The Rival Campers: or, The Adventures of Henry Burns

Then, as the tide was rising, and they might be gone some time, they lifted the dory and carried it up out of the reach of high water, after which they began the ascent of the hill. There was not a breath of wind stirring, and there was not a sound of life in the woods. The tide crept in softly, and not even a wave could be heard on the shore.

Out through the trees they could see, as they climbed, glimpses of the water, calm and placid as a mill-pond, lit up dimly by the moonlight shining through a patchwork of clouds that covered all the sky. Beyond this the darkness of the village was accentuated by a light here and there, glimmering from the window of some cottage.

Then they came to the brow of the hill, and could see the haunted house through the trees. They approached cautiously. It looked gloomier than ever, with its sagging, moss-grown roof, its shattered window-panes, and the door in the side hanging awry from a single hinge.

In what once had been the dooryard there were a few straggling clumps of bushes, and thistles and burdocks grew in rank profusion.

It was a sight to dampen the ardour of stouter hunters than this band of boys. But when, added to all this, there suddenly flashed across one of the windows a ray of light, faint and flickering, but discernible to them all, and which the next instant disappeared, they halted irresolutely and debated what they should do.

It was finally determined that Henry Burns and Bob White should go on ahead to the old house, while the rest waited at a little distance till they should reconnoitre. The two set off at once, while the others waited behind a clump of trees. They did not have to wait long, for the two returned shortly, telling them to come on softly. When within a few rods of the house they dropped on their hands and knees and crept along.

All at once the two ahead stopped and whispered to the others to listen. They heard noises that seemed to come from the cellar, which sounded as though some one was digging in the earth. Then, as they came within range of a long, shallow cellar window, they saw the rays of a lantern.

They crept up closely and peered in through the pane. There, in the damp, dingy, cobwebbed cellar of the haunted house, dimly lighted by the rays of a lantern, which stood on an old wooden bench, a man was working. He had his coat off and was digging in the ground with a spade, throwing up shovelfuls of the hard clay.

The rays of light from the lantern were not diffused evenly throughout the cellar, but shot out in one direction, toward the spot where the man was at work; and this because it was neither the ordinary ship’s lantern, nor yet a house lantern, but a small dark lantern, such as a burglar might carry on his person, with a sliding shutter in front.

The man’s sleeves were rolled up, displaying arms that were corded with muscle, and on which the veins stood out as he worked. He handled the spade awkwardly enough, but made up in strength for his lack of skill. Presently he paused and looked up, and they saw that it was, as Henry Burns had prophesied, the stranger guest.

A curious occupation for one who was cruising for his health! Indeed, he looked so little like a man that was weak and ill, and so much like one that was powerful and reckless and devoid of fear, as the light of the lantern caused his figure to stand out in relief against the darkness, that, though they were six and he but one, had he seen them and sprung up, they would have fled in terror.

Then, as he stooped down to grasp the lantern, they drew quickly back from the window. It was well they did so, for, taking up the lantern, the man flashed it upon the window-panes, and then, turning it in all directions, threw the rays of light in all parts of the cellar and out through a window opposite. Then he set it down again; and it was evident his suspicions had not been aroused, for he resumed his digging.

After a few minutes he threw down the spade and produced from the darkness a small tin box, which they had not seen before, which he deposited in the hole he had dug. Then he shovelled the earth back upon it, stamping it in with his feet, and so refilled the hole. The remaining loose earth he scattered about the cellar.

The boys waited no longer, but crept back to the edge of the woods. In a few minutes they saw a faint flash of light through one of the windows in the floor above, and presently they saw the man come out of the door in the front of the house. He had extinguished the lantern and was still carrying the spade. As he walked quickly down the path to the landing-place, he left the path and hid the spade beneath some underbrush, after which he disappeared over the edge of the cliff. Finally they saw him out in the middle of the cove, pulling vigorously for the other shore.

“Well,” said Henry Burns, as they watched him out of sight, “there are lots of sick men whom I would rather meet over here in the night-time than that same Mr. Kemble.”

“He’s as strong as a lion,” said young Joe. “Did you see the veins stand out on his arms as he worked? I felt like making for the woods every time he straightened himself up, with that spade in his hand.”

“I don’t believe any of us felt any too comfortable,” said Tom, “though I’m sure I shouldn’t be afraid to meet him in the daytime, with Bob and one of the rest of us. It’s the influence of the night-time that frightened us. And he seemed to be right in his element in it.”

“Let’s dig that box up and get away from here and discuss the matter afterward,” said George. “It’s getting late, and we don’t want mother to worry. I’ll get the spade.” And he ran and brought it.

They went into the haunted house then, groping their way in the darkness, for they had left their own lantern in the dory. They made their way to the kitchen and found the cellar door, with some difficulty. Then, lest the old stairs should be unsafe, they went down one at a time.

It was an easy matter to unearth the box, though they worked in utter darkness. When they had secured it, they refilled the hole and then stamped the earth down as they had found it. This being done, they were glad enough to get away from the house, to replace the spade beneath the underbrush, where the man had hidden it, and hurry down to the shore. Launching the dory, they embarked, Henry Burns carrying the box, and, with George and Arthur Warren at the oars, they had soon crossed the cove and landed on the beach.

There, too, was the Anna, drawn high up on shore, where the stranger had left it. It was a large and heavy boat, and it must have required enormous strength in one man to drag it there.

CHAPTER IX.

SETTING A TRAP

When the boys had at length gathered around the table in the old-fashioned kitchen of the Warren cottage and had drawn the window-shades, they proceeded to examine the box. It was an ordinary shallow tin box, such as a business man might keep odds and ends of papers and cash in. It was fastened with a small padlock. After trying to unlock this with every key they could find in the house, and without success, young Joe produced a file, and with this filed through the small staple in the box.

When the cover was thrown back there was disclosed a layer of fine cotton, like jewellers’ cotton, and when this was lifted out there came from the box a myriad of tiny flashes of light. The inside of the box was fairly ablaze. Countless little flashes of light danced and twinkled there.

“Hooray!” cried George Warren. “We have the stolen jewels, and no mistake. Just see how these sparkle.” And he lifted up a necklace of diamonds, that blazed in the light of the lamp like a ring of fire. They sparkled and gleamed like little stars, as the boys passed them from hand to hand.

“Mercy on us!” cried a pleasant voice, all of a sudden; and Mrs. Warren, who had been awakened by the sound of their voices and had hastily dressed, entered the kitchen. “Is this den the cave of the forty thieves?” she asked, smiling, and then, as she caught sight of the glittering gems, she exclaimed, anxiously: “Why, boys, what on earth does all this mean?”

“It means, mother,” answered George, “that Henry Burns has done what the detectives have been trying to do ever since the robbery at Benton. Here are the stolen diamonds, and Henry will take them to town to-morrow and claim the reward.”

“Only on one condition,” interrupted Henry Burns. “I don’t stir one step to secure the reward until it is agreed that it shall be evenly divided between us all. You fellows have just as much claim upon it as I, and, unless every one of you solemnly swears to take his share, I shall never take one cent of it.”

And every one of them knew that he meant exactly what he said.

Early next morning Henry Burns and George Warren stood upon the wharf, awaiting the arrival of the boat for Mayville. The boat connected there with a train that would arrive in Benton during the forenoon. Henry Burns carried in one hand a small satchel.

“I had hard work to persuade old Witham to let me go,” said Henry Burns. “He didn’t see what I wanted to go poking off to Benton for. Said I better stay here and save my money. As it is, I’ve got to go and call on an aged aunt of Mrs. Carlin and spend the night there. Well, I guess I can manage to amuse myself, even there. I’m likely to see a few other people before I get back, eh, George?”

“I know one man who won’t turn you out-of-doors, when you produce those diamonds,” answered George.

“Well, George,” returned the other, “you mustn’t lose sight of this stranger, although I almost know he won’t attempt to leave the island for several days. I remember that yesterday he got a letter, and I have no doubt it was from his confederates, saying when they would arrive. They are coming in a sailboat, for he has said so. Now, if they were coming to-night or to-morrow, he would not have hidden that box over there in the old house. You may be sure he did not expect them for a day or two, – but still you boys must keep him in sight, for one never knows what is going to happen.

“If he goes over to the bluff, you know what to do. You must get Captain Sam, the constable, to have him arrested at once. By to-morrow night I’ll be back with everything arranged to capture the whole three. I think you and I will see lively times around this harbour before many days are over.”

“Speak of the evil one and he appears,” said George Warren. “And, as true as I live, here comes Mr. Kemble. You do the talking, Henry, for I feel as though I should give him cause for suspicion if I said a single word to him.”

“Leave him to me,” replied Henry Burns. “He’s playing a bold game, and so must we;” and, as the stranger guest hobbled down to the wharf, groaning and wincing, as though racked with pain, Henry Burns gave him a cheery greeting.

“Good morning, Mr. Kemble,” said he. “I see you’re out bright and early. I declare, you have begun to look better already than you did the night you arrived.”

“Oh, I’m very miserable – very miserable,” answered Mr. Kemble, most dejectedly. “My rheumatism is something awful. I’d give everything I possess in the world if I could run around and be as active as you young men.”

“You will, I’m sure, in a few days,” answered Henry Burns.

“How’s that?” asked the man, turning upon Henry Bums sharply, while a strange look, that he could not conceal, stole over his face.

George Warren turned away precipitately, and, taking a fishing-reel from his pocket, dropped a line over the side of the wharf.

“There’s something peculiar in this island air,” continued Henry Burns, looking Mr. Kemble full in the eye, with the most innocent expression on his face. “No matter how bad a person feels when he first comes here, it puts new life into him. The first thing he knows he begins to feel like rowing boats, and going fishing, and all that sort of thing. I come here sick every summer, and I go away feeling strong.”

“Well,” replied Mr. Kemble, uneasily, but looking relieved, “I hope it may do as much for me. If it does, I’ll buy a cottage here.”

“You won’t find any cottages to sell, I’m afraid,” said Henry Burns. “But there are several old farmhouses that could be bought cheap, and they make over as good as new.”

“Humph! I’m not looking for old farmhouses,” said Mr. Kemble, gruffly; and then, as the whistle of the boat sounded suddenly from behind the bluff, he added, “But I must be getting back to the hotel. I’m not feeling well to-day, at all.”

“Any errand I can do for you in the city?” Henry Burns called after him.

But Mr. Kemble was hobbling away as fast as he could, and did not heed.

“I fancy he would feel worse if he could see what I’ve got in this satchel,” chuckled Henry Burns, as Mr. Kemble went on toward the hotel, somewhat faster than he had come down. “Did you notice how suddenly he had to leave when he heard the boat’s whistle?”

“Yes, – but what on earth were you thinking of, Henry, talking as you did to him?” said George. “It scared him in an instant when you told him he would be running around in a few days as lively as any of us. I almost believe he half-suspects something.”

“How can he?” replied the other. “Perhaps my remark about his running around in a few days may have startled him at first. That was a sudden jolt to his guilty conscience. But, upon reflection, he decided it was only a coincidence. Then he did look a little queer when I spoke of farmhouses, didn’t he?”

“He certainly did,” said George. “What possessed you to do it? You might upset everything.”

“No,” answered Henry Burns. “He don’t suspect us. By the way, do you remember how we got into this thing in the beginning?”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“If I remember rightly,” said Henry Burns, speaking with a slight drawl, “we started out last evening to have some fun. My little chat with our friend is the nearest approach to fun that this scrape has afforded me so far.”

“That may have been fun for you,” said George. “To my mind it was very much like playing with fire; but here’s the steamer. You’ve got my note of introduction to father?”

“Yes, I’ve got everything all right. Now keep your eyes open and expect me to-morrow night.” And Henry Burns crossed the gangplank to the steamer.

The train from Mayville to Benton reached its destination at eleven o’clock, and at that hour in the forenoon Henry Burns walked briskly out of the station. Half an hour later he stood in the waiting-room at the wealthy banking-house of Curtis & Earle.

“Well, what do you want, young man?” asked an important and decidedly officious attendant, bustling up to him.

“This is Mr. Curtis, I presume,” answered Henry Burns, blandly, but with the faintest suspicion of a twinkle in his eye.

“No, it isn’t,” said the man, abruptly, and looking a little foolish as several other attendants tittered audibly. “And, what’s more, you cannot see Mr. Curtis, for he is just preparing to leave for the day.”

“But I must see him,” insisted Henry Burns. “I’ve got some very important information for him. Have the kindness to take this in to him,” and he handed the surprised attendant a card upon which he had written in a clear but boyish hand:

Henry Allen BurnsPrivate Detective

The attendant took the card, read it with a grin, looked at the boy, as if puzzled what to make of him, shrugged his shoulders and left the room. Presently he returned.

“Mr. Curtis would be greatly obliged if you would call to-morrow,” he said. “He is going out of town to-day.”

“I must see him at once,” said Henry Burns, firmly.

“Impossible – ” but at this moment the door of the banker’s private office opened, and a voice said: “Show Mr. Burns in.”

Henry Burns entered. He saw before him a tall, well-built man, smooth shaven, with black, piercing eyes, and a firm, decisive mouth. He had on his hat and gloves, and carried a light coat on his arm, as though about to leave his office.

“You will oblige me by stating your business as quickly as possible, young man,” he said, “as I am about to take a train out of the city.

“I see by your card,” he continued, gravely, “that you are a private detective. I suppose you are aware that I am a busy man, engaged in important affairs, and have no time in office hours for pleasantries.”

“If I had said an amateur detective I should have been more correct, sir, since this is my first case,” answered Henry Burns, calmly. “It is so very curious, however, that I feel certain it cannot fail to interest you.”

“But will you tell me why it should interest me, and not keep me waiting?” exclaimed the banker, in a tone of impatience. Evidently he did not for a moment connect the boyish figure before him with any possible recovery of his lost jewels.

“I will,” replied Henry Burns, speaking deliberately. “Last night some other boys and I watched a man bury a small tin box in the cellar of a deserted house. When the man went away we dug it up. I have the box here; would you like to see it?”

Henry Burns calmly opened the satchel.

But the banker sprang up from the chair in which he had seated himself, and exclaimed, excitedly:

“What do you mean – let me see it – quick!”

Henry Burns passed him the box, and with nervous fingers the banker broke the twine with which the boys had secured it. The next instant he had drawn the necklace from the box and held it up, while his hands trembled.

“They’re Alice’s diamonds, as I hope to live,” he cried, unmindful of Henry Burns’s presence for the moment. “And the rings and the brooch – everything – everything is here.”

“Why,” he exclaimed, “the best detectives in this country are working on the case, but I had already begun to despair of ever seeing the jewels again. They are exceedingly valuable, but, besides that, as they were wedding presents to my wife from me, we both prize them far beyond their real worth.

“But be seated. I shall postpone my trip out of town, you may be sure. And now let me hear the story of your discovery.”

In the calm, graphic manner characteristic of him, Henry Burns told the story of the night’s adventure.

“Splendid!” exclaimed the banker, as the boy concluded. “You have indeed acted as efficiently as the best detective could have done. We are bound to capture the robbers. Burton must know of this at once.”

He rang for an attendant, and, after writing a note, dispatched him with it. At the expiration of about half an hour the attendant returned, and ushered into the room a man of medium height, of light complexion, with steel-blue eyes, and a face that impressed Henry Burns at once as denoting great daring and coolness. The banker introduced him as Mr. Miles Burton, of a secret detective bureau.

“Here’s a young man, Burton,” said the banker, smiling, “who, I take it, has some inclinations for your line of work. In fact, here is pretty convincing proof of it.” And the banker pointed to the box of jewels.

Mr. Miles Burton looked nonplussed. He stared at the box in amazement for a minute, and gave a low whistle. Then he laughed and said: “I have always maintained that luck is a great factor in detective service, though I am ready to give a man his due for a good piece of work. In either case, you have my congratulations, young man, for a half a thousand dollars is just as good whether it comes by luck or shrewdness, or both.”

The detective listened with the keenest attention as Henry Burns repeated the story he had told the banker. He made him give the minutest details of Mr. Kemble’s personality, at the same time suggesting features which Henry Burns corroborated.

“It’s just as I thought from the start, and just as I told you, Mr. Curtis,” he said. “The man is undoubtedly George Craigie, who is known among his class as the ‘Actor,’ because of his cleverness in impersonating one character, and then utterly dropping out of sight and appearing as some other person. We want him on a score of charges, two bank robberies, attempted murder, several house burglaries, and other things. His picture is in the Rogues’ Gallery, but he has the art of changing his expression and appearance so completely that, although I have seen him twice since that was taken, at neither of those times did his countenance resemble his photograph. However, I feel positive from what this young man tells me that it is none other than he. And as for his confederates, I can readily guess who they are. They are two Boston men, and are, no doubt, on their way to the island now in the yacht. In this case, we cannot act any too soon; and I shall ask Detective Burns, who is familiar with the ground, to be my right-hand man in the expedition.”

“You can count on me,” replied Henry Burns, with a smile at the title conferred upon him, and who was, truth to tell, vastly flattered. “I can answer, moreover, for several good assistants, if you need them.”

“Well,” said Mr. Miles Burton, rising to go, “I will meet you at the train that leaves here to-morrow afternoon. By to-morrow night I hope to have some men on Grand Island who will give a pleasant little surprise to Messrs. Craigie & Co.;” and, bowing courteously, he took his leave.

“There’s a surprising lack of jealousy in that man Burton,” remarked the banker, when he had gone. “He is disappointed to have the robbers slip through his hands, and a little chagrined, I know, to have them caught through the aid of a party of boys; but he took pains not to show it, and, what’s more, he will always give you the credit for it when he speaks of it. That’s the kind of a man he is. He is as smart as a steel trap, too, is Burton, and has done me good service twice before.

“But let us not wait longer. I am going to take you home with me to dinner, and have you spend the night at my house. We shall feel more secure, I assure you,” he continued, smiling, “with a detective under our roof.”

Henry Burns declined, saying he was not dressed for such hospitality, but the keen eye of the banker had long before taken note of his neat and gentlemanly appearance, and, moreover, liked the looks of the boy’s clear-cut features, and the way he had of looking one fair in the eye, with a calm but manly and courageous glance. So he waived the boy’s objections, and they entered the banker’s carriage and were driven to the finest home Henry Burns had ever visited.

Perhaps they didn’t make him at home there when Mr. Curtis had told the story of the finding of the jewels hidden in the cellar; and perhaps Henry Burns, to his confusion, wasn’t embraced by the banker’s wife, and perhaps he wasn’t made a hero of by the banker’s two pretty daughters, who shuddered at the story of the man in the cellar, and who made Henry Burns tell it over and over again.

In short, he was treated with such wholesome and charming hospitality as to set him to wondering, after it was all over and he had gone to bed, whether he had not missed something in his solitary life, brought up without the love of father, mother, sister or brother, in a home where noise and cheerfulness were outlawed.

He was up bright and early the next day, and he and the banker went to see Mr. Warren, who was let into the secret, and the reward of five hundred dollars was, through him, placed to the credit of the boys. Then there was the aged aunt of Mrs. Carlin to call upon, and the time passed quickly till it was time for the afternoon train.

It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when Henry Burns boarded the train in the company of Miles Burton.

“Now,” said the detective, as the train rattled noisily on its way, “I have been in Mayville and know several parties there, but the island is new to me. However, you can explain it to me from this map,” and Mr. Burton unrolled a map of the bay and island from his pocket. “I shall pick up three of my men, whom I have ordered to meet us, in Mayville. One of them came all the way down from New York with me to help me work up this case. It is my opinion he traced this man Craigie to Mayville and lost track of him there. The man must have vanished, as he has done so often before.

“We will go over to the island to-night in a launch. Then we shall need some one to guide us to what you call the haunted house.”

“I will meet you in the road by Captain Hervey’s house, right at the very head of the island,” said Henry Burns. “It is the first house you come to on landing at the outermost point. You cannot miss it.”

“But how will you get there? It is a long trip up the island.”

“I will come on my bicycle.”