John Tuckerman and David and Mr. Perkins went up on the porch, where Ben
introduced them to Roderick Fitzhugh. Fitzhugh, after shaking hands
cordially with each of them, bowed toward his house-guests. “My
friends,” said he, “we have the pleasure of welcoming the worthy Chief
Counsellor of Camp Amoussock, and Mr. Tuckerman, who is the owner of
famous Cotterell Hall on Cotterell’s Island in the harbor of Barmouth,
and Mr. David Norton—, er, Ben, what is the best way to describe your
good-looking friend?”
“The best batter in New England,” piped up Lanky Larry. “I ought to
know. He knocked me out of the box.”
“Thank you,” said Fitzhugh in his amusingly formal manner. “Mr. David
Norton, the famous Yankee slugger.” He turned to the three new arrivals.
“Gentlemen, let me present you to my friends,” and he called out the
names, beginning with Maid Rosalind and the other ladies and ending with
Sir Marmaduke Midchester.
Tuckerman laughed. “I’d no idea Ben mixed in such high-sounding company.
What is he?—Sir Marmaduke’s squire?”
“He’s the apprentice to an armorer,” said Fitzhugh. “Incidentally he was
mistaken this evening for a robber.”
Then Fitzhugh told the story of the robbery, including the adventure of
Tom and Larry with the men from the cove.
“Those men must be the three that belonged to the fishing-smack,” said
David. “I thought there was something crooked going on. That’s
it—they’re a gang of thieves.”
David related his adventure, and then Mr. Perkins told how he and
Tuckerman and the boys from the camp hunted for the three missing
fellows. “We drove in here on the chance that you might know something
about them,” he said to Fitzhugh. “We came straight up the road from the
cove, but we didn’t see any men answering the description of the
thieves.”
“Well,” said Fitzhugh, “we’ll get the police on their track, and I’ll
telephone down to Gosport to have the people there keep an eye out for
that fishing-boat. And now won’t you come in and let me offer you some
refreshments? Master Ben will want to change his clothes before he sets
out in his racing-car.”
While the others were in the dining-room Ben exchanged his doublet and
hose for his everyday garb. Then he went to the garage and got out the
little car he had borrowed from his uncle in Barmouth. It clattered up
to the front door and a few minutes later Fitzhugh was saying good-night
to Tuckerman, Perkins and the boys.
David got into Ben’s car. The car from Camp Amoussock moved off along
the driveway. Roderick Fitzhugh came up to Ben, who was starting his
engine. “I regret that Mr. Joseph Hastings wasn’t at home,” he said, “so
that you could have learned whether he did lose a silver snuff-box on
Cotterell’s Island. I’ll ask him when I see him.”
Ben grinned. “I’d almost forgotten about the snuff-box,” he answered,
“but I think you’ll find when you ask Mr. Hastings that he did lose it
there.”
“You’re a bright fellow, Master Sully.”
Fitzhugh gave a wink. “Don’t tell all you know. And if you’re in the
neighborhood any time come in and see Joseph Hastings.”
The little car rattled away, following the tail-light of the other
automobile.
“Who is that man?” asked David, as they turned into the highroad.
“Do you mean Mr. Roderick Fitzhugh?” inquired Ben innocently.
“Chuck it, Benjie. That isn’t his real name.”
“Why isn’t it, smartie?”
“Roderick Fitzhugh! Marmaduke Midchester!” David repeated the names of
some of the other people he had met at the Gables. “Stuff and nonsense,
Benjie! They made them up.”
Ben said nothing, and after a few minutes David began again.
“Where’d they get those clothes?”
“Where do people usually get their clothes? Tailors and dressmakers made
them, I suppose.”
“What are they? A crowd of actors?”
Ben smiled. “They’re not professional actors. They’re doing a play that
Mr. Fitzhugh wrote for the moving-pictures, and they like their costumes
so much they keep them on most of the time. I’m in the pictures,” he
added in a tone of pride.
The car clattered loudly over a rough stretch of road. Then David
resumed his questions. “How in thunder did you happen to get mixed up
with them?”
“I was driving along this morning and I met Mr. Fitzhugh and he
suggested that we go on a hunt for hooked-rugs.”
“Hooked-rugs!” exploded David.
“Yes. They don’t grow on trees. They’re to be found in the cottages
around here. We caught some fine specimens.”
David put his hand on Ben’s knee. “It was time we rescued you from that
fellow, my boy,” he said. “I don’t know anything about hooked-rugs, but
I think your Mr. Fitzhugh has bats in his belfry.”
The car driven by Mr. Perkins had stopped, and Ben brought his own noisy
equipage to a standstill at the side of the road. “We’re going to have
another look at the cove,” said Tuckerman. “We can’t drive in through
the woods.”
But the cove, when they reached it by the path through the woods, was as
deserted as it had been when the boys from Camp Amoussock explored it
earlier in the evening. Lanky and Tom pointed out the dory, still
beached on the shingle, in which the three men had come ashore, and the
shack in which they had kept the costumes. “I think the dory is pretty
good proof that they didn’t come back here,” said Tom. “I guess they
must have made off toward Gosport, to join the fishing-smack somewhere
in that neighborhood.”
They returned to the two cars and drove on to Camp Amoussock. There Tom
and John Tuckerman embarked in the _Argo_ to sail back to Cotterell’s
Island, while Ben and David continued their clattering ride to Barmouth.
At Barmouth, Ben restored the car to his uncle, and the two boys went
down to the harbor and launched the canoe. Over the placid water they
paddled easily, for they were old hands at handling a canoe together.
And presently they landed at the island, and found the other two sitting
on the pier.
There was much to talk over, and none of them were sleepy. They sat on
the bank above the beach and swapped adventures. “I’ve been wondering,”
said Tom, “whether there was any connection between the men who stole
those things at Mr. Fitzhugh’s house and the men I saw here on the
island last night.”
“And the gigantic footprints,” said David. “I’ve been thinking about
that, too. But how would you explain the lady’s handkerchief, with the
initials A. S. L.?”
They argued about that for some time before they went to bed. Ben,
however, took little part in the discussion. He was trying to find a
reason for the discovery of the silver snuff-box that Joseph Hastings
had bought in Barmouth in the chest hidden in the cliff.
Next morning Ben went with Tuckerman to Cotterell Hall. “What do you
make of it, Ben?” said Tuckerman. “We don’t seem to be any nearer to
finding the treasure than we were when we first came here. I know you’ve
got some theory in that wise head of yours.”
Ben walked up and down the living-room. “Well,” he answered slowly, “I
think somebody has mixed up the trails. Let’s see how the matter stands.
We know that your Uncle Christopher thought there was a secret. We found
that out from the note in the frame of the picture.”
“Uncle Christopher knew there was a secret,” agreed Tuckerman. “I think
that’s very clear.”
Ben nodded. “What did we find next? Those jottings your uncle made in
his notebook.” Ben stopped at the secretary, took out the notebook,
turned to the marked page, and read aloud. “‘As regards the saying that
the hiding-place is just beyond the three pines that stand between two
rocks where the sun goes down, I have scoured and scoured the island,
and come to the opinion that the extreme southwestern point must be the
place intended, although to-day there are only two pines there. I have
dug at this place, but found only sand.’ That’s what your uncle wrote.
But he didn’t find the treasure at the southwestern point.”
Tuckerman smiled. “So far so good.”
Ben ran his eye down the page. “Now we come to this. ‘Find the
mahogany-hued man with the long, skinny legs and look in his breast
pocket. That’s a saying my father handed down. What can it mean?’ Well,
it seems to me that’s where the trails begin to get mixed.”
“Why, I thought we decided that referred to the mahogany secretary,”
said Tuckerman.
“So we did,” answered Ben. “But were we right? Let’s see. We looked in
the secretary and found a piece of parchment with half a message on it.
We couldn’t make out much from that. Then I read this in the notebook.”
He turned again to the page, “‘I’ve heard that the old clipper ship got
some of the cargo that the mahogany man carried. But if she did, what
use is that to us now? She sailed out of Barmouth Harbor during the
Revolution.’”
“I’ve always thought you were mighty clever in finding that model of the
clipper ship up in the attic,” said Tuckerman.
“Well,” agreed Ben, “I’m not denying that I was pretty well pleased with
that myself. But what did we learn? That James Sampson took a box to the
north cliff, meaning to put it on a boat, but found that there were some
people off shore in another boat and so hid the box in the rocks, and
that the rocks were marked like a cross. Very good. We found the place
and we found a box there. But there wasn’t anything very valuable in the
box when we found it.”
“That’s so,” Tuckerman assented. “But I don’t see any other clue to the
treasure.”
Ben was staring through the window at the trees glistening in the
sunlight. “I think that box was hidden in the cliff since we’ve been on
the island,” he said reflectively, “and I don’t believe that any of the
things in it ever came from Cotterell Hall.”
“You don’t!” exclaimed Tuckerman.
“And that means,” continued Ben, who was following the line of his own
thoughts, “that somebody was trying to set us on a wrong trail by hiding
those two pieces of parchment in this house.”
“But what object would anyone have in doing that?” Tuckerman asked. “I
can’t see any good reason for their taking so much trouble.” He
considered this idea for several minutes, while Ben continued his study
of the trees and the glimpse of blue water that was to be seen from the
window.
“And we thought we’d kept the problem of the Cotterell treasure pretty
much a secret,” Tuckerman said presently.
“Gigantic footprints, lady’s handkerchief, men prowling about the house
in the dark.” Ben chuckled softly. “That doesn’t look as if we had the
island much to ourselves, does it?”
“No,” Tuckerman admitted. “We haven’t kept up the Cotterell tradition
for exclusiveness.”
“Well,” said Ben, “if somebody has been trying to set us on a wrong
trail, the question is was it the giant, the lady, or the
night-prowlers? Or did the three belong to one party.”
“The lady is a stumbling-block,” nodded Tuckerman.
“If there were two parties,” said Ben, turning around, “my own opinion
is that it’s the giant and the lady who’ve been making game of us.”
“Benjamin, what are you driving at?”
For answer Ben laughed. “Never mind, Professor. If I should tell you
what’s in my mind, and it shouldn’t prove to be true, think how flat I’d
feel. And now I think it’s time we went back to camp if we’re going in
swimming before dinner.”
Just before sunset that afternoon the chug of a motor-boat broke the
stillness of the water around the island. The boat stole up to the
landing-stage and two men got out. They went up the walk toward
Cotterell Hall. “A beautiful mansion, Marmaduke,” said the man in the
white flannel suit to the one in brown jacket and knickerbockers.
“I agree with you, Roderick,” said the other. “I suppose you would like
to pick it up and carry it off to the Gables.”
“Not at all. But what is to prevent us from making use of it here? Sir
Peter Cotterell defying the people of Barmouth.” Roderick Fitzhugh
pointed in this direction and that, talking eagerly, until his companion
interrupted him with a whispered, “They’re coming up in their sailboat.”
The _Argo_ touched the landing-stage, and Fitzhugh and his friend went
out on the pier. “Hello, lads,” cried Fitzhugh. “We came out to take a
look at the famous island Ben told us about.”
“Did you learn anything about the thieves?” Tom called from the _Argo_.
“No, not yet. But we’ve got the local police scouring the country. I
don’t expect much from them,” added Fitzhugh. “What I hope is that the
rascals will make us another call.”
“We’ve been fishing,” said Ben. “Hope you’ll stay to supper.”
“Well,” said Fitzhugh, “I’ve got my guests at the Gables.”
“You wouldn’t take any excuse from me yesterday,” Ben retorted. “Turn
about’s fair play. You’ve never tasted Dave’s fried flounder.”
“That’s so, we haven’t,” said Marmaduke Midchester. “I vote to stay.”
They had supper on the beach, and afterwards Ben urged Midchester to
sing the song he had written.
“Oh, Master Ben,” Fitzhugh protested, “why break in on the evening
calm?”
“Go ahead,” said Tom. “We’d all like some music.”
“Music?” echoed Fitzhugh. “Who said anything about music? Well, if
you’re determined to have him commit the crime, on your own heads be
it!”
Midchester, who was a big man, stood up and sang in a deep bass, a song
about a knight who loved a lady but who rode off to the wars. It had a
spirited chorus, with many gestures, such as drawing a sword, waving a
hand, and shaking a knight’s banner. By the time that Midchester sang
the second chorus all the others were up, singing loudly and imitating
his motions. It ended in a final loud cheer that could be heard at least
a mile away.
“That’s better than I expected,” said Fitzhugh. “See, it scared the
geese.”
He pointed to the western sky, across which a distant triangle of wild
geese were flying.
“Now,” said Tuckerman, “I will give you a song of the sea as sung in the
prairie schooners of the west.”
He had a good voice, and his song was so popular that he had to give an
encore. Afterwards Fitzhugh said that he must take Midchester away or he
would break out again.
Good-nights were exchanged on the pier and the motor-boat headed south.
“Well,” said Tuckerman, “they’re a good pair of scouts. I don’t suppose
this island has heard so much noise since old Sir Peter’s day. I like
guests myself. And as there doesn’t seem any likelihood of finding the
Cotterell treasure, I don’t see why we shouldn’t keep open house.”
“Oh, we haven’t given up hope of finding it, have we?” asked Tom.
“Benjie hasn’t,” said David.
They all looked at the black-haired boy.
“Why, of course, I haven’t,” he answered calmly. “And the more people
who come out here to look for it, the more chance we have of finding it,
I think. You don’t suppose Fitzhugh and Midchester came here just to see
us, do you?”
“I bet they did,” said Tom.
“I bet they didn’t,” said Ben. “They took us in as a side-show on their
way to the big tent.”