Chapter XXII: Tom’s Discoveries

Tom waited around a bit, hoping someone might come out from the mill, or that the watcher with the gun would leave. But nothing of this kind happened.

“If they would only come out, one at a time, I might capture them,” he thought. “Then I could go in and do as I pleased. But that’s too good luck to have happen.”

It was evident that he could gain nothing by remaining where he was. He had no glimpse of his chums, and he could think of no way of communicating with them.

“If it wasn’t so far, I could write a note, wrap it around a stone, and heave it into a window,” he thought. “But then it might fall into wrong hands, and I’d be as badly off as before.

“Hang it all! I wonder what I’d better do?” he asked himself. “I haven’t been able to think of a thing. I guess, after all, I’ll have to get help. No, I won’t either!” he exclaimed, a moment later. “I’ll take another day or so to think it over, and then, if I haven’t hit on a plan, I’ll give an alarm.

“They won’t dare do much to the boys,” he reflected. “They’ll have to give ’em something to eat, even if it’s only bread and water, such as we got when we went on strike in Elmwood Hall. Yes, I’ll wait another day or so.”

Vainly giving a last look, hoping for some sign, Tom quietly made his way to the skiff, and rowed down the river again and across the lake to camp.

“Cæsar’s cats! but this is a lonesome place!” he exclaimed, as he looked about at the tents. “I never knew what it meant to have a jolly crowd with me before. This is like being a castaway on a desert island. Well, the only thing to do is to keep busy.”

He entered the main tent, intending to get on some of his older clothes and prepare a meal. As he stepped inside the canvas house he uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“I’ve had visitors!” cried Tom. “And two-legged ones at that! Someone has been here, running about!”

Well might he say that, for the place was in confusion. The neatly-made-up cots had been pulled apart, the valises and suitcases, of himself and his chums, had been opened, the garments tossed about. Boxes and packages had been searched.

“This is the work of that old hermit, or else Skeel and his two cronies,” decided Tom. “They must have known I’d go away from camp, and they watched their chance to sneak in. Oh! if I had only known it!”

He looked about to see if anything had been taken, but there was no sign of anything missing, though it was hard to tell definitely because of the manner in which things were scattered about.

“I wonder what they could have wanted?” asked Tom aloud, and, having no one to answer it, he replied to his own question.

“It couldn’t have been me,” he resumed, “though they may have done this for spite because they didn’t catch me. No, that would hardly be it. They would have done worse damage if they had done it just because of anger. It was something else. They were searching for something. I have it! The plan I found! That’s what they want! Maybe, after all, it’s the original and not a copy, and they can’t go on with the search without it. That’s it, I’ll wager a cookie! I wonder if I have it safe?”

From an inner pocket he took the piece of paper containing the map.

“Here it is,” he murmured. “I’m glad I thought to take it with me, and not leave it around here. My! but they must be desperate to take such chances for this document. That shows how valuable it is.”

Returning the paper to his pocket, Tom took an hour or so to straighten out his camp. Then, getting supper, which he ate in lonesome silence, he sat down by the fire to think.

“I’d be glad even if we had a dog,” he mused. “The next time I go camping I’ll take one along. Now let’s see where we are at.

“Dick, Jack and Bert are prisoners in the old mill. That’s my first fact. Second, I’ve got to rescue ’em. Third, is this plan going to be of any use to me?”

Again he took it out to look at it, but the flickering of the campfire proved too uncertain, and he decided to go in the tent and examine it by the light of a lantern.

“Maybe, now that we’re not so excited over it, I can make out things on it that I couldn’t before,” he told himself. But the first half-hour’s scrutiny did not develop anything. The plan appeared to be just that and nothing more.

“And it’s here, in the third story, where the boys are held prisoners,” mused our hero, as he put his finger on that part of the drawing. “Only there’s no stairway shown, as far as I can see.”

He looked closely at the plan, lifting it from the table and holding it between himself and the light. As he did so he made a most remarkable discovery. He fairly shouted as he saw it.

For, drawn in some such manner as are the water-marks in paper, visible only when held up to the light, so on the plan, there was marked out a secret staircase, leading from the second to the third floor of the old mill!

“By Jove!” cried Tom. “I have it. Now I see why that wall was so thick. The secret staircase is built in the thickness of the wall, and it doesn’t show from either inside or outside the mill. In fact it doesn’t show on the plans at first glance, and probably the old architect who drew them used a peculiar ink so that no one would know about the stairs. They must have been made so that anyone could get from the second to the third story of the mill in a hurry, and be hidden there when there was an attack by enemies. Well, I’ve made one discovery. Now to see how they use the stairs.”

But this did not show on the plan, though Tom held it close to the light, hoping to discover lines so faint that a strong illumination was needed to bring them out. The secret staircase, plainly indicated now, seemed to begin abruptly on the second floor, at a point opposite the big stone grinders, and end on the third story. How to get to them was not shown, and, from what Tom remembered of the inside of the mill, he was sure that the interior wall at this point showed no break, and no signs of a secret door.

“But that’s not saying it isn’t there,” he said aloud. “I’m going to have another look, now that I know where to search. I’ll have the boys out yet!”

He was so excited that he could hardly get to sleep, and again he was making rapid plans for the rescue of his chums.

“I’ll start the first thing in the morning,” he told himself. “Hurray! I’m on the right track now! And maybe I’ll be lucky enough to find the treasure, too!”

By daylight he examined the plans again, holding the paper up to the sun. The secret staircase was shown more plainly, but there was nothing to indicate how it might be reached.

“It’s just as if it was hidden between the thick walls,” murmured Tom. “But there must be some way of getting at it, and I’m going to find that way. Let’s see, now; what do I need?”

He decided to take no weapon, for he did not believe the captors of his chums were desperate enough to fire.

“But I’ll take one of our pocket electric flashlights,” he decided. “I may have to work in the dark if I’m looking for a secret passage.”

What he would do when he got to the old mill, he never stopped to consider.

“I can’t make any plans until I reach there,” he decided. “I’ll just have to size things up, and act on the spur of the moment. Jinks! If I only had one of the fellows with me it would be easy, but playing a lone hand isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. However, I’ll do my best.

“Now let’s see. I’ll need a little grub, for I may not be able to get back to-day. And a blanket if I have to stay out in the open all night. I’ll take a little light axe along, and some matches. I guess that’ll be all. And the plan--of course,” he concluded, with a grim smile. “If they come for it again they’ll find it gone.”

Everything being in readiness for what he hoped would be his last visit to the mill to rescue his comrades, Tom got his lonely breakfast. It was not such a gloomy meal as the others had been, for he was very hopeful, and even whistled as he went about the camp, making things as secure as possible until he should return.

“And if I do get the boys, then for a grand final try for that treasure!” he exclaimed, as he pushed off in the clumsy skiff.

It was a perfect day, and as Tom thought of the fine weather his friends were missing he felt a wave of anger against Professor Skeel, the hermit and the two lads of Elmwood Hall.

“If those bullies come back to school in the fall!” exclaimed Tom, with a grim smile, “I’ll make the place too hot to hold them, that’s what I’ll do!”

Rowing with long, even strokes Tom propelled the skiff across the lake. Instinctively he swept his eyes along the shores for a possible sight of his motorboat.

“But it isn’t likely that they’d allow her to get away from them,” he argued. “Though I’ll get her sooner or later.”

He turned the point that hid a view of the river entering Lake Woonset, and, as he did so he uttered a cry.

“By Jove! Is it possible!” he shouted, standing up in the skiff. “It is, as I’m alive!” he added. “Oh, of all the good luck!”

For, just ahead of him, idly floating on the calm surface of the lake, was his missing motorboat!