Black Caesar's Clan : A Florida Mystery Story

by Albert Payson Terhune

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE SIEGE

  "Trouble?" repeated Claire, questioningly. "You mean--?"

  "I mean I've pieced it out, partly from reports and partlyfrom my own deductions and from the sight of that man, backthere," said Brice. "I may be wrong in all or in part of it.But I don't think I am. I figure that that chap we saw halfunder ground, is one of a clique or gang that is aftersomething which Standish and Hade have--or that these fellowsthink Hade and Standish have. I figure they think yourbrother has wronged them in some way and that they are evenmore keen after him than after Hade. That, or else they thinkif they could put him out of the way, they could get the thingthey are after. That or both reasons."

  "I learned that Standish has hired special police to patrolthe main road, after dark, under plea that he's afraid trampsmight trespass on his groves. But he didn't dare hire them topatrol his grounds for fear of what they might chance to stumbleon. And, naturally, he couldn't have them or any one patrol thehidden path. That's the reason he armed you and told you tolook out for any one coming that way. That's why you held meup, when I came through here, yesterday. These must be peopleyou know by sight. For you told me you took me for some oneelse. This chap, back yonder, knows the hidden path. And nowit seems he knows the tunnel, too. If I'm right in thinkingthat tunnel leads to the secret orchard enclosure, back ofyour house, then I fancy Standish may be visited during thenext half hour. And, unless I'm mistaken, I heard more thanone set of bare feet scurrying down that tunnel just now. Ourfriend with the bashed-in face was apparently the last ofseveral men to slip into the tunnel, and we happened along ashe was doing it. If he recognized you and saw you had a manas an escort, he must know we're bound for your house. And heand the rest are likely to hurry to get there ahead of us.That's why I've been walking you off your feet, in spite ofthe darkness, ever since we left him."

  "I--I only saw him for the tiniest part of a second," saidClaire, glancing nervously through the darkness behind her."And yet I'm almost sure he was a Caesar. He--"

  "A Caesar?" queried Gavin, in real perplexity.

  "That's the name the Floridian fishermen give to the familywho live on Caesar's Estuary," she explained, almostimpatiently. "The inlet that runs up into the mangroves,south of Caesar's Rock and Caesar's Creek. Caesar was anoldtime pirate, you know. These people claim to be descendedfrom him, and they claim squatter's rights on a tract ofmarsh-and-mangrove land down there. They call themselves allone family, but it is more like a clan, Black Caesar's clan.They have intermarried and others have joined them. It's asort of community. They're really little better than conchs,though they fight any one who calls them conchs."

  "But what--?"

  "Oh, Milo and Rodney Hade leased some land from thegovernment, down there. And that started the trouble."

  Brice whistled, softly.

  "I see," said he. "I gather there had been rumors oftreasure, among the Caesars--there always are, along thecoast, here--and the Caesars hadn't the wit to find the stuff.They wouldn't have. But they guarded the place and alwayshoped to trip over the treasure some day. Regarded it astheir own, and all that. 'Proprietary rights' theory, passedon from fathers to sons. Then Standish and Hade leased theland, having gotten a better hint as to where the treasurewas. And that got the Caesars riled. Then the Caesars get aninkling that Standish and Hade have actually located thetreasure and are sneaking it to Standish's house, bit by bit.And then they go still-hunting for the despoilers and fortheir ancestral hoard."

  "Why!" cried Claire, astounded. "That's the very thing youstopped me from telling you! If you knew, all the time--"

  "I didn't," denied Brice. "What you said, just now, about theCaesars, gave me the clew. The rest was simple enough to anyone who knew of the treasure's existence. There's one thing,though, that puzzles me--a thing that's none of my business, ofcourse. I can understand how Standish could have told you heand Hade had stumbled onto a hatful of treasure, down there,somewhere, among the bayous and mangrove-choked inlets. And Ican understand how the idea of treasure hunting must have stirredyou. But what I can't understand is this:--When Standishfound the Caesars were gunning for him, why in blue blazes didhe content himself with telling you of it? Why didn't he sendyou away, out of any possible danger? Why didn't he insist onyour running into Miami, to the Royal Palm or some lesserhotel, till the rumpus was all over? Even if he didn't thinkthe government knew anything about the deal, he knew theCaesars did. And--"

  "He wanted me to go to Miami," she said. "He even wanted meto go North. But I wouldn't. I was tremendously thrilledover it all. It was as exciting as a melodrama. And Iinsisted on staying in the thick of it. I--I still don't seewhat concern it is of the United States Government," she wenton, rebelliously, "if two men find, on their own leased land,a cache of the plunder stolen more than a hundred years ago bythe pirate, Caesar. It is treasure trove. And it seems to methey had a perfect right--"

  "Have you seen any of this treasure?" interposed Brice.

  "No," she admitted. "Once or twice, bags of it have beenbrought into the house, very late at night. But Miloexplained to me it had to be taken away again, right off, forfear of fire or thieves or--"

  "And you don't know where it was taken to?"

  "No. Except that Rodney has been shipping it North. But theypromised me that as soon--"

  "I see!" he answered, as a stumble over a root cut short herwords and made her cling to him more tightly. "You are anideal sister. You'd be an ideal wife for a scoundrel. Youwould be a godsend to any one with phoney stock to sell. Yourcredulity is perfect. And your feminine curiosity is underlots better control than most women's. I suppose they toldyou this so-called treasure is in the form of ingots andnuggets and pieces-of-eight and jewels-so-rich-and-rare, andall the rest of the bag of tricks borrowed from Stevenson's'Treasure Island'? They would!"

  She showed her disrelish for his flippant tone, by removingher hand from his arm. But at once the faint hiss of a snakeas it glided into the swamp from somewhere just in front ofthem made her clutch his wet sleeve afresh. His hints as tothe nature of the treasure had roused her inquisitiveness to akeen point. Yet, remembering what he had said about herpraiseworthy dearth of feminine curiosity, she approached thesubject in a roundabout way.

  "If it isn't gold bars and jewels and old Spanish coins, andso forth," said she, seeking to copy his bantering tone, "thenI suppose it is illicit whiskey? It would be a sickeninganticlimax to find they were liquor-smugglers."

  "No," Brice reassured her, "neither Standish nor Hade is abootlegger--nor anything so petty. That's too small game forthem. Though, in some parts of southern Florida, bootleggersare so thick that they have to wear red buttons in theirlapels, to keep from trying to sell liquor to each other. No,the treasure is considerably bigger than booze or any otherform of smuggling. It--Hello!" he broke off. "There's yourlawn, right ahead of us. I can see patches of starlightthrough that elaborate vine-screen draped so cleverly over thehead of the path. Now, listen, Miss Standish. I am going tothe house. But first I am going to see you to the main road.That road's patroled, and it's safe from the gentle Caesars.I want you to go there and then make your way to the nearestneighbor's. If there is any mixup, we'll want you as far outof it as possible."

  As he spoke, he held aside the curtain of vines, for her tostep out onto the starlit lawn. A salvo of barking soundedfrom the veranda, and Bobby Burns, who had been lyingdisconsolately on the steps, came bounding across the lawn, inrapture, at scent and step of the man he had chosen as hisgod.

  "Good!" muttered Brice, stooping to pat the franticallydelighted collie. "If he was drowsing there, it's a sign nointruders have tried to get into the house yet. He's beenhere a day. And that's long enough for a dog like Bobby tolearn the step and the scent of the people who have a righthere and to resent any one who doesn't belong. Now, what'sthe shortest way to the main road?"

  "The shortest way to the house," called
the girl, over hershoulder, "is the way I'm going now."

  "But, Miss Standish!" he protested. "Please--"

  She did not answer. As he had bent to pat the collie, she hadbroken into a run, and now she was half way across the lawn,on her way to the lighted veranda. Vexed at her disobediencein not taking his advice and absenting herself from impendingtrouble, Gavin Brice followed. Bobby Burns gamboled along athis side, leaping high in the air in an effort to lick Brice'sface, setting the night astir with a fanfare of joyousbarking, imperiling Gavin's every step with his whisking body,and in short conducting himself as does the average high-strungcollie whose master breaks into a run.

  The noise brought a man out of the hallway onto the veranda,to see the cause of the racket. He was tall, massive, clad insnowy white, and with a golden beard that shone in thelamplight. Milo Standish, as he stood thus, under the glow ofthe veranda lights, was splendid target for any skulkingmarksman. Claire seemed to divine this. For, before herastonished brother could speak, she called to him:

  "Go indoors! Quickly, please!"

  Bewildered at the odd command, yet impressed with its starkearnestness, Milo took a wondering step backward, toward theopen doorway. Then, at sight of the running man, just behindhis sister, he paused. Claire's lips were parted, to repeather strange order, as she came up the porch steps, but Gavin,following her, called reassuringly:

  "Don't worry, Miss Standish. They don't use guns. They'reknifers. The conchs have a holy horror of firearms. Besides,a shot might bring the road patrol. He's perfectly safe."

  As Gavin followed her up the steps and the full light of thelamps fell on his face, Milo Standish stared stupidly at him,in blank dismay. Then, over his bearded face, came a look ofsharp annoyance.

  "It's all right, Mr. Standish," said Gavin, reading histhoughts as readily as spoken words. "Don't be sore at Roke.He didn't let me get away. He did his best to keep me. Andmy coming back isn't as unlucky for you as it seems. If thesnakes had gotten me, there's a Secret Service chap over therewho would have had an interesting report to make. And you'dhave joined Hade and Roke in a murder trial. So, you see,things might be worse."

  He spoke in his wonted lazily pleasant drawl, and with notrace of excitement. Yet he was studying the big man in frontof him, with covert closeness. And the wholly uncomprehendingaspect of Milo's face, at mention of the snakes and thepossible murder charge, completed Brice's faith in Standish'sinnocence of the trick's worst features.

  Claire had seized her brother's hand and was drawing thedumfounded Milo after her into the hallway. And as she wentshe burst forth vehemently into the story of Brice's afternoonadventures. Her words fairly fell over one another, in herindignant eagerness. Yet she spoke wellnigh as concisely ashad Gavin when he had recounted the tale to her.

  Standish's face, as she spoke, was foolishly vacant. Then, alurid blaze began to flicker behind his ice-blue eyes, and abrickish color surged into his face. Wheeling on Gavin, hecried, his voice choked and hoarse:

  "If this crazy yarn is true, Brice, I swear to God I had noknowledge or part in it! And if it's true, the man who did itshall--"

  "That can wait," put in Brice, incisively. "I only let herwaste time by telling it, to see how it would hit you and ifyou were the sort who is worth saving. You are. The Caesarcrowd has found where the tunnel-opening is,--the maskedopening, back in the path. And the last of them is on his wayhere, underground. The tunnel comes out, I suppose, in thathigh-fenced enclosure behind the house, the enclosure with thevines all over it and the queer little old coral kiosk in thecenter, with the rusty iron door. The kiosk that had threebulging canvas bags piled alongside its entrance, thismorning,--probably the night's haul from the Caesar's Estuarycache, waiting for Hade to get a chance to run it North.Well, a bunch of the Caesars are either in that enclosure bynow, or forcing a way out through the rusty old rattletrapdoor of the kiosk. They--"

  "The Caesars?" babbled Standish. "What what 'kiosk' are youtalking about?--I--That's a plantation for--"

  "Shut up!" interrupted Brice, annoyed by the pitiful attemptto cling to a revealed secret. "The time for bluffing ispast, man! The whole game is up. You'll be lucky to escape aprison term, even if you get out of to-night's mess. That'swhat I'm here for. Barricade the house, first of all. Inoticed you have iron shutters on the windows, and thatthey're new. You must have been looking for something likethis to happen, some day."

  As he spoke, Brice had been moving swiftly from one window toanother, of the rooms opening out from the hallway, shuttingand barring the metal blinds. Claire, following his example,had run from window to window, aiding him in hisself-appointed task of barricading the ground floor. Miloalone stood inert and dazed, gaping dully at the two busytoilers. Then, dazedly, he stumbled to the front door andpushed it shut, fumbling with its bolts. As in a drunkendream he mumbled:

  "Three canvas bags, piled--?"

  "Yes," answered Brice busily, as he clamped shut a long Frenchwindow leading out onto the veranda, and at the same timetried to keep Bobby Burns from getting too much in his way."Three of them. I gather that Hade had taken them up to thepath in his yacht's gaudy little motorboat and carried them tothe tunnel. I suppose you have some sort of runway or handcar or something in the tunnel to make the transportationeasier than lugging the stuff along the whole length ofstumbly path, besides being safer from view. I suppose, too,he had taken the stuff there and then came ahead, with hismocking-bird signal, for you to go through the tunnel with himfrom the kiosk, and bring them to the enclosure. Probablythat's why I was locked into my room. So I couldn't spy onthe job. The bags are still there, aren't they? He couldn'tmove them, except under cover of darkness. He'll come forthem to-night .... He'll be too late."

  Working, as he cast the fragmentary sentences over hisshoulder, Gavin nevertheless glanced often enough atStandish's face to make certain from its foolishly dismayedexpression that each of his conjectures was correct. Now,finishing his task, he demanded:

  "Your servants? Are they all right? Can you trust them?Your house servants, I mean."

  "Y--yes," stammered Milo, still battling with the idea ofbluffing this calmly authoritative man. "Yes. They're allright. But where you got the idea--"

  "How many of them are there? The servants, I mean."

  "Four," spoke up Claire, returning from her finished work, andpausing on her way to do like duty for the upstairs windows."Two men and two women."

  "Please go out to the kitchen and see everything is all right,there," said Brice. "Lock and bar everything. Tell your twowomen servants they can get out, if they want to. They'll beno use here and they may get hysterical, as they did lastnight when we had that scrimmage outside. The men-servantsmay be useful. Send them here."

  Before she could obey, the dining room curtains were parted,and a black-clad little Jap butler sidled into the hallway,his jaw adroop, his beady eyes astare with terror, his handswashing each other with invisible soap-and-water.

  "Sato!" exclaimed Claire.

  The Jap paid no heed.

  "Prease!" he chattered between castanet teeth. "Prease, I hear.I scare. I no fight man. I go, prease! I s-s-s-s, I--"

  Sato's scant knowledge of English seemed to forsake him, underthe stress of his terror. And he broke into a monkeylikemouthing in his native Japanese. Milo took a step toward him.Sato screeched like a stuck pig and crouched to the ground.

  "Wait!" suggested Brice, going toward the abject creature."Let me handle him. I know a bit of his language. MissStandish, please go on with closing the rest of the house.Here, you!" he continued, addressing the Jap. "Here!"

  Standing above the quivering Jap, he harangued him in haltingyet vehement Japanese, gesticulating and--after the manner ofpeople speaking a tongue unfamiliar to them--talking at thetop of his voice. But his oration had no stimulating effecton the poor Sato. Scarce waiting for Brice to finish speaking,the butler broke again into that monkey-like chatter of appealand
fright. Gavin silenced him with a threatening gesture, andrenewed his own harangue. But, after perhaps a minute of it, hesaw the uselessness of trying to put manhood or pluck into thegroveling little Oriental. And he lost his own temper.

  "Here!" he growled, to Standish. "Open the front door. Openit good and wide. So!"

  Picking up the quaking and chattering Sato by the collar, hehalf shoved and half flung him across thehallway, and, with a final heave, tossed him bodily down theveranda steps. Then, closing the door, and checking BobbyBurns's eager yearnings to charge out after his beloveddeity's victim, Brice exclaimed:

  "There! That's one thing well done. We're better off withouta coward like that. He'd be getting under our feet all thetime, or else opening the doors to the Caesars, with the ideaof currying favor with them. Where did you ever pick up suchan arrant little poltroon? Most Japs are plucky enough."

  "Hade lent him to us," said Milo, evidently impressed byBrice's athletic demonstration against the little Oriental."Sato worked for him, after Hade's regular butler fell ill.He--"

  "H'm!" mused Brice. "A hanger-on of Hade's, eh? That mayexplain it. Sato's cowardice may have been a bit of ratherclever acting. He saw no use in risking his neck for youpeople when his master wasn't here. It was no part of his spywork to--"

  "Spy work?" echoed Standish, in real astonishment. "What?"

  "Let it go at that," snapped Brice, adding as Claire reenteredthe room, followed by the lanky house-man, "All secure in thekitchen quarters, Miss Standish? Good! Please send this manto close the upstairs shutters, too. Not that there's anydanger that the Caesars will try to climb, before they findthey can't get in on this floor. The sight of the barredshutters will probably scare them off, anyway. They're likelyto be more hungry for a surprise rush, than for a siege withresistance thrown in. If--"

  He ceased speaking, his attention caught by a sight which, tothe others, carried no significance, whatever.

  Simon Cameron, the insolently lazy Persian cat, had beenawakened from a nap in a rose-basket on the top of one of thehall bookcases. The tramping of feet, the scrambling ejectionof the Jap butler, the clanging shut of many metal blinds--allthese had interfered with the calm peacefulness of SimonCameron's slumbers.

  Wherefore, the cat had awakened, had stretched all fourshapeless paws out to their full length in luxurious flexing,and had then arisen majestically to his feet and had stretchedagain, arching his fluffy back to an incredible height. Afterwhich, the cat had dropped lightly to the floor, five feetbelow his resting place, and had started across the hall in amincing progress toward some spot where his cherished napcould be pursued without so much disturbance from noisyhumans.

  All this, Brice had seen without taking any more note of itthan had the two others. But now, his gaze fixed itself onthe animal.

  Simon Cameron's flowingly mincing progress had brought him tothe dining room doorway. As he was about to pass through,under the curtains, he halted, sniffed the air with muchdaintiness, then turned to the left and halted again beside adoor which flanked the dining room end of the wide hall.

  For an instant Simon Cameron stood in front of this. Then,winding his plumed tail around his hips, he sat down, directlyin front of the door, and viewed the portal interestedly, asthough he expected a mouse to emerge from it.

  It was this seemingly simple action which had so suddenlydiverted Gavin from what he had been saying. He knew the waysof Persian cats, even as he knew the ways of collies. Andboth forms of knowledge had more than once been of some slightuse to him.

  Facing Milo and Claire, he signed to them not to speak. Then,making sure the house-man had gone upstairs, he walked up toClaire and whispered, pointing over his shoulder at the doorwhich Simon Cameron was guarding:

  "Where does that door lead to?"

  The girl almost laughed at the earnestness of his question,following, as it did, upon his urgent signal for silence.

  "Why," she answered, amusedly, "it doesn't lead anywhere.It's the door of a clothes closet. We keep our gardeningsuits and our raincoats and such things in there. Why do youask?"

  By way of reply, Gavin crossed the hall in two silent strides,his muscles tensed and his head lowered. Seizing the knob, heflung the closet door wide open, wellnigh sweeping the indignantSimon Cameron off his furry feet.

  At first glance, the closet's interior revealed only a more orless orderly array of hanging raincoats and aprons andoveralls. Then, all three of the onlooking humans focusedtheir eyes upon a pair of splayed and grimy bare feet whichprotruded beneath a somewhat bulging raincoat of Milo's.

  Brice thrust his arm in, between this coat and a gardeningapron, and jerked forth a silently squirming youth, perhapseighteen years old, swarthy and undersized.

  "Well!" exclaimed Gavin, holding his writhing prize at arm'slength, "Simon Cameron must have a depraved taste inplaymates, if he tries to choose this one! A regular beachcombing conch! Probably a clay-eater, at that."

  He spoke the words with seeming carelessness, but really withdeliberate intent. For the glum silence of a conch is a hardthing for any outsider to break down. He recalled what Clairehad said of the Caesars' fierce distaste for the word "conch."Also, throughout the South, "clay-eater," has ever been afighting word.

  Brice had not gauged his insults in vain. Instantly, thecaptive's head twisted, like that of a pinioned pit terrier,in a frenzied effort to drive his teeth into the hand or armof his captor. Failing this, he spluttered into rapid-firespeech.

  "Ah'm not a conch!" he rasped, his voice sounding as rusty asan unused hinge. "Ah'm a Caesar, yo' dirty Yank! Tuhn meloose, yo'! Ah ain't hurt nuthin'."

  "How did you get in here?" bellowed Milo, advancing threateninglyon the youth, and swinging aloft one of his hamlike fists.

  The intruder stiffened into silence and stolid rigidity.Unflinchingly, he eyed the oncoming giant. Brice motionedStandish back.

  "No use," said he. "I know the breed. They've been kickedand beaten and hammered about, till a licking has no terrorsfor them. This sweet soul will stay in the silences, till--"

  Again, he broke off speaking. And again on account of SimonCameron. The cat, recovering from the indignity of beingbrushed from in front of the opening door, had returned to hisformer post of watching, and now stood, tail erect and backarched, staring up at the prisoner out of huge round greeneyes. The sight of a stranger had its wonted lure for thePersian.

  The lad's impotently roving glance fell upon Simon Cameron.And into his sullen face leaped stark terror. At sight of it,Gavin Brice hit on a new idea for wringing speech from thecaptive.

  He knew that the grossly ignorant wreckers and fisherfolk ofthe keys had never set eyes on such an object as this, nor hadso much as heard of Persian cats' existence. The few catsthey had seen were of course of the alley-variety, lean and ofshort and mangy coat. Simon Cameron's halo of wide-fluffingsilver-gray fur gave him the appearance of being double hisreal size. His plumed cheeks and tasseled ears and dishedprofile and, above all, the weirdly staring green eyes--allcombined to present a truly frightful appearance to a youth sounsophisticated as this and to any one as superstitious and asfearful of all unknown things as were the conchs in general.

  "Standish," said Brice, "just take my place for a minute asholder of this conch's very ragged shirt collar. So! Nowthen:"

  He stepped back, and picked up Simon Cameron in his arms. Thecat did not resent the familiarity, Gavin still being enoughof a stranger in the house to be of interest to the Persian.But the round green eyes still remained fixed with unwinkingintensity upon the newer and thus more interesting arrival.Which is the way of a Persian cat.

  Brice held Simon Cameron gingerly, almost respectfully,standing so the huge eyes were able to gaze unimpeded at thegaping and shaking boy. Then, speaking very slowly, in a deepand reverent voice, he intoned:

  "Devil, look mighty close at that conch, yonder. Watch him, so'syou'll always remember him! Put the voodoo on him, Devil.
Haunthim waking, haunt him sleeping. Haunt him eating, haunt himdrinking. Haunt him standing and sitting, haunt him lying andkneeling. Rot his bones and his flesh and--"

  A howl of panic terror from the youth interrupted the solemnincantation. The prisoner slumped to his knees in Standish'sgrasp, weeping and jabbering for mercy. Brice saw the timewas ripe for speech and that the captive's stolid nerve wasgone. Turning on him, he said, sternly:

  "If you'll speak up and answer us, truthfully, I'll make thisha'nt take off the curse. But if you lie, in one word, he'llknow it and he'll tell me, and--and then I'll turn him loose onyou. It's your one chance. Want it?"

  The youth fairly gabbled his eagerness to assent.

  "Good!" said Brice, still holding Simon Cameron, lest thesupposed devil spoil everything by rubbing against theprisoner's legs and purring. "First of all:--how did you getin here?"

  The boy gulped. Gavin bent his own head toward the cat andseemed about to resume his incantation. With a galvanic jump,the youth made answer:

  "Came by the path. Watched till the dawg run out in the roadto bark at suthin'. This man," with a jerk of his head towardhis captor, "this man went to the road after him. I cut acrossthe grass, yonder, and got in. They come back. I hid me inthere."

  "H'm! Why didn't you come by way of the tunnel, like theother Caesars?"

  "Pop tol me not to. Sent me ahead. Said mebbe they moughtn'tgit in here if the doors was locked early. Tol' me to hide mein the house an' let 'em in, late, ef they-all couldn't git inno earlier, or ef they couldn't cotch one of the two cussesoutside the house."

  "Good strategy!" approved Brice. "That explains why theyhaven't rushed us, Standish. They came here in force, andmost likely (if they've gotten out of the enclosure, yet)they've surrounded the house, waiting for you or Hade to comein or go out. If that doesn't work, they plan to wait tillyou're asleep, and then get in, by this gallant youngster'shelp, and cut your throat at their leisure and loot the houseand take a good leisurely hunt for the treasure. It calls formore sense than I thought they had .... How did they find thetunnel?" he continued, to the prisoner.

  "They been a-huntin' fer it, nigh onto one-half of a year,"sulkily returned the boy. "Pop done found it, yest'dy.Stepped into it, he did, a walkin' past."

  "The rumor of that tunnel has been hereabout for over acentury," explained Brice, to the Standishes. "Just as thetreasure-rumors have. I heard of it when I was a kid. TheCaesars must have heard it, a thousand times. But, till thisgame started, there was no impetus to look for it, of course.The tunnel is supposed to have been dug just after thatSeminole warparty cut off the refugees in the path. By theway, Miss Standish, I didn't mention it while we were stillthere, but the mangrove-swamp is supposed to be haunted by theghosts of those killed settlers."

  Brother and sister glanced at each other, almost in guilt, asit seemed to the observing Brice. And Claire said, shortly:

  "I know. Every one around here has heard it. Some of thenegroes and even some of the more ignorant crackers declarethey have heard screams from the swamp on dark nights and thatwhite figures have been seen flitting--"

  "So?" queried Brice. "Back in the boat, you were starting totell me how you sat on the veranda, one night, and heard a cryin the swamp and then saw a white figure emerge from the path.Yes? I have a notion that that white figure was responsiblefor the cry, and that your brother and Rodney Hade wereresponsible for both. Wasn't that a trick to scare off anychance onlookers, when some of the treasure was to be broughthere?"

  "Yes," admitted Claire, shamefacedly, and she added: "Milohadn't told me anything about it. And Rodney thought I was ata dance at the Royal Palm Hotel, that evening. I had expectedto go, but I had a headache. When the cry and the white formfrightened me so, Milo had to tell me what they both meant.That was how I found out, first, that they--"

  "Claire!" cried Standish in alarmed rebuke.

  "It's all right, Standish," said Gavin. "I know all about it.A good deal more than she does. And none of it from her,either. We'll come to that, later. Now for the prisoner."

  Turning to the glumly scowling youth, he resumed:

  "How many of them are there in this merry little midnightmurder party?"

  "I dunno," grunted the boy.

  "Devil, is that true?" gravely asked Gavin, bending againtoward Simon Cameron.

  "Six!" babbled the lad, eagerly. "Pop and--"

  "Never mind giving me a census of them," said Brice. "Itwouldn't do me any good. I've left my copies of 'Who's Who'and Burke's Peerage at home. And they figured Mr. Standishand Mr. Hade would both be here, to-night?"

  "Most nights t'other one comes," said the boy. "I laid outyonder and heern him, one night. Whistles like he's amocking-bird, when he gits nigh here. I told Pop an' themabout that. They--"

  "By the way," asked Gavin, "when your Pop came back fromfinding the tunnel, last night, was he in pretty bad shape?Hey? Was he?"

  "He were," responded the captive, after another scared look atSimon Cameron. "He done fell into the tunnel, arter he stepdown it. An' he bust hisself up, suthin' fierce, round thehaid an' the th'oat. He--"

  "I see," agreed Brice.

  Then, to Standish:

  "I think we've got about all out of the charming child that wecan expect to. Suppose we throw him out?"

  "Throw him out?" echoed Milo, incredulously. "Do you mean,set him free? Why, man he'd--"

  "That's exactly what I mean," said Gavin. "I agree withCaesar--Julius Caesar, not the pirate. Caesar used to saythat it was a mistake to hold prisoners. They must be fed andguarded and they can do incalculable mischief. We've turnedthis prisoner inside out. We've learned from him that six menare lurking somewhere outside, on the chance that you orRodney Hade may come out or come in, so that they can cut youboth off, comfortably, out there in the dark, and carry ontheir treasure-hunt here. Failing that, they plan to get inhere, when you're asleep. All this lad can tell them is thatyou are on your guard, and that there are enough of us to holdthe house against any possible rush. He can also tell them,"pursued Gavin, dropping back into his slowly solemn diction,"about this devil--this ha'nt--that serves us, and of thecurse--the voodoo--he can put on them all if they try to harmus. We'll let him go. He was sent on by the path because hewent some time ahead of the rest, and he didn't know thesecret of the tunnel. In fact, none of them could have knownjust where it ended here. But they'll know by now. He canjoin them, if they're picketing the house. And he can tellthem what he knows."

  Strolling over to the front door, he unbarred it and opened itwide, standing fearlessly in its lighted threshold.

  "Pass him along to me," he bade Standish. "Or, you can lethim go. He won't miss the way out."

  "But," argued Milo, stubbornly retaining his grip on theragged shirt collar, "I don't agree with you. I'm going tokeep him here and lock him up, till--"

  He got no further. The sight of the open door leading tofreedom was too much for the youth's stolidity. Twistingsuddenly, he drove his yellow teeth deep into the fleshy partof Standish's hand. And, profiting by the momentary slackeningof Milo's grasp, he made one wildly scrambling dive across thehall, vaulting over the excited Bobby Burns (and losing a handfulof his disreputable trousers to the dog's jaws in the process)and volleying over the threshold with the speed of an expresstrain.

  While Standish nursed his sorely-bitten hand, Brice watchedthe lad's lightning progress across the lawn.

  Then, still standing in the open doorway, he called back,laughingly to the two others: "Part of my well-built schemehas gone to smash. He didn't stop to look for any of hisclansmen. Not even the redoubtable Pop. He just beat it forthe hidden path, without hitting the ground more than aboutonce, on the way. And he dived into the path like a rabbit.He'll never stop till he reaches the beach. And then thechances are he'll swim straight out to sea without evenwaiting to find where the Caesars' boats are cached .... Bestget some hot water and iodine and wash out that b
ite,Standish. Don't look so worried, Miss Standish! I'm in nodanger, standing here. In the first place, I doubt if they'llhave the nerve to rush the house at all,--certainly not yet,if they didn't recognize our fast-running friend. In thesecond, they're after Hade and your brother. And in thisbright light they can't possibly mistake me for either ofthem. Hello!" he broke off. "There went one of them, justthen, across that patch of light, down yonder. And, unless myeyes are going back on me, there's another of them creepingalong toward the head of the path. They must have seen--orthought they saw--some one dash down there, even if it was toodark for them to recognize him. And they are trying to getsome line on who he is .... The moon is coming up. Thatwon't help them, to any great extent."

  He turned back into the room, partly shutting the door behindhim. But he did not finish the process of closing it.

  For--sweet, faint, yet distinct to them all--the soaring notesof a mocking-bird's song swelled out on the quiet of thenight.

  "Rodney Hade!" gasped Standish. "It's his first signal. Hegives it when he's a hundred yards from the end. Good Lord!And he's going to walk straight into that ambush! It's--it'ssure death for him!"