AN ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL THE REV. MR. WITHERS.
Four days after the meeting between Carlos and Leonard, the latter
was seated with Mr. Stark, the detective, in his office in Boston.
They were reviewing the measures that had thus far been taken, and
discussing plans for future action. Leonard still retained his disguise,
and we shall know him, for the present, as the Reverend Mr. Withers.
“There is no mistake about Haywood being the man who claimed the
yacht?” said Stark.
“No,” replied Mr. Withers. “I recognized him from my post of
observation instantly. And the man you left in charge of the boat was
positive that he took the cards from the locker, and put them in his
pocket.”
“Well, that is something. And he claimed that the yacht belonged to
some poor devil at Rocky Beach, who makes a living by letting boats?”
“Yes. He took a very compassionate interest in his affairs, saying
that, being in Boston, on a business trip, he had consented to perform
the errand.”
“All this is suggestive, but not conclusive,” said Mr. Stark. “I
have found out that Jacob Rush, No. 99 ―――― street, Jersey City, is
a wholesale dealer, in a small way, in imported goods. If there is
anything wrong about him, I have failed to discover it. However, a
watch shall be kept on his establishment, and, if he has any connection
with Haywood, or with the smugglers, we will know it.”
“Do you hope to accomplish anything speedily?”
“No; to tell the truth, I do not. It is going to take time. This ‘Boss,’
of whom Snags spoke, will, of course, keep himself in the dark, and to
discover him must be one of our main purposes.”
“With that discovery,” said Mr. Withers, “the secret of Colonel
Conrad’s murder ♦will be brought to light.”
“Undoubtedly――if we ascertain the whole truth.”
“And the meaning of the words ‘seven o’clock.’”
“Yes, if they have any meaning.”
“What shall be the first step?” inquired Mr. Withers.
“I have decided,” replied Mr. Stark, “to adopt the plan you suggested,
of getting possession of the deaf mute who is employed at Rocky Beach.
I will lay before you my manner of accomplishing it.”
The mode of operation described by Mr. Stark shall be made known by
relating how it was carried out. The two remained in consultation
for some time; and two days afterward a stranger appeared in Dalton,
registering his name in the hotel as the Reverend Mr. Withers. He
represented himself to be in pursuit of recreation and health.
He took pedestrian excursions about the surrounding country, and was
enthusiastic in his praises of the beauties of the scenery. In his
meanderings through the streets of Dalton he met Haywood a few times,
who seemed the embodiment of respectability and serenity. One of his
excursions on foot led him past Elm Grove; and, on inquiring at the
hotel concerning the ownership of that elegant residence, he was
regaled with a full account of the murder of Colonel Conrad, and the
attendant circumstances.
He gave polite attention to the story, and expressed a hope that the
murderer would be brought to justice.
Finally, one pleasant afternoon, he walked to Rocky Beach, remarking,
on starting, that the exercise of making the journey on foot would be
agreeable and beneficial to him.
On arriving at his destination, he took note of the peculiarities
of the place. There was a long stretch of sandy beach, with rocks
scattered about and rising from the water. A few yards back the rocks
rose abruptly in high crags, forming bluffs majestic and inaccessible
in appearance. He was not long in discovering the entrance to the
cavern, and, approaching it, he stood for some moments regarding the
dark opening in apparent curiosity and surprise. His movements were
deliberate, like those of one seeking novel sights and new pleasures,
and would not have betrayed, even to a close observer, the intense
interest he felt in the place.
In the door of a dilapidated cottage, situated by the side of an
immense pile of rocks, stood the deaf mute.
Mr. Withers approached him, and spoke to him. The mute indicated his
condition by signs. Mr. Withers appeared surprised and pained.
A painted board nailed to the side of the cottage set forth the terms
for boats, fishing tackle, and sailing excursions.
While Mr. Withers was explaining to the mute by signs that he desired
the use of a boat, with hook, line, and bait, a man emerged from the
cavern and sauntered toward the spot. Mr. Withers felt a thrill as he
beheld him, but calmly awaited his approach.
It was Roake.
“I am trying to make this unfortunately afflicted person understand
that I desire to try my luck at fishing,” said Mr. Withers. “I am
moved with pity as I look on him, for it is painful to witness such
deprivations of the natural faculties.”
“Yes, Dummy knows what you want,” said Roake. “He’ll fix you out in a
minute.”
“How quick of perception he seems to be,” said Mr. Withers. “Oftentimes
the absence of one faculty lends additional keenness to the others.”
“Oh, he’s smart enough around his business,” replied Roake. “He has
worked for me here these five years.”
“Is this a good day for fishing?”
“Pretty fair. I guess you won’t come in without catching some.”
Roake was the personification of indolence. A wide-brimmed straw hat
shaded his face, which had a sleepy, listless look. No one would have
dreamed, from his appearance, or from any observable surroundings, that
Rocky Beach was devoted to any other purposes than fishing and sailing.
“What is this unfortunate man’s name?” inquired Mr. Withers.
“His name is Luke Felton, but we call him ‘Dummy’ around here.”
“That would seem to me too much like mocking his infirmity,” rejoined
Mr. Withers, in a solemn tone.
Everything now being in readiness, Luke Felton motioned to Mr. Withers
to enter the boat. The mute followed, and took the oars.
They were soon some distance from the shore, and dropped anchor. The
fishing was good, and apparently afforded great excitement and delight
to the Reverend Mr. Withers.
The pleasure was prolonged until evening, when they returned to the
shore. Roake was awaiting them.
“There appears to be a natural cave in the bluff yonder,” said
Mr. Withers. “Is it open for exploration?”
“Yes,” replied Roake. “I can take you through it, if you wish.”
They entered the cavern. Mr. Withers was only too familiar with the
place. They went over the route he had twice traversed before. There
were the same tortuous passage-ways, dimly lighted by hanging lamps.
Roake said:
“We keep these lamps here in the summer and early fall, when there are
a good many visitors about. It saves the trouble of carrying torches.”
“A very good arrangement,” commented Mr. Withers.
They soon came to the termination of the cavern. A foaming cataract of
falling water greeted their vision.
The visitor regarded it silently, and was apparently lost in admiration.
“A wonderful freak of nature,” he observed. “The water, I suppose,
comes from some subterranean spring, and continues its course through
that opening below our feet. Does the supply never fail and leave the
rocks behind the cataract bare?”
“No,” was the reply. “It flows the year round.”
Roake betrayed no surprise or uneasiness at the question, and delivered
his answer in a careless tone. Why should he feel concern? Hundreds
of tourists had made the same inquiry, and received the same reply.
And nothing could have been further from his thoughts than that his
companion was the escaped captive, who knew the secret of the room
behind the splashing waterfall.
But the eyes of the Reverend Mr. Withers were busy, and his thoughts
active.
“They manage things well,” he thought. “Nothing could be more
unsuspicious in appearance than this place and everything connected
with it. They select favorable nights to run in their goods, and have
sentinels stationed, probably, to give notice of unwelcome approaches.”
After a time they returned to the open air again, and, as he stood
on the beach gazing out on the moonlit ocean, Mr. Withers expressed
a desire to take a sail. The night was lovely, there was a bracing
breeze, and the prospect, he declared, was enticing.
“Can you not loan me a sailing boat,” he asked, “with the mute――Luke
Felton I think you said was his name――to manage it?”
An affirmative reply was given, and forthwith Mr. Withers was seated in
the Fleetwing with “Dummy,” as Roake persisted in calling him.
The sail caught the wind, and the light craft darted rapidly over the
blue waters. Mr. Withers made known by expressive pantomime that he was
thrilled with pleasure, and Luke Felton guided the yacht with skillful
hands.
The land was left half a mile behind, and still Mr. Withers was not
satisfied. He indicated to his companion a circular course that would
take them first past a point that projected from the shore, and then
back to Rocky Beach by a circular course. The mute bowed assent, and
proceeded accordingly.
Now was the time for an action determined upon by Mr. Withers. After
the point was passed, he intimated a desire to try his hand at managing
the yacht. This was at first opposed smilingly by Luke Felton, but his
opposition was overruled.
And as soon as Mr. Withers obtained control of the sail and tiller, he
ran the boat directly toward the shore. He guided it skillfully into a
little cove, bordered on two sides with rocks.
Luke Felton rose to his feet in alarm, and pointed out the danger of
striking on dangerous points. But Mr. Withers smiled. His pedestrian
excursion about the environs of Dalton had not been made in vain. He
had visited the spot and taken careful note of its peculiarities.
But Luke Felton remonstrated by an impressive gesture, and carried his
objections to such a point that the Reverend Mr. Withers was obliged to
display a pistol to reduce him to quietude.
He had risen to his feet, and was uttering that peculiar nondescript
cry with which mutes give vent to alarm or surprise.
They were now within twenty feet of the shore. The water was not more
than four feet deep. Mr. Withers discerned a carriage on the shore, and
two men standing close to the water’s edge.
“All ready!” he cried.
“All ready,” was responded.
Then he suddenly gave a twist to the tiller and a pull to the rope
controlling the sail, and the yacht wheeled violently around. The
following instant Luke Felton felt himself precipitated forward by a
violent push, and in a second he was struggling in the water. But it
was not deep enough to drown him, and one of the men quickly waded out
and caught him by the collar.
Mr. Withers saw this, as his yacht glided swiftly seaward. Passing
safely out of the cove, he guided the boat in good style around the
point and into the open sea opposite Rocky Beach.
“Now, Mr. Luke Felton,” he soliloquized, “you think you are the victim
of some conspiracy, and so you are, but you are in good hands, and will
be well treated. If you have any education, well and good, but if you
have not, you will be taught enough to enable you to communicate what
you know about this nest of villains who make Rocky Beach a place for
their secret iniquities.”
He made steadily for the shore, but on arriving at a point so near
that the moonlight would enable Roake to discern the yacht, he began
to feign the most gross ignorance of its management. He allowed it to
be driven hither and thither with the sail flapping in the breeze, the
tiller at times disregarded, and was apparently in imminent danger of
being capsized.
Still he controlled it, although in a bungling manner, so that its
general course was toward the shore.
As he drew near Roake ran up and down the beach, shouting, wildly:
“What’s the matter?” he roared. “Curse that dummy! Has he lost his
wits?”
Finally the yacht came drifting with the waves, the sail hanging loose,
and grounded with a crunching sound on the gravelly bottom.
The Reverend Mr. Withers was standing in the bow, grasping the mast,
his hat gone, his hair flying in the wind, and his face expressing the
utmost terror. Luke Felton was not to be seen.
In answer to a loud demand for explanation, mingled with many oaths,
Mr. Withers replied:
“Oh, my dear sir, the most terrible catastrophe has happened! While off
the point yonder a terrific squall, or something, came up, and the boat
wheeled around in a most unaccountable way. Poor Mr. Felton was struck
by this projecting piece of timber――yard-arm, do you call it?――and
knocked into the water.”
“The blundering hound!” ejaculated Roake. “What was he about?”
“Indeed I cannot tell, sir. He seemed to be possessed of great
skill――――”
“Blast his skill! Was he drowned? Couldn’t you pick him up?”
“Do not ask me that. The boat was driven along with frightful velocity,
and the poor, unfortunate creature has, I fear, met his fate――――”
Roake interrupted the speaker with another volley of oaths, for which
he received a mild reproof.
Mr. Withers picked up his hat from the bottom of the boat and leaped
ashore, with pale face and trembling limbs.
“A most dreadful experience!” he gasped; “most dreadful!”
“Well, you needn’t take on so,” said Roake, roughly, whose wrath began
presently to subside. “It’s no great loss.”
“Sir?”
“It’s no great loss, I say. He was in his own way, and everybody else’s.
Being a kind of good-for-nothing, and unable to do anything for himself,
I dare say he’s better off where he is.”
“Poor man!” sighed Mr. Withers. “It must be nearly morning now, is it
not?”
“I should judge so,” responded Roake. “You were gone a duse of a while
with your mischief.”
“I can never forgive myself. But, as I can be of no service here, I
will walk back to Dalton. I became chilled while sitting in the boat
so long, and the exercise will arouse the circulation of my blood.
Good-night, sir.”
And the Reverend Mr. Withers started toward Dalton, uttering
exclamations of regret as long as he was within hearing distance of
Roake.
He arrived at the hotel just as the inmates of that establishment were
rising. He gave a sorrowful account of his adventure, and early in the
forenoon left Dalton by rail.
At a point agreed upon, he met two men, having in charge Luke Felton,
arrayed in a new suit of clothing, and on that evening the unfortunate
mute of Rocky Beach was placed in an asylum for the education of the
deaf and dumb.