They went into the haunted house then, groping their way in the darkness, for they had left their own lantern in the dory. They made their way to the kitchen and found the cellar door, with some difficulty. Then, lest the old stairs should be unsafe, they went down one at a time.
It was an easy matter to unearth the box, though they worked in utter darkness. When they had secured it, they refilled the hole and then stamped the earth down as they had found it. This being done, they were glad enough to get away from the house, to replace the spade beneath the underbrush, where the man had hidden it, and hurry down to the shore. Launching the dory, they embarked, Henry Burns carrying the box, and, with George and Arthur Warren at the oars, they had soon crossed the cove and landed on the beach.
There, too, was theAnna, drawn high up on shore, where the stranger had left it. It was a large and heavy boat, and it must have required enormous strength in one man to drag it there.
When the boys had at length gathered around the table in the old-fashioned kitchen of the Warren cottage and had drawn the window-shades, they proceeded to examine the box. It was an ordinary shallow tin box, such as a business man might keep odds and ends of papers and cash in. It was fastened with a small padlock. After trying to unlock this with every key they could find in the house, and without success, young Joe produced a file, and with this filed through the small staple in the box.
When the cover was thrown back there was disclosed a layer of fine cotton, like jewellers’ cotton, and when this was lifted out there came from the box a myriad of tiny flashes of light. The inside of the box was fairly ablaze. Countless little flashes of light danced and twinkled there.
“Hooray!” cried George Warren. “We have the stolen jewels, and no mistake. Just see how these sparkle.” And he lifted up a necklace of diamonds, that blazed in the light of the lamp like a ring of fire. They sparkled and gleamed like little stars, as the boys passed them from hand to hand.
“Mercy on us!” cried a pleasant voice, all of a sudden; and Mrs. Warren, who had been awakened by the sound of their voices and had hastily dressed, entered the kitchen. “Is this den the cave of the forty thieves?” she asked, smiling, and then, as she caught sight of the glittering gems, she exclaimed, anxiously: “Why, boys, what on earth does all this mean?”
“It means, mother,” answered George, “that Henry Burns has done what the detectives have been trying to do ever since the robbery at Benton. Here are the stolen diamonds, and Henry will take them to town to-morrow and claim the reward.”
“Only on one condition,” interrupted Henry Burns. “I don’t stir one step to secure the reward until it is agreed that it shall be evenly divided between us all. You fellows have just as much claim upon it as I, and, unless every one of you solemnly swears to take his share, I shall never take one cent of it.”
And every one of them knew that he meant exactly what he said.
Early next morning Henry Burns and George Warren stood upon the wharf, awaiting the arrival of the boat for Mayville. The boat connected there with a train that would arrive in Benton during the forenoon. Henry Burns carried in one hand a small satchel.
“I had hard work to persuade old Witham to let me go,” said Henry Burns. “He didn’t see what I wanted to go poking off to Benton for. Said I better stay here and save my money. As it is, I’ve got to go and call on an aged aunt of Mrs. Carlin and spend the night there. Well, I guess I can manage to amuse myself, even there. I’m likely to see a few other people before I get back, eh, George?”
“I know one man who won’t turn you out-of-doors, when you produce those diamonds,” answered George.
“Well, George,” returned the other, “you mustn’t lose sight of this stranger, although I almost know he won’t attempt to leave the island for several days. I remember that yesterday he got a letter, and I have no doubt it was from his confederates, saying when they would arrive. They are coming in a sailboat, for he has said so. Now, if they were coming to-night or to-morrow, he would not have hidden that box over there in the old house. You may be sure he did not expect them for a day or two,—but still you boys must keep him in sight, for one never knows what is going to happen.
“If he goes over to the bluff, you know what to do. You must get Captain Sam, the constable, to have him arrested at once. By to-morrow night I’ll be back with everything arranged to capture the whole three. I think you and I will see lively times around this harbour before many days are over.”
“Speak of the evil one and he appears,” said George Warren. “And, as true as I live, here comes Mr. Kemble. You do the talking, Henry, for I feel as though I should give him cause for suspicion if I said a single word to him.”
“Leave him to me,” replied Henry Burns. “He’s playing a bold game, and so must we;” and, as the stranger guest hobbled down to the wharf, groaning and wincing, as though racked with pain, Henry Burns gave him a cheery greeting.
“Good morning, Mr. Kemble,” said he. “I see you’re out bright and early. I declare, you have begun to look better already than you did the night you arrived.”
“Oh, I’m very miserable—very miserable,” answered Mr. Kemble, most dejectedly. “My rheumatism is something awful. I’d give everything I possess in the world if I could run around and be as active as you young men.”
“You will, I’m sure, in a few days,” answered Henry Burns.
“How’s that?” asked the man, turning upon Henry Bums sharply, while a strange look, that he could not conceal, stole over his face.
George Warren turned away precipitately, and, taking a fishing-reel from his pocket, dropped a line over the side of the wharf.
“There’s something peculiar in this island air,” continued Henry Burns, looking Mr. Kemble full in the eye, with the most innocent expression on his face. “No matter how bad a person feels when he first comes here, it puts new life into him. The first thing he knows he begins to feel like rowing boats, and going fishing, and all that sort of thing. I come here sick every summer, and I go away feeling strong.”
“Well,” replied Mr. Kemble, uneasily, but looking relieved, “I hope it may do as much for me. If it does, I’ll buy a cottage here.”
“You won’t find any cottages to sell, I’m afraid,” said Henry Burns. “But there are several old farmhouses that could be bought cheap, and they make over as good as new.”
“Humph! I’m not looking for old farmhouses,” said Mr. Kemble, gruffly; and then, as the whistle of the boat sounded suddenly from behind the bluff, he added, “But I must be getting back to the hotel. I’m not feeling well to-day, at all.”
“Any errand I can do for you in the city?” Henry Burns called after him.
But Mr. Kemble was hobbling away as fast as he could, and did not heed.
“I fancy he would feel worse if he could see what I’ve got in this satchel,” chuckled Henry Burns, as Mr. Kemble went on toward the hotel, somewhat faster than he had come down. “Did you notice how suddenly he had to leave when he heard the boat’s whistle?”
“Yes,—but what on earth were you thinking of, Henry, talking as you did to him?” said George. “It scared him in an instant when you told him he would be running around in a few days as lively as any of us. I almost believe he half-suspects something.”
“How can he?” replied the other. “Perhaps my remark about his running around in a few days may have startled him at first. That was a sudden jolt to his guilty conscience. But, upon reflection, he decided it was only a coincidence. Then he did look a little queer when I spoke of farmhouses, didn’t he?”
“He certainly did,” said George. “What possessed you to do it? You might upset everything.”
“No,” answered Henry Burns. “He don’t suspect us. By the way, do you remember how we got into this thing in the beginning?”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“If I remember rightly,” said Henry Burns, speaking with a slight drawl, “we started out last evening to have some fun. My little chat with our friend is the nearest approach to fun that this scrape has afforded me so far.”
“That may have been fun for you,” said George. “To my mind it was very much like playing with fire; but here’s the steamer. You’ve got my note of introduction to father?”
“Yes, I’ve got everything all right. Now keep your eyes open and expect me to-morrow night.” And Henry Burns crossed the gangplank to the steamer.
The train from Mayville to Benton reached its destination at eleven o’clock, and at that hour in the forenoon Henry Burns walked briskly out of the station. Half an hour later he stood in the waiting-room at the wealthy banking-house of Curtis & Earle.
“Well, what do you want, young man?” asked an important and decidedly officious attendant, bustling up to him.
“This is Mr. Curtis, I presume,” answered Henry Burns, blandly, but with the faintest suspicion of a twinkle in his eye.
“No, it isn’t,” said the man, abruptly, and looking a little foolish as several other attendants tittered audibly. “And, what’s more, you cannot see Mr. Curtis, for he is just preparing to leave for the day.”
“But I must see him,” insisted Henry Burns. “I’ve got some very important information for him. Have the kindness to take this in to him,” and he handed the surprised attendant a card upon which he had written in a clear but boyish hand:
Henry Allen BurnsPrivate Detective
Henry Allen BurnsPrivate Detective
The attendant took the card, read it with a grin, looked at the boy, as if puzzled what to make of him, shrugged his shoulders and left the room. Presently he returned.
“Mr. Curtis would be greatly obliged if you would call to-morrow,” he said. “He is going out of town to-day.”
“I must see him at once,” said Henry Burns, firmly.
“Impossible—” but at this moment the door of the banker’s private office opened, and a voice said: “Show Mr. Burns in.”
Henry Burns entered. He saw before him a tall, well-built man, smooth shaven, with black, piercing eyes, and a firm, decisive mouth. He had on his hat and gloves, and carried a light coat on his arm, as though about to leave his office.
“You will oblige me by stating your business as quickly as possible, young man,” he said, “as I am about to take a train out of the city.
“I see by your card,” he continued, gravely, “that you are a private detective. I suppose you are aware that I am a busy man, engaged in important affairs, and have no time in office hours for pleasantries.”
“If I had said an amateur detective I should have been more correct, sir, since this is my first case,” answered Henry Burns, calmly. “It is so very curious, however, that I feel certain it cannot fail to interest you.”
“But will you tell me why it should interest me, and not keep me waiting?” exclaimed the banker, in a tone of impatience. Evidently he did not for a moment connect the boyish figure before him with any possible recovery of his lost jewels.
“I will,” replied Henry Burns, speaking deliberately. “Last night some other boys and I watched a man bury a small tin box in the cellar of a deserted house. When the man went away we dug it up. I have the box here; would you like to see it?”
Henry Burns calmly opened the satchel.
But the banker sprang up from the chair in which he had seated himself, and exclaimed, excitedly:
“What do you mean—let me see it—quick!”
Henry Burns passed him the box, and with nervous fingers the banker broke the twine with which the boys had secured it. The next instant he had drawn the necklace from the box and held it up, while his hands trembled.
“They’re Alice’s diamonds, as I hope to live,” he cried, unmindful of Henry Burns’s presence for the moment. “And the rings and the brooch—everything—everything is here.”
“Why,” he exclaimed, “the best detectives in this country are working on the case, but I had already begun to despair of ever seeing the jewels again. They are exceedingly valuable, but, besides that, as they were wedding presents to my wife from me, we both prize them far beyond their real worth.
“But be seated. I shall postpone my trip out of town, you may be sure. And now let me hear the story of your discovery.”
In the calm, graphic manner characteristic of him, Henry Burns told the story of the night’s adventure.
“Splendid!” exclaimed the banker, as the boy concluded. “You have indeed acted as efficiently as the best detective could have done. We are bound to capture the robbers. Burton must know of this at once.”
He rang for an attendant, and, after writing a note, dispatched him with it. At the expiration of about half an hour the attendant returned, and ushered into the room a man of medium height, of light complexion, with steel-blue eyes, and a face that impressed Henry Burns at once as denoting great daring and coolness. The banker introduced him as Mr. Miles Burton, of a secret detective bureau.
“Here’s a young man, Burton,” said the banker, smiling, “who, I take it, has some inclinations for your line of work. In fact, here is pretty convincing proof of it.” And the banker pointed to the box of jewels.
Mr. Miles Burton looked nonplussed. He stared at the box in amazement for a minute, and gave a low whistle. Then he laughed and said: “I have always maintained that luck is a great factor in detective service, though I am ready to give a man his due for a good piece of work. In either case, you have my congratulations, young man, for a half a thousand dollars is just as good whether it comes by luck or shrewdness, or both.”
The detective listened with the keenest attention as Henry Burns repeated the story he had told the banker. He made him give the minutest details of Mr. Kemble’s personality, at the same time suggesting features which Henry Burns corroborated.
“It’s just as I thought from the start, and just as I told you, Mr. Curtis,” he said. “The man is undoubtedly George Craigie, who is known among his class as the ‘Actor,’ because of his cleverness in impersonating one character, and then utterly dropping out of sight and appearing as some other person. We want him on a score of charges, two bank robberies, attempted murder, several house burglaries, and other things. His picture is in the Rogues’ Gallery, but he has the art of changing his expression and appearance so completely that, although I have seen him twice since that was taken, at neither of those times did his countenance resemble his photograph. However, I feel positive from what this young man tells me that it is none other than he. And as for his confederates, I can readily guess who they are. They are two Boston men, and are, no doubt, on their way to the island now in the yacht. In this case, we cannot act any too soon; and I shall ask Detective Burns, who is familiar with the ground, to be my right-hand man in the expedition.”
“You can count on me,” replied Henry Burns, with a smile at the title conferred upon him, and who was, truth to tell, vastly flattered. “I can answer, moreover, for several good assistants, if you need them.”
“Well,” said Mr. Miles Burton, rising to go, “I will meet you at the train that leaves here to-morrow afternoon. By to-morrow night I hope to have some men on Grand Island who will give a pleasant little surprise to Messrs. Craigie & Co.;” and, bowing courteously, he took his leave.
“There’s a surprising lack of jealousy in that man Burton,” remarked the banker, when he had gone. “He is disappointed to have the robbers slip through his hands, and a little chagrined, I know, to have them caught through the aid of a party of boys; but he took pains not to show it, and, what’s more, he will always give you the credit for it when he speaks of it. That’s the kind of a man he is. He is as smart as a steel trap, too, is Burton, and has done me good service twice before.
“But let us not wait longer. I am going to take you home with me to dinner, and have you spend the night at my house. We shall feel more secure, I assure you,” he continued, smiling, “with a detective under our roof.”
Henry Burns declined, saying he was not dressed for such hospitality, but the keen eye of the banker had long before taken note of his neat and gentlemanly appearance, and, moreover, liked the looks of the boy’s clear-cut features, and the way he had of looking one fair in the eye, with a calm but manly and courageous glance. So he waived the boy’s objections, and they entered the banker’s carriage and were driven to the finest home Henry Burns had ever visited.
Perhaps they didn’t make him at home there when Mr. Curtis had told the story of the finding of the jewels hidden in the cellar; and perhaps Henry Burns, to his confusion, wasn’t embraced by the banker’s wife, and perhaps he wasn’t made a hero of by the banker’s two pretty daughters, who shuddered at the story of the man in the cellar, and who made Henry Burns tell it over and over again.
In short, he was treated with such wholesome and charming hospitality as to set him to wondering, after it was all over and he had gone to bed, whether he had not missed something in his solitary life, brought up without the love of father, mother, sister or brother, in a home where noise and cheerfulness were outlawed.
He was up bright and early the next day, and he and the banker went to see Mr. Warren, who was let into the secret, and the reward of five hundred dollars was, through him, placed to the credit of the boys. Then there was the aged aunt of Mrs. Carlin to call upon, and the time passed quickly till it was time for the afternoon train.
It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when Henry Burns boarded the train in the company of Miles Burton.
“Now,” said the detective, as the train rattled noisily on its way, “I have been in Mayville and know several parties there, but the island is new to me. However, you can explain it to me from this map,” and Mr. Burton unrolled a map of the bay and island from his pocket. “I shall pick up three of my men, whom I have ordered to meet us, in Mayville. One of them came all the way down from New York with me to help me work up this case. It is my opinion he traced this man Craigie to Mayville and lost track of him there. The man must have vanished, as he has done so often before.
“We will go over to the island to-night in a launch. Then we shall need some one to guide us to what you call the haunted house.”
“I will meet you in the road by Captain Hervey’s house, right at the very head of the island,” said Henry Burns. “It is the first house you come to on landing at the outermost point. You cannot miss it.”
“But how will you get there? It is a long trip up the island.”
“I will come on my bicycle.”
“Capital! You will go direct to the island, then, by the night boat, arriving there, you say, at six o’clock. You will see just how the land lies, so you can tell us, when we meet again. And you will instruct your friends to keep close to Craigie, so he won’t be over there at the house to meet us on our arrival. We want to do the welcoming for him, and not have him do it for us. Two of the men I shall bring are somewhat familiar with the island and know one or two parties there; though I am not sure they know where the haunted house is.
“One of you boys must have a boat always in readiness somewhere up the cove, on which you say this house fronts, so that, the minute this man meets his confederates aboard the yacht, one of you can slip across the cove and let us know of it, in case we have missed them.
“Act carefully, and everything will be well; but once give them cause for suspicion and they are dangerous men to deal with. I have a little score of my own to pay them,—but that’s a long story, and I’ll save it for another time. Now let’s go over this map, so I’ll be sure of my ground.”
When the train left Mayville, Miles Burton, with a hurried handshake, left Henry Burns. It was a little after six o’clock when the latter stepped ashore at Southport, where the boys were waiting for him, upon the wharf.
“Everything is all right,” said George Warren, in answer to Henry Burns’s question. “He was not on the roof at all during last night, for we divided up into watches and kept a lookout from Tom’s tent. He evidently knows about what time his friends are to arrive.”
“How is Colonel Witham?” asked Henry Burns. “Has he pined away any during my absence?”
“Not any to notice,” replied Tom Harris, “but he has gone away, down the island, to be gone two days. You must stop with us to-night at the tent, and the boys are all coming over to the tent now to eat one of Bob’s prime lobster stews.”
So the crowd marched on Bob, and found him down on the beach to the right of the tent, presiding over an enormous kettle, which was hung over the glowing coals of a fire of driftwood, and from which there arose such a savoury odour of stew that, in a burst of enthusiasm, they seized upon the stalwart young cook, and, raising him on their shoulders, bore him with hilarious shouts three times around the fire, much to the apparent discomfiture of the quiet Bob.
Then they sat about the fire while Tom brought some tin plates and spoons from the tent and acted as waiter, and Bob produced a pot of hot coffee and some bread. It seemed as though nothing had ever tasted so good. They called for stew till Bob’s stout right arm almost ached with wielding the long-handled tin dipper that served them for a ladle.
The sun sank while they sat about the glow of coals, and, by and by, the moon rose slowly over the distant cape and poured a flood of soft light over the waters of the bay. They remembered that night long afterward, for its soft lights and its silent, mystical beauty. The moon was at its full, and the tide crept up on the beach almost to the bed of coals that remained from the fire and still showed red. The islands far off across the bay seemed to have drifted nearer in to shore, and showed clear and distinct.
Henry Burns’s story of the day’s adventures lost nothing of its interest, told down there on the shore by the firelight and under the stars. His account of his visit to the banker’s, and how he had gained admittance to Mr. Curtis’s private office, filled them with glee.
“I should have liked to see him when he opened that box,” said young Joe. “Didn’t he look surprised, though, Henry?”
“Rather,” said Henry Burns.
“And the banker’s daughters,—were they pretty, Henry?” asked Tom.
“I didn’t notice particularly,” said Henry Burns.
“Henry never does notice those things,” said Arthur, dryly.
“Oh, no, never!” said young Joe.
“You fellows will notice something, if you don’t let up,” said Henry Burns, getting a little red in spite of himself.
Then he told them all that he had learned from Mr. Miles Burton about the man Kemble, who was not Kemble at all, but one Craigie, and a desperate man; and all about the plans that were now to be put into operation to capture Craigie and whosoever should come to meet him.
The money, too, that had come to each one of them, as his share of the reward, seemed like a fortune, while no expedition that they had ever heard or read of seemed half so full of mystery and danger as that upon which they were now entering.
Sometime between ten and eleven o’clock Henry Burns left them, and, proceeding to the hotel, unlocked a door in the basement, got out his bicycle, and rode away. In a little more than half an hour afterward he had dismounted from his wheel at Captain Hervey’s house, four miles from the hotel, on the western side of the island, near the head. The house was closed, as the captain and his family were away at sea. Down at the shore was an old boat-house, where Henry Burns left his bicycle. He sat on the edge of a bluff overhanging a landing-place for boats, and waited for the launch. He could see her lights already, out on the bay, and it was not long before the little craft had come to shore. Four men disembarked, and the launch steamed away again.
“Hello, Private Detective Burns,” said Miles Burton, laughing, as he came up the ladder from the landing. Then he added, as he introduced the others to the boy, “This is a rival to Inspector Byrnes of New York.
“We owe him a good turn, Mason,” continued Miles Burton, “for finding Craigie for us.”
The man addressed as Mason was the detective that had followed Craigie as far as Mayville.
“Yes,” he replied, shaking hands with Henry Burns, “we’ve been after him a long time.”
The other two men, whose names were Stapleton and Watkins, also shook hands with the boy. They were sharp-eyed, athletic-looking men, whose appearance on the island boded no good to one Craigie, alias Kemble.
Under the guidance of Henry Burns they all set off down the road for a distance, then turned from it and made their way through the fields and patches of woods toward the bluff. It was hard walking there in the darkness, through thickets and over little knolls, with which some of the pastures were dotted, and it was nearly one o’clock in the morning when they reached the old haunted house.
The house looked even less inviting than ever in the waning moonlight, with its sagging roof, dull and broken window-panes, and doors unhinged. Still, to those free from superstition and not fearful of ghosts, it offered a sufficient shelter on a summer night, and they entered at a rear doorway, after making a cautious reconnoisance to make certain that there was no one within.
Then, having shown them where the jewels had been buried, and pointing out the location of a spring of good water near the house, Henry Burns left the four detectives to accommodate themselves to their lodgings and went down to the shore. There in the shadow of a bluff he found Tom and Bob waiting for him in the canoe, as they had agreed.
When the canoe grated on the sand in front of the tent, Henry Burns, worn out with his travels, was fast asleep. So Tom and Bob, by way of a joke, lifted up the canoe with its sleeping occupant and carried it to the door of their tent. They thrust it inside as far as it would go, laid Henry Burns out flat in the bottom of it, made him comfortable with blankets, without waking him from his heavy sleep, and let him slumber on.
The inhabitants of the peaceful town of Southport would have viewed the old haunted house with more concern than ever if they had known of the four ghosts that haunted it now, by day and night. They were stalwart, able-bodied looking ghosts, and their habits were strangely like what might have been expected of four live men. Sometimes, as they sat in one of the front garret rooms, by a window that overlooked the town and the whole expanse of the cove lying between it and the bluff, as well as the bay beyond, a well-worn pack of cards was produced by one of the spirits, and the four joined in a game. Or, again, a bag was brought forth, and the spirits ate heartily of the contents thereof.
It might have been noticed, too, that through it all a certain careful vigilance on the part of the ghosts was observed, as though they feared that if surprised by a chance visitor they would have some trouble in vanishing.
Every few minutes throughout the day they made by turns a careful survey of the cove and also of the bay, sweeping it with a powerful field-glass. No more than two of the ghosts ever took their sleep at the same time, and that, too, during the day. When night came they all redoubled their vigilance and remained awake and alert. As darkness shut down they left the house, one of them going out on the bluff and hiding in a cleft of the rock, where he could overlook the cove and the bay, the others hiding in the woods near the house, and keeping watch on all its approaches.
They were very patient and very careful; for two of them, who would have answered to the names of Burton and Mason, knew that the men for whom they watched, and who they knew would surely come within a brief time now, were the men for whom they had hunted for years, and by whose capture they should win other rewards and settle scores of long standing.
Curiously enough, for the next two days and nights a perfect contagion of watching seemed to have spread through the village. Mr. Kemble, as he was known to all, was a most annoyed man, and concealed his annoyance only with difficulty. If, by chance, he hobbled up the road of an afternoon, and wandered off into the woods or fields, he was sure to come upon some one of the boys, who seemed surprised enough to see him, and was sure to remain with him till he returned to the hotel.
If he hired a horse and went up the island for a drive, he was sure to fall in most unexpectedly with Henry Burns, spinning along on his wheel, and could not shake him off. If he felt strong enough to get into a rowboat and start out, weakly, across the cove, groaning at the effort it cost him, he invariably fell in with Tom and Bob, gliding along quietly in their canoe, and they would insist on accompanying him, and pointing out to him the beauties of the scenery along the shores.
He would have considered far more seriously the attention they paid to his movements by night, if he had but known of them. If he could have seen six pairs of eyes, striving to discern him as he appeared on the hotel roof, or have known of the youths who watched lest he cross the cove under cover of night, to say nothing of those who awaited his coming on the bluff itself, he might have worried more than he did, and perhaps have played a shrewder game.
But neither did he nor any one else, other than they who watched, know of it. And so it was that when, a little before sunset on the third day after the arrival of the ghosts in the haunted house, and while Mr. Kemble sat on the front piazza of the hotel, looking through a field-glass off on to the bay, admiring its beauties with Mrs. Carlin, who thought him such an unfortunate man,—and while, as he looked, he saw the very yacht for which he had waited anxiously for days, he surely believed that there was no one in the village who would regard it with other than the usual curiosity that fishermen and yachtsmen have for a strange craft.
In this, unfortunately for him, he was mistaken. There were others besides him who, on seeing the sail emerge from between the islands, regarded it with equal interest and even more excitement. Henry Burns, being deeply interested in it, came and sat down beside Mrs. Carlin long enough to hear Mr. Kemble remark that he believed the yacht was theEagle, with his friends; in which case he should spend the night aboard with them, and leave the harbour early in the morning, if the wind availed.
Henry Burns then quietly took his departure, sauntering along until some cottages shut him out from the view of the hotel, and then starting off on a run as hard as ever he could toward the Warren cottage. He paused long enough at the cottage to communicate the news to young Joe, who was the first one he met, and then, calling out that he would return as quickly as he could, he ran through the woods down to the shore.
Going up the cove some distance, Henry Burns launched a rowboat and pulled rapidly across, landing some ways above the bluff. Then he struck down through the woods for the haunted house.
When Henry Burns returned a few minutes later, two of the detectives were with him. The three rowed across the cove and proceeded to the Warren cottage. There the plan of operation, as it had been mapped out by Miles Burton, was told by Henry Burns. Burton and Mason were to make the arrest at the haunted house. It was extremely unlikely that more than two of the robbers would come for the box of jewels,—perhaps Craigie alone. At all events, the detectives would take chances against more than two coming, and, if the three came, it would make no difference to them. They would take them all by surprise, and could arrest a dozen if necessary. If two of the boys chose to go over to the bluff, they could do so, but Miles Burton would not advise them to take the risk.
The other two detectives were to wait in boats for the man who should be left in the yacht, and arrest him at the proper time. If any of the boys chose to accompany these men, they could do so at their risk, but Miles Burton had sent warning for them to take no chances. Needless to say, his advice on this score was thrown away. He might as well have advised the boys not to breathe till it was all over. Their blood was up, and they were one and all determined to take part in the capture.
So it was decided that Bob and Henry Burns and George should go over to the bluff; that Tom and one of the detectives should take the canoe and lie in the shadow of the shore, in wait near the tent; while Arthur and Joe, with the other detective, should go around the bluff in a rowboat, on a pretence of fishing, and lie in concealment there behind the rocks.
During all this time the yacht, a white-hulled, sloop-rigged, trim vessel, was rapidly nearing the village. It came in fast, with a southeasterly breeze astern, which blew fresh and which bade fair not to die down with the setting of the sun. The yacht attracted some attention among the people of the town, where fishing-boats were more commonly seen than elegant pleasure-craft. Its topmast was uncommonly tall, and the club topsail, which was still set, was somewhat larger than usual in a craft of its burden. In fact, it was apparent to the experienced eye that, with all its light sails set, the yacht would be enveloped in a perfect cloud of canvas. It carried two jibs, besides the forestaysail, but these were now furled.
“That craft carries sail enough to beat theFlying Dutchman,” said Captain Sam, who had joined the group on the veranda that was watching the graceful yacht coming in, with a tiny froth of foam at its bows. “Looks as though she could stand up under it, though. Seems to be pretty stiff.”
“Yes, she is considered pretty fast,” assented Mr. Kemble. “She has taken a few races around Boston and Marblehead way, against some yachts that carried even more sail. She belongs to a friend of mine, a Mr. Brooks of Boston. He’s a broker there, and can afford to have as fast a craft as there is made.”
“Fast!” returned Captain Sam. “Any one can see that with half an eye. Give her five minutes start, and nothing in this bay could ever come within hailing-distance of her again.”
Captain Sam little knew the relief and satisfaction that his remark afforded Mr. Kemble.
“She won’t want all that sail to-morrow, though,” continued Captain Sam. “The wind is coming around to the eastward for a storm of some kind. Looks more like rain than wind, but there will be wind, too,—enough to do all the sailing any one wants. You say you’ll sail to-morrow, do you, Mr. Kemble, rain or shine? Well, that boat will stand it all right. She looks as though she would just like a good blow, and nothing better.”
If Mr. Kemble knew of any instances where the yachtEagle, aliasThe Cloud, aliasFortune, had proved her marvellous speed to the chagrin of certain officers of the law, and had demonstrated her ability to run away from pursuers in both light and heavy weather, he refrained, for reasons best known to himself, from mentioning them. He gave, instead, a quiet assent to the truth of Captain Sam’s praise.
While tea was being served at the hotel, the yacht entered the cove, and, rounding to gracefully with a little shower of spray, dropped anchor about midway between the wharf and the bluff opposite. The sails were furled, with, strangely enough, the exception of the mainsail, which was not even lowered. She would doubtless drop this sail later, unless, by any chance, she should decide to put out again during the night.
The men who had brought the yacht across the bay did not come ashore. A thin column of smoke that presently wreathed out of a funnel in the cabin indicated that the yachtsmen were cooking a meal in the galley aboard.
They were thorough yachtsmen, Mr. Kemble explained, as he paid his bill and said good-bye to Colonel Witham and Mrs. Carlin. They hardly ever left the yacht, he said, except to buy provisions, or some other errand of necessity. Mr. Kemble did not specify what other errands of necessity he had in mind.
The colonel saw just how it was, he said. He was sorry, moreover, to lose Mr. Kemble as a guest. In fact, he was the kind of guest that just suited the colonel, as he went early to bed, minded his own business, and was quiet. Good qualities in a summer boarder, in the colonel’s estimation.
There was no one to bid Mr. Kemble good-bye, save the colonel and Mrs. Carlin, as he had made few acquaintances. Henry Burns would have bid him a pleasant voyage if he had been there, but Henry Burns was not to be found.
“He will be sorry not to have been here to say good-bye to you,” Mrs. Carlin explained, politely. “He often expressed the greatest sympathy for your lameness. I cannot imagine where he is, and he has had no supper, either.”
“Bright boy, bright boy, that,” responded Mr. Kemble. “Lives just out of Boston, does he? Must look him and his aunt up this fall, and see if I can’t get my friend, Brooks, the broker, interested in him. Well, good-bye,” and, hobbling away, quite briskly for him, Mr. Kemble followed a boy who carried his satchel down to the wharf, and was rowed out to the yacht. A voice from the cabin bade him welcome, and he disappeared down the companionway.
Early that evening, and shortly after Mr. Kemble had gone aboard theEagle, for such was the name painted freshly in gilt on the yacht’s stern, Miles Burton and the three boys, Bob, Henry Burns, and George, held a consultation in the shadow of the woods near the haunted house. Mason, in the meantime, was hidden near the head of the rickety old stairs at the landing on the bluff, watching for any movement aboard theEagle.
Miles Burton’s commands were brief and explicit. “There is an old closet in the cellar,” he said, “just about opposite where the box was buried. Mason and I will hide there. We have oiled the hinges of the door so that it moves noiselessly. You boys better keep close here in the woods till you hear from us. Then you can make as much noise as you want to and come in at the capture. There ought not to be so very much excitement about it, for we shall have them before they know what’s the matter.”
It certainly seemed as though the detective could not be mistaken, but the sequel would show.
Mason remained at his post, and Miles Burton and the boys sat together in the shadow of the woods. It was wearisome waiting, and there was a chilliness in the night air which had crept into it with the east wind. When eleven o’clock had come and the moon should have shone over the cape, a bank of clouds drifted up just ahead of it and half-obscured its light. As the moon arose these clouds drifted higher in the sky, still just preceding it, and the heavens grew but little brighter. Still it was not absolutely dark, for most of the stars were as yet unhidden.
Twelve o’clock came, and then one, and then a half-hour went by. At just half-past one o’clock by the detective’s watch they saw the figure of Mason stealing swiftly up the path.
“It’s time to make ready now,” he said to Burton, as he joined the party. “They’ll be at the landing soon. As near as I can make out, there’s Chambers and French, besides Craigie. It’s the men we want all right. Chambers is rowing, and he will probably stay in the boat while the other two come ashore.”
Then, bidding the boys to preserve the utmost silence, the two detectives left them, and a moment later the boys saw them disappear through the doorway of the haunted house.
There was little need of warning the boys to make no noise. From what the detectives had said, they knew that the men they had to deal with were desperate adventurers, who would not balk at any means to escape capture.
So they lay close in the underbrush and peered through the trees down toward the landing. The night was still, save for the rustling of a light wind through the trees. The breeze had held through, as Captain Sam had prophesied, though it had abated somewhat, ready, however, to increase with the next turn of the tide a few hours later.
They could hear noises across in the village: a solitary cart rattling along the country road, the tinkle of a distant cow-bell in a pasture, and here and there a dog barking. Presently the sound of oars grinding in the rowlocks came to their ears, and a few moments later the sound of a boat gently grating on the edge of the stone landing. There was as yet no sound of voices.
“Whew!” muttered Bob White. “This waiting here for something to happen gives me a creepy feeling. I only wish we knew that they weren’t armed to the teeth and could only pitch in and run the risk of a good fight. I’d like to try a good football tackle, just to keep my nerves from going to pieces.”
“I wouldn’t care much to be waiting for them down in that cellar,” said Henry Burns. “They’re likely to prove ugly customers when they find themselves trapped,—but I’ll risk Miles Burton to keep his head. He’s the kind of man for this sort of thing—”
“Sh-h-h,” interrupted George Warren, softly. “I hear their voices. There’s two of them, I think, talking. Yes, here they come. Lie low, now.”
A head appeared at the top of the ladder, and then a man sprang up on to the brow of the bluff. It was the man whom they had known as Mr. Kemble, but whom they now knew as Craigie. He was followed by another man, somewhat taller than he.