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The Inn at the Red Oak

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"So!" exclaimed Madame de la Fontaine, with an accent of displeasure.
"_Ecoutez_! Monsieur le Marquis was to come a month in advance, as he did
come; take up his quarters at the Inn; reconnoitre the ground; and win,
if possible, the confidence and aid of mademoiselle. He fortunately
succeeded in this last, for he found it otherwise impossible to enter
into the old wing of the Inn and examine the Oak Parlour. With the
assistance of Eloise, this was accomplished at last, and the paper of
directions was found; at least, found in part.

"Then I, having impressed the services of Captain Bonhomme and his ship
the _Southern Cross_, set sail and arrived at the House on the Dunes only
a few days ago, as you already know. The signals that you saw flashing at
night were to indicate that all was well."

"The green light, I suppose," commented Dan, "was to indicate that; and
the red--"

"Was the signal of danger. Because the Marquis discovered last night that
you were not in the house; he flashed the warning that made Captain
Bonhomme go to the House on the Dunes. Quite recently the manners of your
friend, Mr.--eh--?"

"Pembroke?"

"Yes, Mr. Pembroke--led the Marquis to believe that he was being
watched.

"I understand," said Dan, "but nothing you have told me so far, madame,
accounts for Nancy's disappearance, and I am as anxious as ever to know
where she is."

"Mademoiselle is perfectly safe, Monsieur Dan; I assure you. She left the
Inn because she had fear of betraying our plans, particularly as she
loved your friend, Mr. Pembroke."

"It is still strange to me, madame, that Nancy should distrust her oldest
and best friends. But now you will let me see her?"

"Of course I shall soon, very soon, my dear boy. I have told you all, and
now you will aid me to find the treasure that is your foster-sister's
heritage, will you not?"

"Why certainly I want Nancy to have what is hers," replied Dan.

"Bravo, my friend. We are to count you one of us, I am sure."

"Just a moment," said Dan, resisting the temptation to touch the little
hand that had been placed impulsively upon his arm. "May I ask one more
question?"

"A thousand, my dear, if you desire."

"Why then, since until last night everything has gone as you planned it,
why has not the treasure already been discovered?"

"Because, _mon ami_; the Marquis has only been able to visit the Oak
Parlour at night. And also it was decided to wait until I arrived."

"With the schooner?" suggested Dan.

"With the schooner, if you will. And you may remember that it was only
the day before yesterday that I reached your so hospitable countryside."

"Ah! I understand; so then all that you desire of me, madame, is that I
shall permit the Marquis or anyone else whom you may select for the
purpose, to make such investigation of the Oak Parlour as is desired."

"Yes, my friend; and also there is yet another thing that we desire."

"But suppose, madame, that I cannot agree to that?"

"Ah! _cher ami_, but you will. I confess--you must remember that the
Marquis de Boisdhyver has been a soldier--that my friends have not agreed
with me entirely. It has seemed to them simpler that we should keep you a
prisoner on this ship, as we could so easily do, until our mission is
accomplished. But,--I like you too much to agree to that."

Dan flushed a trifle, but he was not yet quite sure enough to fall in
entirely with his charming gaoler's suggestions. "Madame de la Fontaine,"
he said after a moment's reflection, "I am greatly obliged to you for
explaining the situation to me so fully. I shall be only too happy to
help you, particularly in anything that is for the benefit of Nancy."

"I was sure of it. Now, my friend, there is a service that you can
immediately render."

"And that is?" asked Dan.

"To entrust to me the other half of the paper of directions written by
François de Boisdhyver, which you found in a secret cubby-hole in the
old cabinet."

"What makes you think that I was successful in finding that, when the
Marquis failed?"

"Because, at first having forgotten his precise directions after so many
years, the Marquis could not find the fourth and last hiding-place in the
cabinet, in which he knew the Maréchal had placed the other half of the
torn scrap of paper. Another time he did find the cubby-hole, and it was
empty. So knowing he was watched by you and Mr. Pembroke, he decided
that you must have found it. Is it not so, that you have it?"

"It is certainly not in my possession at this moment," said Dan.

"No, but you have it?"

"And if I have?"

"It is necessary for our success."

"Then, my first service, is to put you into complete possession of
the secret?"

"If you will so express it."

"Very well, madame, I will do so; but, on one condition."

"And what is that, my friend?"

"That I be allowed to see Nancy, and that she herself shall ask me to do
as you desire."

For a moment Madame de la Fontaine was silent. "_Eh bien_," she said at
last, "you do not trust me?"

"But, dear madame, think of my situation, it is hard for me."

"Ah! I know it, believe me. _C'est difficile_. But I hoped you would
trust me as I have you."

"Indeed, madame," exclaimed Dan, "I must try to think of everything,
the mystery, this extraordinary mission upon which you are engaged, the
fact that I am quite literally your prisoner. When I think about you,
I know only you are beautiful, that you are lovely, and that I am happy
near you."

She looked at him for a moment with a glance of anxious interrogation,
as if to ask were it safe for her to believe these protestations. "You
say, my friend," she asked at length, "that you care a little for me,
for just me? _C'est impossible_. If Claire de la Fontaine could
believe that, understand me, monsieur, it would be very sweet and very
precious to her."

"I do care," cried Dan.

"Ah!" she exclaimed. "You have touched my heart. I am not a young girl,
_mon ami_, but I confess that you have made me to know again the dreams
of youth."

"Only let me prove that I care," cried Dan, considering but little now to
what he committed himself.

"Let me prove," cried she, "that I too believe in you. I must first see
the Marquis, and then, tonight, if it can be arranged, you shall receive
from Eloise de Boisdhyver's own lips the request I have made of you. But
if, for any reason, this cannot be arranged for to-night, you must be
patient till morning; you must trust me to the extent of remaining on
this ship. I cannot act entirely on my own judgment, but I assure you
that in the end my judgment will prevail. And now, _au revoir_."

She placed her hand in his, and responded to the impulsive pressure with
which he clasped it. Their eyes met; in Dan's the frankest expression of
her conquest of his emotions; in her's a glance at once tender and sad,
above all a glance that seemed to search his spirit for assurance that he
was in earnest. Suddenly fired by her alluring beauty, Dan drew her to
him and bent his head to hers.

"Ah! my friend," she murmured, "you are taking an unfair advantage of the
fact that this morning I too rashly yielded to an impulse."

"I cannot help it," Dan stammered. "You bewitch me." He bent lower to
kiss her cheek, when he suddenly thrilled to the realization that his
lips had met hers.

A moment later Madame de la Fontaine was gone and Captain Bonhomme had
reappeared in the doorway.



CHAPTER XIV

IN THE FOG


Tom Pembroke was as good as his word. He returned to the little room, in
which he had confined the Marquis, within an hour after he had left him.
It was then nearly supper-time and dusk was fast settling upon the gloomy
countryside. An unwonted calm had fallen upon land and sea after the
sharp blow of the previous night, but the sky was still gray and there
was promise of more rain, if not of wind.

To Tom's indignation and alarm, though scarcely to his surprise, there
had been no sign or word from Dan or Nancy. Shortly after he had left the
Marquis, he saw, by aid of the field-glass, Madame de la Fontaine,
attended by two seamen, leave the schooner and return to the House on the
Dunes. He smiled a little as he thought of the account the lively young
maid-servant would give of his recent visit. But withal, he felt very
much as if he were playing a game of blind man's buff and that he was
"it." He was impatient for his interview with the Marquis, though he was
but little hopeful that an hour's confinement would have been sufficient
to bring the old gentleman to terms. Nor was he to be surprised.

He found Monsieur de Boisdhyver huddled in a great arm chair near the
fire that that been kindled on the hearth of his prison. The Marquis
glanced up, as Tom entered, but dropped his eyes at once and offered him
no greeting. Tom placed his candle on the table and, drawing up a chair,
seated himself between the Marquis and the door.

"Well, sir," he said at last, "as I promised you, I have returned within
an hour. Have you anything to say to me?"

"Have I anything to say to you!" exclaimed the Marquis. "For why,
monsieur? If I venture to express my astonishment and indignation at the
way I am treated, you subject me to a barbarity that could be matched no
where else in the civilized world than in this extraordinary country. My
life is menaced with firearms. My protests are sneered at. I have left
but one inference--you have gone mad."

"No, marquis," said Pembroke, "I am not mad. I am simply determined that
the mysteries by which we have been surrounded and of which you are the
center, shall cease. You have a free choice: put me in the way of getting
my friend and his sister back to the Inn, or resign yourself to a
prolonged confinement in this room."

"But monsieur I have nothing to communicate to you concerning the
disappearance of your friends."

"Pardon me, marquis," returned Pembroke; "you have much to communicate to
me. Perhaps you are not aware that I know the motive of your coming to
the Inn at the Red Oak; that I know the reason for your prolonged stay
here; that I know of the influence that you have acquired over Nancy
Frost; and that I have been a witness of your midnight prowlings about
the Inn. Nor am I in ignorance of your connection with the
rascally-looking captain of the schooner at anchor in the Cove and with
the mysterious woman, who has taken possession of the House on the Dunes.
I am convinced that you know what has become of Dan as well as what has
happened to Nancy. And, believe me, I am determined to find out."

"_Bien_!" exclaimed Monsieur de Boisdhyver, "permit me to wish you good
luck in your undertaking. I repeat, Monsieur Pembroke, I have no
information to give to you. I do not know to what extent I have been
watched, but I may say with truth that my actions do not in the least
concern you."

"They concern my friends," said Tom. "Dan, as you know, is more to me
than a brother; and as for his sister Nancy, I hope and expect to make
her my wife."

"In that case," rejoined the Marquis with ill-concealed irony, "I may be
permitted to offer to you my congratulations. But even so, monsieur,
there is nothing that I can do to facilitate your matrimonial plans."

"You refuse then to come to terms?" asked Pembroke.

The Marquis raised his hands with a gesture of despair. "What shall I
say, monsieur? If you insisted upon my flying from here to yonder beach,
I might have all the desire in the world to oblige you, but the fact
would remain that I was without the means of doing so. Since you are so
little disposed to accept my protestations, I will no longer make them,
but simply decline your proposal. And, pardon me, but so long as I am
submitted to the indignity of this confinement, it would be a courtesy
that I should appreciate if you would spare me your company."

"Very good," said Tom. "Your meals will be served regularly; and you may
ask the servant for anything necessary. I shall not visit you again until
you request me to do so."

"_Merci_," said the Marquis drily. He rose from his seat as Dan turned
toward the door, and bowed ironically.

Pembroke went downstairs to have his supper with Mrs. Frost. He said what
he could to pacify her, not altogether with success, for as darkness fell
the old lady became increasingly apprehensive.

"I know you are anxious, Mrs. Frost," said Tom, "but you must not worry.
Try to believe that all will come out right. I am going out after supper,
but I shall leave Jesse and Ezra on guard, and you may be sure everything
will be safe."

It was some time before Mrs. Frost would consent to his leaving the Inn.
If she had yielded to her inclinations, she would have spent the evening
in hysterics with Tom at hand to administer comfort. Pembroke, however,
deputed that office to black Deborah, and immediately after supper set
about his business.

He gave the necessary instructions to Jesse, Ezra and the maids, saw that
everything was closely locked and barred, supplied himself with arms and
ammunition, and slipped out into the night. Having saddled Fleetwing, he
swung himself on the young hunter's back, and trotted down the avenue to
the Port Road. The night was intensely dark and still. The moon had not
yet risen, and a thick fog rolled in from the sea, shrouding the
countryside with its impenetrable veil.

At the Beach Road Pembroke dismounted, tied his horse to a fence rail,
and proceeded thence on foot toward the Cove. Stumbling along through the
heavy sand, he made his way to the boathouse at the northern end of the
little beach. There he ventured to light his lantern, unlocked the door
and stepped within. On either side of the entrance were the two sailboats
that he and Dan used in summer and to the rear was the old-fashioned
whaleboat with which they did their deep fishing. Over it, in a rudely
constructed rack, was the Indian birch-bark canoe which Dan had purchased
in the mountains a few years before. As the sea had fallen to a dead
calm, he decided to use this canoe, which he could paddle quite
noiselessly, and pulling down the little craft from its winter
resting-place, he carried it to the water's edge. The sea, so angry the
night before, now scarcely murmured; only a low lazy swell, at regularly
recurring intervals, slapped the shore and hissed upon the sands. Tom
pushed the nose of the canoe into the water, leaped lightly over the
rail, and with his paddle thrust it off the beach. He was launched
without mishap.

Not the faintest gleam of light showed the position of the _Southern
Cross_, but estimating as well as he could the general direction, he
paddled out through the enshrouding fog. For ten minutes or so, he pushed
on into the strange, misty night. Then suddenly he found himself
alongside an old fisherman's yawl that had been rotting all winter at her
moorings, and he knew from her position that he could not be far from the
_Southern Cross_.

A few more strokes to leeward, and a spot of dull light broke through the
darkness. He headed directly for it. To his relief it grew brighter; when
suddenly, too late to stop the progress of his canoe, he shot under it,
and the bow of his craft bumped with a dull thud against the timber side
of the schooner. Its dark outlines were just perceptible above him; and
at one or two points there gleamed rays of light in the fog, green and
red from the night lamps on the masthead, and dull yellow from the port
holes in the rear. A second after the contact the canoe receded, then the
wash of the sea drew her toward the stern. Another moment and Pembroke
felt his prow scrape gently against the rudder, which prevented further
drifting. Apparently, since he heard nothing from the deck above, he had
reached his goal without attracting attention.

He kept perfectly still, however, for some little time, until satisfied
that there was no one at the wheel above, he pushed the canoe softly back
to the rope ladder, that a day or so before he had seen hanging over the
side. It was the work of a moment to make his little boat fast to the
lower rung. Then slipping over the rail, he climbed stealthily up till
his head protruded above the gunwhale. The immediate deck seemed
deserted; but he was sure that some one was keeping the watch, and
probably near the point where he was, that is to say, where access to the
deck was easiest. But the fog and the darkness afforded him protection,
as he climbed over the gunwhale and, without making a sound, moved toward
the stern, crossed the after-deck and found the wheel. As he had
surmised, it was deserted. The watch evidently was forward. Beneath him,
sending its ineffectual rays obliquely into the fog, shone the light from
the little cabin below.

Determined to get a look through the port, he climbed over the gunwhale
again, fastened a stern-sheet about his waist and to a staple, and at the
risk, if he slipped or if the rope gave way, of plunging head foremost
into the icy waters of the Cove, he let himself down until his head was
on a level of the port.

Through the blurred glass he peered into a tiny cabin. There with back
toward him, just a few feet away stood Nancy Frost. He steadied himself
with an effort, and looking again saw that she was alone. A moment's
hesitation, and he tapped resolutely on the pane with his finger tips. At
first Nancy did not hear, but presently, aroused by the slight tapping,
she glanced with a frightened expression toward the door, and stood
anxiously listening. Tom continued to knock on the window, not daring to
make it louder for fear of being heard above. The alarm deepened on
Nancy's face, and in sheer pity Tom was tempted to desist; but at that
instant her attention was riveted upon the spot whence the tapping came.
At last, still with the expression of alarm on her face, she came slowly
toward the port. She hesitated, then pressed her face against the pane
over which Tom had spread his fingers. At whatever risk, of frightening
her or of danger to himself, as she drew back, he pressed his own face
against the outside of the little window glass. She stared at him as if
she were looking at a ghost.

He moved his lips to form the word "Open." At length, in obedience to
this direction, Nancy cautiously unloosened the window of the port and
drew it back.

"Good heavens, Tom!" she whispered. "Is it you?"

"Yes, yes," Pembroke whispered back. "But for God's sake, speak softly.
I'm in a devilishly unpleasant position, and can hang here but a minute.
Tell me quickly--are you here of your own free will or are you a
prisoner?"

"How can you ask?" she exclaimed. "For the love of heaven, help me
to escape."

"That's what I'm here for," was Toms reply. "Now, quick; are you only
locked in or barred as well? I've brought some keys along."

"Only locked, I think."

"Where does that door lead?"

"Into a little passage off the companion-way. Give me your keys. They
have but one man on watch. The captain is on shore to-night, apt to
return at any moment. And you?"

"I have a canoe tied to the ladder on the shore side. If the captain
returns, I'm caught. Try those keys." He slipped into her the bunch of
keys that he had brought along. "I was sure you were here, and against
your will."

"Dan, too, is locked up on board."

"I thought as much; but you first. Hurry."

Nancy sprang to the door, trying one key after another in feverish haste.
At last, to Tom's infinite relief, he saw the key turn in the lock, and
the door open.

"On deck," she whispered; "at the ladder. I'm not likely to be caught."
Then she waved her hand and disappeared into the passage.

Tom pulled himself up, unloosed the rope, and stole along the rail toward
the ladder. For a few moments, which seemed like a thousand years, he
stood in anguished suspense waiting for Nancy. Then suddenly she came out
of the mist and was at his side. They stood for a moment like disembodied
spirits, creatures of the night and the fog. The next instant a hand shot
out and grasped the girl's shoulder.

"_Peste! mam'zelle_," a rough voice hissed, "_ou allez-vous_?"

As the man spoke Tom swung at him with the butt of his revolver, and
without a murmur the figure fell to the deck.

"Quick now," Pembroke whispered, "down the ladder."

Instantly Nancy was over the rail and Tom was climbing down after her. As
he knelt in the bow and fumbled with the painter, the plash of oars
sounded a dozen yards away.

"_Ho! Croix du Midi_!" came a hail through the fog.

"Curse it!" muttered Tom; "the painter's caught." He drew out his knife,
slashed the rope that bound them to the schooner, got to his place
amidships, and pushed the canoe free. The lights of a small boat were
just emerging from the dark a dozen feet away. But the canoe slid by
unobserved, in the fog. They heard the nose of the small boat bump
against the schooner; then an oath, and a man's voice calling the watch.

"They've found my painter," whispered Tom, "and in a second they'll find
the sailor on their deck."

The lights of the _Southern Cross_ grew dim; vanished; the sound of angry
voices became muffled. They were half-way to shore when they heard the
noise of oars again. Evidently some one had started in pursuit. For a
moment Tom rested, listening intently; but the sound was still some
distance away. Probably, he thought, they were heading directly for the
shore, whereas he, at a considerable angle, was making for the boathouse
at the north end of the beach. In ten minutes he had beached the canoe
within a rod of the point from where he embarked.

"I can't hear them," whispered Tom, after a moment's listening. "They've
made for shore down the beach. They can't find us in the dark. I've got
Fleetwing tied to a fence in the meadow yonder. Come."

It was the work of a moment to stow the canoe, lock the boathouse, run
across the sands, and mount Nancy in front of him on the back of his
trusty hunter. A second later Fleetwing's hoofs were striking fire on the
stones that the high tides had washed into the beach road. In the
distance there was a cry, the sharp ring of a pistol shot; but they were
safe on their way, racing wildly for the Inn. The escape, the adventure
had thrilled Nancy. Tom's arms were around her, and her hands on his that
grasped the bridle. At last they were in the avenue, and Tom pulled in
under the great branches of the Red Oak. He slipped from the back of the
horse and held out his arms to Nance.

"We are safe, girl," he whispered.

"You are sure? Oh, thank God, thank God! Quick, let us in! Can they be
following?"

"No, no. They won't follow. It's all right. Easy,--before we go
in--please, dear--once--kiss me."

"Oh, Tom, Tom," she whispered, as she lifted her face to his.

"I have you at last, sweetheart," he murmured. "You love me?"

"Ah!" she cried, "with my whole heart and soul."



CHAPTER XV

NANCY


It was after eleven before Nancy rejoined Tom in the bar. She seemed more
like herself as she slipped in and took her accustomed seat beside the
blazing logs.

"Oh, I am all right, thank you," she insisted, declining the glass of
wine that Pembroke poured out for her. "I wonder, Tom, if you killed that
poor wretch on the deck?"

"Don't know," Tom answered. "I hope so. But what the deuce, Nance, has
been happening? I can wait till to-morrow to hear, if you are too tired
to tell me; but I do want awfully to know."

"I am not tired," Nancy replied, "and I shan't sleep a wink anyway. If I
close my eyes I'll feel that hand on my shoulder and hear the thud of
that man's fall on the deck. I can't bear to think that this miserable
business will bring bloodshed."

"But tell me, Nance, who is the Marquis--what happened--how did they get
you away?"

"Ah! the Marquis," exclaimed Nancy with a shudder. "I am glad you have
him locked up. I can't bear to think of him, but I'll tell you what I
know. You remember, Tom, he tried to be friends with me from the first;
and he seemed to fascinate me in some unaccountable way. Then he
questioned me about my identity, and began to drop hints that he knew
more than he cared to let appear to the others, and my curiosity was
excited. I have always known of course that there was some mystery about
my being left to Mrs. Frost's care. She has been kind, good, all that she
should be; but she wasn't my mother. Well, the Marquis stirred all the
old wonder that I had as a child, and before long quite won my
confidence. He told me after a time that I was the daughter of his elder
brother, the Marquis François de Boisdhyver, who in 1814 stayed here at
the Inn at the Red Oak under the name of General Pointelle. I was not
altogether surprised, for I have always believed that I was French by
birth, and his assertion that I was his niece seemed to account for his
interest in me. My father, if this Marquis de Boisdhyver was my father,
was one of the Emperor Napoleon's marshals and was a party to the plot to
rescue the Emperor from Elba. He was obliged to return to France, and
since it was impossible for him to take me with him--I was a little girl
of two at the time--he left me with Mrs. Frost. Thinking of my future, he
hid a large treasure in some secret chamber off the Oak Parlour."

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