The Black Box 8

The Black Box 8

"Have a care! Come not too close!" I shouted, pointing to the tree.

"He is up there, with a pistol!"

 

"Who?"

 

"The man we want."

 

"He is fairly caught, then," quoth my father grimly, as he stopped and

cocked his pistol.

 

"Be not too sure of that," I answered.

 

Even as I spoke, there came a great commotion from the tree, as of one

struggling desperately; and then a frantic, gurgling cry broke out:

 

"Help! caught by neck! Strangling. Help!"

 

"’Twould seem as though swift justice had him," said my father. "Come,

let us see," he added, moving forward.

 

"Nay, have a care," said I. "I trust him not. He is as crafty as Old

Nick. To go beneath the tree might mean a well-aimed bullet."

 

"Nathless, we cannot see the villain hang. What’s to be done? Is he

high up, think you?"

 

"Yes, near the top; or so at least he was."

 

"Ah, then, I have it. We must get a ladder. There is that long one

hanging on the garden wall. The very thing. Come, Michael, let us

fetch it. Hark! he is surely strangling," he added, as the cries grew

still more guttural and frantic. "Come, quickly!"

 

So off we sped, and having got the ladder, and a brace of loaded

pistols, returned full quickly to the spot. But there were no cries

now; leaves lay thick beneath the oak tree, but its erstwhile shaking

branches were quite still, and not a sound was to be heard.

 

"Belike enough the miserable wretch is dead by now," remarked my father,

as we laid the ladder down and listened for a while. And with that he

would have gone straight forward to the tree; but my knowledge of the

"miserable wretch’s" ways enjoined greater caution.

 

"Stay! Let us try this first," I said.

 

Drawing a pistol from my belt, I fired into the tree and listened

carefully; but there was neither sound nor movement, save where the

bullet tore its way.

 

"Dead, sure enough!" exclaimed my father.

 

"Well, we will prove it now," said I, though far from certain of the

risk we ran in doing so.

 

Soon we had the ladder reared against a lofty branch: then, taking a

pistol in my hand, I climbed up cautiously into the tree.

 

At first I could see little, by reason of the thickness of the foliage;

but as I neared the top ’twas quickly evident that Tubal Ammon was not

there. Some broken twigs betrayed the place where he had sat; but that

was all the sign there was of him.

 

"Well!" cried my father from below. "What see you, Michael? Is he

there?"

 

"No, sir; he is not here," I answered. "’Tis as I thought--we have been

fooled; our bird has flown."

 

"Well, well; no matter," said my father, with, methought, a touch of

disappointment in his voice. "’Twere better so than that he should be

hanging."

 

"Be none so sure of that," I murmured to myself, descending quickly to

the ground. And there we stood and faced each other, like the beaten

men we were.

 

"Dost know who he was?" enquired my father with a searching look.

 

"Yes, full well," I answered.

 

"Ah! and who then was he?"

 

"Tubal Ammon!"

 

My father started back.

 

"What!" he cried, "the man who held thee on the road three nights ago?"

 

"The very same, sir," I replied.

 

"Then, indeed, it hath an ugly look. What, think you, brought him

prowling round our place?"

 

"The hope of thieving, sir, I fancy."

 

"Ah! so you think he is then but a common thief?" exclaimed the old man

hopefully.

 

"Nay, far from common," I replied; "for, verily, he spouted Latin by the

yard."

 

"Latin!" echoed my father, with a start. "A footpad quoting Latin?

That makes the thing more ugly still. I like it not. Michael," he

added, laying a hand upon my arm, and lowering his voice, as though

afraid of listeners, "think you that he heard or saw what passed betwixt

us?"

 

"Nay, I scarcely think so; in fact, I asked him and he said he did

not--though, verily, the word of such a prick-eared knave is little to

be valued. But even if he did both see and hear, methinks he would make

little of it."

 

"Well, well; ’tis to be hoped your way of looking at it is the right

one. Michael" (he dropped his voice into a whisper and glanced quickly

round about him), "Michael, what if he were a creature of that rascal

Ferguson?"

 

"Nay, sir," I laughed, though feeling far from easy; "it seems to me you

set too great a store upon the knave. He is a thief, and nothing else:

perchance one who hath seen better days--and, therefore, the worst kind

of thief. But ’tis my firm belief that he has earned a handsome lesson,

and that he will not trouble us again."

 

My father stroked his chin and gravely shook his head.

 

"I like it not," he murmured; "and certainly the window shall be watched

for many nights to come." He cast a far-off look towards the hills.

"Michael, it is as though I saw great trouble brooding over us. If that

comes, we two will stand together firmly side by side to meet it. Is

that not so, my son?"

 

"Ah, that we will, indeed!" I answered, grasping his outstretched hand.

 

Just then the breakfast bell clanged forth, and taking up the ladder, we

went home in broody silence.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER IV*

 

*Three Ships*

 

 

Youth has two suns to every cloud: when one is hid the other shines.

Therefore, notwithstanding all the turmoil of the early morning and the

knowledge that our house concealed a secret which could hang us both, I

soon, for the time at any rate, clean forgot these matters. And so,

when about ten o’clock I buckled on that fine new sword and stepped

(nay, swaggered were a truer word for it) down townwards, there might

have been no forgeries, no Ferguson the Plotter, no Tubal Ammon, and no

Black Box in existence.

 

For one thing, ’twas as fine a day as any man could wish to see. A

fresh breeze stirred the leaves; the birds were singing gaily; while

through the trees came glimpses of our glorious bay, flashing like

diamonds in the sunlight. Thus I was as happy as a king (nay, happier

than most kings!), and as I strode along, with hand on sword-hilt, I

gave a cheery nod to old acquaintances; frowned sternly on ill-mannered

boys; and cast gay smiles at pretty girls who, ever and anon, peeped out

from upper windows.

 

Enough, it was a fine bright morning, and I was in fine feather, with as

little thought of coming evil as the larks which soared above my head.

Yet I had scarce set foot inside the town before ’twas clear that some

strange business was afoot. For the women-folk stood gossiping

excitedly at doors, while every man I came across seemed to be hurrying

seaward.

 

"What is the news?" I asked of one who sped towards me.

 

"News!" he answered, turning his head upon his shoulder as he ran.

"Three ships, black ships!"

 

"Well, what of that?" I shouted; but, heeding not, he fled upon his way.

 

Perceiving that there was little to be gained by questioning, I joined

the merry rout which swarmed towards the sea-front. And there, sure

enough, beating to windward in that part of the bay we call the Cod,

were three strange foreign-looking vessels--one, by the rig of her, a

frigate, though she showed no guns; the other two small merchantmen.

And now I understood the cause of all this great excitement; for neither

of the three ships flew a colour, and somehow, in that first swift

glance, I felt they boded ill for little Lyme.

 

However, there was small room for thought just then. You know the Cobb,

that world-famed mole of ours, which curves out seaward like a mighty

shepherd’s crook, and serves us for a harbour, quay, and everything?

Well, everyone was making for that point of vantage, and so you may be

sure I lost no time in following.

 

The far end of the Cobb (that is, the sea end) was already thickly

covered with an excited, wondering crowd, and, shouldering my way into

the front line, I soon learned much. How that these three mysterious

craft had first been seen at daybreak beating in slowly against a

northerly wind. How, later on, a ten-oared boat had put off from the

largest vessel, with three men seated in her stern, and made for

Seatown, a little creek some five miles farther down the coast; and,

having landed there her passengers, had presently returned to the ship

bearing but one of them. And, moreover, in conclusion, how an hour

before (that is, before I reached the Cobb) Master Thomas Tye, surveyor

of the port of Lyme, and some of his men, had rowed out to the ships

themselves for information, gone aboard the frigate, and had not since

been seen.