Peter Cotterell's Treasure

by Rupert Sargent Holland

  XI--THE MAN IN GREEN

  Ben, having explained to the other three campers that he had importantbusiness to attend to in Barmouth, set out in the _Red Rover_ directlyafter breakfast the next morning. He paddled the canoe across the bay,landed at the town wharf, and went up the main street to Barmouth's onegood hotel. He knew the clerk, Mr. Pollock, and after saying "Goodmorning" very politely, he helped himself to a small folded automobilemap from a pile that lay on the counter for anyone to take.

  "Going motoring, Ben?" asked the clerk. "Seems to me I heard you werecamping on Cotterell's Island. How are things over there?"

  "Fine," said Ben; and in return he promptly asked a question. "Had manyautomobile parties for dinner the past few days?"

  "Quite a lot. Yes, business is pretty good. They like our specialbroiled lobster dinners."

  Ben leaned on the counter, copying the familiar manner he had noted inhotel guests. "You had a party on Tuesday, didn't you? A big red car,with a Massachusetts license, driven by a man in green-checkedknickerbockers?"

  "Expect me to remember that?" Nevertheless, Mr. Pollock scratched hischin and considered the question. "Yes, seems to me I do recall such aparty. Somebody said those knickerbockers were loud enough to be heardall the way to Boston." The clerk thumbed the pages of the hotelregister and presently pointed out a name. "That's the fellow, JosephHastings. He comes from Cleveland, Ohio. There were four in his party."

  "And he came in a big red car, with a silver eagle on the radiator cap?"Ben persisted.

  "Well, now, I can't say as to that." But Mr. Pollock, being agood-natured man and having nothing else to do at the moment, scratchedhis chin again, and again considered. "I do think of something. He toldme he'd punctured a tire and asked me the best place to go to buy a newone."

  Ben nodded. "I suppose you told him Hammond's?"

  "You're right. I did. Frank Hammond is a good friend of mine."

  Then Ben changed the conversation to the subject of the big leaguepennant race, in which the clerk was very much interested, and aftersome further chat, departed from the hotel.

  Frank Hammond knew Ben also, and was not too busy that morning toexchange a few words with him. After a number of questions about thestate of the roads in the neighborhood of Barmouth, Ben said, "Mr.Pollock tells me you sold a tire to Joseph Hastings, of Cleveland, Ohio,Tuesday of this week."

  "That's so," said Mr. Hammond, "I did. I sold him a couple of those bigVulcan tires for his rear wheels. Is he a friend of yours?"

  "I don't know him very well," Ben evaded. "But I hear he's a finefellow. Is he touring along the coast?"

  "No. He said he was staying at a place called the Gables, down on theCape Ann Road. Wonderful car he's got. He told me he'd had it builtaccording to his own ideas."

  "Big red car, with a silver eagle on the radiator cap?"

  "That's the bird. Yes, sir, he must be a millionaire."

  When he left the dealer in automobile supplies Ben went to his uncle'shouse and secured the loan of a small, ramshackle car he had oftendriven before. He made sure that the car had plenty of gasoline and oil,that the radiator was full of water, and he took a look at the tires.Then he drove south from Barmouth over the State Road.

  It was a fine day, and many cars were out. Ben kept a watchful eye forsuch a car as that of Joseph Hastings, but none answering thedescription passed him. So he jogged along until he came to the fork ofthe Cape Ann Road and turned into it. There were fewer automobiles here,the road was not made for speeding, the little car bounced about a gooddeal going over ruts, and rattled like a load of tinware.

  He met a boy on a bicycle and asked him if he knew a place called theGables.

  "Down the road a couple of miles," the boy told him. "Big house with aship for a weather-vane."

  Ben thanked him and drove on. Pretty soon he saw the weather-vane on aroof to the left of the road.

  The Gables had a wide lawn, stretching down to a stone wall. Theentrance to the drive was at the southern end, and the gateposts wereflanked with larches. Ben drove to the gate, and stopped. So far hisplan had been simple; now he was undecided what course to follow next.

  He was musing over this when a voice hailed him.

  "Give you greetings, sir. May I ask what you're pondering over?"

  The words were so peculiar that Ben looked around in surprise. A youngman had stepped out from among the trees and was nodding at him.

  "Why--good-morning," said Ben.

  "Has your car run out of juice?"

  The man came up, a broad smile on his face. He himself looked very muchlike any sunburned fellow; but his costume was most peculiar. He wore atight-fitting jacket of green, open at the throat, without any necktie.His knee-breeches were green, too, and so were his stockings, and on hislow brown shoes were large brass buckles.

  "No," said Ben, with an answering smile, for there was a twinkle in thestranger's eye as if he knew some joke, "I've gasoline enough to runthis car all day. I'll admit it isn't the very latest model--not whatyou'd call a show car--but we do get wonderful mileage per gallon ofgas."

  "Don't make any apologies for your equipage," said the gentleman ingreen. "Many a valiant knight has ridden on a steed that wouldn't havetaken the blue ribbon at the horse show. Don Quixote, for example. Youremember him, of course? The Spanish cavalier who rode forth to tilt atwindmills?"

  "Yes," said Ben with a laugh. And then, seeing that the man wasfriendly, he added, "That's a wonderful suit of clothes you're wearing."

  "You like it?" The owner looked down at his costume. "I designed itmyself. It seems to me an improvement on the usual thing. And now, kindsir, since you tell me that your steed has plenty of fodder, may I askhow you happen to be sitting here on such a fine day?"

  "This place is called the Gables, isn't it?" asked Ben. "Mr. JosephHastings lives here?"

  "Right you are," answered the man. "But Mr. Hastings isn't at home thismorning. Did you have business with him?"

  "In a way. I wanted to find out if he'd lost a silver snuff-box."

  "A snuff-box? That's interesting. But I don't think Joseph Hastingstakes snuff."

  Ben drew the box from his pocket. The man in green looked at it. "Nowwhere did you find this?" he asked.

  "On an island in Barmouth Harbor," said Ben. "Cotterell's Island, it'scalled."

  "Well!" exclaimed the man. "Well, well--you don't say so!" He looked atthe boy in the car with a new interest. "So that's where you come from,is it?" He returned the snuff-box. "May I be so inquisitive as to askyour name?"

  "Benjamin Sully."

  "Thank you. My own appellation is Roderick Fitzhugh. If you have noobjection, Mr. Sully, I should greatly enjoy the pleasure of riding withyou."

  Ben didn't know what to say; and Mr. Fitzhugh evidently took his silencefor consent, for he immediately hopped into the seat beside the driver.

  "That's all right," said Ben; "but you see I wasn't thinking of ridinganywhere. I came to find out whether Mr. Hastings had lost a snuff-boxon Cotterell's Island."

  "Just so. But you can't find that out, as he's not at home at present.And meantime I suggest that we go on a little adventure. A fine day, asteed with plenty of gasoline, and two gentlemen looking for amusement."

  Ben was mystified. "What sort of adventure?" he asked.

  "Well, what would you say to hunting for hooked-rugs?"

  "Hooked-rugs?" Ben laughed; he was now so much amused at RoderickFitzhugh's company that he wanted to see more of him. "Do they grow onbushes?"

  "No. They grow in these thrifty Yankee cottages. I'll tell you where togo."

  Ben started the engine and drove on. At his companion's direction hesoon turned into a by-road that led westward.

  Roderick Fitzhugh nodded toward a cottage, in the yard of which a womanwas scattering grain to a flock of chickens. "There is a likely-lookinghunting-ground," he said. "Please stop when you come to the gate. I willexchange a few words with this respectable lady."

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bsp; The car stopped, making its customary noise of clattering tinware as Benput on the brake. The woman looked round, and in the usual neighborlyfashion of farmers walked over to the gate.

  "Morning," she said.

  "Good morning to you, Madam," responded Roderick Fitzhugh. "You have afine flock of hens."

  "Yes," she said, looking at the man in the green clothes as if shedidn't know exactly what to make of him.

  "My friend and I," continued Fitzhugh, "were just discussing the subjectof hooked-rugs. As soon as I saw you I said, 'There's a woman who knowsall about them.'" His tone was so deferential that anyone would havebeen pleased to be addressed in such a manner.

  The woman smiled. "Well, now, I don't know as how I know all about them;but I do have a few old rugs. Been in the family some time."

  "You see!" exclaimed Fitzhugh, turning to Ben. And to the woman headded, "Would it be possible for my friend and me to have a look atthem?"

  "Surely it would. But they're not the new shiny kind you can buy at thestores in the city."

  Fitzhugh and Ben descended and followed the woman indoors. Presentlythey were viewing half-a-dozen antique rugs, all of the hooked variety,that the woman collected from the upstairs rooms.

  Ben looked on with interest and amusement while his new friend discussedthe rugs with their owner. And after listening to Fitzhugh's admirationfor these things that she evidently regarded as rather faded and onlyfit for service in bedrooms and attic, the woman said, "I'd be pleasedto have you take one, if you care to."

  "Oh, madam, you are too generous," Fitzhugh answered. "And yet I shouldlike to have one. That medium-sized one, with the purple border. I'd beglad to pay five dollars for it."

  "Why, it's not worth that much."

  "It is to me," said Fitzhugh, and he brought out a five-dollar bill fromhis trouser pocket and laid it on the table.

  With the rug they returned to the car. As they drove on again Fitzhughsaid, "They used to tell me, when I was a small boy, that you could takeone egg from a nest, and if there were several others left the motherbird wouldn't know the difference. I don't know whether that's so. ButI'm certain this good woman won't miss that rug very much. So myconscience is easy, though I got that prize at a bargain. Now, Mr.Benjamin Sully, what do you say? Isn't hunting for hooked-rugsexciting?"

  It was fun to hunt them with this amusing companion. Fitzhugh collectedthree more at three other houses, paying five dollars for each. At thethird house the farmer and his wife and children were just sitting downto dinner and the strangers were invited to join them. They had anexcellent meal, during which the man in green did almost all thetalking, and when they returned to the car and started on again herubbed his hands gleefully and said, "Mr. Benjamin Sully, it isn't sohard to find adventures if you look for them, is it?"

  "Well," Ben answered, "this is all very well; but I set out this morningto see Mr. Hastings and learn if he'd lost a snuff-box."

  "That's so, you did. Joseph Hastings--a silver snuff-box--found onCotterell's Island. What makes you think that the snuff-box you foundthere belonged to Joseph Hastings?"

  Ben considered how much to tell this Roderick Fitzhugh, and finallydecided to supply him with more facts. "The snuff-box was bought by Mr.Hastings at a shop in Barmouth, and I found it yesterday in a chesthidden in a crevice in the rocks on the island. Why did he put itthere?"

  The man in green beamed with delight. "In a treasure chest? Why, that'ssplendid!" He looked at Ben with new approval in his eyes. "So you'remixed up in a real adventure, are you? Treasure hidden in the rocks--onan island! Why, that's magnificent! No wonder you didn't get excitedover my tame hooked-rugs. Turn the car about, and drive back to theGables. We must investigate this."

  Half-an-hour later the little car turned in between the gate-posts atthe Gables. It clattered up the drive to the front of the house. On thewide porch were at least a dozen people, men and women; and when theysaw the occupants of the car they gave a shout of welcome.

  "Hello, here's the lad in green!"

  "We thought you'd been kidnapped!"

  "Where'd you find the jitney?"

  "Hope you've had some lunch!"

  "We thought you'd been arrested as a suspicious character in thoseclothes!"

  These were some of the exclamations.

  The man got out of the car and threw his bundle of rugs on the steps ofthe porch. "My good friends," he said, "Roderick Fitzhugh has beenadventuring, and there's his booty. Four beautiful hooked-rugs to add tothe collection. And this is Mr. Benjamin Sully. Ladies and gentlemen,Mr. Sully has found a silver snuff-box belonging to Joseph Hastings in atreasure chest on Cotterel's Island. What do you think of that?"

  There was another chorus of exclamations, expressive of great surprise.

  "Mr. Sully," the man in green continued, "if you'll get down from yoursteed we will partake of a long glass of lemonade--two glasses to beexact."

  Ben climbed down and went up the steps. And then he noticed that all thepeople on the porch were dressed in quaint costumes, as milkmaids orarchers or foresters. He looked at Fitzhugh, and the latter nodded."Queer crowd, aren't they?" said Fitzhugh. "However, they won't bite."