While the campers and Cotterell and his guests had been making prisoners of the four men on the beach, the steward Sampson and the two others who had separated from the main party had embarked in a motor-boat that was moored in the creek and made their way out to the fishing-smack. To the surprise of the skipper, who was the only man aboard, two men in fantastic knee-breeches had swung themselves over one side of his boat while he was idly surveying the northern point of the island from the other side. He turned to find himself looking at the muzzle of the most remarkable pistol he had ever seen. Being unarmed himself, he had immediately put up his hands. Whereupon the two men had smiled, and the one with the pistol, lowering that ancient weapon, had said, “That’s a good fellow. Is there anyone else aboard?”
“No,” said the skipper, not wanting to have the smack searched.
“Take a look through his clothes for a weapon,” the man with the pistol said to his companion.
No weapon was found. The man in the motor-boat came aboard, and two of the men went into the smack’s cabin, while the third guarded the skipper.
When the two returned from the cabin some time later, one of them went to the rail and shouted and waved his handkerchief toward shore. And presently Cotterell and Tom, David and Ben rowed out in the smack’s boat.
In the cabin were the hats and cloaks and the other things that Tom and Lanky had seen in the shack at the cove. Sampson set out at once in the motor-boat for Barmouth, and before the sun had touched the tops of the trees the four men on the beach and the skipper were in custody of the police, charged with having stolen certain valuables from the Gables.
“Well,” said Cotterell, when he and his guests were again on the island, “my treasure is still secure from the rebels, thanks to you,” and he bowed to the campers.
“Oh, is your famous dinner-set really in that chest?” asked Miss Penelope Boothby. She went to the chest and looked at its contents. “Why, it’s only clothes and bric-a-brac! There’s no silverware there.”
“No,” said Cotterell, smiling. “That is not my silver plate. I keep it better hid than that.”
“Oh, do let us dine off it to-night,” begged Miss Boothby. “I should dearly love to see it.”
Cotterell looked perplexed. “Why, I should like you to,” he answered. Then he glanced at the sun. “But the party waits. And it was my intention to dance a minuet on the lawn before my house while it was daylight. Come, friends, come along with me.”
They went back through the woods. The boys and Tuckerman branched off by the path to their camp, promising to come to Cotterell Hall in time to join the party. And, once out of hearing of the others, David turned to Ben. “You’re a cute fellow, Benjie. How’d you ever guess that the men from the smack would go after that chest?”
“I don’t mind telling you now,” said Ben with a grin. “I was pretty sure that those men were snooping around the house, looking for clues to the treasure, and so I put a copy of that message on the parchment out on the lid of the desk, where they couldn’t very well fail to see it. Then I went down on the beach by the cliff when the smack was fairly near shore, and tried to give them the notion that I was looking for something. Well, they bit all right. They thought the treasure was hidden there, just as I thought myself when I first saw Sampson’s message.”
“I’ll hand it to you, sonny,” said Tom. “You turned the trick! And that’s the crowd that stole the jewels from the Gables, just as I thought.”
“They stole some of Mr. Fitzhugh’s costumes,” said Ben. “It seems to me that the fact that we found those costumes in the cabin shows what they’ve been doing.”
They sat on the bank a few minutes, talking over the adventure. Then Tuckerman stood up. “Well, we’re due at Cotterell Hall. Wash your hands and brush your hair, so you’ll look your smartest.”
“Do you suppose we’ll have to dance?” asked David, as he ran a comb through his thatch of hair.
“I think that one of the ladies has her eye on you,” said Tuckerman, laughing. “However, if you’ve got a game leg, I’ll be glad to take your place.”
As they reached the house Peter Cotterell came out at the door. Behind him were Miss Boothby and Sampson. “My wardrobe is still upstairs,” the buff-coated man said genially. “Make what use of it you please.”
This time the campers found costumes quickly. Even Ben, who kept looking at the row of pegs from which he had taken down the yellow satin coat, got into that coat and a pair of breeches. There was the sound of a violin in front of the house, and as they came down the steps they found the whole party taking places for a dance.
“I’m afraid we don’t know the minuet,” said Tuckerman, hesitating.
“Oh, it’s easy enough,” said the host. “I’ll call off the figures.”
Ben gave Tom a nudge, and pointed out two men who stood at a little distance with a big camera. “Sir Peter’s up to date,” he whispered. “I guess it’s the first time anyone ever took moving-pictures on Cotterell’s Island.”
Meantime Miss Boothby had gone up to David and boldly proclaimed that he was to dance with her. The suit that David had put on in the attic happened to be green, and when she reminded him that that was the color she had asked him to wear he turned beet red and stammered something about “trying to please a lady.”
“My wardrobe is still upstairs. Make what use of it you please.”
“My wardrobe is still upstairs. Make what use of it you please.”
“We will stand near Mr. Cotterell, and I will show you all the steps,” she said. “I could tell you were very light on your feet the very first time I saw you.”
“Well, I can pick them up pretty well in a clog or a shuffle,” admitted David.
“I knew it! I knew it!” exclaimed the delighted Miss Boothby; and pouncing on David’s hand she led him to where Peter Cotterell was assigning places to the dancers.
Tom and Ben and Tuckerman all had partners. The violin began to play, and Cotterell led off the dance. The host was very graceful and so was the lady he danced with, and they posed and bowed and courtsied constantly as they went through the stately measures of the minuet. The others copied their leaders, and after a few minutes’ practice contrived to do it well. Meantime the camera clicked, taking reels of pictures of the old-fashioned dance.
There was a final bow and courtesy, a final posing in position. Then Cotterell raised his hand. “That was beautifully done, my friends,” he said. “Surely my island home has never witnessed a more graceful scene. I trust you have all gained an excellent appetite for dinner.”
“What a gorgeous sunset!” exclaimed Miss Boothby, looking toward the water.
They all moved down in the direction of the pier. As they came in view of the broad and many-colored bay they saw a sailboat heading for the landing. Cotterell stopped and again raised his hand. “Can it be that the people of Barmouth are coming out here again?” he demanded indignantly. “I’ll have nothing to do with them, and they know it! I will not give them my plate!”
The sailboat came on. Cotterell, followed by the others, walked out on the pier.
“What do you want?” called out the buff-coated man. “This is Cotterell’s Island.”
“We know it is,” answered a man in the boat. “Who are you? You look like Sir Peter.”
“I don’t want any rebels from Barmouth landing here,” came the reply.
“There aren’t any rebels nowadays. We won the Revolution.”
“You shan’t have my silver plate.”
There were laughs from those in the boat. “We don’t want it. We’ve brought paper plates of our own.”
“Well,” said Cotterell, “this is most extraordinary!” He turned to his guests. “Shall I let them land?”
“We’ve got an ice cream freezer aboard,” called a girl in the boat. “Fresh strawberry ice cream.”
“Yes,” said Miss Boothby, at Cotterell’s elbow, “we’ll let them land with that cargo.”
The sailboat touched the landing-stage, and two men, two women and two girls got out. “Hello, Benjie,” cried Milly Hallett, waving her hand to the dark-haired boy. “What grand company you’ve got!”
The arrivals were Mr. and Mrs. Hallett and Mr. and Mrs. Hooper and Milly and Sarah. They went up on the pier, where Tom introduced them to Peter Cotterell.
Mr. Hallett looked at the company. “I’d no idea, sir,” he said, addressing Cotterell, “that your island was entertaining so many guests to-day. I wish I’d brought a dozen gallons of strawberry ice cream.”
“You are welcome anyhow, Mr. Hallett,” answered Cotterell graciously. “I think perhaps I can supply any deficiency.” He turned to his steward. “Sampson, will you bring Mr. Hallett’s ice cream freezer up to the Hall?”
“Oh, no, Sir Peter,” protested Mr. Hallett. “We were going to have a simple picnic supper outdoors.”
The buff-coated gentleman bowed. “Your pardon, sir; but I am the overlord here. Those whom I allow to land on my island are my guests during their stay. You must dine at my board.”
Peter Cotterell offered his arm to Mrs. Hallett, and led the way up to the house. Sampson and Tom brought up the rear, carrying the ice cream freezer.
They all went into the large front room. “Dinner in half-an-hour,” announced the host.
“That reminds me,” said Miss Boothby; “since we’re all friends here, aren’t you going to offer us dinner from your silver plate?”
“Really, Penelope,” expostulated Cotterell, “you repeat yourself. That’s the second time this afternoon you’ve mentioned the same idea.”
“It seems only hospitable,” pouted Miss Boothby.
Cotterell looked at the floor. “Well, you see,” he began. “You see——”
The lady interrupted. “I believe you’ve forgotten where you put it!”
There was an awkward pause. Cotterell flushed, bit his lip.
“Well, if he has,” piped up Ben, “he’s only mislaid it. I think I can show him where it is.”
Everyone turned to look at the fellow who spoke with such confidence. John Tuckerman stared, and so did Tom, while David gave a low whistle and muttered, “It’s just like Benjie to do something ridiculous.”
Cotterell smiled. “I am a great hand at mislaying things—it’s my besetting sin. Now I would be very much obliged if you would show me where I did put that silverware.”
“How funny,” said Miss Boothby, “that a total stranger should know. I understand that he came here for the first time this afternoon.”
“What joke is he going to play on them?” Tuckerman whispered to Tom. “I can’t imagine what he’s got in mind.”
“He’s putting up a good bluff,” Tom whispered back. “He looks very much in earnest.”
And Ben did look as if his statement had been perfectly reasonable. He nodded at Cotterell. “You may be a great hand at mislaying things—I don’t know much about that; but I do know that you’re a wonder at hiding them.”
“That’s so, I am,” agreed the buff-coated man with a pleased chuckle. “I can hide things so well that very often I don’t know where to look for them myself.”
“Well,” said Miss Boothby, “where is the silver? It’s almost time for dinner.”
Ben bowed, imitating the courtly manner of Cotterell. “Ladies and gentlemen,” said he, “if you will be so good as to fall into line behind me, I will endeavor to answer Miss Boothby’s question.”
Like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, Ben, in his yellow satin coat and knee-breeches, went into the hall and up the stairs, followed by Cotterell, Penelope Boothby, Milly and Sarah, Tuckerman, Tom and David, and a line of men and women.
He led them into the attic. When they were all in the big room he pointed to the wall along which ran the row of pegs from one of which he had taken the coat.
“Now,” he said, “please tell me what you see.”
“A wall,” answered Milly promptly, “with some pegs to hang things on.”
“Miss Hallett is certainly right,” said Tuckerman. “There may be some cobwebs, too, up under the ceiling. Do you mean the cobwebs, Ben?”
“There are lots of more interesting things here,” said Sarah, looking around. “There’s that lovely green lacquered temple.”
“Don’t joke with the magician, Sally,” David admonished her. “He wants you to look at those pegs.”
“No, that particular wall is the most interesting thing in this attic,” Ben declared stoutly. “I think it’s the most interesting thing in the house.”
They all looked where he pointed, but none of them caught what he was driving at.
“Why, Professor Tuckerman,” said Ben, “I thought you were a better observer.”
“Well, I don’t see anything but the pegs and some rather dingy wallpaper,” Tuckerman confessed.
“Ah, now you’re talking! You do see the wallpaper, do you?” Ben continued.
“Of course,” said Tuckerman. “It’s the pictured kind, like that in the rooms downstairs.”
“Oh, no, it’s not,” exclaimed Ben. “There’s not another piece like that in Cotterell Hall.”
“Is that so?” said Tuckerman. “Well, it represents some sort of outdoor scene.”
“I think those are meant to be pine trees,” Cotterell put in.
“And that looks like a sunset,” Miss Boothby contributed. “Though some of the red has rubbed off.”
Ben bobbed his head. “And those yellowish things are rocks.” He stepped up to the wallpaper and pointed with his finger. “Three pines that stand between two rocks where the sun goes down.” He turned. “Does that convey anything to you, Professor?”
“By Jove! You’re right! So it does!” Tuckerman exclaimed. “That was the old saying! The hiding-place is just beyond the three pines that stand between two rocks where the sun goes down.”
“Exactly!” said Ben, in a quiet tone of triumph. He rapped on the wall with his knuckles. “It’s wood. Mr. Cotterell, have you any objection to our taking this part of the wall down?”
“None in the least,” answered Cotterell. “Sampson, will you be so good as to get some chisels and hammers? I think you’ll find them in the little room to the right of the kitchen.”
While Sampson went on his errand Ben and Tom and Tuckerman fingered that part of the wall that was bounded by the picture. They found the edges of two boards, running from floor to ceiling, and when they had peeled off the paper that concealed these edges they discovered there was a panel.
Sampson returned with a couple of chisels and hammers. Wedging the chisels in between the boards and giving a couple of light blows, he pried the panel loose. Ben pulled it away. Behind it, under the eaves of the house, was a compartment. And in the compartment was a big square box.
Ben and Tom and Tuckerman pulled the box out into the attic. It was fastened with a single lock. Hammer and chisel soon knocked the lock off. Tuckerman raised the lid. “Yes, it’s the Cotterell silver plate!” he cried. “By Jove, we’ve found it now!”
They handed the plate around, magnificent old silverware that was worth a small fortune. And they were still admiring it when a dinner gong sounded downstairs.
When none of his guests could eat any more of the delicious ice cream that topped off a wonderful dinner, the buff-coated gentleman rose from his chair at the head of the table. They had dined from the famous Cotterell silver service, and the candles that now illuminated the shining mahogany table were fastened in exquisite candlesticks that had been in the treasure chest.
The buff-coated gentleman raised a glass that stood beside his plate. “My friends,” he said, “our guests from Barmouth tell us that the Revolution is over; so there would be no object in keeping the Cotterell treasure hidden any longer. But it was well hidden. So well hidden indeed that it required a genius like Benjamin Sully to find out where it was. I propose a toast to that master detective, Benjamin Sully.”
All, except Ben, lifted their glasses and drank, nodding at the dark-haired boy.
Then Ben stood up. “I propose a toast to Sir Peter,” he said, “who surely does know how to give people a good time.”
That toast was drunk also. Then Tuckerman got to his feet. “Sir Peter, I am proud of you,” he said. “I don’t believe a more delightful party was ever given in Cotterell Hall.”
The man at the head of the table smiled. “I’m glad to hear you say that, John Tuckerman,” he responded. “For, in a way, I felt that to-night I’d been usurping a place that was rightfully yours. For, of course, this is your house, and this is your silver plate.”
“Then who are you?” piped up Sarah Hooper from the foot of the table.
“I think he’s Roderick Fitzhugh,” said Tom, who sat beside Sarah.
“I think he’s Mr. Joseph Hastings,” volunteered Ben.
The buff-coated gentleman nodded, “You are both right. Joseph Hastings, Roderick Fitzhugh, and Peter Cotterell. I’m quite a versatile fellow. I’ve a passion for acting, to tell the truth.”
“I thought you were Joseph Hastings,” said Ben, “when I met you at the Gables.”
“Yes, that’s my right name. But Roderick Fitzhugh sounded so much more romantic. And I’d invited a houseful of guests to help me act a play I’d written for the moving-pictures. We all took the names we were to have in the play.” He pointed to Penelope Boothby. “She was the fair Maid Rosalind. And my steward Sampson yonder was Sir Marmaduke Midchester. And we liked our costumes so much that we wore them most of the time. That’s how I happened to be in Lincoln green when Master Ben drove up.”
“And it was the snuff-box you bought in Barmouth that I found in the chest in the cliff,” asserted Ben. “How did it happen to come there?”
Joseph Hastings pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his legs. “That’s quite a long story. But I suppose you’d like to hear it. I have a friend who knows John Tuckerman very well, and he wrote me that Tuckerman had come here to take possession of this island and its house. That sounded very interesting. So I came over here in my motor-boat with Martin Locke—that’s Sir Marmaduke, alias Sampson, and Miss Adelaide Lawson—that’s Penelope Boothby—it was a day or two before you campers arrived—and we found we could open one of the drawing-room windows and get into the house that way. Then we discovered the note stuck in the picture frame, and so we learned there was a secret about a family treasure.”
“And you left the window open a little when you went out,” put in Tom. “That’s how it happened that Ben’s candle blew out.”
“Did we?” said Hastings. “I didn’t know we did that. But we found some wax and took an impression of the key-hole in the front door, and I had a key made to fit it in Barmouth. I thought we’d have some fun with John Tuckerman and his friends.”
“You did, all right,” said Tuckerman. “I’ll forgive you for making that key. I suppose that’s what those men from the fishing-smack did when they broke in here.”
“I’m sorry if I set a bad example,” Hastings answered. “But they didn’t learn the trick from us. Well, a day or two later we three came back again.”
“You landed from the creek?” Ben asked.
“Yes; we didn’t want you to see us, and the creek was on the other side of the island from your camp.”
“And one of you took off his shoes before he landed?” Ben questioned again.
“Yes, Martin did. He carried Miss Lawson ashore.” Hastings laughed. “You saw his footprints, didn’t you? We thought you might find them, so we came back later and rubbed them out.”
“Gigantic footprints,” murmured David.
They all laughed, while Martin Locke blushed red.
“Yes, they are pretty big,” Hastings continued. “Well, when we came that time we found the notebooks in the drawing-room. Miss Lawson glanced through them, and read that part about a mahogany man with long, skinny legs and the clipper ship. We got an old piece of parchment and some purplish ink and we wrote out that message and signed it James Sampson. Then we cut it in two and put one-half in the secret drawer of the secretary and the other half in the model of a ship in the attic. We wanted to find out just how clever you were. We thought you might take the desk to be the mahogany man.”
“We got the idea of that from something Sally Hooper said,” Ben put in. “And the secretary certainly has long, skinny legs and is made of mahogany. Still, we mightn’t have connected it with Sir Peter’s mahogany man, if it hadn’t been for Sally.”
“Well, if you hadn’t,” Hastings continued, “we’d have thought up some other way to have you find that message on the parchment. We were very proud of that little scheme. Martin wrote the letters with his left hand, so they’d look as if Sir Peter’s servant might have done them, and he put water into the ink, so as to give it a nice, antique, faded appearance. We wanted you to have the fun of finding some sort of a treasure, you see.”
“And didn’t you take a look around for the real treasure mentioned in the note in the picture frame?” Tuckerman asked.
“Well, we did take a squint,” Hastings acknowledged. “But we didn’t think it likely we’d find that, if none of the Cotterells had been able to do it. We thought more about having some fun with you campers.” He looked at the three boys. “And we did give you a good time, didn’t we?—particularly Ben?”
“Yes, you did,” nodded Ben. “I was pretty well excited when I found that second piece of parchment in the hold of the ship.”
“When we’d fixed up the message,” Hastings resumed, “the next thing was to provide the treasure. Of course we’d already made a note of that crevice in the cliffs with the mark like a cross. I had an old chest at the Gables, and we filled it with some old costumes I had on hand, and then one day when I was in Barmouth I picked up some odds and ends from a dealer in antiques there, a fellow by the name of Haskins.”
“And that’s where the silver snuff-box comes in,” said Ben.
“Yes, that’s where it comes in,” Hastings admitted. “Though I must say that I was surprised when you drove up to the Gables that day and wanted to know if Joseph Hastings had anything to do with that snuff-box you’d found on the island. I didn’t tell the dealer my name.”
“No, he didn’t know your name,” said Ben. “I asked him that. You see, as soon as I saw what was in the chest I had a suspicion that someone was playing a game on us. Those things weren’t the Cotterell treasure; and why should anyone take so much trouble to hide such things on the island? Then I knew there had been people here, the footprints by the creek, the handkerchief in the kitchen——”
“What’s that about a handkerchief?” interrupted Martin Locke.
“The Professor found a handkerchief on the table in the kitchen,” Ben explained. “A lady’s handkerchief, with the initials A. S. L.”
“So that’s where I left it!” exclaimed Miss Lawson. “Those are my initials—Adelaide Sanderson Lawson.”
“Yes, there was the handkerchief and there were the footprints,” Ben continued. “That showed we weren’t the only people who had been to the island. And so, when we went to Barmouth, I took the snuffbox along, and dropped in on Mr. Haskins. He knew the snuff-box at once, and told me that the man who had bought it from him, and some other things too, had come in a big red car with a silver eagle on the radiator cap, and that the car had a Massachusetts license and the man was wearing green-checked knickerbockers. He didn’t know the man’s name.”
“I guess those green checks are rather conspicuous,” murmured Hastings. “But how did you connect the purchaser with me?”
“Through the clerk at the hotel where you stopped for dinner, and the man you bought a new tire from,” Ben answered, and he told how he had found his way to the Gables.
“Pretty clever,” laughed Hastings. “But instead of finding out why I’d put those things in the chest you went hooked-rug hunting with me.”
“Well,” said Ben, “when we came back to your house I thought you must be Joseph Hastings, but I didn’t get any good opening to follow up the clue. And then there was all that excitement over the robbers. But when I saw you doing those moving-pictures I sized you up as a person who’d like to play a game of some sort on us.”
“I don’t know whether that’s a knock at me or not,” said Hastings. “But I do like to play games. And that’s why, when I learned that you’d found the chest, I thought it would be good fun to come over here as Sir Peter Cotterell, dress my guests in Revolutionary costumes, and take some moving-pictures on the island. Martin and I came over to see about it; that was the afternoon when you invited us to stay to supper and Martin sang his song.”
“It was a splendid idea,” said Tuckerman, “and you did it up brown.”
“Thank you.” Hastings bowed. “Such words from a descendant of Sir Peter are a compliment indeed. We learned that you were going over to the water sports at Camp Amoussock this morning, so we thought we’d have a clear field. We brought a flotilla of boats—they’re moored in the creek now—and a good supply of costumes, and cooks and food and the moving-picture camera. I had one of my men make up like a servant from the Barbadoes, stain his face and hands with mahogany juice; he’s the one who brought us the negus; though it isn’t really negus—it’s loganberry juice and soda-water—and I got Martin Locke to play the part of Sampson.” Hastings looked at Locke and laughed. “Though I don’t think Martin could possibly have carried that treasure chest all the way from here to the north shore.”
“You certainly do things up thoroughly,” said Mr. Hallett.
“But what made the party a real success,” said Hastings, “was what our friend Ben Sully did. First, the capture of the thieves, and second, the finding of the real Cotterell treasure. That’s a pretty fine showing for one day, Ben.”
“It was just luck I found that chest in the attic,” Ben answered. “I thought all along that the pines and the rocks mentioned in that notebook were actual outdoor pines and rocks, just as I suppose everybody’s thought who’s hunted for the treasure. I’ve been up in the attic a lot of times, and never particularly noticed the wallpaper—it’s pretty much faded and blurred, as you saw; but when I was taking this coat off one of the pegs this afternoon, I did happen to notice that there was a yellowish sun and some pines and rocks in the design on the wall. Then the idea struck me all at once. Mightn’t that be the place the words in the notebook meant? And the more I looked at that wallpaper the more I felt certain of it. I suppose Sir Peter told someone jokingly one day that the treasure was hidden beyond the three pines that stand between two rocks where the sun goes down, and that fooled the people who’ve looked for it ever since. He surely did like his joke.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about it as soon as you hit on that great idea, Benjie?” It was Tom who asked the question.
“Why, then I saw the fishing-smack, and wanted to go after the thieves.”
“But afterwards?” said Tom. “Don’t tell me you’d forgotten about it when we stopped at the camp.”
Ben looked a trifle embarrassed. “Why, the fact is,” he replied, “I thought I’d like to spring it at a dramatic moment. I had an idea that Miss Boothby would ask Sir Peter again to show us the Cotterell silver plate—she wanted to tease him about it—and when she had him up a tree would be the right time for me to speak out and tell what I’d discovered.”
“That’s one on you, Adelaide,” laughed Joseph Hastings. “Ben saw how you love to ask awkward questions. And he likes dramatic things as much as I do. He sprung it at just the right moment.”
Tuckerman stood up and walked to the door that opened into the hall. From there he looked down the length of the room, at the table gleaming with silver, at the many candles, at the gaily-clad company. “Yes,” he said, “I think this is worthy of Sir Peter. I’m glad that Cotterell Hall has held high festival once more.”
“Sir Peter was a dear,” said Miss Lawson. “I’ve liked him ever since I saw that picture of him in the drawing-room. And it’s a wonderful house, Mr. Tuckerman. What are you going to do with it? Are you going to live here?”
“I can’t very well,” Tuckerman answered, with a shake of his head. “My home’s in the middle West. I’m not like my Uncle Christopher and his ancestors; I can’t live on an island in solitary grandeur. I’m too fond of people.”
“Why don’t you turn it into a show-place?” suggested Milly Hallett. “That’s getting to be quite the fashionable thing to do with colonial houses.”
“We’ve talked about that,” said Tuckerman. His eyes roved over the fine room; and after a minute he shook his head. “Cotterell Hall a museum? No, I couldn’t do that. But I’ll tell you what I would like to do. I’d like to come here every summer, and have Tom and Ben and David camp out with me, and have Joseph Hastings bring his house-parties over here and spend a week as my guests.”
There were cheers from all the company, the rafters rang with the noise as each and every one shouted his or her acceptance. Hastings jumped to his feet.
“In the name of us all I accept your invitation. We will come, and dance in your drawing-room and dine from your table, as they did in Sir Peter’s day. And now, friends and fellow-citizens, I propose three cheers—three long and rousing cheers—for John Tuckerman!”
The cheers were given—long and rousing enough to suit even Joseph Hastings.
Then the buff-coated man waved his hand. “As your host for the evening, I invite you to go to the drawing-room and dance something a little more modern than the minuet. Miss Sarah Hooper, will you do me the honor?”
Sarah and Mr. Hastings led the way across the hall to the front room, where the rugs had been removed from the polished floor. The music was a piano and violin. And everybody danced, even David, who contrived to jig about not too awkwardly with Milly Hallett.
Then there were songs. Martin Locke sang the ballad he had written, and Tuckerman sang, and Miss Lawson sang several times. Presently Hastings glanced at the clock. “I don’t like to mention it,” said he, “but it’s almost midnight. To the boats, to the boats, and away!”
They all trooped out to the creek, where the flotilla was moored. Ladies in silks and satins and beruffled gentlemen embarked. With cheers from the shore, Joseph Hastings’ fleet steered down the inlet and turned south.
Then the sailboat from Barmouth, with the Halletts and Hoopers, flitted away from the landing-stage on the other side of the island. The boys and Tuckerman went along the shore to their camp.
“Great doings!” said Tom. “But how are we ever going to keep Benjie busy now that the treasure is found?”
“Don’t you worry about me,” Ben retorted. “I’ve got plenty to do. The sea is still full of fish.”
“He’s after a mahogany fish with long, skinny legs,” said David.
“What I want to know,” said Ben, “is whether there ever was a real mahogany man.”
“I think there was,” said Tuckerman. “But he sailed away in the clipper ship. He probably went to the Barbadoes.”
Tom gave a great yawn. “Well,” he said, “Ben can sit up and talk about him as long as he likes; but for me—I’m going to bed. It’s been what I’d call a full day.”
Tuckerman pulled himself up on to the rock where Tom and David and Ben were sitting in the sun. The quiet of early morning was on the water; a few terns were fishing for their breakfast; there was the distant chug-chug of a lobsterman’s motor-boat somewhere to the south; but otherwise the campers had the shore and the bay to themselves. Tuckerman sat down, sticking his long legs out in front of him. “I may not be a duck,” he said, “but I’m certainly getting web-feet. I feel almost as much at home in the water as on dry land.”
“You’re a good swimmer,” said Tom. “In fact, you’re an all-around sport. I don’t believe any of the Cotterells knew a quarter as much about the water as you do.”
“I can’t picture Sir Peter sunning himself on this rock after a morning swim,” said David.
“Customs change with the times.” Tuckerman slapped his wet knees. “But I can tell you I’m glad I came on East this summer and learned to be a real man.”
“So am I,” said Ben. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. Of course you were a real man before. What I mean is that the camp on your island has been a great success. It’s taught me a lot.”
“Benjie, are you really going to be a professional detective?” David inquired. “Seems to me I heard someone say that you were thinking of it.”
“One mistake I made at first,” Ben remarked solemnly, “was in thinking that the men who put that chest in the rocks and those that Tom saw leaving the island in the sailboat were the same people. I thought there was only one set of men prowling around here, when there were really two.”
Tuckerman smiled. “I don’t wonder you got them mixed. Well, I’m glad Joseph Hastings’ guests got their jewels back from those thieves.”
“You see,” Ben continued, following his own line of thought, “the thieves came out here on the night when Tom saw them in a sailboat, and not in the fishing-smack. And I think it must have been that same sailboat we saw close to the island the night when we returned from Camp Amoussock in theArgo.” He pried loose a sliver of rock and threw it into the water. “Naturally, I didn’t connect that sailboat with the fishing-smack.”
“You’re forgiven,” said Tom. “Don’t let that weigh on your conscience.”
“I’m not sure,” suggested David, “but that we ought to call Benjie the Professor and call Mr. Tuckerman, John. Benjie’s getting to be a real professor. Just listen to the way he talks.”
“Ever since he found the treasure——” began Tom.
“Oh, let up on a fellow, can’t you?” Ben interrupted. “I haven’t mentioned the treasure to-day.”
David gave a chuckle. “You haven’t been out of bed an hour yet. And that puts me in mind of something important. Breakfast is waiting on the beach.”
Four splashes of water as the campers dove from the rock. Tuckerman could manage a very passable dive now. A swim across to the beach, a rub-down, a quick donning of clothes, and then preparations for breakfast. “I’ve never known coffee to taste so good as it does on Cotterell’s Island,” said Tuckerman, draining his cup.
Tom looked up at the man with the horn-rimmed spectacles. “Have you ever known anything to taste so good as it does on Cotterell’s Island?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“No, now I come to think of it, I don’t believe I ever have. It’s a wonderful place.”
“Wonderful cooking, you mean,” put in David.
“Wonderful fish,” said Ben.
“Just listen to them,” expostulated Tom. “Each taking the credit to himself. When the fact of the matter is that it’s all due to me. You’d never have come out here, Professor, would you, if I hadn’t agreed to come along?”
“Picture me alone here!” said Tuckerman. “No, I didn’t believe I should. Alone on a deserted island. It sounds all right in stories; but for practical purposes give me three companions. Boys, when I go back to my middle-western city I’ll think a great deal about this summer on the coast.”
“It is pretty good here,” David admitted, looking across the water to where a white sail was peeping around a point of land. “And in winter there’s fine skating.”
“And wonderful coasting,” said Ben. “There’s a hill back of Barmouth where you can coast for a mile.”
“And skiing,” Tom added. “You ought to be good at that, Professor, you’ve got such long legs.”
Tuckerman put his hands to his ears. “Hold on, hold on!” he exclaimed. “You overwhelm me. Do you want to make me desert my home and business, and do nothing but play?”
The three boys laughed. “We don’t play all the time by any means,” said Ben.
“Not a bit of it,” said David. “Sometimes we wash the dishes.” And taking Ben by the collar of his flannel shirt he lifted him to his feet. “Benjie’ll show you how we do it.”
When they had cleaned the dishes they walked over to Cotterell Hall. Tuckerman opened the front door, which was unlocked. “While I was so very particular about the key,” he chuckled, “both Joseph Hastings and the crew of the fishing-smack were coming in whenever they wanted. They made their own keys to fit the locks. Well, I ought to have been more hospitable.”
A week had passed since the famous party, and in that week the police of Barmouth had found the jewels that were stolen from the Gables, and also duplicate keys to the front and back doors of Cotterell Hall, hidden in the cabin of the fishing-smack. On the strength of that, and of the testimony of Tom and David and Lanky Larry as to what they had seen on the afternoon when they were at the cove, Sam and the other men had been held in jail for the next term of court.
“There’s one thing,” said Ben, as the four went into the big room on the left of the hall, “that still puzzles me a bit. Why did Christopher Cotterell write those lines in his notebook? ‘Find the mahogany-hued man with the long, skinny legs and look in his breast pocket. That’s a saying my father handed down. What can it mean?’” Ben looked at the others. “What do you suppose the mahogany man did have in his pocket?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Tuckerman. “He certainly didn’t have Sir Peter’s silver plate. That may be one of those legends, Ben, that get changed from their original meaning as they are handed down from one to another.”
“I suppose that may be it,” agreed Ben, though he did not look altogether satisfied.
“Every colonial house,” Tuckerman continued, “ought to have some legend to make it interesting. The mahogany man can be the legend of Cotterell Hall.”
Tuckerman looked at the portrait of his ancestor. “We’ve found what you meant by the place of the three pines and the two rocks where the sun goes down,” he said; “but we haven’t found what it was that the mahogany man had in his breast pocket. So you’ve still provided a conundrum for Ben to puzzle over. Sir Peter, I don’t believe you’d have any objection to our having found the plate. I think that to-day you’d be as good an American as any of the rest of us.”
“Of course he would,” said Tom, “I can understand how he’d have objected to his neighbors telling him to hand over his silver to them. I’d have objected myself.”
Tuckerman turned to the three boys. “You approve of Sir Peter, don’t you?” he asked. “Even if he was a Tory?”
“I do,” said Ben promptly.
“I do,” said Tom.
“I think he was a corker, Professor,” said David. “I wish he’d been in my family.”
“And that’s the opinion of three boys of good old Barmouth families,” said Tuckerman with a pleased smile. “Well, boys, you’re to feel free to camp on Sir Peter’s island and use his house any time you want.”
“Now,” said Tom, “the next thing is to get the Professor to sail us around to the north shore, so we can get Mr. Hastings’ chest and bring it back to the house. We don’t want to leave any tempting bait for other prowlers to find.”
They went aboard theArgo, and Tuckerman took the helm. He was now a proficient skipper, and he gloried in it, as he gloried in all the new accomplishments he had acquired in the past month.
The chest was brought to Cotterell Hall, and again theArgoset sail. This time the three boys fished, while Tuckerman handled the boat. Flounders were biting in plenty, and soon they had enough for dinner. Ben pulled in his line. “We’d better leave some for another day,” he suggested.
“The wind’s just right for a southerly run,” said Tom.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” said Tuckerman, and brought the bow about.
South they sailed, past the flag at Camp Amoussock, past the cove with the shacks on each side, past Joseph Hastings’ private dock, almost down to Gosport before Tuckerman came about.
North to the island and dinner. And as they sat on the bank afterwards and Tuckerman smoked his pipe, he said, “Well, to-morrow I must start back to the city. But I tell you, I’ve learned more since I’ve camped out in Barmouth Harbor than I ever learned in college.”
“If you stayed here much longer,” said David, “you’d be almost as learned as Benjie.”
“I don’t know about that,” Tuckerman answered. “I’m not as keen-witted as he is. I’m more lazy, like you, Dave.”
David grinned. “Well, it takes something really important to make me move around. I wouldn’t go trailing a snuff-box all over the country.”
“It takes Lanky Larry’s pitching,” said Tom. “Dave has to get mad before he does his best work.”
“I wasn’t mad. I was cool as a cucumber,” David responded. “I have a nice friendly nature.”
“If it hadn’t been for my following the snuffbox,” Ben spoke up, “Joseph Hastings wouldn’t have come out here and given his party; and if he hadn’t given his party and told us to get our costumes up in the attic, I wouldn’t have noticed that wallpaper; and if I hadn’t noticed the wallpaper we’d never have found the treasure. Q. E. D.”
“There!” exclaimed David, “Ben’s off again! No, Professor, I was wrong; you couldn’t possibly be as learned as he is; nobody could.”
“I’ve half a mind to duck you for that,” said Ben.
“Come on!” retorted David, pretending to roll up his sleeves.
“Only it’s too soon after dinner,” answered the dark-haired boy. “I’ll overlook it this once; but don’t you do it again.”