The Voyage of the Hoppergrass Part 25

"Did you see him go?"

"Why, yes...I..."

"Did you really see him set out on the road and depart?"

"Well, no...I don't know that I did. He went around one corner of the house, as I went around the other with Snider... Why? What do you mean?"

"He aint down under the wharf salting these gold-boxes or doing some other kind of monkey business with 'em? Hey?"

"Why, no," I persisted, weakly, "he's gone to Lanesport, I tell you."

But the idea struck me for the first time,--"down under the wharf,"--that was where I had seen them both yesterday.

"Gone to Lanesport?" he continued, "but you say yourself that you have only his word for it. Why should he go there today? That looked fishy to me, right on the start. Now the easiest way to account for that trick Snider did out there on the wharf is that there's someone down there hitching on another box or stuffing in that gold. It was a pretty good trick, and you saw how it took with them."

"But they say that was real gold, and that those nuggets are real."

"Of course they're real. What of it? They could buy that amount of gold ten times over--twenty times over--with what they've taken in this morning. And they expect another boat-load of suckers this afternoon. And this is only the beginning,--Snider's been rustling around amongst a lot of women and old people over in Lanesport, and they're about ready to make over their bank- accounts to him. They LIKE him, you know,--a lot of folks DO like just that kind of slippery snake. It's funny,--you'd think anyone with ordinary common-sense would grab hold of his watch and his small change, and hang on to it--hard, as soon as Br'er Snider hove in sight. But no,--they try to crowd their money onto him...

Real gold! Of course it was real,--that's what fetched 'em. They don't stop to think that there's no connection proved between the gold and the sea-water. What got 'em interested at first was old man Chick's reputation for honesty. He is honest,--no doubt about that, honest as the day is long. Only he's been fooled like the rest of 'em,--he was over here two weeks ago, and they did their trick for him then, with the tin box and the battery, and the blue and white powders, and all the rest of it. They gave him some of the gold they made then, and he carried it up to the city and had it a.n.a.lyzed. But they could make gold in J. Harvey Bowditch's tall hat just as well as in that old tin box."

I had been thinking all the time he was speaking.

"Look here," I said, "I saw them down under the wharf, yesterday afternoon."

"You did? Where?"

I told him all about it,--how I had seen them both on the platform above the water, what they were doing, and how guilty they had acted.

"There's a trap-door, then? Do you suppose you can point it out to me? Let's stroll down there now. Pretend to be talking about something else, and just cough when we are on the trap."

It was not very easy to do. There were about thirty people standing on that little wharf, and they had left baskets, coats and shawls here and there, so that the standing room was pretty well covered. Besides, when I came to look for the trap-door I found I could hardly pick it out, it had been so skilfully made.

At last I thought we were on it, so I coughed, and the black-eyed man halted. He had been telling me some story all the time, and now he turned toward me and held out both his hands as if he were measuring the size of a fish or something. Then he pointed out into the bay, threw back his head and laughed. Finally he glanced down at the trap-door, looked up again quickly, and went on with his story. Then he moved off the door, looked down at it again, pinched my arm, and whispered: "Say, I think I'll come back here this afternoon, and have another look at this."

My back had been turned toward Mr. Snider all the time. He was still at the little table, folding up his certificates. Now I turned and glanced toward him, and found that he was watching us very intently. I turned again, and walked toward the end of the wharf. As I did so, the whistle of the steam-boat blew a loud toot, and the people began to crowd on board. I walked on with the rest, getting separated, for the moment, from my friend the black- eyed man. I saw him talking with two other men, and a little later saw Mr. Snider and Mr. Bowditch whispering together and glancing in my direction.

Well, I thought I was departing from Rogers's Island, and from Snider, for good and all. You would hardly believe how I got left behind. I heard someone say, "Oh, here's the boy who is going to find my shawl for me!" and I looked around and saw a nice, smiling old lady.

"Mr. Bowditch says he won't let the steamer go, if you'll run up to the house and see if you can find my grey shawl,--I must have dropped it in the gra.s.s there, where we set down."

I wouldn't have done it for Snider,--I would have suspected some kind of a trick. But I think the lady was sincere, and moreover you don't suspect an old person in a black silk dress, with gold spectacles, of laying plots and playing tricks. Her request was genuine enough,--Snider simply took advantage of it to let the steam-boat go without me.

I was less than five minutes in running up to the house, hunting in the gra.s.s until I felt sure the shawl was not there, and starting back to the wharf again. But while I had been out of sight of the "May Queen" they had cast off the lines and steamed away. There she was, going merrily, her stern pointed toward the island, a trail of thick smoke floating back, the band playing "After the Ball," and no one paying the slightest attention to me!

Yes, there was though,--just one! The old lady in the black silk dress was standing near the stern waving her hands. I held up mine,--empty--to show that I had not found the shawl, and ran down the wharf shouting: "Wait! Stop! Come back!"

It was a silly performance. No one heard me, and I do not suppose it would have made the slightest difference if they had. They would not turn the boat around and come back for someone who had no business on board anyway.

Mr. Snider was not in sight. Had he gone on the steam-boat? Or crawled through his trap-door underneath the wharf? I did not know, but I was angry with him. I felt sure that he had purposely let the boat go without me,--it was part of their scheme to keep me there, until the people had gone in the afternoon.

Now I should have to go that roundabout way by the road, and get to Lanesport two or three hours late. There was nothing else to be done, however, so I went up the wharf once more, and started along the road. At the turn, just beyond the house, I found Mr. Snider, walking up and down with his hands behind his back. His face was rather red, and he did not attempt to smile.

"Why, James," he said, "so you lost the boat! Well, you can take the one this afternoon."

"I'm going now," said I, "I'm going to walk."

And I tried to pa.s.s him. He stepped in front of me.

"Just one moment!" said he, "I would rather you stayed until this afternoon, and then--"

"Let me go," I answered, "you promised me I could go on the steam- boat, and then you let it sail without me."

"James, I am sorry to hear you accuse me--"

I tried again to dodge by him, but he reached out one of his long arms and grabbed me by the coat-sleeve. I jerked it out of his grasp however, and jumped to the side of the road and tried to pa.s.s him in the gutter. He headed me off with two strides,--he couldn't dodge as quick as I, but his long legs gave him an advantage. Then I lost my head and threatened him.

"You'd better let me pa.s.s," I said, "I know all about your game here,--and your trap-door in the wharf!"

His face became pale again in an instant, not white,--lead color.

"You little brat!" he squeaked, "I'll wring your neck for you!"

And he made another grab at me. I dodged again, and a third time, and as I did so caught one foot in the gra.s.s, stumbled and fell.

He had me by the coat collar hi a second, and in another second I was out of the coat and running back toward the house. I did not wish to go there, but I didn't have time to choose. The thing to do then was to get away from Mr. Snider. He dropped the coat and came after me on the run.

He was a good runner, was Mr. Snider, but I knew I could beat him if I had any sort of a start. His stride was longer, but he couldn't move as quick. Besides, he was out of practice. When I dashed in at the front door he was just coming up the path. I slammed the door and tried to lock it. But the bolt was rusty and it stuck. I gave that up and ran upstairs, two steps at a time.

When I reached the landing I ran along the pa.s.sage toward the rear in order to get to the stairs to the third storey. Just as I started up them I heard Mr. Snider burst in at the front door. On the third storey I had to hunt about a little for the stairs to the attic. I found them in a moment or two, and ran up into the attic, and hid behind a trunk in a dark corner.

That had been my idea,--to hide in the attic. And a very foolish idea it was,--I can see that now. It is quite easy--sitting here and writing about it--to think of three or four better plans. I ought to have kept outdoors, and then I could have run around the house, dodged Mr. Snider, and got a clear start again for the road across the marsh. He could not have caught me then. The hero of "The Rifle Rangers," for instance, would have planned all that out while he was running up the road with Mr. Snider ten feet behind.

But I hadn't planned it. My one idea was to get away from Mr.

Snider. He looked as if he would murder me,--or, at any rate, half-murder me, and I did not wish to be murdered, nor even half- murdered. I had rushed into the house without thinking what I was doing, and now here I was, caught like a rat in a trap, in this hot, dark, and dusty attic.

For I very soon saw that if Mr. Snider came up into the attic there was no place to retreat. I could hear him now, hunting through all the rooms and closets down below. As soon as he found I was in none of them, up the attic stair he would come. And then he would simply poke about among the boxes and trunks until he found me. I had run up one flight after another until I had reached the top, and now I could go no higher.

No higher? How about the roof? There must be a ladder and a scuttle in the roof. If I could get up there and close the scuttle again perhaps I would be safe. Mr. Snider might stop at the attic.

I jumped up from behind the trunk and hunted about in the semi- darkness. There were other trunks and boxes, old shoes and old umbrellas on the floor, and I stumbled and b.u.mped against all of them. Two or three coats or suits of clothes were swinging from hooks, dangling unpleasantly, like hanging men. But I found the ladder at last. There was a faint rim of light above, at the edge of the scuttle. It was high time I found it, for I could hear Mr.

Snider in the room below now, and I felt sure he would come upstairs in a minute.

The ladder was rickety, but it held, and I got to the top, and began to fumble for the hasp or lock of the scuttle. It was thick with cob-webs and dust, and for a while it refused to move. While I was working at it I heard Mr. Snider open the door at the foot of the attic stairs.

I stood perfectly still on the ladder. In books they tell how, when you are frightened, your heart comes into your mouth. It isn't at all what happens. Your heart stays right where it always is, but it thumps so loud that you feel as if it could be heard in the next room. And your throat becomes horribly dry, all of a sudden, and seems to be closing up. It gets so narrow that you can scarcely breathe.

Mr. Snider paused for a moment and seemed to listen. Then he closed the door again and tip-toed away. I went to work at the hasp again, and finally I had it open. I raised the scuttle, as quietly as I could, and stepped out on the roof.

The glare of the sun almost blinded me at first. Then I saw that I was on a flat part of the roof,--the highest point in the house.

The roof sloped on either side toward an enormous chimney. The s.h.i.+ngles were old and rotten.

Looking off, I could see a great distance in almost every direction. Across the bay, so far that I could hardly see the steam-boat herself, was a trail of black smoke from the "May Queen." The water on the other side of the house was hidden by the trees.

I turned again to make sure that I had replaced the scuttle. As I did so I heard Mr. Snider's footsteps in the attic beneath. My first thought was to sit on the scuttle hoping to keep it closed.