Stratemeyer Edward
Dave Porter on Cave Island: or, A Schoolboy's Mysterious Mission

CHAPTER IX – NAT POOLE GETS CAUGHT

In the middle of the week came Phil and Roger, in the midst of another snowstorm that was so heavy it threatened to stall the train in which they arrived. Dave went to the station to meet them.

“Say, what do you think?” burst out Phil, while shaking hands.

“We saw Jasniff and Merwell!” finished the senator’s son.

“You did!” ejaculated Dave. “Where?”

“On our train. We walked through the cars at Melton, to see if we knew anybody aboard, and there were the pair in the smoker, smoking cigarettes, as big as life.”

“Did you speak to them?”

“Didn’t get the chance. The car was crowded, and before we could get to Jasniff and Merwell they saw us, ran down the aisle the other way, and got off.”

“Is that so? Evidently they must know we are on their track,” said Dave, shaking his head gravely.

“I wish we could have collared ’em,” went on the shipowner’s son. “I’d like to punch their heads.”

“Don’t do it, Phil. If you ever catch them, call an officer and have them locked up. A thrashing is wasted on such rascals.”

“Do you know some more about them?” questioned Roger, quickly.

“I do.” And then Dave related what Nat Poole had had to say, and also told about how Laura and Jessie had been scared when attending the church fair.

“You are right, they ought to be locked up,” was Roger’s comment.

“By the way, did you hear the news from Oak Hall?” went on Phil, as they drove off towards the Wadsworth mansion.

“What news?”

“Somehow or other, the storm lifted off two of the skylights from the roof of the main building and the snow got in the garret and there the heat from the chimney must have melted it, for it ran down – the water did – through the floor and loosened the plaster in several of the dormitories, including ours. I understand all of the plaster has got to come down.”

“What a muss!”

“Yes, and it is going to take several weeks to fix it up – they couldn’t get any masons right away.”

“Then where will we sleep when we go back?”

“I don’t know. I understand from Shadow that the doctor was thinking of keeping the school closed until about the first of February.”

“Say, that will give us quite a holiday!” exclaimed Dave.

“For which all of us will be profoundly sorry,” responded Phil, making a sober face and winking one eye.

The girls greeted the newcomers with sincere pleasure.

“What a pity Belle Endicott isn’t here,” sighed Laura.

“So it is,” answered Jessie. “We’ll have to do what we can to make up for her absence.”

Two days later it cleared off, and the young folks enjoyed a long sleigh-ride. Then they went skating, and on New Year’s Eve attended a party given at Ben Basswood’s house. Besides our friends, Ben had invited Sam Day and Buster Beggs, and also a number of girls; and all enjoyed themselves hugely until after midnight. When the clock struck twelve, the boys and girls went outside and tooted horns and rang a big dinner-bell, and wished each other and everybody else “A Happy New Year!”

The celebration on the front piazza was at its height when suddenly came a shower of snowballs from a near street corner. One snowball hit Dave in the shoulder and another landed directly on Jessie’s neck, causing the girl to cry out in mingled pain and alarm.

“Hi! who’s throwing snowballs!” exclaimed Roger, and then came another volley, and he was hit, and also Laura and one of the other girls. At once the girls fled into the house.

“Some rowdies, I suppose,” said Phil. “I’ve half a mind to go after them.”

“We can’t without our hats and coats,” answered Dave.

Just then came another shower of snowballs and Dave was hit again. This was too much for him, and despite the fact that he was bare-headed and wore a fine party suit, he leaped down on the sidewalk and started for the corner. Phil and Roger came after him. Ben rushed into the hallway, to catch up two of his father’s canes and his chums’ hats, and then he followed.

Those who had thrown the snowballs had not dreamed of being attacked, and it was not until Dave was almost on them that they started to run. There were three boys – two rather rough-looking characters. The third was well dressed, in a fur cap and overcoat lined with fur.

“Nat Poole!” cried Dave, when he got close to the well-dressed youth. “So this is your game, eh? Because Ben didn’t see fit to invite you to his party, you think it smart to throw snowballs at the girls!”

As he spoke Dave ran closer and suddenly gave the money-lender’s son a shove that sent him backwards in the snow.

“Hi, you let me alone!” burst out Nat, in alarm. “It ain’t fair to knock me down!”

By this time Dave’s chums had reached the scene, and seeing Nat down they gave their attention to the two others. They saw that they were roughs who hung around the railroad station and the saloons of Crumville. Without waiting, Ben threw a cane to Roger and sailed in, and the senator’s son followed. Both of the roughs received several severe blows and were then glad enough to slink away in the darkness.

When Nat got up he was thoroughly angry. He had hired the roughs to help him and now they had deserted the cause. He glared at Dave.

“You let me alone, Dave Porter!” he cried.

“Not just yet, Nat,” replied our hero, and catching up a handful of loose snow, he forced it down inside of the other’s collar. Then the other lads pitched in, too, and soon Nat found himself down once more and all but covered with snow, which got down his neck, in his ears and nose, and even into his mouth.

“Now then, don’t you dare to throw snowballs at the girls again!” said Dave sternly. “It was a cowardly thing to do, and you know it.”

“If you do it again, we’ll land on you ten times harder than we did just now,” added Ben.

“And don’t you get any more of those roughs to take a hand,” continued Dave. “If you do, they’ll find themselves in the lock-up, and you’ll be there to keep them company.”

“You just wait!” muttered Nat, wrathfully. “I’ll fix you yet – you see if I don’t!” And then he turned and hurried away, but not in the direction his companions had taken. He wanted to escape them if possible, for he had promised each a dollar for aiding him and he was now in no humor to hand over the money. But at another corner the roughs caught up to him and made him pay up, and this added to his disgust.

When Dave and the others got back to the house they were considerably “roughed up,” as Roger expressed it. But they had vanquished the enemy and were correspondingly happy. They found that the girls had not been much hurt, for which everybody was thankful.

“Maybe they’ll lay for you when you go home,” whispered Ben to Dave, when he got the chance.

“I don’t think they will,” answered Dave. “But we’ll be on our guard.”

“Why not take a cane or two with you?”

“We can do that.”

When it came time to go home the girls were somewhat timid, and Jessie said she could telephone for the sleigh. But, as it was a bright, starry night, the boys said they would rather walk, and Laura said the same.

In spite of their watchfulness, the boys were full of fun, and soon had the girls laughing. And if, under those bright stars, Dave said some rather sentimental things to Jessie, for whom he had such a tender regard, who can blame him?

On the day following New Year’s came word from Oak Hall that the school would not open for its next term until the first Monday in February.

“Say, that suits me down to the ground!” cried Phil.

“Well, I’m not shedding any tears,” answered Roger. “I know what I’d like to do – take a trip somewhere.”

“I don’t know where you’d go in this winter weather,” said Dave.

“Oh, some warm climate – Bermuda, or some place like that.”

Another day slipped by, and Dave was asked by his father to go to one of the near-by cities on an errand of importance. He had to go to a lawyer’s office and to several banks, and the errand took all day. For company he took Roger with him, and the boys did not get back to Crumville until about eleven o’clock at night.

“Guess they thought we weren’t coming at all,” said Dave, when he found no sleigh awaiting him. “Well, we can walk.”

“Of course we can walk,” answered the senator’s son. “I’ll be glad to stretch my legs after such a long ride.”

“Let us take a short cut,” went on Dave, as they left the depot. “I know a path that leads almost directly to our place.”

“All right, if the snow isn’t too deep, Dave.”

“It can’t be deep on the path, for many of the men who work at the Wadsworth jewelry place use it. It runs right past the Wadsworth works.”

“Go ahead then.”

They took to the path, which led past the freight depot and then along a high board fence. They turned a corner of the fence, and crossed a vacant lot, and then came up to one corner of the jewelry works, at a point where the new addition was located.

“Now, here we are at the works,” said Dave. “It’s not very much further to the house.”

“Pretty quiet around here, this time of night,” remarked Roger, as he paused to catch his breath, for they had been walking fast. “There doesn’t seem to be a soul in sight.”

“There is usually a watchman around, old Tony Wells, an army veteran. I suppose he is inside somewhere.”

“There’s his lantern!” cried the senator’s son, as a flash of light shone from one of the windows. Hardly had he spoken when the light disappeared, leaving the building as black as before.

“It must be a lonely job, guarding such a place,” said our hero, as he and his chum resumed their walk. “But I suppose it suits Tony Wells, and he is glad to get the money it brings in.”

“They must have a lot of valuable jewelry there, Dave.”

“Oh, yes, they have. But it is all locked up in the safes at night.” Dave thought of the Carwith diamonds, but remembered his promise not to mention them to anybody.

As the boys turned another corner they came face to face with a fat man, who was struggling along through the snow carrying two heavy bundles.

“Hello!” cried Dave. “How are you, Mr. Rowell?”

“Bless me if it isn’t Dave Porter!” cried Amos Rowell, who was a local druggist. “Out rather late, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So am I. Had to visit some sick folks and I’m carrying home some of their washing. Goodnight!” and the druggist turned down one road and Dave and Roger took the other.

Inside of five minutes more our hero and his chum were at the entrance to the Wadsworth mansion. Just as they were mounting the steps, and Dave was feeling in his pocket for his key, a strange rumble reached their ears.

“What was that?” asked the senator’s son.

“I don’t know,” returned Dave, in some alarm. “It sounded to me as if it came from the direction of the jewelry works!”

CHAPTER X – WHAT HAPPENED AT THE JEWELRY WORKS

“The jewelry works?” repeated Roger.

“Yes. What did it sound like to you?”

“Why, like a blast of some kind. Maybe it was at the railroad.”

“They don’t work on the railroad at night – especially in this cold weather, Roger. No, it was something else.”

Both boys halted on the piazza and listened. But not another sound out of the ordinary reached their ears.

“Might as well go in – it’s getting pretty cold,” said the senator’s son.

Dave unlocked the door and they entered the mansion. A dim light was burning in the hallway. While they were taking off their caps and coats Dave’s father appeared at the head of the stairs.

“Got back safely, did you?” he questioned.

“Yes, dad; and everything in the city was all right,” answered the son. “I’ll bring the package up to you.”

“Never mind – I’ll come down and put it in the safe,” answered Mr. Porter. “By the way,” he went on, “what was that strange noise I just heard?”

“That is what we were wondering,” said Roger. “It sounded like a blast of dynamite to me.”

“Maybe something blew up at the powder works at Fenwood,” suggested Dave. The works in question were fifteen miles away.

“If it did, we’ll hear about it in the morning,” returned Mr. Porter, as he took the package Dave gave him and disappeared into the library, turning on the electric light as he did so.

The boys went upstairs and started to undress. Phil had been asleep, but roused up at their entrance. The boys occupied a large chamber, with two double beds in it, for they loved to be together, as at school.

“Listen to that!” cried Dave, as he was unlacing a shoe.

“It’s the telephone downstairs!” cried Phil. “My, but it’s ringing to beat the band!” he added, as the bell continued to sound its call.

The boys heard Mr. Porter leave the library and go to the telephone, which was on a table in an alcove. He took down the receiver.

“Yes! yes!” the boys heard him say. Then followed a pause. “You don’t mean it! When, just now? Was that the noise we heard? Where did they go to? Wait, I’ll call Mr. Wadsworth. What’s that? Hurry!” Then followed another pause. “Cut off!” they heard Mr. Porter mutter.

“Something is wrong!” murmured Dave.

Mr. Porter came bounding up the stairs two steps at a time. Dave and the other boys met him in the hallway.

“What is it, Dad?” asked the son.

“Robbers – at the jewelry works!” panted David Porter. “I must notify Mr. Wadsworth!” And he ran to a near-by door and pounded on it.

“What is it?” came sleepily from the rich manufacturer. He had heard nothing of the telephone call, being down deep in the covers because of the cold.

“Mr. Wadsworth, get up, get up instantly!” cried Mr. Porter. “You are wanted at the jewelry works. I just got something of a message from your watchman. Some robbers have blown open your safes and they attacked the man, but he got away long enough to telephone. But then they attacked him again, while he was talking to me! We’ll have to get down there at once!”

“Roger, did you hear that?” gasped Dave. “That’s the noise we heard!”

“Yes, and they attacked the watchman,” responded the senator’s son.

“I’m going back there,” went on Dave. “The others will have to stop and dress. Maybe we can catch those rascals.”

“Yes, and save the watchman, Dave!”

By this time Mr. Wadsworth had appeared, in a bath-robe, and Dunston Porter also showed himself. Dave slipped on his shoe again and fairly threw himself into his coat, and Roger also rearranged his toilet.

“Wait – I’ll go with you!” cried Phil.

“Can’t wait, Phil – every second is precious!” answered our hero. “You can follow with the men.”

“Take the gun, or a pistol – you may need it,” urged the shipowner’s son, as he started to dress.

In a corner stood Dave’s double-barreled shotgun, loaded. He took it up. Roger looked around the room, saw a baseball bat in another corner, and took that. Then the boys ran out into the hallway, where the electric lights were now turned on full. The whole house was in a hubbub.

“We are dressed and we’ll go right down to the works,” said Dave. “I heard what father said, Mr. Wadsworth. We’ll help Tony Wells, if we can.” And before anybody could stop him, he was out of the house, with Roger at his heels.

“Be careful, Dave!” shouted his uncle after him. “Those robbers may be desperate characters.”

“All right, Uncle Dunston, I’ll watch out.”

“If you chance to see a policeman, take him along. I’ll come as soon as I can get some clothing on.”

Tired though they were, the two boys ran all the distance to the jewelry works. When they got there they found everything as dark and as silent as before. They had met nobody.

“How are you going to get in?” asked Roger, as they came to a halt before the main door.

Dave tried the door, to find it locked. “Let us walk around. The thieves may be in hiding somewhere,” he suggested.

They made the circuit of the works, once falling into a hole filled with snow. Nothing unusual met their eyes, and each gazed questioningly at the other.

“It can’t be a joke, can it?” suggested Roger. “Nat Poole might – ”

“No, I’m sure it was no joke,” broke in our hero. “Wait, I’ll try that little side-door. I think that is the one the watchman generally uses.”

He ran to the door in question and pushed upon it. It gave way, and with caution he entered the building. All was so dark he could see absolutely nothing.

“I guess we’ll have to make a light,” he said, as his chum followed him. “Wait till I see if I have some matches.”

“Here are some,” answered Roger. “Wait, I’ll strike a light. You keep hold of that gun – and be ready to use it, if you have to!”

The senator’s son struck one of the matches and held it aloft. By its faint rays the boys were able to see some distance into the workshop into which the doorway opened. Only machines and work-benches met their gaze. On a nail hung a lantern.

“We’ll light this,” said Dave, taking the lantern down. “You can carry it, and I’ll keep the gun handy.”

With lantern and gun held out before them, and with their hearts beating wildly, the two youths walked cautiously through the workshop. They had to pass through two rooms before they reached the entrance to the offices. The light cast curious shadows on the walls and the machinery, and more than once the lads fancied they saw something moving. But each alarm proved false.

“Why not call the watchman?” suggested Roger, just before entering the offices.

They raised their voices and then raised them again. But no answer came back.

“Would he telephone from the office?” asked the senator’s son.

“I suppose so – although there is another ’phone in the shipping-room.”

The boys had now entered one of the new offices. Just beyond was the old office, with the two old safes, standing side by side.

“Look!” cried Roger, in dismay.

There was no need to utter the cry, for Dave was himself staring at the scene before him. The old office was in dire confusion, chairs and desks being cast in various directions. All of the windows were broken out and through these the chill night air was entering.

But what interested the boys most of all was the appearance of the two old safes. The door to each had been blown asunder and lay in a twisted mass on the floor. On top of the doors lay a number of boxes and drawers that belonged in the safes. Mingling with the wreckage were pieces of gold and silver plate, and also gold and silver knives, forks, and spoons.

“Here is where that explosion came from,” said Dave. “What a pity it didn’t happen when we were in front of the works! We might have caught the rascals red-handed!”

“Listen! I hear somebody now!” exclaimed Roger. “Maybe they are coming back.”

“No, that is my father who is calling!” replied our hero. “I’ll let him in.”

He ran to the office door, and finding a key in the lock, opened it. Roger swung the lantern, and soon Dave’s father and his uncle came up, followed by Mr. Wadsworth, who, being somewhat portly, could not run so fast, and had to be assisted by Phil.

“What have they done?” gasped the manufacturer. “Tell me quickly! Did they blow open the safes?” He was so agitated that he could scarcely speak.

The boys did not reply, for there was no need. Mr. Wadsworth gave one look and then sank down on a desk, too overcome to make another move.

“Did you see anything of the robbers, Dave?” asked his father.

“Not a thing.”

“And where is the watchman?”

“I don’t know.”

“Strange, he must be somewhere around. He told me of the robbery and then he said that they were coming after him. Then the message was suddenly cut off.”

“It looks like foul play to me,” said Dunston Porter, seriously. “We had better light up and investigate thoroughly.”

He walked to a switchboard on the wall and began to experiment. Presently the electric lights in the offices flashed up and then some of those in the workshops were turned on.

By this time Oliver Wadsworth was in front of one of the shattered safes. An inner door, somewhat bent, was swung shut. With trembling fingers the manufacturer pulled the door open and felt into the compartment beyond.

“Gone! gone!” the others heard him mutter hoarsely. “Gone!”

“What is it?” asked Mr. Porter.

“The casket – the Carwith casket is gone!” And Mr. Wadsworth looked ready to faint as he spoke.

“Were the jewels in it?” questioned Mr. Porter.

“Yes! yes!”

“All of them?” queried Dave.

“Yes, every one. I placed them in the casket myself before we locked up for the day.”

“Maybe the casket is on the floor, under the doors,” suggested Dave; but he had little hope of such being the case.

All started a search, lasting for several minutes. But it was useless, the casket with its precious jewelry had disappeared. Oliver Wadsworth tottered to a chair that Phil placed for him and sank heavily upon it.

“Gone!” he muttered, in a strained voice. “Gone! And if I cannot recover it, I shall be ruined!”