"Jack," I cried, almost shouting in my excitement,--"he's done us
again!--he's got the things! Heaven only knows what he means to do with
them, but he's got them and--and we haven't!" I concluded lamely.
"What do you mean, man?" said Jack. "Who's got what?"
"Why, Strong--Strong again! Don't you understand?--he's stolen the
letter and the picture too, and Heaven only knows where he's gone with
them."
It was now Jack's turn to be moved.
"Impossible!" he exclaimed; "he would never dare; why--man alive!--he
knows well enough he must swing if he sets foot in England, and what use
are the things to him anywhere else?" Jack rose and strode about the
deck.
"He might have done it out of spite, though," he added next minute;
"very likely he was determined that if _he_ couldn't have the money, at
all events _we_ shouldn't have it either. Are you sure they are gone?"
"Come and see for yourself," I said; and together we hurried down again,
through the saloon and into my cabin.
Here we turned out every single article that my portmanteau contained;
we searched every corner of the tiny room in case the things should have
been mislaid; but we found nothing, and finally, in desperation, we
called up the steward and cross-questioned him as to whether anyone
could possibly have entered the cabin, either by day or night, without
being seen by him or by his sub.
But neither did the steward know anything of the lost articles, nor
would he admit that anyone could or would have entered the saloon
without his being aware of the fact.
"Why, my pantry's at the foot of the stairs," he said, "and if I'm not
in it Arthur is, and the stewardess is generally knocking around about
here too; how's anyone going to pass the lot of us without someone
knowing of it? Besides, we don't keep no thieves aboard _this_ ship,"
he concluded, with displeasure. "No one but me and Arthur's been in
this 'ere cabin since you came aboard at Hogland, and that's a fact!"
"No, you're wrong there, steward!" I said, "for that Russian sailor
Michail came in to close the portholes last night, and woke me; what's
more, he said you sent him."
The steward admitted that this suddenly recollected circumstance was
correct. He had forgotten it, he explained. Michail had come to him at
about two in the morning, and had asked whether he should close the
passengers' windows, as the wind seemed to be rising and the portholes
might ship a sea or two presently. "If you suspect him, or me, or any
of us, all you have to do is to examine our things," the steward ended.
But we disclaimed any such desire. We would like to see Michail,
however, and as soon as possible; for if the things were not
forthcoming, we must--as Jack expressed it--"get out at Elsinore, and
walk!"
So Michail came up for examination.
Did he often volunteer for the duty of closing portholes at night? we
asked.
Michail said he did it sometimes; he generally offered to do it because
he liked the job; the passengers now and then gave him a small gratuity.
On this occasion, Michail added, the gentlemen had given him nothing,
but it was not too late should they desire to repair the omission.
"Wait a minute, Michail," said Jack. "The time has not yet arrived to
speak of gratuities. What about this portmanteau, here? Have you seen
it before?"
"Often," said Michail; "it is the very one I carried ashore on Hogland,
for the gentleman with red hair." (My hair is _not_ red, it is a warm
yellow; Michail meant me, nevertheless, for Jack's locks are raven
black.)
"Yes; but have you been a-fishing in it lately--just an innocent search,
you know, for something of interest; not a burglary of course."
Michael started back in horror and surprise. "Do the _barins_ take me
for a thief?" he asked with some indignation.
"That was the idea," said Jack, quite coolly. "But you may have been
acting for another--for that other Englishman, for instance, Strong."
"Which Englishman is that?" asked Michail innocently; "one of the
sailors?"
"The Narva man; you know well enough!" said Jack.
Michail crossed himself very devoutly. "_Barin!_" he said; "as if I
would act with that _skoteena_!" (rascal)
"Come, Michail," continued Jack, "will ten roubles do it?"
"There is nothing to tell of myself," said Michail reflectively; "but
for the sum of money mentioned, I might possibly be induced to tell you
something that I heard him say to one of our men in the fo'c'sle."
"Well," I said, "go on Michail. It sounds promising. When did he say
it, and what did he say?"
"It was yesterday," replied Michail; "you two were walking on deck, and
I saw him point to you and say those two passengers had the worst
tempers of any two men he'd ever seen; they go mad angry every two or
three days, he said, and tear around, playing Old Harry with everything.
Very likely they'll want to be landed in the middle of the North Sea,
and they'll paint everything red till they're allowed, too; and I shan't
be there to see the fun, he said, for I shall have been put ashore at
Copenhagen."
"What did he mean by that? You're romancing, Michail!" said Jack
severely.
Michail replied that he would scorn to tell us anything but the plain
truth, though he was always glad to tell that--for a consideration.
"Well, you've earned nothing yet, my friend; the ten roubles remain with
me, so far. You'd better remember a little more if you want the money."
"That was all the _skoteena_ himself said," Michael continued; "but if
the _barins_ desire it, I will tell them what some of those in the
fo'c'sle thought about it."
"Go on," said Jack; "what did they say?"
"They said--when the _skoteena_ had told us about your tempers and what
you would do in the North Sea after he had gone--that he wouldn't say a
thing like that unless he had a reason for it; and probably the reason
was that he had got hold of some of your property, and you'd find out
about it in a day or two and go mad with rage, and want to be landed
wherever was nearest so as to go after him."
"Oh, that was it, was it?" said Jack.
Michail received his ten roubles, and Jack drew me aside.
"I'll tell you what it is, Peter, old chap; Michail's right. Whether he
said it because he has a guilty conscience, and wants us off the ship;
or whether Strong really used the expression he attributes to him, one
thing's certain--we must land."
"Where can we?--anywhere here along the Danish coast? By George! if we
catch him again, Jack, he shan't escape us, eh?"
"He should swing if it depended upon me, now, and I could prove
anything," said Jack grimly. "But come and interview Captain Edwards,
and see if he'll stop the ship and land us." Captain Edwards was upon
the bridge with the pilot, whom we had shipped at Copenhagen.
"Of course," Jack added, as we caught sight of the jolly-looking,
weather-beaten Dane standing beside our own skipper--"the pilot! We'll
ask Edwards to let us go ashore in his boat, with him; that'll probably
be Elsinore. Confound it all, though, we shall be six hours behind him
at Copenhagen!"
"But why, what's up, what's happened?" asked bewildered Captain Edwards,
when we had made known to him the nature of our request; "has the other
fellow bolted with the money-bags?"
We explained that this was just about the state of the case; the man had
robbed us, and we must land and be after him.
"Are you quite sure it was he?" continued Edwards; "it would be funny if
you went after this fellow and left the real culprit, _plus_ your
property, on board!"
But we explained that there was no reasonable doubt as to this. The
only person now on the ship who might possibly have had a hand in it was
Michail, and we begged the captain to keep an open eye on this rascal,
and even have him watched on landing in Hull. It was possible that he
might have in his possession a picture belonging to us, and of some
value.
"What! a work of art?" laughed Edwards. "May I ask how you came to be
travelling about and landing and prospecting on Hogland in company with
a valuable work of art?"
Well, we thought it best--and probably the shorter way as well--to tell
the skipper all about it, and we did so. Now that Strong was out of our
hands we need not scruple to conceal the fact that he was perhaps the
greatest rascal unhung, and that he and the hero of the Narva exploit
were one and the same person.
Captain Edwards was naturally somewhat excited.
"The scoundrel ought to have been sent back to Narva," he said, "not
brought on here and set free. You deserve what's happened for setting
such a monster loose upon society. It's not fair dealing towards your
kind, young men, upon my soul it isn't; you may take that from an older
man than yourselves. However, please God you'll catch him yet. You
must land with the pilot, of course; that'll be at Elsinore, in half an
hour's time. You'd better get your traps ready."
We went down to prepare for our departure. In the cabin a thought
occurred to me. What if Michail and Strong were in direct collusion,
and had agreed upon a base of action such as this: that Michail should
convey to us, just as he had done, by innuendo, that Strong had stolen
our property, in order that we might be induced to land at Elsinore and
hurry back after him by train to Copenhagen; that meanwhile Strong
should have caught the first train to Elsinore, and--having "done" the
distance by land much faster than we should have accomplished it by
water--be waiting at Elsinore or beyond it, knocking around in a small
boat all ready to be picked up at dusk by his friend Michail. In that
case he would have left the property on board, and would simply continue
his journey to Hull, and land there in two days and a half, or three
days, while we were still hunting him, goodness knows where, all over
the Continent, perhaps!
"Well," said Jack, "if that _is_ the plan, Master Strong will find
himself in the wrong box. I don't believe he could get taken on board
out of a small boat without stopping the ship, or the captain or mate
knowing something of it; but if he did, Edwards knows all about him now,
and he'd be as safe here as in Newgate, _pro tem_. Let him come, by all
means; the arrangement would be all right for us even though we did lose
a few days travelling about the Continent."
Nevertheless we warned Captain Edwards that it was just possible Strong
might turn up again beyond Elsinore and demand to be taken aboard, or
perhaps be assisted by Michail in making a secret reappearance.
"Not he!" said Edwards; "he wouldn't risk it--don't you make any
mistake! I only wish he would. It would be putting his head in a bag
with a vengeance!"
I think I ought to make an apology, at this point, to the memory of the
astute Mr. James Strong. I ought never to have imagined him capable of
so crude an enterprise as that which my fancy accused him of
undertaking.
*CHAPTER XXXVI*
*WE FIND AN OLD FRIEND*
The ugly castle of Elsinore was in sight when we came on deck, and a few
minutes later the pilot's own little craft, splendidly sailed by his
mate and a boy, came alongside, and without asking us to stop for her,
made fast to us and raced along in our company.
After a hasty farewell with Captain Edwards, and a whispered injunction
under all circumstances to keep a good look-out upon Michail, we threw
our portmanteaus into the arms of the astonished Dane below, and
followed the pilot down the steps swung over the side of the ship for
our accommodation.
Though the pilot lived at a village at some little distance from
Elsinore, he kindly agreed to convey us to the railway station at the
latter town, and with a fair wind we soon made the jetty close to the
very spot from which the trains start. Here, having paid off our
gallant boatmen, we jumped ashore and hurried with all speed to the
station, to find that we had just missed one train and that we could not
now catch another for an hour and more. This was tantalising and
vexatious; but at least we were ashore and in full chase after our
quarry, and that was a source of some comfort to us.
Together we paced up and down the platform of Elsinore Station. We
tried to converse. I asked Jack what he thought would be Hamlet's
opinion of the state of affairs if he were to "come down" and see a
railway station within a stone's-throw of his capital castle of
Elsinore.
Jack replied that all depended upon whether Strong should have been
lucky in catching his train; if one had started from Copenhagen soon
after he landed there, then his advantage over us would be very great,
and probably our best way would be to let him go, and hurry back to
England, ourselves, by land.
Presently, standing at a spot whence he commanded a good view of the
castle, Jack observed that if Hamlet's father's ghost ever walked upon
the parapet of the great ugly building nowadays, he must be as active as
a cat, for there would be a lot of climbing to do, there being a kind of
miniature turret at every few yards which the ghost would have to
negotiate if he desired to get along.
To which I replied, in a contemplative fashion, that in any case we knew
well enough without the paper where we had to dig for the money, and the
only thing that really mattered was the picture. The question was, did
we absolutely require the daub to help us find the treasure, or not? At
anyrate, Strong knew too much to come fooling around in England. He
must know that we would nab him at once. There was no fear of Strong
himself turning up. From all of which it will be gathered that our
conversation was a little mixed. However, the train started at last,
and we left Elsinore behind us.
At Copenhagen many inquiries had to be made, and at first we were
somewhat helpless; for though the language sounded sufficiently like
English to make it additionally annoying that we could not understand
it, yet neither we nor those with whom we attempted to converse could
make head or tail of that which we or they respectively tried to convey.
At the station we could do nothing towards making our wishes known, and
at length we determined to visit the nearest hotel and engage an
interpreter, if such a person existed.
Here we were lucky, for we found the very man, and to him we confided
our need, namely, to get upon the track of an individual who landed from
an English steamer, and had, presumably, gone on by the first train
elsewhere.
"But where?" asked our commissionaire; and to this question we had, of
course, no reply.
"We must begin at the beginning, and go down first to the
landing-stage," said our friend.
Now this was annoying, because the journey would be a loss of time; but
it was obviously the correct course, and we took it. We must begin our
inquiries from the spot at which he first touched land.
Down at the wharf our Dane interviewed several boatmen, all of whom had
seen the _Thomas Wilcox_ arrive and depart, and all of whom agreed that
a passenger had landed and had engaged a conveyance and driven away.
"To the station, of course," said I. "Why do we wait? This is all a
waste of precious time!"
"Which station?" asked our Dane grimly; and, when I had no reply to
make, he added, "That is what we have come for to find out."
It seemed, however, that the point was a most difficult one to
establish, and that we should be obliged to drive to each station in
turn, thereby wasting more time, until there wandered upon the scene,
presently, a Danish youth who said he had taken the passenger's bag out
of the boat and put it into the carriage. The passenger was a German,
he said.
"How do you know that?" asked Jack, through the interpreter.
"Because he wanted to get to Kiel," said the boy; "he knew no Danish,
and could only hold up his finger to the driver and say, 'Skielskor, for
Kiel!'"
This was good enough for us. We drove rapidly towards the station,
feeling that we were about to make a real start at last.
The clerk at the booking-office remembered the man we wanted. He had
hurried into the station and said, in an interrogative manner,
"Skielskor?" and when the clerk had replied that it was all right, if he
meant that he required a ticket for that place, he had repeated,
"Kiel--Bremen?" Whereupon the clerk, seeing that conversation would be
difficult, had tentatively offered two tickets, one to Skielskor, and
the other through to Kiel; of which he had selected and paid for the
latter. He had left just an hour ago.
"Can't we get to Kiel direct by water, quicker than by land to
Skielskor, and thence across?" asked Jack. "If there should be a
steamer going just about now, we might possibly cut him off at Kiel."
Fortune favoured us quite handsomely this time.
Hastening back to the waterside we actually found a Kiel steamer about
to depart; that is, a large steamer lay in mid-channel, having arrived
since we were down here half an hour before; she had stopped to put down
passengers, just as the _Thomas Wilcox_ did, and would proceed almost
immediately.
We signalled her to take us on board, and left without a moment's delay.
"Great Scott, Jack!" I exclaimed; "Strong will have the luck of the evil
one himself if he reaches Kiel before us now; this is splendid!"
We ascertained that, all being well, we should reach our destination
considerably before Strong could do so, he travelling by land and then
by small steamer to Kiel, even though he should catch one just about to
start. Under these circumstances the jubilation which we felt was most
justifiable, and over a capital dinner we spoke with delight of the joy
in store for us, when we should stand on the landing-stage waiting for
the arrival of the little Skielskor steamer, and see the countenance of
Mr. James Strong change when he caught sight of us there.
"Will he have a fit, think you, Jack?" I asked in glee.
Jack said he thought it quite likely; it would appear so uncanny to the
wretched chap, and so utterly unexpected. "I should certainly have a
fit under similar circumstances," he added.
We went to bed with the conviction that fortune was treating us kindly
this time, and that to-morrow had consolations for us in expiation for
the shocks and disappointments of to-day.
But these rascally to-morrows never perform exactly what is expected of
them. Our programme was all of the colour of the rose, and justifiably
so; but certain circumstances marred the order of events, and things
fell out differently.
Now our steamer, the _Peter der Grosse_, had come from Cronstadt, just
as our own _Thomas Wilcox_ had, and in Russia at this time the cholera
was having one of those periodical innings which it enjoys at regular or
irregular intervals in that country. And when we arrived at Kiel and
requested to be landed as quickly as might be, we were met by the
stunning statement that this would be impossible until the quarantine
officer should have come on board and passed us.
"How long will that be?" we asked, and were informed that it might be a
couple of hours and might be twelve.
"They are very particular here," said the captain, "and are as likely as
not to leave us half a day or so, just to give the germs a chance, in
case they should require this much extra time to develop."
As a matter of fact, the quarantine officer did not visit us until
nearly evening, we having arrived before midday. Just before his
arrival I had noticed a little Danish steamer creep into harbour, and
through the captain's glasses I distinguished, or thought to
distinguish, the words "_Helma_--Skielskor."
"Jack," I said, "look at the little craft just running into
harbour--here, take the glasses."
Jack took them and had a long steady gaze at the small steamer.
"You're quite right," he said presently (I had expressed no opinion
whatever!); "he's just done it; that must be his boat; there's no
question of it!"
Then Jack muttered an expressive word between his teeth, and I another.
Then I looked at Jack and he at me, and--having nothing better or wiser
to do, I suppose--we both burst into a roar of laughter.
It was sickening to see the fellow just gliding out of our very hands;
but at the same time it was really very funny.
"Never mind," said Jack. "We'll be after him directly, and we know he's
going _via_ Bremen. Perhaps we may catch the same train yet."
But we were not destined to reap this crop of good fortune. The
quarantine officers came on board and examined carefully every creature
in the ship. This occupied a couple of hours. Fortunately for us, we
were able to prove that we had joined the steamer at Copenhagen; still
more so, we were not asked for passports, otherwise the fact would have
been revealed that we too had come from Russia, and we, like the rest of
the passengers, would have been delayed in quarantine for twenty-four or
forty-eight hours, or whatever the term may have been.
As it was, we were allowed to land, though the rest were detained; and
without a moment's delay we made for the station, calling on the way at
the jetty, at which lay, sluggishly steaming, the little Skielskor
steamer which had arrived a short while since.
We inquired of the captain, as best we could, as to the passengers he
had brought over. Was there an Englishman? we asked; and we described
our friend Strong. The captain who--excellent man!--spoke English,
replied that most certainly there had been an Englishman among his
passengers, a charming, cheery sort of person, who had laughed and drunk
Swedish punch all the way, and told capital stories. He was a generous
kind of a man too, and had stood drinks all round. He had also made
him, the skipper, a little present which he declared to be of some
value, though it could not be said to have the appearance of much
intrinsic worth, so far as he, the skipper, was able to judge!
"Oh," said Jack, not greatly interested; "and what was that?"
"The picture of an old man--Dutch School; after Gerard Dow, so he said,"
laughed the skipper. "You can see it, if you like; you may be a judge of
these things. Lord knows why he gave it me--drunk, I suppose!"
*CHAPTER XXXVII*
*MR. STRONG MAKES AN EFFECTIVE REAPPEARANCE*
This communication was as exciting as it was utterly unexpected. We
entreated the skipper, as calmly as we could, to produce his work of
art. He did so. It was the portrait, of course.
And we to talk of ill-luck! Why, supposing the thing to be really of
any value to us, it was a stroke of the most magnificent good fortune to
have found it in this way! I realised this fact as the skipper brought
the ugly thing out, and--with a laugh--placed it on the table before us.
"There," he said; "a beauty, isn't it? If it's by Gerard Dow, why, I
don't think much of Gerard Dow, and that's the truth. Any offers?" he
added, with another laugh.
"Ten shillings!" said Jack, laughing also. "It isn't Gerard Dow, nor yet
_after_ him; but I collect these old Dutch daubs, and I'll take it off
your hands for a half sovereign."
"That and a drink round," said the skipper.
And ten minutes later we were driving in a German droshky to the
station, having our newly-recovered treasure in tow.
It mattered little, now, whether we caught Strong or not. As a matter
of fact he would be more of an embarrassment than anything else. What
should we do with him if we caught him?
At anyrate, however, we would shadow him and see what he intended to do.
If his destination should prove to be England, then matters would be
different and it would be our duty to follow and arrest him.
"We can't prove anything," I said.
"We shall have to try," replied Jack. "A rogue like him can't be
allowed to prowl about England free." This was, of course, perfectly
true.
"Why did the chap steal the portrait, only to chuck it away again?" I
said presently, as we drove along. "Simply to annoy us, or prevent us
finding the treasure, even though he daren't go and dig for it at
Streatham himself?"
"That's the idea, I should think," said Jack; "that if _he_ can't have
it, _you_ shan't!"
Upon reaching the station we found that Mr. Strong was, at anyrate, not
to be caught in Kiel. The Bremen train had left just an hour ago, with
him in it. There would be another in fifty minutes.
"Gad, Peter, we are in the race, at anyrate, after all!" said Jack, with
a guffaw; "if we have any luck in the trains we may catch him yet."
"Let's find out how long he'll have to wait at Hamburg for the Bremen
train," I suggested.
We did so, and found to our annoyance that our train reached Hamburg
just ten minutes after Strong's was timed to leave that station for
Bremen. There would be another one, however, in an hour or less, and a
quicker one than his; so that we might get him at Bremen, It would
depend upon what should be his next destination.
"It doesn't much matter," I reflected. "If we don't catch him at Bremen
we'd better just see where he's gone to and then set off for Streatham,
_via_ Hanover and Flushing, as quickly as possible. Are you very keen to
see him, Jack?"
"It depends," said Jack. "I should dearly like to see him, just once
more, in a dark lane and without witness or revolvers, but with a pair
of football boots upon my feet. That would be very sweet indeed. At a
crowded station, one might get in a little comforting language; but
kicking would be out of the question, and therefore the case would not
really be met. However, it would be nice just to see his face, when
_he_ sees _ours_, and to tell him one or two things about himself."
So we took train for Bremen _via_ Hamburg, and at this latter place we
found, to our amusement, that our train, though starting after Strong's,
who had already gone on, ran into Bremen a short while before the other;
ours being an express.
"Gad, Peter, this is splendid!" cried old Jack, rubbing his hands with
delight.
It really was; it was splendid! Destiny was playing a strong game in
our favour; there was no doubt about it.
We should thus have the ecstatic pleasure of meeting Mr. Strong upon the
platform, and of observing his expression of delight upon seeing us
waiting for him.
It was at some little station outside Bremen, and about five miles from
that city, that we overtook Strong's train, which, no doubt, was waiting
there in order to allow the express to go by.
We did not know it was Strong's train, of course. We discovered the fact
in this way--
I was reading, Jack was looking out of the window. Suddenly he startled
me with an exclamation. He was staring, all eyes, through the glass,
which was closed on account of the dustiness of the German railways.
"What is it?" I inquired. I looked out, but saw nothing very startling
or unusual; a train lay alongside of ours, and Jack was staring, as it
appeared, into one of the carriages.
"What is it?" I repeated.
"Hush!" said Jack. "Don't make a row, but just look in there--the
compartment exactly opposite this one. Don't speak too loud or you may
awake the dear kind soul."
I looked, and first my heart gave a great jump; then, almost
immediately, I was attacked by the most violent desire to laugh aloud,
and I sank back in my place and heaved about, stuffing my handkerchief
into my mouth to prevent an outburst of noise therefrom.
For it was Strong himself, alone in a carriage, and fast asleep--the
pretty innocent--not dreaming of the possibility of enemies at hand!
Happy; at peace with all the world; slumbering upon his second-class
cushions in all the guileless confidence of a weary child. It was too
beautiful for words.
Almost immediately our train started with a sudden jerk, and spoiled our
contemplation of the sweet picture before us. But in marring one it
gave us another--a mere lightning flash of a picture, this last,
certainly; but one which I would not have missed for untold sums, and
the memory of which is even now a constant delight to me whenever
conjured up by the wizard Imagination.
The movement of our train caused Strong to open his eyes languidly and
to raise them towards the cause of his awakening.
At the same instant he caught sight of Jack's face and then of mine, and
a more sudden and startled rushing of a sleepy intelligence into full
and disgusted wakefulness I have never beheld. Strong's eyes went from
languid and fishy expressionlessness into swiftly alternating phases
representing surprise, disgust, rage and terror; they seemed to start
from his head and to grow, visibly, to about twice their normal size.
It was a noteworthy and unforgettable spectacle; it was beautiful. As
we passed out of his scope of vision, we saw the fellow start from his
seat as though to put his head out of the window and follow us away with
his eyes.
"Did you ever see the like of that?" exclaimed Jack, subsiding into his
seat and beginning to roar with laughter.
"_I_ never did!" I concurred. "The only thing is," I added, "the rascal
will get out, now, and not come on to Bremen."
"That doesn't matter a bit," said Jack; "let him; it will save us
trouble; we don't want him now, for we have the picture, which is all he
took from us barring Clutterbuck's letter, of which we each have a
couple of copies, besides one apiece by heart."
"He may come on to England after us," I said. Jack laughed.
"I don't believe it. He wouldn't dare. This last fright would put him
off even if he had contemplated it. As a matter of fact, I don't
believe he ever meant digging. He wouldn't have given away the picture
if he had, for he could scarcely have failed to suppose that it has
something to do with the treasure finding, though I'm bound to say I,
for one, can't imagine _what_!"
"Then why did he steal it from us?" I exclaimed.
"Malice, my dear chap; pure, unadulterated malice and devilment; the
rascal wouldn't be happy unless he were playing Old Nick upon someone or
other." I daresay Jack was perfectly right.
We waited at Bremen Station, however, for the arrival of Strong's train,
in case he should be in it, and--as it happened--we should have saved
ourselves both time and vexation of spirit if we had gone on and left
him.
Strong was in the train. He came out as bold as brass, and showed no
fear or surprise when he met us upon the platform. He even wished us
good-evening, and asked us how we came to be here and not on board the
_Thomas Wilcox_, in the middle of the North Sea.
"Well, you're a darned cool hand, Strong, I must say!" said Jack. "What
about the work of art, and the other things?"
"What work of art?" he asked, positively without a blush.
"Clutterbuck's picture--you know quite well what we mean," I said. "You
stole it out of our cabin."
"I never went near your blamed cabin," he said; "you'd better prove what
you say. You're too jolly fond of accusing innocent people, you two
bounders. If I had you in a quiet place I'd make you swallow all those
infernal lies about me that you invented on Hogland."
"Oh, that's your line is it, Strong?" said Jack "You're going to figure
as the injured innocent, are you? All right, my man; you're safe here
in Germany, but don't you show yourself in England."
"You cannot prove anything, curse you!" cried Strong, "and you know it."
"Very well; quite likely; at the same time, think twice before crossing
the Channel; we may have a little evidence up our sleeve that you don't
know of."
Strong uttered one of his oaths, which need not be repeated.
"You deny stealing the picture, then?" continued Jack.
"I may have it and I may not," said Strong, too angry now to care what
he said. "At anyrate, it seems _you_ haven't."
"Never judge by appearances, Strong," said Jack; "we have it, all right,
such as it is. Pity to allow a work of art by G. Dow to remain in the
hands of a man who can't even recognise the beauty of it. Your friend
sold the keepsake you gave him--unkind of him, wasn't it?" Strong
winced.
"You have the luck of the devil," he snarled. "What's your game? You
can't touch me, here; you know that. Michail took the picture; I didn't
want the infernal thing--he took it in revenge for your kicking him on
the island--there! You're welcome to it; it's as like my darned uncle
as two peas, I'm sick when I look at it. It may help you to find the
treasure, though how in perdition it's going to do it beats me. If you
want my opinion, there isn't any treasure--at least, not for you or me.
The blamed old miser played a trick on us all; it's rotting somewhere,
like him; and no one'll ever dig up the money any more than his carcass.
The whole thing's blamed, bally rot, and we've all been a parcel of
silly idiots; that's my opinion--take it or leave it."
"We'll leave it, thanks, Strong," said Jack; "and we'll leave you too,
if you'll excuse us. Good-night, my man; you'd better keep this side of
the Channel, that's _our_ opinion, take or leave _it_."
Strong darted a look of anger at Jack, and turned on his heel with an
oath. He slunk out of the station and disappeared in the dusk outside.
We were in two minds whether to follow and keep him in sight, or let him
be. But we decided to let him go, since he did not appear to have any
intention of molesting us further.
So we sought out a hotel near the station and engaged a room together,
for it would be just as well to double our chance of hearing Strong
should he, by any chance, resolve to make another attempt to deprive us
of the picture, or otherwise rob us, and somehow force an entry into the
room.
As it happened, we were disturbed before we were an hour older; but not
by Strong.
A very unexpected and exasperating thing happened--comical too, after a
fashion, especially after the event.
We were seated over our supper in the coffee-room of our hotel, when a
scared-looking waiter informed us that both the English Herren were
wanted downstairs.
"By whom?" we asked in some surprise.
"By the police," said the man; "should he invite them upstairs, or would
we step below into the entrance hall?"
Jack and I looked at one another. What did this mean?
"We will come down," said Jack; and to the great hall below we
descended. Here an astonishing spectacle greeted our eyes: a group of
policemen in uniform; a man in civilian garb, presumably an interpreter;
and--Mr. James Strong!
*CHAPTER XXXVIII*
*ARRESTED*
"Yes," observed Mr. Strong, upon our appearance, "these are the very
men. Tell the police, Mr. Interpreter, that these persons have robbed
me; the robbery was effected while _en route_ from Russia; they are, I
believe, in possession of a work of art belonging to myself; their
luggage had better be searched."
I was absolutely speechless with surprise. This was certainly the most
audacious act I had ever heard of. I did not know whether to be more
furious or amused.
Jack apparently decided in favour of fury. "You infernal rascal,
Strong!"--he began, but Strong said something to the interpreter, who
signed to the police, who promptly laid hold of Jack and me. It was too
ridiculous.
"Strong, you"--Jack began again, and--"Gad, Strong, if I don't"--began
I; but our policemen would not have us speak, and marched us up to our
room, Strong and the interpreter following, bidding us in curt military
fashion hold our tongues. It was a ridiculous position. I have laughed
over the memory of it scores of times; I even felt inclined to laugh
then. What could Strong's motive be in acting in this way? He could
not want the picture, or he would never have given it to the skipper at
Kiel. Had he thought better of it, and determined, if possible, to get
us locked up here for a few days while he hurried away to Streatham to
dig without us?
He couldn't, surely! Why, we could prove our right to the work of art
by telegraphing to Kiel, and, if necessary, producing the skipper to
witness to our purchase. Besides, he would have to prove _his_ right to
the thing before they could justly deliver it over to him.
It must be an act of spite, then, conceived in the simple desire to
score one against us.
Of course the picture was found in my portmanteau. Equally, of course,
we protested that it was our own, while Strong declared that we had
stolen it from him during the voyage to Copenhagen. No less was it to
be expected that upon seeing the work of art, both policemen and
interpreters smiled grimly, and that one of them observed--
"_Was ist aber Dass fuer ein Teufelskopf!_"
In the end, the police took possession of the disputed picture, but
allowed us to remain in peace at the hotel. This was, however, Saturday
night, so that the examination into the matter of ownership which, we
were informed, it would be necessary to hold, could not be brought into
court before Monday.
This was very unfortunate, for if Strong should really have devised this
little interlude with the sole desire to gain time, in order to reach
the treasure-ground in Streatham a day or two before us, he had
certainly gained his end.
It was in vain that we assured our captors that we could easily prove
our title to the work of art by simply telegraphing to Kiel, to the man
from whom we purchased it.
"That will be very good evidence on Monday, supposing that the seller
appears in person," said the police. "Meanwhile, we will take care of
the work of art, and on Monday you shall speak, and your friend here
shall speak, and the plaintiff shall speak, and then we shall see to
whom the beautiful picture belongs."
"This gentleman will not wait to hear the case argued," said Jack,
indicating Strong; "he will be in England by Monday!"
"Then he will lose the picture," said the man, shrugging his shoulders.
"Whoever remains alone to claim it, to him we shall consider that it
rightfully belongs."
"You're a nice, audacious blackguard, Strong, I will say!" muttered Jack
to our friend, as--accompanied by his little band of interpreter and
police, with the picture--Strong left the room; "I warn you, you'd
better be out of Streatham by Tuesday, for by all that's certain, we
shall have no mercy if we catch you on our side of the water!"
"Don't fret," said Strong; "I shall have the cash by that time, and you
may catch me when you can find me."
"Do you really mean to dig, Strong?" I said. "I wish you'd take advice
and keep away; we don't want to be the cause of your hanging, but we
shall be forced to give you up if we catch you in England; you must know
that."
"Well, catch me there, curse you!" said Strong rudely. "You'll have to
be a darned sight sharper than you've been yet, either of you, before
you touch either me or the money! That's my last word."
"Well, _we_ are off by the next train," said Jack (to my surprise); "so
you'll not get the start you expect. You don't suppose we're going to
wait for that ridiculous picture, do you?"
Strong looked foxily at Jack for a second or two; but he said nothing,
and followed the others from the room.
"Lord!" said Jack, when they had gone, "I don't know whether to laugh or
cry; what a mysterious, incomprehensible, snake of a beast it is!
What's his game? One thing is clear, either it hasn't struck him (which
is improbable), or he has decided against believing, that the picture
has anything to do with finding the money."
"So have you, apparently," I said; "for you told him that we were not
going to wait for it."
"That was bluff, man; don't you understand? It was said to frighten him
from going on by the first train to Streatham; because, don't you see,
if he thinks that we are going at once, why, _he_ can't."
"Do you think he's still after the treasure?" I asked.
"That's what I can't make out," replied Jack; "it would be a fearful
risk for him to be about the place when we are there too, he knows that
well enough; yet I can't help thinking that he has not abandoned all
hope of the money. He's such a snake, that's the mischief of it; who's
to know what his game is? At anyrate, we must wait and get the picture.
It may and may not have a bearing on the search, but we won't risk
anything."
"What if he waits too, and claims it?"
"That is not at all likely; he doesn't want the picture. I should say
he'll be up at the station for the next Flushing train, and if he
doesn't see us there, he'll go on. Perhaps we'd better show up at the
station in order to prevent his departure."
We agreed to do this, and having found out that a Flushing train started
early on Sunday morning, we both drove to the station, great-coated as
though for travelling, and stood about near the train as though
intending to board it at any moment.
Carefully we scrutinised the faces of all who passed and repassed us,
about to travel by the express, but we did not see Strong. He had not
thought good to journey to England, then; probably Jack's hint that we
were intending to travel by the first opportunity had deterred him.
Presently, after much bell-ringing and whistling, and loud-voiced
invitations, from stentorian German throats, to take our seats, the
train slowly began to move forward.
"Well, _that's_ all right," said Jack; "he isn't in _there_, anyhow."
"Good-morning, gentlemen both," said someone leaning out of a carriage
window--the last carriage--just as we were about to turn and depart.
"Wish me luck with my digging, won't you? Forty-eight hours' start
ought to do me, eh? Well, ta-ta; take care of the picture--it's a
beauty, it is!"
Strong bawled out the last sentence or two at the top of his voice from
far away down the platform, to the surprise of a few porters and
loiterers who gazed at us suspiciously. Jack shook his fist in Strong's
direction, a civility which was replied to by that individual by a
grimace, and a gesture of the hands--as the train passed round a curve
and out of sight--which might have been intended to signify digging, and
might not.
Jack burst out laughing; I did not feel mirthful.
"It's all very well," I said, "but I don't like it. He has forty-eight
hours' start of us. He may find the treasure in that time, by some
fluke."
"He's been too clever for us, Peter, and that's the plain truth,"
laughed Jack. "Mind you, I don't think he'll find the money, and maybe
he doesn't intend to try; but we have been badly scored off, and there's
no denying the fact. We must hope it is only spite. I daresay it's
that."
But on Monday morning when we turned up at the police court to claim our
work of art, the police, finding that Strong had departed without
waiting for the case to be heard, exclaimed--"_Lieber Gott im Himmel!_
you were then right!" upon which the interpreter added that he supposed
the other Englishman had not waited for the original because the copy
which he possessed of it, and which he had shown him, the interpreter,
was probably sufficient for him.
"Had he a copy?" asked Jack quickly.
"Certainly," said the man; "a very exact one. Done, he told me, by a
clever sailor on the ship which brought him from Russia. He had it
painted as a precaution, he said, lest certain persons should steal the
original for their own purposes."
The police allowed us to take away our work of art, however, without
further difficulties.
"Gad," said Jack, as we left the court, "my opinion of that chap's
cuteness strengthens every day! he _has_ intended, all along, to have
another dig for the treasure. He expected to gain a day by being set
down at Copenhagen; he gave away this picture simply because he didn't
require it, having got safely away with the other; this may be only the
copy."
"It looks like our old friend," I said moodily; "but one can't tell.
Anyhow, we've lost, Jack; it's very sickening after all we've been
through"--
"Nonsense, man! the battle isn't lost until it's won. Do you suppose
Strong is going to win right off, in a day and a half? Why, there's a
fortnight's hard digging in a garden of that size! Don't lose heart so
easily, Peter, it doesn't become you."
It was all very well, I thought, for Jack to be sanguine and spirited.
He had nothing hanging upon the issue of this matter, excepting the
sporting desire to win, and the friendly wish that I--as his
chum--should succeed. To me success was absolutely everything!
We caught a train on the Monday evening, and reached Flushing in due
course; but the weather was so terribly stormy that the steamers were
not running.
This circumstance put the coping-stone to my disgust and depression. It
was too bad--too utterly unfortunate. The delay would cost us another
twenty-four hours, every second of which time was a clear profit to
Strong.
When the weather moderated, and the steamer was advertised to start in
the evening, we found that an immense number of passengers had assembled
to make the crossing. We obtained berths with difficulty, and at some
additional expense. At supper I asked the steward whether his steamer
was always crowded in this way.
"Oh dear, no, sir," said my friend; "most of these passengers have been
waiting two days and more. We haven't run since the gale began--Sunday
night." A moment later, the significance of this statement suddenly
occurred to me.
"Why, Jack!" I exclaimed, "then"--
"Yes," said Jack. "Either he's on board now, or else he has seen us,
and remained behind on shore; at anyrate there's been no digging done at
Streatham."
"Thank God!" I exclaimed. "I was a brute to rave about bad luck, Jack,
before I knew."
"Yes," said Jack, smiling; "the winds and waves and all the elements
seem to have fought on our side this time, old man! It strikes me we
are going to win yet."
At Queenborough Station, in the morning, we scrutinised every passenger
that landed from the _Princess Clementine_. There were many pale,
sea-sick, travel-worn people that came ashore to take train to London;
but we were both certain that Strong was not among them. Neither did he
alight at Victoria. There was no doubt about it; for once Strong's
cleverness had been over-trumped by the forces of nature!
*CHAPTER XXXIX*
*DIGGING AGAIN*
Jack was determined to see me through with my treasure hunting, now--as
we hoped--at its last stage, and came with me to Streatham without even
a flying visit to his Gloucestershire home; which was good of old Jack.
Arrived at Streatham, we put up at the best hotel we could find, and
lost no time in walking down to old Clutterbuck's house in the lower
town. The place looked gloomy and forbidding, and we rang at the garden
gate--the only entrance--with a feeling that our trouble was not quite
over yet, and that in all probability the old man would have exerted his
eccentric ingenuity to the uttermost in order to make the last stage of
our search at least as difficult and toilsome as any, in spite of the
seemingly simple instructions of the letter, which were merely to go and
dig in his own garden at Streatham, and find what we should find.
As a matter of fact, we encountered one difficulty before getting
farther than the garden gate--the _outside_ of it, I mean; for an old
caretaker answered the ring, and, opening the door an inch or two, but
without removing the chain which secured it, peeped out and asked us
what we wanted.
I said that we had authority from its late master to take possession of
the house and garden.
The old fellow produced from his pocket an envelope, from which he drew
a scrap of paper.
"Is your name William Clutterbuck?" he asked.
"He's dead," I replied.
"James Strong?" he continued.
"Oh, hang it, no! not that blackguard," said Jack. "It's all right, old
gentleman; this is Mr. Clutterbuck's heir."
The old caretaker took no notice of this remark.
"Charles Strong?" he continued, unmoved.
"He's dead too," I said.
"Ellis?" said the old fellow, doubling up his paper and preparing to
return the envelope into his pocket.
"No," said I, "but"--
"Then you don't come in here," concluded the man, banging the door in
our faces and double-locking it.
The old caretaker's arbitrary action nonplussed me for the moment.
"But my name is down in the will together with those you have read out,"
I cried through the panels. Jack stood and laughed. I heard the old
man stumping towards the house. I shrieked out a repetition of my last
appeal. He paused and spoke. An errand boy stopped to look on, and
whistled "D'isy, D'isy, give me your answer do," so loudly that I could
scarcely hear the reply.
"No, it ain't," shouted the old fellow back again. "For I copied these
down from it myself, and there wasn't another. And what's more, this
'ere door don't git opened to no one else but these four, and if yer
wants to git into the garden, yer'll 'ave to climb the wall and see what
yer'll git from the dawg. He's loose in here--speak, Ginger!"
Ginger spoke, and the utterance was certainly alarming. Ginger's voice
was a deep bass, and it seemed to say--unless my imagination gave it a
meaning which it did not really possess--that it was as well for those
outside that there was a wall between them and Ginger. It was
ridiculous; but it was extremely aggravating also.
"But my name was added afterwards," I pleaded, while Ginger barked and
Jack laughed, and the errand boy, interested, stopped whistling to hear
the reply. This was not encouraging.
"Garn!" said the rude old man; "I know what I knows; you go and git yer
'air cut, and come back and show me the will."
"I can do that easily enough," I shouted, "and the lawyer who drew it up
too, so you'd better save trouble and let me in at once."
"You find me a lawyer and a will as gives more than four names, and in
you may walk," said the heroic caretaker; "and till then you can take
yourself off or do the other thing--but out you stay!"
This was evidently the ultimatum, for the old fellow could be heard
stumping up towards the house. The dog Ginger remained and continued
his observations in the same tone until we retired. The errand boy
remembered an engagement and departed, disappointed with us, no doubt.
We ought, of course, to have scaled that wall and been eaten by Ginger
in order adequately to perform our duty to that errand boy; but we had
other views, and went and called on the lawyer, Steggins.
That good fellow was sincerely glad to see me, I believe, and to hear
that I was the successful competitor up to this point. We told him--in
skeleton form--of our adventures, promising him a detailed account if he
would dine with us at the hotel, which he gladly undertook to do. Then
we told him of our difficulties with the old caretaker, who had received
his instructions, evidently, before my name had been added to the will.
Steggins laughed.
"What, old Baines?" he said. "I'll soon put that right; we are old
friends, he and I. But I'm afraid this other gentleman, Mr.----er"--
"Henderson," interposed that worthy.
"Mr. Henderson cannot take any part with yourself in the digging
operations; the instructions are so clear that _only_ the successful
competitor is to be allowed in the house or garden until the treasure
has been found. Otherwise, you see, all the rest might have remained at
home, and still have been in at the death, so to speak. They might
simply wait till the report went about that you were busy digging in the
garden, and would then come and take a hand on equal terms with you, who
had had all the trouble."
This seemed true. It was annoying, however, that I was not to have the
benefit of Jack's help in my last dig. As I told Jack, I had
particularly wished him to have half the work of digging.
"And half the fun of being worried by Ginger!" added Jack; "thanks
awfully, Peter. It will be rather fun to stand outside and hear you
'Good-dogging' Ginger, and presently your squalls when he lays hold of
you!"
"Ginger's all right," laughed Steggins. "He's almost as old as his
master, and hasn't a tooth in his head; besides, he's the friendliest of
animals, and wouldn't injure a baby."
"His voice doesn't sound like it," I said. "Jack grew quite pale when he
heard it." Jack shinned me under the table for this, I am sorry to say.
He is a vindictive and un-Christian-like person, is Jack, when his pride
is touched.
"Ginger's voice is his fortune," said Steggins; "it always has been;
he's the finest dog for the other side of a wall that ever I saw."
I may say that presently, when Steggins had taken me down and introduced
me to Baines and Ginger as the _bona fide_ heir-at-law, I found that
Ginger was quite as benevolent a being as Steggins had described him.
He was a St. Bernard, of enormous size and the very mildest of manners,
and his voice was a complete fraud, for whereas it threatened gore and
thunder, its real purport and intent were nothing more shocking than
small beer or milk and water. For all he knew, I might have been a
murderous desperado, but he took to me at sight, like David to Jonathan.
Old Baines, too, was polite enough on his own side of the wall, and
showed me over the house and garden. He was surprised when I asked for
spades, but produced one nevertheless; however, when he had watched me
turn over the first few sods of turf, he retired muttering into the
house, and I could see plainly enough that the new proprietor was, in
his opinion, about to prove a disappointing master, inasmuch as he was
harmlessly but hopelessly mad.
The garden measured sixty-three yards by forty-eight, and on that first
morning of my solitary digging I ardently wished, with all my heart,
that it had been one-quarter the size. For to dig up a garden of this
area, and dig it deeply too, as the latest instructions suggested, and
all by oneself, was a task involving more trouble than is agreeable, or
ever has been, to the present scribe, who is no lover of monotonous
drudgery.
There were a few trees here and there, but not a flower-bed in the
place; the whole area was roughly covered with turf upon which coarse
grass had been allowed to grow throughout the summer, which grass I was
obliged to mow down with a scythe before I could proceed in any comfort
with my digging.
Jack did not desert me, though he might not assist me on my own side of
the wall. He remained at the hotel, where I lunched and dined with him
daily; and during these meals we consulted upon my labours and the
direction these should take; and sometimes Jack would come and carry on
a conversation from the top of the wall, upon which he climbed when none
were by to see. Ginger used to look up and wag his tail affectionately
upon the stranger appearing in that unorthodox fashion within the
domains he was kept to watch over. If Jack had been a burglar, Ginger
could not have looked up more lovingly at him as he sat on the wall and
gave the dog bits of biscuit.
Several days passed, and the late Mr. Clutterbuck's garden now resembled
a ploughed field; but never a glint of gold had I struck yet, nor a
glimmer of diamonds, nor the pale crisp delight of a bank-note or
cheque.
Mr. Baines knew nothing, he protested, about anything whatsoever; he
merely thought me a madman, and considered it the safer way to leave me
entirely alone. I questioned him, now and again, as to whether he had
ever observed the late lamented, whom he had served as _factotum_ in
life, employed in digging or in taking measurements in the garden; but
to all these inquiries Mr. Baines gave answers courteously but plainly
pointing to one and the same conclusion--namely, that though old
Clutterbuck had been undoubtedly a "skinflint" (as he picturesquely
described the parsimonious character of the deceased), yet he had always
shown himself a _sane_ skinflint, and therefore unlike the gentleman who
now took his place as master of the establishment. By which Mr. Baines
meant to infer that old Clutterbuck neither took measurements nor dug in
the garden, and that I--who did both--must therefore be mad. He did not
say so in as many words, but he made it pretty clear that this was his
meaning.
There was no assistance to be got out of old Baines.
*CHAPTER XL*
*JACK PROVES HIMSELF A GENIUS*
After all, it was only natural that "the testator," desiring to give his
heirs as much trouble as possible, should scarcely confide his secret to
one who would probably reveal it, afterwards, to the first that offered
him half a crown for the information.
At the end of the fourth day I was very tired and rather depressed. I
had measured the garden from end to end and across, and dug down at
every spot where, according to carefully thought out calculations,
stretched strings would cross one another; I tried every dodge I could
think of or that Jack could suggest. I gazed a dozen times at the old
portrait, and could suck no inspiration from it; indeed, as regards that
work of art, I had quite decided ere this that the thing was no more
than a sickly joke on the part of its grim old original. I took
Clutterbuck's age and measured it out in feet, and dug at the end of the
seventy-first, and in inches, and diagonally in yards, starting each
from the house, and the two first from the centre. I pulled up the old
stump of a cut-down tree and looked inside the hole it left behind. I
think I really tried nearly every device that the mind of man could
conceive, but nothing had as yet come of my labours excepting fatigue
and depression and stiffness.
Then, one day, on returning to the hotel, weary and cross by reason of
repeated failure, I found Jack studying the portrait of old Clutterbuck,
which annoyed me still more; for I was angry with the miser and his
detestable expedients for keeping his money out of the hands of honest
persons who had worked for it and fairly earned it.
"Look here, Peter," said Jack, smiling, "here's fun for you; see what I
have found on the back of this work of art--read it for yourself!" He
passed the portrait over to me.
I took it with, I am afraid, a growl of ill-temper, and read the words
he had pointed out to me. They were written very faintly and in pencil
on the back of the portrait, at a spot where the paper had become loose
under the beading, and ran as follows--it was a doggerel rhyme, and this
fact annoyed me still more in my ridiculously furious state of mind at
the moment:--
"If you'd save yourself some trouble,
Dig at three foot six, and double!"
"What does it mean?" said Jack.
"Oh, take the confounded thing and chuck it into the fire!" I said
sulkily.
"Well, but what _does_ it mean, if it means anything?" Jack insisted.
"You've got to take tips if you can get them, you know; so make the most
of this, though it does seem to convey a rather unpleasant meaning. As
I understand it, you have to dig to a depth of seven feet--that is,
_double_ three foot six, and"--
"What!" said I hotly, "dig over the whole garden to a depth of seven
feet? I'll see the old skinflint"--
"Don't swear," said Jack, though I had not sworn; "but keep cool and
help me to think this matter out. Now look here: he said, 'Dig at seven
feet in order to save yourself trouble,' or words to that effect. Now,
I can't help thinking he meant this for a tip; for if it meant that you
were to dig over the whole garden to a depth of seven feet, what trouble
would you save yourself by doing that? What the old boy meant was, find
the right spot, and _then_ dig down seven feet."
"Yes," I said, laughing mockingly and throwing the portrait on the
table, "find the right spot; that's just the _crux_! If you'll kindly
find the spot for me, I'll dig to any depth you like--sink an artesian
well, if you please; but where the dickens _is_ the spot?"
"You are angry and disinclined to speak like a sensible creature," said
Jack. "Have your dinner, and then perhaps you'll be in a fit mood to
listen to an idea which has struck me."
This rather sobered me.
"Have you really an idea?" I asked, flushing.
"Yes," said Jack, "I have; but I'm not going to tell you till you've
dined. A full man is a less dangerous being than an empty one; you
might fall upon me and rend me now, if you thought my idea absurd, as
you very likely may."
Entreaties broke like little waves upon the shingle of Jack's obstinacy.
I said I was sorry for being rude and angry; I begged to hear his last
new idea. Jack's only reply was--
"Dinner's at eight; you'd better change those digging clothes and make
yourself look like a decent Christian, if you can."
Jack was perfectly right. Dinner made a wonderful difference in the
view I took of things in general; it always does. After dinner, armed
with his pipe, sitting over an early fire in our private sitting-room,
Jack dismounted from his high horse and admitted me into his confidence.
"I daresay you won't think anything of it," he said; "but it was the
portrait of old Clutterbuck that set me dreaming."
"_What!_" I said, jumping to my feet and seizing a dessert knife, "you
don't mean to say, after all my digging, that the money's hidden in it?"
"Why, man, no! I never thought of that," said Jack. "However, open the
back carefully and see, if you like."
I did so; I ripped the back off and looked in the space between it and
the canvas upon which the odious caricature was painted. An earwig ran
out, but there was no treasure. I threw the thing back upon the table,
and the knife with it.
"Don't fret," said Jack; "that's not what I meant at all. What I did
mean is this: do you suppose that any sane man--and you cannot say that
old Clutterbuck was anything else--would any man who was not insane take
the trouble to carry a picture to the Gulf of Finland and bury it there
for his heirs to find--an odious misrepresentation of his features
too--unless there were some object to gain by so doing? In a word, what
I can't understand is how both you and I should hitherto have accepted
the ridiculous fact without suspicion."
"But we _did_ suspect," I cried. "We said at the time that the thing
was about as idiotic as it could be; but when one's right to benefit by
a will depends on the sanity of the testator, one doesn't like to air
one's opinion that he was mad, even though one may think so."
"Depend upon it, the old boy was no madder than you or I," said Jack
gravely. "I am beginning to think that he was very sane indeed, and
that he has managed the whole of this business with consummate
skill--always bearing in mind his expressed desire to make his heirs
sweat for their money. Now listen here. I have been thinking while you
did your hard labour in the garden, and I am now perfectly convinced
that the old fox did not bury his precious piece of rubbish because he
valued it or thought his heir would. Quite the contrary. He knew that
it was extremely likely that his heir--probably James Strong, as he
supposed at the time--would chuck the portrait in the fire with a curse
at the memory of the original. And why, think you, did he take the
trouble to have this picture painted and to bury it and solemnly
bequeath it to his heir if he suspected that the finder would burn it?"
"It beats me," said I. "Go on."
"Because he knew that the portrait was indispensable, or nearly so, to
the finding of the treasure," said Jack mysteriously. "See here. He
hates Strong and the rest, and knows they hate him. Therefore he makes
his portrait indispensable in the hope that they will destroy it, and
with it their chance of finding his money."
"Very well," said I, "let us admit all that; but how _can_ the portrait
be indispensable to, or have any connection with, the finding of the
hidden treasure?"
"That's what we have to learn," said Jack; "but I have evolved a theory
on that point also."