THE “WICKED UNCLE” FOUND AT LAST
Black Bill and his accomplice had set out across the field in a
direction which Hugh felt sure would bring them out on to the high
road. It was, therefore, with all speed that the Cubs scrambled back
along the little path, over gates, and through gaps, until they found
themselves once again near the gipsy camp. Fetching the bicycle from
their hiding-place in the old cistern, they wheeled it quietly across
the grass on to the road. After lighting the lamps Hugh mounted, waited
for David to be firmly settled on the carrier of the bike, and then
began to fairly hog it down the road. Fortunately for him the way lay
almost entirely down hill.
The Cubs must have gone nearly a mile when they noticed two black
figures walking in the middle of the road, just ahead. Hugh jammed on
his brakes and rang his bell loudly. The figures jumped out of the way,
and as the bicycle flashed past them, the golden circle from its lamp
lit them up. Unmistakably it was Black Bill and the stranger.
“That’s good,” panted Hugh over his shoulder; “there’s still four miles
for them to walk to the cross-roads. I don’t suppose they’re walking
more than four miles an hour, and we must be going about fourteen. We
shall get there long before they do.”
And sure enough the church clock was striking twelve as the Cubs
flashed through the little sleeping village and passed the cross-roads.
“I’m jolly glad there’s two of us,” said David. “I wouldn’t like to be
on this job alone. It’s so beastly dark, and I hate all these plotting
people. I wish I was at home in bed.”
“Don’t give in to yourself,” said Hugh. “Let’s stick it out. Once we’ve
found the Tramp we shall be all right.”
They turned up the little lane that led to the farm. At the gate they
got off the bike and propped it up against the fence. Then they crept
across the yard to the barn where the tramp slept.
Hugh was carrying the bicycle lamp. Standing just inside the barn, he
flashed it round to find the Mysterious Tramp. Yes, there he was, lying
on a pile of straw.
Creeping up to him, David shook him gently.
“Hullo,” said the Tramp, opening his eyes, and then sitting up. “Who is
it?”
“Us,” whispered David; “two of the Cubs.” Hugh put down the bicycle
lamp, and the two boys squatted in its circle of yellow light.
“What on earth brings you two kiddies here?” said the Tramp.
It was very comforting to hear his cheery voice. The Cubs each got hold
of one of his hands.
“Oh, sir,” said Hugh, “we are in the middle of such an awful
adventure.”
“And you want to drag me into it?” said the Tramp.
“Yes,” said David, “but it won’t be long before they meet at the
cross-roads. We want to tell you all the story, and then you will know
what to do.”
“Fire ahead then,” said the Tramp.
David quickly told all they had done, seen, and heard.
As he reached the part about the conspiracy in the cowhouse, the Tramp
started.
“What,” he said, with sudden feverish interest, “a gang of what?”
“Forgers,” said David, dwelling with an enjoyable thrill of horror on
the word.
“And they want to re-form the gang,” said Hugh, “and make Mr. Ogden one
of the partners--the one who provides the money.”
“And they say if he doesn’t promise all they want they will tell
everybody all about the past, when (as they say) he was the boss of
their gang, and made off to America with all the swag. And they say he
wasn’t called Ogden in those days--his name was Crale.”
“What!” said the Tramp, with a sudden, hard, fierce note in his voice
that startled the Cubs, and made them peer through the dim light to try
and see his face. “What!” he repeated.
“Crale!” said David.
He little knew what that name called up in the mind of the Mysterious
Tramp--sad scenes of eight years ago. In the darkness he seemed to see
a long white road, winding between green woods, and on the road he
himself, a gay young artist, with a little fair-haired girl holding on
to his hand, and jumping about for very joy of being alive, and then a
dark, sinister-looking house, with Mr. Crale standing at the gate. “The
wicked uncle looks very cross this morning, daddy,” would say Mariette;
“poor wicked uncle, perhaps he wishes he had a little girl. He must be
awful lonely.”
And then another scene. The sneering face of Crale, as handcuffs are
clipped on to the wrists of the young artist, and he (an innocent
man) is arrested as a forger. And then his face again, in the court,
giving evidence, and showing the false letters, supposed to be from the
artist, making over his little girl to one of the members of his gang.
But David was continuing his story, and the Tramp was obliged to turn
his mind from the sad past to the strange present.
“We were hunting for Danny,” continued David, “and we heard this plot
by accident. We don’t much care what happens, as long as we find Danny.
We thought we’d better follow up and hear what Black Bill says to
grandfather, because it might give us a clue.”
“Yes,” said the Tramp eagerly. “Yes, we will go to the wood at once and
try and hear what passes.”
Danny’s fate was far from the Tramp’s mind. Here at last he was getting
close to that which had occupied all his thoughts for nearly eight
years. Here was a chance of learning the whereabouts of his little
Mariette and--of revenge.
Extinguishing the lamp the two Cubs and their friend crept down the
little lane towards the wood. They did not step out into the open, at
the cross-roads, but crawled through a gap into the wood, and made
their way silently along a narrow mossy path. The clouds had dispersed,
and now the moon shone brightly.
Crouching in the black shadow of a holly bush, the three “detectives”
took up their position where they could see the white roads, and the
signpost in the moonlight, and also command the wide, fern-fringed path
leading down the wood, from the little gate.
They had not been waiting long before two black figures appeared,
swinging along the Bradmead road. Reading the signpost, they halted
and looked around. Then it was that the tall spare figure of Mr. Ogden
stepped forward from the gloom and advanced towards Black Bill.
“It’s our old friend Crale right enough,” said Black Bill, turning to
his companion, “but his beard forms a good disguise. Thought he’d pass
for a blooming gent, and a high and mighty squire, he did. Here’s your
old mate, Bingey,” he said, turning to Mr. Ogden.
The squire grunted. “Come into the wood,” he growled sullenly, “and
then get on with what you’ve got to say.”
Moving with the extreme caution Danny had taught them, the Cubs crawled
towards the spot where the three men had gone, followed by the Tramp,
until they were close enough to hear every word that passed.
“Well,” began Black Bill, “this here is our proposition to you, Mr.
Crale.” He began to unfold a long plan that it was difficult for the
Cubs to understand. When he had explained everything he made his threat
of exposing Mr. Ogden’s shameful past, unless he would agree to fall in
with their scheme.
The Tramp was breathing hard; thoughts raced through his brain. Here he
was, close at last to his old enemy, and he would have his revenge at
last.
“Make your choice,” said Black Bill in a threatening voice. “Sign this
paper, and write me a cheque for £1,000, or go back to your swell house
and wait for the police to come along to-morrow.”
The squire stretched out his hand and took the paper. He fumbled in his
waistcoat pocket for a fountain pen. Smoothing the paper out on his
knee, he bent over it, trying to read it in the moonlight.
“What’s this sentence?” he said, peering closer. “How can I sign what
I can’t even read?” He ran his finger along a line. Black Bill came
near, and bent over the paper to see what it was the squire could
not understand. He was altogether off his guard and in a defenceless
position. Like a steel spring Mr. Ogden’s hands shot out, catching
him by the throat, and forcing him down on to the ground. At the same
moment another figure sprang up from behind a log and grappled with
Bingey.
A cry of horror broke from the Cubs and a muffled exclamation from the
Tramp. So his revenge was not to be so easy after all. Ogden might
yet escape. But even as he looked, he saw the tide turn. The squire,
for all his wiry strength and all his knowledge of jujitsu, was a poor
match for Black Bill’s powerful muscles. Besides, he was well over
fifty, and Black Bill was some years younger. The Tramp breathed hard.
He was seeing a terrible revenge upon his enemy.
Then, like a golden flash, a memory came into his mind--his
conversation with Danny last autumn: “God won’t answer your prayers
till you forgive your enemies,” Danny had said. Revenge was a terrible
sin--the Tramp knew that. And then, in those breathless moments he knew
that his time for deciding had come. For God’s sake he would forgive
his enemy. More, he would risk his life to save him. Springing forward
he threw himself on to the struggling men.
With a yell of rage Black Bill let go of the squire, and turning on his
new assailant aimed a blow at him with a knife. It sank deep into the
Tramp’s arm, and things would have gone badly for him had not David and
Hugh joined into the fray.
Catching hold of Black Bill’s legs, they little by little managed to
wind them up with the rope they had brought with them. Then, while the
squire and the Tramp held him down, they bound his arms also. At last
he was helpless, and the Tramp and Mr. Ogden stood up; Bingey had been
settled by Mr. Ogden’s man, and lay gagged and bound.