Chapter V: Part 5

The lawn of the Gables was wide and gently sloping. When Rosalind and Sir Marmaduke finally slackened speed Ben found they had come to a corner where poplars and spruces made a background against a road. One oak tree stood out by itself, and there was a small house with picturesque criss-crossed windows and a door with big curved hinges.

“There,” said Sir Marmaduke, “behold the Forest of Sherwood! There aren’t so many trees, but each of them is a giant.”

Rosalind flung herself down near the oak. “Oh, Master Ben,” she panted, “fan me with your hat.”

And while Ben gallantly flapped his hat close to the red-cheeked lady, the others came bounding into the glade, like so many children just let out from school.

In a few minutes Fitzhugh, a paper in his hand, was calling out directions. Ben, observing everything, saw a couple of men crossing the lawn with what looked like a big camera. He turned to Rosalind. “I know what it is,” he whispered. “You’re moving-picture people doing a play.”

“Good for you,” she answered. She nodded toward Fitzhugh. “He wrote the plot, and we’ve been dressing up and doing it every day this week.”

The play began, and went on for an hour or so, with frequent interruptions. Some scenes were done over and over again before Fitzhugh was satisfied with them. He found a part for Ben, and instructed him carefully how to act before the camera. And whenever the company got tired the cameramen turned off their machine, and the actors lounged on the greensward while somebody sang or did a fancy dance.

It was great sport, and Ben was surprised when, glancing toward the west, he saw that the sun had set behind the trees.

“I must be going,” he said to Fitzhugh. “I’ve had a splendid time.”

Fitzhugh waved his hand at the cameramen. “That’s enough for to-day. We always end with a woodland dance, Ben, and then, back to the house for dinner.”

“I can’t stay to dinner,” began Ben; but before he could say more Rosalind and another girl had each caught a hand of his and the whole company had spread out in a ring. Rosalind started to sing, and all the others took up the song. There followed a dance, in which Ben did his share, and then the crowd formed into a line, each with his hands on the shoulders of the one in front, and led by Fitzhugh they wound across the wide lawn and back to the Gables.

“Now,” said Ben to his host, when they arrived on the porch, “I’ll get into my own clothes and dash back to Barmouth.”

“What? Without dinner? I can’t let you go hungry.” Fitzhugh turned to a servant. “Show this gentleman up to the yellow guestroom and get him whatever he wants.”

It was difficult to argue with such a positive man as that; and moreover Ben was thoroughly enjoying his adventure. To be shown up to the yellow guestroom, and later to dine with such a company of moving-picture people would be a new and delightful experience. He would have a story to tell Tom and David and John Tuckerman when he got back to the island that would make them open their eyes. So Ben followed the servant into the house, where the lamps were already lighted.

There was a gallery on the second floor, with ever so many rooms opening from it. The servant went to a door and turned the knob. “This is the yellow room, sir. You’ll find clean towels in the bathroom. If you want anything, there’s an electric push button.”

Ben went in and shut the door. He had never seen a more luxuriously furnished bedroom. He switched on an electric light and a little orange-shaded lamp on a table shone forth. He threw his hat on the bureau and rolled up the sleeves of his doublet.

The door of a bathroom stood open. He went in, turned on the water, and washed his face and hands. As he was drying them with a towel he walked over to a window. Looking out, he saw a garage and a circular driveway. Beyond that was a lane that led back of a big barn. And on the stone wall on the opposite side of the lane two boys were sitting.

Ben stopped using the towel, and stared. The two boys looked surprisingly like Tom and Lanky Larry. They were at some distance from the house and the shadow of the barn fell across the stone wall. But they did look like Tom and Lanky. However, it was inconceivable that those two should be sitting there. He must be mistaken. For what could possibly have brought those two to the neighborhood of the Gables? And why should they perch on a stone wall as if they had nothing to do?

Ben turned to go back to the yellow room; but in the doorway he stopped. Someone was there, at the bureau, a man in a brown hat and cloak. He had pulled a bureau drawer out and was looking in it. Some one of the guests must have mistaken this room for his own.

“Hello,” said Ben, “I didn’t know there was anyone here.”

The man looked over his shoulder. “My mistake,” he said. “I thought this was my room. I beg your pardon. My room is next door.”

“I don’t wonder you didn’t know the right one,” Ben said politely. “I never saw a house with so many rooms. I say, in that cloak and hat you look very much like me in my costume. I don’t remember seeing you in the moving-pictures.”

“I changed my things,” muttered the man. “Sometimes I wear one set and other times another.” He walked to the door, opened it, and went down the hall.

“That’s funny,” said Ben, half-aloud. “He keeps his hat on in the house. I suppose he thinks, because it’s part of his costume, it’s a perfectly proper thing to do.”

Before the mirror at the bureau Ben put on his own broad-brimmed hat, turned on the light at a wall-bracket, and surveyed himself in the glass.

“The hat does help to make a fellow look different,” he said to himself. “I guess I’ll keep mine on when I go downstairs; though I don’t suppose it would be the right thing to wear a hat to dinner.”

He switched off both the lights and went out into the hall. The gallery and the lower floor of the big house appeared to be empty; he supposed the guests had all gone to make ready for dinner. He walked around the gallery to the staircase. The afterglow of sunset partly lighted the lower floor, and here and there soft lamps shed circles of radiance, but for the most part the house was pleasantly shadowy, which made its fine furnishings all the more interesting.

Ben went down the stairs and stopped in the large hall to look at a grandfather’s clock that stood opposite the front door. Above the dial was a painted ship that sailed on a deep-blue sea. He was admiring the ship when somewhere in the upper part of the house someone gave a scream.

Ben waited a moment. There was another shout. Doors on the gallery opened. He heard people calling “What’s the matter?” There was confusion above-stairs. Someone shouted “Lock the doors! Don’t let him get away!”

The front door was open. Ben dashed across the polished floor to shut it.

His hand was on the knob when someone caught him from behind. A rug slipped under his feet and he came down hard on the floor.

Someone had fallen on top of him, someone had tackled him tight about the knees, a regular football tackle.

There was a babel of voices. Someone shouted, “We’ve got him all right!”

Ben tried to speak, to explain. “Hold on there!” he grunted.

But someone else was explaining. He heard someone say, “We heard the yells, and we came in at the side door, and we saw this fellow dashing for the front door.”

Then Ben heard Fitzhugh’s voice. “Well, he won’t get away now,” Fitzhugh said. “Suppose you let him up.”

The fellow who had made the tackle released Ben’s knees and Ben turned around and sat up.

“My eye! If it isn’t Ben Sully!”

Ben saw Tom and Lanky Larry staring at him in wide-eyed wonder.

“Of course it is, Tom, you goat!” Ben responded. “Who did you think it was?”

“We thought you were one of the men we tracked here from the cove,” said Tom. “They wore cloaks and hats like yours; and you did look as if you were trying to escape.”

“I was going to lock the front door,” said Ben, getting to his feet. “What’s the trouble anyhow, Mr. Fitzhugh?”

“Two of the ladies found things missing from their rooms—jewels,” explained Fitzhugh. “And one of the men saw a fellow sneaking down a passage.” He turned to Tom and Lanky. “I don’t know who you two are, but Ben seems to, so that’s all right. Let’s see if we can find the thief.”

Immediately everyone was busy. Some went outdoors, some hunted through the house. The Gables blazed with light; the garage and the other outbuildings were thoroughly searched. But no thief was found, and half-an-hour later the whole company met on the porch to talk over the matter.

Tom and Lanky by turns told their tale, how they had seen the three men at the cove put on cloaks and hats and how they had followed the men to the Gables. The butler, looking rather sheepish, admitted that the boys had spoken to him about the strangers and that he had not thought their story merited his attention. Then Tom said that he and Lanky had sat on the stone wall until they heard shouts in the house, and had then run in at a side door, and in the hall had seen a fellow dressed just like the three they had followed apparently making his escape. “We didn’t know Ben was anywhere near here,” he added; “and anyway we wouldn’t have recognized him in that blooming hat.”

Ben told about his finding the stranger, dressed like himself, hunting through the bureau drawer in the yellow room. The guests who had missed their jewels and the man who had seen someone stealing along a passage repeated their stories. “Well,” said Fitzhugh, when they had all finished, “you remember we couldn’t find some of the things we left in the playhouse the other day. I believe these fellows took them, and thought they could pass themselves off as some of my guests and ransack all the rooms in the house.”

“They did it,” said Marmaduke Midchester. “And they must have got away by one of the back doors while we were all here at the front.”

“Do you suppose they’ve gone back to the cove?” asked Lanky. “They might have. They didn’t know we were following them.”

“That’s an idea,” agreed Fitzhugh. He spoke to the butler, and in a few minutes the chauffeur and two other men were receiving instructions to take the car and drive to the cove, look for the men, and if they were not to be found there to drive on to Barmouth and report the thefts to the police.

“And now, my friends,” Fitzhugh added to his guests, “let us have dinner. Master Ben’s two pals must need sustenance after their long tramp. Come, the soup will be getting cold.”

They were still at the dinner table when a motor horn sounded outside. Everyone ran to the door. It was not Fitzhugh’s car, however, but a much smaller one. From it descended David, John Tuckerman and Mr. Perkins.

“Well, I declare,” exclaimed Tuckerman, “here’s Tom and Larry! And that fellow in doublet and hose—why, I do believe that’s Benjamin Sully!”

XV—VARIOUS CLUES

John Tuckerman and David and Mr. Perkins went up on the porch, where Ben introduced them to Roderick Fitzhugh. Fitzhugh, after shaking hands cordially with each of them, bowed toward his house-guests. “My friends,” said he, “we have the pleasure of welcoming the worthy Chief Counsellor of Camp Amoussock, and Mr. Tuckerman, who is the owner of famous Cotterell Hall on Cotterell’s Island in the harbor of Barmouth, and Mr. David Norton—, er, Ben, what is the best way to describe your good-looking friend?”

“The best batter in New England,” piped up Lanky Larry. “I ought to know. He knocked me out of the box.”

“Thank you,” said Fitzhugh in his amusingly formal manner. “Mr. David Norton, the famous Yankee slugger.” He turned to the three new arrivals. “Gentlemen, let me present you to my friends,” and he called out the names, beginning with Maid Rosalind and the other ladies and ending with Sir Marmaduke Midchester.

Tuckerman laughed. “I’d no idea Ben mixed in such high-sounding company. What is he?—Sir Marmaduke’s squire?”

“He’s the apprentice to an armorer,” said Fitzhugh. “Incidentally he was mistaken this evening for a robber.”

Then Fitzhugh told the story of the robbery, including the adventure of Tom and Larry with the men from the cove.

“Those men must be the three that belonged to the fishing-smack,” said David. “I thought there was something crooked going on. That’s it—they’re a gang of thieves.”

David related his adventure, and then Mr. Perkins told how he and Tuckerman and the boys from the camp hunted for the three missing fellows. “We drove in here on the chance that you might know something about them,” he said to Fitzhugh. “We came straight up the road from the cove, but we didn’t see any men answering the description of the thieves.”

“Well,” said Fitzhugh, “we’ll get the police on their track, and I’ll telephone down to Gosport to have the people there keep an eye out for that fishing-boat. And now won’t you come in and let me offer you some refreshments? Master Ben will want to change his clothes before he sets out in his racing-car.”

While the others were in the dining-room Ben exchanged his doublet and hose for his everyday garb. Then he went to the garage and got out the little car he had borrowed from his uncle in Barmouth. It clattered up to the front door and a few minutes later Fitzhugh was saying good-night to Tuckerman, Perkins and the boys.

David got into Ben’s car. The car from Camp Amoussock moved off along the driveway. Roderick Fitzhugh came up to Ben, who was starting his engine. “I regret that Mr. Joseph Hastings wasn’t at home,” he said, “so that you could have learned whether he did lose a silver snuff-box on Cotterell’s Island. I’ll ask him when I see him.”

Ben grinned. “I’d almost forgotten about the snuff-box,” he answered, “but I think you’ll find when you ask Mr. Hastings that he did lose it there.”

“You’re a bright fellow, Master Sully.”

Fitzhugh gave a wink. “Don’t tell all you know. And if you’re in the neighborhood any time come in and see Joseph Hastings.”

The little car rattled away, following the tail-light of the other automobile.

“Who is that man?” asked David, as they turned into the highroad.

“Do you mean Mr. Roderick Fitzhugh?” inquired Ben innocently.

“Chuck it, Benjie. That isn’t his real name.”

“Why isn’t it, smartie?”

“Roderick Fitzhugh! Marmaduke Midchester!” David repeated the names of some of the other people he had met at the Gables. “Stuff and nonsense, Benjie! They made them up.”

Ben said nothing, and after a few minutes David began again.

“Where’d they get those clothes?”

“Where do people usually get their clothes? Tailors and dressmakers made them, I suppose.”

“What are they? A crowd of actors?”

Ben smiled. “They’re not professional actors. They’re doing a play that Mr. Fitzhugh wrote for the moving-pictures, and they like their costumes so much they keep them on most of the time. I’m in the pictures,” he added in a tone of pride.

The car clattered loudly over a rough stretch of road. Then David resumed his questions. “How in thunder did you happen to get mixed up with them?”

“I was driving along this morning and I met Mr. Fitzhugh and he suggested that we go on a hunt for hooked-rugs.”

“Hooked-rugs!” exploded David.

“Yes. They don’t grow on trees. They’re to be found in the cottages around here. We caught some fine specimens.”

David put his hand on Ben’s knee. “It was time we rescued you from that fellow, my boy,” he said. “I don’t know anything about hooked-rugs, but I think your Mr. Fitzhugh has bats in his belfry.”

The car driven by Mr. Perkins had stopped, and Ben brought his own noisy equipage to a standstill at the side of the road. “We’re going to have another look at the cove,” said Tuckerman. “We can’t drive in through the woods.”

But the cove, when they reached it by the path through the woods, was as deserted as it had been when the boys from Camp Amoussock explored it earlier in the evening. Lanky and Tom pointed out the dory, still beached on the shingle, in which the three men had come ashore, and the shack in which they had kept the costumes. “I think the dory is pretty good proof that they didn’t come back here,” said Tom. “I guess they must have made off toward Gosport, to join the fishing-smack somewhere in that neighborhood.”

They returned to the two cars and drove on to Camp Amoussock. There Tom and John Tuckerman embarked in the _Argo_ to sail back to Cotterell’s Island, while Ben and David continued their clattering ride to Barmouth.

At Barmouth, Ben restored the car to his uncle, and the two boys went down to the harbor and launched the canoe. Over the placid water they paddled easily, for they were old hands at handling a canoe together. And presently they landed at the island, and found the other two sitting on the pier.

There was much to talk over, and none of them were sleepy. They sat on the bank above the beach and swapped adventures. “I’ve been wondering,” said Tom, “whether there was any connection between the men who stole those things at Mr. Fitzhugh’s house and the men I saw here on the island last night.”

“And the gigantic footprints,” said David. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. But how would you explain the lady’s handkerchief, with the initials A. S. L.?”

They argued about that for some time before they went to bed. Ben, however, took little part in the discussion. He was trying to find a reason for the discovery of the silver snuff-box that Joseph Hastings had bought in Barmouth in the chest hidden in the cliff.

Next morning Ben went with Tuckerman to Cotterell Hall. “What do you make of it, Ben?” said Tuckerman. “We don’t seem to be any nearer to finding the treasure than we were when we first came here. I know you’ve got some theory in that wise head of yours.”

Ben walked up and down the living-room. “Well,” he answered slowly, “I think somebody has mixed up the trails. Let’s see how the matter stands. We know that your Uncle Christopher thought there was a secret. We found that out from the note in the frame of the picture.”

“Uncle Christopher knew there was a secret,” agreed Tuckerman. “I think that’s very clear.”

Ben nodded. “What did we find next? Those jottings your uncle made in his notebook.” Ben stopped at the secretary, took out the notebook, turned to the marked page, and read aloud. “‘As regards the saying that the hiding-place is just beyond the three pines that stand between two rocks where the sun goes down, I have scoured and scoured the island, and come to the opinion that the extreme southwestern point must be the place intended, although to-day there are only two pines there. I have dug at this place, but found only sand.’ That’s what your uncle wrote. But he didn’t find the treasure at the southwestern point.”

Tuckerman smiled. “So far so good.”

Ben ran his eye down the page. “Now we come to this. ‘Find the mahogany-hued man with the long, skinny legs and look in his breast pocket. That’s a saying my father handed down. What can it mean?’ Well, it seems to me that’s where the trails begin to get mixed.”

“Why, I thought we decided that referred to the mahogany secretary,” said Tuckerman.

“So we did,” answered Ben. “But were we right? Let’s see. We looked in the secretary and found a piece of parchment with half a message on it. We couldn’t make out much from that. Then I read this in the notebook.” He turned again to the page, “‘I’ve heard that the old clipper ship got some of the cargo that the mahogany man carried. But if she did, what use is that to us now? She sailed out of Barmouth Harbor during the Revolution.’”

“I’ve always thought you were mighty clever in finding that model of the clipper ship up in the attic,” said Tuckerman.

“Well,” agreed Ben, “I’m not denying that I was pretty well pleased with that myself. But what did we learn? That James Sampson took a box to the north cliff, meaning to put it on a boat, but found that there were some people off shore in another boat and so hid the box in the rocks, and that the rocks were marked like a cross. Very good. We found the place and we found a box there. But there wasn’t anything very valuable in the box when we found it.”

“That’s so,” Tuckerman assented. “But I don’t see any other clue to the treasure.”

Ben was staring through the window at the trees glistening in the sunlight. “I think that box was hidden in the cliff since we’ve been on the island,” he said reflectively, “and I don’t believe that any of the things in it ever came from Cotterell Hall.”

“You don’t!” exclaimed Tuckerman.

“And that means,” continued Ben, who was following the line of his own thoughts, “that somebody was trying to set us on a wrong trail by hiding those two pieces of parchment in this house.”

“But what object would anyone have in doing that?” Tuckerman asked. “I can’t see any good reason for their taking so much trouble.” He considered this idea for several minutes, while Ben continued his study of the trees and the glimpse of blue water that was to be seen from the window.

“And we thought we’d kept the problem of the Cotterell treasure pretty much a secret,” Tuckerman said presently.

“Gigantic footprints, lady’s handkerchief, men prowling about the house in the dark.” Ben chuckled softly. “That doesn’t look as if we had the island much to ourselves, does it?”

“No,” Tuckerman admitted. “We haven’t kept up the Cotterell tradition for exclusiveness.”

“Well,” said Ben, “if somebody has been trying to set us on a wrong trail, the question is was it the giant, the lady, or the night-prowlers? Or did the three belong to one party.”

“The lady is a stumbling-block,” nodded Tuckerman.

“If there were two parties,” said Ben, turning around, “my own opinion is that it’s the giant and the lady who’ve been making game of us.”

“Benjamin, what are you driving at?”

For answer Ben laughed. “Never mind, Professor. If I should tell you what’s in my mind, and it shouldn’t prove to be true, think how flat I’d feel. And now I think it’s time we went back to camp if we’re going in swimming before dinner.”

Just before sunset that afternoon the chug of a motor-boat broke the stillness of the water around the island. The boat stole up to the landing-stage and two men got out. They went up the walk toward Cotterell Hall. “A beautiful mansion, Marmaduke,” said the man in the white flannel suit to the one in brown jacket and knickerbockers.

“I agree with you, Roderick,” said the other. “I suppose you would like to pick it up and carry it off to the Gables.”

“Not at all. But what is to prevent us from making use of it here? Sir Peter Cotterell defying the people of Barmouth.” Roderick Fitzhugh pointed in this direction and that, talking eagerly, until his companion interrupted him with a whispered, “They’re coming up in their sailboat.”

The _Argo_ touched the landing-stage, and Fitzhugh and his friend went out on the pier. “Hello, lads,” cried Fitzhugh. “We came out to take a look at the famous island Ben told us about.”

“Did you learn anything about the thieves?” Tom called from the _Argo_.

“No, not yet. But we’ve got the local police scouring the country. I don’t expect much from them,” added Fitzhugh. “What I hope is that the rascals will make us another call.”

“We’ve been fishing,” said Ben. “Hope you’ll stay to supper.”

“Well,” said Fitzhugh, “I’ve got my guests at the Gables.”

“You wouldn’t take any excuse from me yesterday,” Ben retorted. “Turn about’s fair play. You’ve never tasted Dave’s fried flounder.”

“That’s so, we haven’t,” said Marmaduke Midchester. “I vote to stay.”

They had supper on the beach, and afterwards Ben urged Midchester to sing the song he had written.

“Oh, Master Ben,” Fitzhugh protested, “why break in on the evening calm?”

“Go ahead,” said Tom. “We’d all like some music.”

“Music?” echoed Fitzhugh. “Who said anything about music? Well, if you’re determined to have him commit the crime, on your own heads be it!”

Midchester, who was a big man, stood up and sang in a deep bass, a song about a knight who loved a lady but who rode off to the wars. It had a spirited chorus, with many gestures, such as drawing a sword, waving a hand, and shaking a knight’s banner. By the time that Midchester sang the second chorus all the others were up, singing loudly and imitating his motions. It ended in a final loud cheer that could be heard at least a mile away.

“That’s better than I expected,” said Fitzhugh. “See, it scared the geese.”

He pointed to the western sky, across which a distant triangle of wild geese were flying.

“Now,” said Tuckerman, “I will give you a song of the sea as sung in the prairie schooners of the west.”

He had a good voice, and his song was so popular that he had to give an encore. Afterwards Fitzhugh said that he must take Midchester away or he would break out again.

Good-nights were exchanged on the pier and the motor-boat headed south.

“Well,” said Tuckerman, “they’re a good pair of scouts. I don’t suppose this island has heard so much noise since old Sir Peter’s day. I like guests myself. And as there doesn’t seem any likelihood of finding the Cotterell treasure, I don’t see why we shouldn’t keep open house.”

“Oh, we haven’t given up hope of finding it, have we?” asked Tom.

“Benjie hasn’t,” said David.

They all looked at the black-haired boy.

“Why, of course, I haven’t,” he answered calmly. “And the more people who come out here to look for it, the more chance we have of finding it, I think. You don’t suppose Fitzhugh and Midchester came here just to see us, do you?”

“I bet they did,” said Tom.

“I bet they didn’t,” said Ben. “They took us in as a side-show on their way to the big tent.”

XVI—THE CAMPERS CALL AT BARMOUTH

The _Argo_ was scudding along in a good breeze to Barmouth. Ben was carving a small piece of wood into what he fancied was a resemblance to a mermaid. David, his hands clasped behind his head, lounged in a comfortable corner. Tuckerman was at the tiller, and Tom surveyed his pupil through approving eyes.

“Professor, I think we’re ready to give you your diploma,” Tom said, as he noticed the easy manner in which Tuckerman handled the sailboat. “You’re an able seaman. I’ll give you an honor mark as a navigator.”

“And I’ll pass you as a first-rate cook,” said David, turning and nodding his head. “You fried those eggs this morning just as well as I could have, and praise can’t be higher than that.”

“You coax the fish right out of the sea,” said Ben, looking up from his carving. “There was a time when I didn’t believe you’d ever learn to bait a hook so the fish couldn’t nibble it off; but you can do it now. I’ll graduate you as a competent fisherman.”

“And my swimming?” asked Tuckerman, his eye on the water curling over the bow.

“Well, as to that,” said David, “you’re not exactly a merman, but you can paddle along at a decent pace. Yes, we’ll call you a swimmer. I should say you were a pretty good all-around fellow now, Professor.”

Tuckerman looked pleased. Praise from these three boys was very satisfying. And he knew that what they said was not mere idle banter. He had learned a great deal since he had been camping with them.

“Thanks,” he said. “To be able to sail a boat, to cook, to fish, to swim—why, that’s more than I ever expected to learn when I came here from the west. I tell you what! It was a great thing for me when I decided to take a look at my Uncle Christopher’s island.”

“And what are you going to do with it now that you’ve seen it?” asked Tom.

“I don’t know. I’ve got to go back to my home. I don’t suppose anyone would want to live way out in the harbor nowadays. There’s not enough to do there. But I hate to take all those fine old furnishings out of the house. They belong there, and they don’t belong anywhere else.”

“There’s an old house out on the Boston road,” said Ben, “that the owner keeps up as a sort of a museum. He has all the old furniture that was used in colonial days. There’s a great deal of travel on that road in summer, and he charges a quarter for every person that goes over the house. There’s a care-taker, of course. I think she serves tea for a quarter extra.”

“That’s an idea,” said Tuckerman. “Only my house isn’t on a main road. It’s a rather hard place to reach.”

“All the better,” put in Tom. “People like excursions. We could put up signs in Barmouth and all along the road. ‘Be sure to take the boat to famous Cotterell Hall on Cotterell’s Island and hunt for the treasure!’ That would get them all right. You could charge as much as you like.”

“And Tom could run a ferry, and Ben be the care-taker and serve ginger-ale at a dollar a glass,” suggested David.

“And you could cork your face and be the famous mahogany man from the Barbadoes,” retorted Ben. “He’s a wonder in a minstrel show, Professor.”

“It sounds good,” Tuckerman agreed. “It’s certainly up-to-date. But somehow I don’t feel that it’s quite dignified enough for Cotterell Hall.”

“You can make it dignified enough,” said Tom, “by charging enormous prices.”

Tuckerman laughed. “You’re right. You fellows are Yankees sure enough. You make me feel like a greenhorn.”

“And think of the business it would bring to Barmouth,” said Ben, putting the attempt at a mermaid into his pocket and sitting up straight. “People who went to the island would probably have to spend the night at the hotel. Why, you ought to be able to make a deal with the proprietor to share his profits.”

“Ben’s started now,” exclaimed David. “Stop him somebody quick, or he’ll be spending the money we’re making from the concern.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Ben proceeded, as usual paying no attention to David’s jibe. “It’ll put Barmouth on the map. ‘Cotterell Hall, the most famous treasure house on the Atlantic Coast!’”

“I wish you wouldn’t use that word ‘treasure,’” Tom protested. “It has a hoodoo sound.”

“And speaking of putting things on the map,” said Tuckerman, “here’s the wharf ahead. Don’t get me all excited while I bring her up to the dock.”

The _Argo_ made a perfect landing. “Good enough,” said Tom. “That couldn’t have been done better. Professor, you’re a dandy.”

They went up the main street and turned off to the elm-shaded lane where the Halletts lived. They were going to call on Milly Hallett.

Milly was at home. She was, in fact, enjoying an afternoon nap in the Nantucket hammock on the side porch when Tom spied her from the lane.

The sound of footsteps woke her, and seeing who was coming in at the gate she swung her feet down from the hammock, smoothed her rumpled skirt, and patted her fluffy hair. And because she still felt a trifle piqued that Tom was having all the fun of camping on Cotterell’s Island, she decided on the spur of the moment to be a little standoffish with the callers.

“Hello, Milly,” said her brother, in the offhand way brothers have, “we thought we’d come over to see how you were getting along.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tuckerman,” said Milly, standing up and giving that gentleman the tips of her fingers. “I hope the boys are looking after you all right on your island.”

“I can’t complain,” smiled Tuckerman. “We do as well as we can, without any ladies to help us.”

“Won’t you sit down?” Milly invited politely.

Tuckerman took a chair, and the three boys, impressed in spite of themselves by Milly’s society manner, perched on the rail of the porch.

“We were wondering,” said Tuckerman, “whether we could induce you to come out to supper on the island. We hoped the simplicity of the meal would be atoned for by the beauty of the scenery. I can promise you a fine sunset.”

“Thank you for the invitation.” Milly swung gently back and forth. “Let me see—what did I have on hand for this evening?”

“Oh, chuck it, Milly!” said Tom. “Of course you want to come along.”

“I remember now,” said Milly suavely. “I have a date with my friend Sarah Hooper. There’s a new movie in town.”

“Well, of course,” said Tuckerman in a regretful tone, “we can’t compete with a new moving-picture show.”

Milly smiled. “The boys are still giving you plenty of good food, are they? And keeping you amused?”

David moved impatiently on his perch. “The Professor never got better food anywhere. He says so himself.”

“I thought perhaps the menu might get a little tiresome,” Milly suggested sweetly. “Boys are so apt to stick to one or two of the same things when they have to cook for themselves.”

“We don’t,” grunted David.

“She knows we don’t,” said Tom. “I say, Milly, what’s your game?”

“Game?” Milly wrinkled her pretty nose. “I don’t know what you mean!” She glanced again at Tuckerman. “Boys are funny creatures, aren’t they?”

The boys came down from the rail with one accord. Indignant replies were on the tongues of each; but Milly pointed beyond them at the lane. “Here comes Sarah Hooper now,” she said. “It’s just possible I can get her to change our date.”

Up the path came the black-eyed girl, a yellow sweater on her arm. “Hello, everybody!” she sang out, as she reached the porch. “What is it? An experience meeting?”

“They want me to go to supper with them on Mr. Tuckerman’s island,” said Milly. “I told them I had a date with you.”

“Perhaps Miss Sarah Hooper will join the party,” Tuckerman added promptly. “We’d like her to.”

“Fine!” exclaimed Sarah. “I don’t know why I shouldn’t.”

“Milly said,” put in Tom, “that you and she were going to a new movie.”

A glance passed from Sarah to Milly, and Sarah nodded her head. “That’s so,” she agreed. “I do remember we were.”

“However,” said Milly, “if Sally would really like to accept your invitation, we can go to the movies some other time.”

There was a pause, for Sarah was not sure what her friend wanted her to say; and then Ben broke the silence by pounding the porch-rail with his fist. “By jiminy, girls are funny creatures, aren’t they? They’re crazy to come, but they don’t want to admit it.”

“Oh!” began Milly. But Tuckerman interposed.

“The funnier people are, the pleasanter it is to be with them. We do need the company of ladies on our island. We’ve only been seeing each other, and sandpipers and gulls. It would be doing us a great favor if these two ladies would come and freshen us up.”

“Well,” said Sarah, charmed by this gallant speech, “I’d be glad to come. It’ll be a perfect evening.”

Milly got up from the hammock. “I’ll contribute a box of fudge.”

“That’s all that’s needed to make it complete,” said Tuckerman.

The girls went indoors, Milly to tell her mother about the party, and Sarah to telephone to her house.

“Now,” said Tuckerman, on the porch, “we’ve got to give them as good a time as they’d have had at the movies.”

“Milly wanted to come all along,” said Tom. “Why didn’t she say so?”

“I think,” answered Ben, “that she wanted to show us that she was having just as good a time here at home as we were having in camp; and she knew she wasn’t.”

Tuckerman smiled and nodded. “Ben’s hit it on the head. And that’s all the more reason why we should see that they enjoy themselves this evening.”

They all agreed to that line of reasoning, and the first result of it was that they suggested to Milly that she should sail the _Argo_ back to the island. She was very much pleased, and Milly, on her mettle, handled the craft as skillfully as Tom could have done himself.

They landed, and Sarah said that she would like to see the island, since all she had seen of it on her first visit had been Cotterell Hall and the shore about the camp. So the boys and Tuckerman took their guests on a regular tour, through the woods, where the russet-green pine-needles made a clean and fragrant carpet, dappled with patches of sunlight; along the little beaches, curves of yellow sand, where sandpipers played and strutted, or flew in silver bands; up on the ramparts of cliffs, against which the waves rolled in and slipped and slid in white cascades over the low-lying ledges, and so to the southern point, where they watched the sun setting in all its glory, tinting the sky and the sea in wonderful combinations of shifting colors.

Then they went to the camp, where David made a marvelous fish chowder of cunners and cod that Ben had caught that morning. And for dessert they had apple fritters and Milly’s home-made fudge.

When it was time to take their guests back to Barmouth, Tom suggested that they sail around the island. As they cruised up the ocean side they saw a sail to the east. And after watching the distant boat intently for some minutes David exclaimed, “I think that’s the fishing-smack that took me from the cove to Gosport!”

Tom shifted the tiller, and the _Argo_ took a course toward the larger boat. As they sailed, David, in answer to Milly’s questions, told of his adventure with the crew of the smack.

To the northeast lay a small island, and the larger boat sailed around its southern point. The _Argo_ kept up its chase, and presently came on the fishing-smack at anchor off a half-moon beach.

The big boat stood silhouetted against the violet sky of the summer night. It was too dark to distinguish figures on her deck. Apparently she had come to anchor there for the night.

“How about it, Dave?” asked Ben. “Is that the craft that kidnapped you?”

“Looks like her picture,” was the answer.

“Want to hail your good friend Sam?” inquired Tom.

“No, I don’t,” said David. “He might throw something out here that the girls wouldn’t like.”

“Oh, don’t mind us,” exclaimed Milly and Sarah in chorus.

“I don’t know what the smack—if it is Dave’s boat—is doing around here,” said Tuckerman. “There can’t be much to steal from that island.”

For a time the _Argo_ bobbed about, but there came no hail from the boat, no light appeared, she might have been a ship without a crew.

“Let sleeping hornets lie,” Tuckerman advised. And at the suggestion Tom sheered away. The _Argo_ sailed up the shore of the island and pointed her bow toward the twinkling lights of the town.

They were all enjoying the breeze, the star-sprinkled sky, the soft swish of the water against the side of the boat when Ben, from a brown study, spoke. “If the men on that smack are the thieves who broke into Mr. Fitzhugh’s house, might they be hunting around here for the Cotterell treasure?”

“Well, I wish them luck at finding it,” said David.

“Thieves who broke into Mr. Fitzhugh’s house!” cried Milly. “Oh, do tell us about that!”

Then the whole story came out, and when she had heard it all Milly said positively, “I think Ben’s right. They’re planning to steal something from your island.”

“Hope they don’t take our cooking outfit,” said Tom.

“Or any of my fine old colonial furniture,” added Tuckerman.

“Oh, no,” scoffed David. “It’s the treasure they’re after.”

“Don’t you want to take our watch-dog back with you?” said Sarah. “He’s fine at biting tramps.”

There was a laugh from the crowd. And they were still talking of ways of protecting the island from prowlers when the sailboat ran up to the wharf.

The campers escorted the girls to their homes and then went back to the harbor.

On the waterfront they encountered a man—he had been a sea-captain in his day—smoking a pipe and regarding the lights of the harbor. He knew the boys. “Hello, Tom,” he said, “I hear you’re out on the island, hunting for Sir Peter’s treasure.”

“Well, we’re camping on the island,” Tom admitted.

“Haven’t found the treasure yet, have you?” The mariner chuckled. “There’s treasure hid all along the coast, if you believe the stories. I was brought up on yarns about treasures, Captain Kidd’s and others. And I’ve hunted for ’em, too. But I never laid my hands on none. Howsomever, I always thought there might be something to the story about Sir Peter. But it’s one thing to think there’s a treasure, and another to lay hands on it.”

“Where would you look?” asked Ben.

The mariner reflected. “Well, if I was hiding a treasure I’d put it where I could get it if I wanted it in a hurry. Seems to me I’d pick out a place in the chimney-breast. I’ve heard of folks hiding things in places like that.”

“Seems to me we’ve got to pull the house down,” said David. “And then like as not we wouldn’t find it.”

“Might be so,” the mariner agreed. “It don’t pay to take too much trouble hunting for things like that. But some people just have to.”

The four embarked in the _Argo_. “Ben’s one of the people that just have to,” said David. “I guess he’ll pull the house down.”

“I hadn’t thought of the chimney-breast,” said Ben. “We’d better look there to-morrow.”

“Go to it, Tige,” laughed David. “We’ll get out the pick-ax and crow-bar.”

XVII—PETER COTTERELL

Next morning the four campers, following the suggestion made by the sea-captain on the Barmouth wharf, resumed their search for the Cotterell treasure. David treated the whole matter as a joke; he thought that either the story about Sir Peter having hidden his silver plate was a legend without any foundation in fact, or that one of the family had found the treasure and disposed of it. Tom leaned to the same opinion, although he did not say so as openly as did David, perhaps because he saw that both John Tuckerman and Ben thought the treasure was yet to be found. Ben was still as positive as ever, and argued that if Sir Peter’s plate had ever been discovered that fact would certainly have been mentioned in Crusty Christopher’s notebooks.

They examined the chimney-breast in the kitchen and dining-room, looking for any possible hiding-place. They went all over the house again, looking for any secret door or panel that they might have missed before. They tapped the walls and they measured them; but nowhere could they figure out such a place as they were hunting. Finally Tuckerman said, “I don’t see how we can search anywhere else, unless we do as Dave suggested—pull the house down—and I don’t want to do that.”

“The house is worth more than the treasure,” said Tom.

“That’s so,” Tuckerman agreed. He frowned and bit his lip. “I don’t like to be stumped, that’s the long and short of it. I don’t like to admit that I can’t work out the puzzle.”

“Puzzles never bother me,” said David. “I think they’re stupid things. I never want to know the answer to any of the problems in the algebra books. What good does it do you to know them? Of course some people get so hipped over knowing the answers they can’t eat till they find them out—whether a dog or a rabbit will reach a given point first, things like that, or about men rowing a boat against the tide; but they don’t get me the least little bit excited. Leave them to Benjie, I say.”

And that was what they did. They left Ben up in the attic, the last room they had searched. Attics fascinated Ben. In a way they were like puzzles; there were so many odds and ends that needed putting together. He walked idly about, looking at chairs and tables that had lost some of their legs, at statuettes that were broken and disfigured, until he came to the window that opened to the east. There he stopped in a brown study.

A distant sail caught his eye. It reminded him of something. Oh, yes, from the window he could see the line of the little island where they had found the fishing-smack at anchor the night before. He couldn’t tell if this sail belonged to the smack; it was too far away; but the sight of it started a train of thought he had been working over that morning.

He went downstairs and was glad to find that the others had left the house. In the living-room he took the two pieces of parchment from the drawer of the secretary and carefully copied the writing on them on a large sheet of paper. This he laid on the lid of the desk and put an inkstand on the paper. Then he returned the pieces of parchment to the drawer.

Satisfied with this, he went outdoors and crossed the island to the beach where he had found the chest. He sat on a log, and waited patiently. Presently he saw a sail, to the east; and this time he felt fairly sure that it was the same fishing-smack that they had chased the previous night.

He jumped up and began to burrow in the crevice between the rocks. He did not attempt to pull the chest out; it was too heavy for him to do that unaided; but he kicked his heels and pushed himself in. And after a while he pushed himself out again and stood up. Looking at the smack, he decided that she was near enough for anyone on her deck to have witnessed his strange performance.

The next step in his plan came when the dishes had been washed after dinner. He proposed that they should sail over to the little island and see if the smack was still in the neighborhood.

“After the thieves, are you?” asked David. “Now see here, my lad, if we should find them, what then? Are you going to step aboard and tell them they’re arrested?”

“Dave’s had enough of his friend Sam,” said Tom. “He thinks if Sam meets him again he’ll get a belaying-pin on the back of his head.”

“Benjie wants to argue with them,” said David. “I’ll admit I’d like to get square with the rascal, but I don’t see how we can do it that way.”

“If Dave’s sure it’s the same boat,” suggested Tom, “we might notify the police at Barmouth.”

“Well,” said Ben, “the only way to make sure that Dave’s right is to sail around and look at her in daylight.”

“That sounds sensible,” Tuckerman agreed. “We needn’t get into any kind of a scrap with them.”

So the _Argo_ set sail and cruised eastward; but although she rounded the other island several times that afternoon her crew caught no sight of the bark they were looking for.

When they got back to their own island they found Lanky Larry and Bill Crawford fishing from the pier. The canoe in which they had paddled over from Camp Amoussock floated at the landing-stage.

“If you’re after cunners,” said Ben, “you ought to try the rocks on the ocean side; if it’s flounders you’re trying to tempt you won’t find them near the pier.”

“We didn’t really come over here to fish,” responded Bill, “but we always carry a couple of lines in the canoe; that is, when it doesn’t upset. We came over to invite you four fellows to the water sports to-morrow morning. We’ve got a fine program, and you can enter any of the events when you get there.”

“I guess the Professor will want to enter the tub-race,” said Tom with a grin.

“Maybe I will,” agreed Tuckerman. “Well, mates, how about it? The invitation sounds very good to me.”

Tom and David both nodded and said they would like to go. “You’d better count me out of it,” said Ben. “I’ve got a date for to-morrow.”

“Date?” inquired Tom. “What sort of a date? With a lady or a man?”

“A date with myself.” Ben looked a trifle embarrassed. “I’ve got something on hand I meant to do in the morning.”

“Shucks!” exclaimed David. “All right, Bill, we’ll be over right after breakfast. And we’ll bring Benjie along. You might enter him in the fancy diving contest.”

Bill and Lanky pulled in their fishing-lines and embarked in their canoe. The campers started to get supper. But Ben, making an excuse that he thought he must have mislaid his pocket-knife in the house, hurried through the woods to the beach at the northern end. So far as he could see no one had been there since he had left in the morning; the chest was still in the crevice between the rocks.

That evening Ben prowled about the island. He went to Cotterell Hall, he went to the beach at the north again, he kept a watchful eye for sails in any quarter. When he came back to camp the other three had turned in. And being very sleepy, he followed their example.

He was up at dawn next morning, and again made his rounds. The paper he had placed on the lid of the secretary was apparently untouched, the chest was still in the crevice. Breakfast was waiting when he returned. “Now, Benjie,” said David, “get busy with the bacon. We’re going over to Camp Amoussock, and we want you to show those fellows your famous flip-flap.”

“You go along without me,” Ben urged.

“No, sir,” said David. “This is a sporting proposition, and it’s up to every man to do his bit.”

So Ben went along with the others.

All of Camp Amoussock was in bathing-suits, and the four guests were shortly attired likewise. Then began all sorts of water sports. Tom and David and Ben went in for most of the swimming races and the diving contests. Tom took second place in the fifty-yard race, and Ben won the competition for fancy diving. When they came to the tub-race John Tuckerman entered his name.

Amid shouts and cat-calls a dozen tubs set out from the float. The race was to be around a buoy and back to the starting-place. Tuckerman paddled easily, keeping his tub out of the course most of the others were taking. Two tubs jostled, and two boys were upset into the water. Bill Crawford rounded the buoy first, then a small, red-headed boy who sat very still, barely patting the water with careful finger-tips.

“Here comes the Professor!” cried Tom from the beach. “Keep it up, keep it up, Professor! You’re doing wonders!”

Tuckerman reached the buoy. He had found it fairly easy to keep a straight course, but now he had to steer to the left. To do this he tried to give a sidewise sweep with his foot. The tub rocked, rolled. He attempted to counter-balance; and then he was in the water, splashing about and trying to get hold of the tub.

He flopped up on one side, only to slip over on the other. The tub might have been greased, so difficult was it to make the round thing stay in one position for more than a minute. At last he gave up trying to make it behave, and swam, pushing it before him, until he could touch bottom with his feet.

“Never mind, Professor,” said David, as the bedraggled Tuckerman walked up on the beach. “Many a man has found a tub-race his Waterloo.”