CHAPTER IX
THE OVERTURNED LAMP
The noise which Joe Strong had heard was not caused, as he had feared, by the rousing of Deacon Blackford. All things considered, it might have been well for Joe had it been.
While the youth was running away as fast as he could, considering the fact that he had on no shoes, but had to carry them, as well as his valise and a bundle of clothes, something was taking place back in the deacon’s house that was destined to have quite an effect on Joe’s life.
He had heard a noise, that was certain, and it had come from the interior of the dark house.
But the noise was not made by the deacon. Instead it came from one of two men who were cautiously entering the Blackford homestead through a rear door, which they had opened by the simple but effective method of “nippering the key.”
That is one of them, with a pair of peculiarly shaped pincers, or nippers, had reached the little projecting round end of the key that extends beyond the flat, or ward, part. This is the little end one sometimes sees sticking partly out of the keyhole, if on the opposite side of the door from the key itself.
Grasping this little end in a pair of nippers that held it securely, one of the men easily turned the key—almost as easily as if he had been on the other side of the door using his fingers to twist the opener in the manner intended by law for it to turn.
As the back door of the deacon’s house softly and slowly swung open, two men, wearing masks, quietly entered. And then one of them, as he reached in his pocket for an electric flash lamp, knocked against a chair.
“Keep still! What’s the matter with you, Denton, banging about in that way?” demanded the other of the men in a fierce whisper, which, however, was a most guarded whisper. The sound of it did not carry two feet. “What are you doing, anyhow?”
“I couldn’t help it,” answered Denton. “How was I to know, Jake, that the confounded chair was in the road?”
“You ought to be able to see in the dark,” was the retort. “You’ve been up to enough shady work of late.”
“No more than you!”
The reply came sharply. The men were on the verge of a quarrel, and at a time when they needed to work in harmony. All this had passed in a second, the echo of the noise made by the chair hardly having had time to die away.
“Come, this won’t do—scrapping,” remarked Harrison, in more conciliatory tones. “We’ve got to get busy. Listen and see if you think that racket roused him.”
The men stood still in the darkness, tensely waiting. They did not hear a sound. They did not hear Joe open the front door, close it and run away. This was because they were at the very back of the house, and also because Joe moved very softly. Thinking, as he did, that the deacon had awakened and was coming after him, Joe determined not to betray himself by any sound.
So, having made a noise themselves, the intruders, listening to determine if it had roused the inmates, did not hear Joe’s escape.
“I guess it’s all right,” came from Denton, still whispering.
“We can’t afford to take chances on guessing,” was the remark of his companion. “We’ve got to make sure. We can’t risk being caught, for what we’re going to do is a state-prison offense.”
“How? It is? We’re only taking what we have at least half a right to.”
“Never mind! Wait until we get through.”
“You’re not going to do anything desperate, are you?” asked Denton, and he seemed to fear his bolder and rasher companion.
“Keep still. You’ll see,” was the reply. “Listen for a sound. If we don’t hear any in three minutes we’ll go on and do the job.”
The men waited, tense, silent and anxious, standing there in the darkness, ready to run at the slightest sound. But none came. The noise made by one of them in the collision with the chair, seemed not to have aroused any one in the house.
“All right, come on,” whispered Harrison. “You know where he keeps the papers, don’t you?”
“Yes. In his desk. It’s in what he calls the ‘back parlor.’ I was in there a couple of times when we were putting the deal through, and I know the very drawer he keeps the papers in. That is, if he hasn’t taken them out.”
“Oh, I don’t think he has, Burke.”
“He might have, Jake. You put it on a bit strong this afternoon, telling him we’d get the best of him anyhow. He may be expecting something like this.”
“Never! He thinks we’ve given up. But of course we won’t!”
“I should say not! We need those papers.”
“Yes, and we need cash, too!”
“You’re not going to do that are you—rob him of money?”
Burke Denton seemed much alarmed.
“Oh, keep still and come on,” roughly ordered the other. “We are chinning away here like a couple of women. There’s work to be done. Everybody’s asleep, it’s perfectly safe.”
“Where does that lad sleep—Blackford’s son?”
“Upstairs on the top floor, I think. But he isn’t Blackford’s son—only adopted.”
“Think he’ll make any trouble?”
“No. We can take care of him.”
But Joe Strong was then too far off to make any trouble for the intruders. They were now cautiously moving through the house, one of them occasionally flashing a beam from his electric torch to show the way through the rooms.
“Here’s the back parlor,” announced Denton, who seemed to know the plan of the house.
“All right! Now we’ll get busy,” whispered his companion. “Get out your keys. We may have to try a lot of ’em before we find one that fits.”
“And I sure hope we do find one,” murmured Denton. “I don’t want to have to force open the desk. It makes too much noise.”
“You’re right there.”
The two criminals seemed on better terms now, and were working in harmony. Advancing by the intermittent flashes of the electric torch, they approached a large, old-fashioned desk where Deacon Blackford kept books, papers and many other things, partly connected with his business, and partly with his home life.
The desk was one of those old-fashioned ones, with an upper part made in the form of a bookcase, with two glass doors. Below this was a sort of flap, that could be let down. This formed a writing table, and when the flap was down it disclosed rows of pigeonholes, small drawers and compartments for books and papers. Still below this section, and on either side of a hollowed-out place, were more drawers.
“Come on, get busy!” directed Harrison. “You’re better at opening desks than I am. Get out your keys. I’ll hold the torch.”
Denton passed the flashing torch over, and while his companion held it, having slipped the switch to a permanent place, so that there was a steady beam of light, the man with the keys proceeded to try one after another in the keyhole of the desk. He was attempting to lower the writing flap, to come to the compartments and drawers inside.
Key after key he tried, making none but the slightest sounds. But the lock did not give.
“Guess we’ll have to jimmy it after all,” said Denton. “Hold the light nearer, can’t you? Can’t see a thing.”
“The light’s as near as I can get it, and not be in your way,” was the retort. “Oh, look! Hang it all! the battery’s giving out!”
As he spoke the light quickly began to fade from a bright, white glow of the tungsten filament to a dull yellow. From this it became only a little red streak, and the two men were suddenly left in darkness.
“This is a nice pickle!” said Harrison, angrily. “Why didn’t you put in a fresh battery?”
“I did. You must have been flashing it too often.”
“Go on! This is the first time I’ve held the light to-night. It’s all your fault! Now we’ve either got to call it off or work by the use of matches. We can’t see to get the right papers in the dark.”
“Wait a minute. I have a scheme,” suggested Denton. “I saw a lamp on the table right here. I’ll light that.”
“If it’s got any oil in it,” half-sneered Harrison.
“Oh, they keep their lamps filled I reckon. Stand still now, and I’ll light it.”
Denton struck a match, found the lamp and presently had the wick aglow.
“Turn it down, you chump!” hoarsely whispered Harrison. “That can be seen from outside.”
Denton lowered the wick until the light was dim, but even then it was better to work by than had been the electric torch, for the illumination was more diffused.
Denton went to work with the keys again, and luck seemed to be with him, for after two trials the desk was opened. It was the work of but a few minutes for the men to sort over the papers and pick out those they wanted.
“Now we’ve got ’em!” exclaimed Denton. “I guess he’ll talk business to us now!”
“We won’t bother to talk business, now we’ve got what we want,” answered Harrison. “We’ll just light out. But before we go we might as well have this. No use passing up a chance like this.”
He reached over his companion’s shoulder and took a roll of bills from a drawer that had been opened in the course of the search for the papers.
“You’re not going to take that, are you?” asked Denton. “Why, we’ve got the papers.”
“Yes; and we’re going to have some money, too. I told the deacon we’d get even with him, and I’m doing it. This will come in handy.”
He pocketed the money. The other shook his head.
“That’s wrong!” he said. “It’s risky, too. We ought to be satisfied with the papers.”
“Maybe you are, but I’m not. I’ll take all the cash I can lay my hands on. And while we’re here we might as well see if there’s any more. There’s a clock over there. Lots of country folks stick bills in clocks. I’m going to have a look.”
Despite the protests of his companion, Harrison went over to a mantel where stood a large wooden clock. As he opened the door he exclaimed:
“Talk about luck! Here’s another roll. Say, I’m glad we came!”
“Put that back!” commanded the other. “We have enough.”
“Never can have enough cash,” chuckled the other. “This makes the haul worth while. Now we’ll go!”
The talk had been done in whispers, and every move of the men was a silent one. Denton, who was not quite such a rascal as Harrison, protested against taking the money, but in vain.
“I’ve got it, and I’m going to keep it!” was the last word of Harrison.
“Well, it’ll get us into trouble, you see if it won’t,” declared the more timid of the intruders.
“If it does, it’ll help us out of trouble, too. I’m going to keep the money, and you don’t have to take your share if you don’t want to. Now we’ll just take another look through the desk, for we may have missed something, and then——”
But what else Harrison was going to propose was not made manifest, for at that instant Denton exclaimed:
“Keep still! I hear a noise!”
There was no doubt of it. Some one could be heard coming down the front stairs.
“Come on!” hoarsely whispered Harrison. “We’ve got to beat it!”
Denton turned to go out the way they had come in, by the rear door, but his companion caught him by the arm.
“Not that way!” he whispered in his ear. “We’d be caught sure! This window—the one by the desk—come on!”
It was the work of but an instant to slip the catch and raise the window. Harrison jumped out followed by Denton, and as the latter cleared the sill his foot knocked the lamp off the desk to the floor.
There was a crash of glass, and as Denton and Harrison ran off in the darkness they saw a flash of flame, and they smelled burning kerosene.
“What’s that?” asked Harrison, turning for a swift backward glance.
“I kicked over the lamp—accidental,” gasped Denton. “It’s exploded and started a fire. We—we’ll have to go back and put it out!”
Harrison laughed in a low chuckle.
“Go back nothing!” he whispered fiercely. “Let it burn!”