Dave Porter and His Double: or, The Disapperarance of the Basswood Fortune

CHAPTER XIII
WHAT WASHINGTON BONES HAD TO TELL

Dave was the first of the four chums to awaken in the morning. He glanced toward the window, to find it covered with frost and snow, thus leaving the room almost dark. The wind was still blowing furiously, and the room was quite cold. Without disturbing Ben our hero looked at his watch and found that it was almost eight o’clock. He leaped up and commenced to dress.

“Hello! getting up already?” came sleepily from his roommate, as Ben stretched himself and rubbed his eyes. “It must be pretty early.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken, Ben,” was Dave’s answer. “In a few minutes more it will be eight o’clock.”

“You don’t say so! How dark it is! But I suppose it’s the frost on the window makes that,” went on the real estate dealer’s son, as he, too, got up. “Phew! but it’s some cold, isn’t it?” and he started to dress without delay.

The noise the two boys made in moving around the room aroused the others, and soon they too were getting up.

“Wow! Talk about Greenland’s Icy Mountains!” commented Phil, with a shiver. “How’d you like to go outside, Roger, just as you are, and have a snowball fight?”

“Nothing doing!” retorted the senator’s son, who was getting into his clothing just as rapidly as possible. “Say, fellows, but this surely is some snowstorm!” he continued, as he walked to the window and scraped some frost from a pane of glass so that he could catch a glimpse of what was outside. “It’s still snowing to beat the band!” he announced.

“And listen to the wind!” broke in Ben. “Why, sometimes it fairly rocks the building!”

“Doesn’t look much as if we were going to get back to-day,” said Dave. “I suppose the roads are practically impassable.”

“They must be if it snowed all night,” answered Ben. “Let us go down and take a look around.”

“I wonder if the girls are up yet?” questioned Roger.

“It won’t make much difference whether they are or not,” returned Dave. “If we can’t get away from here they may as well sleep as long as they please. There certainly isn’t much to do in this small hotel.”

The youths were soon washed and dressed, and then all trooped below. They passed the rooms occupied by the girls and by Dr. Renwick and his wife, but heard no sounds coming from within.

“They are taking advantage of the storm to have a good rest,” commented Phil. He gave a yawn. “I almost wish I had remained in bed myself. We won’t have a thing to do here.”

“I noticed a bowling alley next door, Phil,” announced Roger. “If we can’t do anything else to-day we can bowl a few games. That will be fine exercise.”

“Do the girls know about bowling?” questioned Ben.

“Not very much,” answered Dave. “Laura has bowled a few games, I believe. But it will be fun to teach them, if we don’t find anything better to do.”

The boys walked through the small lobby of the hotel and into the smoking room. Here several men were congregated, all talking about the storm and the prospects of getting away.

“The snow is nearly two feet deep on the level,” said one man; “but the wind has carried it in all directions so that while the road is almost bare in some spots there are drifts six and eight feet high in others.”

“Looks as if we were snowed in good and proper,” returned another man. “I wanted to get to one of those stores across the way, and I had about all I could do to make it. In one place I got into snow up to my waist, and it was all I could do to get out of it.”

“Doesn’t look like much of a chance to get away from here,” observed Roger.

“We are booked to stay right where we are,” declared Phil; “so we might as well make the best of it.”

“Let us go out to the barn and see what Wash Bones has to say,” suggested Dave. “He has probably been watching the storm and knows just how things are on the road.”

“All right,” returned Ben. “But I am going to put on my cap and overcoat before I go. It must be pretty cold out there even though they do keep the doors shut.”

“Yes, I’ll get my cap and overcoat, too,” said Dave. Phil and Roger had taken their things up to the third floor the night before, and now had their overcoats over their arms.

The large rack in the hallway of the hotel was well filled with garments of various kinds, so that Ben had to make quite a search before he found his own things. In the meantime, Dave was also hunting, but without success.

“That’s mighty queer,” remarked the latter. “I don’t seem to see my cap or my overcoat anywhere.”

“Oh, it must be there, Dave,” cried his chum. “Just take another look. Maybe the overcoat has gotten folded under another.”

Both youths made a thorough search, which lasted so long that Phil and Roger came into the hallway to ascertain what was keeping them.

“Dave can’t find his overcoat or his cap,” explained Ben. “We’ve hunted everywhere for them.”

“Didn’t you take them up-stairs last night?” questioned Phil.

“No, I left them on this rack. And Ben left his things here, too,” replied Dave. “I can’t understand it at all;” and he looked worried.

“Maybe Laura saw them and took them upstairs, thinking they wouldn’t be safe here,” suggested Roger.

“I hardly think that, Roger. However, as the coat and cap are not here, maybe I’d better ask her.”

Another search for the missing things followed, Dave looking through the parlor and the other rooms on the ground floor of the hotel, and even peeping into the restaurant, where a number of folks were at breakfast. Then he went upstairs and knocked softly on the door of the room which Laura and Jessie were occupying.

“Who is it?” asked his sister, in a somewhat sleepy tone of voice.

“It’s I, Laura,” answered her brother. “I want to know if you brought my cap and overcoat upstairs last night.”

“Why, no, Dave, I didn’t touch them. What is the matter–can’t you find them?”

“No, and I’ve hunted high and low,” he returned. “I don’t suppose any of the other girls or the doctor touched them?”

“I am quite sure they did not.” Laura came to the door and peeped out at him. “Are you boys all up already?”

“Yes, we went down-stairs a little while ago. We were going out to the barn, and that’s why I wanted my overcoat and cap. They seem to be gone, and I don’t know what to make of it;” and now Dave’s face showed increased anxiety.

“What’s the trouble?” came from Jessie, and then Laura closed the door again. Dave heard some conversation between all of the girls, and then between Laura and Mrs. Renwick. Then his sister came to the door once more.

“None of us touched your cap or overcoat, Dave,” she said. “Isn’t it queer? Do you suppose they have been stolen?”

“I hope not, Laura. I’m going down and see the hotel proprietor about it.”

The proprietor of the hostelry was not on hand, but his son, a young fellow of about Dave’s age, was behind the desk, and he listened with interest to what our hero had to say. Then he, too, instituted a search for the missing things.

“I can’t understand this any more than you can,” he announced, after this additional search had proved a failure. “I didn’t know we had any thieves around here. Are you sure you left the coat and cap on this rack?”

“Yes, I am positive,” announced Dave.

“I saw him do it, when I placed my own things on the same rack,” declared Ben.

“But you found your coat and cap all right?”

“Yes.”

“It’s mighty queer,” declared the young clerk, shaking his head. “I guess I’d better tell my father about this.”

The hotel proprietor was called, and he at once instituted a number of inquiries concerning the missing things. But all these proved of no avail. No one had taken Dave’s wearing apparel, and none of the hired help had seen any one else take the things or wear them.

“You should have taken your things up to your room last night,” declared the hotel proprietor, during the course of the search. “It’s a bad idea to leave things on a rack like this, with so many strangers coming and going all the time.”

He agreed to lend Dave a coat and a hat, and, donning these, the youth walked through the little shelter leading to the stables, accompanied by his chums.

“If those things are not recovered I think you can hold the hotel man responsible,” remarked Roger.

“Just what I think,” put in Ben. “That overcoat was a pretty nice one, Dave; and the cap was a peach.”

“I’ll see what can be done, in case the things don’t turn up,” returned our hero.

They found Washington Bones down among the stablemen, taking care of his horses.

“Well, Wash, what are the prospects for getting away this morning?” questioned Roger.

“Ain’t no prospects, so far as I kin see,” declared the colored driver. “This suah am one terrible sto’m. I neber seen the like befo’ aroun’ heah.”

“Then you don’t think we’re going to get back to Crumville to-day?” questioned Ben.

“No-sir. Why, if we was to try it we’d suah git stuck befo’ we got out ob dis town. Some ob de drifts is right to de top of de fust story ob de houses.” Washington Bones looked questioningly at Dave. “How did you like your trip outside las’ night?” he queried. “Must ha’ been some walkin’, t’rough sech deep snow.”

“My trip outside?” questioned Dave, with a puzzled look. “What do you mean, Wash? I didn’t go out last night.”

“You didn’t!” exclaimed the colored driver in wonder. “Didn’t I see you leavin’ de hotel las’ night ’bout half pas’ ’levin or a little later?”

“You certainly did not. I was in bed and sound asleep by half past eleven,” answered Dave.

“Well now, don’t dat beat all!” cried the colored man, his eyes rolling in wonder. “I went outside jest to take a las’ look aroun’ befo’ turning in, and I seen a young fellow and a man leavin’ de hotel. Dey come right pas’ where a lantern was hung up on the porch, and when dat light struck on de young fellow’s face I thought suah as you’re bo’n it was you. Why, he looked like you, and he had on de same kind of cap and overcoat dat you was a-wearin’ yeste’day. I see you’ve got on something different to-day.”

“A fellow who looked like me and who had on my cap and my overcoat!” ejaculated Dave. He turned to his chums. “What do you make of that?”

“Maybe it was Ward Porton!” cried Roger.

“If it was, he must have run away and taken Dave’s cap and overcoat with him,” added Ben.

CHAPTER XIV
MOVEMENTS OF THE ENEMY

As my readers doubtless surmise, it was Ward Porton who had made off with Dave’s overcoat and cap.

Leaving the room which they occupied on the third floor locked, the young moving-picture actor and his disreputable companion had stolen down the two flights of stairs leading to the lower hallway. Fortunately for them, no one had been present, and it had been comparatively easy for Porton to find Dave’s things and put them on. Tim Crapsey already wore his own overcoat and hat.

“We might as well provide ourselves with rubbers while we are at it,” remarked Crapsey, as his gaze fell upon a number of such footwear resting near the rack, and thereupon each donned a pair of rubbers that fitted him.

Thus equipped they had stolen out of the hotel through a side hallway without any one in the building being aware of their departure.

“We’re going to have a fight of it to get to the railroad station,” muttered Ward Porton, as the fury of the storm struck both of them.

“It’s lucky I know the way,” croaked Tim Crapsey. And then, as they passed over the porch in the light of the lantern by which Washington Bones had seen Porton, the man went on: “Say, what’s the matter with us stoppin’ at some drinkin’ place and gittin’ a little liquor?”

“Not now,” interposed his companion, hastily. “We want to make our get-away without being seen if we possibly can.”

“Oh, nobody will know us,” grumbled Crapsey, who had a great fondness for liquor, “and the stuff may prove a life-saver if we git stuck some place in the snow.”

The realization that they might become snowbound on the way to Pepsico made Porton pause, and in the end he agreed to visit a drinking place several blocks away, which, by the light shining dimly through the window, they could see was still open.

“But now look here, Tim, you’re not going to overdo it,” said the former moving-picture actor, warningly. “If we are going to pull this stunt off you are going to keep perfectly sober. It’s one drink and no more!”

“But I’m goin’ to git a flask to take along,” pleaded the man.

“You can do that. But I give you fair warning that you’ve got to go slow in using the stuff. Otherwise we are going to part company. In such a game as we are trying to put over, a man has got to have his wits about him.”

Having procured a drink, and also a package of cigarettes and a flask of liquor, the two set off through the storm for the railroad station, a mile and a quarter away. It was a hard and tiresome journey, and more than once they had to stop to rest and figure out where they were. Twice Tim Crapsey insisted upon it that he must have a “bracer” from the flask.

“I’m froze through and through,” he declared.

“Well, I’m half frozen myself,” retorted Ward Porton, and when he saw the man drinking he could not resist the temptation to take some of the liquor himself.

“We’ll be in a fine pickle if we get to Pepsico and then find that the train isn’t coming through,” remarked the former moving-picture actor, when about three-quarters of the journey had been covered and they were resting in the shelter of a roadside barn.

“That’s a chance we’ve got to take,” returned his companion. “But I don’t think the train will be stormbound. Most of the tracks through here are on an embankment, and the wind would keep them pretty clear.”

It was after one o’clock when the pair finally gained the little railroad station at Pepsico. They found over a dozen men and several women present, all resting in the tiny waiting-room, trusting that the train would soon put in an appearance.

“The wires are down so they can’t tell exactly where the train is,” said one of the men, in reply to a question from Porton. “They are hoping, though, that it isn’t many miles away.”

From time to time one of the would-be passengers would go out on the tracks to look and listen, and at last one of these announced that a train was on the way.

“But I can’t tell whether it’s a passenger train or a freight,” he said.

“Let’s git on it even if it’s a freight,” said Tim Crapsey to Ward Porton. “She’ll take us to Crumville jest as well.”

“All right, provided we can get aboard.”

Slowly the train puffed in and proved to be a freight. On the rear, however, was a passenger car, hooked on at the last station.

“The regular passenger train is stalled in the cut beyond Breckford,” announced the conductor of the freight, “and there’s no telling when she’ll get out. If you folks want to risk getting through, get aboard;” and at this invitation all those waiting at the station lost no time in boarding the mixed train. Then, with a great deal of puffing and blowing, the locomotive moved slowly away from Pepsico, dragging the long line of cars, some full and some empty, behind it.

Long before Crumville was reached it became a question as to whether the train would get through or not. The snow was coming down as thickly as ever, and the wind whistled with increased violence.

“I don’t believe we’ll get much farther than Crumville,” announced the conductor, when he came through to collect tickets. “We should have passed at least two trains coming the other way. But nothing has come along, and that would seem to show that the line is blocked ahead of us.”

As a matter of fact, the mixed train did not get even as far as Dave’s home town. Running was all right so long as the tracks were up on the embankment, but as soon as they reached the level of the surrounding country the snow became so deep that several times the train had to be backed up so that a fresh start might be made. Then, when they came to a cut not over three feet deep, just on the outskirts of the town, the engineer found it utterly impossible to get any farther.

“We’ll have to have a snow-plough to get us out,” he declared, “or otherwise we’ll have to remain here until the storm clears away.”

By listening to the conversation of some of the people in the car, Porton and Crapsey learned that it was only a short distance to the town, and they followed several men and a woman when they left the train to finish the journey on foot.

“I know where we are now,” said Porton, presently, as he and his companion struck a well-defined road leading past the Wadsworth jewelry works. “We’ll be right in Crumville in a little while more.”

Ward Porton knew very well that he must not show himself in Crumville any more than was necessary. Consequently, as soon as they came within sight of the town proper, he suggested that they look around for some place where they might remain until daybreak.

“Right you are,” answered Tim Crapsey. And a little later, coming to a large barn, they tried the door, and, finding it unlocked, entered and proceeded to make themselves comfortable in some hay, using several horse blankets for coverings.

Here both of them, being thoroughly exhausted, fell sound asleep and did not awaken until it was daylight.

“Now we’ve got to lay our plans with great care,” announced Ward Porton. “We can’t go at this in any haphazard way. Even though it may prove comparatively easy to get our hands on those miniatures, it will be another story to get away with them in such a storm as this, with the railroad and every other means of communication tied up.”

“This storm is jest the thing that’s goin’ to help us,” answered Crapsey. “With all the telegraph and telephone wires down the authorities won’t be able to send out any alarm. And with the snow so deep, if we git any kind of a start at all it will be next to impossible for ’em to follow us up.”

A discussion of ways and means followed that lasted the best part of an hour. Then, with money provided by Porton, and with many an admonition that he must not for the present drink another drop, Tim Crapsey was allowed to depart for Crumville.

“And you be very careful of how you go at things,” warned Porton.

Tim Crapsey had a delicate mission to perform. First of all he was to size up matters around the homes of the Wadsworths and the Basswoods, and then he was to do what he could to hire a cutter and a fast horse at the local livery stable. This done, he was to procure something to eat both for himself and for his companion.

As time went by Ward Porton, on the alert for the possible appearance of the owner of the barn, became more and more anxious, and twice he went out in the roadway to see if his companion was anywhere in sight.

“It would be just like him to go off and get full of liquor,” muttered the young man, with a scowl. “I really ought to part company with him. But when he is perfectly sober he certainly is a slick one,” he continued meditatively.

To pass the time the young man made a thorough search of the overcoat which he had stolen from Dave. He had already discovered a fine pair of gloves and had worn them. Now, in an inner pocket, he located a card-case containing half a dozen addresses, some postage stamps, and some of Dave’s visiting cards. There were also two cards which had been blank, and on each of these, written in Dave’s bold hand, was the following:

Signature of David Porter, Crumville

“Hello! what’s this?” mused the former moving-picture actor, as he gazed at the written cards. Then suddenly his face brightened. “Oh, I see! It’s one of those cards that I heard about–the kind he has been distributing among the storekeepers in an effort to catch me. Say, one of these may come in handy when I go for those miniatures!” he continued.

At last he heard a noise outside, and looking in that direction saw Tim Crapsey approaching in a somewhat dilapidated cutter, drawn, however, by a powerful-looking bay horse.

“Had a fierce time gittin’ this horse,” announced the man, as he came to a halt beside the barn. “The livery stable man didn’t want to let him go out, and I had to tell him a long yarn about somebody bein’ sick and my havin’ to git a doctor. And I had to offer him double price, too!” and at his own ruse the man chuckled hoarsely.

He had brought with him some sandwiches and doughnuts, and also a bottle of hot coffee, and on these both made a somewhat limited breakfast, the man washing the meal down with another drink from his flask.

“I kept my word–I didn’t drink a drop when I was in town,” he croaked. “But say, this is mighty dry work!”

“You keep a clear head on your shoulders, Tim,” warned Porton. “Some day, drink is going to land you in jail or in the grave.”

“Not much!” snorted the man. “I know when to stop.” But Porton knew that this was not true.

Another conference was held, and Crapsey told of having taken a look around, both at the Wadsworth place and the Basswood home.

“There is no one at the Basswood place but Mr. and Mrs. Basswood; and I understand the man is sick in bed,” he said. “All the telephone wires are out of commission, but to make sure that the Basswoods couldn’t telephone I cut the wire that runs into his real estate office–and I also cut the wire up at the Wadsworth house.”

“Good for you, Tim!” returned Ward Porton, and then he told of having found the two cards, each containing Dave’s signature.

“That’s fine!” cried the man. “That ought to help you a great deal when you ask for the miniatures.”

“I hope it does,” answered Ward Porton, thoughtfully. “Now let us go; the sooner we get at this affair the better.” And then both left the barn, entered the cutter, and drove rather slowly in the direction of the Basswood home.