Robert Coverdale's Struggle; Or, on the Wave of Success
Page 18
CHAPTER XVIII
A DESPERATE CONFLICT
About eight o'clock the next evening John Trafton sat in the barroom atthe tavern enjoying himself in the manner characteristic of the place.
All day long his mind had been dwelling upon the plan which he had sorecently formed, and he felt a feverish desire to carry it out.
"One bold stroke," he said to himself, "and I am a made man. No morehard work for me. I will live like a gentleman."
It was rather a strange idea the fisherman had--that he could live likea gentleman on the proceeds of a burglary--but there are many who, likehim, consider that nothing is needed but money to make a gentleman.
That very night John Trafton decided to make the attempt, ifcircumstances seemed favorable. He shrank from it as the time approachedand felt that he needed some artificial courage. For this reason hevisited the tavern and patronized the bar more liberally than usual.
Trafton had prudently resolved to keep his design entirely secret andnot to drop even a hint calculated to throw suspicion upon him after theevent.
But there is an old proverb that when the wine is in the wit is out,and, though the fisherman indulged in whisky rather than wine, thesaying will apply just as well to the one as to the other.
Among the company present in the barroom was one man who had been in thevillage a day or two, but was a stranger to all present.
He was a short, powerfully made man, roughly dressed, with a low browand quick, furtive eyes that had a look of suspicion in them.
He had naturally found his way to the tavern bar and proved himself aliberal patron of the establishment. Therefore the landlord--though hedid not fancy the looks of his new guest--treated him with politeness.
Somehow the conversation on that particular evening drifted to theprobable wealth of city people who made their homes at Cook's Harborduring the summer. It was afterward remembered that the roughly dressedstranger had introduced the subject in a casual way.
"It's my opinion," said Ben Barton, "that Mr. Irving is our richestman."
"What makes you think so, Ben?" asked the landlord.
"The way he lives partly. He's got everything that money can buy.Besides, I heard his boy say that his father's watch cost him fivehundred dollars. Now, it stands to reason that a man don't wear a watchlike that unless he's got the money to back it."
"There's something in that," the landlord admitted.
The stranger seemed interested.
"Does this Irving stay down here himself?" he asked.
"No, he only comes down Saturday to stay over Sunday."
"Does he have much silver in the house?"
"I don't know. Why?" inquired Ben Barton, turning a surprised look uponthe stranger.
"Because a real, tiptop rich man generally has plenty of plate,"answered the man after a pause.
"I guess he doesn't keep it down here," said Barton. "It's likely he'sgot plenty in the city."
The stranger shrugged his shoulders.
"Does his wife wear diamonds?" he asked.
"Not down here. There wouldn't be any occasion."
"Does he get his groceries here or in the city?"
"He sends them down here by express."
The stranger seemed to lose all interest in the Irving family.
Two or three summer residents were mentioned who were supposed to berich, but it did not appear that any of them kept valuables at theirsummer homes.
John Trafton had not taken any part in the conversation hitherto, and ifhe had been prudent he would have continued to remain silent, but a manexcited by drink is not likely to be discreet.
He broke silence when there came a lull in the discussion.
"There's one man you haven't mentioned," he said, "who keeps more moneyon hand than Mr. Irving or any one else you have spoken of."
"A man in the village here?" asked the landlord.
"He means you, Mr. Jones," said Ben Barton jocosely. "Ain't we all of usbringing you money every day? You ought to have a pile by this time."
"So I might if all that were owing me would pay up," retorted thelandlord.
As Ben was one of his debtors, this was felt to be a fair hit, and therewas a laugh at his expense.
"P'r'aps Trafton means himself," suggested Ben by way of diversion.
"I wish I did," said the fisherman. "Well, I may be rich some time;stranger things have happened."
"I can't think of any stranger thing than that," said Ben.
And the laugh now was at Trafton's expense, but he didn't seem to mindit.
By this time the general curiosity was aroused.
"Who is this rich man you're talkin' about, Trafton?" asked SamCummings.
"The hermit of the cliff," answered the fisherman.
There was a general rustle of surprise.
"What reason have you for saying that?" asked Mr. Jones, the landlord.
By this time, however, John Trafton began to suspects that he had beenimprudent and he answered with a mysterious shake of the head:
"I've no call to tell you that, but I've got my reasons."
"Can't you tell us, John?" asked Ben Barton.
"I might, but I won't; but I stand by what I've said."
"Doesn't your boy do errands for the hermit?" asked the landlord.
"Suppose he does?"
"And he goes into the hermit's cave?"
"Perhaps he does and perhaps he doesn't."
"I know he does, for I was on the beach a day or two ago and I see hima-climbin' the ladder and goin' in," said Ben Barton.
"You'll have to ask him about that," said the fisherman.
"Whereabouts is his cave?" asked the stranger, who had listened intentlyto what had been said.
One of the party described its location fully.
"Then I've seen it," said the other. "I was walking on the beach thismorning and I wondered what the ladder was for."
He asked various questions about the hermit and his mode of life, whichexcited no wonder, as the curiosity about the hermit was shared by all.
John Trafton allowed himself to say one thing more that increased thisfeeling.
"I won't tell all I know," he said, "but I can tell you this hermitlives like a prince. He's got handsomer furniture than there is in anyhouse in Cook's Harbor."
No one had told the fisherman this, but he knew the statement would makea sensation and chose to embellish what he had heard from Robert.
"That's a strange idea to furnish a cave that way," said the stranger.
"It may be strange, but it's true."
"Do you think he keeps a good deal of money by him?" asked the strangerwith evident interest.
John Trafton nodded significantly.
The conversation now drifted into other channels. The stranger orderedanother glass of whisky and went out.
"Where is that man staying?" asked Cummings.
"Not here," answered the landlord. "I don't like his looks and don'tcare where he stays as long as he don't ask for a room here."
"You don't mind selling him drink, landlord?"
"Not as long as he's got money to pay. That's a different matter."
A few minutes later John Trafton left the tavern.
He had drunk considerable, but not enough to make him incapable ofaction. The drink excited him and nerved him for the task he had inview, for upon this very evening he had decided to force an entranceinto the hermit's mysterious residence, and he hoped to be well paid forhis visit.
He had to pass his own cabin on the way. He glanced toward it and saw alight shining through the window, but he took care to keep far enoughaway so that he might not be seen.
Half a mile farther and he stood opposite the cavern. There was theladder making access to the cave easy. He looked for the hermit's boat,which was usually kept fastened near the entrance to the cave, and tohis joy he saw that it was missing.
"The old man must be out in his boat," he said to himself. "All thebetter for me! If I am quick, I
may get through before he gets back."
With a confident step he ascended the ladder and entered what might becalled the vestibule of the cave.
He halted there to light the candle he had brought with him. He wasbending over, striking the match against his foot, when he was attackedfrom behind and almost stunned by a very heavy blow.
He recovered himself sufficiently to grasp his assailant, and in aninstant the two were grappling in fierce conflict.
"I never thought the old man was so strong," passed through thefisherman's mind as he found himself compelled to use his utmoststrength against his opponent.