canoe
nearly capsized.
“Plague take it!” he muttered. “It’s worse than walking a tight-rope!”
“Easy there, easy,” laughed Ben. “First rule in a canoe is never to move
quickly. When you shift your weight, do it slowly. Pretty soon it’ll
come as natural as riding a bicycle.”
“Riding a balky horse, you mean,” said Tuckerman. “All right; I’ll
remember.” He dipped the tip of his paddle into the water and gave a
tiny shove.
Ben gave a long sweep with his paddle, a dexterous twist at the end of
the stroke, and the _Red Rover_ floated smoothly away from the
landing-stage.
With Ben’s coaching, Tuckerman soon was able to paddle fairly well. He
found it somewhat difficult to keep the bow evenly balanced, but as Ben
anticipated his movements and shifted automatically from side to side,
Tuckerman gained confidence and soon was sitting steady.
They paddled along shore, past the camp and on to the upper end of the
island. Tuckerman, feeling more and more at ease, was delighted with the
motion, with the gentle swish of the water, with the still, starlit
night, with the panorama of beach and cliffs and woods as they floated
by.
“Let’s go on around the island,” he suggested. “This isn’t real work at
all.”
Ben smiled to himself. He knew that Tuckerman would discover next
morning several muscles in his back and shoulders that he wasn’t
accustomed to feeling. But the night was perfect for a paddle. “All
right,” he agreed. “No, don’t you try to do any steering. The man in the
stern does that.” With a couple of twists he turned the bow to the
north. “There,” he said, “there’s the cliff where Sampson hid the chest
in the pocket.”
Tuckerman turned to look. The _Red Rover_ wobbled, slanted.
Ben shifted and righted her quickly. “Hi there!” he warned.
“My mistake,” said the penitent Tuckerman. “I see that it won’t do for
me to think of two things at once when I’m out on this lily-pad.”
“Paddle—quickly now,” Ben ordered. “But not too quickly. There’s a rip
off that ledge.”
They passed the rip and came into smoother water. Presently they were on
the ocean side of the island. “There’s the creek where we saw the
footprints,” said Ben.
“Don’t point out anything else to me,” said Tuckerman. “If I move my
left leg I can’t get it back in place.”
By the time they reached the southern end of the island the bow-paddler
felt as if the muscles of his knees were tied in hard knots. “Do you
mind,” he said in a tone of apology, “if I stop paddling for a couple of
minutes and unwind myself? I’ll move very slowly.”
“Go ahead,” said Ben. “I’ll balance the canoe.”
Tuckerman pushed himself back, then very carefully unwound his long
legs, stretched them out with an exclamation of relief, rubbed the
muscles, and then readjusted himself in a new and more comfortable
position. “I suppose to be a really proficient canoeist,” he observed,
“one ought to be made of rubber. There—how’s that? Didn’t I do it
cleverly?”
“Wonderful!” said Ben.
Tuckerman picked up his paddle again, and, proud of his ability to move
without rocking the boat, stuck the paddle in the water and gave a
mighty sweep. The bow swung around, rocked, tilted; Tuckerman pressed
his arm hard on the left-hand gunwale.
“Hold on, Professor!” cried Ben. “We don’t want to head out into the
ocean. Keep your paddle out of the water. Steady there!” With alternate
strokes to right and left Ben soon had the canoe back on its course
parallel to the shore.
“I _am_ a duffer,” muttered Tuckerman contritely.
“Oh no, you’re not,” said Ben. “You’re doing very well. Only you must
remember to let the stern man do the steering. A little more practice
and you’ll find the _Red Rover_ as easy to manage as falling off a log.”
“Falling off a log is good,” was Tuckerman’s comment. “Falling into the
water would be more like it.”
They rounded the lower end of the island and came back on the bay side.
They had almost reached the landing-stage when Ben said, “See, there’s a
light at Cotterell Hall. It’s in the front door. It looks like a pocket
flashlight. I suppose Tom and David went up there to get something.”
Cautiously Tuckerman looked in the direction of the house. There was a
small circle of light. It moved away from the door; after a minute it
shone through a window.
“I thought I locked the doors,” he said. “However, they may have climbed
in through a window.”
The light disappeared. The canoe floated smoothly up to the stage, and
Ben held it level while Tuckerman climbed out. Ben jumped up lightly.
Then they both pulled the _Red Rover_ out and turned it bottom side up.
They went up the walk to the house. The front door was shut, and when
Tuckerman turned the knob he found that the door was locked. He opened
it with his own key, and the two went in. The hall and the rooms were
dark, there was no sound of voices or footsteps anywhere.
“That’s funny,” said Tuckerman. “We didn’t see Tom and David come down
the path. Maybe they went out the back way.”
But the kitchen door was locked, and when the two opened it and looked
out there was no sign of the others leaving in that direction.
“I wonder what they’ve been up to?” said Ben. “Playing some joke
perhaps.”
They returned to the camp, and there were Tom and David, toasting
marshmallows on long sticks over a bed of hot coals.
“We were betting ten to one,” said David, “that you’d come back nice and
wet. Want to dry your clothes at the fire?”
“No, thanks,” answered Tuckerman. “We’ve been all round the island, and
we didn’t ship a thimbleful of water.”
Tom glanced at Ben. “The Professor hasn’t been fooling us, has he? He
didn’t know all about handling a canoe, did he?”
“No,” said Ben with a smile. “He didn’t know all about handling a canoe
when we started. But he knows almost everything about it now.” Then, as
he sat down cross-legged on the grass, Ben said carelessly, “We saw your
light in the house. I suppose you climbed in through a window.”
“Saw our light in the house?” Tom echoed. “What are you giving us?”
His tone was perfectly sincere. Ben saw that he wasn’t joking.
“Well, we certainly saw some light,” Tuckerman stated. “It looked like a
pocket flashlight, at the front door and at one of the windows.”
“Not guilty,” said David. “Are you sure it wasn’t a firefly?”
“You two have been right here ever since we left?” asked Ben.
“Yes,” answered the two in chorus.
“And you haven’t seen anyone land, or heard anyone?” Ben continued.
“No,” came the chorus.
Ben looked at Tuckerman. “Well, someone was in the house. How about
that, Professor?”
“Somebody was. But I can’t imagine what they could have been doing. I
don’t suppose they were thieves.”
“It’s my opinion,” said David sagely, “that they were hunting for the
famous Cotterell treasure. And now that you’ve found it, Benjie, I’d
suggest that you put up a big placard, stating ‘The treasure has been
found. No seekers need apply.’”
“Very good,” said Ben. “Only the real treasure hasn’t been found, you
see.”
“What!” exclaimed David.
“No,” said Ben, “that’s my humble opinion.” And then, as if he wanted to
change the subject, he added, “I’m going to toast one large, juicy
marshmallow, and then I’m going to turn in.”
Half-an-hour later the moon, riding up in the sky, looked down through
the branches and saw that the four campers were sound asleep. There was
the lap-lap of waves, the gentle purring noise as the water washed over
pebbles, and in the tops of the pines a soft lullaby of the breeze.
Tom stirred, turned, opened his eyes. It seemed to him that something
had waked him. He looked about; there was only the familiar scene. He
gave a satisfied grunt and curled his head in the hollow of his arm.
Then he looked around again to make sure that they had put out all the
embers of the fire. And at some distance through the woods, in the
direction of the pier, he saw a light that moved.
Immediately he remembered what Ben and Tuckerman had said about seeing a
light in the house. Noiselessly he got up, pulled on his shoes and stuck
his arms in his jacket. Through the woods he stole, stealthy as an
Indian. The light had disappeared, but he thought he heard the sound of
feet on the planks of the pier.
He came to the trees nearest to the clearing about Cotterell Hall. The
house was dark; there was no sound or light in the neighborhood. But he
was convinced that there had been someone there, and presently he darted
forward and crossed the open space to the shelter of the porch.
After a few minutes he stole to the corner of the house, and now his
search was rewarded. Someone was leaving by the kitchen door. In the
moonlight he counted three figures. They were heading away from the
shore, toward the grove at the back; he guessed that they intended to
take the path that led down to the creek.
Tom followed them at a distance. They went through the woods, and now he
saw the moonlight on the water. They had reached the head of the creek,
but they didn’t stop there. They went on along the bank to the higher
shore where the creek flowed into the ocean. Then for the first time Tom
noticed the silver tip of a sail. Lying flat behind a bush, he watched
the three men go to the rim of the shore, and, one after another, slide
over the edge where the boat waited.
He wanted to see that boat, to get a closer view of the men; but there
were no bushes between him and the shore. Now the tip of the sail was
bobbing, now it was filling out; presently it was moving to the
southward, a white wing, still as a floating gull.
He crept forward and watched. The boat was stealing away, soon she was
only a dancing speck of white in the glittering moonpath. He had no way
of identifying her or of making out her crew. He noted that she did not
turn or tack when she came to the lower end of the island, but held on
to a course that would bring her south along the main shore.
Tom stood up and eased his feelings by a long whistle. “What were they
doing here? It must be something mighty important,” he said aloud.
No answer occurred to him, and after watching the sail until it
disappeared in the distance he turned and walked back to the house.
He tried both the doors; they were locked. He looked at the lower
windows; they were all closed. He went down to the pier; the _Argo_ was
there and the _Red Rover_; there was nothing to tell him what these
night-time prowlers had been doing.
He went back by the beach to the camp. As he stepped up on to the bank
Ben opened his eyes and sat up. “Hello,” he said sleepily. “Why, Tom,
what are you doing?”
“Sh-ssh,” murmured Tom.
Ben rubbed his eyes, crawled out of his bed, caught Tom’s arm, and
pulled him down to the beach. “What were you doing?” he demanded in an
insistent whisper.
“Well, I saw a light, and I went to find out what it was.”
“Yes? And you saw them, did you?”
“Saw whom, Benjie?”
“Saw the pirates, did you?”
“The pirates! You’re half-asleep. What are you talking about?”
Ben nodded his head. “Oh, I know something about them.”
“Well, I saw three men. They went away in a sailboat.”
“Who were they? What did they look like?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get very close.”
“I wish you’d taken me along with you. I’ll bet I’d have found out
something.”
That nettled Tom, and he answered more loudly, “Oh, you would, would
you? I thought you knew all about them.”
“Sh-ssh,” muttered Ben. But David had wakened now, and his voice boomed
out, “What are you two lobsters quarreling over?”
“Nothing,” said Tom. “Keep quiet, or you’ll wake the Professor.”
Tuckerman sat up. “You don’t mean to say it’s morning!” he exclaimed.
“No, it’s not,” Tom answered. “Can’t a fellow take a stroll in the
moonlight without rousing the whole town?”
“Stroll in the moonlight!” chuckled David.
“Go on with your beauty sleep, Professor. That’s what I’m going to do.
Let the two lobsters fight it out.”
“All right,” said the sleepy Tuckerman, nestling down again.
Tom turned to Ben. “So you know something about these pirates, do you?”
he asked. “What were they doing here?”
“That,” said Ben, “is going to take some thinking. You see what you can
find out, and I’ll see what I can. They won’t be back here to-night. And
I’m too doggone sleepy to argue anyhow.”