When they reached Twenty-Third Street, they paused, for Wyatt and Russell were going to Koster and Bial’s Concert Hall and, though Sara and Andrew had hoped that they might be asked to come along, they weren’t—Wyatt explaining that after the performance they were going to visit friends of Russell’s and would be home very late. Sara and Andrew didn’t know why they couldn’t go to the theatre with them—though it was called a concert hall, it was really a music hall with the kind of variety show that the Americans called vaudeville—and go home afterwards. But they didn’t say anything about it. Instead they thanked Wyatt for a delicious dinner, said good night to Russell and walked over to Fifth Avenue and then downtown.
“Why so quiet?” asked Andrew after they had gone several blocks in silence.
“You know why.”
“Because of what’s going to happen now.”
“Of course. Now that Peter’s gotten what he came here for—the diamonds—he’ll leave and go back to England.”
“I don’t think he’ll go right away. He’ll want to stay and see Mother’s play open here in New York and that won’t be for almost two weeks.”
“I don’t know about that. If he goes up to Boston with us this weekend, sees the performance there, he may not stay for the official opening here.”
“I think he will. Didn’t he say something about taking a holiday—that he hadn’t had one in two years?”
“Yes. But how do you know he won’t go back and take it in England?”
“Would you if you were he?”
“No. I’d take it here—at the Jersey shore or Newport or that place Mark Russell was talking about with the sand dunes and miles and miles of beach where the artists go.”
“Provincetown on Cape Cod.”
“Yes. But we’ll see.”
The night clerk was on duty when they got back to the Brevoort. He said good evening to them, looked in their box and told them there were no messages for them when he gave them their key. They said good night to him and went upstairs. The suite seemed very large and empty with Verna away and, after talking for only a few minutes in the sitting room, they each went to their own room.
Andrew had recently discovered Kipling and was now reading Soldiers Three. Becoming deeply involved in the exploits and adventures of the oddly assorted trio, he read until a little after eleven and fell asleep almost as soon as he had turned off the light.
He woke with a start, not sure what had awakened him. Then he heard it again, a soft but persistent tapping on the door of the suite. Picking up his watch, he saw by the glow of the streetlight outside that it was a quarter to twelve. He got out of bed and went into the sitting room just as Sara came out of her bedroom.
“Did you hear it?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Who do you think it is?”
“I don’t know.” He went to the door. “Who is it?” he asked.
“Al Manion,” said a husky voice.
Manion. The longshoreman who had come to tell them why he had dropped that load of cargo near them on the dock. Andrew looked questioningly at Sara, and when she nodded, he opened the door a few inches and peered out. Having made certain that it was Manion—Andrew could see him clearly by the light in the corridor—he opened the door and let him in.
“Is anything wrong?” asked Sara.
“I’m looking for your friend, Wyatt. I’ve been knocking at the door of his room, but there’s no answer.”
“He’s out,” said Andrew.
“Any idea when he’ll be back?”
“Late,” said Sara. “He was going to the theatre and then out visiting.”
“Rats!” said Manion impatiently. “There’s not much time.”
“For what?”
“I told you what Dandy Dan told me. That your friend was coming here to stick his nose into something that wasn’t his business and Dandy Dan wanted him scared off. Well, I found out what that something is. It’s a filing cabinet that a lot of people are looking for.”
“Yes, we know about that,” said Sara. “Do you know where it is?”
“I don’t, but I know someone who does. The thing is, he’s real nervy, anxious to get out of town. If I go back and tell him I couldn’t reach your friend, he’ll tell me to forget about it.”
Again Andrew and Sara exchanged glances.
“Peter said that it had nothing to do with him,” said Andrew. “That he wasn’t the least bit interested in it.”
“I know. But Inspector Decker is—very interested. And Peter’s his friend, so wouldn’t he want to help him?”
“I suppose he would.”
There was something compelling, almost fateful, about this development. They had heard about the file cabinet the day Wyatt arrived and things had happened because, in spite of his denials, people had insisted on believing he was interested in it. And so it would be, not just satisfying, but poetic if he were able to help Decker recover it before he left.
But along with this there was something else—something Andrew knew Sara was thinking too—that here was another chance for them to do something on their own. And this time they might be more successful than they had been with Benny the Monk. He knew they shouldn’t even be considering it, but it was hard to resist.
“Do you think this chap would talk to us, tell us where the file cabinet is?” he asked Manion.
“He might. If you like, I’ll take you to him.”
“Where is he?” asked Sara.
“Across town, at the East River.”
Again Sara and Andrew looked at one another.
“Let’s do it!” said Sara.
“All right,” said Andrew. “Give us a couple of minutes to get dressed,” he said to Manion.
“Sure. But don’t you think maybe you should leave a note for your friend Wyatt, so that if he comes back before you do, he won’t worry?”
“Good idea,” said Andrew. Going to the desk near the window, he scribbled a short note on hotel stationery, put it in an envelope.
“Give it to me,” said Manion, “and I’ll shove it under his door.”
“Fine.” Andrew gave it to him, went into his room and dressed quickly. When he came out, Sara was just coming out of her room.
“Where’s Manion?” she asked.
“Putting the note under Peter’s door.”
When they went out into the corridor, Manion was there, waiting for them.
“Ready? Good. Look, I’m still worried about Dandy Dan or someone else knowing I had something to do with this, so let’s not go out through the lobby. I don’t want the desk clerk to see us together.”
“We can go down to the café and out that way,” said Sara.
“That’s what I thought,” said Manion. “That’s the way I came in.”
They went down the stairs, past the lobby and out through the side door of the café onto East Eighth Street which, at this point, was called Clinton Place. They started walking east but they had only gone a short distance when a hack came up behind them. Manion hailed it, told the driver to take them to the Hunter’s Point Ferry station, then followed Sara and Andrew in and closed the door.
“Is that where we’re going—Hunter’s Point?” asked Sara.
“No. But the chap we want is waiting near the ferry station.”
Sara asked him who the man was, but he said, “You’ll see,” looking behind the hack as if he were afraid of being followed. He was so clearly uneasy that they didn’t ask him any more questions. They went east on Eighth Street, past Avenues D and E, finally drawing up in front of the ferry station on the river. They got out, Manion paid the driver, and he drove off. The ferry was not in the slip, and there was no one in the ferry station. The whole area was deserted, silent except for the lapping of the water against the piles and bulkheads that edged the river.
Manion started walking north, and they went with him. Two blocks further on they saw their first sign of life. A steam launch was tied up at a dock. It was thirty-five
or forty feet long, almost large enough to be called a yacht, and had a cabin with several portholes in it. Its running lights were lit and it had steam up—they could see a faint trail of smoke rising from the stubby stack and the glow of coals in the firebox as the engineer opened the door to look at the fire.
Another man stood at the edge of the dock. He was a tall, powerful man with a flat face and snub nose wearing a peaked seaman’s cap. He glanced at Sara and Andrew as Manion led them down toward him, but he didn’t say anything.
“Is that the man?” asked Sara.
“No,” said Manion. “On board.”
He jumped down onto the open deck behind the cabin, helped Sara and Andrew down, then slid open the cabin door.
“In there.”
Sara and Andrew went in. The cabin was low, with a table running down the center and lockers covered with cushions on both sides of it. An oil lamp hung from a hook overhead and by its light they could see that the cabin was empty.
Andrew turned, puzzled. “Where is he?” he said. “There’s no one—”
Before he could finish the sentence, the cabin door was slammed shut and they heard a lock snap. At the same time, they heard the slap of wet ropes as the lines were cast off and the launch swung away from the dock and moved out into the river so suddenly and swiftly that they were almost jerked off their feet. A pair of innocents, they had walked into a trap and were being taken to someplace unknown with no idea of why or by whom.
10
The Island
“Well, well,” said Andrew.
“A fine pair of idiots we are!” said Sara.
“Egregious!”
“What’s that mean?”
“From ex—out of. And grex, gregis—herd or flock. Meaning outstanding.”
“That’s us. And we thought we were so clever. At least, I did. The young detectives!”
“It wasn’t just you. I thought so, too.”
“Who do you think it is? That’s copped us, I mean.”
“I don’t know.”
“But Manion was in on it, wasn’t he?”
“Of course. It was he who just locked the door. Though I think it’s called a hatch. And I suspect he’s still on board.” He peered out through the forward porthole. “Yes. There he is talking to the big man in the sailor’s cap.”
“Then why did he tell us we should leave a note for Peter?”
“That’s the clincher as far as I’m concerned. If he hadn’t said anything, one of us would have thought of it, written a note and slipped it under Peter’s door. But when he suggests it, he can say, ‘Give it to me and I’ll slip it under his door.’”
“But of course he didn’t.”
“No.”
“That means that no one knows where we’ve gone or with whom.”
“That’s right. He was careful to see that we went out through the café so that not only did no one see us leave, but no one knows that he was there.”
“Nice, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Does it scare you?”
Sara thought about it seriously for a moment.
“A little. At first I thought it was fun. But now … Well, after all, someone did kill Benny the Monk.”
“I know. But somehow I don’t think anyone would want to kill us. Why should they?”
“If it comes to that, why should they kidnap us? But I think you’re right. I don’t think anyone is going to want to kill us. And anyway, there are two of us. I mean, neither of us is alone. That helps.”
“Yes. And of course there’s Peter. If anyone can find us, he will.”
“That’s the biggest thing of all. Where do you think they’re taking us?”
“Let’s see.” Andrew kneeled on the cushions of the locker and looked out through one of the portholes on the port side. “We’re on the East River going north. At least I think … Yes. There’s Blackwell’s Island ahead. Of course they can stop anywhere along here, on either the Manhattan or the Long Island City side. But if they don’t, if they keep going—and somehow I think they will—then they can either go up the Long Island Sound or over to the Hudson by way of Spuyten Duyvil.”
“I suppose the door really is locked.”
“I’m sure it is. I heard Manion lock it, but…” He pulled on it. “It’s locked all right.”
“Shall we bang on it and yell and make a fuss?”
“A little late for that, isn’t it?” He thought a minute. “No. Let them wonder why we’re not making a fuss.”
“All right.” She yawned. “I’m suddenly sleepy.”
“Well, it’s after twelve and we’ve had a pretty big day. If there was something we could do, we’d do it. But since there isn’t, I think we should get some sleep.”
“All right. See you in the morning.” She stretched out on the starboard locker, put a cushion under her head as a pillow and was asleep almost immediately.
Andrew stretched out on the cushions of the port locker but he didn’t fall asleep quite so quickly. He had asked Sara if she were frightened and the truth was that he had been himself. And why not, when, as Sara had pointed out, you remembered Benny the Monk? Though talking about it had helped, he was still anxious. And puzzled. Who had kidnapped them and why? Luckily his mother was away so she wouldn’t know about it—at least, not right away. But of course Wyatt would. And while he’d certainly do something about it, (Do what? Notify the police? Try to track them down himself?) he would worry. Was there anything Andrew could do to help him, leave some kind of clues that would tell him where they were? That was difficult right now when he was on a boat and didn’t know where they were going. But he should be aware of their route so he’d know where they were when they got there.
The launch seemed to be changing direction, was pitching and rolling a bit. Andrew got up and looked out the porthole again. There were docks and buildings that looked like warehouses on his side of the river, but they didn’t tell him very much. Then they went under a bridge and he saw another one up ahead, and that told him a great deal. They were on the Harlem River, heading for Spuyten Duyvil and the Hudson. If they kept on going, it would be up the Hudson.
He stretched out again, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound of the engine, punctuated by the occasional scrape of a shovel, rattle of coal and clang of the firebox door. Once or twice he heard the toot of a tugboat whistle. And trying to interpret the sounds, visualize their route, he fell asleep.
When Andrew woke, the launch was still chugging along smoothly and steadily. The hanging oil lamp had gone out but light was coming in through the portholes. Sara was awake also, kneeling on the cushions on the other side of the table and looking out of one of the starboard portholes.
“Good morning,” he said with deliberate formality.
“Oh, hello.”
“Where are we?”
“That’s what I’m trying to see, but I can’t tell.”
Andrew took out his watch. It was a few minutes after six. Then he looked out of his porthole. There was a good deal of fog on the surface of the river, but it was starting to lift; and far off, edging the west bank of the river, he could see high, rocky cliffs.
“Well, we’re on the Hudson. I thought that was where we were heading last night. Now I’m sure of it.”
“That’s what I thought too. Do you know where?”
“We’re up pretty far. Those cliffs are much taller than the Palisades. I think they’re called the Highlands.”
She nodded. “I wonder how much farther we’re going. I hope not too far.”
“Why?”
“I’m hungry.”
He smiled. “So am I. Maybe they’ll give us something to eat before we get to wherever we’re going.” Then as she sat up straighter, her eyes widening, “What is it?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. Come and look.”
He went around the table, kneeled on the locker next to her and looked out. They were much closer to the eastern than the western bank of the river,
and the terrain on this side was quite different. The land was sloping, with trees growing almost to the water’s edge; in the distance it rose gradually to higher ground. But that’s not what Sara was looking at. Some distance ahead of them was an island that was about a quarter of a mile from shore. And on the island was a castle.
Andrew blinked and looked again. They had seen several small imitation castles since they had come to America. The Belvedere in Central Park was one; at least it was built of stone and had a lookout tower. But this seemed to be the real thing. It was, in any case, as large as an English castle, with crenellated ramparts and a tower that looked like a donjon keep. However, there was something a little wrong with its proportions and also its color. Then, as they drew closer, they could see that though it followed the plan and had the general appearance of a castle, with a gatehouse complete with arrow slits and machicolations, unlike a true castle it was built partly of stone and partly of brick.
“I’ve heard of castles that were actually brought over here and set up again,” said Andrew. “But this is different. It’s someone’s idea of what a castle looks like.”
“I wonder whose?” said Sara. “Who lives there?”
Andrew shrugged. Then as the launch turned and began going in toward shore, they looked at one another.
“Do you think …?” asked Sara.
“Maybe.”
The launch turned the other way—toward the eastern side of the island where there was a boathouse and a dock—then slowed up as the engine was throttled down.
“Yes,” said Andrew. “That seems to be where we’re going.”
“Then we should find out who does live there.”
There was a big man standing on the dock. Manion, up in the bow, threw him a line and he looped it around a pile. The engine was reversed and the launch swung in against the dock and was tied up. Sara and Andrew jumped down off the locker, stretched and were waiting when the cabin door was unlocked and opened. The man with the seaman’s cap looked in, jerked his head at them and they came out into the open cockpit. When they saw him together with the man who had been on the dock, they realized that they must be brothers, for they looked very much alike; both big and strong with flat faces, snub noses and greyish green eyes.
The Case of the Etruscan Treasure (Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt Book 5) Page 9