Lost on the Moon Part 7

He sat on the stone for some minutes longer, and then, tiring of the inactivity, he arose and strolled about. Something seemed to draw him in the direction of the old house, which he knew was just around the bend in the road.

"I guess there wouldn't be any harm in my going along and taking a peep at it," mused the lad. "It will be some time before Jack returns, and I may be able to catch a glimpse of our man. I think I'll go up where I can see the place, and I can come back in time to meet Jack. I'll do it. Maybe the fellow might escape while I'm waiting."

Mark thus tried to justify himself for his action in not keeping to his agreement with his chum. Of course it was not an important matter, Mark thought, though the results of his simple action were destined to be more far-reaching than he imagined. He thought he would be back in time to meet Jack, and so he strolled on, going more cautiously now, for, in a few minutes he would come in sight of the old, deserted house, and he did not know what he might find there.

Mark's first sight of the Preakness homestead was of two old stone posts, that had once formed a fine gateway. The posts were in ruins, now, and half fallen down, being covered with Virginia creeper, the leaves of which were now a vivid red, mingled with green.

"Nothing very alarming there," said Mark, half aloud. He could just catch a glimpse of the roof of the house over the tops of the trees, which had not yet shed all their leaves. "Guess I'll go on a little farther. Maybe our friend, the enemy, is sitting on the front porch, sunning himself."

Past the old gateway Mark continued, intending to proceed along the highway until he got directly in front of the old mansion. There, he knew, he would have a good view, un.o.bstructed by trees or shrubbery.

When the lad got to this place in the road, he paused, and stooped over, as if tying the lace of his shoe, for it was his intention to pa.s.s himself off, if possible, as a casual pa.s.ser-by, so that in case the mysterious man should be in the house, his suspicions would not be aroused by seeing the youth to whom he had written the note staring in at him.

And, while he was apparently fussing with his shoe, Mark was narrowly eying the old house.

"Not a very inviting place," thought Mark. "I don't see why any man who could afford anything better, would stay there--unless he has some strong motive for lingering in this section. And that's probably what this fellow has, and I'd like to discover it. Well, I don't see any signs of him, so I guess I might as well go back, and wait for Jack.

He'll be along soon."

He stood up, took a good look at the house, and was about to retrace his steps down the highway, when he saw the sagging front door of the old mansion slowly open. It creaked on the rusty hinges, and Mark stared with all his might as he saw a man emerge, a man who did not look like a tramp, for his clothes were of good material and cut, and fit him well. Nor did he wear a stubbly growth of beard, but, on the contrary, his face was clean shaven. The man was about Mark's size, perhaps a little taller, and nearly as stout. He stood on the sagging porch, and gazed off toward the road.

"Well, if that's the man d.i.c.k Johnson got the note from he's changed mightily in appearance," thought Mark, as he looked at the fellow. "He isn't very tall, and he hasn't any black mustache. But of course he may have shaved that off, and I suppose in the dark, and when one is in a hurry to earn a quarter, it's hard to say whether a man is tall or short. I wonder if this can be the person we're looking for?"

Mark hardly knew what to do. He stood in the road, undecided, and fairly stared at the man, who had left the porch, and was walking down the weed-grown path. He was looking straight at Mark, but if the stranger was the person who had written the note, and if he recognized the lad, he gave no sign to that effect.

"Good afternoon," said the man, as he paused at the gap in the front wall, where once a gate had been. "Pleasant day, isn't it."

"Ye--yes," stammered Mark, wondering what to say next.

"Live around here?" went on the man.

"Not very far off."

"Ah, then you know this old shack?"

"Well, I don't get over here, very often. Do you live here?" ventured Mark boldly, determining to do some questioning on his own account.

"Me live here?" cried the man, as if indignant "Well, hardly! I was just pa.s.sing, and, happening to see the old place, and having a fondness for antiques, I stepped in. But it is in bad shape. I should say tramps make it their hangout."

"It has that name," said Mark.

There was a pause for a moment, and the lad was a trifle embarra.s.sed.

The man was gazing boldly at him.

"I guess I've made a mistake," thought Mark. "This can't be the man we want. He doesn't live here, and he doesn't look like him. I'd better be getting back to meet Jack."

"Are you engaged at anything in particular?" questioned the man taking a few steps nearer the youth.

"No, I'm not working, but I expect to take a trip, shortly, with some friends of mine," answered Mark.

"Ah, is that so?" and there was polite inquiry in the man's voice. "Are you going far?"

"Quite a distance." Mark wondered what the man would say if he told him he was going to the moon.

"I wonder if you would do me a favor?" went on the man. "As I was pa.s.sing through this old house I saw, on one of the outer doors, an old-fas.h.i.+oned knocker. I am a collector of antiques, and I would very much like to have that. But I need help in getting it off. I do not intend to steal it, but if it is left here some tramp may destroy it, and that would be too bad. I intend to remove it, and then hunt up the owners of this place, and purchase it from them."

"It will be hard to discover who are the owners," replied Mark, "as the t.i.tle is in dispute."

"So much the better for me. Will you help me remove the knocker? I will pay you for your time."

Mark hesitated. He did not like the man's manner, and there was a s.h.i.+fty, uneasy look about his eyes. Still he might be all right. But Mark did not like the idea of going into the old house with him alone.

It might be safe, and, again, it might not. But the knocker was on an outside door. There could be no harm in helping him, as long as it was outside. The man saw the hesitation in the lad's manner.

"It will not take us long," the stranger said. "I want you to help me pry off the knocker, as I have no screw-driver to remove it. I will pay you well."

As he spoke he came nearer to Mark, and the lad noticed that the man's right hand was held behind his back. This struck Mark as rather suspicious. Suddenly he became aware of a peculiar odor in the air--a sweet, sickish odor. He started back in alarm, all his former suspicions aroused. The man seemed to leap toward him.

"Look out!" suddenly cried the fellow. "Look behind you!"

Involuntarily Mark turned. He saw nothing alarming. The next instant he felt himself grasped in the strong arms of the man, and a cloth that smelled strongly of the strange, sweetly sickish odor was pressed over the lad's face.

"Here! Stop! Let me go! Help! Help!" cried Mark. Then his voice died out. He felt weak and sick, and sank back, an inert ma.s.s in the man's arms.

"I guess I've got you this time," whispered the fellow, as he gazed down on Mark's white face. "I'll put you where you won't get away, either," and, picking up the youth, he carried him a prisoner into the deserted house.

CHAPTER VIII

JACK IS PUZZLED

Whistling merrily, with his mind as much on the big field of diamonds he expected to discover on the moon, as it was on anything else, Jack Darrow crossed over the meadows toward the telegraph office.

"By Jinks! It certainly will be great to fly through s.p.a.ce once more,"

he mused. "Of course it isn't much of a trip, only a quarter of a million miles at most, but it will be a little outing for us, and then those diamonds!"

A trip of a quarter of a million miles only a little outing! But then what can be expected of lads who had gone to Mars and back again?

Jack lost no time in reaching the telegraph office, where he left the message to be sent, urging the operator to "rush" it, which that official promised to do.

"'Twon't be no great hards.h.i.+p on me, neither," he said with a cheerful grin, "seein' as how this is the only one I've had to send to-day. I'll get it right off for you, Jack."

Jack meant to hurry back, but, just as he was turning out of the main village street, to cut across lots, and join Mark at the place agreed upon, Jack saw two dogs fighting. It was with the best intentions in the world that he ran toward them, for he wanted to separate them.

However a man was ahead of him, and soon had the two beasts apart. But Jack lingered several moments to see if there would be a renewal of the hostilities. There wasn't, and he hurried on. In a short time he was within sight of the barn, where his chum had agreed to meet him.

"Mark!" cried Jack, when he came within hailing distance.

There was no response.