While Ronnie climbed the bluff and made his way through the orchard on his way home to lunch, he did a great deal of thinking about the question that Bill had raised. He knew why his friend had asked it. If the candlesticks had come down through the Caldwell family—probably on his mother’s side—then it would be pretty safe to assume that they were the pair Jacob Williams had made for his bride. And if they were, then Mr. Caldwell and his brother were direct descendants of Williams, and would have a claim against the property.
But did Mr. Caldwell know about this? If he didn’t know now, would he put two and two together and come up with an answer? That depended upon how much he knew about the history of the candlesticks, Ronnie decided. And from the way Caldwell had talked earlier that afternoon, the boy doubted very much that he was aware of how the candlesticks had come into his family.
Then probably he wouldn’t know anything about the hidden glassware or the money either, which would cross him off the list of suspects for the mysterious prowler—unless,of course, the prowler wasn’t hunting for the money and glassware.
By the time Ronnie reached the house he had decided one thing only: it was all very, very confusing!
Mrs. Butler served Ronnie, Phil, and the two men their lunch at the kitchen table. Now that the hay was in the barn—Ronnie and Phil had spent the previous day helping their father load the truck in the field and hoist the hay to the loft—Mr. Rorth had turned his attention to the orchard. The young fruit was ready for spraying. “The weather’s going to hold for a few more days, I think,” Ronnie’s father told the others, “so I think I’ll mix a batch of spray this afternoon. Phil, you want to help me?”
“Oh, Dad! That stuff makes my eyes water and I cough and sneeze—”
“All right. You don’thaveto. I just thought maybe you were looking for something to do. You’ll have the hammock worn through by the end of the summer at the rate you’re using it.”
The telephone rang. Ronnie volunteered to answer it. He went into the hall at the foot of the stairs and lifted the receiver.
It was Bill, calling to tell Ronnie that he had to work that afternoon. “Pa’s mending some fences, and I got to help,” Bill said. “But Ronnie, somebody should be at the office, in case we get any tourists.”
Ronnie agreed that this was so. “I’ll hang around,” he answered.
After lunch, Ronnie went to the cold cellar and selected two apples, which he stuffed into his pockets. Then he wentout to the barn to see how his father was getting on with the job of mixing spray. “I’ll help you, Dad,” he said, “if you really need help. Only I promised Bill I’d stay down at the village in case we got tourists.”
“Thanks, son,” his father answered. “I’ll get along all right. This is really a one-man job.”
Ronnie watched his father measure out the poison powder. “Dad? Gramps said I could have the key to the locked-up building.”
Mr. Rorth stopped long enough in his work to look up at the boy. “Oh?”
“Really, Pa. I told him about how somebody’s been in the building. Bill and I saw him again after I told you about it.”
“Well, if your grandfather said you could go in, it’s all right with me. The key’s in the left-hand front drawer of my desk in the living room.”
Ronnie went back into the house. Phil was seated at the desk putting together a model airplane. “What’re you after?” he demanded, as Ronnie pulled open the desk drawer.
“Nothing.” Ronnie was evasive. He found the key and pocketed it.
“Hey! That’s the key to the locked-up building!” Phil protested.
“I know it. Gramps said I could use it.”
“He did! Boy, you really rate with him, don’t you?”
“You can come along if you want to.”
Phil thought it over. “Naw, I’ll stay here and finish this up. It’s too hot outside. Besides, there’s nothing in thatbuilding that isn’t in all the rest. Just a lot of dust and dirt and a few rats’ nests.”
Ten minutes later Ronnie had the door of their office open and was sitting on the doorsill waiting for customers. He had the key to the locked-up building in his pocket, but somehow it didn’t seem quite fair to Bill to go inside without him.
After a while Ronnie got tired just sitting and doing nothing, so he went inside and finished up the sign he had been working on. Then he found a rock and an old nail and using these, tacked the sign into place over the top of the door.
He sat down on the doorsill again and waited. A porcupine was rattling and thrashing on the thin, top branches of a maple tree. Ronnie watched it for a while. The animal didn’t seem to have a care in the world.
The afternoon wore on, but no tourists appeared. Ronnie got up and started slowly down the path. It wouldn’t hurt to take one quick trip around the locked-up building and maybe steal a peek through the crack in the shutter. Then he could climb up on the roof and sit there for a time. He could see so much more from up there, and if a car came up the dirt road, he’d know about it in time to get back to the office.
He circled around the old office building as he’d planned and then he climbed up on the log and peered through the window. Everything looked just about the same as the last time, except for some white objects scattered about the floor. He couldn’t make out what they were because of the darkness, but he decided they might be pieces of paper.
Well, he’d take one more quick look at the outside ofthe building and then he’d get up on the roof and see if he could spot any river boats on the St. Lawrence. But when he got around to the rear of the building, something on the ground caught his eye. Nothing very startling, but the thin layer of sawdust sprinkled on top of some of the leaves set him wondering. Carpenter ants, maybe—or had someone been sawing firewood? Mr. Caldwell, perhaps, the boy concluded.
But when he looked about for some sign of the white butt ends of the discarded pieces of logs that would surely be left lying around, he found none. His brow puckered in a frown.
He gathered a pinch of the sawdust and brought it up closer to his face so he could examine it, rolling it around between his fingers to get the feel of it. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt fresh. Maybe this sawdust could help him find out how the stranger was getting into the building.
He turned to inspect the rear wall of the building. At first glance it looked just like all the other walls. But when he looked closer he found a faint, irregular crack following the contour of the shingles. Tracing it, he discovered that it formed a rough square. “I’ll bet that whole section comes out!” he whispered. Apparently the shingles had been removed first, then a hole cut through the boards between the studs, and the shingles nailed cleverly back in place.
Ronnie remembered the tools that Bill’s father had found missing from his barn. Someone, the boy thought, had gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure that no one found his entranceway!
He’d have to try the trap door out, of course, to see how it worked. He gripped the shingles from underneath andpushed up gently. The section moved and then the bottom came free; and a minute later the entire piece had come away from the wall.
Ronnie poked his head inside and looked around. The air smelled stale and moldy. He heard the flutter of wings beating against the inside of the chimney and knew that one of the swifts was entering the nest. In the semidarkness he could make out some of the larger objects in the room—the fireplace, an old-fashioned roll-top desk, a filing cabinet, and several chairs.
He withdrew his head and slipped his feet through instead. Then, twisting about with his back toward the inside, he pulled the upper part of his body through.
For a minute he stood near the opening, not knowing quite what to do next. He had a strange, uneasy feeling that somebody was watching him. Perhaps it would be better if he put the trap door back into place. Then if the man who made it should come by outside, he wouldn’t notice anything different and he’d go away.
But after he had the trap door back in its place, he was a little sorry that he’d done it. It was pitch-black in the room now. He felt in his pocket and found a package of book matches. He tore one loose and struck it. The flame seemed very feeble, but it gave him a few moments to look around the room. He noticed the papers scattered about the floor and saw that the filing cabinet near him had been emptied, and the drawers left leaning against the wall.
It was clear to the boy that someone had been searching through the papers of the old Rorth Glassworks.
When the match had burned out he wet his finger and cooled the hot end and dropped the match to the floor.He lit another and moved toward the fireplace. His foot brushed against something. Looking down, he discovered the stub of a candle and he stooped to pick it up.
The light from the candle gave him a better view of the room. Now he could see an old leather-upholstered chair, a brass spittoon, and a metal coat rack. Raising the candle, he saw above the mantelpiece a white-bearded man with a bald head, rimmed with tufts of fluffy hair. The man looked down at him with sharp, piercing, brown eyes from a massive oak picture frame.
Ronnie backed up a few steps and the eyes seemed to follow him as he moved. “Great-great-grandfather?” he asked, but when he heard the sound of his voice he grinned at his foolishness.
He lowered the candle hastily and thrust it inside the huge opening of the fireplace. A partially decomposed mouse lay just beneath the pair of beautifully molded andirons. Ronnie poked his head inside the fireplace and looked up. The light from the candle reached almost as high as the swifts’ nest. Sure, Ronnie told himself, a powerful flashlight shining up the chimney flues could have made the weird light they had seen several evenings before.
He heard the young swifts chirping in the nest overhead and saw a single yellow beak protruding over the edge for a second or two. “I’m not going to hurt you none,” he said, and then realized that the sound of his voice would frighten the young birds even more than the light.
Ronnie backed out of the fireplace and stood for a moment or two near the center of the room, undecided on what he would do next. He wished that he hadn’t come through the trap door, but had come around and opened theregular door with his key. Then he’d have more light and could inspect the building and its furnishings more carefully. Well, he’d have time to do that when Bill and he returned.
He started toward the rear wall, ready to leave. But he had taken no more than a few steps when he froze in his tracks, his heart racing wildly.
From outside, behind the building, he could hear the sound of approaching footsteps in the dry leaves—the same quick footsteps he had heard inside the building.