CHAPTER V.
A NAVAL DISASTER
"A cork?" cried Ida. "Let me see it."
Brian handed over the small object which he had seen lying in a corner of the empty box. It was an ordinary cork, such as would fit a good-sized medicine bottle.
"That's what we must have heard the other day rolling about when we turned the chest up on its end," said Guy.
"What's the good of it? Throw it away!" cried Elsie, who could not get the bank-notes out of her mind.
"I wonder how it can have got there!" said Guy, as the family prepared to move back into the warmer room. "What could be the good of locking up and sealing a cork in an iron-bound box for twenty years?"
"I don't suppose it was put there on purpose," answered his father. "It dropped in by mistake."
"Oh, come on! Let's get to our lessons," said Ida. "I'm sick of that stupid box."
At that moment Brian, who had stayed behind to put the chest back in its place, appeared in the room.
"Uncle," he said, "this cork has got a little round label on the top, with the name of a chemist on it – 'Greenworthy.'"
Mr. Ormond took the cork, looked at it, held it nearer the lamp, and looked at it again.
"This is curious," he muttered.
"What's curious, father?" asked Elsie.
"Why, this cork has Greenworthy's name on it, and Greenworthy hasn't been in business for more than ten years at the outside, so how can one of his corks come to be inside a box that has been shut for twenty?"
"Then the box has been opened," said Brian.
Mr. Ormond seemed to doubt this. "One of you children must have dropped the cork in just now," he said. "Are you sure you didn't, Brian?"
"Quite sure, uncle," answered the boy.
"And I'm sure neither of us did," added each of his cousins.
"Perhaps there's a knot-hole in the box through which the cork might have been poked some time," suggested Elsie.
"I don't think there is," said Guy, moving towards the door. "But I'll soon see."
He returned a few moments later, but only to report that there was not the smallest crack or hole in the wood through which a pin could be dropped.
"It's certainly very funny," said Mr. Ormond. "The cork must have fallen out of some one's pocket after we'd opened the box. I may have dropped it in myself."
"But we heard it rolling about in the box some time ago," remarked Elsie.
"Well, it's a mystery," answered her father, laughing – "one which I can't explain."
The children prepared to retire to the breakfast-room and begin their day's lessons. Brian, however, had still one more question to ask.
"Uncle," he said, "supposing a thief had opened that box, wouldn't it be possible for him to imitate the seals?"
"Of course it would be possible to get a duplicate die made," was the answer. "But I'll tell you why I feel sure that in this case the locks have not been tampered with. Uncle Roger's seal came into my possession directly after his death, and has been in my safe ever since. In one place it was slightly damaged. There was a peculiar cut or scratch on the metal face, and I noticed that this cut was visible in the impression on the seals we broke just now. That could not have been imitated, and I'm quite convinced in my own mind that the box has not been opened."
By Saturday the keen edge of the disappointment had somewhat worn off, though Elsie had hardly recovered her accustomed spirits, and still grieved for the pony which she had quite made up her mind was to have been a black one, with white socks, and a white star on its forehead. Perhaps the boys felt the failure of their hopes and expectations less than the girl, from the fact that they had something on hand just then which occupied a considerable amount of their attention, and a good portion of their spare time.
Brian's great hobby was ship-building, and the fact that there was a fish-pond in the garden at the Pines enabled him to give each fresh model a practical test as soon as it was ready to be launched. He had constructed vessels of all descriptions – ships that sailed, and ships that didn't; gunboats which mounted a brass cannon, and peaceful merchant traders which carried cargoes of earth and stones across the water from one shore to another.
Now he had upon the stocks a vessel of an altogether novel design, and this latest addition to his miniature navy had cost him a great many hours of work and the exercise of no small amount of patience before it could be pronounced ready for use. It was said to be a "torpedo-boat destroyer," and was constructed out of the hull of an old tin boat. Her engines had once formed the motive power of a clockwork locomotive, but they had now been adapted to marine requirements, and made to turn a small screw.
With the determination to be up to date, Brian had resolved to have no woodwork about this war vessel. With considerable labour he had cut decks, funnels, and other fittings out of tin; to fix these in place it had been necessary to acquire the art of using a soldering-iron, and this he had done, though at the price of at least one rather bad burn and a blistered finger.
Evening after evening, when lessons were done, he had devoted his spare time to work on his model, fixing the engines, soldering down the decks, and putting in ballast, so as to balance the boat and keep her on an even keel. At length the work was finished; the
Fury
, as she was called, was painted all over an orthodox black, and when given a trial trip in the bath, ran from end to end in a manner which was quite satisfactory. Brian's next wish was to prove that the little vessel was equal to a trip across the fish-pond.
Saturday afternoon was fixed upon for the experiment, and soon after dinner Guy, Elsie, and their cousin assembled at the water-side, Ida having gone out with a friend. The pond was circular in shape, with a brick bottom, and was perhaps about thirty feet in diameter. It was shallow near the shore, and in one or two places were large pots in which water-lilies were planted, these forming dangerous reefs on which an unskilful captain of a model craft might well run his vessel aground. Brian wound up the engines of the
Fury
, keeping his finger on the screw to prevent it starting off with a whiz; then, adjusting the rudder, he lowered the "destroyer" into the water.
"Doesn't she look fine?" cried Guy, as the little vessel started off in good style. "Just like a real little steamer. Wouldn't it be fun if we could have two fleets, and make them fight? Hullo! She's changing her course."
The last remark was occasioned by the small craft bearing round in a curve, and making for the shore in another direction.
"It's the rudder," said Brian. "It doesn't work right. Give me a bit of string, and I'll see if I can't fix it properly this time."
After some little delay, the
Fury
was ready for another voyage. In moving round the pond Elsie had found a broken lead soldier lying on the brick-work, a relic of some bygone naval engagement.
"Here!" she said; "let me put this man on board."
Brian seldom refused any of Elsie's requests.
"All right," he said; "put him on the bridge."
The lead soldier was propped up against the little wire railing. "There!" cried Elsie; "that's William Cole going out to Australia."
Once more the little vessel was placed in the water, and her propeller allowed to revolve. Away she went in grand style, straight across the pond, and leaving quite a miniature wake in her stern.
"Oh, bother!" muttered Brian, as again the straight course became a curve. "There she goes! That rudder
will
work round."
"Hullo!" exclaimed Guy. "Look out! She'll be wrecked in a minute!"
The "destroyer" was now heading for one of the submerged pots; a moment later she struck, and remained with her screw still working, but with her bow entangled in a bunch of weed.
"I shall have to court-martial the captain for running his ship ashore," said Brian.
"Poor William!" cried Elsie; "fancy being shipwrecked on his first voyage!"
For some minutes the children stood gazing idly at the disabled craft; her engines had stopped working, and it was evident that she would have to be towed into port.
"We must get a long stick – a fishing-rod, or something of that kind," said Guy. "Hullo!" he added. "Look, Brian! I believe she's sinking."
It was only too true; the "destroyer" was slowly settling down, stern foremost.
"Oh, do get it!" cried Elsie; but the wreck was well out of reach – at least ten feet from the shore. For a minute the spectators stood hesitating, undecided what to do; then the vessel gave a lurch, her bows slipped from the edge of the flower-pot, and down she went.
"O Brian, I am so sorry!" exclaimed Elsie. "You've taken so much trouble to make it, and poor William's drowned!"
Brian laughed. "Oh, we can get her out again," he said. "I think she must have been leaking where the propeller shaft goes through her stern."
If it had been summer one of the boys would probably have rolled up his trousers and waded into the water to recover the boat. As it was, they had to improvise some form of drag.
"We must get that big rake," said Brian. "We can lash it to one of those clothes-props, and then we shall be able to reach her and haul her out."
The rake was found, and bound with stout cord to the clothes-prop, and the process of "salving" the wrecked steamer commenced.
"I must mind and not damage her with these iron spikes," said Brian, carefully thrusting out the head of the rake and lowering it into the water.
"Hullo! I've got something," he remarked an instant later, as he hauled in the drag. "But it isn't the boat. What can it be?"
The prongs of the rake grated on the bricks, and there, amid dead leaves, rotten twigs, and muddy sediment, lay something which at first glance might have been mistaken for a dead fish. Guy stooped down and picked it up out of the water. For a moment he gazed at it in utter astonishment.
"Why, it's the missing carving-knife!" he exclaimed.
CHAPTER VI.
MORE MYSTERY
"It's that poultry-carver right enough," repeated Guy – "the one the mater said was lost."
His sister and Brian all crowded round to have a nearer view of the object in question.
"So it is!" cried Elsie. "How on earth could it have got into the pond?"
"I suppose some one threw it in," answered her brother. "It couldn't have walked or flown there of its own accord."
"But why should any one throw a knife into the pond? Who could have done such a silly thing?"
"Oh, ask me something easier," laughed Guy. "All I know is, 'twasn't my doing."
"Let's have a look," said Brian, holding out his hand. "The point's broken, and the little plated knob from the end has gone."
He took the knife and examined it more closely.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "Look at the blade. That's queer."
"What? what?" demanded the others.
"Why, something's been done to it; it's as thin as paper."
The knife blade certainly presented a curious appearance. Though maintaining its original form and size, it seemed to have wasted away until it was scarcely thicker than a sheet of note-paper. It was probably owing to this fact that the point had snapped off when it came into contact with the bricks at the bottom of the pond.
"Perhaps the water has made it go like that," suggested Elsie.
"Oh no," answered her cousin. "You can see where it's rusty. It must have been ground or rubbed down on a stone."
"But why should any one grind a knife blade as thin as that?" asked the girl. "If you tried to cut anything, the blade would bend all up or break."
"The best thing for us to do will be to take it indoors and show it to the mater," said Guy. "I expect she'll be jolly surprised when she hears we found it in the pond."
"Wait half a minute," answered Brian, who was always practical. "Let me get my ship out first."
The rake was once more thrust out, and the end lowered into the water; after two unsuccessful attempts the whereabouts of the sunken
Fury
was discovered, and she was carefully dragged to the edge of the pond.
"There!" said Brian, as he carefully emptied the water out of the little craft. "That's where she leaks. I'll stop that up before we try her again. Now let's go and find aunt, and show her the knife."
Elsie walked along beside the others in silence; she was dying to say something, but was afraid to speak. Brian's statement that the knife blade must have been reduced by grinding or rubbing on a stone had at once reminded her of her midnight, or, rather, early morning adventure. Could it have been this poultry-carver that the mysterious intruder was working at when she had awoke and seen the faint light in the tool-house? She longed to hazard the suggestion, but Guy and Ida had already made so much fun of her story that she feared to mention the subject again lest it should occasion a fresh teasing.
The children found Mr. and Mrs. Ormond in the hall, just preparing to start out for a walk.
"Mother, we've found the carving-knife!" cried Guy. "'Twas at the bottom of the pond."
With three people all assisting one another in the telling, the story did not take long to relate. Mr. and Mrs. Ormond seemed equally astonished.
"Look, uncle, how thin it is," said Brian. "It must have been ground down carefully on a stone."
"So I see," was the answer. "It's very extraordinary."
"Most extraordinary," echoed Mrs. Ormond. "Then, who could have thrown it into the pond? – Guy, are you sure you know nothing about it?"
"Quite sure, mother."
"I don't like to doubt the honesty of that boy Henry," began Mr. Ormond, "but the thought has just occurred to me that he might, when he was cleaning the knives, have tried to put an edge on this one, and ground it too much; then, being afraid to bring it back to the house, have thrown it into the pond."
"Oh, I don't think that," answered Mrs. Ormond. "I'm quite sure Henry's honest. I asked him about the knife, and he said he never remembered having seen it; in fact, as I said before, I don't think he's had it to clean since he's been here."
"Besides, if he had wanted to put an edge on it, he'd never have ground the whole blade thin like that," added Brian.
"Put it away somewhere," said Mr. Ormond, "and I'll have a look at it again when I come back."
The little group dispersed. Brian and Guy went away to mend the boat, while Elsie, left to herself, wandered out into the yard and entered the tool-house. There stood the grindstone in its usual place, looking a very unromantic object indeed; but the girl viewed it with almost bated breath. She had quite made up her mind that connected with that grindstone was a mystery in which the poultry-carver was somehow concerned. What this secret was she could not imagine; but the belief grew in her mind that if she had been able to summon up sufficient courage to have crossed the yard that night, and to have peeped round the door of the tool-house, she might now be able to explain how and why the poultry-carver had found its way to the bottom of the pond.
She longed to tell the others what was in her thoughts, but pride made her hold her tongue. She did not like being made fun of, and she felt sure that any reference to what Ida called her "dream" about the grindstone was certain to be received with nothing but ridicule by both brother and sister.
In one corner of the tool-house stood Uncle Roger's iron-bound box, which, since the eventful evening when it was opened, had been banished from the library in disgrace, Mr. Ormond wishing to put a small bookcase in the space which the box had hitherto occupied.
Elsie tried to lift the lid, but the two padlocks had been refastened to prevent their being lost. She sat down on the chest, and began drumming her feet on the dark oak planks.
"What a disappointment that old box has proved!" thought the girl. "I wonder if there ever
was
anything in it. Father seems to think it couldn't possibly have been opened, but then how did that cork with Greenworthy's name on it come to be inside? I do wish it had been full of money. It would have been jolly to have had a real pony, and to have learned to ride."
"If wishes were horses," runs the old proverb, "then beggars would ride;" and Elsie had to rest content with a short day-dream, from which she at length awoke with a little sigh of regret.
An hour or two later, as Guy unstrapped his pile of school books and flung them down on the breakfast-room table, he referred to the discovery which had been made earlier in the day.
"The pater can't understand that carving-knife. I wonder how in the world it got into the pond!"
"Yes, I wonder too," said Ida, rather suspiciously. "And I wonder if you, Guy, could explain it if you chose."
"I explain it!" exclaimed the boy. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know you
have
done things like that," returned his sister calmly. "You smashed a big flower-pot the other day, and threw the pieces away into the hedge."
"Look here, Ida," cried Guy, with a great show of indignation. "You're always accusing me of doing things, and it's not fair. The other day you tried to make out I'd taken cook's methylated spirit when I said I hadn't. What's the good of a fellow telling the truth if he isn't believed?"
"Shall I tell you what I think about it?" asked Brian, looking up from the open book before him, with his finger at the spot where he had left off reading.
"Yes," was the reply.
"Well, the idea's come into my head that some one was grinding the knife that night when Elsie woke up and heard the stone turning."
Elsie clapped her hands with delight; her cousin's words were exactly what she herself had been longing to speak.
"That's just what I've been thinking, Brian!" she cried. "I'm sure that's right."
"What nonsense!" ejaculated Guy. "You never did hear any one working at the grindstone. It was a dream."
"I'm not sure about that," answered his cousin. "When I looked at the grindstone next day there were spots of candle-grease on the wooden frame."
"What if there were?" interrupted Guy. "Henry may have taken a light in there late in the afternoon. Because there were a few spots of grease about, it doesn't prove that some one was working there in the middle of the night. Besides, supposing the knife was ground on our stone at that unearthly hour, it doesn't explain anything. It doesn't show what earthly object there could be in making the blade as thin as possible, and then throwing it into the pond."
"Oh, of course it doesn't," answered Brian; "but if you're ever going to get at the explanation of a thing like that, you must begin at the beginning, and ravel it out bit by bit. I believe it began that night when Elsie heard the stone turning, and I shall continue to think so until I have reason to believe otherwise."
"Oh, you're talking nonsense!" said Guy, who could think of no better reply to make. "Now, let's get on with our work."
It so happened that at the same time the children were talking over the strange loss and reappearance of the carving-knife, the subject was also being discussed in the dining-room.
"If I hadn't been quite sure that Guy was speaking the truth, I should have set it down as his doing," said Mrs. Ormond.
"It's neither of the boys' doing," answered her husband from beh