“How was the sick young man when he was here?”
“He didn’t appear to be very sick. Had he been bad, I would have certainly done more for him.”
“And you haven’t the least idea where they went to?”
“I have not.”
“It’s mighty strange,” was Tom’s blunt comment. “Do you know who the sick young man was?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. I never ask questions unless they are necessary.”
“He was my brother, and those fellows who had him in charge are his enemies and up to no good.”
“Indeed!” And Dr. Karley elevated his shaggy eyebrows in well-assumed surprise.
“I am bound to find my brother, and if you know anything more you had better tell me,” went on Tom bluntly.
The random shaft struck home, and the old doctor started back in dismay.
“Why—er—surely you do not—er—suspect me of—ahem—of anything wrong?” he stammered.
“I want to get at the truth. Which way did they go when they drove off?”
“Directly for town.”
“And when was this?”
“Inside of half an hour after they got here.”
“Did they give any names?”
“No. It was not necessary, since I could not take them in.”
“Your place doesn’t seem to be very crowded.”
At this the physician glared angrily at Tom.
“Boy, it seems to me that you are growing impudent!” he cried. “I am not accustomed to being addressed in this fashion. I think I had better bid you good-night.”
The two were standing in the hallway, and now the doctor opened the door to signify that the interview was over.
“All right, I’ll go,” muttered Tom. “But I am going to get to the bottom of this affair, don’t you forget that.” And then he hurried out and rejoined Sam and Peterson at the coach.
“He may be telling the truth,” said the coach driver, on hearing what Tom had to say. “But, all the same, I was driving around these streets for a good hour after I left here, and I saw no other rig with those men and your brother in it.”
“I am inclined to think the doctor is humbugging us,” answered Tom. “But the thing is to prove it.”
“Perhaps you had better watch the place for a while,” suggested the lumberman.
“Do you know anything of this doctor—what sort of a reputation he has?” asked Sam of the driver.
“His reputation is none of the best,” was the answer. “He has been in court twice because of the people he treats.”
“Then he wouldn’t be above helping Arnold Baxter—if he was paid for it,” said Tom.
All entered the coach and drove off around the nearest corner.
Then Tom and Sam got out and walked away, intending to come up at the rear of the sanitarium.
Presently a carriage appeared in view, driven by a man who, in the gloom, appeared strangely familiar, despite his false beard.
“Arnold Baxter!” cried Sam. “Hi, there, whoa!”
He ran toward the carriage and caught the horse by the bridle. Tom followed, and the man, who was just returning from taking Dick to the Peacock, was brought to bay.
CHAPTER VII
THE ESCAPE OF ARNOLD BAXTER
“Arnold Baxter, where is my brother Dick?” demanded Tom, as he reached the carriage and caught the evildoer by the arm.
To say that Arnold Baxter was astonished would be to put it altogether too mildly. He was completely dumfounded.
“You!” he said slowly, hardly knowing how to speak after he had caught his breath.
“Yes, you rascal. Where is Dick.”
“Dick?”
“Yes, Dick.”
“I know nothing of your brother. This is a—a complete surprise. I didn’t know you were in Cleveland.”
“Perhaps not. But let me tell you that we know your game, and we are going to hand you over to the law.”
“Never!” Arnold Baxter fairly hissed out the words. “Let go of that horse”—the latter words to Sam.
“Don’t you do it!” cried Tom, and then he caught Arnold Baxter by the leg. “Come out of the carriage.”
A fierce struggle ensued, and, afraid that Tom would get the worst of it, Sam set up a loud shout for help.
“You whelp! I’ll fix you!” ejaculated Arnold Baxter, and catching up the whip, he struck at Tom with the butt end. He caught the youth directly over the head, and Tom went down as if shot.
“Let Tom alone,” screamed Sam. “Help! help!”
“Who is it?” came from a distance, and Luke Peterson hove into sight. “Hullo! the man we are after.”
He made a dive for Arnold Baxter, but the latter was too quick for him, and leaped from the opposite side of the carriage to the ground. The horse now became frightened and set off on a run, directly for a lane behind Dr. Karley’s institution.
“Tom, are you badly hurt?” questioned Sam, but, even as he spoke, Tom tried to stagger to his feet. Seeing this, Sam began a chase after Baxter, with the lumberman beside him.
Arnold Baxter was fleet of foot, and realizing what capture meant—a return to prison with his sentence to be served once more from the beginning—he ran as never before, straight for the dock where the Peacock lay.
[Illustration: THE HORSE NOW BECAME FRIGHTENED AND SET OFF ON A RUN.]
His first thought was to board the schooner and set sail out into the lake, but a second thought convinced him that this would be unwise.
“They will follow me on a tug or steamer, and the jig will be up in no time,” he said to himself “I must find some hiding place.”
Many of the docks were inclosed by high board fences, and coming to one of these, he leaped over and made his way to a huge pile of merchandise. Here he crouched down and kept as quiet as a mouse.
Sam and Peterson, followed by Tom, traced him to the fence, but once on the opposite side, lost all track of the rascal.
“He’s gone,” said Tom, after running hither and thither on the dock. “He has given us the slip nicely.”
“He can’t be far off,” returned Sam. “I believe he was bound for that doctor’s sanitarium when we spotted him.”
“So do I, and I wouldn’t wonder if poor Dick is at the place, a prisoner.”
The matter was talked over for several minutes, and the two brothers decided to return to Dr. Karley’s sanitarium. The lumberman said he would remain around the docks on the lookout for Arnold Baxter.
“If you catch him I’ll give you fifty dollars,” said Tom. “My father, I know, will pay the amount willingly.”
“I’ll do my best,” answered Peterson. He was by no means rich and glad enough of a chance to make such a sum. Besides this, the ways of the Rover boys appeared to please him.
When Sam and Tom returned to the doctor’s place they found the coach driver still at hand, he having caught Arnold Baxter’s horse at the entrance to the lane.
“Take him to the stable and ask the doctor if the rig is his,” said Tom, and the coach driver agreed. He was gone the best part of quarter of an hour.
“The doctor says it is his horse and carriage, but he also says he didn’t know the turnout was out,” he announced, with a grin. “He’s an oily one, he is!”
“Right you are, but he can’t stuff us with his fairy tales,” replied Tom. “Do you suppose there is a policeman handy?”
“There is probably one somewhere around.”
“I wish you would hunt him up and bring him here.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Dare the lion in his den; eh, Sam?”
“Right, Tom! That doctor must know a good deal more than he is wiling to tell.”
The coach driver went off, and walking around to the front o
f the sanitarium the boys rang the bell sharply.
There was no answer to the summons, and then Tom gave the bell knob a jerk which nearly broke it off. A second-story window was thrown open with a bang.
“I want you boys to go away!” came in angry tones.
“And I want you to come down and let us in,” retorted Tom.
“I won’t let you in. I’ve told you all I know, and that is the end of it.”
“It’s not the end of it, Dr. Karley. We want to know how you came to let Arnold Baxter have your horse and carriage.”
“I didn’t know the horse and carriage were out of the stable. The man must have taken them on the sly.”
“It’s not likely. Open the door and let us in—it will be best for you.”
“Ha, you threaten me!”
“I’ve done more than that-I’ve sent for a policeman.”
At this announcement the old doctor grated his teeth savagely. He was much disturbed and knew not how to proceed.
“I was a fool to go into this thing,” he muttered. “It may lead to all sorts of trouble. I must get myself clear somehow.”
“Are you going to let us in?” went on Tom.
“Yes, I will let you in. But allow me to state that you are acting very foolishly,” answered the doctor, and dropped the window. A few minutes later he appeared at the door, which he opened very gingerly.
“You can come into the parlor,” he said stiffly.
“We’ll remain right here,” answered Tom, afraid of some sort of a trap.
“Well, what do you want?”
“I want to know where that young man, my brother, is.”
“The man who was with him said he was his nephew.”
“It was a falsehood. Now where is my brother?”
“Honestly, I have not the slightest idea.”
“What was that man doing with your carriage?”
“I repeat, young man, I did not know he had the carriage.” The old doctor drew a long breath, wondering how soon an officer of the law would appear. “Of course if anything is wrong I am perfectly willing to do all I can to set it right. My institution is above reproach, and I wish to keep it so.”
“Are you willing to let me look through your place?”
“So you think your brother is here?”
“I do.”
“You are very forward. Still, to convince you that you are mistaken, you are at liberty to go through my place from top to bottom. But you must not disturb any of the patients.”
“All right; let us go through. Sam, you remain here, on the watch for that policeman.”
With bad grace Dr. Karley led the way and took Tom through the sanitarium from top to bottom, even allowing him to peep into the rooms occupied by the “boarders,” as the medical man called them. Of course there was no trace of Dick.
“Now I trust you are satisfied,” said the doctor, when they were again at the front door.
“I am not satisfied about that carriage affair,” returned Tom, as bluntly as ever.
“Well, I have told you the truth.”
At this moment the coach driver came in sight, accompanied by a policeman.
“What’s the trouble?” demanded the officer of the law.
Tom and Sam told their tale, and then the doctor had his say, and the driver related what he knew.
“Certainly a queer mix-up,” remarked the policeman. He turned to the Rovers. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to find my brother, who has disappeared,” said Tom.
“You say you have searched through here?”
“I have—after a fashion.”
“You can go through, if you wish,” said the doctor to the officer.
“I reckon my brother is gone,” went on Tom. “But this doctor helped the rascals who spirited him away.”
“I did absolutely nothing,” cried Dr. Karley. “I am willing to aid you all I can. But I am innocent. I received no pay for giving the unfortunate young man some medicine to strengthen him, and my horse and carriage were taken without my knowledge.”
A long and bitter war of words followed, but in the end the doctor was left to himself.
“We’ll make no charge against him yet,” said Tom to the policeman. “But I wish you would keep an eye on the institution—in case that rascal puts in an appearance again.”
“I will,” returned the officer.
A little while later Sam and Tom set out to rejoin Luke Peterson. When they gained the dock they saw nobody.
“He ought to be somewhere about,” said the younger Rover.
They tramped about from place to place for fully an hour.
Presently they came close to where the Swallow lay. Had they but known it, the Peacock, with poor Dick on board, lay but three blocks further away.
“My gracious!” cried Sam suddenly.
He had seen a form stretched motionless across some lumber lying near.
The form was that of Luke Peterson, and his cheek and temple were covered with blood.
CHAPTER VIII
ON THE LAKE AGAIN
“Peterson!” cried Tom, in dismay.
“Can he be dead?” came from Sam. Then he bent over the lumberman. “No, he still lives. But he has been treated most shamefully.”
“This must be some more of Arnold Baxter’s work.”
“Or else the work of some footpad.”
Both boys knelt over the prostrate form of the lumberman and did what they could to restore him to his senses.
In this they were partly successful.
“Don’t hit me again! Please don’t hit me!” the man moaned, over and over again.
“You’re safe,” said Tom. But Peterson paid no attention, and only begged them not to hit him.
“Let us carry him to the Swallow,” suggested Sam, and between them they did so.
“Wot’s dis?” asked Aleck Pop, in astonishment.
“He is our friend, and has been struck down,” answered Tom. “Get some water in a basin, and a little liquor.”
When the colored man returned with the articles mentioned both boys washed the wounded man’s head and bound it up with a towel. Then Tom administered a few spoonfuls of liquor. This seemed to give Peterson some strength, but he did not fully recover for some hours.
“Follow the Peacock,” were his first rational words. “Follow the schooner Peacock.”
“The Peacock?” repeated Tom. “Why should we follow her?”
“Your brother is on board.” And having spoken thus, the lumberman sank again into semi-unconsciousness.
“Can he be telling the truth, or is he out of his head?” questioned Sam.
“I’m sure I don’t know, Sam.”
“Perhaps we had better look around for the schooner he mentioned.”
“All right, I’ll do so. You stay here with Aleck.”
“Hadn’t I better go with you?”
“No, I’ll keep my eyes open,” concluded Tom, and hurried away.
It was now dawn, and the early workers were just getting to their employment. Soon Tom met a couple of watchmen and hailed them.
“I am looking for the schooner Peacock,” said he. “Do you know anything of the craft?”
“Sure, an’ that’s Gus Langless’ boat,” said one of the watchmen. “She’s lying at the end of Bassoon’s wharf, over yonder.”
“Thank you,” and Tom started away.
The wharf mentioned was a long one, and it took some time for the youth to reach the outer end. As he ran he saw a boat in the distance, moving away with all sails set. Of course he could not make out her name, but he saw that she was schooner-rigged, and felt certain she must be the craft for which he was searching.
At the end of the pier he met a dock hand, who had been res
ting in a nearby shed.
“Is that boat the Peacock?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know anything of the people on board?”
“I do not.”
“Has she a cargo?”
“I believe not.”
“You didn’t see anybody going on her?”
“Hold up! Yes, I did; a young fellow and a man.”
“Was the young man in a feeble state?”
“He seemed to be.”
“Thank you.”
Tom turned away with something of a groan. “Dick must be on board of that craft, along with the Baxters. Oh, what luck we are having! Now what ought I to do next?”
His wisest move would have been to have informed the authorities, but Tom was too much upset mentally to think of that. With all speed he returned to the Swallow.
“The Peacock has sailed!” he cried. “We must follow her!”
“You are certain?” queried Sam.
“Yes, I saw her in the distance. Come, let us get after her before it is too late.”
As Luke Peterson was now doing fairly well, all of the others ran on deck, and soon the Swallow was in pursuit of the schooner. At first but little could be seen of the Peacock, but when the sun came up they saw her plainly, heading toward the northwest.
“We must keep her in sight,” said Tom.
“Yes, but supposing the Baxters are on board, how can we capture them?” came from Sam. “We are but three, or four at the most, counting Peterson, while that craft must carry a crew of five or six.”
“We can hail some other boat to help us. The main thing is not to lose track of the rascals.”
The breeze was all that could be desired, and once the shore was left behind they kept the Peacock in sight with ease. But, try their best, they gained but little on the larger boat.
As there was now nothing to do but to let the yacht do her best, Tom left Sam at the wheel and turned his attention to Peterson. The lumberman was now able to sit up, although very weak.
“I discovered Arnold Baxter and tracked him to the schooner’s dock,” he said. “His son came to the dock, and from what they said I am sure your brother is on the craft. Then they discovered me, and the father struck me down with the butt of a pistol he carried. After that all was a blank until I found myself here.”
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