Chapter III: Part 3

There, they found another car pulled into the parking area. Two men were waiting inside the office. Before entering, Bill and Ronnie collected their fees and said good-by to the first group. “We enjoyed the tour very much,” the man told Ronnie and Bill. “It was well worth the stop.”

“Thank you, sir!” Ronnie beamed. “Tell your friends about it.”

Mr. Caldwell was still in the office, chatting with the two men. He introduced them to Ronnie and Bill. “This is Mr. Perkins, and this is Mr. Brown.” Ronnie and Bill shook hands with the men.

“They’re interested in learning more about the business you’ve started,” Caldwell went on to explain. “You see, they’re from the Massena Sunday paper, and they’re thinking about writing a story for next Sunday’s edition.”

“That’s right,” Brown broke in. “We feel that more people will take an interest in the fate of this place if they’ve heard about what you two boys are doing. Besides, it’ll help bring you business!”

“Gee, that’s swell of you!” Ronnie exclaimed. “Bill and I are awfully anxious to do everything we can to save the village.”

Mr. Perkins pulled out a notebook and seated himself at the desk. “Let’s make that our first question,” he said. “Just how do you expect to save the old village by taking tourists through it?”

Ronnie explained how they hoped to raise some of the money to build a dam across the narrow gap in the valley through which Goose Brook ran down to the river. “My dad says it could be done,” Ronnie continued. “’Course, we won’t get enough money ourselves to do it. But we’re hoping maybe other people will get worked up enough to want to help out.”

“People are beginning to wake up already,” Mr. Brown said. “I happen to know that your father saw Steve Mercer the other day and put a bug in his ear about the village. Steve wrote to the Seaway Authority, trying to convince them to use your plan and save the village. He got some kind of a letter back--but they didn’t commit themselves one way or the other. It’ll take time, but I’m sure it can be done.”

Mr. Brown’s remark gave Ronnie some of the encouragement he needed. Sure, he’d had his doubts, right from the beginning when he’d first thought of opening the village to the public. They would need public support, and perhaps more money too--unless the Seaway agreed to foot the bill.

By the time the two men were ready to leave, Mr. Perkins had several pages of notes, some of them on the history of the village itself. “I think I’ll get a statement from the Seaway Authority, too,” Brown said as he slid into the driver’s seat. He had an impish smile on his face. “That will really put them on the spot! They know how the people around here feel about the village, and if there’s a way to save it, they’ll have a hard time explaining why not!”

After the car had driven off, Mr. Caldwell left to work on the notes he had gathered in the Glassworks during the morning. Ronnie, Phil, and Bill walked back toward their office. Ronnie had cooled off considerably, and now he felt more like working again. There wasn’t time before lunch for hunting for clues or cleaning out a building, but he had an idea in mind for a sign to hang outside the office door. It would read: “Tours from 9-12 and 1-5. OFFICE.”

He had found a suitable piece of wood the day before and now he set to work sandpapering it down smooth. Bill sat opposite him, tipping back in his chair again. Phil seemed restless, and a few minutes later announced that he was going back to the house.

“You know,” Bill said thoughtfully as he watched Ronnie rubbing vigorously with the sandpaper, “you know, Ronnie, there are two things that bother me. Two questions I can’t answer.”

“Yes?” Ronnie asked looking up for a moment. “What are they?”

“Well, the first one is this: How is this fellow we’ve seen around here getting in and out of the padlocked building?”

“That’s a question maybe we can answer this afternoon when I get the key and we get a chance to look inside,” Ronnie said.

“Maybe. But I don’t see what we can see from the inside that we can’t see from the outside.”

Ronnie ran his hand over the wood to see how smooth it was. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Supposing he’s dug a tunnel? We couldn’t see that from the outside. Anyway, what’s the other question?”

“This question’s a real stickler,” Bill said. “Remember what Mr. Caldwell said before--that he has a pair of candlesticks like your grandfather’s?”

“You mean, he _thinks_ he has. He hasn’t seen ours yet.”

“Well, let’s just say that he finds out this afternoon that he _has_. And let’s say these candlesticks have come down through his family the way he claims.”

“Get to the point, will you?” Ronnie was impatient.

“All right. My question’s this: Doesn’t that mean that Mr. Caldwell owns half this land?”

_Chapter 10_

While Ronnie climbed the bluff and made his way through the orchard on his way home to lunch, he did a great deal of thinking about the question that Bill had raised. He knew why his friend had asked it. If the candlesticks had come down through the Caldwell family--probably on his mother’s side--then it would be pretty safe to assume that they were the pair Jacob Williams had made for his bride. And if they were, then Mr. Caldwell and his brother were direct descendants of Williams, and would have a claim against the property.

But did Mr. Caldwell know about this? If he didn’t know now, would he put two and two together and come up with an answer? That depended upon how much he knew about the history of the candlesticks, Ronnie decided. And from the way Caldwell had talked earlier that afternoon, the boy doubted very much that he was aware of how the candlesticks had come into his family.

Then probably he wouldn’t know anything about the hidden glassware or the money either, which would cross him off the list of suspects for the mysterious prowler--unless, of course, the prowler wasn’t hunting for the money and glassware.

By the time Ronnie reached the house he had decided one thing only: it was all very, very confusing!

Mrs. Butler served Ronnie, Phil, and the two men their lunch at the kitchen table. Now that the hay was in the barn--Ronnie and Phil had spent the previous day helping their father load the truck in the field and hoist the hay to the loft--Mr. Rorth had turned his attention to the orchard. The young fruit was ready for spraying. “The weather’s going to hold for a few more days, I think,” Ronnie’s father told the others, “so I think I’ll mix a batch of spray this afternoon. Phil, you want to help me?”

“Oh, Dad! That stuff makes my eyes water and I cough and sneeze--”

“All right. You don’t _have_ to. I just thought maybe you were looking for something to do. You’ll have the hammock worn through by the end of the summer at the rate you’re using it.”

The telephone rang. Ronnie volunteered to answer it. He went into the hall at the foot of the stairs and lifted the receiver.

It was Bill, calling to tell Ronnie that he had to work that afternoon. “Pa’s mending some fences, and I got to help,” Bill said. “But Ronnie, somebody should be at the office, in case we get any tourists.”

Ronnie agreed that this was so. “I’ll hang around,” he answered.

After lunch, Ronnie went to the cold cellar and selected two apples, which he stuffed into his pockets. Then he went out to the barn to see how his father was getting on with the job of mixing spray. “I’ll help you, Dad,” he said, “if you really need help. Only I promised Bill I’d stay down at the village in case we got tourists.”

“Thanks, son,” his father answered. “I’ll get along all right. This is really a one-man job.”

Ronnie watched his father measure out the poison powder. “Dad? Gramps said I could have the key to the locked-up building.”

Mr. Rorth stopped long enough in his work to look up at the boy. “Oh?”

“Really, Pa. I told him about how somebody’s been in the building. Bill and I saw him again after I told you about it.”

“Well, if your grandfather said you could go in, it’s all right with me. The key’s in the left-hand front drawer of my desk in the living room.”

Ronnie went back into the house. Phil was seated at the desk putting together a model airplane. “What’re you after?” he demanded, as Ronnie pulled open the desk drawer.

“Nothing.” Ronnie was evasive. He found the key and pocketed it.

“Hey! That’s the key to the locked-up building!” Phil protested.

“I know it. Gramps said I could use it.”

“He did! Boy, you really rate with him, don’t you?”

“You can come along if you want to.”

Phil thought it over. “Naw, I’ll stay here and finish this up. It’s too hot outside. Besides, there’s nothing in that building that isn’t in all the rest. Just a lot of dust and dirt and a few rats’ nests.”

Ten minutes later Ronnie had the door of their office open and was sitting on the doorsill waiting for customers. He had the key to the locked-up building in his pocket, but somehow it didn’t seem quite fair to Bill to go inside without him.

After a while Ronnie got tired just sitting and doing nothing, so he went inside and finished up the sign he had been working on. Then he found a rock and an old nail and using these, tacked the sign into place over the top of the door.

He sat down on the doorsill again and waited. A porcupine was rattling and thrashing on the thin, top branches of a maple tree. Ronnie watched it for a while. The animal didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

The afternoon wore on, but no tourists appeared. Ronnie got up and started slowly down the path. It wouldn’t hurt to take one quick trip around the locked-up building and maybe steal a peek through the crack in the shutter. Then he could climb up on the roof and sit there for a time. He could see so much more from up there, and if a car came up the dirt road, he’d know about it in time to get back to the office.

He circled around the old office building as he’d planned and then he climbed up on the log and peered through the window. Everything looked just about the same as the last time, except for some white objects scattered about the floor. He couldn’t make out what they were because of the darkness, but he decided they might be pieces of paper.

Well, he’d take one more quick look at the outside of the building and then he’d get up on the roof and see if he could spot any river boats on the St. Lawrence. But when he got around to the rear of the building, something on the ground caught his eye. Nothing very startling, but the thin layer of sawdust sprinkled on top of some of the leaves set him wondering. Carpenter ants, maybe--or had someone been sawing firewood? Mr. Caldwell, perhaps, the boy concluded.

But when he looked about for some sign of the white butt ends of the discarded pieces of logs that would surely be left lying around, he found none. His brow puckered in a frown.

He gathered a pinch of the sawdust and brought it up closer to his face so he could examine it, rolling it around between his fingers to get the feel of it. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt fresh. Maybe this sawdust could help him find out how the stranger was getting into the building.

He turned to inspect the rear wall of the building. At first glance it looked just like all the other walls. But when he looked closer he found a faint, irregular crack following the contour of the shingles. Tracing it, he discovered that it formed a rough square. “I’ll bet that whole section comes out!” he whispered. Apparently the shingles had been removed first, then a hole cut through the boards between the studs, and the shingles nailed cleverly back in place.

Ronnie remembered the tools that Bill’s father had found missing from his barn. Someone, the boy thought, had gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure that no one found his entranceway!

He’d have to try the trap door out, of course, to see how it worked. He gripped the shingles from underneath and pushed up gently. The section moved and then the bottom came free; and a minute later the entire piece had come away from the wall.

Ronnie poked his head inside and looked around. The air smelled stale and moldy. He heard the flutter of wings beating against the inside of the chimney and knew that one of the swifts was entering the nest. In the semidarkness he could make out some of the larger objects in the room--the fireplace, an old-fashioned roll-top desk, a filing cabinet, and several chairs.

He withdrew his head and slipped his feet through instead. Then, twisting about with his back toward the inside, he pulled the upper part of his body through.

For a minute he stood near the opening, not knowing quite what to do next. He had a strange, uneasy feeling that somebody was watching him. Perhaps it would be better if he put the trap door back into place. Then if the man who made it should come by outside, he wouldn’t notice anything different and he’d go away.

But after he had the trap door back in its place, he was a little sorry that he’d done it. It was pitch-black in the room now. He felt in his pocket and found a package of book matches. He tore one loose and struck it. The flame seemed very feeble, but it gave him a few moments to look around the room. He noticed the papers scattered about the floor and saw that the filing cabinet near him had been emptied, and the drawers left leaning against the wall.

It was clear to the boy that someone had been searching through the papers of the old Rorth Glassworks.

When the match had burned out he wet his finger and cooled the hot end and dropped the match to the floor. He lit another and moved toward the fireplace. His foot brushed against something. Looking down, he discovered the stub of a candle and he stooped to pick it up.

The light from the candle gave him a better view of the room. Now he could see an old leather-upholstered chair, a brass spittoon, and a metal coat rack. Raising the candle, he saw above the mantelpiece a white-bearded man with a bald head, rimmed with tufts of fluffy hair. The man looked down at him with sharp, piercing, brown eyes from a massive oak picture frame.

Ronnie backed up a few steps and the eyes seemed to follow him as he moved. “Great-great-grandfather?” he asked, but when he heard the sound of his voice he grinned at his foolishness.

He lowered the candle hastily and thrust it inside the huge opening of the fireplace. A partially decomposed mouse lay just beneath the pair of beautifully molded andirons. Ronnie poked his head inside the fireplace and looked up. The light from the candle reached almost as high as the swifts’ nest. Sure, Ronnie told himself, a powerful flashlight shining up the chimney flues could have made the weird light they had seen several evenings before.

He heard the young swifts chirping in the nest overhead and saw a single yellow beak protruding over the edge for a second or two. “I’m not going to hurt you none,” he said, and then realized that the sound of his voice would frighten the young birds even more than the light.

Ronnie backed out of the fireplace and stood for a moment or two near the center of the room, undecided on what he would do next. He wished that he hadn’t come through the trap door, but had come around and opened the regular door with his key. Then he’d have more light and could inspect the building and its furnishings more carefully. Well, he’d have time to do that when Bill and he returned.

He started toward the rear wall, ready to leave. But he had taken no more than a few steps when he froze in his tracks, his heart racing wildly.

From outside, behind the building, he could hear the sound of approaching footsteps in the dry leaves--the same quick footsteps he had heard inside the building.

_Chapter 11_

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 now _he_ was 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. The acrid 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, _please_ don’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’t part 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 just _had_ to 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 here _somewhere_! 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 that _wasn’t_ Caldwell’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 in the 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 about it!” 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 the strength 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. “I guess 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!”

_Chapter 12_

Ronnie went directly to his room when he reached the house. Bill and he had decided that this would be the best place to keep the old ledger after what had happened at their office. And since Bill couldn’t be sure whom he had seen at the window, they had to protect their new possession against an unknown adversary. Anybody, really, could be under suspicion. “I saw him out of the corner of my eyes,” Bill had told Ronnie afterward. “When I swung my head around he was gone. All I know for sure is that he was wearing something red. That’s what first caught my attention.”

“I don’t remember Caldwell wearing red,” Ronnie had said.

They had searched the area outside their office as soon as the initial surprise had worn off, but had failed to catch even a glimpse of the man. And then the search had been interrupted by the arrival of two cars, and by the time they’d taken the two groups around, it was too late to continue hunting.

Now Ronnie stretched out on his bed with the old volume propped up against his pillow. He wanted to reread his great-great-grandfather’s notations and do some thinking about them.

A little while later he got up to find a pencil and a piece of paper. He sat down on the edge of the bed with a magazine beneath the paper. At the top of the paper he wrote: “THE IMPORTANT THINGS I’VE FOUND OUT FROM READING GREAT-GREAT-GRANDFATHER’S DIARY.”

Then underneath he began to jot down each important fact:

1. Great-great-grandfather didn’t murder Mr. Jacob Williams the way
people think.

2. This Mr. Williams was the one who was stealing the glassware and
money, not Great-great-grandfather. Williams tried to pin it on
Great-great-grandfather.

3. Great-great-grandfather, just before he wrote in this ledger,
had found the glassware and money (and Jacob Williams’ body, too)
somewhere “down below.”

4. I guess Williams’ son knew about the stealing, and
Great-great-grandfather was afraid he’d destroy the ledger if he
found it so he could protect his father’s name.

5. Just before he died, Great-great-grandfather hid the ledger in
the fireplace because he couldn’t get to the house.

When Ronnie had finished, he stretched out on his back with his knees up in the air and the paper resting against them. He read over what he had written. Most of the ideas were interesting because they proved Great-great-grandfather’s innocence. But only _Number Three_ seemed to be any help at all in finding the hidden glassware and money. And this one was so vague, Ronnie couldn’t see that it would be much help either. “Down there” could be anywhere on the face of the earth! Well, maybe not _that_ large an area, but anyway it could mean the whole deserted village. And Ronnie couldn’t see Bill and himself digging up the whole village to find the lost glassware and money.

Ronnie rested his head back against the bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking. Surely Great-great-grandfather must have wanted his heirs to find the lost articles, and if he did, he certainly would have given adequate directions for finding them. “Why, ‘down there’ must mean underneath the old office building,” Ronnie thought, “because that’s where Great-great-grandfather was when he wrote this!”

It was a startling discovery, and its possibilities set the boy’s heart racing. Wouldn’t Grandfather be surprised when Ronnie placed the diary before him and announced, “There, Gramps, there’s the proof you wanted about Great-great-grandfather Ezra!” Wouldn’t Gramps smile then!

But maybe it would be better to wait until he had the glassware and the money. Then Gramps’ eyes would really open wide. Yes, that’s what he’d do--throw the whole thing at Gramps all at one time!

Ronnie wanted to run from the house and down through the orchard to the village and then tear every board loose from the floor of the old, padlocked building until he knew for sure that he had figured correctly. He got up from the bed and went to the window. The sun was sinking fast. In another hour or two it would be dark, too late in the day to start his search. Besides, he wanted Bill with him when he found the glassware and money. He decided to make a trip to the kitchen to see how Mrs. Butler was getting on with supper.

“Lands sake!” she exclaimed when he asked her how long it would be before he could eat. “Land sakes, you’re getting as bad as your brother--always thinking of filling your stomach.”

“Well, it’s the right time of the day to be thinking of that,” he told her. “Say, where’s Phil, anyway?”

“I suppose he’s in the living room with your grandfather and that Mr. Caldwell who came to see the candlesticks a while ago.”

“He _is_!” Now wasn’t that a fine kettle of fish, he thought. Here he was missing out on a very important event while he dawdled around in the kitchen talking with Mrs. Butler.

He hurried down the hall. The door to the living room was partially closed. Ronnie poked his head through the opening. The two Rorth candlesticks were standing on the desk. Mr. Caldwell was seated near them and Grandfather directly across from him. Phil was lolling on the couch, his bare feet resting on the wall and his head propped up with a pillow. He seemed more interested in the comic magazine on his chest than what was going on in the room.

Grandfather caught sight of Ronnie. “Come in, boy. Come in.”

Ronnie pushed the door open the rest of the way and came over to sit on the floor near Grandfather’s chair.

“I have just finished explaining to Mr. Caldwell that if he really has a pair of candlesticks like these,” Grandfather said to Ronnie, “and if they have come down to him through the family, then I guess we can be pretty sure he’s related in some way to the Jacob Williams who was a partner of your great-great-grandfather.”

Ronnie gulped. Grandfather had told Mr. Caldwell all this? But, why? _Why?_

His amazement must have shown in his face, for Grandfather gave him a searching look and explained gently, “It’s got to be that way, Ronald. There would be no advantage in keeping the information from him. You see, the Seaway has learned of the unsettled title to the deserted village land. At first I thought this would help me--I thought they would be snarled up in such legal troubles that it would be better for them to build the dam the way we want than to be held up for a year, maybe more, fighting us in the courts. But it doesn’t work that way, I learned. The Seaway just puts half the value of the property away in a bank in trust, and if and when the person who’s got a claim on the land shows up, why, the money’s there and waiting.”

“I see,” Ronnie said. Only he didn’t, not really.

“This way the whole affair’s settled, once and for all.” He looked closely at Ronnie to see how the boy was taking what he had said.

“Confound it, Ronnie,” he went on, his face flushing slightly. “Confound it, you don’t think I _like_ what’s going on, do you? I’m still fighting, boy, fighting for the village. And saving the village from being destroyed, that’s the important thing. Maybe with Mr. Caldwell as a half-owner, we’ll add strength to our side of the fighting. Seems to me this man’s kind of keen on saving the village, too.”

Ronnie looked over at Caldwell. “Are you, Mr. Caldwell?” he asked. He wasn’t seeing Caldwell, not really. He was seeing the man who had slipped into the padlocked building that afternoon, the man who had overturned furniture and thrown the family papers about on the floor.

“Very much so, Ronald,” Mr. Caldwell answered. He spoke with genuine feeling. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to accuse him, Ronnie told himself. He had never made a positive identification. And yet--yet there were so many times that Ronnie had _almost_ been sure.

“This comes as such a complete surprise,” Mr. Caldwell was speaking again. “I shall certainly have to look into the matter. I suppose there are agencies that will trace a family tree?”

Grandfather nodded. “I’d get myself a good lawyer, if I were you. He’ll tell you if you’ve got claim to the property.”

“My brother was the one who was interested in our family tree--and the family history of the candlesticks. As a boy, he was always snooping through old trunks and boxes in the attic.” Caldwell went over and stood before the candlesticks, touching the glass crystals lightly and lovingly with the tips of his fingers. “Beautiful, beautiful workmanship,” he said.

“Why don’t you ask your brother?” Phil rolled over to a sitting position. “Maybe he’s been holding out on you. Maybe he knows all about the property.”

Mr. Caldwell did not look around. “I--I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he answered finally. “He’s--away.”

Ronnie brought his knees up against his stomach and then wrapped his arms about his legs to hold them close. He looked over at Caldwell. How much did the man _really_ know? Was this all a put-up job--pretending he had no knowledge of his relationship to Jacob Williams? Acting as if he didn’t know a thing, so Ronnie would not connect him with his mysterious prowlings about the village?

Ronnie sighed. It was all very puzzling. But somehow he couldn’t believe that Mr. Caldwell was guilty of deceiving them. Ronnie had to admit to himself that he liked the man.

The room had grown darker. Off in the distance Ronnie heard the low rumble of thunder. The back door slammed shut and Mr. Rorth came down the hallway and poked his head into the room. “Hi, everyone,” he said cheerfully. “Mr. Caldwell, how are you? By the way, I dropped some screen doors and windows off at your place, but I didn’t have time to put them up. I left some nails and a hammer, though, and you can tack them up temporarily.”

“Many thanks!” Caldwell said. “I can certainly use the screens! I never knew there were so many insects in the world until I came here. Too bad you left the hammer, though. I have one of my own.”

Whose hammer, Ronnie wondered? Caldwell’s--or was it the one that had disappeared from Bill’s barn?

The room grew another shade darker. A brilliant flash of lightning dispelled the darkness for a brief moment, and then the thunder broke. The house vibrated from the sound.

Mr. Caldwell moved toward the door. “I’d best be going before the storm breaks.”

“Come along,” Mr. Rorth offered, “and I’ll take you most of the way in the truck. You’ll never make it before it rains.”

The truck was hardly out of sight when the rain fell in torrents. Ronnie, at the living room window, watched the puddles grow deeper and deeper. The rain turned to hail and beat against the pane like a kettledrum solo. A streak of lightning split the black clouds and pierced the earth. Almost immediately a crack of thunder seemed to explode overhead. The rain fell heavier.

Ronnie turned from the window and let the curtains fall back into place. Grandfather got up from his chair. “I might as well do a little DXing while I wait on supper to be served up,” he announced. “Ronnie, does that sound interesting to you?”

“I don’t think so, Gramps. Really, you shouldn’t DX during a thunderstorm.”

“Fiddlesticks! Rubbish! If the lightning’s got your name written on it, it’ll strike you no matter what! Besides, what’s there left for me around here now?”

He stomped from the room as fast as his cane would permit. Phil turned over heavily on the couch, bringing his magazine around with him. Ronnie watched his brother for a moment, then turned and left the room.

He went upstairs to his bedroom because he could think of nothing better to do. For a while he stood by his window watching the storm. Below, he saw his father’s truck drive into the yard and come to a quick stop. Mr. Rorth got out and ran for the back door.

And down in the deserted village Ronnie saw another figure running in the rain. The figure appeared out of the trees and ran toward the rear wall of the padlocked building. It disappeared from sight behind the building. Ronnie waited for it to reappear, but the minutes passed without another movement in the village.

The boy remembered Great-great-grandfather’s words in his diary: “His body lies below, together with the evidence of his guilt.” There was no doubt in the boy’s mind now what his great-great-grandfather had meant. Down below the padlocked building, of course.

And Ronnie remembered, too, how savagely the stranger had attacked the interior of the building that afternoon overturning furniture, pounding on the walls, scattering the papers.

It wouldn’t be long, Ronnie realized, before the man would begin to rip up the floor boards.

“Bill and I have _got_ to get there first!” he told himself.

_Chapter 13_

The thunderstorm did not roll away to bother other parts of the country as thunderstorms usually do. Instead, it turned into a steady downpour that showed no signs of letting up. The barnyard flooded and the water ran down the driveway in small streams that washed away the gravel and left gullies along the edges.

All night it rained, and when Ronnie awoke the next morning it was still coming down. After breakfast the boy moved from one room to the next, trying to decide what to do. He was worried about what the intruder might have discovered during the night. Perhaps by now he had found the money and glassware and had already left the village with his loot.

Ronnie made up his mind. He went to the telephone and called Bill. He told him about the figuring he had done, how he believed the money and glassware were hidden somewhere beneath the padlocked building, and how he was afraid the intruder might already have found it. “We’ve got to work fast, Bill,” he said urgently.

“I’m with you, Ronnie,” Bill agreed. “I can get away, I think. Can you?”

“I’ll wear boots and my raincoat and cape. My dad’ll say yes, for sure.”

“Then I’ll see you there! And bring the ledger book. I want to see the part you’re talking about. Meet you in our office in twenty minutes.”

Ronnie went to find his father to get permission. “Now how in the world would I know where he is?” Mrs. Butler protested. She had just arrived and was removing her plastic raincoat and hat. “Go look in the barn. He generally works there when the weather’s bad like this.”

Ronnie dashed across the yard and sailed through the open barn doors. He found his father at his workbench cutting tomato poles from old boards on his power saw.

“Sure, go ahead,” Mr. Rorth agreed. “A little rain’s not going to hurt anybody.”

Ronnie ran back to the house. He went up to his room and got the ledger. Then he got his boots, raincoat, and rubber raincape from the hall closet. Phil appeared from the kitchen. “Where are you heading for, Ronnie?” he asked.

“I’m meeting Bill down at the village. Want to come?”

Phil looked at Ronnie as if his brother had asked him to go to the moon. “Are you kidding?” he laughed. “I wouldn’t go out in this weather if the house was on fire.”

Ronnie slipped the ledger under his raincoat where it would be protected from the weather. “Say,” Phil demanded, “what’s that?”

“Just a book,” Ronnie answered. He wasn’t going to take the time now to explain. Besides, Phil knew so little about what had happened during the past few days that Ronnie would have to start at the beginning if his brother were to understand how important the book was.

“Yea, but what _kind_ of a book?” Phil persisted. Ronnie retreated toward the door, but Phil followed him.

“Oh, an old book I found in the padlocked building,” Ronnie admitted finally as he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

“Say,” he heard Phil exclaim as the door closed on his words. “Something’s going on around here--”

Ronnie splashed through the puddles in the driveway and entered the orchard. The rain drummed down on his rubber hood. Little rivers drained from his shoulders. He held the book tight as he plunged down the soggy bluff and entered the trees at the bottom.

Down in the valley he breathed deep of the pungent odor of pine, released by the long rain. Off to the right, partially hidden by the ground fog that had been trapped beneath the heavy foliage when the cooler rain touched the warm earth, Ronnie saw the old bakery building. Its broken, crumbled walls and sections of rotting roof seemed unusually deserted and lonely in the faint light.

Ronnie shivered suddenly and continued down the narrow path. Wet branches snapped back against his raincoat and sprayed water into his face. He stopped a moment to shift the ledger higher up under his arm.

And then suddenly there was a movement in the bushes at the side of the path. Before the boy could turn, someone seized him from behind and, grasping his arms, pinned them behind his back. Ronnie felt the ledger slipping from his hold. It started to fall beneath his raincoat.

He struggled to free himself, but his assailant was strong. He tried, too, to twist his head about so he could see who it was. But his raincape blocked his vision on both sides.

“All right, kid!” A man’s voice growled close to the boy’s ear. “Let’s have it!”

“H--have w--what?” Ronnie gasped.

“The book I saw you kids looking at yesterday in that shack of yours.” The man tightened his grip on the boy’s arms, and Ronnie winced. And just at that moment the ledger slipped to the ground.

“So you’ve got it with you, eh? Well, that’s so much the better!” The man loosened his grip somewhat. Then he gave Ronnie a terrific shove that sent the boy sprawling headlong into the wet leaves.

Ronnie was more angry than he was hurt. He had just one idea in his mind--to get a close look at this man now that he had the opportunity. No sooner had he struck the ground than he rolled over and pulled himself up to a sitting position.

The man was bending over to pick up the ledger. But when he straightened up he was facing directly toward the boy. Ronnie found himself face to face with his opponent.

“Mr.--Mr. _Caldwell_!” Ronnie exclaimed. The man’s thin summer clothes were soaked to the skin and his thick, straight hair was matted to his head on top and hanging over his forehead in ropelike strands.

But Caldwell paid no attention to the boy’s remark. Book in hand, he walked off down the path in the direction of the old bakery.

“Give me back my book!” Ronnie shouted after him. “Why, why--you--” He took off after the man, leaping onto his back and clinging there with all his strength.

But he was no match for Caldwell. With his free hand the man released the boy’s grip from about his neck. Then, still holding Ronnie’s wrist, he flung the boy from him. Ronnie sailed into the bushes, rolled over several times and came to a stop. By the time he had pulled himself to his feet Caldwell had disappeared.

Dejectedly the boy turned and made his way slowly toward their office to tell Bill the disheartening news.

Bill had the door unlocked, but closed, to keep out the rain and chill. Ronnie came inside, pulled off his raincape. He didn’t have to tell Bill that something unpleasant had happened. His friend read it in Ronnie’s face.

“You did everything you could have done,” Bill said to him after Ronnie had told him the story. “Don’t feel bad about it.” Bill went over to sit on the edge of the desk. “So it _has_ been Caldwell all along--and him acting so sweet and nice. You sure, Ronnie?”

Ronnie nodded. “It was him all right. Of course, he looked a little different because he was as wet as a drowned rat.”

“You mean he wasn’t wearing a raincoat--or anything like that?”

“Nope.” It did seem strange, now that Ronnie had time to think about it. Certainly Caldwell would have brought enough clothing with him for all kinds of weather. But hadn’t he _seen_ Caldwell face to face? Raincoat or no raincoat, it _was_ Mr. Caldwell all right! “Well, _now_ what do we do?” he asked Bill.

“Why, just what we planned, of course!” Bill explained. “And maybe we’ve got the jump on Caldwell after all! Because why would he take the ledger from you if he had found the money and glassware, or knew where it was?”

“I see what you mean!” Ronnie exclaimed. “He wouldn’t _need_ the ledger if he was close to finding the money and glassware.”

“Right! He’s probably getting desperate. He saw us with the old book and decided it might contain an answer to what he wanted to know. Maybe he even heard us reading parts of it.”

Ronnie walked over to the window. Streams of water ran down from the roof. The wind was lifting now and the trees were bending under its force. Ronnie turned to face his friend. “Bill, if I hadn’t seen Caldwell face to face, I don’t think I could believe he’s the man who’s been doing all this snooping. And you know, even while he was grabbing me back there on the path, I didn’t think it was him. He just didn’t talk like Caldwell--or act like him either.”

“Well, you never do really know a man until you’ve been around him a good long while--that’s what my pa says.” Bill pulled his raincape over his head. “We’re just wasting time sitting here and talking. Let’s get over to the padlocked building. I brought a flashlight. Did you bring the key?”

Ronnie patted his trouser leg. “Right here in my pocket!” he exclaimed.

They closed the door to their office and started down the puddle-filled path. The rain beat against their raincapes and coats, and overhead the trees lashed wildly in the rising wind. A dead branch fell to the path behind them.

When they reached the cobblestone road they saw Phil coming toward them, huddled inside his raincoat and pushing against the wind. “I figured something was up,” he said to Bill and Ronnie when he had reached them. “Come on, out with it. What have you two got up your sleeves--and where’s that old book you had, Ronnie?”

Ronnie glanced at his friend. Bill nodded that as far as he was concerned he didn’t care if Phil was brought in on their venture. So while they walked to the padlocked building, Bill and Ronnie supplied Phil with whatever information he needed to bring him up to date.

When they arrived at the old Rorth Glassworks office building, Ronnie brought the key from his pocket and inserted it in the rusty lock. He tried to turn the key but it wouldn’t budge. It wouldn’t turn for Bill or Phil, either.

“We’ll have to use Caldwell’s secret trap door,” Ronnie said, and they hurried around to the rear of the building.

Ronnie removed the wall section and the three climbed through. Bill lit his flashlight. Then Ronnie closed the trap door again because, as he explained to the others, “We don’t want Caldwell to know we’re in here.”

Bill was exploring the interior with the flashlight. He whistled. “Wow! Caldwell sure turned this place upside down!”

Ronnie nodded. Hardly a square foot of the floor was bare of paper or overturned filing cabinet and desk drawers. Even a few floor boards here and there were torn loose.

“Looks just like my bedroom when Mrs. Butler yells at me,” Phil commented.