CHAPTER XVIVisitors of the Night
Chester bounded out of bed and hunted to the door, which he unlocked and opened for a few inches. He could see nothing in the gloom, and asked in a whisper:
“Who is it?”
“It is I—Nora. Mamma and I are awfully scared.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Somebody is in the store downstairs.”
“How do you know that?”
“Mamma heard the window raised and woke me. She asked me to call you boys.”
“Wait a moment and we’ll be with you.”
It showed how lightly Alvin and Mike were sleeping when they were instantly roused by the slight noise made in opening the door. Each sat on the side of his couch and listened. In the deep silence they heard the snatch of conversation and hurriedly began putting on their clothes.They wrought silently and without lighting the lamp.
“I expected it,” remarked Chester, imitating them.
Mrs. Friestone joined her daughter in the dark hall, she being too wise to use a light. A moment later the whole party stood together in the gloom, where neither could see the face of the others.
“Hark!” whispered the mother.
The five stood for a minute without stirring or speaking and hardly breathing. Not the slightest sound reached their ears. Then Chester asked in a guarded undertone:
“Are you sure you were not mistaken, Mrs. Friestone?”
“I could not have been; the sound of the raising of the window was too distinct for me to be deceived—hark!” she warned again.
This time all heard something. It was a faint, rasping noise such as might have been caused by the cautious pushing of a box or large smooth object over the floor. If this were so, the article could not havebeen moved more than a few inches, for the sound ceased immediately.
“You are right,” said Alvin; “you have visitors. About what time do you suppose it is?”
“The clock struck twelve quite awhile ago. There! it is now one,” she added as a silvery tinkle came from the parlor.
“What shall we do?” asked Nora, echoing the question that was in the mind of every one.
And then a strange council was held in a place so dark that all who took part were mutually invisible.
It would seem that the common sense course was to make a noise that would be heard by the burglars and would scare them off. That is to say that theoretically this would occur, but it might not. Knowing how much loot was within their reach, if not already in hand, one or two of them were likely to hurry upstairs and compel those that were there to hold their peace, hesitating at no violence to enforce their orders.
While the boys were eager to take the risk,the mother would not agree and the plan had to be abandoned.
The next proposal was for each to thrust his or her head out of a window and call for help. The cry would rouse the village and it would not take long for many citizens to rush thither. Beartown had no police force, the only officer of the peace being a constable who was lame and cross-eyed and lived at the farthest end of the village. No dependence could be placed on him, but there were plenty of others who would gladly hasten to the help of mother and daughter.
This was the only thing to do, and it would have been done but for the hysterical opposition of Nora Friestone. She declared that the dreadful robbers—she was sure of it—would hurry upstairs the instant the first scream was made and kill every one before any help could arrive! It might not take more than five or ten minutes for friends to run to the spot, but that would be enough for the burglars to complete their awful work.
Possibly the girl might have been arguedout of her absurd fear had she not won her mother to her side. She took the same view.
“What then is to be done?” asked Chester a trifle impatiently.
“Nothing; they can’t get the safe open, if they work till daylight.”
“They can do it in a few minutes if they use dynamite, and at the same time blow out the whole end of your house.”
To this terrifying declaration the lady could make no reply except to say:
“We may as well go back to our rooms.”
It was on the point of Chester’s tongue to ask in view of this conclusion why Nora had knocked on their door, but he thought best to refrain.
“Whisht!” whispered Mike; “let’s go to the parlor, where we have the moonlight to help us.”
Walking on tiptoe and as silent as so many cats, the party moved through the hall to the front room. The straining ears heard nothing more from below stairs, though there could be no doubt that their visitors were still there.
As Mike had intimated, the round, clearmoon was in the sky, and looking from the windows it seemed almost as bright as day. The party stood just far enough back to be invisible to anyone in the street below. A row of elms lined each side of the highway, being mutually separated by a dozen yards or so. They were small, having been set out only a few years before, but were in full foliage and the most remote ones cast a shadow into the highway. On the same side of what was the main street, each frame house that served for a dwelling had a yard, shrubbery and flowers in front. Farther to the left was the small grocery store, while to the right on the same side as the post office was the pert little village church to which reference has already been made.
At this hour all Beartown seemed to be sunk in slumber, as was quite proper should be the case. From not a single window twinkled a light nor was man, woman or boy seen on the street. A solitary dog, with nose down and travelling diagonally as canines sometimes do, trotted to the front gate of the house opposite the post office,jumped over and passed from view to the rear.
“I wonder what that man is waiting there for.”
It was Nora who whispered this question, which instantly put the others on thequi vive.
“I don’t see any man; where is he?” asked Chester.
“Under that tree opposite; he’s in plain sight.”
Such was the fact now that she had directed attention to him. The elm was directly across the street, and had a trunk not more than six or eight inches in diameter. A man was standing motionless under the dense foliage several feet above his head, doing nothing except simply to stand there.
“He is the lookout,” said Chester.
“What’s a lookout?” asked the nervous Nora.
“He is there to watch for danger that may threaten the others who are inside and working at your mother’s safe. If he sees anything wrong he will give a signal,probably by means of a whistle, and the fellows below will run.”
“Why couldn’t you give the signal?”
“I could if I knew what it is, but I don’t.”
“Look! he is coming over here!” exclaimed the affrighted Nora, as the man stepped from the shadow, walked half way across the street, and then halted as if in doubt whether to advance farther.
“No fear of his visiting us,” Alvin assured her; “but it is best to keep out of sight.”
All shrank still farther back, when there was no possibility of being seen in the first place. The man did not look up, but kept his slouch hat pulled so far down that nothing of his face was visible. He held his position for perhaps five minutes, when he turned about and went back to his post. There could be no doubt that he was the lookout of the gang, as Chester had said when he was first noticed. Not once did he look up before reaching his place, so that none of our friends caught a glimpse of his features.
What a unique situation! One or moreburglars were at work on the safe below stairs, and there were five persons on the floor above who knew it, but did not raise voice or a hand to interfere with them. It has been explained why, though it should be added that in the way of firearms there was only the single worthless Springfield rifle in the house. It was mother and daughter who held the three lads supine. Had they been left free they would have acted immediately on first learning of the presence of the criminals.
Chester had spoken the word “dynamite,” and it was that terrific explosive which he and his companions dreaded unspeakably. If the charge were fired, it would not only blow the massive safe apart, but was likely to wreck the building itself and probably inflict death to more than one in the dwelling.
Mike Murphy chafed more than his comrades. Reflecting on the exasperating state of affairs, he determined to do something despite the opposition of the mother and daughter. A few minutes’ thought suggested a plan. He would have revealedit to Alvin and Chester, but feared they would prevent action or that his whispering in the darkness of the room would awaken the suspicion of the other two.
Only when near the front windows could the members of the party dimly see one another. They had withdrawn so far at sight of the approach of the man on guard that the light ill served them. Mike stealthily retreated to the open door leading into the hall. Neither of his comrades heard him, and he groped along the passage, with hands outstretched on each side to guide him. The feet were lifted and set down without noise, and by and by he came to the opening leading to the bedroom. Across this he made his way with the same noiseless stealth, until the groping hand touched the battered rifle, which he lifted from its resting place. Back into the hall again, and then through the dining room, inch by inch, to where he remembered seeing the head of the stairs, though he knew nothing beyond that. He would have struck a match but for fear of attracting the notice of those below.
“I’ve only to feel each step,” he reflected, “and I’ll soon arrive, and then won’t fur of the spalpeens fly?”
His unfamiliarity with the stairs made him think they were not so nearly perpendicular as was the fact. While the thought was in his mind, he made a misstep and, unable to check himself, went bumping all the way to the bottom.
CHAPTER XVII“Tall Oaks from Little Acorns Grow”
If you wish an illustration of how great events often flow from trifling causes read what follows. It is one of the many events which prove that “tall oaks from little acorns grow.”
You have not forgotten Jim, the gawky, overgrown boy who had a verbal contract with Mrs. Friestone which bound him to go to the store each weekday morning and set out on the front porch the score or more samples of the goods that were on sale within. The same agreement required him to come around at dusk each evening and carry them inside, his weekly wage for such duty being twenty-five cents. When, therefore, Mike Murphy handed him a silver quarter and assumed the job for that single night, Jim received a whole week’s pay for turning it over to the Irish lad. It is not so strange that the youngster was confused at first over his bit of luck, which he didnot fully understand until he reached home and had eaten his supper.
Now by one of those curious coincidences which occur oftener in this life than most people think, that day was the anniversary of Jim’s birth. Being a good boy, as such things go, his father presented him with a fine pocketknife, than which nothing could have pleased his son better. It was really an excellent article, having four blades, one of which was a file, two of small size, and one quite large, the three being almost as keen-edged as a razor. Straightway the happy lad selected his right hand trousers pocket as the home of the knife when not in use. The miscellaneous articles, such as a jewsharp, a piece of twine, a key, three coppers, a piece of resin, several marbles, two ten-penny nails, a stub of a lead pencil and a few other things were shifted to the left side repository, where also he deposited the shining silver coin, after showing it to his parents and telling them how he fell heir to it.
The chat of the family shut out reference to the knife for most of the evening. Bothparents were inclined to be gossipy, and they indulged in many guesses as to the identity of the donor and what caused him to be so liberal. The mother’s first thought was that the red-haired, freckle-faced youth was a newcomer to Beartown, and had secured Jim’s job, but that fear was removed by Jim’s declaration that the stranger distinctly said he intended to do the work only for that evening.
It was not very late when Jim went to his bedroom on the second floor to retire for the night. When ready to disrobe, he took out the wealth of treasures in his left pocket, including the bright quarter, and shoved his hand into the other for the prize that outweighed them all. Then he emitted a gasp of dismay: the pocket was empty!
For a few moments he could not believe the truth. He frantically searched his clothing over and over again, but in vain. The explanation was as clear as noonday. In the bottom of his right-hand pocket was a gaping rent, through which he pushed two fingers and disgustedly spread them apart like a fan. He turned the clothwrong side out and the dreadful yawn seemed to grin at him.
Weak and faint he sat down on the edge of his trundle bed.
“What made that blamed hole? It wasn’t there a little while ago. It must have wored the hole while I was walking. I wouldn’t lose that knife for ten million dollars. Itcan’tbe lost!”
And then he repeated the search, as almost anyone will do in similar circumstances. He even looked under the jewsharp and among the marbles on the stand, where a mosquito could not have hidden itself.
“Oh, what’s the use!” he exclaimed, dropping down again despairingly on the bed. “It’s lost! Where did I lose it?”
Pulling himself together, he recalled the experiences of the day, from the time he received the present directly after breakfast. He had tested the implement many times in the course of the forenoon and afternoon, and by and by remembered snapping the big blade shut and slipping it into his pocket as he was going out of the house tothe post office to perform his daily task. He reasoned well.
“I lost it somewhere atween here and the store. I can’t see how it slipped down my trousers leg without me feeling it, but that’s what it done. It’s a-laying on the ground atween here and there, onless,” he added, with a catch of his breath, “that ugly looking willain seen me drop it inside the store. I wonder if he give me that quarter so as to hurry me out that he might git my knife!”
He shivered at the probability, but rather singularly the dread was dissipated by a few minutes more of thought.
“If he’d seen it, so would Nora and she’d told me. It’s somewhere along the street.”
Such being his conclusion, the all-important question was what should he do to retrieve his crushing loss. His first inclination was to tell his parents and then hurry back over the route to look for the treasure. But it was night. There was no such thing as a lantern in the house, he could not carry an ordinary light in the breeze, and the search would be hopeless.
“I’ll get up as soon as it is light,” he said, “and hunt till I find it.”
Trying to gain hope from this decision, he knelt at the side of his bed to say his prayers, which he never omitted. His petition was longer than usual and I need not tell you what its chief if not its whole burden was.
Despite the depressing weight upon his spirits, Jim fell asleep and remained so for several hours, though his slumber was tortured by dreams of his knife. Sometimes it was tiny as a pin and then bigger than himself, but it always slipped from his grasp when he reached out to seize it.
Suddenly he awoke. It took a minute or two to recall his situation, but soon the startling truth came back to him. He had lost his knife, and, remembering his resolve before going to sleep, he bounded out of bed, certain that day not only had dawned but that it had been light for some time. He soon discovered, however, that what he took for the glow of the rising sun came from the moon, whose vivid illumination made the mistake natural.
“I never seen it so bright,” he said, stepping to the window and peering out.
And then as if by inspiration he whispered:
“It’s the right time to hunt for my knife.”
He did not know what time it was nor did he care to know. There was so much moongleam in his room that he easily dressed without any artificial light. Then, too, the night was mild and his covering scanty. Shirt and trousers were his only garments. He left his straw hat where he had “hung” it on the floor in one corner beside his shoes and stockings. The chief cause for now going barefoot was that his steps would be lighter, though as a rule he saved his shoes for Sunday and his trips to and from the store.
He knew his father was a light sleeper, and if awakened would probably forbid him to go out before morning. So Jim opened his bedroom door so softly that not the slightest noise was caused. He went down the stairs as if he were a real burglar in rubber shoes. He stopped several times with a faster beating heart, for althoughhe had never known the steps to squeak before they now did so with such loudness that he was sure his father heard him. But the snoring continued unbroken and Jim reached the door, where he stealthily slid back the bolt and reversed the key, without causing any betraying sound.
This side of the house was in shadow, and he stood for a minute or two on the small, covered porch looking out upon the highway or main street. Not a soul was in sight, nor did he see a twinkle of light from any of the windows. It cannot be said that Jim felt any fear, nor did he reflect upon the risk caused by leaving the door unlocked behind him. He was thinking only of that loved knife.
He had walked to and from the store so many times that he knew every step taken earlier in the evening. It was impossible to go wrong, and he was quite confident of finding the knife unless the brilliant moonlight had disclosed it to some late passerby.
Jim always crossed the street at a certain point, the post office being on the other side, so he trod in his own footsteps, whichwould have worn a path long before but for those of others, including horses and wagons. He walked slowly, scanning every inch of the ground and clay pavement in front of him, but when he drew near the well-remembered building he had not caught sight of the prize. He was within a few paces of the steps of the porch of the store, when he was suddenly startled by a gruff voice:
“Hello, there! Where you going?”
He turned his head as a man stepped from under the small elm behind him. Both being on the same level the slouch hat only partially hid the grim face and big mustache. Jim would have been more scared had he not caught sight an instant before of his knife lying at the foot of the steps of the porch. He sprang forward, caught it up and then faced the stranger, who had stepped into the street.
“I’m looking fur my knife that I dropped and I’ve found it too!” he replied gleefully, holding up the cool, shiny implement. “Gee! aint I lucky?”
“Well, you get out of here as quick asyou can. Go back home and stay there till morning. Do ye hear me?”
“Yaws; I’m going.”
A strange discovery had come to Jim the instant before. As he stooped to seize his property, his eyes were at the same height as the bottom of the door leading into the store. It was only for a second or two, but in that brief space he saw a faint glimmer through the crevice, which he knew was caused by a light within. With a shrewdness that no one would have expected from him he said nothing of his discovery to the man who had accosted him.
“Mind what I told you!” added the stranger, “and don’t show your nose outside your house before morning. Understand?”
“Yaws; I don’t want to, ’cause I’ve got my knife. Hooray!”
“Shut up! Off with you!”
“Yaws;” and Jim broke into a trot which he kept up until he reached his own porch. In his exuberance of spirits, he was careless and awoke his father. He came into the hall and roared out a demand foran explanation, which his son gave in a few hurried words.
“Hooh!” exclaimed his parent; “there’s robbers in the post office and I think I’ll take a hand as soon as I can get hold of my shotgun.”
Which may serve to explain how it was that Gerald Buxton became involved in the incidents that speedily followed.
CHAPTER XVIIIA Clever Trick
At the foot of the rear stairs in the home of Widow Friestone was an ordinary door latched at night, but without any lock. When Mike Murphy was groping about in the blank darkness, where nothing was familiar, he did not know, as has been said, of the steepness of the steps. Thus he placed his shoe upon vacancy, and, unable to check himself, bumped to the bottom, striking every step on the route, and banging against the door with such force that the latch gave away, it flew open, and he sprawled on his hands and knees, still grasping the rifle with which he had set out to hunt for burglars. He was not hurt, and bounded like a rubber ball to his feet.
An amazing scene confronted him. A young man, his face covered with a mask, had just drawn back the ponderous door of the safe, and by the light of a small darklantern in his left hand was trying to unlock one of the inner compartments, with a bunch of small keys held in his right. It was at this instant that the racket followed by the crash which burst open the door paralyzed him for the moment. He straightened up and stared through the holes of his mask at the apparition that had descended upon him like a thunderbolt, in helpless amazement.
If he was terrified, Mike Murphy was not. Forgetful of his shillaleh in the shape of the Springfield, he made a leap at the fellow.
“S’render, ye spalpeen!” he shouted. The criminal answered by viciously hurling the lantern into the face of his assailant, and in the act, the mask somehow or other was disarranged and slipped from its place. It was only a passing glimpse that Mike caught of him, but it identified him as one of the young men who had attacked Alvin Landon some nights before while passing through the stretch of woods near his home.
The throwing of the lamp was the best thing the burglar could have done, for itcaught the Irish youth fairly between the eyes and dazed him for an invaluable second or two. Instant to seize his advantage, the criminal made a leap through the rear window, which he had left open for that purpose, and sped like a deer across the back yard of the premises. Mike was at his heels and shouted:
“Stop! stop! or I’ll blow ye into smithereens! I’ve got a double barreled cannon wid me, and if ye want to save yer life, s’render before I touch her off!”
Perhaps if the fugitive had not been in so wild a panic he would have given himself up, for no man willingly invites the discharge of a deadly weapon a few paces behind him. But the youth was bent on escape if the feat were possible and ran with the vigor of desperation.
Less than a hundred yards over the garden beds and grass took the fellow to the paling boundary over which he leaped like a greyhound. Mike would have done the same, but feared it was too much for him. Moreover, his short legs could not carry him as fast as those of the fleeing one.The pursuer rested a hand on the palings and went over without trouble. By that time the fugitive was a goodly distance off in the act of clearing a second fence. In dread lest he should get away, Mike called:
“Have sinse, ye lunkhead! I don’t want to kill ye, but hanged if I don’t, if ye fail to lay down yer arms.”
The appeal like all that had preceded it was unheeded. The burglar must have taken heart from the fact that his pursuer had already held his fire so long. Running with unusual speed, he took advantage of the shadow offered by several back buildings and continued steadily to gain. When he made a quick turn and whisked out of sight, the exasperated Mike dropped to a rapid walk.
“Arrah, now, if this owld gun was only in shape! there wouldn’t be any sich race as this, as Brian O’Donovan said—phwat’s that?”
When within twenty feet of a small barn, a burly man stepped out of the gloom and with a large gun levelled gruffly commanded:
“Throw up your arms or I’ll let moonlight through you!”
“I don’t see any room for argyment, as Jed Mitchell said whin——”
“Up with your hands! and drop that gun!” thundered the other, and Mike let the old rifle fall to his feet and reached up as if trying to hold the moon in place. Which incident requires an explanation.
Gerald Buxton, the father of Jim, had no sooner heard the story of his boy than he decided, as had been related, that something was wrong at the post office. He had read of the many robberies in southern Maine during the preceding summer, else he might not have been so quick to reach a conclusion. He woke his wife, told her his belief and then took down his shotgun from over the deer’s antlers in the kitchen. Both barrels were always loaded, but to make sure of no lack of ammunition, he put a number of extra shells loaded with heavy shot into his pockets.
“Remember,” he said impressively to his son, “to stay home and not show your nose outside the door while I’m gone.”
“Yaws, sir,” meekly replied Jim, who three minutes later, unseen by his mother, sneaked out of the back door and reached the battlefield directly behind his parent.
Mr. Buxton had never had any experience with house breakers, and did some quick thinking from the moment he left his front gate until he arrived on the scene. Nothing seemed more natural than that the ruffians would not approach the house from the front, but by the rear. The light which Jim saw must have come from the back part of the store. For the gang to make their entrance from the main street would have been far more dangerous.
Because of this theory, Mr. Buxton crossed the road directly before his own house, passed through the alley of a neighbor, and followed a circuitous course which compelled him to climb several back fences. But he knew all the people, and in case he was questioned could readily explain matters.
So in due time he came to the barn of one of his friends, and had turned to pass around it when to his astonishment aman dashed toward him on a dead run. Buxton was alert, and pointing his weapon, crisply commanded:
“Stop or I’ll fire!”
The panting fellow obeyed with the exclamation:
“I’m so glad!”
“Glad of what?”
“That you came as you did. There are burglars in the post office!”
“That’s what I thought, but wasn’t sure. Who are you and why are you in such an all-fired hurry?”
“One of them is chasing me. I tried to wake the postmistress, when he heard me and I had to run for my life. How thankful I am that you appeared just in time!”
“Where is the scandalous villain?” demanded Mr. Buxton, glancing on all sides.
“He will be here in a minute.”
“I shan’t wait for him; tell me where he is.”
The fugitive, who was momentarily expecting the appearance of his pursuer, pointed to the barn around which he had just dashed.
“He is coming from there. Look out, or he’ll shoot you!”
“I’m ready for him,” exclaimed the angered citizen as he hurriedly trotted off and confronted Mike Murphy a few seconds later.
We have learned of the pointed conversation which passed between them. Mike’s first thought was that it was one of the robbers who had held him up, but there was no gainsaying the argument brought to bear against him. He remained with hands uplifted, awaiting the will of his captor.
“So you’re one of those post office robbers,” said Mr. Buxton, partly lowering his weapon.
“Not that I know of,” replied Mike, beginning to scent the truth.
“Have you a pistol?”
“The only deadly wippon I have is me pocketknife, with its two blades broke and the handle being lost some time since.”
“Where is the rest of your gang?” demanded the man, stepping closer to the youth.
“The two frinds that I have are wid the widder Mrs. Friestone, doing their best to entertain the leddy and her daughter, while I started out to chase one of the spalpeens that run too fast for me to catch.”
Mr. Buxton stepped still nearer. He was becoming doubtful.
“Who the mischief are you, anyway?”
“Mike Murphy, born in Tipperary, in the County of Tipperary, Ireland, and lately, arrove in Ameriky.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Standing still for the time, as Pat Mulrooney said whin the byes tied him to the gate post and wint off and left him.”
“Ain’t you one of those post office robbers?”
The question told Mike the whole truth. It was a clever trick that had been played upon him, and his musical laugh rang out on the still night.
“What made ye have that opinion?”
“I just met a young chap the other side of this barn, and when I stopped him he said he was running away from an enemy.”
“Which the same was the thruth.”
“And that one of the gang was chasing him, meaning to shoot him.”
“It’s mesilf that would have shot if I’d had a gun wid a conscience, fur I catched the spalpeen when he was opening the safe of Widder Friestone, and I made after him; but most persons can run faster than mesilf, owing to me short legs, and he was laving me behind, whin ye interfared.”
“Do you mean to tell me that first fellow was one of the burglars?” asked the astounded Mr. Buxton.
“As sure as ye are standing there admiring me looks.”
“Confound the rapscallion! I’ll get him yet!” and the irate citizen dashed off with the resolution, to put it mildly, of correcting the error he had made.
CHAPTER XIXIn the Nick of Time
Standing in the darkness of the upper front room, stealthily watching the mysterious stranger on the other side of the street in the shadow of the elm, and knowing that burglars were at work below stairs—the nerves of mother and daughter and of Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes were on edge. Had they peered out of the window less than half an hour earlier they would have seen the meeting between the lookout and young Jim Buxton.
Mike Murphy had slipped so silently from among them that no one was aware of his absence when the bumping and crash at the rear were followed by exclamations and words that were not intelligible. Mrs. Friestone uttered a faint cry and sank back on her chair. Nora screamed and threw her arms about her mother’s neck.
“They will kill us! What shall we do?” she wailed.
For the moment Alvin and Chester, startled almost as much as their friends, were mystified. When Chester said:
“That sounds like Mike’s voice. Hello, Mike, are you here with us?”
The failure to receive a reply proved that Chester was right. Their comrade had stolen off and was already in a “shindy” at the rear of the store.
“He may need our help!” called Alvin, starting for the stairs, with his chum at his heels. But Nora, who had heard the unguarded words, called in wild distress:
“Don’t leave us! Don’t leave us!”
They stopped irresolute. They could not abandon the two, and yet Mike’s life might be in peril.
“Go back to them,” whispered Chester. “There’s no call for both of us to stay.”
“Better not go down yourself; you know you have no weapon. Let’s take a look.”
First of all it was necessary to quiet the daughter and mother, for one was as much terrified as the other. Alvin hastened into the room.
“We will not leave you,” he said, “butwe wish to see what we can from the kitchen window.”
“Oh, you may fall out,” moaned Nora, scarcely responsible for what she said. Even in the crisis of a tragedy a vein of comedy will sometimes intrude itself.
“Have no fear of that,” replied Alvin. “I will hold Chester from tumbling out and he will do the same for me. Pray, compose yourselves.”
During this brief absence Chester had threaded his way past the furniture in the darkness to the window, out of which he was gazing on a most interesting moving picture which had vanished when Alvin appeared at his elbow.
“It made my blood tingle,” said Chester. “I was just in time to see a man, who must have leaped out, running for life with Mike in pursuit. He had that old gun in one hand—as if it could prove of any earthly use to him.”
“Where are they now?”
“The fellow, after leaping the fence, turned to the right and disappeared among the shadows.”
“With Mike still chasing him?”
“As hard as he could run, but you know he hasn’t much speed.”
“I wonder,” whispered Alvin, “whether there are any more of them downstairs.”
They stepped noiselessly to the head of the steps and listened. Everything was so quiet that they heard the ticking of the clock on the wall of the store.
“I don’t believe anyone is there. Let’s take a closer look.”
Alvin struck a match from his safe and led the way, thus saving the two from the mishap that had overtaken their friend. They were a trifle nervous when they stepped upon the lower floor, Alvin maintaining the illumination by burning more matches. He climbed upon the counter, and lighted the large oil lamp suspended there for such purpose. Adjusting the wick to the highest point it would stand without smoking, the two looked around.
What they saw completed the story that had already taken shape in their own minds. The unbroken dark lantern lay on the floor where it had fallen, the light having beenextinguished. The raised window showed by what avenue the burglar and Mike had left the building, but what amazed the youths more than anything else was the wide open door of the safe. Not a burglar’s tool or device was in sight, and the appearance of the lock and door without a scratch showing proved that no part of the structure had been tampered with. It was just as if Mrs. Friestone had manipulated it—as she had done times without number.
“Whoever opened it must have known the combination. And how did he learn it?”
Chester shook his head.
“Perhaps Mrs. Friestone can guess. I’ll ask her.”
Going to the foot of the stairs, the young man called to the woman just loudly enough for her to hear. He said the visitors had left, but the door of the safe was open and it was advisable for her to come down and take a look at things.
She timidly came down the steps, with Nora tremblingly clinging to her skirts, ready to scream and dash back to the front of the house on the first appearance of danger.But nothing occurred to cause new alarm, and mother and daughter stared wonderingly at the safe with its wide open door.
“Who did that?” asked the woman, in a faint voice.
“One of the burglars,” replied Chester.
“How did he learn the combination?”
“That’s the mystery; Alvin and I cannot guess. Was it known to anyone besides yourself?”
“No; I changed it two days ago and did not even tell Nora. Not another soul knew it—and look!”
She pointed to a bunch of keys, one of which was inserted in the lock of the middle small drawer, with a half dozen others dangling from the metal ring. It will be understood that while the door of the safe was opened by means of a usual combination of numbers, the interior was guarded by only a tiny lock and key. This was more convenient, for, when the massive door was drawn back, the little wooden drawers, even with a combination, would not avail long against a burglar.
“They have taken the money!” gasped the widow.
“Let us see.”
As Alvin spoke, he turned the key. The lock clicked and he drew out the drawer. There lay the big sealed envelope with the two thousand five hundred dollars intact within, while the stamps and cash receipts of the day were neatly piled on the shelf beneath.
The astonishing truth was that the criminal had been interrupted at the critical moment when he had succeeded in fitting a key to the lock. Had Mike Murphy been the fraction of a minute later in bursting upon the scene, he would have been too late. The robber would have carried off nearly three thousand dollars.
“That’s what I call the greatest luck that ever happened,” said Chester.
The discovery was as cheering as amazing. The large amount of money had been saved by a hair’s breadth. The woman clasped her hands in thankfulness. Chester slowly shoved the steel door shut.
“Now try the combination,” he said toMrs. Friestone. “Chester and I will turn our backs while you do so.”
“And why will you do that?”
“So that we shall not learn the secret. If anything like this happens again, you cannot say we did it.”
She saw the smile on his face and knew he spoke in jest.
“It may be the lock was broken in some way,” suggested Chester.
But it worked perfectly. The knob was turned forward till the finger pointed to a number, then back and then forward again to another numeral. It moved as smoothly as if the delicate mechanism was oiled.
“Now open it,” she said to the lads, her spirits rallying over her good fortune. They shook their heads and Chester said:
“We might succeed, and that would be suspicious.”
“Whether you noticed the combination or not, you surely did not know what it was a little while ago. I acquit you of having any understanding with the burglars.”
“What’s become of Mike?” asked Noraplaintively, speaking for the first time. “I’m afraid something dreadful has happened to him.”
“He is probably still chasing the bad man,” said Chester.
As if in answer to her wail a hasty tread was heard at that moment and a bushy red head without a cap appeared at the window, as if flung thither by the hand of a giant. The bright light within the door told him the story.
“The top of the morning to ye all, for I jedge it’s near morning, as Tim Mulligan said after he had been slaaping fur two days and nights. I hope ye are all well.”
He began climbing through and was half inside when Nora dashed forward and caught hold of his arm. It so disarranged his balance that he tumbled on the floor, the rifle falling from his grasp.
“I’m so glad to see you, Mike! I was afraid those awful people had killed you,” said the happy girl. “Are you hurt?”
“Not worth speaking of; I think my neck is broke and me lift leg fractured in two places, but niver mind.”
Then the exuberant youth told his story, to which his friends listened with breathless interest.
“Then you didn’t catch the villain?” said Chester inquiringly.
“No, but I made it hot fur him, as me cousin said after chasing the expriss train a couple of miles. He has longer legs than mesilf. The next time I engage in a chase wid him I’ll make sure his legs is sawed off at the knees, so as to give me a chance. If I had thought to have that done I’d brought the spalpeen back to ye.”
“Well, you drove him off in the nick of time. He didn’t get away with a penny,” said Alvin.
“But what was the maans he used to open that door? That’s what gits me—whisht!”
The report of a gun rang out on the stillness, and the friends stared at one another. Before anyone could venture an explanation, the sound of hurried footsteps told that someone was approaching.