When I had finished reading the note, I looked up at Perry. He had a faint smile on his lips. I waited for him to speak first.
“It was Jude the Fifth, sir,” he said. “I got a peep at him as I started for the hollow. He didn’t see me. I followed him. He came straight to this place, sir. He just looked in and closed the door. This had already been in the secret post office when he arrived.”
“I suppose he read it?”
“No, sir. He just reached in and took it out and gave it one glance. Then he threw it back quickly, sir, as though he had been disappointed.”
“Ah, I see, Perry. He put this note in yesterday, I guess, and came back to see if there was an answer. But I suppose Androfski has not come around here for a long time. I guess that’s it.”
“Shall we put it back, sir?” asked Perry, as I handed him the paper.
“By all means,” I said. “We have no right to interfere with the mail, Perry.”
Perry shoved the note back into the secret post office and closed the door.
“What does it mean, sir? Why does this lad beg to be taken back—”
“It means this, Perry,” I broke in. “It means that Androfski and Jude are still friends. Jude knows the ins and outs of Bleaker’s fine hiding place. He will show it all to Androfski. Yes sir, Perry. Androfski will be there, soon too.”
“Look out, sir,” said Perry, quickly in a whisper. “There it is, sir.”
He almost dragged me back. If I hadn’t caught on a young tree, he would have pulled me down. But as it was, we both gained the safety of the bushes together.
A lithe, clean-cut, catlike figure had sprung across the bushes. It did not take two looks to see who it was: Androfski the Silent. Yeah, it was him. I had not seen him for some time, but here he was, with his cap turned backward on his head and his rifle hanging in the crook of his arm. He looked all about, quietly like a cat. He glanced toward us once, where we hovered together in the bushes, but I could see that he did not know we were there. He had not heard us. Swiftly, he opened the little door of the secret post office and shoved in his hand and took out the note. Quietly and slowly he read it. He looked up once; then he started to read again. Then, falling upon one knee, he took from under his cap a stump of a pencil and began to write upon the back of the paper. For five minutes, he labored over the note; he seemed to have trouble writing, for the point of his pencil went through the paper all the time. But at length he finished. And springing up, he inserted the note in the secret post office, slammed the door shut, and was off toward the hills where the strange hiding place of Simon Bleaker’s was located.
“He’s gone, sir,” said Perry. “We can come out now.”
“Get the note, Perry,” I said. “We must see what answer he has given Jude.”
“It won’t be interfering with the mails, sir?” asked Perry, hesitating a minute.
“Interfering the dickens,” I said. “I got to know what these guys are up to. I’m goin’ to get at the bottom of all this business before long, or we will all go crazy around here. Get it out. Get the note, quick. He might come back.”
Perry shot out of the bushes and ran to the tree. As I came up, he was holding out the paper to me. I read what Androfski the Silent had written:
I will take you back. You are my bodyguard, remember that. Go back to Simon Bleaker’s headquarters. Take charge of it for me. It’s mine from now on. I’ll come when it’s safe. That Hawkins boy knows too much. So I’ll speak up when it’s safe. Don’t open the door for anyone unless he gives you my signal. Four single taps and two doubles, repeated. I’ll forget how you deserted me, Judy, old fellow. I like you still. I can’t ever forget you. I’m glad you will come back with me. I’ll make you famous. Remember the signal. Watch out for the Hawkins crowd. They’re on.
“That settles it, Perry,” I said. “We’ve got to keep them out of Simon’s place until the poor kid can get on his feet again. He’s got a perfect right to come back and get what belongs to him. He has some fine guns there for one thing—”
“And deer heads and fine skins,” broke in Perry. “Yes sir, it’s our place to see that Androfski does not get to it, sir.”
“We had better go back and tell the other boys,” I said. “Big Ike will not be able to do anything against these fellows. And Big Ike is in the place alone. Come along, Perry.”
We retraced our footsteps. Down the path we ran as fast as we could through that wildwood and made good time at that. Just as we came in sight of the river, however, I jerked Perry’s arm, and we both stopped.
Coming down the river was a silent gray launch. In the stern of the boat sat a solitary figure—but I would have known him anywhere, any time. His gray cape-coat and broad-brim hat would have told me who he was, even if he didn’t wear the kerchief around his face.
“Stoner’s Boy,” said Perry, under his breath.
“You’re right,” I said. “The old Gray Ghost. What’s he coming down here this time of day for? Look there, Perry, old top. He’s landing right below us.”
“So I see, sir,” said Perry. “Shall I run down and spy upon him, Hawkins?”
“We will both go down, but not run,” I answered. “Take your time, Perry. For the love of heaven, don’t let him hear you. Look there! He’s sitting down on the bank.”
The gray figure had eased his electric motorboat into a convenient spot on the bank. He jumped out and sat upon a rock, one of the biggest single pieces of rock that I ever knew upon the riverbank. It reminded me of pictures of Plymouth Rock.
“He’s waiting for someone,” I said. “There, there—look, Perry—I knew it!”
Another launch, very much like the one used by Stoner’s Boy, in fact, the very same color, came swiftly up the stream from the opposite direction. It, too, had but one occupant. At first I could not recognize the boy. But as the figure raised itself in the stern, and held up his right hand to salute the Gray Ghost, I recognized him. It was Three-Finger Fred.
Slowly, the launch turned in and landed right beside that of the Gray Ghost. Three-Finger Fred sprang out. By this time, we had crept down the rocks that jutted out on the hilly bank. We hung right over the great slab upon which sat the Gray Ghost. We could hear his voice plainly.
“Well,” he said. “How does she look?”
“All’s ready for you,” replied Three-Finger Fred. “He’s gone. Men came and took him away yesterday, I think. They took him away, anyhow. The place is yours, if you want it. The big Swede is there all by himself.”
“And the signal? How do you get in? Have you arranged that?”
“I can get in alright,” replied Three-Finger Fred. “It’s yours. You can take it when you want, Stoner. I’ll see to that. It’s a fine place. I hope you’ll let me go back to N’Orleans when you’ve got it. I want to go back, Stoner. I’m tired of this place. I got friends in N’Orleans, Stoner.”
“You’ve got a friend in me,” said Stoner. “You won’t have better friends down there than me, Three-Fingers.”
“Alright, then, I’ll stay with you. When will you try to take the place?”
Stoner got up.
“We’ve got to be in Watertown tonight. You know that. I’ve got to bring a party down the river tonight. I told you that. You know I told you that. I’ve got to have you, Three-Fingers. I can’t trust nobody else. We will take the Bleaker’s place tomorrow. Will that be alright with your plans?”
“Anything you say,” answered Three-Finger Fred. He leaped into the gray launch and started back down the river. The electric launch of Stoner’s followed. We went on our way. We were just about reaching our clubhouse bank when we saw the Gray Ghost’s silent launch going up the river with Stoner and Three-Finger Fred in it.
“Now Perry,” I said. “We’ve got some work cut out for us. I bet you we see a hot time tomorrow.”
Which we did.
CHAPTER 33
Simon Keeps His Cave
IT wasn’t altogether curiosity that took me back
to the door in the tree the day after I had heard Androfski and the Gray Ghost, each plotting with his own side partner to capture the secret hiding place of Simon Bleaker. Now that the latter had been taken home by his father and had an injured leg, they felt safe in taking possession of his headquarters. It was a sense of duty that made me go back—you can laugh, if you want to, but I felt sorry for Simon Bleaker, and now that he was unable to defend the place he had fixed up for his own pleasure and amusement, I wasn’t going to let some other fellow come in and steal it.
I hurried as fast as I could after school to the clubhouse, where I found a meeting already started with every boy present including the three from Watertown, Shadow Loomis and his brother, the Rolling Stone, and Robby Hood. The Skinny Guy opened the door for me.
“We got tired waiting, Hawkins,” he said. “But we only started a few minutes ago.”
The dues were paid and the regular order of a meeting carried out, and then we adjourned. Shadow Loomis came up to me.
“Seck,” he said. “What’s Androfski up to? We followed him down. He’s got a new launch—and it’s a gray one, like Stoner’s.”
“Ah,” I said. “It’s Simon Bleaker’s boat.” And I explained what Perry and I had seen and heard the day before. “The Silent One expects to take up his headquarters in Simon’s place. You remember Simon Bleaker had a launch just like the one Stoner had.”
“You are sure now that Simon Bleaker is not Stoner’s Boy?” asked Shadow.
“Without a doubt,” I answered. “I know it all now, Shadow. Stoner is Stoner, Simon is Simon, and Androfski is Androfski. There never was any faking done by any of ’em. Whenever it looked as if there was a double character, it happened because they were at the same place at the same time. I saw Stoner’s Boy the other day at Simon Bleaker’s hole in the hill; he came for Three-Finger Fred. It was the first time I saw both of ’em at the same time. So you see I knew.”
“But Androfski,” said Shadow. “Couldn’t he be the one who hides his face with a gray handkerchief—”
“I’ll prove that to you, too,” I said. “I saw Androfski the other day, and I paid close attention to his eyes. You will remember that always above the gray handkerchief of Stoner’s Boy we saw a pair of gray eyes. You remember that, Shadow?”
“Yes, yes, I couldn’t forget those eyes.”
“Well then, yesterday I saw Androfski standing in front of his secret post office. I took a good look at his eyes; they are not gray.”
“Ah,” said Shadow. “Of course. You’re right. What color are they?”
“Green,” I answered. “Green as a cat’s eyes. The more I see of Androfski, the more he reminds me of a cat. You want to keep away from him, Shadow, keep away from him—”
“Yes, I’ll keep away from him,” growled Shadow; then, seeing the look of disapproval on my face, he softened. “I can’t forget, that’s all. Cat—cat, you said, Hawkins, and that’s what he is. I want to meet him fair fist, once. That’s all.”
“I’m going down to Simon Bleaker’s place now,” I said. “I’ll take you along on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“That you let your brother, the Rolling Stone, go with us.”
Shadow’s lips turned down into a frown.
“Why do you like John?” he asked. “What in the world has he ever done that would make a fellow like my no-account brother—”
“That’ll do,” I broke in. “He wouldn’t talk about you so shamefully. Does he go?”
Shadow did not answer. He turned away from me. But as he turned I caught the words, “You win.”
I called Perry over to me.
“Tell John Loomis he is to go with us,” I said. “And Perry, bring your rifle. Have you got any blank cartridges?”
“I can make some, sir,” he answered.
“Make about three,” I said. And Perry went to do what he was told. But, as it afterward turned out, he did more than he was told. He must have made about two dozen blank cartridges.
The Skinny Guy came up to me.
“Hawkins,” he said. “I’m about to leave you, and I want to know if I can’t get into this adventure that’s being fixed up.”
“Why, Link,” I said. “Who told you there was any adventure?”
“Come on,” he said. “I know you, Hawkins. I can tell when you are whispering to just a few fellows. Now, I’ve got to go back home in a day or so. I got leave to stay down at Doc Waters’s for a while, but I skinned out and went to live on my hidden houseboat for a few days yet. Doc’s sore about it, but he won’t let on.”
“You must be careful, Link,” I said. “Living by yourself on that lonely houseboat on the island.”
“It’s great,” he broke in. “Takes me back to old times, you know, Hawkins. But how about the adventure. Do I go along?”
“You’ve guessed—”
“Sure. Simon Bleaker’s hole in the hill. That’s where you’re going. And you know I was the one who first discovered that fox hole for you.”
“You’re right, Link,” I said. “Don’t think I didn’t want you to come. Sit down here awhile, and I’ll tell you what we saw and heard yesterday.”
* * *
The five of us went to the door in the tree that grew in the corner where the rocky hillsides came together. I knocked on the door—four single taps and two doubles, repeated—as Androfski had written to Jude the Fifth. I took a chance. I figured that if Stoner had not come, if Androfski had not come, that signal would get us in. And it did.
The tree door swung slowly open. Jude the Fifth, with anxious eyes, looked out at us. The next second he would have pulled the door shut, but that the Rolling Stone wedged his broad shoulders in and held. Jude the Fifth gave a cry and retreated into the dark interior.
“Come on in,” said the Rolling Stone, holding the door for us. We all filed in.
“Please keep the door open, John,” I said to the Rolling Stone, “and stand right beside it in the dark there, so you can see if anybody comes. Give us a call if you see anyone.”
We went on in. It was the same old place. But there wasn’t a soul in it. Jude the Fifth had disappeared. Yeah, he had shot into some crack or hole that none of us knew about. We pushed our way past the long narrow hole in the rock in which Simon Bleaker had been lying when Doc Waters fixed his sprained leg. We pushed into a room farther on—
Ah, what a room. Like the garret of a poor inventor, littered with tools, wire, nails, wheels, parts of machines, screws, and bolts, and on a table, a set of boxes like the sounding box that once had been in our clubhouse, from which had come the loud voice, and wires running to the walls and to the ceilings of the cave—wires, wires, everywhere you looked there were wires—
There came the sound of footsteps in the front room of the cavern. We all retreated. I peeped out from our hiding place and saw—
Androfski was coming through the tree door. He walked straight into the room, up to the table, whereon stood the old square ship’s lantern. He took a match from his pocket, struck it, and lit the lantern. Then, with the butt of his rifle, he tapped on the table, loudly, four single taps and two doubles, repeated. I knew what he was doing—calling for Jude the Fifth. But there was no Jude to answer—he had gone, gone through some secret exit in the dark shadows beyond us.
Hardly had the sound of his tapping died out when there came from the river the old familiar sound we all knew so well—the blast of the old brass trumpet of Stoner’s Boy. I saw Androfski turn his head quickly toward the open door. For a moment he stood looking; then he ran like a cat and pulled it shut. He did not see the Rolling Stone, who stood in the dark behind the door, waiting for further orders from me before he made another move. Remember, it was dark in the cavern. Rolling Stone John stood in the corner inside the door; the light from the ship’s lantern on the table threw only a feeble ray for a few feet on each side. Androfski came back to the table, and facing the door, he waited, with a half-moon smile hanging below his
beak of a nose.
But he did not wait long. I saw a look of surprise on Androfski’s face as the door opened.
“I did not know you could open it from the outside,” said a voice.
That voice! How could we ever forget it. The Gray Ghost yes, it was he, in his gray cape-coat and broad-brim hat, with the gray kerchief half covering his face. In he came, followed by Three-Finger Fred.
“Bleaker an’ me kin open it,” Three-Finger Fred was saying. “Only us two knew how to open it from outside. It’s easy when you know how—”
“Ah, so you are here, too, are you?”
The Gray Ghost had stopped suddenly as he came before Androfski. I saw the Silent One draw himself up to his full height as Stoner’s Boy said those words. I knew then how much Androfski regretted that he had no voice to answer. But I saw words—silent words—forming on his lips.
“I am—here—first. It’s mine—”
There came a hollow, mocking laugh—the laugh of Stoner’s Boy—as he shoved the lean figure of Androfski aside. Androfski threw up his gun, but Three-Finger Fred grabbed it and turned the muzzle down. The next moment Stoner had wrenched the rifle out of his grasp and stood holding it.
“Clear out,” he commanded. “You are getting off easy—I won’t fight with one who can’t talk—clear out.”
There came a clatter of stone from behind us in the dark. We held our places, luckily, for with a bound out came Jude the Fifth.
“Let him alone, you gray goose,” he yelled at Stoner. “You’re licked. Licked, I tell you. We got this framed up for you, you old fool. Come on Fred, you said you would help me when I needed you. Come over to our side. Come on, and save yourself from this gray sneak.”
Three-Finger Fred cast one glance at Stoner. The next second he had sprung across to where Jude and Androfski stood. The Gray Ghost folded his arms, and stood with outspread feet.
“Ha, ha,” he laughed. “So this is the way it goes, is it? My Freddie gets away from me again, eh? What do you want to—”
“I’ll take a hand in this, boys, if you please.”
The Gray Ghost Page 26