Barbour Ralph Henry
Left Tackle Thayer
CHAPTER IX
UNDER SUSPICION
"Burglary? No. Where was it?" asked several voices.
"Black and Wiggin's jewelry store."
"What? Who says so?"
"I says so! I seen it just now."
"Saw the burglary?"
"Naw! Saw where they'd cut a chunk out of the window and gone in. Where you fellows been all morning?"
"Maybe you did it, Mike," suggested a small man across the room, winking to his neighbour.
"Maybe I wished I had!" was the reply. "They say they got away with nearly a thousand dollars' worth of stuff. Blew the safe, they did, and cleaned it out pretty."
"That right? When was this, Mike?"
"Some time last night. A watchman at the collar factory says he seen an automobile stop around the corner near the Baptist Church about three o'clock. Says it didn't have no lights on it. He didn't think much about it, though, he says, and the next time he came round front he looked again and it was gone. The papers had it last week where there was a job just like that done over to Maynard. Two ginks in an automobile came along one night and lifted six or eight hundred dollars' worth of stuff out of a gent's furnishing shop. If they don't raise my pay at the Yards pretty quick I'm going to hire me an automobile, fellows."
This aroused laughter, and an excited discussion of the burglary followed, during which Mr. Cannister quite forgot his orders on the stove and was only recalled to them by an odour of scorching eggs. Two of the customers, having finished breakfast, made known their intention of visiting the scene of the crime, and went out. At the first table inside the door two boys were regarding each other with round and inquiring eyes.
"Do you suppose–" began Clint. But Amy hissed him to silence.
"Wait till we hear more," he cautioned.
But, although they listened with all ears, little more information was forthcoming, save that one Carey, Chief of the local police, was already busy. "He's telephoned all around," said Mike, "and told them to look out for the automobile. But, say, what chance has he got, eh? You can't stop every automobile that goes through and search it for jewelry!"
"What sort of jewelry did they get, Mike?" asked the proprietor.
"Rings and pins and things like that." He chuckled. "It seems that whoever closed up last night left the box they keep their diamonds and stones that ain't set in out of the safe. They found it back of the counter this morning. The robbers hadn't ever seen it. I guess they'd be good and mad if they knew!"
"Come on," whispered Amy. They settled their checks and left the restaurant, trying to disguise their eagerness. After the door had closed behind them the man whom they had asked about the Brimfield trains inquired: "Who are those boys, Can?"
"Don't know. They walked in here about six-thirty and wanted some breakfast. Said they was nigh starved. Looked it, too. And mighty tired. Nice-appearing young fellows. Off on a lark, maybe, trampin' around country."
"Thought they were strangers here. Got any more coffee, Can?"
"What do you think?" asked Amy eagerly as they walked up the street.
"I don't know," replied Clint doubtfully. "What would they be doing there?"
"Burying the stuff they stole, of course! That's what they did, all right. You see if it isn't. Maybe they'll offer a reward and all we'll have to do is go there and dig the things up and–"
"I guess we'd better find the police station and tell what we know, reward or no reward," answered Clint. "And another thing we'd better do is telephone to school and tell them we aren't dead. We're going to catch the mischief, anyway, I reckon, but we might as well save ourselves all we can. Wonder where there's a telephone."
"There's a blue sign over there in the next block," said Amy. "Who–who's going to do the talking?"
"Well, you're pretty fond of it," suggested Clint.
"Not today! Not on Sundays, Clint! I never could talk on Sundays! You'd better do it. And get Josh himself, if you can. He'll like it better than if he hears it from an H.M. Tell him we got lost and–"
But Amy's further instructions were interrupted. A blue-coated policeman who had been observing their approach with keen interest hailed them from the curb at the corner.
"Hello, boys!" he said. "Where'd you come from?"
"We came from Thacher," replied Clint. "That is, we came from there this morning, or, rather, last night. We're from Brimfield, really."
"Are, eh? Thought you said Thacher. What you doing here?''
"Waiting for a train. We lost our way last night and only got here this morning."
"Why didn't you take the seven-o'clock then?"
"We didn't know about it until it was too late. We were getting some breakfast at a restaurant down the street there. We're going to take the nine-forty-six."
"The nine-forty-six is an express to New York, son. What's your name? And what's his?"
"My name's Thayer and his is Byrd. We go to Brimfield Academy."
"Do, eh? Aren't you a long way from home?"
"Yes. You see, we went over to Thacher to the football game and lost the trolley. And then a fellow offered to give us a ride in an automobile as far as this place and we got in and a wheel came off and we had to walk the rest of the way. But we got lost in the woods somewhere and–"
"What sort of a looking fellow was this? The one with the auto, I mean?"
"Oh, he was about twenty years old, with kind of long hair, light-brown, and sort of greyish eyes."
"Tell you his name?"
"No, sir, we didn't ask him. He drives the auto for some liveryman in Thacher, he said."
"Hm. Well, that may be all right, kids, but I've been instructed to look out for suspicious characters this morning, and I guess you'd both better step around to the station with me." He smiled. "I don't suppose the Chief'll keep you very long, but he might like to ask you some questions. See?"
The boys nodded not over-enthusiastically and accompanied the officer. The police station was but a half-block distant on a side street and their captor ushered them up the steps and into a room where a tall, bushy-whiskered man with much gold on his shoulders sat writing at a flat-topped desk.
"Chief, here's a couple of youngsters I met on Main Street just now. I guess they're all right, but I thought maybe you'd like to look 'em over."
The Chief nodded and proceeded to do so. He had a most disconcerting stare, had the Chief, and the boys began to wonder if they had not, perhaps, after all performed that burglary!
"Well, boys," he said finally, "where do you belong?"
"Brimfield Academy," replied Amy.
"Running away, are you?"
"No, sir, we're trying to get back. We went to Thacher yesterday with the football team and started over here in a fellow's auto and it broke down about–about four miles back and we got lost and slept in a sort of hut and got here this morning."
"Where was the hut?" asked the official.
"Just off the road between here and Thacher. About four miles, or maybe five."
"Nearer six," corrected Clint. "We walked four miles, I guess, before we found that sign-post."
The Chief questioned particularly regarding the automobile and its driver, finally taking up the telephone and inquiring of the two local garages if such a car had been brought in for repairs. Both garages replied that they hadn't seen the car and the Chief looked back at Amy speculatively.
"He must have gone back and found that nut," said Amy, "and repaired it himself."
"Maybe," said the Chief. "Who did you say the fellow drove the auto for?"
"I didn't say. I've forgotten the name. Some liveryman in Thacher."
"And he was coming here to get the hotel proprietor, eh?"
"That's what he said."
"And you didn't see him again?"
"No, sir, not unless–"
"Unless what?"
Amy glanced inquiringly at Clint and Clint nodded.
"Unless he was in the car that stopped at the hut in the night," concluded Amy, "and I don't believe he was."
The Chief exchanged a quick look with the policeman and asked indifferently: "Oh, there was a car stopped in the night, eh? What for? Who was in it?"
"We couldn't see who was in it. We were asleep in the hut and woke up with the light in our eyes. Then we heard the car chugging on the road and two men got out and came toward the hut and sort of–sort of walked around for about ten minutes and then went off again."
"Walked around? What were they walking around for?"
"I don't know, sir, but–"
"We think," interrupted Clint, "that they were the men who robbed the jewelry store and that they were burying the things they had stolen."
"You do, eh? Who told you any jewelry store had been robbed?"
"We heard some men talking about it at the restaurant where we had breakfast."
"Where was that?"
"About five blocks that way," said Clint.
"Cannister was the name on the door," explained Amy.
"If you thought the men in the automobile were burying something why didn't you find out what it was after they had gone?"
"We didn't think that until we got here and heard about the burglary. We didn't know what they were doing. It was dark and we had no matches. After they had gone we did sort of feel around there to see if we could find anything, but we couldn't."
"What time was it?"
"I suppose it was about four o'clock. We couldn't see our watches."
The Chief held a hand across the desk. "Let me see yours," he said.
"See what, sir?" asked Clint.
"Your watch." Clint took it off and laid it in the Chief's hand. It was a plain and inexpensive gold watch and was quite evidently far from new. The Chief examined it, opened the back and read the number, and referred to a slip of paper beside him. Then he asked for Amy's and smiled as Amy passed him his nickel timepiece.
"All right," he said, returning them. "What did those two men look like?"
"We couldn't see, sir," replied Amy. "They just had an electric torch and they lighted it only twice. We could just see two pairs of legs and that was all. And a stick."
"A stick?"
"I think it was a shovel," said Clint.
"Were the lights on the car lighted all this time?"
"No, sir, they put them out."
"Could you see the car enough to say whether it was a big one or a little one?"
"No, sir," said Clint, "but I have an idea it was sort of small. The engine sounded like it."
"Suppose you give me your names." They did so and the Chief took off the telephone receiver again. "Hello! Get me Brimfield Academy at Brimfield. This is Chief Carey. I want to talk with the president–"
"Principal, sir," whispered Amy.
"With the principal." A minute or two passed in silence. Then: "Hello," said the Chief. "Is this Brimfield Academy? Well, who am I talking to, please? Mr. Ferner? Fernald?" He looked questioningly at Clint and Clint nodded his head. "Well, this is the Chief of Police at Wharton. Have you got two boys at your school named Clinton Thayer and Amory Byrd, Mr. Fernald? Have, eh? Are they there now?… I see. Well, I guess I've got them here.... No, no, nothing like that. There's been a robbery here and the boys seem to think they have a clue to it. I wanted to find out if they were all right. Yes, they're right here. Certainly, sir."
The Chief held out the telephone and Clint took it.
"Mr. Fernald? This is Thayer, sir. We're awfully sorry, sir, but we got lost last night and had to sleep in a hut near here and we've only just got here a little while ago. We are coming right back, sir."
"How did you happen to get lost?" asked the principal's voice.
Clint explained as best he could.
"Byrd is there with you?"
"Yes, sir. Do you want to speak to him?"
"No. Get back here as soon as you can and come and see me at once. I want this explained a little better, Thayer. That's all. You're not–um–you're not in trouble with the police?"
"No, sir."
"All right. Get back on the first train."
Clint sighed with relief as he returned the telephone to the desk.
"Was he very waxy?" asked Amy anxiously.
"Not very, I reckon," Clint replied. "He wants us to beat it back and see him at once."
"I can scarcely restrain my eagerness," murmured Amy.
"What train were you thinking of taking?" asked the Chief, drawing the telephone toward him again.
"They said there was one at nine-forty-six," replied Clint, "but this–this officer says it doesn't stop at Brimfield."
"We'll soon find out, boys." The Chief consulted a time-table and nodded. "Brimfield at ten-fifteen." He looked at the big clock on the wall. "Seven-forty-five," he muttered. "I guess we can make it." He put the receiver to his ear once more. "Operator? Wharton, 137-M, please. Hello! That you, Gus? This is Dave Carey. Say, Gus, I want an auto to hold five of us besides your driver. What say? Yes, right away. Well, hunt him up. Get here by eight sure. At the station, yes. All right." The Chief returned the receiver and leaned back. "I guess," he said, "you boys had better show us where that place is and we'll have a look at it. It doesn't seem probable to me that the crooks would hide that stuff in a hole, but they might have. If it was getting late they might have been afraid they'd get held up and searched before they got clear. Anyway, we'll have a look."
"Is there any reward for it?" asked Amy.
"Not that I know of," laughed the Chief. "I guess there's a reward for the capture of the fellows who did it. If you can show us where they are you might make a couple of hundred dollars, son. The Jewellers' Protective Association would be glad to square you."
"I'm afraid I don't get that," mourned Amy. "How much is the stuff worth that they swiped?"
"Oh, seven or eight hundred, I guess. Wiggin didn't seem to know just what had been taken. Here's a list of some of it, though. Seven watches, eleven seals and a lot of pins and brooches and studs. They missed the unset stones, the thieves did. Bill, you dig up a couple of spades somewhere and bring around here by eight."
The policeman disappeared and the boys seated themselves to wait.
CHAPTER X
BURIED TREASURE
Some twenty minutes later they were headed in a big seven-seating automobile toward the scene of the boys' early morning adventure. On the front seat with the chauffeur sat Chief Carey and in the tonneau were Clint and Amy and two policemen, one of them the officer who had taken them to the station. At their feet were two brand-new spades.
It was a fine, clear morning and promised to be quite warm by noon. But Clint and Amy snuggled down into the seat and presented as small a portion of their anatomies as was possible to the fresh morning breeze that rushed by them. They passed the first sign-post and the second and the first farm they had seen, but after that the road was quite unfamiliar since they had travelled over it in the dark. The car whisked along at an even thirty-mile speed until, shortly after the farm-house was passed, Clint suggested that as neither he nor Amy were certain as to the location of the hut the car proceed more slowly. After that a careful look-out was kept. No one in the car could recall a hut of any sort along the road, and, when they had travelled at least eight miles from Wharton without finding it, Chief Carey showed signs of impatience. The car was stopped and a consultation was held. The boys reiterated their statement that the hut, to the best of their knowledge, was between four and six miles from Wharton. Finally it was decided that they should turn around and go back slowly in order that the boys could identify the spot where the automobile had met its mishap the afternoon before. Clint was not at all certain that he would know the place when he saw it again, but Amy stoutly asserted that he would recognise it at once. And he did.
There, finally, was the quick turn in the road and beyond, still plainly visible, the tracks of the auto in the looser soil and turf of the bank and meadow.
"There's the tree we ran into," pointed out Amy, "and there's the field we went across. Now let's see. We found a stream there; you can see it, can't you? Then we followed along this side of it and up that sort of hill–"
But beyond that he couldn't trace their wanderings. Woods and pastures ran into each other confusingly. One thing was explained, however, or, rather, two things; why they didn't find the trolley line and why they didn't succeed in reaching the road again. The trolley line, the chauffeur explained, was more than a mile distant, and the road ahead of them turned widely to the left just beyond. They had, consequently, roamed over a stretch of country at least two miles broad between dirt road and railroad. When they went on, which they did very slowly, all hands peered intently along the right side of the highway. They had proceeded possibly three-quarters of a mile when one of the officers called out and the car stopped.
"I think I saw it," he said. "Anyway, there's something there. Back up a little, Tom." The chauffeur obeyed and the quest was at an end. There was the hut, but so hidden by young oak trees with russet leaves still hanging that only from one point was it noticeable. Out they all piled.
"Now," said the Chief, "you boys get in there and stand just where you did last night and then come out and indicate about where those fellows dug–if they did dig."
Clint and Amy obeyed and the others followed slowly across the intervening space. The hut stood further from the road than it had seemed to in the night. A good thirty yards separated the two, and the yellowing turf of long meadow grass was interspersed here and there with clumps of goldenrod and asters and wild shrubs and with small second-growth trees. At the side of the doorway was the tree which they had collided with, a twenty-foot white birch. The hut was even more dilapidated than they had supposed. It looked as if a good wind would send its twisted, sun-split grey boards into a heap. Inside, however, with the sunlight streaming through doorway, window and cracks, it looked more inviting than it had at night. Weeds were growing between the rotting boards and in one corner a hornets' nest as big as their heads hung from a sagging rafter.
"Gee," muttered Amy, "I'm glad we didn't accidentally disturb that, Clint!"
In the doorway they stood and tried to re-enact the happenings of the night. It wasn't easy to decide on the spot where the men had stood, however, but finally they agreed as to its probable location and walked toward the road, keeping a little to the left, for some fifteen yards. That brought them close to a six-foot bush which, they decided, was the one Clint had walked into. The Chief and the others joined them.
"About here, you think?" asked the Chief.
"Yes, sir, as near as we can tell," replied Clint, none too confidently. They viewed the place carefully, but, save that the grass seemed a trifle more trampled than elsewhere, there was nothing to indicate that the soil had been disturbed. Nothing, at least, until one of the officers picked up a torn and twisted oak-seedling some sixteen inches long which lay a few feet away. It's brown roots were broken as if it had been pulled up by force and tossed aside. The Chief nodded and went minutely over the turf for a space several yards in extent, finally giving a grunt of satisfaction.
"Here you are," he said, straightening his body and pointing the toe of one broad shoe at the ground. "They lifted the turf off and put it back again. A pretty good job to do in the dark, I say. Bring your shovels, men."
It was easy enough to see the spot now that the Chief had found it. The turf had been cut through with a shovel or spade and rolled or lifted back. Close looking showed the incision and there still remained some loose soil about the roots of the grass at one side, although the men had evidently striven carefully to hide all traces of their undertaking. In a moment the turf was once more up and the spades were plunging into the loosened soil beneath. Clint and Amy watched excitedly. Presently one of the officers stopped digging, since there was now only room for one spade in the excavation. Once there was an expectant pause while the digger reached in with his hands and grubbed in the moist red gravel. But it was only a stone he pulled out.
The hole was down almost two feet now and the Chief was beginning to frown anxiously. "They made a good job of it," he growled. "I guess–"
But he forgot to say what he guessed, for just at that moment there was an exclamation from the officer who was wielding the spade and all bent forward as he dropped his implement and reached down into the hole. When he straightened up again he brought a small bundle wrapped in a piece of black rubber sheeting. The Chief seized it and unwrapped the sheeting, laying bare a small pasteboard box tied with a piece of pink string. With the string undone and the lid off one glance was enough to show that they had found the stolen jewelry.
"That's the stuff, all right," said the Chief with satisfaction. "And I guess it's all here, from the looks. You'd better dig down and make sure, though."
The officer obeyed, while the others crowded around the Chief. The stolen things had been tossed carelessly into the box, a few still wrapped in squares of tissue paper but the most rattling together indiscriminately. There were watches and scarfpins and brooches and studs and watch charms and several bracelets and one platinum and gold chain. The robbers had selected carefully, for every article was valuable, although it still seemed possible that the Chief's estimate of seven hundred dollars was generous enough.
"They'll be some surprised if they ever come back for it, won't they?" asked the chauffeur with a chuckle. "Say, Chief, why don't you set a man to watch for 'em?"
"I would if I knew when they were coming," replied the official drily. "But they may not come back here for a month. Maybe they won't then. They won't if we can get our hands on them," he added grimly.
The officer who had been probing the hole further reported nothing more there, and, well satisfied, they returned to the car.
"I'll check this up when we get back to the station," said the Chief, tossing the box carelessly to the seat. "Black and Wiggin are mighty lucky to get it back. They wouldn't have if it hadn't been for these chaps. Say, boys, you tell Wiggin he ought to give you something for this. You certainly deserve it." And the officers agreed.
"Oh, if there isn't any reward offered," said Amy, "we don't want anything."
"Well, he ought to be willing to give you something. How much time is there before that train goes? Most an hour? That's all right then. We'll go back to the station and I'll 'phone Wiggin to come around."
The return trip was made in quick time and almost before they knew it the boys were back in the Chief's office at the station house. The Chief wouldn't consent to their leaving until Mr. Wiggin had arrived, although they both declared that the jeweller didn't owe them anything and that they mustn't on any account lose their train.
"You won't," replied the Chief. "You can walk to the station in three minutes and you've still got forty. Sit down there while I check this stuff up."
They obeyed and looked on while he dumped the things from the box to the top of the desk and pulled his memorandum toward him. One by one he pushed the articles aside and checked the list with a pencil. Finally he chuckled. "Wiggin didn't know much more'n half the stuff he lost," he said. "There's nine watches here instead of seven and a lot more other things than he's got down here on his list. Here he is now, I guess."
Mr. Wiggin was a bewhiskered, nervous-mannered little man and he hurried into the Chief's office as though he had run all the way from his house or store.
"Well, well, Chief!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "So you've found it, eh? I want to know! I want to know! Got the thieves too, eh?" He scowled darkly at Clint and Amy, and Amy was heard to assert under his breath that he hoped Mr. Wiggin would choke. The Chief laughed.
"No, we haven't got the thieves, Mr. Wiggin. These boys gave us the clue that led to the stuff. Shake hands, boys, with Mr. Wiggin. That's Byrd and that's Thayer. They're Brimfield Academy fellows, Mr. Wiggin, and they happened to see the thieves burying the things about five miles out of town toward Thacher." Whereupon the Chief told the story to the jeweller and the latter, recovering from his embarrassment, insisted on shaking hands again.
"I want to know!" he ejaculated, beaming at them like a pleased sparrow. "I want to know! Smart lads, eh, Chief? Now–now–" He hesitated, his eyes darting from Clint to Amy and from Amy to the Chief. Then he cleared his throat nervously, slapped his hands together gently and continued. "There–hem–there was no reward offered, boys, but–"
"That's all right," replied Amy briskly. "We don't want anything, Mr. Wiggin."
"No, no, of course not, of course not! Only–hem–I was thinking that–possibly, say, fifty dollars between you, or–"
"No, thanks," interrupted Clint. "We're glad we were able to help you recover the things, sir. And now I reckon we'll have to be getting to the station."
But Mr. Wiggin was the sort who becomes more insistent against opposition. Really, the boys must take something! Really they must! He appealed to Chief Carey, and the Chief agreed. "Now–now–" continued the jeweller, "say a watch apiece, if they didn't like to take money. Just a gold watch. Here were two nice ones!"
In the end his insistence won, the boys becoming at last too embarrassed and too fearful of losing their train to refuse longer. A handsome gold watch, not much thicker than a book-cover, was attached to Amy's chain, while Clint, having a perfectly good watch already, was invited to select something else from the array on the desk and finally allowed himself to become possessed of a diamond and ruby scarfpin which was much the finest thing he had ever owned. And then, with ten minutes to reach the station in, they shook hands with the jeweller and Chief Carey and relievedly hurried out, the Chief's hearty invitation to come and see him again pursuing them into the corridor.
A very few minutes afterwards they were seated in the train and speeding toward Brimfield.
"And now," said Amy brightly, "all we've got to do is to give our little song and dance to Josh!"
