TOM TURNS THE TABLES
Owing to his long watch during the greater part of the night, Pembroke
slept heavily until late the next morning. Indeed, he did not waken until
Jesse, alarmed that neither Dan nor he had appeared, knocked on their
door. He sprang up quickly then, and began to dress hastily. Dan's bed
had not been slept in, and Tom wondered how the night had gone with him.
In a few moments he was down stairs and in the breakfast-room. He found
the Marquis de Boisdhyver already at table, pouring out his coffee, which
Deborah had just placed before him. Mrs. Frost had not appeared.
Tom murmured an apology for being late, and delayed the black woman, who
was on the point of leaving the room, by a question.
"Where is Mr. Dan?"
"Sure an, Mass' Tom, I ain't seen him dis mornin' yet. Ain't he done
over-slept hisself like you?"
"No; but I dare say he is about the place somewheres. All right, Deb;
bring my breakfast quickly, please."
"You will pardon me," said Monsieur de Boisdhyver, "for having begun
without you?"
"Oh, certainly," said Tom; "Don't know what was the matter, but I slept
unusually soundly last night; that is, after I got to sleep, for the
storm kept me awake for hours."
"_Et moi aussi_," said the Marquis. "What wind! I am but thankful it
has exhausted itself at last. And Monsieur Frost, he has also
over-slept, you say?"
"No. He got up early without disturbing me. I guess he will be in any
minute now."
The Marquis stirred his coffee and slowly sipped it.
Tom made a hasty breakfast, and then went outside to reconnoitre. He
discovered no trace of his friend. There was but one inference in his
uneasy mind: Dan had met with some misadventure at the House on the
Dunes. At last, after wandering about aimlessly for some time, he decided
to tell Jesse of his uneasiness.
"If Mr. Dan is not back by dinner time, I shall go over to the House on
the Dunes and try to find out what has become of him. Heaven knows what
has become of Miss Nancy. I don't like that schooner, Jess, and its ugly
crew, lying there in the Cove. It's all a darn queer business."
"They're certainly a rough-looking lot, Mr. Tom, as I saw when I was on
the beach yesterday. And she don't appear to have any particular business
anchoring there. I hope they've nothing to do with Miss Nancy's and Mr.
Dan's being away."
"I don't know, Jess, what to think. But listen here I want you to go into
the Port this morning and engage Ezra Manners to come out here and stay
with us for a week or so. Don't tell him too much, but I guess Ezra won't
balk at the notion of a scrap. Bring him out with you, and offer to pay
him enough to make sure of his coming. And I want you to go to Breeze's
on the Parade and get some guns and powder, enough to arm every blessed
soul of us in the Inn. Charge the stuff to me. And be careful how you
bring it back, for I don't want any one here to know about it,
particularly the old Frenchman. Understand? You ought to get back by
dinner-time, if you start at once. I'll stay here till you return."
"I'll start right off, sir. Guess I'll have to drive, for the
rain'll have washed the snow off the roads. I'll be back by halfpast
twelve, Mr. Tom."
"All right," said Pembroke. "Be sure not to let any one know what you
are doing."
"Sure I won't, sir. I've been pretty much worried myself about Miss
Nancy. Didn't seem a bit like Miss Nance to go off without sayin' a word
to anybody.
"Well, hurry along now, Jesse."
"Yes, sir."
Tom's next task was to try to explain to Mrs. Frost without alarming her.
She happily jumped to the idea that Dan had gotten trace of Nancy, had
gone to fetch her, and would return with her before nightfall. So Tom
left her quite cheerfully knitting in her room for the day.
From time to time during the morning Tom wandered into the bar always to
find Monsieur de Boisdhyver absorbed in his writing before the fire. The
morning passed--a long restless morning for Pembroke--and nothing had
happened. Dan had not returned. He tried to think out a plan of action.
He went into the north wing of the Inn and barricaded the door leading
from the bowling alley into the hallway. He made sure that all other
doors and windows were fastened, and he put the key of the door that
opened from the bar into the old wing into his pocket. Then he looked at
the doors and windows in the south wing.
About noon, as he was standing at an upper window anxiously scanning the
landscape for any sign of his friend, Tom saw the Marquis, wrapped in his
great black cloak, emerge from the gallery, go down the steps by the Red
Oak, and walk rapidly down the avenue of maples. He went along the Port
Road, to the point where a little road branched off and led to the beach
of the Cove; here he turned and walked in the direction of the beach.
With the field glass Tom could follow him quite easily as he picked his
way through the slush.
Beyond, on the waters of the Cove, the _Southern Cross_ rode at anchor. A
small boat had put off from the schooner, two seamen at the oars, and a
woman seated in the stern. The boat reached the shore, the lady was
lifted out upon the sands, the men jumped in again, pushed off and rowed
briskly back to the schooner. Tom could not distinguish the lady's
features, but from the style of her dress, cut in so different a fashion
than that the ladies of Caesarea were wont to display, and from the
character of her easy graceful walk, he judged that that was the Madame
de la Fontaine, of whom Dan had told him the day before. The lady,
whoever she might be, advanced along the beach and turned into the road
down which the Marquis de Boisdhyver was going to meet her. Tom could see
her extend her hand, and the old gentleman, bending ceremoniously, lift
it to his lips. Then leaning against a stone wall beside a meadow of
bedraggled snow, they engaged in animated conversation. The lady talked,
the Marquis talked. They shrugged their shoulders, they nodded their
heads, they pointed this way and then that. Poor Tom felt he must know
what was being said. At last, their conference ended, they parted as
ceremoniously as they had met, the lady starting across the Dunes and the
Marquis retracing his steps toward the Inn.
In the meantime, fortunately before the Marquis reached the Port Road,
Jesse had returned, accompanied by the able-bodied Ezra Manners, and
laden with the supply of arms and ammunition that Pembroke had ordered.
Within half-an-hour Tom and Monsieur de Boisdhyver were seated together
in the dining-room.
"Ah, and where is Monsieur Dan?" asked the Marquis, with an affectation
of cheerfulness. "Is he not returned?"
"Not yet, monsieur," Tom replied grimly.
"But you have heard from him?"
"Oh, yes," was Tom's answer; "I have heard from him of course."
"And from Mademoiselle Nancy, I trust, also?"
"Yes, from Nancy also."
"Ah, I am so relieved, Monsieur Pembroke. I was most anxious for their
safety. One knows not what may happen. We shall have a charming little
reunion at supper, _n'est-ce pas_?"
"Delightful," said Tom, but in a tone of voice that did not encourage the
Marquis to ask further questions or to continue his comments.
After dinner, Tom slipped the field glass beneath his jacket, and ran
upstairs to take another view of the countryside. To his great
satisfaction he saw a dark spot moving across the snowy dunes and
recognized the lady of the morning. Apparently she was on her way to the
Cove again.
He took a loaded pistol, ran down stairs, gave Jesse strict orders to
keep his eye on the Marquis, saddled his horse, and galloped off madly
for Mrs. Meath's house.
When he reached the gate of the farmhouse, Tom hitched his horse to the
fence, went rapidly up the little walk, and knocked boldly and loudly on
the front door. Repeated and prolonged knocking brought no response. He
tried the door and found it fastened. He walked about the house. Every
window on the ground floor was tightly closed and barred. There was no
sign of life. He knocked at the door of the kitchen, but with no result.
He tried it, and found it also locked. Determined not to be thwarted in
his effort to see Mrs. Meath, he kicked vigourously against the door with
his great hob-nailed boots. Unsuccessful in this, he detached a rail from
the top of the fence and used it against the door as a battering-ram. At
the first crash of timbers, the sash of a window in the second story,
directly above the kitchen, was thrown open, and a dark-eyed,
dark-haired, excessively angry-looking, young woman thrust her head out.
"_Qui va la_?" she exclaimed.
"Well," said Tom, smiling a little in spite of himself, for the young
woman was in a state of great indignation. "I want to see Mrs. Meath. I
may say, I am determined to see Mrs. Meath."
"_Peste! Je ne parle pas anglais_!" snapped the damsel.
"Very well then, mademoiselle, I'll try you in French," said Tom. And in
very bad French indeed, scarcely even the French of Dr. Watson's school
for the sons of gentlemen, Pembroke repeated his remarks.
"_Je ne comprend pas_," said the young woman.
Tom essayed his explanation again, but whether the youthful female in the
window could or would not understand, she kept repeating in the midst of
his every sentence "_Je ne parle pas anglais_," till Tom lost his temper.
"_Bien_, my fine girl," he exclaimed at last; "I am going to enter this
house. If you won't open the door, I will batter it down. Understand?
_Comprenez-vous_?"
"_Je ne parle pas anglais_."
"As you will." He raised the fence-rail again and made as if to ram the
door. "_Ouvrez la porte_! Do you understand that?"
"_Bete_!" cried the girl, withdrawing her head and slamming down
the window.
Tom waited a moment to see if his threats had been effective, and was
relieved by hearing the bar within removed and the key turned in the
lock. The door was opened, and the young woman stood on the sill and
volleyed forth a series of French execrations that made Tom wince,
though he did not understand a word she was saying. Despite her protests,
he brushed her aside and stalked into the house. He went rapidly from
room to room, upstairs and down, from garret to cellar, the girl
following him with her chorus of abusive reproach. She might have held
her peace, thought Tom, for within half-an-hour he was convinced that
there was not a person in the House on the Dunes save himself and his
excited companion. All he discovered for his pains was that old Mrs.
Meath was also among the missing.
"_Ou est Madame Meath_?"
"_Madame Meath! Que voulez vous? Je ne connais pas Madame Meath_...." And
infinitely more of which Tom could gather neither head nor tail.
Satisfied at last that there was nothing to be gained by further search
or parley with the woman, he thanked her civilly enough and went out. He
unhitched his horse, vaulted into the saddle, and dashed back, as fast as
his beast could be urged to carry him, to the Inn. He was certain now
that the schooner held the secret of his vanished friends, and it
occurred to him to play their own game and turn the tables on Monsieur
the Marquis de Boisdhyver.
Arrived at the Inn, Tom turned his horse, white with lather, over to
Jesse; made sure that the Marquis was in the bar; and then, with the help
of Manners, rapidly made a few preparations.
It was about five o'clock when, his arrangements completed, he returned
to the bar, where Monsieur de Boisdhyver was quietly taking his tea. Tom
bowed to the old gentleman, seated himself in a great chair about five
feet away, and somewhat ostentatiously took from his pocket a pistol,
laid it on the arm of his chair, and let his fingers lightly play upon
the handle. The old marquis watched Pembroke's movements out of the
corner of his eye, still somewhat deliberately sipping his tea. Manners,
meanwhile, had entered, and stood respectfully in the doorway, oddly
enough also with a pistol in his hand.
Suddenly Monsieur de Boisdhyver placed his teacup on the table, and
leaning back in his chair, surveyed Tom with an air of indignant
astonishment.
"Monsieur Pembroke," he said, "to what am I to attribute these so unusual
attentions? Is it that you are mad?"
"You may attribute these unusual attentions, marquis, to the fact that
from now on, you are not a guest of the Inn at the Red Oak, but a
prisoner."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Marquis with a start, as he made a spasmodic motion
toward the pocket of his coat. But if his intention had been to draw a
weapon, Tom was too quick for him. The Marquis found himself staring into
the barrel of a pistol and heard the unpleasant click of the trigger as
it was cocked.
The old gentleman paled, whether with fright or indignation, Tom was not
concerned to know. "You will please keep perfectly still, marquis."
"Monsieur Pembroke," exclaimed the old gentleman, "_C'est_ abominable,
outrageous, _Mon Dieu_, what insult!"
"Manners," said Tom, "kindly search that gentleman and put his firearms
out of his reach."
"Monsieur, _c'est extraordinaire_. I protest."
"Quick, Ezra," replied Tom, "or one of us is likely to know how it feels
to have a bullet in his skin. Up with your hands, marquis."
Monsieur de Boisdhyver obeyed perforce, while Manners quickly searched
him, removed a small pistol from his coat pocket and a stiletto from his
waistcoat, and handed them to Tom.
"I thought as much," said Pembroke, slipping them into his pocket. "Now,
sir, you will oblige me by dropping that attitude of surprised
indignation."
"Monsieur," said the Marquis, "What is it that you do? Why is it that you
so insult me?"
"Monsieur, I will explain. You are my prisoner. I intend to lock you up
safely and securely until my friend and his sister return, unharmed, to
the Inn. When they are safe at home, when Madame de la Fontaine has taken
her departure from the House on the Dunes, and when the _Southern Cross_
has sailed out of the Strathsey, we shall release you and see you also
safely out of this country. Is that clear?"
"_Mais, monsieur_--"
"I am quite convinced that you know where Nancy is and what has happened
to Dan. As my friends are probably in your power or in the power of your
friends, so, dear marquis, you are in mine. If you wish to regain your
own liberty, you will have to see that they have theirs. Now kindly
follow Manners; it will give him pleasure to show you to your apartment.
There you may burn either red or green lights, and I am sure the
snowbirds and rabbits of Lovel's Woods will enjoy them. After you,
monsieur."
"Sir, I refuse."
"My dear marquis, do not make me add force to discourtesy. After you."
The Marquis bowed ironically, shrugged his shoulders, and followed
Manners up the stairs. He was ushered into a chamber on the west side of
the Inn, whose windows, had they not been heavily barred, would have
given him a view but of the thick tangles of the Woods.
"I trust you will be able to make yourself comfortable here," said Tom.
"Your meals will be served at the accustomed hours. I shall return myself
in a short time, and perhaps by then you will have reconciled yourself to
the insult I have offered you and be prepared to talk with me."
With that Tom bowed as ironically as the Marquis had done, went out and
closed the door, and securely locked and barred it outside. Monsieur de
Boisdhyver was left to his reflections.