_INTO A TRAP._
"Cap'n Sinclair!" called out a voice. The man projecting the voice
stood up in a boat rocking gently in the harbour. The man addressed
stood in a small black steamer, the _Spitfire_, employed in conveying
supplies to the lighthouses. He leaned over the steamer's rail and
asked, "What is it?"
"I suppose you remember me, Timothy Waters?"
"Oh, that you, Waters?"
"Yes. Could I see you?"
"Here I am."
Captain Sinclair was a middle-aged man, rather stout, wearing a
moustache, and flashing a friendly look out of his brown eyes.
"I don't think I was fairly treated," said Timothy, "when I lost my
place in the lighthouse, and I wanted to make some explanations.
Besides me, you may have heard the stories all round about the goods
they are wasting at the light?"
"Well, I have heard something," said the captain impatiently. "Somebody
wrote to me about it, but he wasn't man enough to sign his name. May
have been a woman, for all I know."
"If you'd let me come aboard--"
"Oh, you can come aboard; but I won't be here long. I must go into the
light, and the steamer is going off--at once. Just row over to the
lighthouse, and I'll talk with you there."
Timothy turned away and shrugged his shoulders. He said to himself, "I
don't want to go in there. However, I think I saw Trafton and that
Fletcher rowin' off. I can stand the old man." He turned to the
captain and said in a fawning tone, "All right, cap'n. I want you to
have your say about it."
When Captain Sinclair and Timothy entered the kitchen of the lighthouse,
to the surprise of Timothy he saw Trafton and Dave Fletcher. They had
"rowed off," and had also rowed back. Timothy was so unprepared for
their appearance that he would have allowed the opportunity for
presenting his cause to slip by unimproved. Dave Fletcher, though, was
ready to begin at once, and did so.
"Captain Sinclair, be seated, please, and the rest of you. When you
were here yesterday I called your attention to certain charges made
against Mr. Tolman and myself that--"
"Oh yes, I remember; and here is a letter full of them somebody sent to
me, but they were too cowardly to add any name. Let me have the
light-book. That will give me some of last year's records."
Timothy was looking on in apparent unconcern, but really in
bewilderment, and wondering when his turn would come. He began to
address the inspector.
"Cap'n--"
Thomas was ahead of him, and by this time had said three words to
Timothy's one,--
"Cap'n Sinclair, I--Cap'n Sinclair, I have something to say. I think
the author of all this trouble is here. He"--pointing a finger at
Timothy--"came to this lighthouse, took a chronometer, carried it to
Shipton, left it in my shed--"
[Illustration: "'Cap'n Sinclair, the author of all this trouble sits
there.'" _Page 195_]]
This torrent of charges, so unexpected, swept away the statements
Timothy had prepared for Captain Sinclair. He attempted to stem the
torrent, and cried, "It is easy to say you know, cap'n"--Timothy tried
to be very bland, restraining his temper--"easy to say you know--"
"I can say that he came to this lighthouse," Thomas broke out again,
"and when the keeper was lyin' sick on his bed--asleep, as he thought,
is my guess--he took a chronometer--"
Timothy, who had been curbing his temper, now threw away all reins.
"Where is the keeper?" he asked stormily. "I don't believe he can say
that."
"Oh, he is upstairs, and well enough to see us. The doctor says he is
doing well. And walk up, gentlemen," said Dave, "walk up!"
Bart was reading to the old man, who was seated in a rocking-chair near
his bed. The company almost filled the little room, but the
light-keeper bade them welcome.
"Mr. Tolman," said Thomas, "won't you tell Cap'n Sinclair what you told
me about the taking of the chronometer?"
"Oh yes," said the old light-keeper slowly. "I was feeling very sick,
so much so that I concluded to lie down. I s'pose I was lying with my
eyes 'most shut, when I heard a step and saw a man come in, and he
looked at me, and then he stood on a chair, examined the top of that
clothes-press, and took down a chronometer--an old thing, but it might
be fixed up. The man thought I was asleep, and I didn't see his face,
only it seemed to me as if he had whiskers, and when he stood on a chair
to reach the chronometer he looked--standing with his back to me---as if
it was Dave Fletcher. Well, I was that weak I couldn't speak, and my
visitor went off, supposing, I daresay, that I was asleep. Well, I kept
it on my mind, forgetting the whiskers, that it was Dave, and I charged
him with it. Sorry I did--"
"Well," said Timothy fiercely, "why wasn't it Fletcher? It is about
time that innocent chap should do something."
"He says--Mr. Tolman says," observed Captain Sinclair, "that you and
Fletcher look alike."
"Wall," bawled Timothy, "why couldn't it have been Fletcher much as me,
don't you see? Come you--you feller--you stand by this clothes-press
and reach up, and let's see how you look."
"This 'feller' is ready," said Dave, going to the clothes-press and
reaching to its top.
"And here I am. Why ain't it him?" asked Timothy, also standing by the
press and reaching up.
"They do look alike when their backs are turned toward us," observed
Captain Sinclair.
"Only the keeper said the one he saw had whiskers, and there are
Timothy's," remarked Thomas.
Dave wore only a moustache. Thomas's remark called the attention of
everybody to Timothy's whiskers, projecting like wings from his cheeks.
These wings were red, but their colour was not as vivid as that of
Timothy's face.
"Besides," continued Thomas, "Dave wasn't here. He can prove an alibi.
He was over at Pudding P'int; came to get a fish from me."
"Why," said Timothy indignantly, "I was--two miles away."
"I saw you round the shore myself; and here is your pocket-book that
Dave found at the foot of the light-tower that very morning."
Timothy opened his eyes, swelled up his cheeks, puffed, declared he
didn't see how that was, "and--and--"