XVII
THE CUCKOO-CLOCK
As they made their way through scattered timber and the litter of freshcarpentry-work, the man who was busy there and who certainly hadoutstayed his time took up his kit and disappeared around the corner ofthe house. Neither noted him. The cuckoo-clock was chirping out its fivesmall notes from the cheerful interior, and the Curator was remarkingupon it.
"That's a merry sound both sweet and stimulating; and what is stillbetter, I can hear it without effort. I believe I should like to havea clock of that kind."
"It goes where I go," muttered its strange owner with what seemed aninvoluntary emphasis. Then as the Curator turned upon him in somesurprise, he added with studied indifference: "I brought it fromSwitzerland when I was younger than I am now--a silly memento, butI fancy it."
A commonplace explanation surely; why, then, did that same workman, whohad stopped short after rounding the corner to pick up something which heas quickly threw down, turn a quick head and listen eagerly for whatmight be said next. Nothing came of it, for the veranda door was near andthe two gentlemen had stepped in; but to one who knew Sweetwater, thesmile with which he resumed his work had an element in it which, if seen,would have darkened still further the gloom in the troubled eye of thespeaker.
Switzerland! He had said Switzerland.
It was not long after this that the Curator and his host left for NewYork.
The house was not quite ready for occupancy, but was in the process ofbeing made so by the woman who had done duty as housekeeper for Mr.Roberts both before his marriage and since his wife's death. During thefifteen years which had intervened, she had been simply the cook.
This woman, Huldah Weston by name, did not accompany them. She was inBelport to stay, and as it behooves us to remain there for a while longerourselves, we will join her in the quiet rest she is taking on thekitchen steps before shutting up the house for the night.
She is not alone. A young man is with her--one to whom she is givingtemporary board and lodging in exchange for the protection of hispresence and such slight help as he can afford her in the heavy taskof distributing and arranging the furniture.
We know this man. It is the one we have just seen halting at the cornerof the house, on quitting his work on the new veranda--Sweetwater.
He is a genial soul; she, though very old for the responsibilities shestill insists upon carrying, enjoys a good laugh. Nor is she averse tothe numberless little kindly attentions with which he shows his respectfor her age if not a personal liking for herself. In short, they arealmost friends, and she trusts him as she has never trusted any young manyet, save the boy she lost when she was still a comely widow.
Perhaps this is why, on this night when we find the two together, heventures to turn the talk upon the man she had so devotedly served duringthe better part of her life.
He began with the cuckoo-clock. Where did it come from? How long had theyhad it? What a jolly little customer the wee bird was, darting out anddarting in with his hurry-call to anyone who would listen! It made afellow feel ashamed to dawdle at his work. It wouldn't do to let any merebird get ahead of him--a wooden bird at that!
He got her talking. She had known Mr. Roberts' mother, and she had beenin the house (a young girl then) when he went away to Europe. He had notwanted to go. He was in love, or thought he was, with a woman older thanhimself. But the mother did not approve of the match, though the lady hada mint of money and everything in her favor but those seven years. Sheafterward became his wife and for all his mother's fears they livedtogether very happily. Since her death which occurred about a year agohe's been a different man; very sad and much given to sitting alone.Anyone can see the effect it has had upon him if they look at himclosely.
"She was a good woman, then?"
"Very good."
"Well, life must be lonesome for a widower, especially if he has nochildren. But perhaps he has some married or at school?"
"No, he has no children, and no relations, to speak of."
"And he brought that clock from Switzerland? Did he ever say from whatpart of Switzerland?"
"If he did, I don't remember; I've no memory for foreign names."
This sent Sweetwater off on another tack. He knew such a good story,which, having told, he seemed to have forgotten all about the clock, forhe said nothing more about it, and not much more about Mr. Roberts.
But when, a little later, he followed her into that gentleman's room forthe purpose of unlocking a trunk which had been delivered that day, hetook advantage of her momentary absence in search of the key to pull outthat cuckoo-clock from the wall where it hung and read the small slip ofpaper pasted across its back. As he hoped, it gave both the name andaddress of the merchant from whom it had been bought. But that was notall. Running in diagonal lines across this label, he saw some fadedlines in fine handwriting, which proved to be a couplet signed withfive initials. The latter were not quite legible, but the couplet hecould read without the least difficulty. It was highly sentimental, andmight mean much and might mean nothing. If the handwriting should proveto be Mr. Roberts', the probabilities were in favor of the formersupposition--or so he said to himself, as he swung the clock back intoplace.
When Mrs. Weston returned, he was standing as patiently as possible inthe middle of the room, saying over and over to himself to insureremembrance till he could jot the lines down in his notebook: _Bossberg,Lucerne.... I love but thee--and thee will I love to eternity._
His interest in this slight and doubtful clue, however, sank intoinsignificance when, having unlocked and unstrapped the trunk which Mrs.Weston pointed out, he saw to his infinite satisfaction that it held Mr.Roberts' clothing--the one thing in the world toward which at this exactmoment his curiosity mainly pointed. If only he might help her handle theheavy coats which lay so temptingly on top! Should he propose to do so?Looking at her firm chin and steady eye, he felt that he did not dare. Torouse the faintest suspicion in this woman's intelligent mind would befatal to all further procedure, and so he stood indifferent, while shelifted garment after garment and laid them carefully on the bed. Hecounted five coats and as many vests--and was racking his brains for someplausible excuse for a nearer inspection, when she stopped in the midstof her work, with the cheery remark:
"That will do for to-night. To-morrow I will look them all over for mothsbefore hanging them away in the closet."
And he had to go, leaving them lying there within reach of his hand, whenone glance at the lining of a certain coat which had especially attractedhis eye might have given him the one clue he most needed.
The room which had been allotted to him in this house was in the rear andat the top of a steep flight of stairs. As he sought it that night, hecast a quick glance through the narrow passageway opening just beyond hisown door. Would it be possible for him to thread those devious ways andreach Mr. Roberts' room without rousing Mrs. Weston, who in spite of heryears had the alertness of a watchdog with eye and ear ever open? To befound strolling through quarters where he had no business would be worsethan being suspected of taking a personal interest in the owner'sgarments. He was of an adventurous turn, and ever ready to risk somethingon the turn of a die, but not too much. A false move might hazard all;besides, he remembered the airing these clothes were to get and thenearness of the clothes-yard to the pump he so frequently patronized,and all the chances which this gave for an inspection which would carrylittle danger to one of his ready wit.
So he gave up the midnight search he might have attempted under othercircumstances, and shut his room from the moon and his eyes to sleep, anddreamed. Was it of the great museum, with its hidden mystery enshroudingits many wonders of high art, or of a far-off time and a far-off scene,where in the stress of some great emotion the trembling hand of CarletonRoberts had written on the back of this foolish clock for which he stillretained so great a fancy the couplet which he himself had so faithfullymemorized:
I love but thee, And thee will I love to eternity.
At eight o'clock on the following morning the quick strokes of theworkman's hammer reawakened the echoes at the end of the building wherethe big enclosed veranda was going up.
As the clock struck nine Mrs. Weston could be seen hanging up hermaster's coats and trousers on a long line stretched across theclothes-yard. They remained there two hours, viewed from afar bySweetwater, but not approached till he saw the old woman disappearfrom one of the gates with a basket on her arm. Then he developed thirstand went rearward to the pump. While there, he took a look at the sea.A brisk wind was springing up. It gave him an idea.
Making sure that his fellow workmen were all busy, he loosened one end ofthe line holding the fluttering garments and then went back to his work.As the wind increased, the strain on the line became too great, and soonhe had the satisfaction of seeing the whole thing fall in one wild flapto the ground. With an exclamation calculated to draw the attention ofthe men about him to what had happened, he rushed to the rescue, liftedthe line and rearranged the clothes. Then refastening--this timesecurely--the end of the line which had slipped loose, he returned to hispost, with just one quick and disappointed look thrown back at the nowsafe if wildly fluttering garments.
He had improved his opportunity to examine the inside of every coat andhad found nothing to reward his scrutiny. But it was not this which hadgiven him his chief annoyance. It was the fact that the one coat fromwhich he had expected the anticipated clue--the coat which Mr. Robertshad certainly worn on that tragic day at the museum--was not there. Asummer overcoat had filled out the number, and his investigation wasincomplete.
Why was that one coat lacking? He was sure he had seen it the nightbefore lying on the bed with the others. Was it still there, or had itbeen stowed away in drawer or closet, irrespective of its danger frommoths, for a reason he would give his eyeteeth to know but dared notinquire into till he had clinched his friendship with this old woman sothoroughly that he could ask her anything--which certainly was not thecase as yet.
The absence of the one coat he wanted most to see afflicted him sorely.He told Mrs. Weston, on her return, how the line had fallen and how hehad replaced it, but for all his wits, he could not get any further. Withthe close of the day's work and the reappearance of Mr. Roberts, heslipped away to the village, to avoid an encounter of the results ofwhich he felt very doubtful. His dinner would not be ready till after Mr.Roberts had been served, and the three hours which must necessarilyelapse before that happy moment looked very long and very unproductive tohim, especially as he had found no answer as yet to the question which sogrievously perplexed him.
He had paced the main street twice and had turned into a narrow laneending in the smallest of gardens and the most infinitesimal of houses,when the door of this same house opened and a man came out whoseappearance held him speechless for a moment--then sent him forward witha quickly beating heart. It was not the man himself that produced thissomewhat startling effect; it was his clothes. So far as his hat andnether garments went, they were, if not tattered, not very far from it;but the coat he wore was not only trim but made of the finest cloth andwithout the smallest sign of wear. It was so conspicuously fine, andlooked so grotesquely out of place on the man wearing it, that he couldpass no one without rousing curiosity, and he probably had all he wantedto do for the next few days in explaining how a fine gentleman's coat hadfallen to his lot.
But to Sweetwater its interest lay in something more important than theamusing incongruity it offered to the eye. It looked exactly like the onebelonging to Mr. Roberts which had escaped his scrutiny in so remarkablea way. Should it prove to be that same, how fortunate he was to have itbrought thus easily within his reach and under circumstances so naturalit was not necessary for him to think twice how best to take advantage ofthem.
Father Dobbins--for that is the name by which this old codger wasknown to the boys--was, as might be expected, very proud of his newacquisition and quite blind to the contrast it offered to his fringed-outtrouser-legs. He had a smile on his face which broadened as he caughtSweetwater's sympathetic glance.
"Fine day," he mumbled. "Are ye wantin' somethin' of me that ye're comin'this way?"
"Perhaps and perhaps," answered Sweetwater, "--if that fine coat I seeyou wearing is the one given you by Mrs. Weston up the road."
"'Deed, sir, and what's amiss? She gave it to me, yes. Came all the wayinto the village to find me and give it to me. Too small for her master,she said; and would I take it to oblige him. Does she want it back?"
"Oh, no--not she. She's not that kind. It's only that she has sinceremembered that one of the pockets has a hole in it--an inside one, Ibelieve. She's afraid it might lose you a dime some day. Will you let mesee if she is right? If so, I was to take you to the tailor's and have itfixed immediately. I am to pay for it."
The old man stared in slow comprehension; then with the deliberationwhich evidently marked all his movements, he slowly put down his basket.
"I warrant ye it's all right," he said. "But look, an ye will. I don'twant to lose no dimes."
Sweetwater threw back one side of the coat, then the other, felt in thepockets and smiled. But Gryce, and not ignorant Father Dobbins, shouldhave seen that smile. There was comedy in it, and there was the deepesttragedy also; for the marks of stitches forcibly cut were to be seenunder one of the pockets--stitches which must have held something asnarrow as an umbrella-band and no longer than the little strip at whichMr. Gryce had been looking one night in a melancholy little short ofprophetic.
The Mystery of the Hasty Arrow Page 17
