Seek and Find Part 10

"You won't tell me."

"No, sir."

"You know where she is?"

"I do."

"And won't tell?"

"I will not."

He turned up the other coat-sleeve, and I did the same.

"I'll tell you what it is, youngster, we have played this farce long enough," Tom proceeded, in a rage. "I want you to understand that I am not to be trifled with. You may make a fool of the old man, but you can't make a fool of me."

"Perhaps nature has already done that kindly act for you," I put in, as he paused to take a long breath with which to whet his wrath.

I know, now, that it was wrong for me to make these saucy and irritating replies; but I could not well help it then. Tom Thornton was a villain, by his own confession. My uncle had declared that he had stained his soul with crime for his son's sake. Whichever was the greater villain, it was clear that the son was the more obdurate, graceless, and unrepentant of the two. I had no patience with him. I had no respect for him, and I certainly had no fear of him. Even policy would not permit me to treat him with a consideration I did not feel.

"For your insults we will settle by and by; at present my business relates to this girl," said he, smarting under my charge.

"Well, Mr. Tom Thornton, so far as Miss Loraine is concerned, your business with me is finished," I replied.

"Not yet; before I have done you will be glad to tell me where the girl is."

"I will tell you nothing in regard to her."

"I command you to tell me where she is."

"You may command, if you choose."

"And I will be obeyed," said he, furiously.

"You will see whether you are or not."

"Who are you, young man, that have the impudence to enter the house of a lady, and entice away her daughter?" foamed he.

"I am Ernest Thornton. I did not enter the house after you rode off with the lady; I did not entice the girl away, and she is not the lady's daughter."

"Silence! Don't you contradict me. You ran away with the girl!"

I whistled a popular air, simply to prove that I was not intimidated, and that Tom was not getting along very rapidly.

"Once more, and for the last time," roared Tom, foaming with pa.s.sion, "will you tell me where the girl is, or will you take the consequences?"

"If it's all the same to you, I'll take the consequences," I answered.

"Very well; you will take them, or you will tell me the whole truth,"

said he, savagely, as he rushed to the door.

There was a key in the lock, which I seldom or never used. He took it out, left the room, and locked the door behind him. He was evidently so much in earnest that he did not intend I should escape the fiery furnace he was preparing for me. I could not but laugh at his folly in thinking to confine a live boy of sixteen in the chamber of a cottage. I concluded that he had gone for a stick, a club, or some other weapon, with which to reduce me to subjection.

Though I felt able with the base-ball bat to defend myself from the a.s.saults of Tom, I did not court the conflict. There was room for an accident which might deprive me of the power to serve Kate in the hour of her extremity; and I was disposed to keep her on the safe side, if I did not keep there myself. I heard the heavy footsteps of Tom Thornton, as he descended the stairs, and walked through the hall. I concluded that he would see my uncle before he returned. I slipped off my shoes, and put one in each side pocket of my sack. Fearing that my bat might be removed during my absence, I thrust it up the chimney, at the fireplace, resting one end on a jamb, where I could easily reach it.

Carefully opening the window, I stepped down upon the roof of the library, and thence to the top of the bay window, to the position I had before occupied. My uncle was in the library, but Tom was not with him, and I concluded that he had gone out of the cottage for the weapon he wanted. I felt safe enough, however; for, by lying down on the top of the bay window, close to the wall of the building, I could not be seen by any one who did not come close to the place where I was concealed.

I bent over and looked into the library window a second time. By the side of the grate, at the end of the room, a small iron safe had been built into the brick-work of the chimney, in which my uncle kept his papers and other valuables. In the occasional visits I had made to the library, after I was conscious of the mystery which shrouded my affairs, I had gazed wistfully at the iron door of this safe, and longed to possess the secrets which it contained. I believed that there were papers in that strong box which could tell me where my mother was, or give me some clew to her place of imprisonment. Perhaps the whole history of my father's family was contained within its iron sides.

Perhaps the story of my wrongs could be traced from the doc.u.ments there.

If not, why was I so carefully excluded from the library?

I felt a deep and thrilling interest when I glanced into the room, and saw uncle Amos seated before the open door of this safe.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN WHICH ERNEST VISITS HIS UNCLE'S LIBRARY.

WHILE Tom Thornton was looking for a battery with which to reduce my fortress, my uncle appeared to be searching for some paper in his safe.

I concluded that Tom's unexpected arrival had suggested some business to be done with him. I was in a fever of anxiety to hear what pa.s.sed between them.

Uncle Amos handled the papers, folding and unfolding them, giving each a hasty glance, and then restoring it to the safe. One doc.u.ment in particular attracted my attention, on which my uncle gazed much longer than on any other, and then laid it down, apart from the others, on the bottom of the safe. While I was watching his motions with breathless interest, I heard the front door slammed violently. My uncle was startled. He hastily closed the door of the safe, locked it, and put the key under the cushion of his arm-chair. Taking the lamp in his hand, he hastened out of the room.

"Thomas!" I heard him call, after he had pa.s.sed into his chamber.

In a moment he returned to the library, followed by Tom, who had in his hand a heavy stick taken from the wood-pile.

"What are you going to do?" demanded my uncle, as he glanced at the club in Tom's hand.

"I am going to make that boy tell me where the girl is," replied Tom.

"With that stick?"

"Yes, with this stick."

"You will never find the girl in that way," said my uncle, shaking his head. "Throw your stick away."

"But the rascal insulted me with almost every word he spoke," growled Tom.

"I told you to handle him gently. You can't drive him."

"But he must tell me where the girl is."

"He will not, of course. If he thinks the girl has been abused, he is just foolish enough to take her part, and would be pounded to a jelly before he would tell you a word about her. If you are careful you can find out where the girl is. Probably he carried her off in the boat. You say it must have been nearly dark when he left Cannondale. He could not have gone far with her. Either she is at Mr. Hale's in Parkville, or she is concealed somewhere in this vicinity."

Uncle Amos appeared to gasp with the mighty effort this long speech had cost him.