CHAPTER VII. THE HOUSE AT THE GRANBY CROSS ROADS
Why Mr. Blake should take a journey at all at this time, and why ofall places in the world he should choose such an insignificant townas Putney for his destination, was of course the mystery upon which Ibrooded during the entire distance. But when somewhere near five in theafternoon I stepped from the cars on to the platform at Putney Stationonly to hear Mr. Blake making inquiries in regard to a certain stagerunning between that town and a still smaller village further east, Iown I was not only surprised but well-nigh nonplussed. Especially ashe seemed greatly disappointed to hear that it only ran once a day, andthen for an earlier train in the morning.
"You will have to wait till to-morrow I fear," said the ticket agent,"unless the landlord of the hotel down yonder, can harness you up ateam. There is a funeral out west to-day and--"
I did not wait to hear more but hurried down to the hotel he had pointedout, and hunting up the landlord inquired if for love or money he couldget me any sort of a conveyance for Melville that afternoon. He assuredme it would be impossible, the livery stable as well as his own beingentirely empty.
"Such a thing don't happen here once in five years," said he to me. "Butthe old codger who is dead, though a queer dick was a noted personage inthese parts, and not a man, woman or child, who could find a horse, muleor donkey, but what availed himself of the privilege. Even the doctor'sspavined mare was pressed into service, though she halts on one leg andstops to get her breath half a dozen times in going up one short hill.You will have to wait for the stage, sir."
"But I am in a hurry," said I as I saw Mr. Blake enter. "I have businessin Melville tonight, and I would pay anything in reason to get there."
But the landlord only shook his head; and drawing back with the air ofan abused man, I took up my stand in the doorway where I could hear thesame colloquy entered into with Mr. Blake, with the same unsatisfactorytermination. He did not take it quite as calmly as I did, though hewas of too reserved a nature to display much emotion over anything.The prospect of a long tedious evening spent in a country hotel seemedalmost unendurable to him, but he finally succumbed to the force ofcircumstances, as indeed he seemed obliged to do, and partaking of suchrefreshment as the rather poorly managed hotel afforded, retired withoutceremony to his room, from which he did not emerge again till nextmorning. In all this he had somehow managed not to give his name; and bymeans of some inquiries I succeeded in making that evening, I found hisperson was unknown in the town.
By a little management I secured the next room to his, by whicharrangement I succeeded in passing a sleepless night, Mr. Blake spendingmost of the wee sma' hours in pacing the floor of his room, with anunremitting regularity that had anything but a soothing effect upon mynerves. Early the next morning we took the stage, he sitting on the backseat, and I in front with the driver. There were other passengers, butI noticed he never spoke to any of them, nor through all the long drivedid he once look up from the corner where he had ensconced himself. Itwas twelve o'clock when we reached the end of the route, a small townof somewhat less than the usual pretensions of mountain villages; soinsignificant indeed, that I found it more and more difficult to imaginewhat the wealthy ex-Congressman could find in such a spot as this, tomake amends for a journey of such length and discomfort; when to myincreasing wonder I heard him give orders for a horse to be saddled andbrought round to the inn door directly after dinner. This was a move Ihad not expected and it threw me a little aback, for although I had thusfar managed to hold myself so aloof from Mr. Blake, even while keepinghim under my eye, that no suspicion of my interest in his movements hadas yet been awakened, how could I thus for the third time follow hisorder with one precisely similar, without attracting an attention thatwould be fatal to my plans. Yet to let him ride off alone now, would beto drop the trail at the very moment the scent became of importance.
The landlord, a bustling, wiry little man all nervousness and questions,unwittingly helped me at this crisis.
"Are you going on to Perry, sir?" inquired he of that gentleman, "I havebeen expecting a man along these three days bound for Perry."
"I am that man," I broke in, stepping forward with some appearance ofasperity, "and I hope you won't keep me waiting. A horse as soon asdinner is over, do you hear? I am two days late now, and won't stand anynonsense."
And to escape the questions sure to follow, I strode into thedining-room with a half-fierce, half-sullen countenance, thateffectually precluded all advances. During the meal I saw Mr. Blake'seye roam more than once towards my face; but I did not return his gaze,or notice him in any way; hurrying through my dinner, and mounting thefirst horse brought around, as if time were my only consideration. Butonce on the road I took the first opportunity to draw rein and wait,suddenly remembering that I had not heard Mr. Blake give any intimationof the direction he intended taking. A few minutes revealed to me hiselegant form well mounted and showing to perfection in his closelybuttoned coat, slowly approaching up the road. Taking advantage ofa rise in the ground, I lingered till he was almost upon me, when Icantered quickly on, fearing to arouse his apprehensions if I allowedhim to pass me on a road so solitary as that which now stretched outbefore us: a move provocative of much embarassment to me, as I dared notturn my head for the same reason, anxious as I was to keep him in sight.
The roads dividing before me, at length gave me my first opportunityto pause and look back. He was some fifty paces behind. Waiting till hecame up, I bowed with the surly courtesy I thought in keeping with thecharacter I had assumed, and asked if he knew which road led towardsPerry, saying I had come off in such haste I had forgotten to inquire myway. He returned my bow, pointed towards the left hand road and saying,"I know this does not," calmly took it.
Now here was a dilemma. If in face of this curt response I proceeded tofollow him, my hand was revealed at once; yet the circumstanceswould admit of no other course. I determined to compromise matters bypretending to take the right hand road till he was out of sight, when Iwould return and follow him swiftly upon the left. Accordingly I reinedmy horse to the right, and for some fifteen minutes galloped slowlyaway towards the north; but another fifteen saw me facing the west, andriding with a force and fury of which I had not thought the old marethey had given me capable, till I put her to the test. It was not longbefore I saw my fine gentleman trotting in front of me up a long butgentle slope that rose in the distance; and slackening my own rein, Iwithdrew into the forest at the side of the road, till he had passed itssummit and disappeared, when I again galloped forward.
And thus we went on for an hour, over the most uneven country I evertraversed, he always one hill ahead; when suddenly, by what instinct Icannot determine, I felt myself approaching the end, and hastening tothe top of the ascent up which I was then laboring, looked down into theshallow valley spread out before me.
What a sight met my eyes if I had been intent on anything less practicalthan the movements of the solitary horseman below! Hills on hills piledabout a verdant basin in whose depths nestled a scanty collection ofhouses, in number so small they could be told upon the fingers of theright hand, but which notwithstanding lent an indescribable aspect ofcomfort to this remote region of hill and forest.
But the vision of Mr. Blake pausing half way down the slope before me,examining, yes examining a pistol which he held in his hand, soon putan end to all ideas of romance. Somewhat alarmed I reined back; but hisaction had evidently no connection with me, for he did not once glancebehind him, but kept his eye on the road which I now observed took ashort turn towards a house of so weird and ominous an appearance that Iscarcely marvelled at his precaution.
Situated on a level track of land at the crossing of three roads, itsspacious front, rude and unpainted as it was, presented every appearanceof an inn, but from its moss-grown chimneys no smoke arose, nor couldI detect any sign of life in its shutterless windows and closed doors,across which shivered the dark shadow of the one gaunt and aged pine,that stood like a guard beside
its tumbled-down porch.
Mr. Blake seemed to have been struck by the same fact concerning itsloneliness, for hurriedly replacing his pistol in his breast pocket, herode slowly forward. I instantly conceived the plan of striking acrossthe belt of underbrush that separated me from this old dwelling, and bytaking my stand opposite its front, intercept a view of Mr. Blake ashe approached. Hastily dismounting, therefore, I led my horse into thebushes and tied her to a tree, proceeding to carry out my plan on foot.I was so far successful as to arrive at the further edge of the wood,which was thick enough to conceal my presence without being too dense toobstruct my vision, just as Mr. Blake passed on his way to this solitarydwelling. He was looking very anxious, but determined. Turning my eyesfrom him, I took another glance at the house, which by this movement Ihad brought directly before me. It was even more deserted-looking thanI had thought; its unpainted front with its double row of blank windowsmeeting your gaze without a response, while the huge old pine with halfits limbs dismantled of foliage, rattled its old bones against its sidesand moaned in its aged fashion like the solitary retainer of a deadrace.
I own I felt the cold shivers creep down my back as that creaking soundstruck my ears, though as the day was chill with an east wind I dare sayit was more the effect of my sudden cessation from exercise, than ofany superstitious awe I felt. Mr. Blake seemed to labor under no suchimpressions. Riding up to the front door he knocked without dismounting,on its dismal panels with his riding whip. No response was heard.Knitting his brows impatiently, he tried the latch: the door was locked.Hastily running his eye over the face of the building, he drew rein andproceeded to ride around the house, which he could easily do owingto the absence of every obstruction in the way of fence or shrubbery.Finding no means of entrance he returned again to the front door whichhe shook with an impatient hand that however produced no impressionupon the trusty lock, and recognizing, doubtless, the futility of hisendeavors, he drew back, and merely pausing to give one other look atits deserted front, turned his horse's head, and to my great amazement,proceeded with sombre mien and clouded brow to retake the road toMelville.
This old inn or decayed homestead was then the object of his lengthenedand tedious journey; this ancient house rotting away among the bleakhills of Vermont, the bourne towards which his steps had been tendingfor these past two days. I could not understand it. Rapidly emergingfrom the spot where I had secreted myself, I in my turn made a circuitof the house, if happily I should discover some loophole of entrancewhich had escaped his attention. But every door and window was securelybarred, and I was about to follow his example and leave the spot, whenI saw two or three children advancing towards me down the cross roads,gaily swinging their school books. I noticed they hesitated and huddledtogether as they approached and saw me, but not heeding this, I accostedthem with a pleasant word or so, then pointing over my shoulder to thehouse behind, asked who lived there. Instantly their already pale facesgrew paler.
"Why," cried one, a boy, "don't you know? That is where the two wickedmen lived who stole the money out of the Rutland bank. They were put inprison, but they got away and--"
Here, the other, a little girl, plucked him by the sleeve with suchaffright, that he himself took alarm and just giving me one quick stareout of his wide eyes, grasped his companion by the hand and took to hisheels. As for myself I stood rooted to the ground in my astonishment.This blank, sleepy old house the home of the notorious Schoenmakersafter whom half of the detectives of the country were searching? I couldscarcely credit my own ears. True I now remembered they had come fromthese parts, still--
Turning round I eyed the house once more. How altered it looked to me!What a murderous aspect it wore, and how dismally secret were the tightshut windows and closely fastened doors, on one of which a rude crossscrawled in red chalk met the eye with a mysterious significance. Eventhe old pine had acquired the villainous air of the uncanny repositor ofsecrets too dreadful to reveal, as it groaned and murmured to itself inthe keen east wind. Dark deeds and foul wrong seemed written all overthe fearful place, from the long strings of black moss that clung tothe worm-eaten eaves, to the worn stone with its great blotch ofsomething,--could it have been blood?--that served as a threshold tothe door. Suddenly with the quickness of lightning the thought flashedacross me, what could Mr. Blake, the aristocratic representative of NewYork's oldest family, have wanted in this nest of infamy? What errandof hope, fear, despair, avarice or revenge, could have brought thissuperior gentleman with his refined tastes and proudly reticent manners,so many miles from home, to the forsaken den of a brace of hardyvillains whose name for two years now, had stood as the type of all thatwas bold, bad and lawless, and for whom during the last six weeks theprison had yawned, and the gallows hungered. Contemplation broughtno reply, and shocked at my own thoughts, I put the question by forsteadier brains than mine; and instead of trying further to solve it,cast about how I was to gain entrance into this deserted building; forto enter it I was more than ever determined, now that I had heard towhom it had once belonged.
Examining with a glance the several roads that branched off in everydirection from where I stood, I found them all equally deserted. Eventhe school children had disappeared in some one of the four or fivehouses scattered in the remote distance.
If I was willing to enter upon any daring exploit, there was no one toobserve or interrupt. I resolved to make the attempt with which my mindwas full. This was to climb the old tree, and from one of the two orthree branches that brushed against the house, gain entrance at anopen garret window that stared at me from amid the pine's dark needles.Taking off my coat with a sigh over the immaculate condition of my newcassimere trousers, I bent my energies to the task. A difficult one youwill say for a city lad, but thanks to fortune I was not brought up inNew York, and know how to climb trees with the best. With little morethan a scratch or so, I reached the window of which I have spoken,and after a moment spent in regaining my breath, gave one spring andaccomplished my purpose. I alighted upon a heap of broken glass in alarge bare room. An ominous chill at once struck to my heart. ThoughI am anything but a sensitive man as far as physical impressions areconcerned, there was something in the hollow echo that arose from thefour blank walls about me as my feet alighted on that rough, uncarpetedfloor, that struck a vague chill through my blood, and I actuallyhesitated for the moment whether to pursue the investigations I hadpromised myself, or beat a hasty retreat. A glance at the huge distortedlimbs swaying across the square of the open window decided me. Itwas easy to enter by means of that unsteady support, but it would beextremely unsafe to venture forth in that way. If I prized life and limbI must seek some other method of egress. I at once put my apprehensionsin my pocket and entered upon my self imposed task.
A single glance was sufficient to exhaust the resources of the emptygarret in which I found myself. Two or three old chairs piled in onecorner, a rusty stove or so, a heap of tattered and decaying clothing,were all that met my gaze. Taking my way, then, at once to the ladder,whose narrow ends projecting above a hole in the garret floor, seemedto proffer the means of reaching the rooms below, I proceeded to descendinto what to my excited imagination looked like a gulf of darkness. Itproved, however, to be nothing more nor less than an unlighted hall ofsmall dimensions, with a stair-case at one end and a door at the other,which, upon opening I found myself in a large, square room whose immensefour-post bedstead entirely denuded of its usual accompaniments of bedand bolster at once struck my eye and for a moment held it enchained.There were other articles in the room; a disused bureau, a rockingchair, even a table, but nothing had such a ghostly look as that antiquebedstead with its curtains of calico tied back over its naked framework,like rags draped from the bare bones of a skeleton. Passing hurriedlyby, I tried a closet door or so, finding little, however, to reward mysearch; and eager to be done with what was every moment becoming moreand more drearisome, I hastened across the floor to the front of thehouse where I found another hall and a row of rooms that, while note
ntirely stripped of furniture, were yet sufficiently barren tooffer little encouragement to my curiosity. One only, a small but notuncomfortable apartment, showed any signs of having been occupied withina reasonable length of time; and as I paused before its hastily spreadbed, thrown together as only a man would do it, and wondering why theroom was so dark, looked up and saw that the window was entirely coveredby an old shawl and a couple of heavy coats that had been hastily nailedacross it, I own I felt my hand go to my breast pocket almost as if Iexpected to see the wild faces of the dreaded Schoenmakers start up allaglare from one of the dim corners before me. Rushing to the window, Itore down with one sweep of my arm both coat and shawl, and with a startdiscovered that the window still possessed its draperies in the shape ofa pair of discolored and tattered curtains tied with ribbons that mustonce have been brilliant and cheery of color.
Nor was this the only sign in the room of a bygone presence that hadpossessed a taste for something beyond the mere necessities of life.On the grim coarsely papered wall hung more than one picture; cut frompictorial newspapers to be sure, but each and every one, if I may becalled a judge of such matters, possessing some quality of expression tocommend it to a certain order of taste. They were all strong pictures.Vivid faces of men and women in daring positions; a hunter holding backa jaguar from his throat; a soldier protecting his comrade from thestroke; and most striking of all, a woman lissome as she was powerful,starting aghast and horror stricken from--what? I could not tell; arough hand had stripped the remainder of the picture from the wall.
A bit of candle and a half sheet of a newspaper lay on the floor. Ipicked up the paper. It was a Rutland Herald and bore the date of twodays before. As I read I realized what I had done. If these daringrobbers were not at this very moment in the house, they had been there,and that within two or three days. The broken panes of glass in thegarret above were now explained. I was not the first one who had climbedthat creaking pine tree this fall.
Something like a sensible dread of a very possible danger now seizedhold of me. If I had stumbled upon these strangely subtile, yetdevilishly bold creatures in their secret lair, the pistol I carried wasnot going to save me. Shut in like a fox in a hole, I had little to hopefor, if they once made their appearance at the stairhead or came upon mefrom any of the dim halls of the crazy old dwelling, which I now beganto find altogether too large for my comfort. Stealing cautiously forthfrom the room in which I had found so much to disconcert me, I crepttowards the front staircase and listened. All was deathly quiet. Theold pine tree moaned and twisted without, and from time to time the windcame sweeping down the chimney with an unearthly shrieking sound thatwas weirdly in keeping with the place. But within and below all wasstill as the tomb, and though in no ways reassured, I determined todescend and have the suspense over at once. I did so, pistol in handand ears stretched to their utmost to catch the slightest rustle, but nosound came to disturb me, nor did I meet on this lower floor the sign ofany other presence in the house but my own. Passing hastily through whatappeared to be a sort of rude parlor, I stepped into the kitchen andtried one of the windows. Finding I could easily lift it from theinside, I drew my breath with ease for the first time since I hadalighted among the broken glass above, and turning back, deliberatelyopened the door of the kitchen stove, and looked in. As I half expected,I found a pile of partly charred rags, showing where the wretches hadburned their prison clothing, and proceeding further, picked up fromthe ashes a ring which whether or not they were conscious of havingattempted to destroy in this way I cannot say, but which I thankfullyput in my pocket against the day it might be required as proof.
Discerning nothing more in that quarter inviting interest, I askedmyself if I had nerve to descend into the cellar. Finally concludingthat that was more than could be expected from any man in my position, Igave one look of farewell to the damp and desolate walls about me, thenwith a breath of relief jumped from the kitchen window again into thelight and air of day. As I did so I could swear I heard a door withinthat old house swing on its hinges and softly close. With a thrill Irecognized the fact that it came from the cellar.
* * * *
My thoughts on the road back to Melville were many and conflicting.Chief above them all, however, rose the comfortable conclusion that inthe pursuit of one mysterious affair, I had stumbled, as is often thecase, upon the clue to another of yet greater importance, and by sodoing got a start that might yet redound greatly to my advantage. Forthe reward offered for the recapture of the Schoenmakers was large, andthe possibility of my being the one to put the authorities upon theirtrack, certainly appeared after this day's developements, open at leastto a very reasonable hope. At all events I determined not to let thegrass grow under my feet till I had informed the Superintendent of whatI had seen and heard that day in the old haunt of these two escapedconvicts.
Arrived at the public house in Melville, and learning that Mr. Blake hadsafely returned there an hour before, I drew the landlord to one sideand asked what he could tell me about that old house of the two notedrobbers Schoenmaker, I had passed on my way back among the hills.
"Wa'al now," replied he, "this is curious. Here I've just been answeringthe gentleman up stairs a heap of questions concerning that self sameold place, and now you come along with another batch of them; just asif that rickety old den was the only spot of interest we had in theseparts."
"Perhaps that may be the truth," I laughed. "Just now when the papersare full of these rogues, anything concerning them must be of superiorinterest of course." And I pressed him again to give me a history of thehouse and the two thieves who had inhabited it.
"Wa'al," drawled he "'taint much we know about them, yet after all itmay be a trifle too much for their necks some day. Time was when nobodythought especial ill of them beyond a suspicion or so of their beingsomewhat mean about money. That was when they kept an inn there, butwhen the robbery of the Rutland bank was so clearly traced to them,more than one man about here started up and said as how they hadalways suspected them Shoenmakers of being villains, and even hinted atsomething worse than robbery. But nothing beyond that one rascality hasyet been proved against them, and for that they were sent to jail fortwenty years as you know. Two months ago they escaped, and that is thelast known of them. A precious set, too, they are; the father being onlyso much the greater rogue than the son as he is years older."
"And the inn? When was that closed?"
"Just after their arrest."
"Has'nt it been opened since?"
"Only once when a brace of detectives came up from Troy to investigate,as they called it."
"Who has the key?"
"Ah, that's more than I can tell you."
I dared not ask how my questions differed from those of Mr. Blake, norindeed touch upon that point in any way. I was chiefly anxious nowto return to New York without delay; so paying my bill I thanked thelandlord, and without waiting for the stage, remounted my horse andproceeded at once to Putney where I was fortunate enough to catch theevening train. By five o'clock next morning I was in New York where Iproceeded to carry out my programme by hastening at once to headquartersand reporting my suspicions regarding the whereabouts of theSchoenmakers. The information was received with interest and I hadthe satisfaction of seeing two men despatched north that very day withorders to procure the arrest of the two notable villains wherever found.