A fourth shot followed (it flew wide somewhere), then the revolver jammed. By this time, the barge was moving fast away on the other tack. Piney Trigger shook his left hand at them as he swept far out of shot. The breeze was freshening, out there in the estuary; little bright splashes flew up on the barge’s side as she hurried away. In less than a minute she was fairly out to the sea, heading away from the land.
The two Abners met together and watched her; they said nothing till she was out of sight. The old man fidgeted with his revolver, and as he could not open the catch, flung it far out into the creek.
“There, he’s gone,” he said at last. “I’d have shot him full of holes, if the running hadn’t made my arm shake; then just as I’d got the bead well on him the wheel jammed. Where’s he making for?”
“England, I reckon.”
“Go on with your England; he’s off for one of the islands.”
“Well, couldn’t we tell the coastguard at Crab Point, and have him headed off?”
“He’ll be twenty miles at sea before you get there, and what good would it do to us, if they did head him?”
“Well, at least, they would stop him having the stuff.”
Old Abner answered this with a snarl. After a pause, he said, “Now that we’re cooler, answer, How d’you know he has the stuff?”
“I was digging in the new place,” his son replied, “when I heard some waggons coming along; they were going along the pike to French-fellows Pier. I didn’t look up till they’d passed. Then I thought they looked like Old John’s waggons, and I thought that one of the men in the second waggon was this Ben fellow. I just thought, ‘he’s getting a lift to the pier to do a bit of fishing.’ I went on with my digging and dug quite a piece. I found one of these Indian arrowheads.”
“Sit on it,” his father said. “Get on.”
“I suppose an hour later, old farmer John came running up, pretty near out of his mind. ‘Did my waggons go past here?’ he asked.
“‘Sure,’ I said.
“‘Was that man called Ben or Trigger in them?’
“‘I guess so. What’s the matter, John?’
“‘Matter?’ he said. ‘That fellow and his Indians; you call him Ben, but his real name’s Trigger. He and they knocked me flat, tied me up, and took all the stuff I had outen of my cellar. It was that gold and silver which I guess you’ve been looking for. I had it and they’ve took it . . . loaded it up onto my own waggons and said they was going to the pier. But I’ll pier them yet,’ he said. ‘I’ve sent to the Marshal. I’ve called Joe. I’ve got my gun. You call your pop, quick now, and we’ll get him at the pier before he can be off in that yawl of his.’ He was pretty near dead with rage and running, but off he went for the pier and I came looking for you.”
Old Abner sat on the rock swaying from side to side. “When first we came here,” he moaned, “I thought of trying out by John’s farm there, but them Indians put me wrong. And it was there all the time. And that fox, Old John, had it in his cellar and watched us digging for it twenty years. I’ve gone harvesting there and drunk a horn or two with him a dozen times and he grinned and said nothing. He had us fooled all the time, the worst kind of fools. What was he planning to do with it?”
“Keep it from doing harm, he said.”
“He’s been fooled himself now, pretty good,” old Abner said. “But he’ll answer to me for the fool he made of me . . .”
“But how did the Trigger find where the stuff was?” he asked after a pause.
“John told me that,” his son said. “He found bits of the boat in John’s yard. Found it first go off. He never had to dig nor nothing. He had us fooled all the time. Now he’s got it.”
“He won’t have it for long,” the old man said.
“I don’t know for that,” his son said, “Old John won’t stop him; Old John, I reckon, will just let it go without a word, as soon as his dander goes down.”
“Well, I won’t,” his father said. “I’ll get this Benito Trigger, sir, wherever he comes ashore. I’ll have the stuff yet, or my fair half of it, or he shall squeal for it. I’ll start this day. He ain’t done with me yet, he’s only begun.”
At this point, little Abner broke in upon them with:
“I guess I wanna go home.”
“Well get home. Walk,” his father said.
“I guess I don’t wanna walk.”
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to.”
“I guess I ain’t gonna walk.”
“I guess you are. How else are you going to get.”
“I guess I wanna be carried.”
“Who’s gonna carry you?”
“I guess you are.”
“I guess I’m not.”
“Then I guess Gran’pop’s gonna carry me.”
“I guess he ain’t,” Gran’pop said.
“Then I guess I’ll stay here an’ yell.” Saying this, he started to yell; his father boxed his ears, to give him, as he said, something to yell for. Old man Abner said, “I’m off, for Trigger’s home; when he gets there he’ll find me waiting for him.” At this, the picture suddenly dimmed, the figures of the three Browns blurred into the background; Kay saw the surf and the waves of the sea, and then, lo, the shining head said, “That is all,” and the picture vanished. Kay rose from his chair; at the same instant the scarlet cloak which he was wearing turned into a scarlet canoe; it floated him up from the floor, bored a big hole in the wall, floated him through, and then sped him home like a bird. In a minute the outfit was on its peg and Kay was in the drawing-room, looking at Aunt Susan’s Compendium.
The book was on the hearthrug, open, but somebody must have handled it since he had left it there. It was open in the middle to show him that there were two volumes of Pleasant Information bound together (for 1841 and 1842), and that therefore the book contained two pages numbered 275, one of which he had not seen. He turned to page 275 for the 1842 volume. It bore a chapter-heading:
Secret Writings.
It went on thus:
“Though in the enlightenment of modern times the need of secret methods of correspondence has become less frequent than in the past, it may still fall to the lot of our readers to want the knowledge of such methods. It may not be generally known that an effective secret writing can be made very simply, by using, instead of the letter needed, a letter some distance before or after it in the alphabet. Thus, instead of writing CAT, write BZS or DBU. With a little practice, people can become ready writers in these changed alphabets . . .”
“That’s queer,” Kay thought. “Perhaps Benjamin used a secret writing when he wrote those notes about the treasure.” He had not time to prove it at the moment, because Ellen carried him off to dinner, but after dinner he took an exercise book and a pencil to his lair below his dressing-table. Then with great care he made several alphabets in columns. After a little juggling with these, he found that the letters
S.S.S.
—————
J.G.Z. R.P.C.
might possibly represent not those letters but two letters later in the alphabet: thus
U.U.U.
—————
L.I.B. T.R.E.
It was very perplexing work, almost as troublesome as acer, and the result was odd; still LIB TRE did seem to spell something, whereas JGZ seemed like initials, and what English name began with Z?
He was about to try another combination of alphabets, when he heard a carriage in the drive. “She’s coming back,” he thought. An instant later he heard her in the hall, with others. “She’s brought the witches here, or is it only Mrs. Gossip?” he asked, as he listened. Abner’s voice told the footman to wait.
“It is the witches,” he thought. “What has she brought them here for?” He heard her bring them along the hall, up the stairs to the corridor outside his room. They did not seem to be more than five.
“Wait here a moment,” she said, “I must just see if anyone has been in my room.” You may imagine how Kay felt w
hen he heard her say this.
While she was gone, the others muttered together: “We must get to the bottom of it.” “She had one of our cloaks, for I saw the red skirt flick past the door.” “Well, we shall find who it was, and then . . . snip . . .”
The governess came back from her room. “Come on in here,” she said, leading the way into Kay’s room. “It is safe in here, we can’t be overheard in here. This is the child’s room, where Captain Harker slept. Some of you must sit on the bed, there won’t be room for you all on the sofa.” She made sure that both doors were shut.
When they were all seated, she said, “It is true that I left my window open, but I have looked at the robes, they are all cool; it cannot have been anyone from here.”
“Then who was it?” Abner asked. “Someone, in one of our robes, was listening to us while we lunched, and got before us to the image; and all our spells were wasted; worse than wasted, for the knowledge must have gone to an enemy. I ask, who was it?”
“No one from here,” the governess said. “We will make an incantation tonight to find out who it was . . . and then . . . short shrift.”
“Yes,” Abner said. “If it won’t then be too late for short shrift. However, this is the room, you say. Let us have a look at this hearthstone.”
At this, he pulled back the carpet so as to show the stone.
“No doubt about its being big enough,” he said. “And it certainly hasn’t been disturbed in recent years. We’re in plenty of time if it’s buried here. Off coat, Uncle Venom, and then we’ll get the cold chisels at it.”
Kay heard the two men take off their coats and settle down to work.
“The stone’s leaded in,” Abner explained. “We will chip out the lead and prise the stone up with our crowbars.”
Kay heard them chip at the lead, while the three ladies said, “How fast you’re doing it.” “It won’t take long at this rate.” “What can we bring you for refreshment?” etc., etc.
“This is only Quaker-leading,” Abner said, after they had chipped for some minutes. “We’ll have this up in no time. It is a thin melting of lead to cover the bolt-heads. I can prise the bolts out now with the jemmy, if you’ll hand it to me, Sister.”
“Here’s the jemmy, dear Master.”
“Thank you. Yes. It is as I said. Here come the bolts, they pull right up. It’s a good deal easier than I’d expected. Now, Uncle Venom, if you’ll take this crowbar, I’ll take this one. It seems to me that one good heave will make her swing on her axis.”
Kay heard them heaving and panting. It wasn’t quite so easy as they had expected. At last Kay heard them say, “It’s giving. There it is. Now then.” Kay heard the stone swing back. All five people were intent upon what was beneath. Kay could just see their bent bodies craning forward into the hollow.
“It’s not just under the stone,” Abner said. “The space seems to me to be right underneath the fireplace. There’s a room of sorts.”
“Is there anything in it?” Sister Aconite asked.
“I’ll soon see,” Abner said. “It’ll be something of a squeeze to get down.”
Kay could see him squirming down, legs first, into the opening. Presently his head disappeared.
“Is there anything there?” the two women asked.
“Nothing,” he said from below. “It’s an empty room. The stuff hasn’t been here, at any rate not for many years. It’s dry, empty and dusty; not a thing in it, except this.”
Kay could not see what “this” was, but it was evidently a small thing. He heard it being passed about.
“It’s only the handle of a sword,” Sister Aconite said.
“It’s not even that,” Abner answered. “It’s the handle of a cutlass worth about ten shillings when new. Well, there’s a disappointment. Or rather, one more false trail removed. We know that it isn’t here at least. But what on earth was the room made for? That beats me. Is there any other place in this house where old Harker could have put it?”
“None, that I know of,” the governess said.
“Nothing in the cellar?”
“Nothing; I’ve searched.”
“Well, where did Trigger put it, if he didn’t give it to Harker?”
“Where, indeed?”
“Well, we must go on with our incantations till we get another clue,” Abner said.
“We’re spending a small treasure in gums and herbs,” Uncle Venom said. “It’s my belief that Miss Susan Pricker Trigger has it, all the time.”
“Maybe she has,” Abner said. “But I don’t think she has. Anyway, that will be easy to prove, as things turn out. It must be somewhere, and we must get it, and we will get it.”
Kay could see him sweeping the particles of lead and brick displaced by the work down into the opening. Presently the stone was rolled back, and the carpet replaced.
“Our young friend will notice that these two bolts have been unleaded,” Abner said.
“He won’t,” the governess said. “He’s the most unobservant boy I’ve ever met.”
“The maids will notice, though,” Sister Aconite said.
“A very good imitation can be made,” Abner answered, “with candle grease and soot from the chimney.”
In a few minutes he had covered the two bolts with melted grease and soot.
“They won’t notice that,” he said. “And now we’ll be moving.”
He gathered up the crowbars.
“I suppose that there’s no clue on the sword,” Sister Aconite said.
“It’s all rusted deep,” Abner answered. “If anything ever has been scratched on it, it’s rusted out now.”
“What shall we do with it?” Sister Aconite asked.
“Well, the young shaver might like it.”
“No, indeed,” the governess said, “that might be giving him all sorts of ideas.”
“I’ll take it with me, then,” Abner said; he put it in his pocket. They all left the room.
“Well,” Kay thought, as they went downstairs, “they are just about cool enough.”
☆
After tea Kay was sent to hold skeins of wool for Ellen, because the Women’s Winter Knitting Club would soon be meeting and boys ought to make themselves useful. Ellen talked of old times as she balled off the wool.
“Things were very different in my father’s time,” she said. “They call them the good old times; but I don’t know, I’m sure, what my father found good in them. Oh, the dreadful things he used to tell. For it wasn’t then like it is now, Master Kay, with so many things done for poor people; no. Why the farmers used to beat the boys black and blue, and pinch their ears till the blood ran.
“And then there was the war time, fighting against that Boney. Oh, the money there used to be then. Never anyone sober in the parish on market nights; everybody had the French brandy, by what they called the Night Hawks. They used to bring the brandy by night right up the river, and then bring it about to people’s houses, and so cheap. But the Night Hawks were bold ones; they killed poor Mr. Parminter. There was a lot of them hanged for that. They hung them up on the top of Cop in those days. My father used to show me the sort of like a hollow where the gallows was, but the boys have all altered it now, scrabbling about for poor people’s bones and that, which they say keep you from drowning, but I don’t know I’m sure.
“Then they put Boney on his island in the end; and then there wasn’t any more French brandy, nor nothing else; oh, dreadful it was, and bread so dear, my father said; many’s the time he was glad of a bite of oats out of the horse-bin. And then like men came down from the cities, my father said, to tell the young men not to stand it, because the French didn’t. So then they got what they called the Liberty Tree out in the wood . . .”
“Liberty Tree,” Kay said, “what was that?”
“It was that big beech tree, Master Kay, in the middle of Corselaydead Wood, where the four big rides meet. We went past there with Rose and Will, if you remember, the day we walked to the Flower Sh
ow. They called it the Liberty Tree, my father said, because there’s Liberty cut on it, and that’s what they did in France. They put a red cap on it, and that made it Liberty, and then they took their oaths. The Liberty men were bold ones, too; they burned a lot of ricks and that, till they were sent to Botany. My father had the red cap that was on it, till mother wanted it for crawlers. There’s not many knows about these things now, for the old ones are gone, and the young all go into the towns and never care.”
☆
When Kay went to bed that night he knew that Benjamin’s writing meant a hundred yards south of the Liberty tree; but he could not understand what the S.S.S. meant, even if the S.S.S. stood for U.U.U. Then, just as he was falling asleep, it came over him in a flash. “Of course,” he cried, “I see what it means. What an ass I was, not to see it before; it means a hundred yards south of the Liberty Tree under three big yews. That is it, of course. I wonder if there are three big yews, I cannot remember. But of course there will be.” His mind at once made pictures of enormous yews with interlocking boughs growing over “the sort of like a hollow” where Benjamin’s treasure lay. Soon they began to cover Kay with shadow, so that he fell asleep.
He had not slept for long before a shrill crying sounded in his ears. When he woke, the room had something in it that was fluttering and battering against the ceiling and the walls. When his eyes grew accustomed to the light he saw that there was a bat in the room. He had always loved bats, because of their bright eyes, cocked ears, and nice leathery umbrellary wings and the little hooks to them. He had always longed to be a bat, so that he could fly in the twilight and hook himself up head downwards somewhere high up in a steeple when he was tired. Now here was a bat actually crawling along his bed to him.
The Midnight Folk Page 17