TOM TURNS THE TABLES
TOM TURNS THE TABLES
Owing to his long watch during the greater part of the night, Pembroke slept heavily until late the next morning. Indeed, he did not waken until Jesse, alarmed that neither Dan nor he had appeared, knocked on their door. He sprang up quickly then, and began to dress hastily. Dan's bed had not been slept in, and Tom wondered how the night had gone with him.
In a few moments he was down stairs and in the breakfast-room. He found the Marquis de Boisdhyver already at table, pouring out his coffee, which Deborah had just placed before him. Mrs. Frost had not appeared.
Tom murmured an apology for being late, and delayed the black woman, who was on the point of leaving the room, by a question.
"Where is Mr. Dan?"
"Sure an, Mass' Tom, I ain't seen him dis mornin' yet. Ain't he done over-slept hisself like you?"
"No; but I dare say he is about the place somewheres. All right, Deb; bring my breakfast quickly, please."
"You will pardon me," said Monsieur de Boisdhyver, "for having begun without you?"
"Oh, certainly," said Tom; "Don't know what was the matter, but I slept unusually soundly last night; that is, after I got to sleep, for the storm kept me awake for hours."
"Et moi aussi," said the Marquis. "What wind! I am but thankful it has exhausted itself at last. And Monsieur Frost, he has also over-slept, you say?"
"No. He got up early without disturbing me. I guess he will be in any minute now."
The Marquis stirred his coffee and slowly sipped it.
Tom made a hasty breakfast, and then went outside to reconnoitre. He discovered no trace of his friend. There was but one inference in his uneasy mind: Dan had met with some misadventure at the House on the Dunes. At last, after wandering about aimlessly for some time, he decided to tell Jesse of his uneasiness.
"If Mr. Dan is not back by dinner time, I shall go over to the House on the Dunes and try to find out what has become of him. Heaven knows what has become of Miss Nancy. I don't like that schooner, Jess, and its ugly crew, lying there in the Cove. It's all a darn queer business."
"They're certainly a rough-looking lot, Mr. Tom, as I saw when I was on the beach yesterday. And she don't appear to have any particular business anchoring there. I hope they've nothing to do with Miss Nancy's and Mr. Dan's being away."
"I don't know, Jess, what to think. But listen here I want you to go into the Port this morning and engage Ezra Manners to come out here and stay with us for a week or so. Don't tell him too much, but I guess Ezra won't balk at the notion of a scrap. Bring him out with you, and offer to pay him enough to make sure of his coming. And I want you to go to Breeze's on the Parade and get some guns and powder, enough to arm every blessed soul of us in the Inn. Charge the stuff to me. And be careful how you bring it back, for I don't want any one here to know about it, particularly the old Frenchman. Understand? You ought to get back by dinner-time, if you start at once. I'll stay here till you return."
"I'll start right off, sir. Guess I'll have to drive, for the rain'll have washed the snow off the roads. I'll be back by halfpast twelve, Mr. Tom."
"All right," said Pembroke. "Be sure not to let any one know what you are doing."
"Sure I won't, sir. I've been pretty much worried myself about Miss Nancy. Didn't seem a bit like Miss Nance to go off without sayin' a word to anybody.
"Well, hurry along now, Jesse."
"Yes, sir."
Tom's next task was to try to explain to Mrs. Frost without alarming her. She happily jumped to the idea that Dan had gotten trace of Nancy, had gone to fetch her, and would return with her before nightfall. So Tom left her quite cheerfully knitting in her room for the day.
From time to time during the morning Tom wandered into the bar always to find Monsieur de Boisdhyver absorbed in his writing before the fire. The morning passed—a long restless morning for Pembroke—and nothing had happened. Dan had not returned. He tried to think out a plan of action. He went into the north wing of the Inn and barricaded the door leading from the bowling alley into the hallway. He made sure that all other doors and windows were fastened, and he put the key of the door that opened from the bar into the old wing into his pocket. Then he looked at the doors and windows in the south wing.
About noon, as he was standing at an upper window anxiously scanning the landscape for any sign of his friend, Tom saw the Marquis, wrapped in his great black cloak, emerge from the gallery, go down the steps by the Red Oak, and walk rapidly down the avenue of maples. He went along the Port Road, to the point where a little road branched off and led to the beach of the Cove; here he turned and walked in the direction of the beach. With the field glass Tom could follow him quite easily as he picked his way through the slush.
Beyond, on the waters of the Cove, theSouthern Crossrode at anchor. A small boat had put off from the schooner, two seamen at the oars, and a woman seated in the stern. The boat reached the shore, the lady was lifted out upon the sands, the men jumped in again, pushed off and rowed briskly back to the schooner. Tom could not distinguish the lady's features, but from the style of her dress, cut in so different a fashion than that the ladies of Caesarea were wont to display, and from the character of her easy graceful walk, he judged that that was the Madame de la Fontaine, of whom Dan had told him the day before. The lady, whoever she might be, advanced along the beach and turned into the road down which the Marquis de Boisdhyver was going to meet her. Tom could see her extend her hand, and the old gentleman, bending ceremoniously, lift it to his lips. Then leaning against a stone wall beside a meadow of bedraggled snow, they engaged in animated conversation. The lady talked, the Marquis talked. They shrugged their shoulders, they nodded their heads, they pointed this way and then that. Poor Tom felt he must know what was being said. At last, their conference ended, they parted as ceremoniously as they had met, the lady starting across the Dunes and the Marquis retracing his steps toward the Inn.
In the meantime, fortunately before the Marquis reached the Port Road, Jesse had returned, accompanied by the able-bodied Ezra Manners, and laden with the supply of arms and ammunition that Pembroke had ordered.
Within half-an-hour Tom and Monsieur de Boisdhyver were seated together in the dining-room.
"Ah, and where is Monsieur Dan?" asked the Marquis, with an affectation of cheerfulness. "Is he not returned?"
"Not yet, monsieur," Tom replied grimly.
"But you have heard from him?"
"Oh, yes," was Tom's answer; "I have heard from him of course."
"And from Mademoiselle Nancy, I trust, also?"
"Yes, from Nancy also."
"Ah, I am so relieved, Monsieur Pembroke. I was most anxious for their safety. One knows not what may happen. We shall have a charming little reunion at supper,n'est-ce pas?"
"Delightful," said Tom, but in a tone of voice that did not encourage the Marquis to ask further questions or to continue his comments.
After dinner, Tom slipped the field glass beneath his jacket, and ran upstairs to take another view of the countryside. To his great satisfaction he saw a dark spot moving across the snowy dunes and recognized the lady of the morning. Apparently she was on her way to the Cove again.
He took a loaded pistol, ran down stairs, gave Jesse strict orders to keep his eye on the Marquis, saddled his horse, and galloped off madly for Mrs. Meath's house.
When he reached the gate of the farmhouse, Tom hitched his horse to the fence, went rapidly up the little walk, and knocked boldly and loudly on the front door. Repeated and prolonged knocking brought no response. He tried the door and found it fastened. He walked about the house. Every window on the ground floor was tightly closed and barred. There was no sign of life. He knocked at the door of the kitchen, but with no result. He tried it, and found it also locked. Determined not to be thwarted in his effort to see Mrs. Meath, he kicked vigourously against the door with his great hob-nailed boots. Unsuccessful in this, he detached a rail from the top of the fence and used it against the door as a battering-ram. At the first crash of timbers, the sash of a window in the second story, directly above the kitchen, was thrown open, and a dark-eyed, dark-haired, excessively angry-looking, young woman thrust her head out.
"Qui va la?" she exclaimed.
"Well," said Tom, smiling a little in spite of himself, for the young woman was in a state of great indignation. "I want to see Mrs. Meath. I may say, I am determined to see Mrs. Meath."
"Peste! Je ne parle pas anglais!" snapped the damsel.
"Very well then, mademoiselle, I'll try you in French," said Tom. And in very bad French indeed, scarcely even the French of Dr. Watson's school for the sons of gentlemen, Pembroke repeated his remarks.
"Je ne comprend pas," said the young woman.
Tom essayed his explanation again, but whether the youthful female in the window could or would not understand, she kept repeating in the midst of his every sentence "Je ne parle pas anglais," till Tom lost his temper.
"Bien, my fine girl," he exclaimed at last; "I am going to enter this house. If you won't open the door, I will batter it down. Understand?Comprenez-vous?"
"Je ne parle pas anglais."
"As you will." He raised the fence-rail again and made as if to ram the door. "Ouvrez la porte! Do you understand that?"
"Bete!" cried the girl, withdrawing her head and slamming down the window.
Tom waited a moment to see if his threats had been effective, and was relieved by hearing the bar within removed and the key turned in the lock. The door was opened, and the young woman stood on the sill and volleyed forth a series of French execrations that made Tom wince, though he did not understand a word she was saying. Despite her protests, he brushed her aside and stalked into the house. He went rapidly from room to room, upstairs and down, from garret to cellar, the girl following him with her chorus of abusive reproach. She might have held her peace, thought Tom, for within half-an-hour he was convinced that there was not a person in the House on the Dunes save himself and his excited companion. All he discovered for his pains was that old Mrs. Meath was also among the missing.
"Ou est Madame Meath?"
"Madame Meath! Que voulez vous? Je ne connais pas Madame Meath...." And infinitely more of which Tom could gather neither head nor tail.
Satisfied at last that there was nothing to be gained by further search or parley with the woman, he thanked her civilly enough and went out. He unhitched his horse, vaulted into the saddle, and dashed back, as fast as his beast could be urged to carry him, to the Inn. He was certain now that the schooner held the secret of his vanished friends, and it occurred to him to play their own game and turn the tables on Monsieur the Marquis de Boisdhyver.
Arrived at the Inn, Tom turned his horse, white with lather, over to Jesse; made sure that the Marquis was in the bar; and then, with the help of Manners, rapidly made a few preparations.
It was about five o'clock when, his arrangements completed, he returned to the bar, where Monsieur de Boisdhyver was quietly taking his tea. Tom bowed to the old gentleman, seated himself in a great chair about five feet away, and somewhat ostentatiously took from his pocket a pistol, laid it on the arm of his chair, and let his fingers lightly play upon the handle. The old marquis watched Pembroke's movements out of the corner of his eye, still somewhat deliberately sipping his tea. Manners, meanwhile, had entered, and stood respectfully in the doorway, oddly enough also with a pistol in his hand.
Suddenly Monsieur de Boisdhyver placed his teacup on the table, and leaning back in his chair, surveyed Tom with an air of indignant astonishment.
"Monsieur Pembroke," he said, "to what am I to attribute these so unusual attentions? Is it that you are mad?"
"You may attribute these unusual attentions, marquis, to the fact that from now on, you are not a guest of the Inn at the Red Oak, but a prisoner."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Marquis with a start, as he made a spasmodic motion toward the pocket of his coat. But if his intention had been to draw a weapon, Tom was too quick for him. The Marquis found himself staring into the barrel of a pistol and heard the unpleasant click of the trigger as it was cocked.
The old gentleman paled, whether with fright or indignation, Tom was not concerned to know. "You will please keep perfectly still, marquis."
"Monsieur Pembroke," exclaimed the old gentleman, "C'estabominable, outrageous,Mon Dieu, what insult!"
"Manners," said Tom, "kindly search that gentleman and put his firearms out of his reach."
"Monsieur,c'est extraordinaire. I protest."
"Quick, Ezra," replied Tom, "or one of us is likely to know how it feels to have a bullet in his skin. Up with your hands, marquis."
Monsieur de Boisdhyver obeyed perforce, while Manners quickly searched him, removed a small pistol from his coat pocket and a stiletto from his waistcoat, and handed them to Tom.
"I thought as much," said Pembroke, slipping them into his pocket. "Now, sir, you will oblige me by dropping that attitude of surprised indignation."
"Monsieur," said the Marquis, "What is it that you do? Why is it that you so insult me?"
"Monsieur, I will explain. You are my prisoner. I intend to lock you up safely and securely until my friend and his sister return, unharmed, to the Inn. When they are safe at home, when Madame de la Fontaine has taken her departure from the House on the Dunes, and when theSouthern Crosshas sailed out of the Strathsey, we shall release you and see you also safely out of this country. Is that clear?"
"Mais, monsieur—"
"I am quite convinced that you know where Nancy is and what has happened to Dan. As my friends are probably in your power or in the power of your friends, so, dear marquis, you are in mine. If you wish to regain your own liberty, you will have to see that they have theirs. Now kindly follow Manners; it will give him pleasure to show you to your apartment. There you may burn either red or green lights, and I am sure the snowbirds and rabbits of Lovel's Woods will enjoy them. After you, monsieur."
"Sir, I refuse."
"My dear marquis, do not make me add force to discourtesy. After you."
The Marquis bowed ironically, shrugged his shoulders, and followed Manners up the stairs. He was ushered into a chamber on the west side of the Inn, whose windows, had they not been heavily barred, would have given him a view but of the thick tangles of the Woods.
"I trust you will be able to make yourself comfortable here," said Tom. "Your meals will be served at the accustomed hours. I shall return myself in a short time, and perhaps by then you will have reconciled yourself to the insult I have offered you and be prepared to talk with me."
With that Tom bowed as ironically as the Marquis had done, went out and closed the door, and securely locked and barred it outside. Monsieur de Boisdhyver was left to his reflections.
MADAME DE LA FONTAINE
MADAME DE LA FONTAINE
For several hours after his return to the little cabin Dan had ample leisure in which to think over his extraordinary interview. There could be no doubt that the conspirators, for such he had come to call them to himself, were determined and desperate enough to go to any lengths in accomplishing their designs. Whether his suspicions and activity in seeking Nancy had precipitated their plans, his unexpected capture seemed to embarrass his captors as much as it did himself. At least, he gathered this from Madame de la Fontaine's conversation. Whatever might be the motive of the lady's proposed confidence, poor Frost could see nothing for it but to await their disclosure and then seize whatever advantage they might open to him. Notwithstanding the fact that Dan had cautioned himself against trusting the flattery of his charming visitor, notwithstanding that he told himself to be forewarned, even by his own suspicions, was to be forearmed, he was in reality unconscious of the degree to which he had proved susceptible to the lady's blandishments, if indeed she had employed blandishments and had not merely given him the evidence of a good heart upon which his youth and naiveté had made a genuine impression.
Dan's experiences with girls up to this time had been limited. His emotional nature had never, as yet, been deeply stirred. But no one could be insensible to Madame de la Fontaine's beauty and charm, and her delightfully natural familiarity; and, finally, her fleeting kiss had seemed to Dan but evidence of a warm impulsive heart. To be sure, with all the good will in the world, he could not acquit her of being concerned in a mysterious plot—indeed, had she not admitted so much?—though, also, he must in justice remember that he knew very little of the nature of the plot in question.
As he paced restlessly back and forth the length of his prison, he tried to think clearly of the accumulating mystery. Was there a hidden treasure and how did the Marquis know about it? What part had theSouthern Crossto play with its diabolical looking captain, and what could have become of Nancy? Then why had Madame de la Fontaine—but again his cheek would burn and remembrance of the bewitching Frenchwoman blotted out all else.
At half-past twelve Captain Bonhomme appeared again. This time he invited Dan to partake of luncheon with him on the condition once more of a parole. And Dan accepted. He and the Captain made their luncheon together, attended by the faithful Jean; and, though no mention was made to their anomalous position, the meal was not altogether a comfortable one. Captain Bonhomme asked a great many questions about the country, to which Frost was inclined to give but the briefest replies; nor, on his part, did he show more disposition to be communicative in response to Dan's questions about France. Jean regarded the situation with obviously surly disapproval. When the meal was finished, Frost was conducted back to his little cabin.
About two o'clock he saw the small boat put off for shore, and glancing in that direction, he was relieved to see Madame de la Fontaine already waiting upon the beach. Within half-an-hour he was again in her presence in the Captain's saloon, where their conversation had taken place in the morning.
The lady received him graciously. "Ah! monsieur Dan, I fear you have had a weary day of it; but it was impossible for me to return sooner."
"It is very kind of you to return at all," replied Dan, gallantly enough.
"Now, Monsieur, you are anxious, I know, that I keep my promise of the morning."
"Most anxious," said Dan.
"Without doubt. Come here, my friend, sit near me and listen attentively to a long story."
"You have consulted with the Marquis?"
"Mais oui. It was difficult, but I have brought him to my way of thinking. I am certain that it was an error in the first place not taking you into our confidence.Eh bien! Tell me, do you know how your foster-sister came to be in the charge of your mother at the Inn at the Red Oak?"
"Yes, I know what my mother has told me. The child was abandoned to her rather than left in her charge."
"Mais non" said Madame de la Fontaine; "General Pointelle was impelled to act as he did by the strongest motives,—nothing less than the tremendous task, undertaken for his country, to liberate the Emperor Napoleon from Elba. General Pointelle was a soldier,—more, he was a maréchal of the Empire; the greatest responsibilities devolved upon him. It was impossible for him to be burdened with a child."
"But why, madame, did he not take my mother into his confidence?"
"Secrecy was imperative, monsieur. Even to this day, you do not know who General Pointelle actually was. His was a name well-known in France, glorious in the annals of the Empire; a name, too, familiar to you in a somewhat different connection. 'General Pointelle' was thenom-de-guerre, as it were, of François, Marquis de Boisdhyver, maréchal de France."
"François! you say,François!" exclaimed Dan.
"Mais oui, monsieur; but that should hardly astonish you so much as the fact that he was a Boisdhyver. Why are you surprised?"
"Simply, madame," exclaimed Dan hastily, "by the fact that it is the same name as that of our Marquis."
"Not quite," corrected the lady; "our Marquis—as you say—is Marie-Anne-Timélon-Armand de Boisdhyver, the General's younger brother."
"Ah! and therefore Nancy's uncle?"
"Yes, the uncle of Nancy Frost, or of Eloise de Boisdhyver."
"I see," said Dan. "I begin to see."
"Eh bien, monsieur. General Pointelle—the maréchal de Boisdhyver,—left the Inn at the Red Oak upon a mission for the Emperor, then at Elba.Hélas! that mission ended with disaster after the Hundred Days; for, as you know, the Emperor was sent in exile to St. Helena; and, as you may not know, the Maréchal de Boisdhyver was killed on the plains of Waterloo.Allons; when he left Deal, he concealed in a hidden chamber, which one enters, I believe, from a room you call the Oak Parlour, a large treasure, of jewels and gold. This treasure, saved from thedebaclein France, he had brought with him to America, and he hid it in the Inn, for the future of his little daughter Eloise. You remember that your mother was to hear something of advantage to her and the child, did not the General return. It was the secret of the treasure and the directions to find it. Well, Monsieur, at Waterloo, you must know, the Maréchal and his brother, the present Marquis, fought side by side. François de Boisdhyver fell, nobly fighting for the glory of France; Marie-Anne had the good fortune to preserve his life, but was taken prisoner by the English. Before the Maréchal received his death wound, the two brothers spoke with each other for the last time. In that moment, monsieur, the Marquis François revealed to the Marquis Marie-Anne that he had abandoned his daughter in America and that he had concealed in your old inn a treasure sufficient to provide for her future. He charged his brother to go to America, if he survived the battle; claim the little Eloise; rescue the treasure, and return with her to France and restore the fallen fortunes of the House of Boisdhyver.
"It took the Marquis Marie-Anne a long time to carry out his brother's dying injunctions," said Dan.
"Ah! but yes. You do not realize that the Marquis Marie-Anne, after the fall of Napoleon, spent many years in a military prison in England, for I have already told you that he fell into the hands of the enemy on the field of Waterloo. When at last he was released, he was aged, broken, and in poverty. His brother, in those dreadful moments on the battlefield, had been able to give him but the briefest description of the Inn at the Red Oak and the hidden treasure. He did not tell him where the treasure was, but only how he might obtain the paper of instructions which the Maréchal had concealed in a curiously-carved old cabinet in the Oak Parlour. The Maréchal, monsieur, loved the mysterious, and chose the device of tearing into two parts this paper of directions and concealing them in different hiding-places of the cabinet. Those directions, after many years, grew vague in the younger brother's memory.
"Eh bien, the Marquis was at last able to make the journey to this country. You must remember he had nothing wherewith to prove his story, if he gave you his confidence at once; and so, he decided, to investigate quietly alone. But he won the confidence of Mademoiselle Nancy,—that is, of his niece, Eloise de Boisdhyver,—and revealed to her the secret of her identity and the mysterious story of the treasure. You follow me in all this, Monsieur Dan?"
"Perfectly, madame," Frost replied. "But as yet you have told me nothing of your own connection with this strange history."
"Pardon, dear boy," rejoined Madame de la Fontaine; "I was about to do so, but there is so much to tell. My own connection with the affair is quite simple. I am an old friend, one of the oldest, of Monsieur le Marquis de Boisdhyver, and, when I was a very young girl, I knew the Maréchal himself. It has been my happiness to be able to prove my friendship for a noble and a fallen family. One day last summer, Monsieur de Boisdhyver told me his brother's dying words, and it was I, Monsieur Dan, who was able to give the money for this strange expedition. The poor Marquis had lost quite all his fortune."
"I understand," said Frost. "But, yet, madame, I do not see the necessity for the secrecy, the mystery, for these strange signals at night, for these midnight investigations, for this schooner and its rough crew, for Nancy's disappearance, for my own imprisonment here."
"Please, please," murmured Madame de la Fontaine, as she held up her hands in smiling protest. "You go too fast for me.Un moment, mon ami, un moment. It was sixteen years ago that the Maréchal de Boisdhyver was a guest at the Inn at the Red Oak. You forget that the Marquis de Boisdhyver had no proof of his right to the treasure, save his own story, save his account of his brother's instructions on the field of Waterloo. By telling all he might have awakened deeper suspicions than by secrecy."
"That, I must say," Dan interrupted, "would hardly be possible."
"So!" exclaimed Madame de la Fontaine, with an accent of displeasure. "Ecoutez! Monsieur le Marquis was to come a month in advance, as he did come; take up his quarters at the Inn; reconnoitre the ground; and win, if possible, the confidence and aid of mademoiselle. He fortunately succeeded in this last, for he found it otherwise impossible to enter into the old wing of the Inn and examine the Oak Parlour. With the assistance of Eloise, this was accomplished at last, and the paper of directions was found; at least, found in part.
"Then I, having impressed the services of Captain Bonhomme and his ship theSouthern Cross, set sail and arrived at the House on the Dunes only a few days ago, as you already know. The signals that you saw flashing at night were to indicate that all was well."
"The green light, I suppose," commented Dan, "was to indicate that; and the red—"
"Was the signal of danger. Because the Marquis discovered last night that you were not in the house; he flashed the warning that made Captain Bonhomme go to the House on the Dunes. Quite recently the manners of your friend, Mr.—eh—?"
"Pembroke?"
"Yes, Mr. Pembroke—led the Marquis to believe that he was being watched.
"I understand," said Dan, "but nothing you have told me so far, madame, accounts for Nancy's disappearance, and I am as anxious as ever to know where she is."
"Mademoiselle is perfectly safe, Monsieur Dan; I assure you. She left the Inn because she had fear of betraying our plans, particularly as she loved your friend, Mr. Pembroke."
"It is still strange to me, madame, that Nancy should distrust her oldest and best friends. But now you will let me see her?"
"Of course I shall soon, very soon, my dear boy. I have told you all, and now you will aid me to find the treasure that is your foster-sister's heritage, will you not?"
"Why certainly I want Nancy to have what is hers," replied Dan.
"Bravo, my friend. We are to count you one of us, I am sure."
"Just a moment," said Dan, resisting the temptation to touch the little hand that had been placed impulsively upon his arm. "May I ask one more question?"
"A thousand, my dear, if you desire."
"Why then, since until last night everything has gone as you planned it, why has not the treasure already been discovered?"
"Because,mon ami; the Marquis has only been able to visit the Oak Parlour at night. And also it was decided to wait until I arrived."
"With the schooner?" suggested Dan.
"With the schooner, if you will. And you may remember that it was only the day before yesterday that I reached your so hospitable countryside."
"Ah! I understand; so then all that you desire of me, madame, is that I shall permit the Marquis or anyone else whom you may select for the purpose, to make such investigation of the Oak Parlour as is desired."
"Yes, my friend; and also there is yet another thing that we desire."
"But suppose, madame, that I cannot agree to that?"
"Ah!cher ami, but you will. I confess—you must remember that the Marquis de Boisdhyver has been a soldier—that my friends have not agreed with me entirely. It has seemed to them simpler that we should keep you a prisoner on this ship, as we could so easily do, until our mission is accomplished. But,—I like you too much to agree to that."
Dan flushed a trifle, but he was not yet quite sure enough to fall in entirely with his charming gaoler's suggestions. "Madame de la Fontaine," he said after a moment's reflection, "I am greatly obliged to you for explaining the situation to me so fully. I shall be only too happy to help you, particularly in anything that is for the benefit of Nancy."
"I was sure of it. Now, my friend, there is a service that you can immediately render."
"And that is?" asked Dan.
"To entrust to me the other half of the paper of directions written by François de Boisdhyver, which you found in a secret cubby-hole in the old cabinet."
"What makes you think that I was successful in finding that, when the Marquis failed?"
"Because, at first having forgotten his precise directions after so many years, the Marquis could not find the fourth and last hiding-place in the cabinet, in which he knew the Maréchal had placed the other half of the torn scrap of paper. Another time he did find the cubby-hole, and it was empty. So knowing he was watched by you and Mr. Pembroke, he decided that you must have found it. Is it not so, that you have it?"
"It is certainly not in my possession at this moment," said Dan.
"No, but you have it?"
"And if I have?"
"It is necessary for our success."
"Then, my first service, is to put you into complete possession of the secret?"
"If you will so express it."
"Very well, madame, I will do so; but, on one condition."
"And what is that, my friend?"
"That I be allowed to see Nancy, and that she herself shall ask me to do as you desire."
For a moment Madame de la Fontaine was silent. "Eh bien," she said at last, "you do not trust me?"
"But, dear madame, think of my situation, it is hard for me."
"Ah! I know it, believe me.C'est difficile. But I hoped you would trust me as I have you."
"Indeed, madame," exclaimed Dan, "I must try to think of everything, the mystery, this extraordinary mission upon which you are engaged, the fact that I am quite literally your prisoner. When I think about you, I know only you are beautiful, that you are lovely, and that I am happy near you."
She looked at him for a moment with a glance of anxious interrogation, as if to ask were it safe for her to believe these protestations. "You say, my friend," she asked at length, "that you care a little for me, for just me?C'est impossible. If Claire de la Fontaine could believe that, understand me, monsieur, it would be very sweet and very precious to her."
"I do care," cried Dan.
"Ah!" she exclaimed. "You have touched my heart. I am not a young girl,mon ami, but I confess that you have made me to know again the dreams of youth."
"Only let me prove that I care," cried Dan, considering but little now to what he committed himself.
"Let me prove," cried she, "that I too believe in you. I must first see the Marquis, and then, tonight, if it can be arranged, you shall receive from Eloise de Boisdhyver's own lips the request I have made of you. But if, for any reason, this cannot be arranged for to-night, you must be patient till morning; you must trust me to the extent of remaining on this ship. I cannot act entirely on my own judgment, but I assure you that in the end my judgment will prevail. And now,au revoir."
She placed her hand in his, and responded to the impulsive pressure with which he clasped it. Their eyes met; in Dan's the frankest expression of her conquest of his emotions; in her's a glance at once tender and sad, above all a glance that seemed to search his spirit for assurance that he was in earnest. Suddenly fired by her alluring beauty, Dan drew her to him and bent his head to hers.
"Ah! my friend," she murmured, "you are taking an unfair advantage of the fact that this morning I too rashly yielded to an impulse."
"I cannot help it," Dan stammered. "You bewitch me." He bent lower to kiss her cheek, when he suddenly thrilled to the realization that his lips had met hers.
A moment later Madame de la Fontaine was gone and Captain Bonhomme had reappeared in the doorway.
IN THE FOG
IN THE FOG
Tom Pembroke was as good as his word. He returned to the little room, in which he had confined the Marquis, within an hour after he had left him. It was then nearly supper-time and dusk was fast settling upon the gloomy countryside. An unwonted calm had fallen upon land and sea after the sharp blow of the previous night, but the sky was still gray and there was promise of more rain, if not of wind.
To Tom's indignation and alarm, though scarcely to his surprise, there had been no sign or word from Dan or Nancy. Shortly after he had left the Marquis, he saw, by aid of the field-glass, Madame de la Fontaine, attended by two seamen, leave the schooner and return to the House on the Dunes. He smiled a little as he thought of the account the lively young maid-servant would give of his recent visit. But withal, he felt very much as if he were playing a game of blind man's buff and that he was "it." He was impatient for his interview with the Marquis, though he was but little hopeful that an hour's confinement would have been sufficient to bring the old gentleman to terms. Nor was he to be surprised.
He found Monsieur de Boisdhyver huddled in a great arm chair near the fire that that been kindled on the hearth of his prison. The Marquis glanced up, as Tom entered, but dropped his eyes at once and offered him no greeting. Tom placed his candle on the table and, drawing up a chair, seated himself between the Marquis and the door.
"Well, sir," he said at last, "as I promised you, I have returned within an hour. Have you anything to say to me?"
"Have I anything to say to you!" exclaimed the Marquis. "For why, monsieur? If I venture to express my astonishment and indignation at the way I am treated, you subject me to a barbarity that could be matched no where else in the civilized world than in this extraordinary country. My life is menaced with firearms. My protests are sneered at. I have left but one inference—you have gone mad."
"No, marquis," said Pembroke, "I am not mad. I am simply determined that the mysteries by which we have been surrounded and of which you are the center, shall cease. You have a free choice: put me in the way of getting my friend and his sister back to the Inn, or resign yourself to a prolonged confinement in this room."
"But monsieur I have nothing to communicate to you concerning the disappearance of your friends."
"Pardon me, marquis," returned Pembroke; "you have much to communicate to me. Perhaps you are not aware that I know the motive of your coming to the Inn at the Red Oak; that I know the reason for your prolonged stay here; that I know of the influence that you have acquired over Nancy Frost; and that I have been a witness of your midnight prowlings about the Inn. Nor am I in ignorance of your connection with the rascally-looking captain of the schooner at anchor in the Cove and with the mysterious woman, who has taken possession of the House on the Dunes. I am convinced that you know what has become of Dan as well as what has happened to Nancy. And, believe me, I am determined to find out."
"Bien!" exclaimed Monsieur de Boisdhyver, "permit me to wish you good luck in your undertaking. I repeat, Monsieur Pembroke, I have no information to give to you. I do not know to what extent I have been watched, but I may say with truth that my actions do not in the least concern you."
"They concern my friends," said Tom. "Dan, as you know, is more to me than a brother; and as for his sister Nancy, I hope and expect to make her my wife."
"In that case," rejoined the Marquis with ill-concealed irony, "I may be permitted to offer to you my congratulations. But even so, monsieur, there is nothing that I can do to facilitate your matrimonial plans."
"You refuse then to come to terms?" asked Pembroke.
The Marquis raised his hands with a gesture of despair. "What shall I say, monsieur? If you insisted upon my flying from here to yonder beach, I might have all the desire in the world to oblige you, but the fact would remain that I was without the means of doing so. Since you are so little disposed to accept my protestations, I will no longer make them, but simply decline your proposal. And, pardon me, but so long as I am submitted to the indignity of this confinement, it would be a courtesy that I should appreciate if you would spare me your company."
"Very good," said Tom. "Your meals will be served regularly; and you may ask the servant for anything necessary. I shall not visit you again until you request me to do so."
"Merci," said the Marquis drily. He rose from his seat as Dan turned toward the door, and bowed ironically.
Pembroke went downstairs to have his supper with Mrs. Frost. He said what he could to pacify her, not altogether with success, for as darkness fell the old lady became increasingly apprehensive.
"I know you are anxious, Mrs. Frost," said Tom, "but you must not worry. Try to believe that all will come out right. I am going out after supper, but I shall leave Jesse and Ezra on guard, and you may be sure everything will be safe."
It was some time before Mrs. Frost would consent to his leaving the Inn. If she had yielded to her inclinations, she would have spent the evening in hysterics with Tom at hand to administer comfort. Pembroke, however, deputed that office to black Deborah, and immediately after supper set about his business.
He gave the necessary instructions to Jesse, Ezra and the maids, saw that everything was closely locked and barred, supplied himself with arms and ammunition, and slipped out into the night. Having saddled Fleetwing, he swung himself on the young hunter's back, and trotted down the avenue to the Port Road. The night was intensely dark and still. The moon had not yet risen, and a thick fog rolled in from the sea, shrouding the countryside with its impenetrable veil.
At the Beach Road Pembroke dismounted, tied his horse to a fence rail, and proceeded thence on foot toward the Cove. Stumbling along through the heavy sand, he made his way to the boathouse at the northern end of the little beach. There he ventured to light his lantern, unlocked the door and stepped within. On either side of the entrance were the two sailboats that he and Dan used in summer and to the rear was the old-fashioned whaleboat with which they did their deep fishing. Over it, in a rudely constructed rack, was the Indian birch-bark canoe which Dan had purchased in the mountains a few years before. As the sea had fallen to a dead calm, he decided to use this canoe, which he could paddle quite noiselessly, and pulling down the little craft from its winter resting-place, he carried it to the water's edge. The sea, so angry the night before, now scarcely murmured; only a low lazy swell, at regularly recurring intervals, slapped the shore and hissed upon the sands. Tom pushed the nose of the canoe into the water, leaped lightly over the rail, and with his paddle thrust it off the beach. He was launched without mishap.
Not the faintest gleam of light showed the position of theSouthern Cross, but estimating as well as he could the general direction, he paddled out through the enshrouding fog. For ten minutes or so, he pushed on into the strange, misty night. Then suddenly he found himself alongside an old fisherman's yawl that had been rotting all winter at her moorings, and he knew from her position that he could not be far from theSouthern Cross.
A few more strokes to leeward, and a spot of dull light broke through the darkness. He headed directly for it. To his relief it grew brighter; when suddenly, too late to stop the progress of his canoe, he shot under it, and the bow of his craft bumped with a dull thud against the timber side of the schooner. Its dark outlines were just perceptible above him; and at one or two points there gleamed rays of light in the fog, green and red from the night lamps on the masthead, and dull yellow from the port holes in the rear. A second after the contact the canoe receded, then the wash of the sea drew her toward the stern. Another moment and Pembroke felt his prow scrape gently against the rudder, which prevented further drifting. Apparently, since he heard nothing from the deck above, he had reached his goal without attracting attention.
He kept perfectly still, however, for some little time, until satisfied that there was no one at the wheel above, he pushed the canoe softly back to the rope ladder, that a day or so before he had seen hanging over the side. It was the work of a moment to make his little boat fast to the lower rung. Then slipping over the rail, he climbed stealthily up till his head protruded above the gunwhale. The immediate deck seemed deserted; but he was sure that some one was keeping the watch, and probably near the point where he was, that is to say, where access to the deck was easiest. But the fog and the darkness afforded him protection, as he climbed over the gunwhale and, without making a sound, moved toward the stern, crossed the after-deck and found the wheel. As he had surmised, it was deserted. The watch evidently was forward. Beneath him, sending its ineffectual rays obliquely into the fog, shone the light from the little cabin below.
Determined to get a look through the port, he climbed over the gunwhale again, fastened a stern-sheet about his waist and to a staple, and at the risk, if he slipped or if the rope gave way, of plunging head foremost into the icy waters of the Cove, he let himself down until his head was on a level of the port.
Through the blurred glass he peered into a tiny cabin. There with back toward him, just a few feet away stood Nancy Frost. He steadied himself with an effort, and looking again saw that she was alone. A moment's hesitation, and he tapped resolutely on the pane with his finger tips. At first Nancy did not hear, but presently, aroused by the slight tapping, she glanced with a frightened expression toward the door, and stood anxiously listening. Tom continued to knock on the window, not daring to make it louder for fear of being heard above. The alarm deepened on Nancy's face, and in sheer pity Tom was tempted to desist; but at that instant her attention was riveted upon the spot whence the tapping came. At last, still with the expression of alarm on her face, she came slowly toward the port. She hesitated, then pressed her face against the pane over which Tom had spread his fingers. At whatever risk, of frightening her or of danger to himself, as she drew back, he pressed his own face against the outside of the little window glass. She stared at him as if she were looking at a ghost.
He moved his lips to form the word "Open." At length, in obedience to this direction, Nancy cautiously unloosened the window of the port and drew it back.
"Good heavens, Tom!" she whispered. "Is it you?"
"Yes, yes," Pembroke whispered back. "But for God's sake, speak softly. I'm in a devilishly unpleasant position, and can hang here but a minute. Tell me quickly—are you here of your own free will or are you a prisoner?"
"How can you ask?" she exclaimed. "For the love of heaven, help me to escape."
"That's what I'm here for," was Toms reply. "Now, quick; are you only locked in or barred as well? I've brought some keys along."
"Only locked, I think."
"Where does that door lead?"
"Into a little passage off the companion-way. Give me your keys. They have but one man on watch. The captain is on shore to-night, apt to return at any moment. And you?"
"I have a canoe tied to the ladder on the shore side. If the captain returns, I'm caught. Try those keys." He slipped into her the bunch of keys that he had brought along. "I was sure you were here, and against your will."
"Dan, too, is locked up on board."
"I thought as much; but you first. Hurry."
Nancy sprang to the door, trying one key after another in feverish haste. At last, to Tom's infinite relief, he saw the key turn in the lock, and the door open.
"On deck," she whispered; "at the ladder. I'm not likely to be caught." Then she waved her hand and disappeared into the passage.
Tom pulled himself up, unloosed the rope, and stole along the rail toward the ladder. For a few moments, which seemed like a thousand years, he stood in anguished suspense waiting for Nancy. Then suddenly she came out of the mist and was at his side. They stood for a moment like disembodied spirits, creatures of the night and the fog. The next instant a hand shot out and grasped the girl's shoulder.
"Peste! mam'zelle," a rough voice hissed, "ou allez-vous?"
As the man spoke Tom swung at him with the butt of his revolver, and without a murmur the figure fell to the deck.
"Quick now," Pembroke whispered, "down the ladder."
Instantly Nancy was over the rail and Tom was climbing down after her. As he knelt in the bow and fumbled with the painter, the plash of oars sounded a dozen yards away.
"Ho! Croix du Midi!" came a hail through the fog.
"Curse it!" muttered Tom; "the painter's caught." He drew out his knife, slashed the rope that bound them to the schooner, got to his place amidships, and pushed the canoe free. The lights of a small boat were just emerging from the dark a dozen feet away. But the canoe slid by unobserved, in the fog. They heard the nose of the small boat bump against the schooner; then an oath, and a man's voice calling the watch.
"They've found my painter," whispered Tom, "and in a second they'll find the sailor on their deck."
The lights of theSouthern Crossgrew dim; vanished; the sound of angry voices became muffled. They were half-way to shore when they heard the noise of oars again. Evidently some one had started in pursuit. For a moment Tom rested, listening intently; but the sound was still some distance away. Probably, he thought, they were heading directly for the shore, whereas he, at a considerable angle, was making for the boathouse at the north end of the beach. In ten minutes he had beached the canoe within a rod of the point from where he embarked.
"I can't hear them," whispered Tom, after a moment's listening. "They've made for shore down the beach. They can't find us in the dark. I've got Fleetwing tied to a fence in the meadow yonder. Come."
It was the work of a moment to stow the canoe, lock the boathouse, run across the sands, and mount Nancy in front of him on the back of his trusty hunter. A second later Fleetwing's hoofs were striking fire on the stones that the high tides had washed into the beach road. In the distance there was a cry, the sharp ring of a pistol shot; but they were safe on their way, racing wildly for the Inn. The escape, the adventure had thrilled Nancy. Tom's arms were around her, and her hands on his that grasped the bridle. At last they were in the avenue, and Tom pulled in under the great branches of the Red Oak. He slipped from the back of the horse and held out his arms to Nance.
"We are safe, girl," he whispered.
"You are sure? Oh, thank God, thank God! Quick, let us in! Can they be following?"
"No, no. They won't follow. It's all right. Easy,—before we go in—please, dear—once—kiss me."
"Oh, Tom, Tom," she whispered, as she lifted her face to his.
"I have you at last, sweetheart," he murmured. "You love me?"
"Ah!" she cried, "with my whole heart and soul."