While the campers and Cotterell and his guests had been making prisoners
of the four men on the beach, the steward Sampson and the two others who
had separated from the main party had embarked in a motor-boat that was
moored in the creek and made their way out to the fishing-smack. To the
surprise of the skipper, who was the only man aboard, two men in
fantastic knee-breeches had swung themselves over one side of his boat
while he was idly surveying the northern point of the island from the
other side. He turned to find himself looking at the muzzle of the most
remarkable pistol he had ever seen. Being unarmed himself, he had
immediately put up his hands. Whereupon the two men had smiled, and the
one with the pistol, lowering that ancient weapon, had said, “That’s a
good fellow. Is there anyone else aboard?”
“No,” said the skipper, not wanting to have the smack searched.
“Take a look through his clothes for a weapon,” the man with the pistol
said to his companion.
No weapon was found. The man in the motor-boat came aboard, and two of
the men went into the smack’s cabin, while the third guarded the
skipper.
When the two returned from the cabin some time later, one of them went
to the rail and shouted and waved his handkerchief toward shore. And
presently Cotterell and Tom, David and Ben rowed out in the smack’s
boat.
In the cabin were the hats and cloaks and the other things that Tom and
Lanky had seen in the shack at the cove. Sampson set out at once in the
motor-boat for Barmouth, and before the sun had touched the tops of the
trees the four men on the beach and the skipper were in custody of the
police, charged with having stolen certain valuables from the Gables.
“Well,” said Cotterell, when he and his guests were again on the island,
“my treasure is still secure from the rebels, thanks to you,” and he
bowed to the campers.
“Oh, is your famous dinner-set really in that chest?” asked Miss
Penelope Boothby. She went to the chest and looked at its contents.
“Why, it’s only clothes and bric-a-brac! There’s no silverware there.”
“No,” said Cotterell, smiling. “That is not my silver plate. I keep it
better hid than that.”
“Oh, do let us dine off it to-night,” begged Miss Boothby. “I should
dearly love to see it.”
Cotterell looked perplexed. “Why, I should like you to,” he answered.
Then he glanced at the sun. “But the party waits. And it was my
intention to dance a minuet on the lawn before my house while it was
daylight. Come, friends, come along with me.”
They went back through the woods. The boys and Tuckerman branched off by
the path to their camp, promising to come to Cotterell Hall in time to
join the party. And, once out of hearing of the others, David turned to
Ben. “You’re a cute fellow, Benjie. How’d you ever guess that the men
from the smack would go after that chest?”
“I don’t mind telling you now,” said Ben with a grin. “I was pretty sure
that those men were snooping around the house, looking for clues to the
treasure, and so I put a copy of that message on the parchment out on
the lid of the desk, where they couldn’t very well fail to see it. Then
I went down on the beach by the cliff when the smack was fairly near
shore, and tried to give them the notion that I was looking for
something. Well, they bit all right. They thought the treasure was
hidden there, just as I thought myself when I first saw Sampson’s
message.”
“I’ll hand it to you, sonny,” said Tom. “You turned the trick! And
that’s the crowd that stole the jewels from the Gables, just as I
thought.”
“They stole some of Mr. Fitzhugh’s costumes,” said Ben. “It seems to me
that the fact that we found those costumes in the cabin shows what
they’ve been doing.”
They sat on the bank a few minutes, talking over the adventure. Then
Tuckerman stood up. “Well, we’re due at Cotterell Hall. Wash your hands
and brush your hair, so you’ll look your smartest.”
“Do you suppose we’ll have to dance?” asked David, as he ran a comb
through his thatch of hair.
“I think that one of the ladies has her eye on you,” said Tuckerman,
laughing. “However, if you’ve got a game leg, I’ll be glad to take your
place.”
As they reached the house Peter Cotterell came out at the door. Behind
him were Miss Boothby and Sampson. “My wardrobe is still upstairs,” the
buff-coated man said genially. “Make what use of it you please.”
This time the campers found costumes quickly. Even Ben, who kept looking
at the row of pegs from which he had taken down the yellow satin coat,
got into that coat and a pair of breeches. There was the sound of a
violin in front of the house, and as they came down the steps they found
the whole party taking places for a dance.
“I’m afraid we don’t know the minuet,” said Tuckerman, hesitating.
“Oh, it’s easy enough,” said the host. “I’ll call off the figures.”
Ben gave Tom a nudge, and pointed out two men who stood at a little
distance with a big camera. “Sir Peter’s up to date,” he whispered. “I
guess it’s the first time anyone ever took moving-pictures on
Cotterell’s Island.”
Meantime Miss Boothby had gone up to David and boldly proclaimed that he
was to dance with her. The suit that David had put on in the attic
happened to be green, and when she reminded him that that was the color
she had asked him to wear he turned beet red and stammered something
about “trying to please a lady.”
[Illustration: “My wardrobe is still upstairs. Make what use of it you
please.”]
“We will stand near Mr. Cotterell, and I will show you all the steps,”
she said. “I could tell you were very light on your feet the very first
time I saw you.”
“Well, I can pick them up pretty well in a clog or a shuffle,” admitted
David.
“I knew it! I knew it!” exclaimed the delighted Miss Boothby; and
pouncing on David’s hand she led him to where Peter Cotterell was
assigning places to the dancers.
Tom and Ben and Tuckerman all had partners. The violin began to play,
and Cotterell led off the dance. The host was very graceful and so was
the lady he danced with, and they posed and bowed and courtsied
constantly as they went through the stately measures of the minuet. The
others copied their leaders, and after a few minutes’ practice contrived
to do it well. Meantime the camera clicked, taking reels of pictures of
the old-fashioned dance.
There was a final bow and courtesy, a final posing in position. Then
Cotterell raised his hand. “That was beautifully done, my friends,” he
said. “Surely my island home has never witnessed a more graceful scene.
I trust you have all gained an excellent appetite for dinner.”
“What a gorgeous sunset!” exclaimed Miss Boothby, looking toward the
water.
They all moved down in the direction of the pier. As they came in view
of the broad and many-colored bay they saw a sailboat heading for the
landing. Cotterell stopped and again raised his hand. “Can it be that
the people of Barmouth are coming out here again?” he demanded
indignantly. “I’ll have nothing to do with them, and they know it! I
will not give them my plate!”
The sailboat came on. Cotterell, followed by the others, walked out on
the pier.
“What do you want?” called out the buff-coated man. “This is Cotterell’s
Island.”
“We know it is,” answered a man in the boat. “Who are you? You look like
Sir Peter.”
“I don’t want any rebels from Barmouth landing here,” came the reply.
“There aren’t any rebels nowadays. We won the Revolution.”
“You shan’t have my silver plate.”
There were laughs from those in the boat. “We don’t want it. We’ve
brought paper plates of our own.”
“Well,” said Cotterell, “this is most extraordinary!” He turned to his
guests. “Shall I let them land?”
“We’ve got an ice cream freezer aboard,” called a girl in the boat.
“Fresh strawberry ice cream.”
“Yes,” said Miss Boothby, at Cotterell’s elbow, “we’ll let them land
with that cargo.”
The sailboat touched the landing-stage, and two men, two women and two
girls got out. “Hello, Benjie,” cried Milly Hallett, waving her hand to
the dark-haired boy. “What grand company you’ve got!”
The arrivals were Mr. and Mrs. Hallett and Mr. and Mrs. Hooper and Milly
and Sarah. They went up on the pier, where Tom introduced them to Peter
Cotterell.
Mr. Hallett looked at the company. “I’d no idea, sir,” he said,
addressing Cotterell, “that your island was entertaining so many guests
to-day. I wish I’d brought a dozen gallons of strawberry ice cream.”
“You are welcome anyhow, Mr. Hallett,” answered Cotterell graciously. “I
think perhaps I can supply any deficiency.” He turned to his steward.
“Sampson, will you bring Mr. Hallett’s ice cream freezer up to the
Hall?”
“Oh, no, Sir Peter,” protested Mr. Hallett. “We were going to have a
simple picnic supper outdoors.”
The buff-coated gentleman bowed. “Your pardon, sir; but I am the
overlord here. Those whom I allow to land on my island are my guests
during their stay. You must dine at my board.”
Peter Cotterell offered his arm to Mrs. Hallett, and led the way up to
the house. Sampson and Tom brought up the rear, carrying the ice cream
freezer.
They all went into the large front room. “Dinner in half-an-hour,”
announced the host.
“That reminds me,” said Miss Boothby; “since we’re all friends here,
aren’t you going to offer us dinner from your silver plate?”
“Really, Penelope,” expostulated Cotterell, “you repeat yourself. That’s
the second time this afternoon you’ve mentioned the same idea.”
“It seems only hospitable,” pouted Miss Boothby.
Cotterell looked at the floor. “Well, you see,” he began. “You see——”
The lady interrupted. “I believe you’ve forgotten where you put it!”
There was an awkward pause. Cotterell flushed, bit his lip.
“Well, if he has,” piped up Ben, “he’s only mislaid it. I think I can
show him where it is.”
Everyone turned to look at the fellow who spoke with such confidence.
John Tuckerman stared, and so did Tom, while David gave a low whistle
and muttered, “It’s just like Benjie to do something ridiculous.”
Cotterell smiled. “I am a great hand at mislaying things—it’s my
besetting sin. Now I would be very much obliged if you would show me
where I did put that silverware.”
“How funny,” said Miss Boothby, “that a total stranger should know. I
understand that he came here for the first time this afternoon.”
“What joke is he going to play on them?” Tuckerman whispered to Tom. “I
can’t imagine what he’s got in mind.”
“He’s putting up a good bluff,” Tom whispered back. “He looks very much
in earnest.”
And Ben did look as if his statement had been perfectly reasonable. He
nodded at Cotterell. “You may be a great hand at mislaying things—I
don’t know much about that; but I do know that you’re a wonder at hiding
them.”
“That’s so, I am,” agreed the buff-coated man with a pleased chuckle. “I
can hide things so well that very often I don’t know where to look for
them myself.”
“Well,” said Miss Boothby, “where is the silver? It’s almost time for
dinner.”
Ben bowed, imitating the courtly manner of Cotterell. “Ladies and
gentlemen,” said he, “if you will be so good as to fall into line behind
me, I will endeavor to answer Miss Boothby’s question.”
Like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, Ben, in his yellow satin coat and
knee-breeches, went into the hall and up the stairs, followed by
Cotterell, Penelope Boothby, Milly and Sarah, Tuckerman, Tom and David,
and a line of men and women.
He led them into the attic. When they were all in the big room he
pointed to the wall along which ran the row of pegs from one of which he
had taken the coat.
“Now,” he said, “please tell me what you see.”
“A wall,” answered Milly promptly, “with some pegs to hang things on.”
“Miss Hallett is certainly right,” said Tuckerman. “There may be some
cobwebs, too, up under the ceiling. Do you mean the cobwebs, Ben?”
“There are lots of more interesting things here,” said Sarah, looking
around. “There’s that lovely green lacquered temple.”
“Don’t joke with the magician, Sally,” David admonished her. “He wants
you to look at those pegs.”
“No, that particular wall is the most interesting thing in this attic,”
Ben declared stoutly. “I think it’s the most interesting thing in the
house.”
They all looked where he pointed, but none of them caught what he was
driving at.
“Why, Professor Tuckerman,” said Ben, “I thought you were a better
observer.”
“Well, I don’t see anything but the pegs and some rather dingy
wallpaper,” Tuckerman confessed.
“Ah, now you’re talking! You do see the wallpaper, do you?” Ben
continued.
“Of course,” said Tuckerman. “It’s the pictured kind, like that in the
rooms downstairs.”
“Oh, no, it’s not,” exclaimed Ben. “There’s not another piece like that
in Cotterell Hall.”
“Is that so?” said Tuckerman. “Well, it represents some sort of outdoor
scene.”
“I think those are meant to be pine trees,” Cotterell put in.
“And that looks like a sunset,” Miss Boothby contributed. “Though some
of the red has rubbed off.”
Ben bobbed his head. “And those yellowish things are rocks.” He stepped
up to the wallpaper and pointed with his finger. “Three pines that stand
between two rocks where the sun goes down.” He turned. “Does that convey
anything to you, Professor?”
“By Jove! You’re right! So it does!” Tuckerman exclaimed. “That was the
old saying! The hiding-place is just beyond the three pines that stand
between two rocks where the sun goes down.”
“Exactly!” said Ben, in a quiet tone of triumph. He rapped on the wall
with his knuckles. “It’s wood. Mr. Cotterell, have you any objection to
our taking this part of the wall down?”
“None in the least,” answered Cotterell. “Sampson, will you be so good
as to get some chisels and hammers? I think you’ll find them in the
little room to the right of the kitchen.”
While Sampson went on his errand Ben and Tom and Tuckerman fingered that
part of the wall that was bounded by the picture. They found the edges
of two boards, running from floor to ceiling, and when they had peeled
off the paper that concealed these edges they discovered there was a
panel.
Sampson returned with a couple of chisels and hammers. Wedging the
chisels in between the boards and giving a couple of light blows, he
pried the panel loose. Ben pulled it away. Behind it, under the eaves of
the house, was a compartment. And in the compartment was a big square
box.
Ben and Tom and Tuckerman pulled the box out into the attic. It was
fastened with a single lock. Hammer and chisel soon knocked the lock
off. Tuckerman raised the lid. “Yes, it’s the Cotterell silver plate!”
he cried. “By Jove, we’ve found it now!”
They handed the plate around, magnificent old silverware that was worth
a small fortune. And they were still admiring it when a dinner gong
sounded downstairs.