Dig Here!
WE tried to sew carpet rags that afternoon but it was rather a farce.
So much had happened that morning that it seemed impossible to settle
down to anything so prosaic. We kept talking of Michael and his awful
predicament, and racking our brains to think of some way of helping
him. Eve was inclined to blame Hamish for his part in the affair, for
not coming forward when he saw Michael being taken into custody and
vouching for his identity. But I pointed out that Hamish himself would
have had some explaining to do and would probably have only made
matters worse by trying to account for Michael’s presence in the house.
We had of course told Aunt Cal the whole story but, though she had been
rather decent about the dandelion wine, she had not displayed very much
sympathy either for Michael or Hamish. Her attitude was that they had
got no more than they deserved for meddling in things that didn’t
concern them. I felt that Aunt Cal was being rather unjust for after
all Michael had only been seeking to aid the cause of justice.
Beyond the hedge I caught sight of Captain Trout’s bald head gleaming
in the sun. He waved a pruning knife at us and I said, “Let’s go over
and tell him about Michael. Perhaps he’ll be able to think of something
to do.”
The Captain greeted us cordially and invited us to take seats on his
back porch. “We thought you ought to know,” Eve said, “about the
trouble that Michael is in.”
“Michael in trouble?” The Captain’s astonishment was evident. “Dear me!
Bless my boots! The finest boy in the world!”
This was comforting to hear at least. The Captain listened as we gave
him an outline of the story. “Bless my boots!” he exclaimed again when
we had finished. “Why those police are asses! What do they mean not
believing the boy’s story—don’t they know he’s a Gilpatrick?”
“They don’t seem to consider it important,” I said. “And Michael
declares he won’t go to his family for help.”
The Captain nodded understandingly. “That’s like him,” he said. “His
mother would be upset and his grandfather, too, I expect. A grandson of
Jason Gilpatrick accused of stealing—why it’s absurd!”
“Isn’t Michael’s father living?” I asked.
Captain Trout shook his head. “Killed in the war,” he said shortly. He
seemed to be thinking deeply. “Well,” he said at last, “I’ll have to
see what can be done—I’ll have to tell those guardians of the law a
thing or two!”
Well at least we had done what we could for Michael; though, as we
talked it over, we wondered if the Captain’s sputtering protestations
would really have any effect in a court of law. What Michael needed was
proof and that, alas, he didn’t have.
At last I flung down the blue calico strip I was sewing to another of
black and white check. “I hate the very sight of these miserable rags!”
I exclaimed. “Let’s go somewhere and do something quick before I chuck
them all in the brook!”
Eve laughed. “We might go down to the Inn and inquire about Hamish,”
she suggested. “After his frightful experience he may be in a state of
collapse.”
We found Hattie May on the veranda at Wildwood Lodge, waiting, she told
us, for Hamish to come out of the barber shop of the hotel next door.
“I sent him to get a shampoo,” she said, “his hair was such a mess.”
“How is he feeling?” I inquired. “Fully recovered, I hope.”
“Oh, yes, he’s all right—physically, that is!”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I just mean that he’s still acting kind of preoccupied.”
“It’s the shock,” Eve said. “Really you can’t be surprised.”
Hattie May shook her head. “There’s something he wants to do,” she
said, “but he won’t tell me what it is. But he’s determined to go back
to that terrible place again right away!”
“What! Go back to Craven House? Gracious, I should think he’d never
want to see the place again!”
“I know. But he insists there’s something he’s got to see about. He
says he was so hungry this morning that he couldn’t attend to it.
That’s why I’m watching the door of the hotel, to be sure he doesn’t
get away again without me!”
We sat down to wait. And it was not long before we saw the figure of
Hamish emerge from the hotel. He cast a furtive glance in the direction
of the Lodge and then, in response to his sister’s frantic summons,
came slowly down the steps toward us. “What kept you so long?” Hattie
May inquired sharply.
“Oh, I thought I’d have the whole works while I was about it,” he said.
“Turkish bath, shampoo, oil treatment, face steamin’ and manicure!”
“Heavens, no wonder you look like a boiled rabbit!”
Hamish took out his watch. “Well, I got to be gettin’ along,” he said
with an attempt at casualness. “So long, I’ll be seein’ you.”
As her brother’s form disappeared around the corner of the building,
Hattie May got up. “Come on,” she whispered, and tiptoed down the
steps. In single file we passed around the veranda and, keeping well
under cover of the various barns and garages in the rear, came
presently to the main road, just across which are the row of tin
garages in one of which Hamish kept his car. He was just unlocking the
door when he looked around and saw us. “What’s the big idea?” he
inquired ungraciously.
“The idea,” answered his sister, “is that we’re going along. You don’t
think for a minute that I’m going to let you go out to that place alone
again?”
Hamish’s answer was unintelligible and he was still muttering to
himself as he got into his seat. However he waited, though unwillingly,
while the rest of us disposed ourselves—his sister beside him, Eve and
I in the rumble. For my own part, I had little desire to take part in
the expedition. If Hamish hadn’t had enough of Craven House, I had.
Besides I wondered what Aunt Cal was going to think of more “meddling”
on our part.
Hamish maintained an injured silence during the greater part of the
drive. And to my inquiry as to whether he had heard anything more from
Michael, he shook his head and replied shortly, “Been sleepin’.”
The day was hot and as we left the freshness of the sea behind, the
heat increased by the minute. So we came again within the shadow of the
old house. The sweetness of the honeysuckle was almost overpowering. I
felt a sudden aversion to the place. All its air of romantic mystery
had departed. I hated it because it had given shelter to that villain
and ensnared Michael and yes, because it had brought disappointment and
disillusion to Aunt Cal. “I think I’ll just wait in the car,” I said.
“Oh, Sandy, what for?” Eve cried. And Hattie May added, “Haven’t got
cold feet have you?”
This of course was too absurd to answer. Nevertheless it compelled me
to get reluctantly out of the car and follow the others over the wall.
Hamish was in the lead but with Hattie May panting closely at his
heels. He vouchsafed no explanation as to where he was headed or what
his purpose was. And for my own part I didn’t care much. I was sick of
the whole subject of buried treasure and wished heartily at that moment
that we had never opened Mr. Bangs’ smelly old suitcase. It had been
just like Pandora’s box, I reflected bitterly, for nothing but trouble
had come out of it.
But if it was treasure that Hamish was intent upon, at least he was
seeking it in a new spot. For he passed rapidly through the garden and
plunged into the underbrush beyond. “Well,” I said determinedly, “I’m
not going to get myself all scratched and bitten up again. I’ll wait
here by the fountain and if any of you fall down any wells, don’t
expect me to do anything about it.”
“All right,” said Hattie May. “But I’ve got to keep Hamish in sight.”
And Eve added, “I guess I’d better go along to look after Hattie May.”
So they left me and I heard their voices die away in the distance. I
took out my handkerchief and mopped my hot face. I wished that the
fountain were playing so that I could have stuck my head into its
cooling spray. By and by I heard the others returning. Hattie May’s
voice was high-pitched and excited but that was nothing unusual.
Hamish was in the lead, he was carrying something under one arm. I
looked at Eve and saw that she too was excited. “Well I see you’re all
here,” I remarked.
Hamish walked to the bowl of the fountain and set down the thing he was
carrying. “What is it?” I asked. And then, “Why, it’s a statue! Where
did you get it?”
“Hamish’s found it!” Hattie May cried. “He’s found the Circe!”
“The Circe!” In truth I had almost forgotten about the missing statue.
“Why—where in the world——?”
“It was at the bottom of that awful well!” Hattie May cried.
“I brought it up with me when they hauled me up this morning,” Hamish
explained, taking off his glasses to wipe them. “I guess you were all
too excited to notice it. It was pretty heavy so I just dropped it in
the grass and left it. Bein’ without my spectacles, I couldn’t be sure
what it was. You see when Hattie May dropped that bottle down it hit on
a stone and broke to smithereens. This was the stone, that’s how I
happened to find it.”
Hattie May threw me a triumphant look. “Don’t you think it’s the Circe,
Sandy?” Eve asked. “You see the arms are broken off but one of them is
lifted just as if it might have been holding a wand.”
It was true. The little figure was smaller than the other one in the
garden and it was so blackened by age that the features were hardly
discernible. But there was no doubt that it was a woman’s figure and
that one arm had been upraised. In spite of myself, I felt a queer
shivery thrill as I gazed at it. “But where did it come from?” I
demanded eagerly. “Where did it stand?”
“That,” said Eve, “is just what we’ve got to find out. There simply
must be a pedestal somewhere that we’ve overlooked. It certainly was
never set up down by that old well, nobody would put a statue in a
vacant lot.”
“And when we find where she stood,” put in Hamish, “then we’ll know
where to dig!”
Almost with one accord we all got up again and set out on another tour
of the garden. We had already raked it pretty thoroughly but this time
we had something definite to urge us on. We had discovered the
enchantress, there remained only to discover her resting place.
Back and forth we wandered, poking at every tangle of bushes and clump
of thick grass, kicking at every fallen tree branch. In his zeal,
Hamish even began turning up the slabs of stone which had once formed a
walk as if he expected to find some clue tucked away with the horrid
white crawly things underneath.
Discouraged at last, I came back to the fountain. After all, I told
myself, I didn’t really believe in the buried treasure. Michael didn’t,
I knew, and I was pretty sure he was right. Still I did wish we could
find where the statue had stood just—well just for the satisfaction of
knowing. But though Hamish and the others were still plunging madly
about, the search seemed as hopeless as it had from the first. Indeed
the discovery of the statue had really helped matters little.
Where would one put a Circe, I wondered? A small, graceful figure like
that? On a pedestal of course—but where? Somewhere where she would not
be overlooked, I thought—some conspicuous place——
And then, in a flash of inspiration, my eyes turned to the center of
the fountain. In imagination I saw her there—lithe, poised, with arm
upraised! And from that vanished wand, I was suddenly sure, had come
the jets of water which had played in the sunshine of those bygone
summers!
“Eve! Hamish!” I cried excitedly. Picking up the statue, I stepped
across the leaf-filled bowl. I reached up and set it there in the
middle. “Look!” I shouted, “It fits—fits perfectly!”
“It sure does!” I swung around to see Michael Gilpatrick advancing
toward me. In our absorption none of us had heard the approach of his
wagon. In a minute the others came running at the sound of my excited
summons.
“Oh, Sandy,” Eve cried, “how clever of you! How did you happen to think
of it?”
“My aunt!” There was a grudging admiration in Hamish’s voice as he
gazed at the upright figure. “It sure looks as if that was the place
all right. I was just thinkin’ of having a look at the fountain
myself——”
Eve gave him a scathing glance. “But look here!” cried Hattie May. “If
that’s the right place where are we going to dig? We can’t dig up the
fountain!”
“We won’t have to, silly,” said her brother. “It’s thirteen and a half
feet south of it that we’ve got to measure.” He pulled a tape line from
his pocket as he spoke. “There’s a shovel hidden under that lilac bush
by the road,” he said to Michael. “I brought it with me last night.”
“Preparedness is your motto!” laughed Michael. For the moment he seemed
to have forgotten or thrown aside the trouble that was hanging over him.
By the time he had brought the shovel, Hamish had located the spot to
his satisfaction. It turned out to be directly under a pink rosebush
whose bushes hung thickly to the ground. But Hamish was not to be
daunted by a few thorns.
“I wonder how deep down it’ll be!” breathed Hattie May as Hamish’s
shovel began to scratch at the hard turf. “I’m glad you came along,
Michael, in case it’s very deep.”
“Michael doesn’t believe there’s anything there,” I said.
“Not any buried treasure? Well, I’d like to know what all those
measurements mean then and why?”
Michael didn’t answer. There was a whimsical smile on his tanned face
as he stood watching Hamish clumsily manipulating the heavy shovel.
After a few shovelsful of dirt had been piled in a heap on the grass
with little to show for the effort except the steadily mounting color
of Hamish’s face and the steam on his glasses, Michael offered, “Like
me to take a hand?”
And still with that whimsical smile Michael set to work. And now the
earth began to fly to some effect and the hole, which before had seemed
to fill up almost as fast as the earth came out, now began to grow
quite sizable. Hattie May stood at the very edge and watched each
shovelful as it came out. I thought, “She’s going to be awfully let
down if we don’t find anything.”
Five minutes went by—ten. Michael was breathing hard now, perspiration
streaming down his face. “Better let me take it now,” Hamish said but
the other shook his head.
Deeper and deeper. Finally Michael stopped to wipe his face. “If I was
going to bury a blue emerald,” he remarked with a grin, “or even a
green one, I wouldn’t bother to go much deeper than that!”
Hamish knelt down and thrust one of his lately manicured hands deep
into the hole. “Feel anything?” his sister asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “It’s a washout,” he said disgustedly. “I don’t
believe there ever was any bally old treasure!”
“Sure you got the measurements right?” Michael inquired with faint
irony. The difference between his attitude and Hamish’s was that Hamish
was in deadly earnest, while with Michael it was almost as if he was
playing a game.
So perhaps it was only fair that it should be Hamish who was wielding
the shovel when it finally did strike something. We all heard the
impact. Hattie May screamed and began to jump up and down. Hamish
dropped the shovel and dived, almost literally head first into the
hole. “There goes his shampoo, too!” I thought.
“There—there’s something!” he gasped. “Some—something hard——!”
I giggled, I couldn’t help it. It was partly nervous excitement and
partly the sense which had been with me all along of the ridiculousness
of the whole proceeding. “That,” I said, “will be the iron bound chest
full of doubloons and pieces of eight, no doubt!”
No one paid any attention to me. Hamish was groping desperately with
his fingers. “I c-can’t—seem—to—get hold——!” he panted.
“Let me have a try?” Michael put in quietly. Reluctantly Hamish moved a
little and, kneeling down in his turn, Michael thrust one bare brown
arm into the hole. A minute later he was holding up a small,
dirt-encased object. As he shook off the clinging earth, we saw an
oblong tin box like a tobacco tin. I stared dazedly at it—“Royal Plug”
I read.
Hamish seized the box from Michael’s hand. He shook it. It rattled!
Hattie May screamed again. “It’s the emerald—the blue emerald!”
Hamish was prying at the lid with fumbling awkward fingers. His sister
snatched at it impatiently. “It would take you a week to get that cover
off!” she cried.
But the cover stuck obstinately. Michael took out his jackknife.
“Perhaps this will do it,” he offered.
------------------------------------------------------------------------