That same morning, while Ben had been hunting for the owner of the red
automobile with the silver eagle on the radiator cap, Tom and David and
John Tuckerman had sailed down to Camp Amoussock in the _Argo_. They
found the boys at the camp in their bathing-suits, practicing for some
water-sports that were to be held that week. A raft, with a
spring-board, was moored off shore, and from this boys were diving and
turning somersaults, backward and forward, like acrobats in a circus.
Other boys were swimming, practising for races, and still others were
paddling round in tubs, trying to steer with their feet while they
propelled the tubs forward by splashing the water with their hands.
“There,” said John Tuckerman, as he saw a fat youngster revolving round
and round in a tub, “that’s the game for me. I believe, with my long
arms and legs, that I’d make a hit at it.”
The fat boy splashed too hard, and the tub went over neatly. There was a
shout of laughter as the boy bobbed up in the water and tried to turn
the slippery tub rightside up again. This was hard work; the tub went
round and round, continually evading his fingers; and finally he swam to
shore, pushing the tub before him.
“No,” said Tuckerman, “that isn’t the game for me. I used to be pretty
good at picking up a pea in a tablespoon, but that was on dry land. When
it comes to wrestling with a tub in the water—” He gave an expressive
shrug—“I’d rather let the fishes do it.”
The _Argo_ landed, and the three guests were provided with bathing-suits
from the camp’s supply. For half-an-hour they swam and dived and perched
on the raft, watching the boys in tubs. Then a bugle sounded on shore,
telling them it was time to get ready for dinner.
The guests did full justice to dinner, sitting between Mr. Perkins, the
Chief Counsellor, and Lanky Larry. Afterwards Mr. Perkins and John
Tuckerman had a chat, while Lanky invited Tom and David to take a walk
along the shore.
“There’s a queer sort of place a couple of miles to the south,” said
Lanky. “It’s a cove with a lot of shanties. Fishermen used to go there;
there are boats and nets lying around; but I think it must be deserted.
I saw some men there one day last week, but they didn’t look like
fishermen.”
“Lead us to it,” said David. “Deserted villages are right in our line.”
The path along the shore brought them to the cove. A little tidal river
ran inland, wandering up into marshes. On each side of the river was a
stony beach, and a rickety bridge, with a single handrail, connected the
banks of the stream. Small weatherbeaten shacks, doors and shutters
sagging outward, fishing-dories, rusty anchors, lobster-pots, a few nets
with round black buoys, these cluttered up either shore.
“Nice place, if it wasn’t for the shanties,” said David, regarding the
cove.
“I found a chap painting here one day,” said Lanky. “He told me it made
a great picture; he liked the shanties first-rate.”
“Funny what things painters like,” chuckled David. “The more ramshackle
a house is, the more they want to paint it.”
They went down a rocky path to the nearer beach, and sat on the bottom
of an upturned scow. As they were chatting they heard the creak of a
door, opening on rusty hinges. A man came out from one of the nearer
shacks. His clothes were fairly new, he wore a brown slouch hat and tan
shoes—evidently he was not a fisherman; neither was he a farmer nor a
common loafer; he looked as if he came from a town. He was smoking a
small briar pipe.
“What are you doing here?” The man’s tone was a little peremptory,
though not exactly surly.
David enjoyed such a question. With a pleasant, friendly smile he
answered, “Just sitting here and thinking.”
“That’s all you’re doing, eh?”
“It is at present,” David answered. “What are you doing yourself?”
The man frowned; looked up the creek, looked across at the opposite
shore. “Nobody lives here now,” he stated after a minute. “Sometimes I
come and fish from that bridge.”
“What’s happened to the place?” asked Lanky.
“I don’t know. Only nobody comes here now.”
“Well, we came this afternoon,” said David. “You see, we’re explorers.”
“You won’t find anything to explore.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
The man shot a glance at David, not a very amiable glance. And with that
he walked to the bridge, crossed it, and went into the huddle of shacks
on the other bank.
“Pleasant sort of customer,” said Lanky.
“He’d make a cow laugh,” said Tom.
“He didn’t like our being here,” observed David, “Now I wonder why.”
“He wants it all to himself,” said Lanky. “He must be some sort of
hermit.”
“And just for that,” said David, “I feel like sitting right here on
this scow till he gets more hospitable.”
As a matter of fact, however, sitting on the upturned boat and watching
the waves surge gently up over the stony beach and then withdraw in a
network of little rivulets that made the stones and pebbles glisten was
not entertaining enough to keep the three boys there more than five
minutes. Tom got up. “I’m going over the bridge,” he said. “If our
friend the hermit doesn’t like it—well, he’ll just have to lump it.”
The bridge shook as the three of them stepped upon it. “For goodness
sake, don’t lean against that railing,” Lanky warned. “Stop bouncing up
and down as you walk, Dave, or you’ll have us all in the water.”
David went on bouncing; but in spite of that they reached the other
shore safely. No one was to be seen here; somewhere in the clutter of
shanties the man had disappeared.
“I’d like to know what that precious hermit is up to,” said David, and
he walked toward the shacks that were furthest from the bridge.
Lanky and Tom investigated in the other direction, where a clump of oaks
came close down to the stream. At the edge of the trees was a shack a
little larger and better built than the others. The door was open, and
the two boys looked in. “Hello!” exclaimed Tom. “What’s that on the
bench? It looks like jewelry.”
A brown cloak, a brown hat with a red feather stuck at one side, and a
chain of gold links with a large green stone as a pendant, were piled on
the bench.
Tom picked up the ornament. “It’s imitation,” he said. He looked around
the room. “Why, there’s a whole wardrobe of queer hats and cloaks and
things here!”
“So there is,” said Lanky. “What do you suppose they are? Actors’
things?”
“Actors’ things?” Tom glanced at the outfit of costumes that hung on
pegs on one wall. “They’re certainly not fishermen’s things. But what
would actors be doing in this cove?”
“I don’t know,” Lanky admitted. “It is funny, isn’t it?”
They looked at the costumes more closely, and then went out of the
shack. “I wonder if that man knows something about them,” Lanky
suggested. “He might have been keeping guard.”
“Let’s see what Dave’s doing,” said Tom, and started along the bank.
He had only taken a few steps, however, when he stopped. “Here comes a
boat around the point. Let’s beat it, and see what they do.”
The two slipped back of a cabin, then to a shelter of bushes. Crouching
there, they watched the boat nose its bow into the cove.
The boat was a dory. One man was rowing, two others sat in the stern.
They looked no more like the usual type of fishermen than had the man
whom the boys had first encountered.
With considerable splashing the boat was rowed up to the bridge. The
tide was low, and there was hardly enough water at that point to float
the dory. The rower shipped his oars and tied the boat to the railing of
the bridge. Meantime the other two men stepped over the side and came up
on to the beach.
All three headed toward the shack that the boys had just left and went
in at the door.
“They seem to know their way about,” whispered Lanky. “I wonder why
Dave’s friend didn’t come down to meet them.”
In a few minutes the three men came out again, and now they had some of
the cloaks and hats in their hands. Each put on a cloak and a hat and
strutted about; they laughed and joked at each other.
“What in the world——” muttered Lanky. “Actors. I told you,” Tom
whispered. “They look like highwaymen.”
The men now seemed satisfied with their costumes. Hats pulled well down
on their heads and cloaks thrown over their shoulders, they took the
path toward the clump of oaks.
“I say,” muttered Lanky, “what do you suppose they’re going to do? Hold
up some farmer’s wagon? Come on, I want to find out what’s their game.”
“I’d better get Dave,” said Tom. “You follow them. I’ll catch up with
you in a minute.”
“All right.”
Lanky went one way, and Tom the other.
Tom ran over the stones between the shanties, and looked in at the open
doors; but he did not see David nor the man they had met first. He gave
the whistle he used to call David in Barmouth. There was no answer. The
shacks on this side of the stream all appeared deserted.
David was not to be found, and Tom supposed he must have gone further
along the shore. Meantime he would be losing the chance of finding
Lanky, so after whistling several times more Tom turned and ran toward
the oaks.
The path along the cove was well marked, it traversed the high ground at
the edge of the marshes and turned into fairly thick woods. At a
dog-trot Tom soon came up with Lanky. “I couldn’t find Dave,” he
grunted. “I guess he found the hermit so fascinating he went for a
stroll with him.”
“I’ve kept my eye on the three highwaymen,” said Lanky. “This seems to
be the only path around here, marshes on one side and the forest
primeval on the other.” He glanced at his wrist-watch. “I ought to be
getting back to camp; but I can’t leave an adventure like this. It
wouldn’t be decent, would it?”
“It would not,” Tom assented. “If they try to blame you, you refer them
to me. I’ll say that we thought those fellows were up to some kind of
mischief, and that it seemed to be our duty to investigate them. And
that’s telling the truth; they’re what Benjie would call ‘suspicious
characters.’”
Every once in a while the boys would catch a glimpse of one or other of
the cloaked men through the vista of the trees. Then the boys would stop
and let the others get well ahead of them. And presently they reached a
dusty road and saw the men tramping along to the south.
Tom and Lanky had to come out in the open then, but, as Lanky pointed
out, there was no reason why the men, if they saw them, should think the
two boys were at all interested in what they were doing. They walked a
half-mile without encountering anyone, and then the boys saw an
automobile coming toward the three in front.
“Now,” said Tom, “we’ll see if they’re highwaymen. This is a nice quiet
place to hold up a car.”
But the men disappeared by jumping over a fence that ran along the woods
on the left. The automobile, a man and a woman in it, dashed by the
boys, leaving a cloud of dust.
“So ho!” exclaimed Lanky, “our friends don’t want to be seen! Suppose we
make ourselves scarce till they come back to the road.”
The boys hid in the woods, and presently the three men reappeared on the
road. Tom and Lanky followed suit, and the march was resumed.
A mile more, and the men came to a crossroad. They turned toward the
west. When the boys reached the crossroad Lanky stopped. “This is a
private lane,” he said. “See, it leads up to that barn and stable. And
there’s a big house. Our friends are going in the back way.”
There was a screen of trees at the corner. The boys went along the lane
until the screen gave way to a close-cropped hedge. Here they had a view
of a wide, velvety lawn and the large house, red-striped awnings at the
windows, on a gently-rising slope.
“Hello!” exclaimed Tom. “Look there!”
There was no heed of his telling Lanky to look. Lanky was staring at
that part of the lawn that was shielded by the trees at the corner.
There was a small, one-story house that looked as if it were made of
cardboard, a very picturesque building, brightly painted to resemble
cross-timbers, with two little lattice windows. And grouped about the
grass in front of the house were a dozen or so men and women, all of
them dressed in fancy costumes, looking as if they had just stepped out
of a picture book or down from the stage of a theatre.
“My eye!” said Tom. “What is it? A fancy dress party?”
“Looks like a Robin Hood scene,” said Lanky. “Some of them have bows and
arrows. See that girl in pink working that churn.” He watched for a
moment; then added, “So that’s why our friends the highwaymen came along
this way.”
“They don’t seem to have joined the crowd,” said Tom. “Why didn’t they
jump over the hedge?”
The people on the lawn were too busy to notice the boys in the lane.
Lanky nodded. “That’s so. And it seems to me, Tom, that that crowd are a
different type from our three friends. These people belong here; but I
don’t think the others do.”
The boys looked up the lane. The three men had entered at a gate that
led to the rear of the big house.
“Let’s see what they’re doing,” said Tom.
Along the lane went the two boys, and turned in at the gate.
The men had disappeared. Lanky shook his head. “It’s queer, mighty
queer. Of course those fellows may belong here. But why should they come
all the way from that cove? And bring those hats and cloaks with them?”
He scratched his ear, as he did when he was puzzled.
“Come along,” said Tom. “Nobody’ll throw us out.”
They crossed the lawn to the steps of the porch. A man came out from the
front door, a man in livery, apparently the butler. He held himself very
straight, he was an angular person, with a fishy eye.
“Yes?” he said; and though the word was a short one he managed to
express in it a cold sense of disapproval.
“Er—” began Tom, “we would like to know if three men, wearing brown
cloaks and big slouch hats, just came into this house.”
The butler shrugged his shoulders. “There are gentlemen and ladies
wearing every kind of costume coming in and going out all the time,” he
answered stiffly.
That seemed to put an end to further questions; but Lanky, after
considering the matter for a moment, inquired, “Whose place is this?”
“It belongs to Mr. Hastings,” said the butler, eyeing the boys most
disapprovingly. “He is not at home at present. But I can answer any
questions for him.”
Neither Lanky nor Tom, however, could think of any questions to ask. It
seemed absurd to tell this fishy-eyed servant that they had followed the
three men from the cove. And after all the men might have a perfect
right to have entered the house.
“Very well,” said Tom, and turned on his heel, followed by Lanky.
But when they were out in the lane again, Lanky said, “I’m going to wait
around here a little longer. That servant’s a fool. Anybody could put
anything over on him.”
So they climbed up on the stone wall on the other side of the lane and
sat there like two sentries.