CHAPTER XXIII
MR. ALFRED WEEKS AT A CERTAIN CONFERENCE
“HERE we are, mister,” said the ex-clerk; “see, there’s the sign—New England Hotel. Did you expect to find your runaway nephew here?”
“No-o,” replied old Arad Tarr, eying the place with a good deal of disfavor.
“See here,” said Weeks slowly, “I’ve been trying to remember whereabouts I’ve heard that name ‘Brandon’ before. It’s not a common name, you know.”
“No, ’taint common. D’ye thing ye’ve seen Brandon since he’s been here in New York? He’s only been here two days, I reckon,” said old Arad eagerly.
“Perhaps.”
“Where was he?” queried the old man. “I’m his lawful guardeen, an’ I’m a-goin’ ter hev him back, now I tell ye!”
“Let’s see; his name is Brandon Tarr, isn’t it?”
“That’s it; that’s it,” Arad declared.
“And he came from Chopmist, Rhode Island?”
“Sartin. You must have seen him, mister.”
“I guess I have,” said Weeks reflectively. “He was the son of a Captain Horace Tarr, lost at sea on the Silver Swan not long ago, eh?”
“The very feller!” cried Arad, with manifest delight.
“Then I guess I can help you find him,” declared Weeks cheerfully. “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you how I happened to run across him. It’s not a very nice looking place, this isn’t; but they know me here and it won’t be safe for them to treat any of my friends crooked.”
The old man, who had forgotten all about bunco men and their ilk in his anxiety to recover his nephew, followed him into the bar room. The place was but poorly patronized at this hour of the day, and with a nod to Brady, who, his face adorned with a most beautiful black eye, was behind the bar, Weeks led the way to an empty table in the further corner.
“What’ll you an’ your friend hev ter drink?” inquired Mr. Brady, with an atrocious grin.
“Oh, a bottle of sarsaparilla,” responded Weeks carelessly, and when the bull necked barkeeper had brought it, the ex-clerk paid for the refreshment himself.
Old Arad had looked rather scared at the appearance of the bottle. His mind at once reverted to the stories he had read in the local paper at home (which paper he had borrowed from a neighbor, by the way) of countrymen being decoyed into dens in New York and treated to drugged liquor.
But as Weeks allowed the bottle to stand on the table between them untouched throughout their conference, the old man felt easier in his mind.
“Ye say ye’ve seen Brandon?” inquired Arad, when Jack Brady had returned to his position behind the bar, and there was nobody within earshot.
“Yes. I’ll tell you how it was. You see, Mr. Tarr—that’s your name, isn’t it?—I have a position in a shipping merchant’s office as clerk. The office is—er—closed today, so I am out. This office is that of Adoniram Pepper & Co. Ever hear of them?”
Old Arad shook his head negatively.
“Pepper was a great friend of this Brandon’s father, so I understand.”
“Mebbe,” snarled the farmer. “Cap’n Tarr’s friends warn’t my friends.”
“No? Well, your nephew steered straight for Pepper’s office, and I believe that he’s staying at the old man’s house now—he and a man by the name of Caleb Wetherbee.”
“Caleb Wetherbee? Gracious Peter!” ejaculated the old man. “Hez he found him so soon.”
Mr. Weeks nodded briefly.
“This Wetherbee was mate of the Silver Swan.”
“That’s the man,” muttered Arad hopelessly.
“I take it you didn’t want your nephew and this Wetherbee to meet?” suggested Weeks shrewdly.
“No—o——well, I dunno. I—I’m erfraid ’twon’t be so easy to git Brandon back ter the farm ef he’s found this mate.”
“Perhaps we can fix it up,” said Weeks cheerfully.
“D’ye think so?”
“Let’s see; are you his legal guardian?”
“Yes, I be,” declared Arad savagely; “on’y the papers ain’t made aout.”
“I don’t really see, then, how you can bring it about until you are appointed,” said Mr. Weeks slowly.
“I jest kin!” asserted Arad, with confidence. “I gotter warrant here for him.”
“Whew!” The astute Weeks looked at the old sinner admiringly. “Well, well! you are a smart one. What’s the charge?”
“Robbing me,” responded the old man. “The day he run away he took ’most fifty dollars outer a—a beury droor. Dretful bad boy is that Brandon.”
“Yes, I should think so. Well, with that warrant I should think you had him pretty straight.”
“D’ye think I kin find him all right?” asked Arad anxiously.
“If you can’t, I can,” responded Weeks. “I know where to put my hand on him.”
At that moment a door at the rear of the room (within a few feet of the table at which they were seated, in fact) opened, and a man entered. Weeks recognized him at once as Jim Leroyd; he had seen him before, although he could claim no speaking acquaintance with him.
Old Arad also saw and recognized the newcomer, and as the sailor passed along the room, he caught sight of the old farmer.
“Why, dash my top lights!” he exclaimed, in surprise. “Ef here ain’t Mr. Tarr!”
He stepped back to the table and grasped the old man’s hand most cordially, at the same time casting a suspicious glance at Weeks. He knew the ex-clerk by reputation, as Weeks knew him.
“Don’t ye be up ter any funny biz with this gentleman, Sneaky,” he said, with a scowl. “He’s my friend.”
“Don’t you fret,” responded Weeks. “He and I were talking about his nephew, Brandon Tarr, who was up to see you yesterday——”
Mr. Leroyd uttered a volley of choice profanity at this, and Arad was greatly surprised.
“Came ter see yeou?” he gasped. “Er—erbout that matter we was a-talkin’ of, Mr. Leroyd? Ye know I—I’m his legal guardeen——”
“Don’t ye be scared, Mr. Tarr,” said Weeks, who understood the circumstances pretty well, “I can vouch for Jim, here, not playing you false.”
“What do you know about it, anyway?” growled Jim uglily.
“Now, sit down and keep cool, Leroyd,” urged Weeks. “I know all about it. I know about your little scheme to gobble the—the treasure aboard the Silver Swan——”
“Sh!” exclaimed Leroyd fiercely. “You know too much, young feller.”
“No, I know just enough, and I’ll prove it to you.”
“I s’pose ye think ye kin force yer way inter this, but ye’re mistaken. This is the private affair o’ Mr. Tarr an’ me, an’ I warn ye ter keep yer nose out.”
He arose as he spoke, his fierce eyes fixed threateningly upon Weeks’ impassive face.
“You come with me, Mr. Tarr, where we can talk the matter over privately. We don’t want nothin’ o’ that swab.”
The red headed ex-clerk fairly laughed aloud at this.
“See here, Leroyd,” he said, still coolly: “you made a break for those papers yesterday, I believe. What did you get?”
“Hey?” roared the sailor.
“I said that you made a break for those papers of Cale Wetherbee’s yesterday,” repeated Weeks, slowly and distinctly. “Now, what did you get?”
“Not a blamed thing,” responded the sailor frankly, after an instant’s hesitation.
“That’s what I thought. I thought Cale Wetherbee took it altogether too coolly if you had made a haul worth anything. Now, I could tell you something, if I thought ’twould be worth my while.”
“What is it?”
“Do you know what the treasure hidden aboard the brig consists of?”
“No,” replied Leroyd shortly, while old Arad gazed from one to the other in bewilderment.
“Well, I do,” declared Weeks.
“Ye do?”
“Sure. I heard that Wetherbee and the boy and old man Pepper talking it over.”
“Who’s Pepper?” growled Leroyd.
“He’s the feller who is going to back ’em in this hunt for the brig. He’s going to furnish the vessel and all.”
“Curses on the luck!” growled the sailor again.
Here old Arad interposed. The old man’s hands were trembling violently, and his face was pale with excitement.
“We—we must stop ’em—they ain’t got no right ter do it,” he sputtered. “Horace Tarr was my nevvy, an’ I’m the guardeen o’ that boy. There hain’t nobody else got no right to go arter them di’monds.”
“Diamonds!” exclaimed Leroyd. “Is that the treasure?”
“Ye—es,” replied Arad hesitatingly, looking at Weeks. “I—I found a letter from this Wetherbee, the mate of the Silver Swan, an’ it says so. Horace’s brother Anson got ’em in South Afriky.”
“Good for you, old feller,” said Leroyd admiringly. “Ye did take my advice, didn’t ye?”
Old Arad rubbed his hands together as though washing them with imaginary soap, and grinned.
“Yes, diamonds is the treasure,” Weeks rejoined calmly. “Now, you’ll start right off to find the brig with Mr. Tarr here to back you with money, eh, Leroyd?”
“Never ye mind what I’ll do,” returned Jim, uglily. “I tell ye this hain’t none o’ your funeral, so you keep out of it, Sneaky.”
“Are you sure?” asked Weeks, with a tantalizing smile.
“Yes, I’m sure!” roared the enraged sailor.
“Well, don’t holler so loud,” the red haired one admonished him. “But I think you’re mistaken.”
Leroyd glared at him like an angry bull dog but said nothing.
“Now I s’pose,” continued Weeks, cocking his eye at the smoke begrimmed ceiling of the bar room, “that you expect to get a vessel an’ go in pursuit of the Silver Swan; and that when you’ve got her you’ll tow her in port, an’ you’ll have the salvage—that’ll be a pretty good sum.”
“And the di’monds,” interjected Arad, with an avaricious chuckle.
“Oh, will you?” said Weeks with cool sarcasm. “That remains to be seen. You’ll have the brig fast enough: but how’ll you get the stones?”
“Why, ef we git the brig won’t the diamonds be aboard her?” queried Arad.
“Yes, they will; but where will they be, aboard her? Can you tell me that?”
Arad’s jaw fell and he stared blankly at the shrewd Weeks. Even Leroyd was visibly moved by this statement.
“You don’t know where the diamonds are hidden,” continued Weeks, pursuing his advantage. “You might tear that whole brig to pieces an’ not find ’em, but I know just where they are and I can put my hand right on ’em!”
“You kin?” gasped old Arad.
“Is that straight, Sneaky?” demanded Leroyd, with interest.
Weeks nodded calmly.
“I believe you’re lying,” the sailor declared.
“Well you can think so if you want to,” said the ex-clerk, rising, “and I’ll go now and find somebody to go in with me on this scheme, and I’ll run my chances of getting to the brig first. You can have the old hulk and welcome after I’ve been aboard her five minutes, Leroyd.
“But, if you’ll let me in on the ground floor of this,” he continued, “and give me one third of all there is in it, why all right. If you don’t, probably you’ll get nothing, while me and the other fellow’ll get it all,” and Mr. Weeks smiled benignantly upon his audience.