Next morning the four campers, following the suggestion made by the
sea-captain on the Barmouth wharf, resumed their search for the
Cotterell treasure. David treated the whole matter as a joke; he thought
that either the story about Sir Peter having hidden his silver plate was
a legend without any foundation in fact, or that one of the family had
found the treasure and disposed of it. Tom leaned to the same opinion,
although he did not say so as openly as did David, perhaps because he
saw that both John Tuckerman and Ben thought the treasure was yet to be
found. Ben was still as positive as ever, and argued that if Sir Peter’s
plate had ever been discovered that fact would certainly have been
mentioned in Crusty Christopher’s notebooks.
They examined the chimney-breast in the kitchen and dining-room, looking
for any possible hiding-place. They went all over the house again,
looking for any secret door or panel that they might have missed before.
They tapped the walls and they measured them; but nowhere could they
figure out such a place as they were hunting. Finally Tuckerman said, “I
don’t see how we can search anywhere else, unless we do as Dave
suggested—pull the house down—and I don’t want to do that.”
“The house is worth more than the treasure,” said Tom.
“That’s so,” Tuckerman agreed. He frowned and bit his lip. “I don’t like
to be stumped, that’s the long and short of it. I don’t like to admit
that I can’t work out the puzzle.”
“Puzzles never bother me,” said David. “I think they’re stupid things. I
never want to know the answer to any of the problems in the algebra
books. What good does it do you to know them? Of course some people get
so hipped over knowing the answers they can’t eat till they find them
out—whether a dog or a rabbit will reach a given point first, things
like that, or about men rowing a boat against the tide; but they don’t
get me the least little bit excited. Leave them to Benjie, I say.”
And that was what they did. They left Ben up in the attic, the last room
they had searched. Attics fascinated Ben. In a way they were like
puzzles; there were so many odds and ends that needed putting together.
He walked idly about, looking at chairs and tables that had lost some of
their legs, at statuettes that were broken and disfigured, until he came
to the window that opened to the east. There he stopped in a brown
study.
A distant sail caught his eye. It reminded him of something. Oh, yes,
from the window he could see the line of the little island where they
had found the fishing-smack at anchor the night before. He couldn’t tell
if this sail belonged to the smack; it was too far away; but the sight
of it started a train of thought he had been working over that morning.
He went downstairs and was glad to find that the others had left the
house. In the living-room he took the two pieces of parchment from the
drawer of the secretary and carefully copied the writing on them on a
large sheet of paper. This he laid on the lid of the desk and put an
inkstand on the paper. Then he returned the pieces of parchment to the
drawer.
Satisfied with this, he went outdoors and crossed the island to the
beach where he had found the chest. He sat on a log, and waited
patiently. Presently he saw a sail, to the east; and this time he felt
fairly sure that it was the same fishing-smack that they had chased the
previous night.
He jumped up and began to burrow in the crevice between the rocks. He
did not attempt to pull the chest out; it was too heavy for him to do
that unaided; but he kicked his heels and pushed himself in. And after a
while he pushed himself out again and stood up. Looking at the smack, he
decided that she was near enough for anyone on her deck to have
witnessed his strange performance.
The next step in his plan came when the dishes had been washed after
dinner. He proposed that they should sail over to the little island and
see if the smack was still in the neighborhood.
“After the thieves, are you?” asked David. “Now see here, my lad, if we
should find them, what then? Are you going to step aboard and tell them
they’re arrested?”
“Dave’s had enough of his friend Sam,” said Tom. “He thinks if Sam meets
him again he’ll get a belaying-pin on the back of his head.”
“Benjie wants to argue with them,” said David. “I’ll admit I’d like to
get square with the rascal, but I don’t see how we can do it that way.”
“If Dave’s sure it’s the same boat,” suggested Tom, “we might notify the
police at Barmouth.”
“Well,” said Ben, “the only way to make sure that Dave’s right is to
sail around and look at her in daylight.”
“That sounds sensible,” Tuckerman agreed. “We needn’t get into any kind
of a scrap with them.”
So the _Argo_ set sail and cruised eastward; but although she rounded
the other island several times that afternoon her crew caught no sight
of the bark they were looking for.
When they got back to their own island they found Lanky Larry and Bill
Crawford fishing from the pier. The canoe in which they had paddled over
from Camp Amoussock floated at the landing-stage.
“If you’re after cunners,” said Ben, “you ought to try the rocks on the
ocean side; if it’s flounders you’re trying to tempt you won’t find them
near the pier.”
“We didn’t really come over here to fish,” responded Bill, “but we
always carry a couple of lines in the canoe; that is, when it doesn’t
upset. We came over to invite you four fellows to the water sports
to-morrow morning. We’ve got a fine program, and you can enter any of
the events when you get there.”
“I guess the Professor will want to enter the tub-race,” said Tom with a
grin.
“Maybe I will,” agreed Tuckerman. “Well, mates, how about it? The
invitation sounds very good to me.”
Tom and David both nodded and said they would like to go. “You’d better
count me out of it,” said Ben. “I’ve got a date for to-morrow.”
“Date?” inquired Tom. “What sort of a date? With a lady or a man?”
“A date with myself.” Ben looked a trifle embarrassed. “I’ve got
something on hand I meant to do in the morning.”
“Shucks!” exclaimed David. “All right, Bill, we’ll be over right after
breakfast. And we’ll bring Benjie along. You might enter him in the
fancy diving contest.”
Bill and Lanky pulled in their fishing-lines and embarked in their
canoe. The campers started to get supper. But Ben, making an excuse that
he thought he must have mislaid his pocket-knife in the house, hurried
through the woods to the beach at the northern end. So far as he could
see no one had been there since he had left in the morning; the chest
was still in the crevice between the rocks.
That evening Ben prowled about the island. He went to Cotterell Hall, he
went to the beach at the north again, he kept a watchful eye for sails
in any quarter. When he came back to camp the other three had turned in.
And being very sleepy, he followed their example.
He was up at dawn next morning, and again made his rounds. The paper he
had placed on the lid of the secretary was apparently untouched, the
chest was still in the crevice. Breakfast was waiting when he returned.
“Now, Benjie,” said David, “get busy with the bacon. We’re going over to
Camp Amoussock, and we want you to show those fellows your famous
flip-flap.”
“You go along without me,” Ben urged.
“No, sir,” said David. “This is a sporting proposition, and it’s up to
every man to do his bit.”
So Ben went along with the others.
All of Camp Amoussock was in bathing-suits, and the four guests were
shortly attired likewise. Then began all sorts of water sports. Tom and
David and Ben went in for most of the swimming races and the diving
contests. Tom took second place in the fifty-yard race, and Ben won the
competition for fancy diving. When they came to the tub-race John
Tuckerman entered his name.
Amid shouts and cat-calls a dozen tubs set out from the float. The race
was to be around a buoy and back to the starting-place. Tuckerman
paddled easily, keeping his tub out of the course most of the others
were taking. Two tubs jostled, and two boys were upset into the water.
Bill Crawford rounded the buoy first, then a small, red-headed boy who
sat very still, barely patting the water with careful finger-tips.
“Here comes the Professor!” cried Tom from the beach. “Keep it up, keep
it up, Professor! You’re doing wonders!”
Tuckerman reached the buoy. He had found it fairly easy to keep a
straight course, but now he had to steer to the left. To do this he
tried to give a sidewise sweep with his foot. The tub rocked, rolled. He
attempted to counter-balance; and then he was in the water, splashing
about and trying to get hold of the tub.
He flopped up on one side, only to slip over on the other. The tub might
have been greased, so difficult was it to make the round thing stay in
one position for more than a minute. At last he gave up trying to make
it behave, and swam, pushing it before him, until he could touch bottom
with his feet.
“Never mind, Professor,” said David, as the bedraggled Tuckerman walked
up on the beach. “Many a man has found a tub-race his Waterloo.”
There were cheers from the float, and all turned to look. Bill Crawford
and the red-headed boy were now neck and neck. Someone shouted, “Now’s
your time to spurt, Bill!”
Bill spurted. His tub lost its balance; Bill somersaulted backward into
the water. The red-headed boy just managed to avoid Bill’s splashing and
paddled along more cautiously than ever, hardly touching the water now,
just directing his course with his fingers and toes.
Up to the float he came. He grasped the edge, and a moment later the boy
and the tub were on the float, and the race was won.
“The Tortoise wins!” cried Lanky. “Good old Tortoise! He may be slow,
but he gets there away ahead of the Hare.”
Then came dinner, and then the _Argo_ set sail again. “Now, Benjie,”
said David, “you can keep that date you were telling us about. My word,
but you look impatient.”
Ben was impatient. He sat in the bow, keeping a lookout for a certain
sail.
There were no boats to be seen, however, nearer than a three-masted
schooner that moved like a pasteboard ship along the rim of the horizon.
The _Argo_ appeared to have that part of the off-shore ocean entirely to
herself, and except for the swish of the water against her side there
was no noise to break the quiet of the summer afternoon.
The island stood out in its shades of green against the brilliant blue
sky. The house was a patch of white as the sailboat drew up to the pier.
The landing made, the four campers went ashore. Ben started up the path
toward the house, and the others, as people are apt to do when someone
leads the way, followed without any definite object in mind.
Ben had almost reached the front steps when the door of Cotterell Hall
opened. He stopped in surprise; and so did the other three.
A man in colonial costume, buff-colored coat and breeches, with a
three-cornered hat in his hand, stepped out at the front door.
The man made a bow and held out his hat in a gesture of welcome. “I give
you a good-day, gentlemen,” he said. “What fortunate chance brings you
to Peter Cotterell’s door?”
Tuckerman took it on himself to answer. Returning the bow, he said, “The
good ship _Argo_ has brought four adventurers to your island, worthy
sir. We trust we do not trespass.”
The gentleman in buff stood with his hat at his hip. “You’re not from
the town of Barmouth?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” said Tuckerman, and added, “Your island looked so inviting
that we made bold to come ashore.”
“I’m glad you’re not from Barmouth,” said the gentleman. “I have no
stomach for those folks, rebels against His Britannic Majesty’s lawful
government. To visitors such as you my island and my house are always
open. Will you come in and refresh yourselves?”
“You are very good, Sir Peter,” said Tuckerman, with a smile.
“Why do you call me ‘Sir Peter’?”
“I understood that was your title.”
The gentleman frowned. “I believe that some of the rebels call me that,
because of my loyalty to the King of England. However, it is an
honorable title. I have no objection. Yes,” he added, “you may call me
Sir Peter. I like the sound.”
“Well then, Sir Peter,” said Tuckerman, “I think we’ll accept your
invitation with the greatest pleasure.”
The gentleman on the step stood aside, and the four marched into the
house. Sir Peter indicated a room on the left. They went into the large
drawing-room, and Ben, casting a hasty glance at the secretary, saw that
the paper he had placed on the lid was still there.
“Be seated,” said Sir Peter. He stood for a moment near the portrait on
the wall, and the campers saw how much his face and figure and the cut
of his clothes resembled those of the man in the picture. He caught
their eyes comparing him with the portrait. “Yes, my picture,” he said.
“It’s considered a rather fair likeness.” And he added deprecatingly,
“Of course no one can ever judge a likeness of himself.”
He pulled a bell-rope that hung by the big fireplace. “I can offer you a
glass of negus,” he continued. “Something unusual, that I get from the
Barbadoes.”
A moment later a dark-skinned servant—mahogany-hued in fact—came into
the room and received his master’s orders.
“Will any of you take snuff?” asked Sir Peter, when the servant had
withdrawn. He produced a small silver snuff-box from his waistcoat
pocket.
He passed the snuff-box, but each of his guests declined. Ben, looking
up with a grin, asked, “Does your servant come from the Barbadoes, Sir
Peter?”
“Why yes, he does.” Sir Peter helped himself to a pinch of snuff, then
dusted his coat with a fine cambric handkerchief. “An excellent servant,
too. Indeed, I am much pleased with all my service, from my steward
James Sampson down.”
“James Sampson!” exclaimed Ben, his eyes dancing. “Where have I heard
that name before?”
At this point the servant reappeared, bearing a lacquered tray on which
were five glasses and a decanter. He set the tray on a table, and as Sir
Peter filled the glasses the servant handed them to the guests.
The refreshment was delicious. None of the boys had ever tasted anything
like it before, but all of them declared it fine. Sir Peter poured a
second glass all round, and then, when the servant had left again, the
gentleman in buff seated himself in an arm-chair, swung one leg over the
other, and beamed at his new friends. “As you say, the negus is
excellent,” he observed, “but several glasses will, to use a somewhat
common expression, begin to make one see things.”
“We’re seeing things already,” put in David.
Sir Peter disregarded this remark. He twisted his glass in his fingers.
“As it happens, I’m particularly glad that you arrived here to-day,” he
continued. “I have a number of guests here. I am giving an entertainment
this evening. The guests are at present on the upper floors.”
There was a light tap of heels in the hall. Sir Peter looked toward the
door. “Here comes one of them—a lady.” He stood up, and the campers did
likewise. “Ah, it’s Mistress Penelope Boothby,” Sir Peter declared with
a bow.
A young woman stood in the doorway, a very lovely young woman in a
flowered silk gown. She courtsied down to the floor, then with a light
laugh exclaimed, “Oh la, Peter Cotterell, whom have you here? What odd
costumes the gentlemen wear!”