Bill Beckney’s cat had cornered a mouse in the concrete manure pit one afternoon the year before. The mouse ran from one side of the pit to the other trying to avoid the cat’s claws.
Ronnie remembered the picture all too vividly now as he stood with his feet frozen to the floor and his heart beating like a tom-tom, and the sound of the footsteps coming closer and closer with each second. Only nowhewas the mouse!
He knew there wasn’t a chance that he could escape. The door was padlocked on the other side, and even the key in his pocket couldn’t help him. The opening in the wall through which he had come would place him face to face with his opponent.
He had to hide, but where? Anywhere, just as long as he did it quickly!
His legs and feet came to life again. He swung about, holding up the candle as he searched for a place large enough to hide. The flickering light picked out the fireplace.
He started for it quickly. Behind him, small creaks and thumps told him that the section of wall was being removed. Doubling over, he swung his body into the fireplace. Theacrid smell of stale, wet ashes struck his nose. He straightened up and blew out the candle.
Suddenly light flooded the fireplace. The section of wall had been completely removed. Looking down, he saw his feet and legs illuminated as by a floodlight. He knew he couldn’t stay where he was if he wanted to remain hidden.
Desperately reaching up his hands, he found a narrow ledge, and using this as a support, he pulled his feet up until he was sure they were out of sight. Then he moved them cautiously until he found a small ledge where he could gain a toehold. Now he could ease the strain on his hands and arms.
Whoever was in the room had evidently returned to continue his search. A door came open with a jerk, and more papers fluttered to the floor within the boy’s range of vision. “Please,pleasedon’t do any more hunting in the fireplace,” Ronnie prayed.
The minutes dragged on. The muscles in the boy’s arms and legs and back began to ache. Twice he thought of moving, but each time he decided against it. Too risky. He couldn’t take the chance of slipping or making a noise.
Now the intruder was tapping with some heavy object, first against the floor boards in different parts of the room and then upon the bricks of the fireplace. Now, Ronnie thought! Now would be a good chance to ease his muscles. If he moved very carefully, the small sounds he might make would be drowned out by the tapping. Shifting some of his weight to his right leg, he began to slide his palm along the top of the ledge toward the rear of the fireplace. He had moved no more than a few inches when the side of his hand touched an object resting on the ledge. He knew it wasn’tpart of the brickwork because it moved along with his hand. It might be—well, perhaps a book of some kind, he decided.
A book! Maybe, just maybe, this was the very thing that the intruder was looking for! And just maybe it was the clue that Grandfather had hunted for and never found! A tingle of excitement and anticipation ran down Ronnie’s back. He justhadto get hold of the object and find out for sure what it was.
And he could do it, too—with risk, of course, that he’d lose his balance and fall from his perch. It was going to take a lot of good balancing and some muscle testing, too! But Ronnie loved a challenge such as this.
Summoning all his strength, he rested his entire weight on one small part of his inner wrist. At the same time he curled his fingers up over the object until they reached the flat surface at the top. Then with a quick, sudden movement, he shifted his entire hand to where his fingers had been.
Now his fingers could explore in all directions without fear of losing his balance and falling from his perch. It took him only a few moments to prove to himself that his first guess had been correct: he had discovered a small, thick book!
Outside the fireplace, the sounds suddenly increased. Apparently the intruder was losing patience, and had thrown caution away. Over went the desk on its side with a loud crash. Out came the drawers, one after another. Then the desk went over again. Papers flew over the floor in every direction. “Confound it!” the man growled, “there’s got to be something heresomewhere! I’ll find it if I have to tear down the whole confounded building.”
Ronnie grinned to himself in the darkness of his hiding place and his fingers tightened on the book. If the man only knew how close he had come to finding what he wanted those nights he had searched the fireplace with his light!
But then Ronnie’s grin faded. The man’s words were still ringing in his ears and there was something familiar about the sound of the voice—something that made Ronnie think of Caldwell. And yet, there was something to the voice thatwasn’tCaldwell’s.
The light at the bottom of the fireplace brightened and Ronnie heard the footsteps approaching the fireplace. He drew in his breath and held it. He flattened his body as close against the wall as he dared without risking his balance.
The footsteps stopped near the hearth. The man coughed. The soles of his shoes scraped against the hearthstone as he shifted his position. Then Ronnie heard the scratch of a match and smelled cigarette smoke.
Ronnie frowned, puzzled. He’d never seen Caldwell smoke. Of course that wouldn’t disprove positively that this man was Caldwell. But it confused Ronnie more than ever.
At last the man turned and crossed the room, and the boy breathed more freely again. The footsteps moved toward the rear wall. There they stopped for a moment. Then Ronnie heard the section of wall being removed, and a flood of light from outside filled the room.
Ronnie sighed long and deep. At last the man was leaving!
As soon as the wall section was back in place, Ronnie took a firm grip on the book and dropped to the floor. A moment later he was out of the fireplace and standing inthe blackness of the room, trying to make up his mind what to do next.
One thing he did want to do, and that was to catch a glimpse of the intruder before he disappeared into the woods. He hurried across the room, tripping over one of the desk drawers, but managing to catch his balance just in time to save himself from a headlong fall. He reached the wall, pushed open the section of wall a few inches from the top, and peered out.
The brilliant light blinded him for a few seconds. Then he saw the man disappearing into the trees a short distance from the building. But all Ronnie could see was the back of his head and shoulders. The rest of his body was hidden in the underbrush.
It was Caldwell, and then again it wasn’t Caldwell. Ronnie just couldn’t be positive. “I reckon I’m never going to get a real close-up look at this fellow,” he told himself.
He pulled the section of wall closed again. Better to wait a few minutes until he was sure the man would not see him climbing from the building.
“Ronnie! Oh, hey, Ronnie!” he heard Bill’s voice. It seemed to be coming from the direction of their office. The suddenness of his friend’s voice made Ronnie jump. He had seemed so far away from his normal, everyday life during the past twenty minutes.
He found Bill wandering slowly up the cobbled road while he called Ronnie’s name every few minutes. “Where in tarnation have you been?” he demanded when Ronnie reached him. “I got through working, so I thought I’d come join you.”
“Come on down to our office and I’ll tell you all aboutit!” Ronnie exclaimed. “And, boy, will your eyes pop when you hear about it.”
Bill’s eyes didn’t pop when he had heard Ronnie’s story, but he certainly was as excited about the find as his friend. “Golly, maybe we’ve got something real important at last. Let’s see it, Ronnie.”
They sat down together at the desk, and Ronnie placed the old book before them. It was old—very old. Its leather-bound cover was warped from water and age. Heavy rains down through the years had found their way to the book’s resting place, and drop by drop had soaked through its pages.
Carefully Ronnie opened the book. The long columns of figures, page after page of them, were still legible despite the water damage. “Doesn’t look very exciting,” Bill said. “There’s nothing but numbers and entries like a bank book.”
“But then why would it be hidden in the chimney?” Ronnie asked as he continued to turn the pages. “That old office is full of papers just like this.” His voice showed his disappointment.
He had almost reached the last page when he exclaimed, “Look! Writing! It looks like a diary!”
“Oh, boy!” Bill exclaimed in excitement. “Now maybe we’re getting somewhere.” He pulled the volume closer so he could see it better. Ronnie began to read aloud while Bill followed the words with his eyes.
“July 10, 1892. I am desperately ill with the typhoid, and sick at heart because now, when the evidence that would clear my name is at hand, I have not thestrength to bring it from where it is hidden. All in this place have gone away, including my dear wife and son. There is none here to whom I can reveal my discovery. My strength is waning too fast for me to hope to reach town with what I now know. Therefore, I shall take these last moments to set down the facts that will clear my name and the name of those who will come after me.“But what if Jacob’s son should find this account and destroy it for the sake of his own good name? I must hide the ledger in the chimney, hoping that someone of my family will think to look on the secret shelf where I have hidden things before.“Here let it be known that it was Jacob’s own greed and deceit that caused his death, and not my hand, as so many have claimed. For years he stole from our company, and the proof lies with him below. To cover up his thefts of money, and to direct the guilt to me, he, from time to time, hid parts of various glass shipments, making it appear that they had been stolen from outside. He also entered large debit values in the books to cover his withdrawals of money.“As I write this, his body lies below, together with the evidence of his guilt. How he was trapped there will probably never be known. Rising waters may have caught him unawares. He did much planning for his crimes, but in the end he was trapped by his own foolishness and sent to a slow death. My strength fails. I must hide the ledger—”
“July 10, 1892. I am desperately ill with the typhoid, and sick at heart because now, when the evidence that would clear my name is at hand, I have not thestrength to bring it from where it is hidden. All in this place have gone away, including my dear wife and son. There is none here to whom I can reveal my discovery. My strength is waning too fast for me to hope to reach town with what I now know. Therefore, I shall take these last moments to set down the facts that will clear my name and the name of those who will come after me.
“But what if Jacob’s son should find this account and destroy it for the sake of his own good name? I must hide the ledger in the chimney, hoping that someone of my family will think to look on the secret shelf where I have hidden things before.
“Here let it be known that it was Jacob’s own greed and deceit that caused his death, and not my hand, as so many have claimed. For years he stole from our company, and the proof lies with him below. To cover up his thefts of money, and to direct the guilt to me, he, from time to time, hid parts of various glass shipments, making it appear that they had been stolen from outside. He also entered large debit values in the books to cover his withdrawals of money.
“As I write this, his body lies below, together with the evidence of his guilt. How he was trapped there will probably never be known. Rising waters may have caught him unawares. He did much planning for his crimes, but in the end he was trapped by his own foolishness and sent to a slow death. My strength fails. I must hide the ledger—”
Ronnie turned the page. The next one was blank. “Iguess that’s all,” he said quietly. It seemed to the boy as if his great-great-grandfather had been in the room talking to him during those last few moments of his life. He thought of the eyes watching him from the picture over the fireplace in the padlocked building earlier that afternoon. Yes, in spirit anyway, Ezra had come back again to make one last desperate effort to save the Rorth name. Almost as if he knew there wasn’t much time left to get it done, Ronnie thought.
He felt the pressure of Bill’s hand about his arm, and the movement brought his thoughts racing back to the present. He looked up at Bill. His friend’s face was turned toward the window. “Ronnie,” Bill whispered to him, “somebody was watching us through that window!”