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“Not at all! they’re hailing the rising sun,” she said – and explained: “They would do the same if he were a mummy or had small-pox. ‘Grease,’ they call it.”
(The watchword, in the Navy, is “grease.” From the moment you enter the Academy, as a plebe, until you have joined the lost souls on the retired list, you are diligently engaged in greasing every one who ranks you and in being greased by every one whom you rank. And the more assiduous and adroit you are at the greasing business, the more pleasant the life you lead. The man who ranks you can, when placed over you, make life a burden or a pleasure as his fancy and his disposition dictate. Consequently the “grease,” and the higher the rank the greater the “grease,” and the number of “greasers.”)
“Well-named! – dirty, smeary, contaminating business,” said Croyden. “And the best ‘greasers’ have the best places, I reckon. I prefer the unadorned garb of the civilian – and independence. I’ll permit those fellows to fight the battles and draw the rewards – they can do both very well.”
He did not get another dance with her until well toward the end – and would not then, if the lieutenant to whom it belonged had not been a second late – late enough to lose her.
“We are going back to Washington, in the morning,” she said. “Can’t you come along?”
“Impossible!” he answered. “Much as I’d like to do it.”
She looked up at him, quickly.
“Are you sure you would like to do it?” she asked.
“What a question!” he exclaimed.
“Geoffrey! – what is this business which keeps you here – in the East?”
“Business!” he replied, smiling.
“Which means, I must not ask, I suppose.”
He did not answer.
“Will you tell me one thing – just one?” she persisted. “Has Royster & Axtell’s failure anything to do with it?”
“Yes – it has!” he said, after a moment’s hesitation.
“And is it true that you are seriously embarrassed – have lost most of your fortune?”
“It was to be just one question!” he smiled.
“I’m a woman,” she explained.
They danced half the length of the room before he replied. He would tell her. She, alone, deserved to know – and, if she cared, would understand.
“I have lost most of my fortune!” he admitted. “I am not, however, in the least embarrassed – I have no debts.”
“And is it ‘business,’ which keeps you? – will you ever come back to Northumberland?”
“Yes, it is business that keeps me – important business. Whether or not I shall return to Northumberland, depends on the outcome of that business.”
“Why did you leave without a word of farewell to your friends?” she persisted.
“Was that unusual?” said Croyden. “Has any of my friends cared – sincerely cared? Has any one so much as inquired for me?”
She looked away.
“They thought you were called to Europe, suddenly,” she replied.
“For which thinking you were responsible, Elaine.”
“Why I?” she demanded.
“You were the only one I told.”
Her eyes sought his, then fell.
“It was because of the failure,” she said. “You were the largest creditor – you disappeared – there were queries and rumors – and I thought it best to tell. I hope I did no harm.”
“On the contrary,” he said, “I am very, very grateful to know that some one thought of me.”
The music stopped. It was just in time. Another moment, and he might have said what he knew was folly. Her body close to his, his arm around her, the splendor of her bared shoulders, the perfume of her hair, the glory of her face, were overcoming him, were intoxicating his senses, were drugging him into non-resistance. The spell was broken not an instant too soon. He shook himself – like a man rousing from dead sleep – and took her back to their party.
The next instant, as she was whirled away by another, she shot him an alluringly fascinating smile, of intimate camaraderie, of understanding, which well-nigh put him to sleep again.
“I would that I might get such a smile,” sighed Macloud.
“You go to the devil!” said Croyden. “She has the same smile for all her friends, so don’t be silly.”
“And don’t be blind!” Macloud laughed.
“Moreover, if it’s a different smile, the field is open. I’m scratched, you know.”
“Can a man be scratched after he has won?” asked Macloud.
“More silliness!” Croyden retorted, as he turned away to search for his partner.
When the Hop was over, they said good-night at the foot of the stairs, in the Exchange.
“We shall see you in the morning, of course – we leave about ten o’clock,” said Miss Cavendish.
“We shall be gone long before you are awake,” answered Croyden. And, when she looked at him inquiringly, he added: “It’s an appointment that may not be broken.”
“Well, till Northumberland, then!” Miss Brundage remarked.
But Elaine Cavendish’s only reply was a meaning nod and another fascinating smile. She wished him success.
As they entered their own rooms, a little later, Macloud, in the lead, switched on the lights – and stopped!
“Hello! – our wallets, by all that’s good!” he exclaimed.
“Hurrah!” cried Croyden, springing in, and stumbling over Macloud in his eagerness.
He seized his wallet! – A touch, and the story was told. No need to investigate – it was as empty as the day it came from the shop, save for a few visiting cards, and some trifling memoranda. The letter and the money were gone.
“Damn!” said Croyden.
Macloud laughed.
“You didn’t fancy you would find it?” he said.
“No, I didn’t, but damn! anyway – who wouldn’t?”
“Oh, you’re strictly orthodox!” Macloud laughed. “But the pity is that won’t help us. They’ve got old Parmenter’s letter – and our ready cash as well; but the cash does not count.”
“It counts with me,” said Croyden. “I’m out something over a hundred – and that’s considerable to me now. Anything to show where they were recovered?”
Macloud was nearest the telephone. He took down the receiver. After a time he was answered.
“What do you know about our wallets?” he asked… “Thank you! – The office says, they were found by one of the bell-boys in a garbage can on King George Street.”
“Very good,” said Croyden. “If they mean fight, I reckon we can accommodate them. Greenberry Point early in the morning.”
IX
THE WAY OUT
“I’ve been thinking,” said Croyden, as they footed it across the Severn bridge, “that, if we knew the year in which the light-house was erected, we could get the average encroachment of the sea every year, and, by a little figuring, arrive at where the point was in 1720. It would be approximate, of course, but it would give us a start – something more definite than we have now. For all we know Parmenter’s treasure may be a hundred yards out in the Bay.”
Macloud nodded. “And if we don’t find the date, here,” he added, “we can go to Washington and get it from the Navy Department. An inquiry from Senator Rickrose will bring what we want, instantly.”
“At the same time, why shouldn’t we get permission to camp on the Point for a few weeks?” Croyden suggested. “It would make it easy for us to dig and investigate, and fish and measure, in fact, do whatever we wished. Having a permit from the Department, would remove all suspicion.”
“Bully! We’re fond of the open – with a town convenient!” Macloud laughed. “I know Rickrose well, we can go down this afternoon and see him. He will be so astonished that we are not seeking a political favor, he will go to the Secretary himself and make ours a personal request. Then we will get the necessary camp stuff, and be right on the job.”
They had passed the Experiment Station and the Rifle Range, and were rounding the shoal onto the Point, when the trotting of a rapidly approaching horse came to them from the rear.
“Suppose we conceal ourselves, and take a look,” suggested Macloud. “Here is a fine place.”
He pointed to some rocks and bushes that lined the roadway. The next instant, they had disappeared behind them.
A moment more, and the horse and buggy came into view. In it were two men – of medium size, dressed quietly, with nothing about them to attract attention, save that the driver had a hook-nose, and the other was bald, as the removal of his hat, an instant, showed.
“The thieves!” whispered Croyden.
“Yes – I’ll bet a hundred on it!” Macloud answered.
“Greenberry Point seems far off,” said the driver – “I wonder if we can have taken the wrong road?”
“This is the only one we could take,” the other answered, “so we must be right. I wonder what that jay’s doing?” he added, with a laugh.
“Cussing himself for – ” The rest was lost in the noise of the team.
“Right, you are!” said Croyden, lifting himself from a bed of stones and vines. “Right, you are, my friend! And if I had a gun, I’d give the Coroner a job with both of you.”
Macloud looked thoughtful.
“It would be most effective,” he said. “But could we carry it off cleanly? The law is embarrassing if we’re detected, you know.”
“You’re not serious?” said Croyden.
“I never was more so,” the other answered. “I’d shoot those scoundrels down without a second’s hesitation, if I could do it and not be caught.”
“A trifle unconventional!” commented Croyden. “However, your idea isn’t half bad; they wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to us.”
“Exactly! They won’t hesitate – and, what’s more, they have the nerve to take the chance. That is the difference between us and them.”
They waited until they could no longer hear the horse’s hoof-falls nor the rumble of the wheels. Then they started forward, keeping off the road and taking a course that afforded the protection of the trees and undergrowth. Presently, they caught sight of the two men – out in the open, their heads together, poring over a paper, presumably the Parmenter letter.
“It is not as easy finding the treasure, as it was to pick my pocket!” chuckled Croyden. “There’s the letter – and there are the men who stole it. And we are helpless to interfere, and they know it. It’s about as aggravating as – ” He stopped, for want of a suitable comparison.
Macloud only nodded in acquiescence.
The men finished with the letter. Hook-nose went on to the Point, and stood looking at the ruins of the light-house out in the Bay; the other turned and viewed the trees that were nearest.
“Much comfort you’ll get from either,” muttered Croyden.
Hook-nose returned, and the two held a prolonged conversation, each of them gesticulating, now toward the water, and again toward the timber. Finally, one went down to the extreme point and stepped off two hundred and fifty paces inland. He marked this point with a stone.
Bald-head pointed to the trees, a hundred yards away, and shook his head. More talk followed. Then they produced a compass, and ran the additional distance to the North-east.
“Dig! damn you, dig!” exclaimed Macloud. “The treasure’s not there.”
“You’ll have to work your brain a bit,” Croyden added. “The letter’s not all that’s needed, thank Heaven! You’ve stolen the one, but you can’t steal the other.”
The men, after consulting together, went to the buggy, took out two picks and shovels, and, returning to the place, fell to work.
“Did you ever see such fools?” said Macloud. “Dig! damn you, dig!”
After a short while, Bald-head threw down his pick and hoisted himself out of the hole. An animated discussion followed.
“He’s got a glimmer of intelligence, at last,” Croyden muttered.
The discussion grew more animated, they waved their arms toward the Bay, and toward the Severn, and toward the land. Hook-nose slammed his pick up and down to emphasize his argument. Bald-head did likewise.
“They’ll be doing the war dance, next!” laughed Macloud.
“‘When thieves fall out, honest men come by their own,’” Croyden quoted.
“More honest men, you mean – the comparative degree.”
“Life is made up of comparatives,” said Croyden. “What’s the matter now?” as Bald-head faced about and stalked back to the buggy. “Has he quit work so soon?”
“He has simply quit digging a hole at random,” Macloud said. “My Lord, he’s taking a drink!”
Bald-head, however, did not return to his companion. Instead, he went out to the Bay and stood looking across the water toward the bug-light. Then he turned and looked back toward the timber.
He was thinking, as they had. The land had been driving inward by the encroachment of the Bay – the beeches had, long since, disappeared, the victims of the gales which swept the Point. There was no place from which to start the measurements. Beyond the fact that, somewhere near by, old Parmenter had buried his treasure, one hundred and ninety years before, the letter was of no definite use to anyone.
From the Point, he retraced his steps leisurely to his companion, who had continued digging, said something – to which Hook-nose seemingly made no reply, save by a shovel of sand – and continued directly toward the timber.
“Has he seen us?” said Croyden.
“I think not – these bushes are ample protection. Lie low… He’s not coming this way – he’s going to inspect the big trees, on our left… They won’t help you, my light-fingered friend; they’re not the right sort.”
After a time, Bald-head abandoned the search and went back to his friend. Throwing himself on the ground, he talked vigorously, and, apparently, to some effect, for, presently, the digging ceased and Hook-nose began to listen. At length, he tossed the pick and shovel aside, and lifted himself out of the hole. After a few more gesticulations, they picked up the tools and returned to the buggy.
“Have they decided to abandon it?” said Croyden, as they drove away.
The thieves, themselves, answered the question. At the first heavy undergrowth, they stopped the horse and proceeded carefully to conceal the tools. This accomplished, they drove off toward the town.
“Hum!” said Macloud. “So you’re coming back are you? I wonder what you intend to do?”
“I wish we knew,” Croyden returned. “It might help us – for quite between ourselves, Macloud, I think we’re stumped.”
“Our first business is to move on Washington and get the permit,” Macloud returned. “Hook-nose and his friend may have the Point, for to-day; they’re not likely to injure it. Come along!”
They were passing the Marine Barracks when Croyden, who had been pondering over the matter, suddenly broke out:
“We’ve got to get rid of those two fellows, Colin!”
“Granted!” said Macloud. “But how are we to manage it?”
“We agree that we dare not have them arrested – they would blow everything to the police. And the police would either graft us for all the jewels are worth, or inform the Government.”
“Yes, but we may have to take the risk – or else divide up with the thieves. Which do you prefer to do?”
“Neither!” said Croyden. “There is another way – except killing them, which, of course, would be the most effective. Why shouldn’t we imprison them – be our own jailers?”
Macloud threw away his cigarette and lit another before he replied, then he shook his head.
“Too much risk to ourselves,” he said. “Somebody would likely be killed in the operation, with the chances strongly favoring ourselves. I’d rather shoot them down from ambush, at once.”
“That may require an explanation to a judge and jury, which would be a trifle inconvenient. I’d prefer to risk my life in a fight. Then, if it came to court, our reputation is good, while theirs is in the rogues’ gallery.”
“Where would you imprison them?” asked Macloud, dubiously.
“That is the difficulty, I admit. Think over it, while we’re going to Washington and back; see if you can’t find a way out. Either we must jug them, securely, for a week or two, or we must arrest them. On the whole, it might be wiser to let them go free – let them make a try for the treasure, unmolested. When they fail and retire, we can begin.”
“Your last alternative doesn’t sound particularly attractive to me – or to you, either, I fancy.”
“This isn’t going to be a particularly attractive quest, if we want to succeed,” said Croyden. “Pirate’s gold breeds pirate’s ways, I reckon – blood and violence and sudden death. We’ll try to play it without death, however, if our opponents will permit. Such title, as exists to Parmenter’s hoard, is in me, and I am not minded to relinquish it without a struggle. I wasn’t especially keen at the start, but I’m keen enough, now – and I don’t propose to be blocked by two rogues, if there is a way out.”
“And the way out, according to your notion, is to be our own jailers, think you?” said Macloud. “Well, we can chew on it – the manner of procedure is apt to keep us occupied a few hours.”
They took the next train, on the Electric Line, to Washington, Macloud having telephoned ahead and made an appointment with Senator Rickrose – whom, luckily, they found at the Capital – to meet them at the Metropolitan Club for luncheon. At Fourteenth Street, they changed to a Connecticut Avenue car, and, dismounting at Seventeenth and dodging a couple of automobiles, entered the Pompeian brick and granite building, the home of the Club which has the most representative membership in the country.
Macloud was on the non-resident list, and the door-man, with the memory for faces which comes from long practice, greeted him, instantly, by name, though he had not seen him for months.
“Yes, Mr. Macloud, Senator Rickrose just came in,” he said.
They met the Senator in the Red Room. He was very tall, with a tendency to corpulency, which, however, was lost in his great height; very dignified, and, for one of his service, very young – of immense influence in the councils of his party, and the absolute dictator in his own State. Inheriting a superb machine from a “matchless leader,” – who died in the harness – he had developed it into a well nigh perfect organization for political control. All power was in his hands, from the lowest to the highest, he ruled with a sway as absolute as a despot. His word was the ultimate law – from it an appeal did not lie.
“How are you, old fellow?” he said to Macloud, dropping a hand on his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you for a long time – and, Mr. Croyden, I think I have met you in Northumberland. I’m glad, indeed, to see you both.” He touched a bell. “Take the orders!” he said, to the boy.
“Senator!” said Macloud, a little later, when they had finished luncheon. “I want to ask a slight favor – not political however – so it won’t have to be endorsed by the organization.”
The Senator laughed. “In that event, it is granted before you ask. What is it I can do?”
“Have the Secretary of the Navy issue us a permit to camp on Greenberry Point.”
“Where the devil is Greenberry Point?” said Rickrose.
“Across the Severn River from Annapolis.”
Rickrose turned in his chair and glanced over the dining-room. Then he raised his hand to the head waiter.
“Has the Secretary of the Navy had luncheon?” he asked.
“Yes, sir – before you came in.”
The Senator nodded.
“We would better go over to the Department, at once, or we shall miss him,” he said. “Chevy Chase is the drawing card, in the afternoon.”
The reception hour was long passed, but the Secretary was in and would see Senator Rickrose. He came forward to meet him – a tall, middle-aged, well-groomed man, with sandy hair, whose principal recommendation for the post he filled was the fact that he was the largest contributor to the campaign fund in his State, and his senior senator needed him in his business, and had refrigerated him into the Cabinet for safe keeping – that being the only job which insured him from being a candidate for the Senator’s own seat. It is a great game, is politics!
“Mr. Secretary!” said Rickrose, “my friends want a permit to camp for two weeks on Greenberry Point.”
“Greenbury Point!” said the Secretary, vaguely – “that’s somewhere out in San Francisco harbor?”
“Not the Greenberry Point they mean,” the Senator replied. “It’s down at Annapolis – across the Severn from the Naval Academy, and forms part of that command, I presume. It is waste land, unfortified and wind swept.”
“Oh! to be sure. I know it. Why wouldn’t the Superintendent give you a permit?” turning to Macloud. “It is within his jurisdiction.”
“We didn’t think to ask him,” said Macloud. “We supposed it was necessary to apply direct to you.”
“They are not familiar with the customs of the service,” explained Rickrose, “and, as I may run down to see them, just issue the permit to me and party. The Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee is inspecting the Point, if you need an excuse.”
“Oh, no! none whatever – however, a duplicate will be forwarded to the Superintendent. If it should prove incompatible with the interests of the service,” smiling, “he will inform the Department, and we shall have to revoke it.”
He rang for his stenographer and dictated the permit. When it came in, he signed it and passed it over to Rickrose.
“Anything else I can do for you, Senator?” he asked.
“Not to-day, thank you, Mr. Secretary,” Rickrose answered.
“Do you actually intend to come down?” asked Macloud, when they were in the corridor. “That will be bully.”
He shot a look at Croyden. His face was a study. Hunting the Parmenter treasure, with the Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee as a disinterested spectator, was rather startling, to say the least. The Senator’s reply reassured them.
“Impossible!” he said. “The campaign opens next week, and I’m drawn as a spell-binder in the Pacific States. That figurehead was ruffling his feathers on you, just to show himself, so I thought I’d comb him down a bit. You’ll experience no difficulty, I fancy. If you do, wire me, and I’ll get busy. I’ve got to go over to the State Department now, so I’ll say good-bye – anything else you want let me know.”
“Next for a sporting goods shop,” said Macloud as they went down the steps into Pennsylvania Avenue; “for a supply of small arms and ammunition – and, incidentally, a couple of tents. We can get a few cooking utensils in Annapolis, but we will take our meals at Carvel Hall. I think neither of us is quite ready to turn cook.”
“I am sure, I’m content!” laughed Croyden. “We can hire a horse and buggy by the week, and keep them handy – better get a small tent for the horse, while we’re about it.”
They went to a shop on F Street, where they purchased three tents of suitable size, two Winchester rifles, and a pair of Colt’s military revolvers with six-and-a-half inch barrels, and the necessary ammunition. These they directed should be sent to Annapolis immediately. Cots and blankets could be procured there, with whatever else was necessary.
They were bound up F Street, toward the Electric Station, when Macloud broke out.
“If we had another man with us, your imprisonment idea would not be so difficult – we could bag our game much more easily, and guard them more securely when we had them. As it is, it’s mighty puzzling to arrange.”
“True enough!” said Croyden, “but where is the man who is trustworthy – not to mention willing to take the risk, of being killed or tried for murder, for someone else’s benefit? They’re not many like you, Colin.”
A man, who was looking listlessly in a window just ahead, turned away. He bore an air of dejection, and his clothes, while well cut, were beginning to show hard usage and carelessness.
“Axtell!” Macloud observed – “and on his uppers!”
“There’s our man!” exclaimed Croyden. “He is down hard, a little money with a small divide, if successful, will get him. What do you say?”
“Nothing!” replied Macloud. “It’s up to you.”
Axtell saw them; he hesitated, whether to speak or to go on. Croyden solved the question.
“Hello! Axtell, what are you doing here?” he said, extending his hand.
Axtell grasped it, as a drowning man a straw.
“You’re kind to ask, Mr. Croyden! Mighty kind in one who lost so much through us.”
“You were not to blame – Royster’s responsible, and he’s gone – ”
“To hell!” Axtell interrupted, bitterly. “May he burn forever!”
“Amen to that wish!” Croyden smiled. “Meanwhile, can I do anything for you? You’re having a run of hard luck, aren’t you?”
For a moment, Axtell did not answer – he was gulping down his thoughts.
“I am,” he said. “I’ve just ten dollars to my name. I came here thinking the Congressmen, who made piles through our office, would get me something, but they gave me the marble stare. I was good enough to tip them off and do favors for them, but they’re not remembering me now. Do you know where I can get a job?”