When none of his guests could eat any more of the delicious ice cream
that topped off a wonderful dinner, the buff-coated gentleman rose from
his chair at the head of the table. They had dined from the famous
Cotterell silver service, and the candles that now illuminated the
shining mahogany table were fastened in exquisite candlesticks that had
been in the treasure chest.
The buff-coated gentleman raised a glass that stood beside his plate.
“My friends,” he said, “our guests from Barmouth tell us that the
Revolution is over; so there would be no object in keeping the Cotterell
treasure hidden any longer. But it was well hidden. So well hidden
indeed that it required a genius like Benjamin Sully to find out where
it was. I propose a toast to that master detective, Benjamin Sully.”
All, except Ben, lifted their glasses and drank, nodding at the
dark-haired boy.
Then Ben stood up. “I propose a toast to Sir Peter,” he said, “who
surely does know how to give people a good time.”
That toast was drunk also. Then Tuckerman got to his feet. “Sir Peter, I
am proud of you,” he said. “I don’t believe a more delightful party was
ever given in Cotterell Hall.”
The man at the head of the table smiled. “I’m glad to hear you say that,
John Tuckerman,” he responded. “For, in a way, I felt that to-night I’d
been usurping a place that was rightfully yours. For, of course, this is
your house, and this is your silver plate.”
“Then who are you?” piped up Sarah Hooper from the foot of the table.
“I think he’s Roderick Fitzhugh,” said Tom, who sat beside Sarah.
“I think he’s Mr. Joseph Hastings,” volunteered Ben.
The buff-coated gentleman nodded, “You are both right. Joseph Hastings,
Roderick Fitzhugh, and Peter Cotterell. I’m quite a versatile fellow.
I’ve a passion for acting, to tell the truth.”
“I thought you were Joseph Hastings,” said Ben, “when I met you at the
Gables.”
“Yes, that’s my right name. But Roderick Fitzhugh sounded so much more
romantic. And I’d invited a houseful of guests to help me act a play I’d
written for the moving-pictures. We all took the names we were to have
in the play.” He pointed to Penelope Boothby. “She was the fair Maid
Rosalind. And my steward Sampson yonder was Sir Marmaduke Midchester.
And we liked our costumes so much that we wore them most of the time.
That’s how I happened to be in Lincoln green when Master Ben drove up.”
“And it was the snuff-box you bought in Barmouth that I found in the
chest in the cliff,” asserted Ben. “How did it happen to come there?”
Joseph Hastings pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his
legs. “That’s quite a long story. But I suppose you’d like to hear it. I
have a friend who knows John Tuckerman very well, and he wrote me that
Tuckerman had come here to take possession of this island and its house.
That sounded very interesting. So I came over here in my motor-boat with
Martin Locke—that’s Sir Marmaduke, alias Sampson, and Miss Adelaide
Lawson—that’s Penelope Boothby—it was a day or two before you campers
arrived—and we found we could open one of the drawing-room windows and
get into the house that way. Then we discovered the note stuck in the
picture frame, and so we learned there was a secret about a family
treasure.”
“And you left the window open a little when you went out,” put in Tom.
“That’s how it happened that Ben’s candle blew out.”
“Did we?” said Hastings. “I didn’t know we did that. But we found some
wax and took an impression of the key-hole in the front door, and I had
a key made to fit it in Barmouth. I thought we’d have some fun with John
Tuckerman and his friends.”
“You did, all right,” said Tuckerman. “I’ll forgive you for making that
key. I suppose that’s what those men from the fishing-smack did when
they broke in here.”
“I’m sorry if I set a bad example,” Hastings answered. “But they didn’t
learn the trick from us. Well, a day or two later we three came back
again.”
“You landed from the creek?” Ben asked.
“Yes; we didn’t want you to see us, and the creek was on the other side
of the island from your camp.”
“And one of you took off his shoes before he landed?” Ben questioned
again.
“Yes, Martin did. He carried Miss Lawson ashore.” Hastings laughed. “You
saw his footprints, didn’t you? We thought you might find them, so we
came back later and rubbed them out.”
“Gigantic footprints,” murmured David.
They all laughed, while Martin Locke blushed red.
“Yes, they are pretty big,” Hastings continued. “Well, when we came that
time we found the notebooks in the drawing-room. Miss Lawson glanced
through them, and read that part about a mahogany man with long, skinny
legs and the clipper ship. We got an old piece of parchment and some
purplish ink and we wrote out that message and signed it James Sampson.
Then we cut it in two and put one-half in the secret drawer of the
secretary and the other half in the model of a ship in the attic. We
wanted to find out just how clever you were. We thought you might take
the desk to be the mahogany man.”
“We got the idea of that from something Sally Hooper said,” Ben put in.
“And the secretary certainly has long, skinny legs and is made of
mahogany. Still, we mightn’t have connected it with Sir Peter’s mahogany
man, if it hadn’t been for Sally.”
“Well, if you hadn’t,” Hastings continued, “we’d have thought up some
other way to have you find that message on the parchment. We were very
proud of that little scheme. Martin wrote the letters with his left
hand, so they’d look as if Sir Peter’s servant might have done them, and
he put water into the ink, so as to give it a nice, antique, faded
appearance. We wanted you to have the fun of finding some sort of a
treasure, you see.”
“And didn’t you take a look around for the real treasure mentioned in
the note in the picture frame?” Tuckerman asked.
“Well, we did take a squint,” Hastings acknowledged. “But we didn’t
think it likely we’d find that, if none of the Cotterells had been able
to do it. We thought more about having some fun with you campers.” He
looked at the three boys. “And we did give you a good time, didn’t
we?—particularly Ben?”
“Yes, you did,” nodded Ben. “I was pretty well excited when I found that
second piece of parchment in the hold of the ship.”
“When we’d fixed up the message,” Hastings resumed, “the next thing was
to provide the treasure. Of course we’d already made a note of that
crevice in the cliffs with the mark like a cross. I had an old chest at
the Gables, and we filled it with some old costumes I had on hand, and
then one day when I was in Barmouth I picked up some odds and ends from
a dealer in antiques there, a fellow by the name of Haskins.”
“And that’s where the silver snuff-box comes in,” said Ben.
“Yes, that’s where it comes in,” Hastings admitted. “Though I must say
that I was surprised when you drove up to the Gables that day and wanted
to know if Joseph Hastings had anything to do with that snuff-box you’d
found on the island. I didn’t tell the dealer my name.”
“No, he didn’t know your name,” said Ben. “I asked him that. You see, as
soon as I saw what was in the chest I had a suspicion that someone was
playing a game on us. Those things weren’t the Cotterell treasure; and
why should anyone take so much trouble to hide such things on the
island? Then I knew there had been people here, the footprints by the
creek, the handkerchief in the kitchen——”
“What’s that about a handkerchief?” interrupted Martin Locke.
“The Professor found a handkerchief on the table in the kitchen,” Ben
explained. “A lady’s handkerchief, with the initials A. S. L.”
“So that’s where I left it!” exclaimed Miss Lawson. “Those are my
initials—Adelaide Sanderson Lawson.”
“Yes, there was the handkerchief and there were the footprints,” Ben
continued. “That showed we weren’t the only people who had been to the
island. And so, when we went to Barmouth, I took the snuffbox along, and
dropped in on Mr. Haskins. He knew the snuff-box at once, and told me
that the man who had bought it from him, and some other things too, had
come in a big red car with a silver eagle on the radiator cap, and that
the car had a Massachusetts license and the man was wearing
green-checked knickerbockers. He didn’t know the man’s name.”
“I guess those green checks are rather conspicuous,” murmured Hastings.
“But how did you connect the purchaser with me?”
“Through the clerk at the hotel where you stopped for dinner, and the
man you bought a new tire from,” Ben answered, and he told how he had
found his way to the Gables.
“Pretty clever,” laughed Hastings. “But instead of finding out why I’d
put those things in the chest you went hooked-rug hunting with me.”
“Well,” said Ben, “when we came back to your house I thought you must be
Joseph Hastings, but I didn’t get any good opening to follow up the
clue. And then there was all that excitement over the robbers. But when
I saw you doing those moving-pictures I sized you up as a person who’d
like to play a game of some sort on us.”
“I don’t know whether that’s a knock at me or not,” said Hastings. “But
I do like to play games. And that’s why, when I learned that you’d found
the chest, I thought it would be good fun to come over here as Sir Peter
Cotterell, dress my guests in Revolutionary costumes, and take some
moving-pictures on the island. Martin and I came over to see about it;
that was the afternoon when you invited us to stay to supper and Martin
sang his song.”
“It was a splendid idea,” said Tuckerman, “and you did it up brown.”
“Thank you.” Hastings bowed. “Such words from a descendant of Sir Peter
are a compliment indeed. We learned that you were going over to the
water sports at Camp Amoussock this morning, so we thought we’d have a
clear field. We brought a flotilla of boats—they’re moored in the creek
now—and a good supply of costumes, and cooks and food and the
moving-picture camera. I had one of my men make up like a servant from
the Barbadoes, stain his face and hands with mahogany juice; he’s the
one who brought us the negus; though it isn’t really negus—it’s
loganberry juice and soda-water—and I got Martin Locke to play the part
of Sampson.” Hastings looked at Locke and laughed. “Though I don’t think
Martin could possibly have carried that treasure chest all the way from
here to the north shore.”
“You certainly do things up thoroughly,” said Mr. Hallett.
“But what made the party a real success,” said Hastings, “was what our
friend Ben Sully did. First, the capture of the thieves, and second, the
finding of the real Cotterell treasure. That’s a pretty fine showing for
one day, Ben.”
“It was just luck I found that chest in the attic,” Ben answered. “I
thought all along that the pines and the rocks mentioned in that
notebook were actual outdoor pines and rocks, just as I suppose
everybody’s thought who’s hunted for the treasure. I’ve been up in the
attic a lot of times, and never particularly noticed the wallpaper—it’s
pretty much faded and blurred, as you saw; but when I was taking this
coat off one of the pegs this afternoon, I did happen to notice that
there was a yellowish sun and some pines and rocks in the design on the
wall. Then the idea struck me all at once. Mightn’t that be the place
the words in the notebook meant? And the more I looked at that wallpaper
the more I felt certain of it. I suppose Sir Peter told someone jokingly
one day that the treasure was hidden beyond the three pines that stand
between two rocks where the sun goes down, and that fooled the people
who’ve looked for it ever since. He surely did like his joke.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about it as soon as you hit on that great idea,
Benjie?” It was Tom who asked the question.
“Why, then I saw the fishing-smack, and wanted to go after the thieves.”
“But afterwards?” said Tom. “Don’t tell me you’d forgotten about it when
we stopped at the camp.”
Ben looked a trifle embarrassed. “Why, the fact is,” he replied, “I
thought I’d like to spring it at a dramatic moment. I had an idea that
Miss Boothby would ask Sir Peter again to show us the Cotterell silver
plate—she wanted to tease him about it—and when she had him up a tree
would be the right time for me to speak out and tell what I’d
discovered.”
“That’s one on you, Adelaide,” laughed Joseph Hastings. “Ben saw how you
love to ask awkward questions. And he likes dramatic things as much as I
do. He sprung it at just the right moment.”
Tuckerman stood up and walked to the door that opened into the hall.
From there he looked down the length of the room, at the table gleaming
with silver, at the many candles, at the gaily-clad company. “Yes,” he
said, “I think this is worthy of Sir Peter. I’m glad that Cotterell Hall
has held high festival once more.”
“Sir Peter was a dear,” said Miss Lawson. “I’ve liked him ever since I
saw that picture of him in the drawing-room. And it’s a wonderful house,
Mr. Tuckerman. What are you going to do with it? Are you going to live
here?”
“I can’t very well,” Tuckerman answered, with a shake of his head. “My
home’s in the middle West. I’m not like my Uncle Christopher and his
ancestors; I can’t live on an island in solitary grandeur. I’m too fond
of people.”
“Why don’t you turn it into a show-place?” suggested Milly Hallett.
“That’s getting to be quite the fashionable thing to do with colonial
houses.”
“We’ve talked about that,” said Tuckerman. His eyes roved over the fine
room; and after a minute he shook his head. “Cotterell Hall a museum?
No, I couldn’t do that. But I’ll tell you what I would like to do. I’d
like to come here every summer, and have Tom and Ben and David camp out
with me, and have Joseph Hastings bring his house-parties over here and
spend a week as my guests.”
There were cheers from all the company, the rafters rang with the noise
as each and every one shouted his or her acceptance. Hastings jumped to
his feet.
“In the name of us all I accept your invitation. We will come, and dance
in your drawing-room and dine from your table, as they did in Sir
Peter’s day. And now, friends and fellow-citizens, I propose three
cheers—three long and rousing cheers—for John Tuckerman!”
The cheers were given—long and rousing enough to suit even Joseph
Hastings.
Then the buff-coated man waved his hand. “As your host for the evening,
I invite you to go to the drawing-room and dance something a little more
modern than the minuet. Miss Sarah Hooper, will you do me the honor?”
Sarah and Mr. Hastings led the way across the hall to the front room,
where the rugs had been removed from the polished floor. The music was a
piano and violin. And everybody danced, even David, who contrived to jig
about not too awkwardly with Milly Hallett.
Then there were songs. Martin Locke sang the ballad he had written, and
Tuckerman sang, and Miss Lawson sang several times. Presently Hastings
glanced at the clock. “I don’t like to mention it,” said he, “but it’s
almost midnight. To the boats, to the boats, and away!”
They all trooped out to the creek, where the flotilla was moored. Ladies
in silks and satins and beruffled gentlemen embarked. With cheers from
the shore, Joseph Hastings’ fleet steered down the inlet and turned
south.
Then the sailboat from Barmouth, with the Halletts and Hoopers, flitted
away from the landing-stage on the other side of the island. The boys
and Tuckerman went along the shore to their camp.
“Great doings!” said Tom. “But how are we ever going to keep Benjie busy
now that the treasure is found?”
“Don’t you worry about me,” Ben retorted. “I’ve got plenty to do. The
sea is still full of fish.”
“He’s after a mahogany fish with long, skinny legs,” said David.
“What I want to know,” said Ben, “is whether there ever was a real
mahogany man.”
“I think there was,” said Tuckerman. “But he sailed away in the clipper
ship. He probably went to the Barbadoes.”
Tom gave a great yawn. “Well,” he said, “Ben can sit up and talk about
him as long as he likes; but for me—I’m going to bed. It’s been what
I’d call a full day.”