“Are you staying in Boston?” asked Sam, somewhat curiously.
“No, we are bound for a trip up the coast to—”
“Shut up, Jerry, don’t tell ’em where we are going,” interrupted Larkspur. “It’s none of their business.”
“Some day we’ll get after you,” said Dick. “Now we’ve got to leave you,” he added, as the car conductor called out the name of Varmolet street, as Dick had requested him to do.
“You keep your distance!” shouted Koswell after the Rover boys.
“We are not afraid of you!” added Larkspur, and then the car went on again, and the two former students of Brill were lost to view.
“They are off on some kind of a trip,” said Sam. “Evidently they have quite some money.”
“More money than brains,” returned Tom, bluntly. “If their folks don’t take ’em in hand, they’ll both end up in prison some day.”
“Koswell mentioned a trip up the coast,” said Dick. “They must be going up to Portland and Casco Bay, or further.”
“I’d like to go to Casco Bay myself,” said Sam. “It’s a beautiful spot, with its islands. Tom Favor was telling me all about it. He spent three summers there.”
They had alighted at the corner of Varmolet street and now started to look for No. 234. They had to walk two blocks, past houses that were disreputable in the extreme.
“I don’t like the look of this neighborhood,” remarked Sam, as they hurried along. “I’d hate to visit it after dark.”
“Think of what Mrs. Stanhope must be suffering, if they brought her to such a spot,” returned Dick, and could not help shuddering.
Presently they reached No. 234, an old three-storied house, with a dingy front porch, and with solid wooden shutters, the majority of which were tightly closed. Not a soul was in sight around the place.
“Don’t ring any bell,” warned Sam. “If those rascals are here they may take the alarm and skip out.”
“There isn’t any bell to ring,” answered Tom, grimly. “There was once an old-fashioned knocker, but it has been broken off.”
“I think one of us ought to try to get around to the back,” said Dick. “If those rascals are here they may try to escape that way.”
“That is true,” returned Tom. “But let us make sure first that we have the right place. The folks living here may be all-right people, and they’d think it strange to see us spying around.”
Dick looked up and down the street and saw a girl eight or nine years old sitting on a porch some distance away, minding a baby.
“Will you tell me who lives in that house?” he asked, of the girl.
“Why, old Mr. Mason lives there,” was the answer.
“Mr. Mason?”
“Yes. He’s a very old man—’most ninety years old, so they say.”
“Does he live there alone?”
“Yes—that is, all the rest of his family are dead. He has a housekeeper, Mrs. Sobber.”
“Mrs. Sobber!” exclaimed Dick.
“Yes, sir.”
“How old is she?”
“Oh, I don’t know—maybe forty or fifty. She’s been Mr. Mason’s housekeeper for three or four years. If you call on her, you want to look out. She don’t buy from agents.”
“Why?” asked Dick, innocently. He did not mind that the little girl took him to be an agent.
“Oh, she is too sharp and miserly, I guess. She used to get me to do her errands for her—but she never paid me even a cent for it.”
“Anybody else in the house?”
“Not regular. Once in a while a young man comes to see Mrs. Sobber. He ain’t her son, but he’s some kind of a relation. I think she’s his aunt, or great aunt.”
“Haven’t you seen anybody else coming lately?”
“I’ve been away lately—down to my grandfather’s farm. I came back last night. I wish I was back on the farm,” added the little girl, wistfully.
“Never mind, maybe you’ll get back some day,” said Dick, cheerily. “Here’s something for you,” and he dropped a silver dime in her lap, something that pleased her greatly.
“It’s the place!” cried the eldest Rover boy, on rejoining his brothers. “An old man lives here, and a Mrs. Sobber is his housekeeper. She is some relation to Tad, I feel sure. Maybe she is the one who advanced him some money.”
“And maybe she is the woman seen in the auto with Mrs. Stanhope,” added Tom, quickly.
“I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“If you are sure of all this, hadn’t we better notify the police?” came from Sam. “Remember, we have not only Tad Sobber against us, but also old Crabtree, and one or two unknown men. In a hand-to-hand fight we might get the worst of it.”
“That’s a good idea, Sam. Run up to the corner and see if you can find a policeman,” said Dick.
“I guess I know how to get to the rear of that building,” mused Tom. “I’ll go through that alleyway and jump the fences,” and he pointed to an alleyway several houses away.
“All right, Tom. You do that, and I’ll get in the front way somehow. I’m not going to wait another minute. They may have seen us already, and be getting out by some way of which we know nothing.”
Thus speaking, Dick mounted the porch and rapped loudly on the door with his bare knuckles. Tom ran off and disappeared down the alleyway he had pointed out.
Dick listened and then rapped again, this time louder than before. Then he heard a movement inside the house, but nobody came to answer his summons. He tried the door, to find it locked.
“Mrs. Sobber, who is that?” asked a trembling and high-pitched voice—the voice of the old man who owned the building.
“Oh, it’s only a peddler; don’t go to the door,” answered a woman.
“I am not a peddler!” cried Dick. “I have business in this house, and I want to come in.”
“You go away, or I’ll set the dog on you!” cried the woman, and now Dick heard her moving around at the back of the hall.
“Mrs. Sobber, I want you to open this door!” went on Dick, sharply. “If you don’t you’ll get yourself into serious trouble.”
“Want to be bit by the dog?”
“No, I don’t want to be bit by a dog,” answered Dick. He listened but heard nothing of such an animal. “I don’t believe you have a dog. Will you open, or shall I bring a policeman.”
“Mercy on us, a policeman!” gasped the woman. “No, no, don’t do that!”
“What does this mean?” demanded the old man. “Open that door, Mrs. Sobber, and let me see who is there. I don’t understand this. Day before yesterday you brought those strange folks, and now—”
“Hush! hush!” interrupted the woman, in agitated tones. “Not another word, Mr. Mason. You are too old to understand. Leave it all to me. I will soon send that fellow outside about his business.”
“This is my house, and I want to know what is going on here!” shrilled the old man, and Dick heard him tottering across the floor. “I’ll open the door myself.”
“No! no! not yet!” answered the woman.
“Mr. Mason, I want to come in!” cried Dick loudly. “There has been a crime committed. If you don’t want to be a party to it, open the door.”
“A crime,” faltered the old man.
“Yes, a crime. Open the door at once!”
“No, no, you—er—you shall not!” stormed the woman, and Dick heard her shove the old man back.
“Mr. Mason, for the last time, will you let me in?” shouted Dick.
“Yes! yes!” answered the old man. “But Mrs. Sobber won’t let me open the door.”
“Then I’ll open it myself,” answered Dick, and hurled his weight against the barrier. It was old and dilapidated and gave way with ease; and a moment later Dick stepped into the hallway of the old house.
/> CHAPTER XXI
FROM ONE CLUE TO ANOTHER
“Now, what do you want?” asked the old man, as he eyed Dick, curiously.
“I want to talk to that woman, first of all,” cried Dick, and he pointed to Mrs. Sobber, who was just disappearing through a door in the rear of the hallway.
“But what does this mean?” went on Mr. Mason, in a faint voice. “I have done nothing wrong.” And now he sank on a rush-bottomed chair, all out of breath. He was very old, and his hair and his face were exceedingly white.
“I’ll be back and tell you,” went on Dick. He could see at a glance that the old owner of the building had had nothing to do with the stealing of the fortune or the abduction of Mrs. Stanhope.
Dick ran to the door at the back of the hallway, to find it locked. He threw his weight against it, but it did not give way.
He was on the point of pushing on the door again, when a cry from the yard reached his ears.
“Dick! Dick! Come and stop them!” It was Tom who was calling.
“I’m coming, Tom!” he yelled back. And then he landed on the door with all his might.
“Don’t br—break the door!” gasped the old man. “If you want to get out to the back, go up and down the stairs,” and he pointed a trembling finger upward.
Dick understood, and ran up the front stairs three steps at a time. He passed through a short hallway and then reached a stairs, running down to a back entry way. As he went down these stairs there came another cry from Tom.
“Dick! Dick! they are getting away!”
As fast as he could, Dick reached the entryway and threw open the outer door. He came out in a small yard, surrounded on three sides by a high board fence. At the rear was a gate, and this was wide open.
“Tom! you are hurt!” exclaimed Dick, as he caught sight of his brother flat on his back, and with the blood oozing from a cut on his forehead.
“Yes, the rascal hit me in the head with a club!” gasped poor Tom.
“What rascal?”
“Tad Sobber!”
“Where is he now?”
“Ran out of the gate—and a woman just followed him.”
“Did you see anybody else?”
“No. Go after ’em,” added the injured youth, pluckily.
“Are you badly hurt?”
“I—I guess not. But he gave me an awful crack!” And pulling himself up, Tom staggered to a wood-chopping block and sat down.
Dick waited to hear no more, but made for the gate and ran into an alleyway beyond. This made a turn and came out on a street behind that upon which the house was located. Dick looked up and down the crooked thoroughfare, but could see no signs of Tad Sobber or the woman.
“Did you see a young man and a woman come out of here?” asked Dick, of a boy who was playing with a ball.
“Sure I did,” answered the lad.
“Where did they go?”
“Took the auto and went that way.”
“An auto?”
“Yes.”
“Was it waiting here?”
“Sure.”
“Somebody in it?”
“A man was running it. He was here yesterday, too.”
“Did you see who he took out yesterday?” went on Dick, growing interested.
“He came twice. Once he had a lady and a gent for passengers. They came out of that alleyway, just as you did.”
“When was this?”
“Just about supper time.”
Dick ran down the street in the direction the automobile had taken. He could see no signs of the machine, and presently returned to the back yard where he had left Tom. There the pair were joined by Sam.
“We were too late—they got away!” said Dick, with something like a groan in his voice.
“But not too late for Tad Sobber to leave me his card!” muttered Tom, putting his hand to the cut on his forehead.
“We’ll have to have that tended to, Tom,” said Dick, kindly.
“Oh, it isn’t so bad. I’ll put some court-plaster on it, after I’ve washed it.”
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t locate a policeman anywhere,” said Sam.
“Never mind, I guess a policeman would only be in the way,” returned his oldest brother. “He’d ask a lot of questions, and let it go at that. I’m going into the house, and see if I can find out anything.”
“Maybe Mrs. Stanhope is in there,” cried Sam.
“No—they have taken her off in an auto, I am almost sure of it, Sam.”
The three Rover boys entered the old house, to find Mr. Mason walking nervously up and down in the parlor.
“Where is Mrs. Sobber?” he asked anxiously.
“I imagine she has run away,” answered Dick. He drew a long breath. “Mr. Mason, I am going to ask you some questions. If you wish to avoid trouble with the authorities, you will answer me directly and truthfully.”
“Yes! Yes! I felt that something was wrong!” cried the old man. “I want no trouble, I am too old and respectable. What is it all about?”
“Briefly, a lady has been abducted and a fortune has been stolen.”
“Oh, then the lady they said was—er—insane, was not insane at all.”
“Did they tell you she was insane?”
“Yes, that is what Mrs. Sobber and one of the men said. They said they were going to take her to a private asylum.”
“The villains!” burst out Tom.
“What asylum?”
“I don’t know that. But I overheard them talking about taking a boat to Portland.”
“Portland?” repeated Dick. “Are you sure they were bound for that city?”
“Oh, I am not sure of anything—I am only telling you what I overheard.”
“Please tell us all about those men who came here, and about the lady, and about Mrs. Sobber,” pursued Dick.
“Hadn’t we better get after the auto?” asked Tom, who believed in action.
“You and Sam can try to hunt it up,” answered the elder Rover. “I’ll hear all Mr. Mason can tell first. It may give us a direct clue. I’ll meet you later at the Parker House.”
Sam and Tom went off, and then Dick listened patiently to the rather rambling tale Oliver Mason had to tell. The old man said that he had known Mrs. Sobber when her husband was alive and had hired her to be his housekeeper after the death of his three sisters and his wife.
“She was all alone in the world excepting for a young man named Tad Sobber, who came to see her once in a while,” said Oliver Mason. “I didn’t like the young man much, but the two had quite some business together.”
The old man then told how Mrs. Sobber had gone away for several days, stating she must look after a lady friend who had become insane. She stated that possibly she would bring the lady to the house for a day or two, but that if she did, Mr. Mason need not be afraid, for a doctor and a nurse would come along. Then the lady had arrived, in company with Tad Sobber and two men. He had not been allowed to talk to the woman, the others saying she might become violent in the presence of strangers. Then the lady had been taken away by the men and Tad Sobber the night before, and Tad Sobber had come back for Mrs. Sobber just about the time the Rovers tried to get into the house.
The story was told with such simpleness that Dick felt bound to believe it, and consequently he saw no reason for blaming Oliver Mason, who was, in truth, on the verge of second childhood.
“I must look around and see if those scamps left anything behind,” said Dick. “You won’t object to that, will you?”
“No! no!” cried the old man. “Only please do not take any of my few belongings.”
“I’ll not take anything, sir, you can trust me absolutely,” answered Dick, readily.
He made a search of the rooms, and especially the apartments occupied by Mrs
. Stanhope and her abductors. At first he found little of value, although he picked up a handkerchief that had Mrs. Stanhope’s initials embroidered in the corner.
“That is proof positive that she was here,” he thought grimly.
In one of the fireplaces he came across some half-burnt letters. He looked them over with care and caught the post-mark, Portland, Me. On one slip he read the following:
easy from Portla
the schooner Mary Del
as we arrive, I will have
if not then Slay’s Island, where
“Humph! this may prove of value,” murmured Dick to himself, and placed the bit of letter in his pocket. Then he hunted around the rooms again, but nothing more came to light.
“Will Mrs. Sobber come back?” asked the old man, when Dick went below.
“I doubt it, sir.”
“She must be an awful woman, if what you say is true.”
“She is a criminal, Mr. Mason, and so is that Tad Sobber. I would advise you to have nothing more to do with them.”
“I must have a housekeeper,” whined the old man.
“Then hire somebody you are sure is honest,” returned Dick; and a few minutes later he quitted the house.
On his way to the hotel he met Sam and Tom, who had looked in vain for the automobile. In as few words as possible he told his brothers about what Oliver Mason had said, and of the finding of the slip of paper.
“What do you make of it?” asked Sam.
“I think they are going to Portland, either by auto or in a boat,” answered Dick.
“That’s just what I think,” added Tom. “But we may be mistaken.”
“Before we go any further, I am going to have that house watched,” went on Dick. “I’ll hire a first-class detective, and then, if Mrs. Sobber or any of the others come back, we’ll have ’em arrested.”
They visited a detective agency, and a man was put on the case without delay. Then the Rovers hurried down to the water front, to see if they could get any trace of Mrs. Stanhope there.
An hour’s tramping produced no results, and somewhat discouraged, they were on the point of going to the hotel, to meet Spud, when they saw an old sailor come from a restaurant close by.
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