Peter Cotterell's Treasure Read online

  IV--VISITORS

  Two days later the campers were as much at sea as ever regarding thesecret to which Crusty Christopher had referred in the note left in thepicture frame. They had explored the island and they had explored thehouse, and neither outdoors nor indoors had provided them with a clue.

  John Tuckerman--although David persisted in calling him Professor--wasthe most exuberant and lively of the four. He delighted ineverything,--in the early swim before breakfast, in the cooking andeating, especially in the eating, in sleeping out of doors, and even, itseemed, in washing the dishes. He would sing as he washed, wild,rollicking songs, the words of which he made up as he went along, allabout pirates and sailors and sea-serpents, with a great many"Yo-heave-hos" and "Blow the man down, my lads," by way of chorus; allwhich he accompanied with a pretended hitching up of his trousers assailors were supposed to do to cheer them at their work.

  "There are times when he almost looks like a pirate," David whispered toTom, as they watched Tuckerman sharpening a knife on the sole of hisshoe preparatory to sticking it into a cover of a can of baked beans."Like a pirate, that is, with one exception,--those horn-rimmedspectacles."

  It was true; Tuckerman couldn't look like a daredevil with thoseenormous glasses. But to offset the studious look they gave him his facewas now a beautiful lobster-like red and beginning to peel.

  Any one could see, moreover, that Cotterell Hall was the apple of hiseye. It amused Tom and David to see the affection and pride with whichhe regarded every stick and stone of the old house. Ben was moresympathetic, for Ben was by nature interested in old things, and had inturn collected everything from abandoned bird's nests to rustyjackknives.

  It was Ben who, searching through a cupboard at one side of thefireplace in the front room at the Hall, pulled out a package of oldletters and gave a shout of joy. "Hi there, see what I've found!" hecried as he untied the bundle and threw the envelopes loosely on thetable.

  "What is it? Old letters," said Tom, glancing at the yellowing paper.

  "Postage stamps!" triumphed Ben. "Some of the earliest issues! I'll betyou never saw that St. Louis stamp with the two bears on it before."

  "Humph," said David. "Postage stamps! No one collects them now."

  But John Tuckerman looked over Ben's shoulder, and then snatched up oneof the letters. "You're right, Benjamin. These are rare ones. Ishouldn't wonder if they were worth a great deal of money."

  It was not, however, the money value of the things in the house thatinterested Tuckerman. It was partly his love of old things, especiallyof things that were beautifully made, and partly his feeling that theyhad belonged to the Cotterells for so long, the Cotterells being his ownpeople. "Uncle Christopher owned all these things," he said. "Poor UncleChristopher. He was stiff-necked, no doubt; but he had to suffer for it.I've found a book he wrote in, and I can see that he was too proud tosell his heirlooms, and that he had very little money, and didn't wantanyone to know how hard up he was. So he turned hermit. He didn't reallyhate other people; he was simply so made up that he couldn't mix withthem on an equal footing."

  David pretended to regard the Cotterell family secret as a great joke,although he admitted that he was very much puzzled over what he called"the mystery of the lady with enormous feet." On the same afternoon whenBen found the rare postage stamps, David, being alone with Tom in thefront room, cocked an eye at the painted gentleman on the wall, and thusaddressed him:

  "Sir Peter, I don't want to be disrespectful; but it does seem to me youwere mighty tight with your silver when your good neighbors were doingtheir best to get the thirteen United States started. Or didn't youreally have the things they suspected you of having? You've got a longnose and a twinkle in your eye, and I'd say it mightn't be beyond you tohave your little game at the expense of Barmouth."

  Tom laughed. "You can't judge Sir Peter by yourself, Dave."

  "Certainly not," was the instant reply. "I'll admit we are verydifferent. Nothing could induce me to have my picture taken with a doglike that greyhound cuddling up against my shins. The good people ofBarmouth didn't have any greyhounds or any pie crust tables orgate-legged tables, or whatever kind of tables it is that the Professorfinds so delightful, and they were envious, and rowed their boats outhere, and tramped up to the door, probably looking for all the worldlike a gang of hayseeds."

  "Remember, Dave, your ancestors and mine were probably among them."

  "I'll admit that also," said David, "and for the sake of your feelings,Tom, I'll take back that about their looking like hayseeds. Let me putit this way. A crowd of very nice looking, but temporarily cross andangry people--men and women, and possibly a few dogs--come up to thehouse here and demand to see the elegant Sir Peter. Sir Peter doesn'twant to see them; he doesn't approve of them; he thinks that good oldKing George is just about the proper cheese to rule over him and his.But Sir Peter's a gentleman--you can see that from his portrait--and hedoesn't want to disappoint the neighbors, who've come all the way outhere in boats. So he takes a pinch of snuff and he whistles to hisgreyhound and he goes out on the front steps. He looks down along hisnose at the people of Barmouth and his right eye twinkles--you notice,Tom, that it's his right eye that's the humorous one--and he says:'Friends and fellow citizens, come in and enjoy yourselves. The greenand gold pineapple is over the door and Cotterell Hall is yours for theafternoon. But the silver plate you're so anxious to lay your hands onisn't here any more. It's vanished, vamoosed, flown away; and the familyare using the plain blue and white china kitchen set.' Did they believehim?"

  "No," sang out Tom.

  "Exactly," agreed David, with a bow. "They rushed past him into thehouse, and they threw things about, and they buzzed around like a nestof hornets you happen to hit with a stick. But they didn't find anythingafter all; and the reason is simple--there wasn't anything of the sortthey had in mind to find. It was just Sir Peter's little joke. And itworked to perfection. Ever since people have been wondering what he didwith the silverware he mentioned that day. Sir Peter, my opinion of youis that you were a first-class joker."

  "You may be right," Tom assented, "but for goodness' sake don't rub thatidea in on Mr. Tuckerman and Ben. They're thrilled to the fingertipsabout there being a treasure hidden away somewhere."

  "Babes in the wood!" sniffed David. "I believe you could put almostanything over on the Professor if you dressed it up in old clothes."

  To the skeptical David and the inclined-to-be-skeptical Tom the othertwo now appeared. They had been in the apartment on the second floorthat had been Christopher Cotterell's bedroom and had been rummagingthrough a little secretary that stood between the windows. Tuckerman hada notebook in his hand. "These are jottings my uncle made from time totime," he declared. "Here's one. 'As regards the saying that thehiding-place is just beyond the three pines that stand between two rockswhere the sun goes down, I have scoured and scoured the island, and cometo the opinion that the extreme southwestern point must be the placeintended, although to-day there are only two pines there. I have dug atthis place, but found only sand.'"

  "Maybe we can find another place that answers that description," saidBen hopefully. "And it stands to reason that the four of us can digbetter than your Uncle Christopher, even if he had his servant to helphim."

  David, under cover of his hand, winked at Tom, who pretended not to seehim.

  "Here's another note," Tuckerman continued. "'Find the mahogany-hued manwith the long, skinny legs and look in his breast pocket.' That's asaying my father handed down. What can it mean?"

  "Mahogany-hued man with long, skinny legs," echoed Ben.

  "And a hooked nose and a scar across the left cheek," chortled David."Pirate stuff, of course. There's always someone like that. I supposehe's the fellow who hid the treasure on a dark, stormy night."

  Tuckerman gazed at the speaker with his big, owl-like eyes. "You may beright, although I rather thought of him as a faithful, old-fashionedserving-man, from whom Sir Peter had no
secrets."

  David grinned; but how could anyone joke on a matter that Tuckerman tookso seriously? "Have it your own way," he said. "Probably you're right.But hooked-nose pirate or faithful servant I don't see how the mahoganyone can be of much help to us here to-day."

  Tuckerman closed the notebook. "Suppose we go down to the southwesternpoint. At least we'll get a good view of the sunset and freshen up forsupper."

  When they came to that end of the island they found the ledges andneighboring sand covered with a vast array of sandpipers, all with theirheads turned in the same direction, watching, as it were, a score or soof leaders, who stood out in front, closest to the water. Quietly thoughthe four crept up, they were still a couple of dozen yards from the rearranks when, with one accord and with as smooth a motion as though a sailwere being drawn across the beach, the hundreds of little winged bodiesrose in air and flew out across the waves.

  "By Jove, that's pretty!" said Tom. "They're like ever so many bits ofsilver paper blowing about in the wind."

  So they were. Fascinated, the four watched the sandpipers. When thebirds were tilted one way, on one tack, they could hardly be seenagainst the light, they actually disappeared. Then a tiny deflection, adip and twist of the wings, and they were a network of silver, drawnthis way, then that. They wheeled, they rose, they dropped; no humanbeings ever moved in such perfect precision; it was not as if theyfollowed a leader, it was as if every single sandpiper of the hundredsknew instinctively what the bird just ahead of him would do. And at lastthey descended, like falling leaves, on a flat rock out in the water.

  "I don't see how they can do it," sighed Ben. "We could drill and drillforever, and never get anything like that. Don't tell me that sandpipershaven't brains."

  "You bet your boots they have," said David. "Fine little fellows! Idon't see how anybody can possibly want to shoot them."

  The little fellows rose again and went soaring off against the sunsetsky.

  Tuckerman drew a long breath. "You boys who live by the seashore havemuch to be thankful for. The pioneers who pushed inland must have beenawfully homesick for just such sights as that. Gee whillikins! What agorgeous sky! I could look at it for hours."

  His companions, however, had other things to do. They wanted to locatethe two pines that stood between the two rocks. A short searchdiscovered them. The trees, old and gnarled, twisted of branches on theeastern side, where the winter winds had lashed them, still stood likesentinels between the lichen-covered boulders, where ChristopherCotterell and doubtless others before him back to the days of Peter hadsurveyed them.

  "They're here all right," said Ben. "What was it the notebook said? 'Ihave dug at this place, but found only sand.' Well, there's plenty ofsand--oodles of it. But if you ask my opinion, this isn't the place todig."

  "You're lazy," scoffed David. "Tell me, Mr. Man, why in your learnedopinion isn't this the right place to dig?"

  "I've a hunch it isn't," answered Ben.

  Tuckerman looked at the serious-faced small fellow, and suddenly gave alaugh. "I've got the same sort of a hunch myself. My uncle Christopherdug here and didn't find anything. I don't want to do his work all overagain."

  They let it go at that, and slowly, with an eye to the sunset, whichevery moment grew more like a vast palette on which many colors weremixed, went back by the path through the woods that skirted the westernshore. They reached the old house, and were passing it on their way tothe camp when Tom abruptly halted. "I say, I saw something moving atthat corner window on the second floor! Something white--yes, sir, itmoved. I'll take my word to that!"

  All stopped and gazed at the house. The windows were closed, no curtaincould have been blowing.

  "Nonsense," said David. "What you saw was the sunset reflected on theglass."

  "I'll bet it wasn't," Tom retorted. And straightway he went up thegraveled walk that led to the front door.

  Now usually John Tuckerman had been careful to lock the door when heleft the house, but this time he had forgotten. Tom turned the knob andpushed the door open.

  They all went into the hall and stood there listening. Undoubtedly therewas the sound of footsteps on the floor above.

  "That sounds to me like a giggle," whispered Ben.

  "Sh-ssh," warned David.

  Footsteps tapped on the floor, were coming apparently toward the head ofthe staircase.

  Then unmistakably there was a laugh, a light and merry laugh, in afeminine key.

  In the silence that followed David's voice rose. "The lady with theenormous feet!" he muttered.

  A patter of feet and there came into view two ladies, two ladies inhoopskirts, with white stockings and little black slippers laced withblack ribbons, and flowered silk waists and flat, mushroom-shaped hatswith streamers falling behind. They stood at the head of the staircaseand stared down at the four below.

  "It's Milly and Sally Hooper!" exclaimed Tom.

  "Did I hear someone whisper 'The lady with the enormous feet?'" MillyHallett wrinkled her nose and stuck out the tip of her tongue. "Sarah,my dear, the gentlemen aren't so gallant as they used to be. Whoever sawneater, sweeter slippers than these we have on!"

  Slowly, with a hand to each side of their skirts, which swayed likegreat balloons, the two girls came down the stairs.

  At the foot John Tuckerman stood, bowing. "Ladies, you greatly honor mypoor house," he declared.

  "Who is the gentleman, Milly?" asked Sarah Hooper, a black-haired,black-eyed girl with scarlet ribbons to her hat.

  "Faith, I think it must be one of the comely Cotterells," said Milly."What a fine sunburn he has!"

  "John Tuckerman, at your service," said that gentleman. "Nephew of Mr.Christopher."

  Milly Hallett's blue eyes danced with delightful mischief. "And Mr.Tuckerman, who are the three extraordinary young persons standing in arow behind you? They do look so funny! Such remarkable clothes."

  David looked at Ben, and Ben looked at Tom, and Tom looked down at hiskhaki trousers, which still bore patches of white and green paintacquired a month ago when he was freshening up his canoe.

  "Ladies, these are three experts," Tuckerman explained. "The gentlemanwith the yellow hair and the zebra stripes on his trousers is an expertskipper, the one with the midnight hair and the rich mahogany skin is anexpert fisherman, and the third--with the splendid red complexion andthe curling locks--can cook a meal that will make you forget every otherbreakfast or dinner or supper you ever sat down to."

  "Really!" exclaimed Sarah. "Milly dear, something reminds me that it's along time since we tasted food."

  "I was just about to touch on that point," said Tuckerman. "Will you dous the honor of breaking bread with us? That is, if you won't injureyour exquisite gowns by eating out of doors."

  "They can't sit on the grass in those things," Tom declared. "They'druin them for fair."

  "Oh, can't we!" cried Milly and Sarah in chorus. "Just you watch us doit!"

  And in spite of hoopskirts and tiny slippers and gingerly-perched hatsthe two girls ran to the front door and down the steps to the path. Theother four, catching up with them, piloted them to camp.

  On the way Milly explained. She had felt that she just had to find outwhat was going on at Cotterell's Island--she had feared that bears orghosts, mosquitoes or robbers might have made an end of her brother andhis friends; so she had gotten Sally Hooper, and they had taken Sally'sfather's sailboat and sailed out to the island. They hadn't seen theboys; but when they went up to the white house they found the front doorunlocked. They went in and looked the place all over. In a room on thesecond floor they found oceans of clothes in chests and closets, andthey simply had to try some of them on. Then they thought they'dsurprise the campers. And they certainly had done that, she concluded,because she had never seen four people look so astonished as those fourhad when they saw Sally and her come to the top of the stairs.

  In fifteen minutes supper was under way, a truly marvellous supper, forDavid was determined to show these skeptical girls
what a howling cookhe was. The guests were not allowed to soil their fingers; as a matterof fact they found they had their hands full with trying to manage theirridiculous hoopskirts and sit down in them without smashing the hoops.But they did contrive to seat themselves on a grassy bank, and Millytook off her slippers--which were horribly tight--and the two watchedtheir four serving-men get supper, and occasionally put in a word or soof advice.

  When each of the six had declared that they could not possibly eat asingle additional pancake--no matter how much golden syrup was offeredas an extra inducement--supper came to a conclusion, and Milly cast areflective eye out on the water.

  "Sally and I must be starting back," she said with a sigh; "and I don'tsuppose they'd let us land in Barmouth, dressed in these funny oldclothes."

  Sarah Hooper looked at David, who sat cross-legged on the ground,resting after his labors. "You're a very superior chef," she admitted;"but I want to know what you meant when you heard us upstairs andmurmured, 'The lady with the enormous feet.' Oh yes, I heard you; andthose were the very words you used."

  David laughed. "I plead guilty. But I didn't refer to either you orMilly. I was thinking of a little detective work we have on hand."

  Then he had to explain about the discovery of the very large footprintson the bank of the creek and the finding of a lady's lavender-scentedhandkerchief, with the initials A. S. L., in the kitchen.

  "Oh, I love mysteries!" said Sarah. "I'm always reading detectivestories and working them out before the author tells you exactly whatdid happen."

  "There's the man for you then," said David, pointing at Ben. "Eats 'emalive, he does."

  "Huge footprints and a lady's handkerchief," murmured Milly. "That is afunny combination. But we really must go, or Sally's mother and fatherwill be sending out searching parties."

  They all walked back to the house, and the two girls went upstairs tochange into their own clothes. When they came down again, much morecomfortably dressed, they found the others in the big front room, whereTuckerman had lighted the candles.

  "How lovely!" exclaimed the romantic Sarah. "I adore old furniture. Whata duck of a divan! And that beautiful secretary." She looked at a deskthat stood in a corner, at the other end from the fireplace. "It'smahogany, of course--and what perfect, long, fluted, shiny legs it has!"

  "What's that?" said Ben. "Say it again, and slower."

  "I tell you we must be going back," declared Milly positively. "Nevermind these ducky old things, Sally. Think of your waiting parents."

  So Sally had to go, and they all trooped down to the pier, where Mr.Hooper's sailboat was bobbing about on the tide.

  Tom insisted that he would take the _Argo_, to convoy the girls home;but Milly also insisted that he should do nothing of the kind; she knewhow to handle a boat quite as well as her brother, the wind was right,the water smooth, and she had often sailed later in the evening thanthat. Nevertheless when Milly's boat was out from the island, thecampers embarked in the _Argo_ and sailed along after them, until thelights of Barmouth were visible right ahead. Then, with a good-nightshout, the crew of the _Argo_ brought their craft about and headed backfor the pier.

  They walked through the moonlit woods to their camp, cleaned the dishes,and made things snug for the night. As Ben, seated on a log, pulled offhis shoes, he said to Tom, who sat near him: "Did you hear what Sallysaid about that desk in the corner?"

  "Duck of a thing--some such nonsense."

  "No. She said, 'Mahogany, of course. And what long, fluted, shinylegs.'"

  "Perhaps she did. I don't remember."

  "Doesn't that convey anything to your mind, Tom?"

  "Can't say it does. Mahogany--legs. Oh, I'm too sleepy to think ofanything."

  "Well, it conveys something to me," said Ben. "I think maybe I've got aclue, thanks to innocent Sally. I suppose it's too late to go back tothe house to-night?"

  "It's too late to go anywhere except to sleep," answered Tom shortly. "Iguess your clue will keep. If it's got anything to do with Sir Peter'streasure, it's kept for a hundred years."

  Tom gave a gigantic yawn, and rolled over on to his bed.

  But Ben lay awake for some time, until he got the sound of the lappingof waves on the beach mixed with John Tuckerman's voice singing"Yo--heave--ho, my lads," and then he fell asleep.