Tom Fairfield in Camp: or, The Secret of the Old Mill

CHAPTER XXIV
THE SECRET ROOM

Tom stared uncomprehendingly at the heap of stones. As he stood there he again heard the murmur of the hidden voices. Some one said:

“I wonder how much longer we’ll have to stay here?”

“Jack Fitch, as sure as I’m here!” gasped Tom.

“Hang it all,” said a second voice, “I don’t see why Tom doesn’t do something.”

“That’s Bert Wilson,” murmured our hero.

“Maybe he’s trying to find us, but doesn’t know where to look,” spoke a third person.

“That was Dick,” mused Tom.

“Oh, he must know we’re here,” came from the hidden Jack.

“They’re around here, they’re within talking distance, and yet I can’t get at them!” thought Tom. Once more he looked at the stones, loosely heaped together. A sudden thought came to him. A flood of memory – something he had once read in a book.

Kneeling down he placed his lips close to the crevices in the stones and called:

“Fellows, I’m here! This is Tom Fairfield! Where are you? I’ve come to rescue you! I’ve been trying all the while, but this is the first chance I’ve had! Where are you?”

Silence followed his words. Silence, and then came a rush of voices.

“It’s Tom!”

“Good old Tom!”

“Here at last!”

“Oh, Tom, get us out! We’re almost starved, and we don’t know what they’re going to do with us. Break in and get us out!”

“But where are you?” asked our hero, much puzzled. “I can hear you. Your voices seem to come through a speaking tube. But I can’t see you. Can you look out of a window and see me?”

“No,” Jack Fitch answered back. “We’re in some secret room in the old mill. The only window is a skylight. But where are you?”

“Near a pile of stones at the side of the mill. How were you brought in?”

“The old hermit, Skeel, and Sam and Nick. They made us prisoners, bound us, carried us off in your motorboat, and brought us here. They blindfolded us and carried us up. To the third story, I guess, though we never could find the staircase,” said Jack, through some crack leading to the pile of stones.

“I found the secret stairway,” answered Tom. “I saw it on the plans. It’s built inside the wall, but how to get to it I don’t know. Unless – hold on, wait a minute!” he called eagerly. “I’ve just thought of something! Oh, fellows, I believe I’m on the trail!”

Eagerly Tom began casting aside the stones of the pile. He worked feverishly, oblivious of any of his enemies who might see him. Stone after stone he cast aside, and then he found what he had suspected and sought.

Concealed under the pile of small, loose stones was a trap door and a flight of steps leading into the earth, and beyond them Tom could see a stone passage – a tunnel. It seemed to lead toward the mill.

“I’m coming boys!” he called. “I’ve found it! The way to the secret room! I’m coming!”

Abandoning his blanket and package of food, and taking only his electric flashlight and the small axe, Tom climbed down the steps. A damp, musty odor greeted him, but he did not halt. He had a momentary thought that he might meet the hermit, or some of his enemies, but he did not hold back. Instead he ran boldly forward, his lamp giving him light enough to see.

Now he was fairly within the tunnel, which had been hollowed out of the earth, and lined with stones to prevent a cave-in. On Tom ran, calling from time to time, but he could no longer hear his companions’ voices. At first a fear came to him that he had been discovered, and his chums removed to some other part of the mill. Then he realized that, because of some peculiar acoustic property of the tunnel, he could only hear them at the heap of stones. On and on he ran.

Presently he came to an old door that closed the tunnel. The portal was locked, but a few blows on the rotting wood from the hatchet opened the way for him. He saw before him a flight of stairs leading up, and opposite the lower landing was another door.

“This is the secret staircase,” decided Tom, “and that other door is the way they get into it from the second floor of the mill, but it must be pretty well concealed. I’m in between the walls now, and the boys are up there!”

He paused a moment to flash his light upward, and saw that the coast was clear. Then up the stairs he bounded. He listened as he reached the top, and heard the murmur of voices.

“Here I am, boys!” he cried.

“Tom! Tom!” came the answering shout.

At the head of the stairs was another door. Tom pushed on it, but it resisted his efforts.

“No time now to stop at trifles,” he murmured. “I’m going to smash it!” and smash it he did. It gave way with a crash, and Tom fairly tumbled into a large room. A hasty glance around showed that the apartment was empty, and another look disclosed the gun, fixed to the window sill in such a way that it looked as if someone was pointing it.

“And that nearly fooled me!” mused Tom. “But where are the boys, I wonder?”

He looked about. The room was a large one, and, opening from it were several apartments and halls. They were rudely fitted up, and in one were a stove and cooking utensils.

“Here’s where the hermit has been living,” thought Tom, “and I guess the others have been hanging out here with him, too. But where are my chums?”

There was no sign of them in any of the rooms, and for a moment our hero feared it had all been some dream – even the sound of the hidden voices. And yet he knew it could not be a dream.

“Jack! Dick! Bert!” he called. “I’m here! Where are you?”

He paused, listening for an answer. It came, faint and as though from afar off.

“Here we are,” replied a voice. “We’re in some secret room. Listen while we pound on the wall, and that may guide you.”

There came a faint tapping. Tom strained his ears to listen. He advanced toward one wall, and then to another, until he had located the place where the sound was heard most plainly.

“I get you!” he cried. “The secret door must be somewhere around here. Here goes for a try at it.”

He looked over the wall for a sign of some secret spring, or something on which to press to make the door fly back, but he saw nothing. Then, realizing that he was losing valuable time, he raised the hatchet and began chopping. The chips and splinters flew in all directions, and at about the tenth blow something gave way.

Whether Tom hit the secret spring, or whether he broke the mechanism, he did not stop to find out. A door flew open, revealing a passage, and down this our hero ran. A second door confronted him – an ordinary door, fastened with a padlock on the outside. A few blows sufficed to break this, and a moment later Tom had burst into the secret room where his chums were prisoners.

CHAPTER XXV
THE HIDDEN TREASURE

“Tom! Oh Tom Fairfield!”

“You’ve found us at last!”

“Oh, we thought you would never come!”

Thus Jack, Bert and Dick greeted their chum – clasping Tom by the hands. He held them off and looked closely at them. There were marks of suffering and privation on their faces.

“You’ve had a hard time,” said Tom gently.

“You bet we have!” declared Jack, with conviction. “We are almost starved, and worried to death.”

“And those sneaks, Sam Heller and Nick Johnson, have been standing guard over us, and insulting us,” added Bert. “If ever they come back to Elmwood Hall – ”

“Don’t worry. They won’t dare show their faces there after this,” declared Jack.

“But what about them?” asked Tom. “Where are they? I haven’t seen a soul. Have they found the treasure and left?”

“I don’t believe so,” answered Dick. “They were around this morning.”

“What about Skeel and the hermit?” asked Tom.

“Oh, they’re around too,” said Jack. “They’re close after that treasure, or think they are. My! but they’re hot against you for getting that plan! It was the only one they had, it seems, and they’ve been working in the dark without it. That’s why they captured us. They thought they’d get you, too, I guess, and that you’d have the plan. You managed to keep out of their clutches, but they got us.”

“By sneaking up!” said Bert bitterly. “Say, that hermit is stronger than I gave him credit for. He tackled me, and Skeel went for Jack. Then Sam and Nick handled Dick.”

“They wouldn’t have, only they stunned me with a blow first,” declared the village lad.

“Anyhow, they got us,” went on Jack, “and brought us here. We’ve been here ever since. What happened to you, Tom?”

“Lots of things. I’ve got my boat back.” And Tom told his chums of his adventures. “We’ll soon be out of here,” he added. “I have the boat hidden, and we’ll make a quick run back to camp.”

“What about the treasure?” asked Bert.

“I’m willing to let it go,” said Tom. “I don’t believe there is any. But if there is – ”

“Hark!” interrupted Jack. “Someone is coming!”

They all listened. Plainly the noise of someone ascending the stairs could be heard.

“Look out for squalls,” murmured Bert.

Tom stooped and picked up the axe he had dropped, thrusting his electric light into his pocket. A moment later the old hermit, followed by Professor Skeel, appeared in the secret room, while Sam Heller and his crony Nick brought up in the background. There was a look of anger and amazement on their faces.

“Ha!” cried the hermit. “He is here! The other one! We have them all now!”

“Who is here?” asked Mr. Skeel, who had not seen our hero at first.

“I am!” cried the lad who had come to the rescue of his chums.

“Tom Fairfield!” gasped the former Latin instructor. “I – I am – ”

“Yes, I’m here, and I’ll see that you give an account of yourself!” snapped Tom. “You’ve been carrying things with too high a hand. You’re at the end of your rope now!”

He faced the conspirators with the hatchet in his hand. Mr. Skeel and the two sneaking lads shrank back. Not so the old hermit. With a snarl of rage he sprang forward at Tom.

“And so you come!” he cried. “You come after my treasure that I have sought so long! You would rob me! But you shall not. You have the paper, but I will get it from you! I will yet find my treasure!”

He made a leap for Tom. Instinctively our hero stepped back, and, as he did so he tripped, and would have fallen had he not leaped to the rear. He came up against a wall with a crash, and his hatchet flew from his hand and also struck the partition. Then something happened that caused them all to stare in amazement.

There was a grinding noise, a snapping sound, and a portion of the solid wall slid down and out of sight. A recess was thus opened, and when the dust of many years had cleared away they saw in the opening through the dim light, a small brass-bound box. For a moment they stared in amazement, and then the old hermit, with a scarcely human cry, leaped forward.

“The treasure! My treasure!” he cried. “I have found it at last! The treasure of the old mill! It has given up the secret it held so long!”

He reached into the compartment, drew the box to him, and fell across it fainting.

“Help him!” cried Tom. “The shock has been too much for him! Get water, somebody!”

“Get him out of there,” advised Jack. “The air is foul, and that may have caused him to faint.” Indeed a damp, unpleasant, musty odor filled the room from the secret hiding place of the box.

Dick and Bert dragged the old hermit from the box, and, making a pillow from some bags, they laid him out on the floor, while Tom forced through his lips some of the water left for the boy prisoners.

“Where am I? What happened? Is my treasure safe?” the old man murmured as he opened his eyes.

“Yes, it’s safe,” said Tom, soothingly. The hermit’s tone was very different now. He seemed to have lost his vindictive spirit. “It’s safe,” went on Tom, “unless – ” He thought of Mr. Skeel and the two lads, but they had slipped away. They evidently realized that, as the hermit had the box, the game was up. “It’s surely safe – if there’s any treasure in the box,” added our hero with conviction, now that he saw that the conspirators had vanished.

They gave the old man some more water, and soon he was himself again, but his wild manner had gone. It seemed to vanish with the finding of the box.

“There it is,” he murmured, as he sat beside it. “The box I have sought so long. I knew it was somewhere in the mill, or about it, but I never could find it, though I hunted everywhere. When I had the plan I was sure I would be successful, but we lost it. Now it doesn’t matter. Oh, I shall live in peace and happiness now!”

“Maybe we’d better open the box,” suggested Tom. “It may be empty.”

“Oh, don’t say that!” cried the old man in agony. “It can’t be empty. The treasure must be in it.”

And it was, as they saw when Tom forced the case open with the hatchet. Not a very great treasure to be sure, but amounting to some thousands of dollars.

It consisted of English gold pieces, some ancient gold and silver dishes, more valuable as antiques and relics than for the metal in them. There was also considerable jewelry that would fetch good sums for the same reason. And there were also Bank of England notes in a large sum, as good as the day they were issued. It was a treasure indeed to the old man, and would keep him in comfort the rest of his life.

“Jove! but this is a great find!” exclaimed Jack. “And to think it came about by accident! You are all to the good, Tom.”

“I wonder what has become of Skeel and those lads?” asked Bert.

“They’re far enough off now,” said Tom. “But shall we help you down with your box?” he asked of the hermit.

“No, I had rather stay here. I have lived here for many years, except when I was off in the woods looking for the treasure. I am sorry I was so harsh to you, but I thought you were trying to rob me.”

“We intended giving you the treasure if we found it,” said Tom, gently. “Of course you did not mean it, but you have treated my friends very badly.”

“It was that scoundrel Skeel,” murmured the old man. “He urged me to do it. I am sorry I ever trusted him.”

And then he told his story. It was substantially the same as Tom had heard from his father. Years before, fearing an attack by the Indians, the early settlers of Wilden had put their wealth into the box and fled. The box was hidden in the old mill, which had been built with the secret rooms and passages as a hiding place, and one of defense against the savages.

But the fleeing settlers never returned, though the story of their hidden treasure survived for many years. Mr. Wallace was a direct descendent of one of them, and he preserved faith in the old legend, and hunted for the treasure until his mind became affected.

Then came the advent of Tom and his chums. It was merely a coincidence that Mr. Skeel went camping in the vicinity of the old mill, as did also Sam and Nick. The bullies fell in with their former teacher. The latter had heard the story of the treasure in the mill, for it was common gossip, and, being of a grasping nature, he determined to have a try for it. He enlisted the aid of Sam and Nick, and, in some way, managed to become friendly with the old hermit.

The latter had, in searching among some old papers of his ancestors, found the original plan of the mill. It showed many things, but not where the treasure was, though if he had carefully measured the real and apparent thickness of the walls he might have come upon the box itself, as he did the secret staircase.

Professor Skeel, representing that he was an expert in such matters, managed to get possession of the plan, only to lose it. Suspecting that Tom and his chums had it, he planned their capture, and did get all but our hero. This was after Sam and Nick had taken away the motorboat and hidden it. Then, when they had it, they were so careless that it floated away and Tom recovered it.

Of course the existence of the secret staircase, and the hidden room, where the boy prisoners were kept, was known to the hermit, who revealed them to the professor and the two cronies. After Jack, Dick and Bert were locked up, the vain hunt for the treasure went on, but without success until Tom, accidentally hitting the secret spring, revealed it.

There were two ways of getting on the hidden stairway. One was from inside the mill, the door being cleverly concealed. The other way was through the outside tunnel, by which Tom came, but this had not been used by the hermit in years, and he had piled stones at the egress. But the voices of Tom’s chums, traveling through an old flue, and down the tunnel, had revealed it to our hero.

“Well, I don’t know as we have anything more to stay here for,” remarked Tom, a little later, when they had made the old hermit comfortable, and had ascertained that he had food enough to last him. “We might as well get back to camp.”

“Oh, boys!” began the aged man, “I – I must ask your forgiveness for what I have done. But I – I think I was not – not exactly myself at times. I did so want that treasure! And now I have it – thanks to you. I suppose I should share it with you, and if you think – ”

“Not a bit of it!” interrupted Tom heartily. “We have all the money that is good for us, I guess. You need it more than we do. I hope it will keep you in comfort.”

“It will,” said the old hermit. “I don’t want much, now that I have my treasure.”

They left him, promising to see him again, and soon they had departed from the old mill. Before they left Tom found out how the secret door worked, leading from the second floor to the hidden staircase. Part of the wall was counter-poised with weights, and worked easily, once the right spring was touched.

The motorboat was found just where Tom had hidden it, and soon he and his chums were speeding back to their camp. They looked for Mr. Skeel, and Sam and Nick, but saw nothing of them. Nor, in fact, did they meet them for some time after that.

“And now for a good meal!” cried Dick, when the crowd was back at the tents. “I guess it’s your turn to cook, Tom.”

“I guess so,” laughed our hero. “I’ll soon have some grub for you.”

“We’re nearly starved,” added Dick. “Nothing much to eat in the old mill.”

“Yes, it was almost as bad as when we went on a strike in Elmwood Hall,” said Bert. “Get busy, Tom.”

And, at the meal, and beside the cheerful glow of the campfire, they lived over again the adventures through which they had passed in the strenuous weeks they had spent in camp.

“And there really was a treasure, after all,” said Bert. “I hardly believed it.”

“I don’t know whether I did or not,” said Tom, “but I made up my mind I’d prove it, one way or the other.”

“And you did,” commented Jack, with a laugh. “You generally do what you set out to, Tom.”

“Even to getting a meal up for a hungry crowd,” put in Dick.

“And as good a one as I could myself,” spoke Bert, passing his plate for more fried chicken.

“And now we’ll enjoy camp life, without worrying about hidden treasure,” said Tom. “Ho! for good times from now on!”

And they had them. They learned later, that the old hermit sold the plate and jewels, and wisely converted his treasure into cash, which he put in the bank. It was sufficient for his simple needs for many years. A distant relative induced him to leave the mill and live with him, and the old man passed the rest of his years in peace.

“Well, I wonder what we’ll do this fall?” asked Jack one day about a week later, as they were out on Lake Woonset in the motorboat.

“Go back to school, of course,” said Tom with a laugh, “and have some more fun.” What our hero and his chums did will be told of in the next volume of this series, to be entitled, “Tom Fairfield’s Pluck and Luck; Or, Working to Clear His Name.”

“Well, this is certainly great!” declared Jack that night, as they stood on the shores of the lake, and watched the moon rise over the trees. “It’s been the best vacation I ever knew.”

“Same here!” chorused Bert and Dick.

“Yes, it was lively enough,” agreed Tom. And as they turned into their cots we will take leave of them.

THE END