Unfortunately, we were the last to get to the schoolhouse, and we had
to witness the other cars streaming triumphantly down the road as we
went up, shouting and blowing their horns. All but the Simmonses’
sedan, which had turned over in a ditch and which we passed hastily,
having no time to render assistance.
Miss Watkins, the school-teacher, was on the porch, and as we drew up
Tish leaped out.
“Pterodactyl!” she said.
“Warm, but not hot,” said Miss Watkins.
“Plesiosaurus!”
“The end’s all right.”
“Ichthyosaurus!” said Tish triumphantly, and received the envelope.
Aggie, however, who had not heard the password given at the
Ostermaiers’, had listened to this strange conversation dazedly and now
burst into tears.
“There’sh something wrong with me, Lizzie!” she wailed. “I’ve felt
queer ever since we started, and now they are talking and it doesn’t
sound like sensh to me.”
It was some time before I was able to quiet her, but Tish had already
received the second password, or sentence, which was “Prevention is
better than cure, ting-a-ling,” and was poring over the next clew.
“_Always first in danger, always last to go,
Look inside the fire box and then you’ll know._”
I still think that had she taken sufficient time she could have located
this second clew easily and without the trouble that ensued. But
finding herself last when she is so generally first had irritated her,
and she was also annoyed at Miss Watkins, it having been arranged that
the last car was to take her back into town.
“Mr. Ostermaier said the clew’s in town anyhow. And he didn’t think the
last car would have much chance, either,” she said.
“Who laughs last laughs best,” said Tish grimly, and started off at
a frightful speed. Miss Watkins lost her hat within the first mile
or two, but we could not pause, as a motorcycle policeman was now
following close behind us. Owing to Tish’s strategy, however, for
when he attempted to come up on the right of us she swerved in that
direction and vice versa, we finally escaped him, an unusually sharp
swerve of hers having caught him off guard, so to speak, and upset him.
Just when or where we lost Miss Watkins herself I have no idea. Aggie
had again dozed off, and when we reached the town and slowed up, Miss
Watkins was gone. She herself does not know, as she seems to have
wandered for some time in a dazed condition before reaching home.
But to the hunt.
I still think our mistake was a natural one. One would think that the
pass sentence, “Prevention is better than cure, ting-a-ling,” certainly
indicated either a pharmacy or a medical man and a doorbell, and as
Tish said, a fire box was most likely a wood box. There being only two
doctors in the town, we went first to Doctor Burt’s, but he had already
retired and spoke to us from an upper window.
“We want to examine your wood box,” Tish called.
“Wood box?” he said, in a stupefied voice. “What do you want wood for?
A splint?”
“We’re hunting treasure,” said Tish sharply. “‘Prevention is better
than cure, ting-a-ling.’”
The doctor closed the window violently; and although we rang for some
time, he did not appear again.
At Doctor Parkinson’s, however, we had better luck, discovering the
side entrance to the house open and finding our way inside with the
aid of the flashlight. There was only one wood box on the lower
floor, and this we proceeded to search, laying the wood out carefully
onto a newspaper. But we found no envelopes, and in the midst of our
discouragement came a really dreadful episode.
Doctor Parkinson himself appeared at the door in his night clothes,
and not recognizing us because of our attire and goggles, pointed a
revolver at us.
“Hands up!” he cried in a furious tone. “Hands up, you dirty devils!
And be quick about it!”
“‘Prevention is better than cure, ting-a-ling,’” said Tish.
“Ting-a-ling your own self! Of all the shameless proceedings I’ve
ever----”
“Shame on you!” Tish reproved him. “If ting-a-ling means nothing to
you, we will leave you.”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” he said, most unpleasantly. “Put up your hands as
I tell you or----”
I do not now and I never did believe the story he has since told over
the town--that Tish threw the fire log she was holding at his legs.
I prefer to credit her own version--that as she was trying to raise
her hands the wood fell, with most unfortunate results. As a matter
of fact, the real risk was run by myself, for when on the impact he
dropped the revolver, it exploded and took off the heel of my right
shoe.
Nor is it true, as he claims, that having been forced out of his house,
we attempted to get back in and attack him again. This error is due to
the fact that, once outside, Tish remembered the revolver on the floor,
and thinking it might be useful later, went back to get it. But the
door was locked.
However, all is well that ends well. We had but driven a block or two
when we perceived a number of the cars down the street at the engine
house, and proceeded to find our next clew in the box of the local fire
engine.
The password this time was “Prohibition,” and the clew ran:
“_Just two blocks from paradise and only one from hell,
Stranger things than truth are found in the bottom of a well._”
The Smith boys had already gone on, but we were now at last on equal
terms with the others, and as the sleep and the cold night air had by
now fully restored Aggie, Tish called a consultation.
“So far,” she said, “the Smiths have had the advantage of superior
speed. But it is my opinion that this advantage is an unfair one, and
that I have a right to nullify it if opportunity arises.”
“We’ll have to catch them first,” I observed.
“We shall catch them,” she said firmly, and once more studied the clew.
“Paradise,” she said, “should be the Eden Inn. To save time we will
circumnavigate it at a distance of two blocks.”
This we did, learning later that Hell’s Kitchen was the name locally
given to the negro quarter, and once more Tish’s masterly deciphering
of the clew served us well. Before the other cars had much more than
started, we espied the Smiths’ stripped flivver outside the Gilbert
place, and to lose no time drove through the hedge and onto the lawn.
Here, as is well known, the Gilberts have an old well, long disused, or
so supposed. And here we found the Gilberts’ gardener standing and the
Smith boys drawing up the well bucket.
“Give the word and get the envelope,” Tish whispered to me, and
disappeared into the darkness.
I admit this. I admit, too, that, as I have said before, I know nothing
of her actions for the next few moments. Personally, I believe that she
went to the house, as she has stated, to get the Gilbert cook’s recipe
for jelly roll; and as anyone knows, considerable damage may be done to
an uncovered engine by flying stones. To say that she cut certain wires
while absent is to make a claim not borne out by the evidence.
But I will also say that the Smith boys up to that moment had had an
unfair advantage, and that the inducing of a brief delay on their
part was not forbidden by the rules, which are on my desk as I write.
However----
As Mr. Gilbert is not only prominent in the church but is also the
local prohibition officer, judge of our surprise when, on the well
bucket emerging, we found in it not only the clews but some bottles of
beer which had apparently been put there to cool. And Mr. Gilbert, on
arriving with the others, seemed greatly upset.
“Hawkins,” he said to the gardener, “what do you mean by hiding six
bottles of beer in my well?”
“Me?” said Hawkins angrily. “If I had six bottles of beer, they’d be in
no well! And there aren’t six; there’s only four.”
“Four!” said Mr. Gilbert in a furious voice. “Four! Then who the
dev----” Here, however, he checked himself; and as Tish had now
returned, we took our clews and departed. Hawkins had given us the next
password, which was “Good evening, dearie,” and the clew, which read:
“_Down along the lake front, in a pleasant place,
Is a splendid building, full of air and space.
Glance within a closet, where, neatly looped and tagged,
Are the sturdy symbols of the game they’ve bagged._”
Everybody seemed to think it meant the Duck Club, and in a few moments
we were all off once more except the Smith boys, who were talking
loudly and examining their engine. But Tish was not quite certain.
“These clews are tricky,” she said. “They are not obvious, but subtle.
It sounds too much like the Duck Club to be the Duck Club. Besides,
what symbols of dead ducks would they keep? I’ve never seen anything
left over but the bones.”
“The feathers?” Aggie suggested.
“They wouldn’t keep feathers in a closet. And besides, there’s nothing
sturdy about a feather. What other large building is on the lake front?”
“The fish cannery,” I said.
“True. And they might keep boards in a closet with the outlines of very
large fish on them. But the less said about the air there the better.
However, we might try it.”
Having made this decision, as soon as we were outside of Penzance we
began once more to travel with extreme rapidity, retracing for some
distance the road we had come in on, and thus it happened that we
again saw the motorcycle policeman with his side car. He was repairing
something and shouted angrily at us as we passed, but we did not even
hesitate, and soon we arrived at the fish cannery.
None of the others had apparently thought of this possibility, and when
we reached it there was no one in sight but a bearded watchman with a
lantern, sitting on a barrel outside. Tish hopefully leaped from the
car and gave him the password at once.
“‘Good evening, dearie.’”
But the wretch only took his pipe out of his mouth and, after
expectorating into the lake, replied:
“Hello, sweetheart. And what can I do for you?”
“Don’t be impertinent,” said Tish tartly. “I said ‘good evening,
dearie’, as a signal.”
“And a darned fine signal I call it,” he said, rising. “Let’s have a
look at you before the old lady comes along with my supper.”
“I have given you the signal. If you haven’t anything for me, say so.”
“Well, what is it you want?” he inquired, grinning at us in a horrible
manner. “A kiss?”
As he immediately began to advance toward Tish, to this action on his
part may be laid the misfortune which almost at once beset us. For
there is no question that had it not discomposed her she would never
have attempted to turn by backing onto the fish pier, which has been
rotten for years. But in her indignation she did so, and to our horror
we felt the thing giving way beneath us. There was one loud sharp
crack followed by the slow splintering of wood, and the next moment we
were resting gently on some piles above the water, with the shattered
framework of the pier overhead and the watchman yelling that the
company would sue us for damages.
“Damages!” said Tish, still holding to the steering wheel, while Aggie
wailed in the rear. “You talk of damages to me! I’ll put you and your
company in the penitentiary if I have to----”
Here she suddenly checked herself and turned to me.
“The penitentiary, of course!” she said. “How stupid of us! And I dare
say they keep the ropes they hang people with in a closet. They have
to keep them somewhere. Speaking of ropes,” she went on, raising her
voice, “if that old fool up there will get a rope, I dare say we can
scramble out.”
“Old fool yourself!” cried the watchman, dancing about. “Coming here
and making love to me, and then destroying my pier! You can sit there
till those piles rot, far’s I’m concerned. There’s something queer
about this business anyhow; how do I know you ain’t escaped from the
pen?”
“My dear man,” said Tish quietly, “the one thing we want is to get to
the penitentiary, and that as soon as possible.”
“Well, you won’t have any trouble getting there,” he retorted. “I’ll
see to that. Far’s you’re concerned, you’re on your way.”
He then disappeared, and one of the piles yielding somewhat, the car
fell a foot or two more, while Aggie wailed and sneezed alternately.
But Tish remained composed. She struck a match, and leaning over the
side inspected the water and so on below us.
“There’s a boat down there, Lizzie,” she said. “Get the towrope from
under Aggie and fasten it to something. If we can get down, we’ll be
all right. The penitentiary isn’t more than a half mile from here.”
“I slide down no rope into no boat, Tish Carberry,” I said firmly.
But at that moment we heard the engine of a motorcycle coming along the
road and realized that our enemy the policeman had followed us. And as
at that same instant the car again slipped with a sickening jar, we
were compelled to this heroic attempt after all.
However, it was managed without untoward incident, Aggie even salvaging
the flask of blackberry cordial. But the boat was almost filled with
water, and thus required frantic bailing with our hats, a matter only
just accomplished when the motorcycle policeman came running onto the
pier.
Whether the watchman had failed to tell him of the break or not, I
cannot say, but we were no more than under way when we heard a splash
followed by strangled oaths, and realized that for a time at least we
were safe from pursuit.
Wet as we now were, we each took a small dose of the cordial and then
fell to rowing. Tish’s watch showed only ten o’clock, and we felt
greatly cheered and heartened. Also, as Tish said by way of comforting
Aggie, the license plates on the car belonging to Mr. Stubbs, it was
unlikely that we would be further involved for the present at least.