The Treasure Hunt
I
Had we not been so anxious about our dear Tish last summer, I dare say it would never have happened. But even Charlie Sands noticed when he came to our cottage at Lake Penzance for the week-end that she was distinctly not her old self.
“I don’t like it,” he said. “She’s lost her pep, or something. I’ve been here two days and she hasn’t even had a row with Hannah, and I must say that fuss with old Carpenter yesterday really wasn’t up to her standard at all.”
Old Carpenter is a fisherman, and Tish having discovered that our motor boat went better in reverse than forward, he had miscalculated our direction and we had upset him.
As it happened, that very evening Tish herself confirmed Charlie’s fears by asking about Aggie’s Cousin Sarah Brown’s Chelsea teapot.
“I think,” she said, “that a woman of my age should have a hobby; one that will arouse interest at the minimum of physical exertion. And the collection of old china——”
“Oh, Tish!” Aggie wailed, and burst into tears.
“I mean it,” said Tish, “I have reached that period of my life which comes to every woman, when adventure no longer lurks around the next corner. By this I do not refer necessarily to amorous affairs, but to dramatic incidents. I think more than I did of what I eat. I take a nap every day. I am getting old.”
“Never!” said Aggie valiantly.
“No? When I need my glasses nowadays to see the telephone directory!”
“But they’re printing the names smaller, Tish.”
“Yes, and I dare say my arm is getting shorter also,” she returned with a sad smile. She pursued the subject no further, however, but went on knitting the bedroom slippers which are her yearly contribution to the Old Ladies’ Home, leaving Charlie Sands to gaze at her thoughtfully as he sipped his blackberry cordial.
But the fact is that Tish had outgrown the cottage life at Penzance, and we all knew it. Save for an occasional golf ball from the links breaking a window now and then, and the golfers themselves who brought extra shoes done up in paper for us to keep for them, paying Hannah something to put them on the ice, there was nothing to rouse or interest her.
Her mind was as active as ever; it was her suggestion that a clothespin on Aggie’s nose might relieve the paroxysms of her hay fever, and she was still filled with sentiment. It was her own idea on the anniversary of Mr. Wiggins’ demise to paint the cottage roof a fresh and verdant green as a memorial to him, since he had been a master roofer by profession.
But these had been the small and simple annals of her days. To all outward seeming, until the night of the treasure hunt, our Tish was no longer the Tish who with our feeble assistance had captured the enemy town of X—— during the war, or held up the band of cutthroats on Thundercloud, or led us through the wilderness of the Far West. An aëroplane in the sky or the sound of the Smith boys racing along in their stripped flivver may have reminded her of brighter days, but she said nothing.
Once, indeed, she had hired a horse from the local livery stable and taken a brief ride, but while making a short cut across the Cummings estate the animal overturned a beehive. Although Tish, with her customary presence of mind, at once headed the terrified creature for the swimming pool, where a number of persons were bathing and sunning themselves in scanty apparel about the edge, the insects forsook the beast the moment horse and rider plunged beneath the surface and a great many people were severely stung. Indeed, the consequences threatened to be serious, for Tish was unable to get the horse out again and it was later necessary to bring a derrick from Penzance to rescue him. But her protests over the enormous bills rendered by the livery man were feeble, indeed, compared to the old days.
“Twenty dollars!” she said. “Are you claiming that that animal, which should have been able to jump over a beehive without upsetting it, was out ten hours?”
“That’s my charge,” he said. “Walk, trot and canter is regular rates, but swimming is double, and cheap at that. The next time you want to go out riding, go to the fish pier and I reckon they’ll oblige you. You don’t need a horse, lady. What you want is a blooming porpoise.”
Which, of course, is preposterous. There are no porpoises in Lake Penzance.
She even made the blackberry cordial that year, a domestic task usually left to Aggie and myself, but I will say with excellent results. For just as it was ready for that slight fermentation which gives it its medicinal quality, a very pleasant young man came to see us, having for sale a fluid to be added to homemade cordials and so on, which greatly increased their bulk without weakening them.
“But how can one dilute without weakening?” Tish demanded suspiciously.
“I would not call it dilution, madam. It is really expansion.”
It was a clear colorless liquid with a faintly aromatic odor, which he said was due to juniper in it, and he left us a small bottle for experimental purposes.
With her customary caution, our dear Tish would not allow us to try it until it had been proved, and some days later Hannah reporting a tramp at the back door, she diluted—or rather expanded—a half glass of cordial, gave him some cookies with it, and we all waited breathlessly.
It had no ill effect, however. The last we saw of the person he was quite cheery; and, indeed, we heard later that he went into Penzance, and getting one of the town policemen into an alley, forced him to change trousers with him. As a matter of record, whether it was Tish’s efforts with the cordial itself, or the addition of the expansion matter which we later purchased in bulk and added, I cannot say. But I do know that on one occasion, having run out of gasoline, we poured a bottle of our blackberry cordial into the tank of the motor boat and got home very nicely indeed. I believe that this use of fruit juices has not heretofore been generally known.
Tish, I know, told it to Mr. Stubbs, the farmer who brought us our poultry, advising him to try cider in his car instead of feeding his apples to his hogs. But he only stared at her.
“Feed apples to hogs these days!” he said. “Why, lady, my hogs ain’t seen an apple for four years! They don’t know there is such a thing.”
Occupied with these small and homely duties then, we went on along the even tenor of our way through July and August, and even into September. In August, Charlie Sands sent us a radio, and thereafter it was our custom at 7:20 A.M. to carry our comforters into Tish’s bedroom and do divers exercises in loose undergarments.
It is to this training that I lay Tish’s ability to go through the terrible evening which followed with nothing more serious than a crack in a floating rib.
And in September Charlie Sands himself week-ended with us, as I have said; with the result of a definite break in our monotony and a revival of Tish’s interest in life which has not yet begun to fade.
Yet his visit itself was uneventful enough. It was not until Mrs. Ostermaier’s call on Saturday evening that anything began to develop. I remember the evening most distinctly. Our dear Tish was still in her dressing gown, after a very unpleasant incident of the morning, when she had inflated a pair of water wings and gone swimming. Unluckily, when some distance out she had endeavored to fasten the water wings with a safety pin to her bathing garments and the air at once began to escape. When Charlie Sands reached the spot only a few bubbles showed where our unfortunate Tish had been engulfed. She had swallowed a great deal of water, and he at once suggested bailing her out.
“By and large,” he said, “I’ve been bailing you out for the last ten years. Why not now?”
But she made no response save to say that she had swallowed a fish. “Get me a doctor,” she said thickly. “I can feel the thing wriggling.”
“Doctor nothing!” he told her. “What you need is a fisherman, if that’s the case.”
But she refused to listen to him, saying that if she was meant to be an aquarium she would be one; and seeing she was firm, he agreed.
“Very well,” he said cheerfully. “But why not do the thing right while you’re about it? How about some pebbles and a tadpole or two?”
The result of all this was that Tish, although later convinced there was no fish, was in an uncertain mood that evening as we sat about the radio. She had, I remember, got Chicago, where a lady at some hotel was singing By the Waters of Minnetonka. Turning away from Chicago, she then got Detroit, Michigan, and a woman there was singing the same thing.
Somewhat impatiently, she next picked up Atlanta, Georgia, where a soprano was also singing it, and the same thing happened with Montreal, Canada. With a strained look, our dear Tish then turned to the national capital, and I shall never forget her expression when once more the strains of Minnetonka rang out on the evening air.
With an impatient gesture, she shoved the box away from her, and the various batteries and so on fell to the floor. And at that moment Mrs. Ostermaier came in breathless, and said that she and Mr. Ostermaier had just got Denver, and heard it quite distinctly.
“A woman was singing,” she said. “Really, Miss Carberry, we could hear every word. She was singing——”
“The Waters of Minnetonka?” asked Tish.
“Why, however did you guess it?”
It was probably an accident, but as Tish got up suddenly, her elbow struck the box itself, and the box fell with a horrible crash. Tish never even looked at it, but picked up her knitting and fell to work on a bedroom slipper, leaving Mrs. Ostermaier free to broach her plan.
For, as it turned out, she had come on an errand. She and Mr. Ostermaier wished to know if we could think of any way to raise money and put a radio in the state penitentiary, which was some miles away along the lake front.
“Think,” she said, “of the terrible monotony of their lives there! Think of the effect of the sweetness disseminated by Silver Threads Among the Gold or By the Waters of——”
“Mr. Wiggins always said that music had power to soothe the savage breast,” Aggie put in hastily. “Have you thought of any plan?”
“Mr. Ostermaier suggested that Miss Tish might think of something. She is so fertile.”
But Tish’s reaction at first was unfavorable.
“Why?” she said. “We’ve made our jails so pleasant now that there’s a crime wave so people can get into them.” But she added, “I’m in favor of putting one in every prison if they’d hire a woman to sing The Waters of Minnetonka all day and all night. If that wouldn’t stop this rush to the penitentiaries, nothing will.”
On the other hand, Charlie Sands regarded the idea favorably. He sat sipping a glass of cordial and thinking, and at last said:
“Why not? Think of an entire penitentiary doing the morning daily dozen! Or laying out bridge hands, according to radio instructions! Broaden ’em. Make ’em better citizens. Send ’em out fit to meet the world again. Darned good idea—Silver Threads Among the Gold for the burglars and Little Brown Jug for the bootleggers. Think of Still as the Night for the moonshiners, too, and the bedtime stories for the cradle snatchers. Why, it’s got all sorts of possibilities!”
He then said to leave it to him and he would think up something; and falling to work on the radio, soon had it in operation again. His speech had evidently had a quieting effect on Tish, and when the beautiful strains of The Waters of Minnetonka rang out once more she merely placed her hands over her ears and said nothing.
It was after his departure on Monday that he wrote us the following note, and succeeded in rousing our dear Tish:
“Beloved Maiden Ladies: I have been considering the problem of the radio for our unfortunate convicts. How about a treasure hunt—à la Prince of Wales—to raise the necessary lucre? I’ll write the clews and bury a bag of pennies—each entrant to pay five dollars, and the profits to go to the cause.
“Oil up the old car and get out the knickerbockers, for it’s going to be a tough job. And don’t forget, I’m betting on you. Read the Murders in the Rue Morgue for clews and deductive reasoning. And pass me the word when you’re ready.
Devotedly, C.S.”
“P.S. My usual terms are 20 per cent, but will take two bottles of cordial instead. Please mark ‘Preserves’ on box.
C.”
II
We saw an immediate change in Tish from that moment. The very next morning we put on our bathing suits and, armed with soap and sponges, drove the car into the lake for a washing. Unluckily a wasp stung Tish on the bare knee as we advanced and she stepped on the gas with great violence, sending us out a considerable distance, and, indeed, rendering it necessary to crawl out and hold to the top to avoid drowning.
Here we were marooned for some time, until Hannah spied us and rowed out to us. It was finally necessary to secure three horses and a long rope to retrieve the car, and it was some days in drying out.
But aside from these minor matters, things went very well. Mr. Ostermaier, who was not to search, took charge of the hunt from our end and reported numerous entrants from among the summer colony, and to each entrant the following was issued:
1. The cars of the treasure hunters will meet at the Rectory on Saturday evening at eight o’clock.
2. Each hunter will receive a password or sentence, and a sealed envelope containing the first clew.
3. This clew found, another password and fresh sealed envelope will be discovered. And so on.
4. There are six clews.
5. Participants are requested to use care in driving about the country, as the local police force has given notice that it will be stationed at various points to prevent reckless driving.
6. After the treasure is discovered, the hunt will please meet at the Rectory, where light refreshments will be served. It is requested that if possible the search be over before midnight in order not to infringe on the Sabbath day.
In view of the fact that certain persons, especially Mrs. Cummings—who should be the last to complain—have accused Tish of certain unethical acts during that terrible night, I wish to call attention to certain facts:
(a) We obeyed the above rules to the letter, save possibly Number Five.
(b) There was no actual identification of the scissors.
(c) If there was a box of carpet tacks in our car, neither Aggie nor I saw them.
(d) The fish pier had been notoriously rotten for years.
(e) We have paid for the repairs to the motorcycle, and so on.
(f) Doctor Parkinson is not permanently lamed, and we have replaced his lamps.
(g) Personally, knowing Tish’s detestation of cross-word puzzles, I believe the false clews were a joke on the part of others concerned.
(h) We did that night what the local police and the sheriff from Edgewater had entirely failed to do, and risked our lives in so doing. Most of the attack is purely jealousy of Letitia Carberry’s astute brain and dauntless physical courage.
I need say no more. As Tish observed to Charlie Sands the next day, when he came to see her, lifting herself painfully in her bed:
“I take no credit for following the clews; they were simplicity itself. And I shall pay all damages incurred. But who is to pay for this cracked rib and divers minor injuries, or replace poor Aggie’s teeth? Tell me that, and then get out and let me sleep. I’m an old woman.”
“Old!” said Charlie Sands. “Old! If you want to see an aged and a broken man, look at me! I shall have to put on a false mustache to get out of town.”
But to return to the treasure hunt.
On the eventful day we worked hard. By arrangement with Mr. Stubbs, our poultry man, he exchanged the license plates from his truck for ours in the morning, and these we put on, it being Tish’s idea that in case our number was taken by the local motor policeman, Mr. Stubbs could prove that he was in bed and asleep at the time. We also took out our tail light, as Tish said that very probably the people who could not unravel their clews would follow us if possible, and late in the afternoon, our arrangements being completed, Tish herself retired to her chamber with a number of envelopes in her hand.
Lest it be construed that she then arranged the cross-word puzzles which were later substituted for the real clews, I hasten to add that I believe, if I do not actually know, that she wrote letters concerning the missionary society at that time. She is an active member.
At 5:30 we had an early supper and one glass of cordial each.
“I think better on an empty stomach,” Tish said. “And I shall need my brains to-night.”
“If that’s what you think of Aggie and myself, we’d better stay at home,” I said sharply.
“I have not stated what I think of your brain, Lizzie, nor of Aggie’s either. Until I do, you have no reason for resentment.”
Peace thus restored, we ate lightly of tea, toast and lettuce sandwiches; and having donned our knickerbockers and soft hats, were ready for the fray. Aggie carrying a small flask of cordial for emergencies and I a flashlight and an angel-food cake to be left at the Rectory, we started out on what was to prove one of the most eventful evenings in our experience.
Tish was thoughtful on the way over, speaking occasionally of Poe and his system of deductive reasoning in solving clews, and also of Conan Doyle, but mostly remaining silent.
Aggie, however, was sneezing badly, due to the dust, and this annoying Tish, she stopped where some washing was hanging out and sent her in for a clothespin. She procured the pin, but was discovered and chased, and undoubtedly this is what led later to the story that the bandits—of whom more later—had, before proceeding to the real business of the night, attempted to steal the Whitings’ washing.
But the incident had made Aggie very nervous and she took a second small dose of the cordial. Of this also more later on.
There was a large group of cars in front of the Rectory. The Smith boys had brought their flivver, stripped of everything but the engine and one seat for lightness, and the Cummingses, who are very wealthy, had brought their racer. Tish eyed them both with a certain grimness.
“Not speed, but brains will count, Lizzie,” she said to me. “What does it matter how fast they can go if they don’t know where they’re going?”
After some thought, however, she took off the engine hood and the spare tire and laid them aside, and stood gazing at Aggie, now fast asleep in the rear seat.
“I could leave her too,” she said. “She will be of no help whatever. But on the other hand, she helps to hold the rear springs down when passing over bumps.”
Mrs. Ostermaier then passed around glasses of lemonade, saying that every hunt drank a stirrup cup before it started, and Mr. Ostermaier gave us our envelopes and the first password, which was “Ichthyosaurus.”
It was some time before everyone had memorized it, and Tish utilized the moments to open her envelope and study the clew. The password, as she said, was easy; merely a prehistoric animal. The clew was longer:
“Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink.
Two twos are four, though some say more, and i-n-k spells ink.”
“Water?” I said. “That must be somewhere by the lake, Tish.”
“Nonsense! What’s to prevent your drinking the lake dry if you want to? I-n-k! It may be the stationer’s shop; but if it ever saw water, I don’t believe it. ‘Two twos are four, though some say more!’ Well, if they do, they’re fools, and so is Charlie Sands for writing such gibberish.”
What made matters worse was that the Smith boys were already starting off laughing, and two or three other people were getting ready to move. Suddenly Tish set her mouth and got into the car, and it was as much as I could do to crawl in before she had cut straight through the canna bed and out onto the road.
The Smith boys were well ahead, but we could still see their tail light, and we turned after them. Tish held the wheel tightly, and as we flew along she repeated the clew, which with her wonderful memory she had already learned by heart. But no light came to either of us, and at the crossroads we lost the Smith boys and were obliged to come to a stop. This we did rather suddenly, and Mr. Gilbert, who is a vestryman in our church, bumped into us and swore in a most unbefitting manner.
“Where the hell is your tail light?” he called furiously.
“You ought to know,” said Tish calmly. “Somewhere in your engine, I imagine.”
Well, it seemed that everyone had been following us, and no one except the Smith boys apparently knew where to go from there. And just then a policeman came out of the bushes and asked what the trouble was.
“Ichthyosaurus,” said Tish absently. “‘Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink. Two twos are four, though some say more, and——’”
“Don’t try to be funny with me,” he said. “For a cent I’d take the whole lot of you into town for obstructing traffic. You’ve been drinking, that’s what!”
And just then Aggie sat up in the back seat and said, “Drinking yourshelf! Go on, Tish, and run over him. He’sh a nuishance.”
Well, I will say her voice was somewhat thick, and the constable got on the running board and struck a match. But Tish was in her seat by that time, and she started the car so suddenly that he fell off into the road. As the other cars had to drive around him, this gave us a certain advantage; and we had soon left them behind us, but we still had no idea where to go. Matters were complicated also by the fact that Tish had now extinguished our headlights for fear of again being molested, and we were as often off the road as on it.
Indeed, once we brought up inside a barn, and were only saved from going entirely through it by our dear Tish’s quick work with the brakes; and we then had the agony of hearing the other cars pass by on the main road while we were backing away from the ruins of a feed cutter we had smashed.
We had also aroused a number of chickens, and as we could hear the farmer running out and yelling, there was nothing to do but to back out again. Just as we reached the highroad a load of buckshot tore through the top of the car, but injured nobody.
“Luckily he was shooting high,” said Tish as we drove on. “Lower, and he might have cut our tires.”
“Luckily!” said Aggie, from the rear seat. “He’sh taken the crown out of my hat, Tish Carberry! It was nish hat too. I loved my little hat. I——”
“Oh, keep still and go to sleep again,” said Tish. “‘Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink. Two twos are four, though some say more, and i-n-k spells ink.’”
“So it did when I went to school,” said Aggie, still drowsily. “I-n-k, ink; p-i-n-k, pink; s——”
Suddenly Tish put her foot on the gas and we shot ahead once more.
“Schoolhouse of course,” she said. “The schoolhouse by the water tower. I knew my subconscious mind would work it out eventually.”
III
Unfortunately, we were the last to get to the schoolhouse, and we had to witness the other cars streaming triumphantly down the road as we went up, shouting and blowing their horns. All but the Simmonses’ sedan, which had turned over in a ditch and which we passed hastily, having no time to render assistance.
Miss Watkins, the school-teacher, was on the porch, and as we drew up Tish leaped out.
“Pterodactyl!” she said.
“Warm, but not hot,” said Miss Watkins.
“Plesiosaurus!”
“The end’s all right.”
“Ichthyosaurus!” said Tish triumphantly, and received the envelope. Aggie, however, who had not heard the password given at the Ostermaiers’, had listened to this strange conversation dazedly and now burst into tears.
“There’sh something wrong with me, Lizzie!” she wailed. “I’ve felt queer ever since we started, and now they are talking and it doesn’t sound like sensh to me.”
It was some time before I was able to quiet her, but Tish had already received the second password, or sentence, which was “Prevention is better than cure, ting-a-ling,” and was poring over the next clew.
“Always first in danger, always last to go,
Look inside the fire box and then you’ll know.”
I still think that had she taken sufficient time she could have located this second clew easily and without the trouble that ensued. But finding herself last when she is so generally first had irritated her, and she was also annoyed at Miss Watkins, it having been arranged that the last car was to take her back into town.
“Mr. Ostermaier said the clew’s in town anyhow. And he didn’t think the last car would have much chance, either,” she said.
“Who laughs last laughs best,” said Tish grimly, and started off at a frightful speed. Miss Watkins lost her hat within the first mile or two, but we could not pause, as a motorcycle policeman was now following close behind us. Owing to Tish’s strategy, however, for when he attempted to come up on the right of us she swerved in that direction and vice versa, we finally escaped him, an unusually sharp swerve of hers having caught him off guard, so to speak, and upset him.
Just when or where we lost Miss Watkins herself I have no idea. Aggie had again dozed off, and when we reached the town and slowed up, Miss Watkins was gone. She herself does not know, as she seems to have wandered for some time in a dazed condition before reaching home.
But to the hunt.
I still think our mistake was a natural one. One would think that the pass sentence, “Prevention is better than cure, ting-a-ling,” certainly indicated either a pharmacy or a medical man and a doorbell, and as Tish said, a fire box was most likely a wood box. There being only two doctors in the town, we went first to Doctor Burt’s, but he had already retired and spoke to us from an upper window.
“We want to examine your wood box,” Tish called.
“Wood box?” he said, in a stupefied voice. “What do you want wood for? A splint?”
“We’re hunting treasure,” said Tish sharply. “‘Prevention is better than cure, ting-a-ling.’”
The doctor closed the window violently; and although we rang for some time, he did not appear again.
At Doctor Parkinson’s, however, we had better luck, discovering the side entrance to the house open and finding our way inside with the aid of the flashlight. There was only one wood box on the lower floor, and this we proceeded to search, laying the wood out carefully onto a newspaper. But we found no envelopes, and in the midst of our discouragement came a really dreadful episode.
Doctor Parkinson himself appeared at the door in his night clothes, and not recognizing us because of our attire and goggles, pointed a revolver at us.
“Hands up!” he cried in a furious tone. “Hands up, you dirty devils! And be quick about it!”
“‘Prevention is better than cure, ting-a-ling,’” said Tish.
“Ting-a-ling your own self! Of all the shameless proceedings I’ve ever——”
“Shame on you!” Tish reproved him. “If ting-a-ling means nothing to you, we will leave you.”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” he said, most unpleasantly. “Put up your hands as I tell you or——”
I do not now and I never did believe the story he has since told over the town—that Tish threw the fire log she was holding at his legs. I prefer to credit her own version—that as she was trying to raise her hands the wood fell, with most unfortunate results. As a matter of fact, the real risk was run by myself, for when on the impact he dropped the revolver, it exploded and took off the heel of my right shoe.
Nor is it true, as he claims, that having been forced out of his house, we attempted to get back in and attack him again. This error is due to the fact that, once outside, Tish remembered the revolver on the floor, and thinking it might be useful later, went back to get it. But the door was locked.
However, all is well that ends well. We had but driven a block or two when we perceived a number of the cars down the street at the engine house, and proceeded to find our next clew in the box of the local fire engine.
The password this time was “Prohibition,” and the clew ran:
“Just two blocks from paradise and only one from hell,
Stranger things than truth are found in the bottom of a well.”
The Smith boys had already gone on, but we were now at last on equal terms with the others, and as the sleep and the cold night air had by now fully restored Aggie, Tish called a consultation.
“So far,” she said, “the Smiths have had the advantage of superior speed. But it is my opinion that this advantage is an unfair one, and that I have a right to nullify it if opportunity arises.”
“We’ll have to catch them first,” I observed.
“We shall catch them,” she said firmly, and once more studied the clew.
“Paradise,” she said, “should be the Eden Inn. To save time we will circumnavigate it at a distance of two blocks.”
This we did, learning later that Hell’s Kitchen was the name locally given to the negro quarter, and once more Tish’s masterly deciphering of the clew served us well. Before the other cars had much more than started, we espied the Smiths’ stripped flivver outside the Gilbert place, and to lose no time drove through the hedge and onto the lawn. Here, as is well known, the Gilberts have an old well, long disused, or so supposed. And here we found the Gilberts’ gardener standing and the Smith boys drawing up the well bucket.
“Give the word and get the envelope,” Tish whispered to me, and disappeared into the darkness.
I admit this. I admit, too, that, as I have said before, I know nothing of her actions for the next few moments. Personally, I believe that she went to the house, as she has stated, to get the Gilbert cook’s recipe for jelly roll; and as anyone knows, considerable damage may be done to an uncovered engine by flying stones. To say that she cut certain wires while absent is to make a claim not borne out by the evidence.
But I will also say that the Smith boys up to that moment had had an unfair advantage, and that the inducing of a brief delay on their part was not forbidden by the rules, which are on my desk as I write. However——
As Mr. Gilbert is not only prominent in the church but is also the local prohibition officer, judge of our surprise when, on the well bucket emerging, we found in it not only the clews but some bottles of beer which had apparently been put there to cool. And Mr. Gilbert, on arriving with the others, seemed greatly upset.
“Hawkins,” he said to the gardener, “what do you mean by hiding six bottles of beer in my well?”
“Me?” said Hawkins angrily. “If I had six bottles of beer, they’d be in no well! And there aren’t six; there’s only four.”
“Four!” said Mr. Gilbert in a furious voice. “Four! Then who the dev——” Here, however, he checked himself; and as Tish had now returned, we took our clews and departed. Hawkins had given us the next password, which was “Good evening, dearie,” and the clew, which read:
“Down along the lake front, in a pleasant place,
Is a splendid building, full of air and space.
Glance within a closet, where, neatly looped and tagged,
Are the sturdy symbols of the game they’ve bagged.”
Everybody seemed to think it meant the Duck Club, and in a few moments we were all off once more except the Smith boys, who were talking loudly and examining their engine. But Tish was not quite certain.
“These clews are tricky,” she said. “They are not obvious, but subtle. It sounds too much like the Duck Club to be the Duck Club. Besides, what symbols of dead ducks would they keep? I’ve never seen anything left over but the bones.”
“The feathers?” Aggie suggested.
“They wouldn’t keep feathers in a closet. And besides, there’s nothing sturdy about a feather. What other large building is on the lake front?”
“The fish cannery,” I said.
“True. And they might keep boards in a closet with the outlines of very large fish on them. But the less said about the air there the better. However, we might try it.”
Having made this decision, as soon as we were outside of Penzance we began once more to travel with extreme rapidity, retracing for some distance the road we had come in on, and thus it happened that we again saw the motorcycle policeman with his side car. He was repairing something and shouted angrily at us as we passed, but we did not even hesitate, and soon we arrived at the fish cannery.
None of the others had apparently thought of this possibility, and when we reached it there was no one in sight but a bearded watchman with a lantern, sitting on a barrel outside. Tish hopefully leaped from the car and gave him the password at once.
“‘Good evening, dearie.’”
But the wretch only took his pipe out of his mouth and, after expectorating into the lake, replied:
“Hello, sweetheart. And what can I do for you?”
“Don’t be impertinent,” said Tish tartly. “I said ‘good evening, dearie’, as a signal.”
“And a darned fine signal I call it,” he said, rising. “Let’s have a look at you before the old lady comes along with my supper.”
“I have given you the signal. If you haven’t anything for me, say so.”
“Well, what is it you want?” he inquired, grinning at us in a horrible manner. “A kiss?”
As he immediately began to advance toward Tish, to this action on his part may be laid the misfortune which almost at once beset us. For there is no question that had it not discomposed her she would never have attempted to turn by backing onto the fish pier, which has been rotten for years. But in her indignation she did so, and to our horror we felt the thing giving way beneath us. There was one loud sharp crack followed by the slow splintering of wood, and the next moment we were resting gently on some piles above the water, with the shattered framework of the pier overhead and the watchman yelling that the company would sue us for damages.
“Damages!” said Tish, still holding to the steering wheel, while Aggie wailed in the rear. “You talk of damages to me! I’ll put you and your company in the penitentiary if I have to——”
Here she suddenly checked herself and turned to me.
“The penitentiary, of course!” she said. “How stupid of us! And I dare say they keep the ropes they hang people with in a closet. They have to keep them somewhere. Speaking of ropes,” she went on, raising her voice, “if that old fool up there will get a rope, I dare say we can scramble out.”
“Old fool yourself!” cried the watchman, dancing about. “Coming here and making love to me, and then destroying my pier! You can sit there till those piles rot, far’s I’m concerned. There’s something queer about this business anyhow; how do I know you ain’t escaped from the pen?”
“My dear man,” said Tish quietly, “the one thing we want is to get to the penitentiary, and that as soon as possible.”
“Well, you won’t have any trouble getting there,” he retorted. “I’ll see to that. Far’s you’re concerned, you’re on your way.”
He then disappeared, and one of the piles yielding somewhat, the car fell a foot or two more, while Aggie wailed and sneezed alternately. But Tish remained composed. She struck a match, and leaning over the side inspected the water and so on below us.
“There’s a boat down there, Lizzie,” she said. “Get the towrope from under Aggie and fasten it to something. If we can get down, we’ll be all right. The penitentiary isn’t more than a half mile from here.”
“I slide down no rope into no boat, Tish Carberry,” I said firmly.
But at that moment we heard the engine of a motorcycle coming along the road and realized that our enemy the policeman had followed us. And as at that same instant the car again slipped with a sickening jar, we were compelled to this heroic attempt after all.
However, it was managed without untoward incident, Aggie even salvaging the flask of blackberry cordial. But the boat was almost filled with water, and thus required frantic bailing with our hats, a matter only just accomplished when the motorcycle policeman came running onto the pier.
Whether the watchman had failed to tell him of the break or not, I cannot say, but we were no more than under way when we heard a splash followed by strangled oaths, and realized that for a time at least we were safe from pursuit.
Wet as we now were, we each took a small dose of the cordial and then fell to rowing. Tish’s watch showed only ten o’clock, and we felt greatly cheered and heartened. Also, as Tish said by way of comforting Aggie, the license plates on the car belonging to Mr. Stubbs, it was unlikely that we would be further involved for the present at least.
IV
Owing to the fact that the cars still in the hunt had all gone to the Duck Club, the brief delay had not lost us our lead, and we proceeded at once, after landing near the penitentiary, to the gate. Our halt there was brief. Tish merely said to the sentry at the entrance, “‘Good evening, dearie.’”
“The same to you and many of them,” he replied cheerfully, and unlocked the gate. We then found ourselves in a large courtyard, with the looming walls of the building before us, and on ringing the bell and repeating the phrase were at once admitted.
There were a number of men in uniform, who locked the grating behind us and showed us into an office where a young man was sitting at a desk.
I had an uneasy feeling the moment I saw him, and Aggie has since acknowledged the same thing. Instead of smiling as had the others, he simply pushed a large book toward us and asked us to sign our names.
“Register here, please,” was what he said.
“Register?” said Tish. “What for?”
“Like to have our guests’ names,” he said solemnly. “You’ll find your cells all ready for you. Very nice ones—view of the lake and everything. Front, show these ladies to their cells.”
Aggie gave a low moan, but Tish motioned her to be silent.
“Am I to understand you are holding us here?”
“That’s what we’re here for. We specialize in holding, if you know what I mean.”
“If it’s that fish pier——”
“Is it the fish pier?” the young man asked of two or three men around, but nobody seemed to know.
Tish cast a desperate glance about her.
“I may have made a mistake,” she said, “but would it mean anything to you if I said ‘Good evening, dearie’?”
“Why, it would mean a lot,” he said politely. “Any term of—er—affection, you know. I’m a soft-hearted man in spite of my business.”
But Tish was eying him, and now she leaned over the desk and asked very clearly:
“Have you got a closet where, neatly looped and tagged,
You keep the sturdy symbols of the game you’ve bagged?”
Suddenly all the guards laughed, and so did the young man.
“Well, well!” he said. “So that’s what brought you here, Miss Carberry? And all of us hoping you’d come for a nice little stay! Jim, take the ladies to the closet.”
Well, what with the accident and the hard rowing, as well as this recent fright, neither Aggie nor I was able to accompany Tish. I cannot therefore speak with authority; but knowing Tish as I do, I do not believe that Mrs. Cummings’ accusation as to what happened at this closet is based at all on facts.
Briefly, Mrs. Cummings insists that having taken out her own clew, Tish then placed on top of the others a number of similar envelopes containing cross-word puzzles, which caused a considerable delay, especially over the Arabic name for whirling dervishes. This not, indeed, being solved at all, somebody finally telephoned to Mr. Ostermaier to look it up in the encyclopedia, and he then stated that no cross-word puzzles had been included among the clews. Whereupon the mistake was rectified and the hunt proceeded.
As I say, we did not go with Tish to the closet and so cannot be certain, but I do know that the clew she brought us was perfectly correct, as follows:
Password: “All is discovered.”
“Where are you going, my pretty maid?”
“’Most anywhere else,” said she.
“Behind the grille is a sweet young man,
And he’ll give my clew to me.”
We had no more than read it when we heard a great honking of horns outside, and those who had survived trooped in. But alas, what a pitiful remnant was left! Only ten cars now remained out of twenty. The Smith boys had not been heard from, and the Phillipses had been arrested for speeding. Also Mr. Gilbert had gone into a ditch and was having a cut on his chin sewed up, the Jenningses’ car had had a flat tire and was somewhere behind in the road, and the Johnstons were in Backwater Creek, waiting for a boat to come to their rescue.
And we had only just listened to this tale of woe when Mrs. Cummings sailed up to Tish with an unpleasant smile and something in her hand.
“Your scissors, I believe, dear Miss Carberry,” she said. But Tish only eyed them stonily.
“Why should you think they are my scissors?” she inquired coldly.
“The eldest Smith boy told me to return them to you, with his compliments. He found them in the engine of his car.”
“In his car? What were they doing there?”
“That’s what I asked him. He said that you would know.”
“Two pairs of scissors are as alike as two pairs of pants,” Tish said calmly, and prepared to depart.
But our poor Aggie now stepped up and examined the things and began to sneeze with excitement.
“Why, Tish Carberry!” she exclaimed. “They are your scissors. There’s the broken point and everything. Well, if that isn’t the strangest thing!”
“Extraordinary,” said Mrs. Cummings. “Personally, I think it a matter for investigation.”
She then swept on, and we left the penitentiary. But once outside, the extreme discomfort of our situation soon became apparent. Not only were we wet through, so that Aggie’s sneezing was no longer alleviated by the clothespin, but Tish’s voice had become hardly more than a hoarse croaking. Also, we had no car in which to proceed. Indeed, apparently the treasure hunt was over so far as we were concerned. But once again I had not counted on Tish’s resourcefulness. We had no sooner emerged than she stopped in the darkness and held up her hand.
“Listen!” she said.
The motorcycle was approaching along the lake road, with that peculiar explosive sound so reminiscent of the machine gun Tish had used in the capture of X—— during the war.
It was clear that we had but two courses of action—one to return to the penitentiary and seek sanctuary, the other to remain outside. And Tish, thinking rapidly, chose the second. She drew us into an embrasure of the great wall and warned us to be silent, especially Aggie.
“One sneeze,” she said, “and that wretch will have us. You’ll spend the night in jail.”
“I’d rather be there thad here any day,” said Aggie, shivering. However, she tried the clothespin once more, and for a wonder it worked.
“He’ll hear by teeth chatterig, I’b certaid,” she whispered.
“Take them out,” Tish ordered her, and she did so.
How strange, looking back, to think of the effect which that one small act was to have on the later events of the evening! How true it is that life is but a series of small deeds and great results! We turn to the left instead of the right and collide with a motorbus, or trip over the tail of an insignificant tea gown, like my Cousin Sarah Pennell, and fall downstairs and break a priceless bottle of medicinal brandy.
So Aggie took out her teeth and placed them in her ulster pocket, and tied her scarf over her mouth to prevent taking cold without them, and later on——
However, at the moment we were concentrated on the policeman. First he discovered and apparently examined the boat on the shore, and then, pushing and grunting, shoved his machine past us and up to the road. There he left it, the engine still going, and went toward the penitentiary, whistling softly and plainly outlined against the lights of the cars outside. A moment later Tish had led us to the motorcycle and was examining the mechanism by the aid of the flashlight.
“It looks easy enough,” she said in her usual composed manner. “Lizzie, get into the side car and take Aggie on your lap—and hold on to her. I wish no repetition of the Miss Watkins incident.”
We watched for a short time, hoping the policeman would go inside, but he was talking to the Cummingses’ chauffeur, who seemed to be pointing in our direction. Seeing then that no time was to be lost, Tish hastily adjusted her goggles and pulled down her hat, and being already in knickerbockers, got quickly into the saddle. With the first explosion of the engine the motorcycle officer looked up, and an instant later began to run in our direction.
But I saw no more. Tish started the machine at full speed, and to a loud cry from Aggie we were off with a terrific jerk.
“By deck’s broked!” she cried. “Stop her! By deck’s broked!”
Her neck was not broken, however, I am happy to say, and the osteopath who is attending her, promises that she will soon be able to turn her head.
How shall I describe the next brief interval of time? To those who have ridden in such fashion, no description is necessary; and to those who have not, words are inadequate. And, in addition, while it was speedily apparent that we were leaving our pursuers behind—for the Cummingses’ car followed us for some distance, with the policeman on the running board—it was also soon apparent that our dear Tish had entirely lost control of the machine.
Unable to turn her eyes from the road to examine the various controls, an occasional flash of lightning from an approaching storm showed her fumbling blindly with the mechanism. Farmhouses loomed up and were gone in an instant; on several curves the side car was high in the air, and more than once our poor Aggie almost left us entirely. As the lightning became more frequent we could see frightened animals running across the fields; and finally, by an unfortunate swerve, we struck and went entirely through some unseen obstacle, which later proved to be a fence.
However, what might have been a tragedy worked out to the best possible advantage, for another flash revealing a large haystack near by, Tish turned the machine toward it with her usual farsightedness and we struck it fairly in the center. So great was our impact, indeed, that we penetrated it to a considerable distance and were almost buried, but we got out without difficulty and also extricated the machine. Save for Aggie’s neck, we were unhurt; and the rain coming up just then, we retired once more into the stack and with the aid of the flash again read over the clew:
“Where are you going, my pretty maid?”
“’Most anywhere else,” said she.
“Behind the grille is a nice young man.
And he’ll give my clew to me.”
“Going?” said Tish thoughtfully. “‘’Most anywhere else’? There’s no sense to that.” The hay, however, had brought back Aggie’s hay fever, and as sneezing hurt her neck, she was utterly wretched.
“There’s a heap of sedse,” she said in a petulant voice. “Bost adywhere else would suit be all right. Ad if you’re goig to try that dabbed bachide agaid, Tish Carberry, I ab dot.”
“If you must swear, Aggie,” Tish reproved her, “go outside, and do not pollute the clean and wholesome fragrance of this hay.”
“I’d have said worse if I knew adythig worse,” said Aggie. “And bebbe this hay is wholesobe, but if you had by dose you wouldn’t thig so.”
“Grille?” said Tish. “A nice young man behind a grille? Is there a grillroom at the Eden Inn?”
But we could not remember any, and we finally hit on the all-night restaurant in town, which had.
“‘’Most anywhere else’ must refer to that,” Tish said. “The food is probably extremely poor. And while there we can get a sandwich or so and eat it on the way. I confess to a feeling of weakness.”
“Weakness!” said Aggie bitterly. “Thed I dod’t ever wadt to see you goig strog, Tish Carberry!”
It was owing to Aggie’s insistence that Tish test out the mechanism of the motorcycle before any of us mounted again that our next misfortune occurred. So far, when one thing failed us, at least we had been lucky enough to find a substitute at hand, but in this instance we were for a time at a loss.
It happened as follows: As soon as the rain ceased, Tish, flashlight in hand, went to the machine and made a few experiments with it. At first all went well, but suddenly something happened, I know not what, and in a second the motorcycle had darted out of our sight and soon after out of hearing, leaving our dear Tish still with a hand out and me holding a flashlight on the empty air. Pursuit was useless, and, after a few moments, inadvisable, for as it reached the highroad it apparently struck something with extreme violence.
“If that’s a house it’s docked it dowd,” Aggie wailed.
But as we were to learn later, it had not struck a house, but something far more significant. Of that also more later on.
Our situation now was extremely unpleasant. Although the storm was over, it was almost eleven o’clock, and at any time we expected to see the other cars dashing past toward victory. To walk back to town was out of the question in the condition of Aggie’s neck. Yet what else could we do? However, Tish had not exhausted all her resources.
“We are undoubtedly on a farm,” she said. “Where there’s a farm there’s a horse, and where there’s a horse there is a wagon. I am not through yet.”
And so, indeed, it turned out to be. We had no particular mischance in the barn, where we found both a horse and a wagon, only finding it necessary to connect the two.
This we accomplished in what I fear was but an eccentric manner, and soon we were on our way once more, Aggie lying flat in the wagon bed because of her neck. How easy to pen this line, yet to what unforeseen consequences it was to lead!
As we wished to avoid the spot where the motorcycle had struck something, we took back lanes by choice, and after traveling some three miles or so had the extraordinary experience of happening on the motorcycle itself once more, comfortably settled in a small estuary of the lake and with several water fowl already roosting upon it.
But we reached the town safely, and leaving Aggie, now fast asleep, in the rear of the wagon, entered the all-night restaurant.
V
There was no actual grille to be seen in this place, but a stout individual in a dirty white apron was frying sausages on a stove at the back end and a thin young man at a table was waiting to eat them.
Tish lost no time, but hurried back, and this haste of hers, added to the dirt and so on with which she was covered and the huskiness of her voice, undoubtedly precipitated the climax which immediately followed. Breathless as she was, she leaned to him and said:
“All is discovered.”
“The hell you say!” said the man, dropping the fork.
“I’ve told you,” she repeated. “All is discovered. And now no funny business. Give me what you’ve got; I’m in a hurry.”
“Give you what I’ve got?” he repeated. “You know damn well I haven’t got anything, and what I’m going to get is twenty years! Where are the others?”
Well, Tish had looked rather blank at first, but at that she brightened up.
“In the penitentiary,” she said. “At least——”
“In the pen!” yelped the man. “Here, Joe!” he called to the person at the table. “It’s all up! Quick’s the word!”
“Not at all,” said Tish. “I was to say ‘All is discovered,’ and——”
But he only groaned, and throwing off his apron and grabbing a hat, the next moment he had turned out the lights and the two of them ran out the front door. Tish and I remained in the darkness, too astonished to speak, until a sound outside brought us to our senses.
“Good heavens, Lizzie,” she cried. “They have taken the wagon—and Aggie’s in it!”
We ran outside, but it was too late to do anything. The horse was galloping wildly up the street, and after following it a block or two, we were obliged to desist. I leaned against a lamp-post and burst into tears, but Tish was made of stronger fiber. While others mourn, Tish acts, and in this case she acted at once.
As it happened, we were once more at Doctor Parkinson’s, and even as we stood there the doctor himself brought his car out of the garage, and leaving it at the curb, limped into his house for something he had forgotten. He was wearing a pair of loose bedroom slippers, and did not see us at first, but when he did he stopped.
“Still at large, are you?” he said in an unpleasant tone.
“Not through any fault of yours,” said Tish, glaring at him. “After your dastardly attack on us——”
“Attack!” he shouted. “Who’s limping, you or me? I’m going to lose two toenails, and possibly more. I warn you, whoever you are, I’ve told the police and they are on your track.”
“Then they are certainly traveling some,” said Tish coldly.
He then limped into the house, and Tish caught me by the arm.
“Into the car!” she whispered. “He deserves no consideration whatever, and our first duty is to Aggie.”
Before I could protest, I was in the car and Tish was starting the engine; but precious time had been lost, and although we searched madly, there was no trace of the wagon.
When at last in despair we drove up to the local police station it was as a last resort. But like everything else that night, it too failed us. The squad room was empty, and someone was telephoning from the inner room to Edgewater, the next town.
“Say,” he was saying, “has the sheriff and his crowd started yet?... Have, eh? Well, we need ’em. All the boys are out, but they haven’t got ’em yet, so far’s I know.... Yes, they’ve done plenty. Attacked Doctor Parkinson first. Then busted down the pier at the fish house and stole a boat there, and just as Murphy corraled them near the pen, they grabbed his motorcycle and escaped. They hit a car with it and about killed a man, and a few minutes ago old Jenkins, out the Pike, telephoned they’d lifted a horse and wagon and beat it. And now they’ve looted the Cummings house and stolen Parkinson’s car for a get-away.... Crazy? Sure they’re crazy! Called the old boy at the fish cannery dearie! Can you beat it?”
We had just time to withdraw to the street before he came through the doorway, and getting into the car we drove rapidly away. Never have I seen Tish more irritated; the unfairness of the statements galled her, and still more her inability to refute them. She said but little, merely hoping that whoever had robbed the Cummings house had made a complete job of it, and that we would go next to the railway station.
“It is possible,” she said, “that the men in that restaurant are implicated in this burglary, and certainly their actions indicate flight. In that case the wagon—and Aggie—may be at the depot.”
This thought cheered us both. But alas, the waiting room was empty and no wagon stood near the tracks. Only young George Welliver was behind the ticket window, and to him Tish related a portion of the situation.
“Not only is Miss Pilkington in the wagon,” she said, “but these men are probably concerned in the Cummings robbery. I merely said to them ‘All is discovered,’ when they rushed out of the place.”
Suddenly George Welliver threw back his head and laughed.
“Well!” he said. “And me believing you all the time! So you’re one of that bunch, are you? All that rigmarole kind of mixed me up. Here’s your little clew, and you’re the first to get one.”
He then passed out an envelope, and Tish, looking bewildered, took it and opened it. It was the next clew, right enough. The password was “Three-toed South American sloth,” and the clew as follows:
“Wives of great men all remind us,
We can make our wives sublime,
And departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.”
“That ought not to be difficult,” said Tish. “If only Aggie hadn’t acted like a fool——”
“It’s the cemetery,” I said, “and I go to no cemetery to-night, Tish Carberry.”
“Nonsense!” said Tish briskly. “Time certainly means a clock. I’m just getting the hang of this thing, Lizzie.”
“‘Hang’ may be right before we’re through. And when I think of poor Aggie——”
“Still,” she went on, “sands might be an hourglass. Sands of time, you know.”
“And if somebody broke it by stepping on it, it would be footprints in the sands of time!” I retorted. “Go on! All we have to do is to find an hourglass and step on it. And in the meantime Aggie——”
However, at that instant a train drew in and a posse from Edgewater, heavily armed, got out of it and made for a line of waiting motor hacks. Never have I seen a more ruthless-looking lot of men, and Tish felt as I did, for as they streamed into the waiting room she pushed me into a telephone booth and herself took another.
And with her usual competency she took advantage of the fact to telephone Hannah to see if Aggie had returned home, but she had not.
As soon as the posse had passed through we made our escape by the other door and were able to reach the doctor’s car unseen, and still free to pursue our search. But I insist that I saw Tish scatter no tacks along the street as we left the depot. If she did, then I must also insist that she had full reason; it was done to prevent an unjustified pursuit by a body of armed men, and not to delay the other treasure hunters.
Was it her fault that the other treasure seekers reached the station at that time? No, and again no. Indeed, when the first explosive noises came as the cars drew up she fully believed that the sheriff was firing on us, and it was in turning a corner at that time that she broke the fire plug.
Certainly to assess her damages for flooded cellars is, under these circumstances, a real injustice.
But to return to the narrative: Quite rightly, once beyond pursuit, Tish headed for the Cummings property, as it was possible that there we could pick up some clew to Aggie, as well as establish our own innocence. But never shall I forget our reception at that once friendly spot.
As the circumstances were peculiar, Tish decided to reconnoiter first, and entered the property through a hedge with the intention of working past the sundial and so toward the house. But hardly had she emerged into the glow from the windows when a shot was fired at her and she was compelled to retire. As it happened, she took the shortest cut to where she had left me, which was down the drive, and I found myself exposed to a fusillade of bullets, which compelled me to seek cover on the floor of the car. Two of the car windows were broken at once and Letitia Carberry herself escaped by a miracle, as a bullet went entirely through the envelope she held in her hand.
Yes, with her customary astuteness she had located the fresh clew. The Ostermaier boy had had them by the sundial, and had gone asleep there. She fell over him in the darkness, as a matter of fact, and it was his yell which had aroused the house afresh.
There was clearly nothing to do but to escape at once, as men were running down the drive and firing as they ran. And as it seemed to make no difference in which direction we went, we drove more or less at random while I examined the new clew. On account of the bullet holes, it was hard to decipher, but it read much as follows:
The password was “Keep your head down, —— boy,” and the clew was as follows:
“Search where affection ceases,
By soft and —— sands.
The digit it increases,
On its head it stands.”
“After all,” Tish said, “we have tried to help Aggie and failed. If that thing made sense I would go on and locate the treasure. But it doesn’t. A digit is a finger, and how can it stand on its head?”
“A digit is a number too.”
“So I was about to observe,” said Tish. “If you wouldn’t always break in on my train of thought, I’d get somewhere. And six upside down is nine, so it’s six we’re after. Six what? Six is half a dozen. Half a dozen eggs; half a dozen rolls; half a dozen children. Who has half a dozen children? That’s it, probably. I’m sure affection would cease with six children.”
“Somebody along the water front. It says: ‘By soft and something-or-other sands.’”
We pondered the matter for some time in a narrow lane near the country club, but without result; and might have been there yet had not the sudden passing of a car which sounded like the Smith boys’ flivver toward the country club gate stimulated Tish’s imagination.
“I knew it would come!” she said triumphantly. “The sixth tee, of course, and the sand box! And those dratted boys are ahead of us!”
Anyone but Tish, I am convinced, would have abandoned hope at that moment. But with her, emergencies are to be met and conquered, and so now. With a “Hold tight, Lizzie!” she swung the car about, and before I knew what was on the tapis she had let in the clutch and we were shooting off the road and across a ditch.
VI
So great was our momentum that we fairly leaped the depression, and the next moment were breaking our way through a small woods, which is close to the fourteenth hole of the golf links, and had struck across the course at that point. Owing to the recent rain, the ground was soft, and at one time we were fairly brought to bay—on, I think, the fairway to the eleventh hole, sinking very deep. But we kept on the more rapidly, as we could now see the lights of the stripped flivver winding along the bridle path which intersects the links.
I must say that the way the greens committee has acted in this matter has been a surprise to us. The wagon did a part of the damage, and also the course is not ruined. A few days’ work with a wheelbarrow and spade will repair all damage; and as to the missing cup at the eighth hole, did we put the horse’s foot in it?
Tish’s eyes were on the lights of the flivver, now winding its way along the road through the course, and it is to that that I lay our next and almost fatal mishap. For near the tenth hole she did not notice a sand pit just ahead, and a moment later we had leaped the bunker at the top and shot down into it.
So abrupt was the descent that the lamps—and, indeed, the entire fore part of the doctor’s car—were buried in the sand, and both of us were thrown entirely out. It was at this time that Tish injured one of her floating ribs, as before mentioned, and sustained the various injuries which laid her up for some time afterward, but at the moment she said nothing at all. Leaping to her feet, she climbed out of the pit and disappeared into the night, leaving me in complete darkness to examine myself for fractures and to sustain the greatest fright of my life. For as I sat up I realized that I had fallen across something, and that the something was a human being. Never shall I forget the sensations of that moment, nor the smothered voice beneath me, which said:
“Kill be at odce ad be dode with it,” and then sneezed violently.
“Aggie!” I shrieked.
She seemed greatly relieved at my voice, and requested me to move so she could get her head out of the sand. “Ad dod’t screab agaid,” she said pettishly. “They’ll cobe back ad fidish us all if you do.”
Well, it appeared that the two men had driven straight to the golf links with the wagon, and had turned in much as we had done. They had not known that Aggie was in the rear, and at first she had not been worried, thinking that Tish and I were in the seat. But finally she had learned her mistake, and that they were talking about loot from some place or other, and she was greatly alarmed. They were going too fast for her to escape, although once or twice they had struck bunkers which nearly threw her out.
But at last they got into the sand pit, and as the horse climbed up the steep ascent our poor Aggie had heard her teeth drop out of her pocket and had made a frantic clutch at them. The next moment she had alighted on her head in the sand pit and the wagon had gone on.
She was greatly shaken by her experience and had taken a heavy cold; but although we felt about for the blackberry cordial, we could not find it, and could only believe it had miraculously remained in the wagon.
As she finished her narrative our dear Tish slipped quietly over the edge of the pit and sat down, panting, in the sand. The storm being definitely over and a faint moon now showing, we perceived that she carried in her hand a canvas sack tied with a strong cord, and from its weight as she dropped it we knew that at last we had the treasure.
It was a great moment, and both Aggie and I then set about searching for the missing teeth. But as Tish learned of Aggie’s experience she grew thoughtful.
“Undoubtedly,” she said, “those two men are somehow concerned in this robbery to-night, and very probably the rendezvous of the gang is somewhere hereabouts. In which direction did they go, Aggie?”
“They’ve parked the wagod over id those woods.”
“Then,” said Tish, “it is our clear duty——”
“——to go hobe,” said Aggie sharply.
“Home nothing!” said Tish. “Jail is where we go unless we get them. There are fifteen policemen and a sheriff coming for us at this minute, and——” But here she stopped and listened intently. “It is too late,” she said, with the first discouragement she had shown all evening. “Too late, my friends. The police are coming now.”
Aggie wailed dismally, but Tish hushed her and we set ourselves to listen. Certainly there were men approaching, and talking in cautious tones. There was a moment when I thought our dear Tish was conquered at last, but only a moment. Then she roused to incisive speech and quick action.
“I do not propose to be dug out of here like a golf ball,” she stated. “I am entitled to defend myself and I shall do so. Lizzie, see if there are any tools in the car there, and get a wrench.” She then took a firm hold of the treasure bag and swung it in her hand. “I am armed,” she said quietly, “and prepared for what may come. Aggie, get the clothespin, and when I give the word point it like a pistol.”
“Ab I to say ‘bag’?”
But before Tish could reply, the men were fairly on us. We had but time to get behind the car when we could hear their voices. And suddenly Aggie whispered, “It’s theb! It’s the baddits! Ad they’ve beed at the cordial!”
And Aggie was right; they had, indeed, as we could tell by their voices.
“It wash Bill, all righ’,” said one man. “I shaw the litsh of hish car.”
“Well, wheresh he gone to? No car here, no anything. Black ash hell.”
One of them then began to sing a song, in which he requested a bartender to give him a drink, but was quickly hushed by the others, for there were now three of them. Whether it was this one or not I do not know, but at that instant one of them fell over the bunker at the top of the pit and came rolling down at our feet, and Tish, with her customary readiness, at once struck him on the head with the bag of pennies. He was evidently stunned, for he lay perfectly still, and the men above seemed puzzled.
“Hey, Joe!” they called. “Where are you?”
On receiving no reply, one of them lighted a match, and Tish had only time to retire behind the car before it flared up.
“Well, can you beat that? He’sh broken hish neck!”
But the man with the match was sober, and he saw the car and stared at it.
“If that’s Bill’s car,” he said, as the match went out, “we’re up against it. Only—where the devil’s Bill?”
“He’sh dead too, mosht likely,” said the other. “Everybody’sh dead. S’terrible night. Car’sh dead, too; buried in a shea of shand. Shinking rapidly. Poor ole car! Women and children first!”
He then burst into tears and sat down apparently, for the other man kicked him and told him to get up; and then came sliding into the pit and bent over Joe, striking another match as he did so. Hardly had he done so when Tish’s weapon again descended with full force, and he fell beside his unconscious partner in crime.
We had now only the drunken man to deal with; and as Tish wished no more bloodshed, she managed him in a different manner.
In a word, she secured the towrope from the rear seat of the doctor’s car and, leaving Aggie and myself to watch the others, climbed out and approached him from the rear. It was only the work of a moment to pinion his arms to his sides, and as Aggie immediately pointed her impromptu weapon and cried “Hads up!” he surrendered without a struggle. Having securely roped him, we then rolled him into the sand pit with the others, who showed no signs of coming to.
Fatigued as we were by that time, and no further danger threatening for the moment, we rested for a brief time on the ground and ate a few macaroons which I had carried in a pocket against such an emergency. But by “we” I mean only Tish and myself, as poor Aggie was unable to do so—and, indeed, has been living on soft food ever since. Then retrieving the sack containing the Cummings jewels and silver which the burglars had been carrying, we prepared to carry our double treasure back to the town.
Here, however, I feel that our dear Tish made a tactical error, for after we had found the horse and wagon—in the undergrowth just beyond the seventh hole—instead of heading at once for the police station she insisted on going first to the Ostermaier’s.
“It is,” she said, examining her watch by the aid of the flashlight, “now only half past eleven, and we shall not be late if we hurry. After that I shall report to the police.”
“And what is to prevent those wretches from coming to and escaping in the interval?” I asked dryly.
“True,” Tish agreed. “Perhaps I would better go back and hit them again. But that would take time also.”
In the end we compromised on Tish’s original plan and set out once more. The trip back across the links was uneventful, save that on the eighth green the horse got a foot into the hole and was only extricated with the cup still clinging to his foot.
We had no can opener along, and it is quite possible that the ring of the tin later on on the macadam road led to our undoing. For we had no sooner turned away from the town toward the Ostermaier’s cottage on the beach than a policeman leaped out of the bushes and, catching the animal by the bridle, turned a lantern on us.
“Hey, Murphy!” he called. “Here they are! I’ve got ’em! Hands up, there!”
“Stand back!” said Tish in a peremptory voice. “We are late enough already.”
“Late!” said the policeman, pointing a revolver at us. “Well, time won’t make much difference to you from now on—not where you’re going. You won’t ever need to hurry again.”
“But I must deliver this treasure. After that I’ll explain everything.”
“You bet you’ll deliver it, and right here and now. And your weapons too.”
“Aggie, give up your clothespin,” said Tish in a resigned voice. “These yokels apparently think us guilty of something or other, but my conscience is clear. If you want the really guilty parties,” she told the policeman, “go back to the sand pit by the tenth hole and you will find them.”
“April fool your own self,” said the one called Murphy. “I’ve been following you for two hours and I don’t trust you. You’re too resourceful. Is the stuff there?” he asked the first man, who had been searching in the wagon.
“All here.”
“Then we’ll be moving along,” he said; and in this fashion did we reach the town once more, and the station house.
Never shall I forget that moment. Each of us handcuffed and hustled along by the officers, we were shoved into the station house in a most undignified manner, to confront the sheriff and a great crowd of people. Nor shall I ever forget the sheriff’s face when he shouted in an angry voice:
“Women, by heck! When a woman goes wrong she sure goes!”
The place seemed to be crowded with people. The fish-pier man was there, and a farmer who said we had smashed his feed cutter. And Doctor Parkinson, limping about in his bedroom slippers and demanding to know where we had left his car, and another individual who claimed it was his horse we had taken, and that we’d put a tin can on his off forefoot and ought to be sued for cruelty to animals. And even Mr. Stubbs, because his license plates were on our car—and of course the old fool had told all about it—and the Cummings butler, who pointed at Tish and said that after the alarm was raised she had tried to get back into the house again, which was, of course, ridiculous.
I must say it looked bad for us, especially when the crowd moved and we saw a man lying in a corner with an overcoat under his head and his eyes shut. Tish, who had not lost an ounce of dignity, gazed at him without expression.
“I dare say,” she said, “that you claim that that is our work also.”
“Just about killed him, you have,” said the sheriff. “Went right through him with that motorcycle you stole. Murder—that’s what it’s likely to be—murder. D’you get his name, doctor?”
“Only roused enough to say it was Bill,” said Doctor Parkinson. “I wish myself to lodge a complaint for assault and battery against these women. I am per——”
But Tish interrupted him.
“Bill?” she said. “Bill?”
Without a word she pushed the crowd aside, and bending over Bill, with her poor manacled hands she examined him as best she could. Then she straightened herself and addressed the crowd with composure.
“Under this man’s shirt,” she said, “you will find what I imagine to be a full set of burglar’s tools. If your hands are not paralyzed like your brains, examine him and see.”
And they found them! The picture of that moment is indelibly impressed on my mind—the sheriff holding up the tools and Tish addressing the mob with majesty and the indignation of outraged womanhood.
“Gentlemen, this is one of the gang which robbed the Cummings house to-night. Through all this eventful evening, during which I regret to say some of you have suffered, my friends and I have been on their track. Had the motorcycle not wrecked that ruffian’s car, they would now have safely escaped. As it is, when we were so unjustly arrested I had but just recovered the Cummings silver and jewels, and alone and unaided had overcome the remainder of the gang. I am exhausted and weary; I have suffered physical injury and mental humiliation; but I am not too weak or too weary to go now to the sand pit at the tenth hole on the golf links and complete my evening’s work by handing over to the police the three other villains I have captured.”
“Three cheers for the old girl!” somebody called in the crowd. “I’m for her! Let’s go!”
And this, I think, concludes the narrative of that evening’s events. It was almost midnight when, our prisoners safely jailed, we arrived at the Ostermaiers’ to find all the treasure hunters except the Cummingses there and eating supper, and our angel-food cake gracing the center of the table. Our dear Tish walked in and laid the sack of pennies on the table.
“Here is the treasure,” she announced. “It has been an interesting evening, and I hope we shall soon do it again.”
Mr. Ostermaier took up the bag and examined it.
“I have the honor of stating,” he said, “that this, as Miss Carberry claims, is the treasure, and that Miss Carberry wins the hand-painted candlestick which is the prize for the event.” He then examined the bag more carefully, and added:
“But this sack seems to be stained. Perhaps our good sister will explain what the stains are.”
Tish eyed the bag with an expressionless face.
“Stains?” she said. “Oh, yes, of course. I remember now. They are blood.”
Then, leaving them staring and speechless with astonishment, she led the way out of the house, and home.