"Get away from that door!" yelled the enraged1 man. "What right have you to be prying3 into my affairs? I hired you to do copying work for me, not to roam about this house."
"Well, I'm done copying those illegal deeds for you!" retorted Mort. "And, what's more, we're going to find out whom you have a prisoner in there!"
"A prisoner? You are joking. There is no one in there."
"Yes, there is. He wrote an appeal for help on the typewriter and tossed the paper from the window. Hark, you can hear him calling for help!"
There was a moment's silence, but no cry came from behind the door, one panel of which was shattered.
"You see," sneered4 Muchmore. "I guess you'll wish you hadn't begun this work, my friend, before I'm through with you. You'll be in jail ere you are many hours older. As for you," went on the man, turning to Bert, "I warned you, once before, not to trespass5 on my property. I shall also make a complaint against you. Now, clear out, both of you!"
"Suppose I refuse to go?" asked Mort coolly.
"Then I'll throw you out. I paid you your wages to the end of the week. You can consider yourself dismissed. If you don't go--"
Muchmore paused, but there was such a fierce look on his face, as he strode toward Bert and the stenographer6, that, though neither of them was a coward, they judged it best not to provoke the man too much.
"Oh, we'll go," replied the stenographer. "But I warn you that you haven't heard the last of this. This place will be searched, by the proper authorities, and that prisoner, whoever he is, will be released."
"There is no prisoner there," retorted Muchmore. "And I'd like to see the authorities here, or from anywhere else, search this house without my permission. A man's house is his castle, here as much as in England. Now you have my answer, and you can do your worst!"
"I'll inform Mr. Stockton," threatened Bert.
"Do, you young rascal7, when you can find him," and, with a laugh, Muchmore motioned his two unwelcome visitors to leave.
"Well, we didn't find out much," remarked the stenographer, as he and Bert were descending9 the hill toward the village. "I'm afraid I made rather a mess of it. He came back unexpectedly."
"Maybe he never went away."
"Mrs. Blarcum said he was going to be gone all night."
"I believe she's in with him. But we certainly learned one thing. Some person is a prisoner in the house, and it's a man who wants to get out."
"And we'll help him," added Mort. "I'll inform the authorities in the morning."
"Where will you stay to-night?" asked Bert.
"I don't know. I guess I'll go to the hotel."
"It isn't a very good place. Better come to my house. There are only mother and I, and we have a spare room for you."
"You are very kind. I'll come."
Mrs. Dare welcomed the stenographer, and, after he and Bert had talked over the queer events of the evening, they went to bed, intending to start an official inquiry10 the first thing in the morning.
But fate took a hand in the matter, and the mystery was solved sooner than Bert or Mort expected it would be.
In the middle of the night there was an alarm of fire. It came from the box on the hill, near the Stockton mansion11, and Bert, hearing the clanging of the bell on the tower, awoke with a start and began to dress.
"Where is the blaze?" asked Mort.
"Somewhere up near the house of mystery. I hope it isn't another false alarm."
"May I go with you?" asked the stenographer.
"Of course. Hurry."
Mort quickly dressed, and he and Bert, the latter making his usual promise to his mother that he would be careful, were soon hastening from the house, and toward the location of the box, where they would meet the engine.
"It's no false alarm!" exclaimed Mort, as they began to climb the hill leading to the big house.
"You're right. It's a fire, but it doesn't seem to be very big. The engine is there; I can hear the bell."
Bert and the stenographer had taken a short cut to the Stockton mansion, and, as they emerged from the woods, on that side of the house where Bert had picked up the mysterious message, they saw flames shooting from one of the windows.
"The fire is on the side of the house where the prisoner is!" cried Bert "It's in that secret corridor!"
"Maybe you'll have a chance to rescue him!" exclaimed the stenographer.
The fire had not gained much headway, and, under Bert's direction, a long ladder was procured12, raised against the side of the house, and then, carrying the hose himself, the young chief ascended13 toward the blaze.
"Give me the stream!" called Bert to Cole, who was in charge of the engine.
From the nozzle came the white, frothy mixture. Bert directed it at the window through which the flames were coming.
"Don't you dare go in that hall!" shouted Muchmore, running from the side door of the house to the foot of the ladder. "The fire doesn't amount to much. You can put it out from where you are, young man. I never called your department out. The old woman got scared and sent in the alarm. It's only some rubbish burning."
"I'll do as I think best about putting the fire out," replied Bert.
"Don't you go in that corridor!" yelled Muchmore, who seemed frantic14 over something.
The chemical stream was already smothering15 the blaze, and Bert could go a little farther up the ladder. He continued on, coming right opposite the window. Then he knew it was the same casement16 from which the mysterious message had been thrown. He could look in now, and he saw that the fire came from a pile of rags and paper on the floor. He directed the chemical stream directly on them, and in a few seconds the last vestige17 of the blaze was out. But Bert did not descend8.
He was peering into the dark corridor. Would he get a sight of the prisoner held there? He tried to pierce the darkness. Surely that was a movement, surely that was someone hurrying to the window.
Bert looked down. He caught one glimpse of Muchmore, in the light from a lantern Tom Donnell was carrying, rushing at the ladder, as if to upset it, and precipitate18 the boy on it to the ground, thirty feet below.
But in the same glance Bert saw his chums holding back the enraged man. There was another movement in the corridor. Then a gleam of light showed, and, to his surprise, Bert saw an old man, carrying a lamp, coming toward him. The man's hands were bleeding, his clothes were disheveled, and his hair and beard were matted, as if they had known neither comb nor brush for a long time.
"Save me! Save me!" cried the man. "Is the fire out? I started it to call help! I thought the firemen would come. Oh, save me!"
"You're all right," replied Bert. "There is no danger. The fire is all out."
"Yes, the fire is out. There is no danger from that. It is my rascally19 nephew whom I fear. Save me from him!"
"Your nephew? Who is he?" asked Bert, wondering what was about to happen.
"Alfred Muchmore. Have you seen him? Where is he? If he finds me talking to you, he'll lock me up again. He shoved me back in the room after I started the fire, but I broke through the door. See my hands! They are cut and bleeding!"
"Who are you?"
"Harris Stockton."
"What? The owner of this place?"
"Yes, my lad. The owner of the Stockton mansion, which my rascally nephew is trying to force me to convey to him, together with all my other property. He has compelled me to sign some deeds, but to-night I refused to give him any more of my property. He has kept me a prisoner here many months, for I am weak and sickly, and he is strong. That old woman helped him. Once before, there was a fire here, and I thought I might escape, but I could not. Then, last night, some people tried to break down the door, but he drove them away. To-night, when he left me for a while, I started this fire. I knew it could not do much damage, and I hoped it would bring me help. Thank God, it has! You will not let him shut me up again, will you?"
"Well, I guess not!" exclaimed Bert, as he climbed over the window sill, and entered the long hall that was part of the unfortunate man's prison. "He'll have to tackle the whole Lakeville fire department if he does. You're safe now, Mr. Stockton."
"Oh! I'm so glad! It seemed as if I never would be free again!"
"We'll soon have you in better quarters than this," went on Bert. He leaned out of the window and shouted:
"Hey, Mort! 'I've got him! I've got the mysterious prisoner. It's Mr. Stockton! Come on up, and bring some of the boys! Grab Muchmore, and hold him!"
The rascally nephew heard the words which meant that his career was at an end. He had been struggling to break away from Tom Donnell and the stenographer, who were holding him, to prevent him from upsetting the ladder.
At Bert's words the enraged man, with a violent effort, managed to wrench20 himself loose. He fled, for he knew the game was up. But it may be added here that he was subsequently captured, and sent to prison for a long term.
Into the mysterious house rushed the young fire-fighters, with Mort at their head to show them the way. The partly shattered door leading into the corridor was quickly broken open, in spite of the protests of Mrs. Blarcum, who did not seem to understand that Muchmore had fled, and that the real owner of the mansion was again in possession. A little later the old woman disappeared and all trace of her was lost.
As for Mr. Stockton, he soon was in his own apartments, where he quickly removed the signs of his imprisonment21. Then he told his story, briefly22, to Bert and his chums.
Muchmore, it appeared, had always been a bad character, but he had told his uncle that he had reformed, and had begged his relative to give him a home. No sooner was he installed in the mansion than he began to scheme to get possession of it, and also what other property Mr. Stockton had. To this end he secretly administered to his aged2 relative a medicine which greatly weakened him. Then, when the old man was not capable of defending himself, Muchmore had shut him up in an unused part of the house. From then on the nephew's course became bolder.
He began his wild, gambling23 life, introducing some of his cronies into the mansion. He compelled Mrs. Blarcum to do as he wished by telling her Mr. Stockton was crazy, and had to be kept a prisoner. Muchmore's strange actions, when the young firemen were first at the house, was due to his fear lest they discover that Mr. Stockton was a prisoner in his own mansion.
Then Muchmore began to make out deeds and other papers, compelling his uncle, by threats of violence, to sign such as were necessary for his purpose. Mr. Stockton tried several times to escape, but the rascally nephew and housekeeper24 were too much for him. Once Mr. Stockton managed to get as far as the office where Mort Decker, under the direction of Muchmore, was in the habit of copying deeds. The stenographer was out at the time, and the office was deserted25, and, as he could not find a pen, the old man used the typewriter to prepare the mysterious note Herbert found. He was disturbed before he could finish it, but he carried it away with him, and, at the first opportunity, threw it from the window.
But now he had no more to fear, thanks to the rescue by Herbert.
"I can't thank you enough," he said to the young chief. "But for you I might still be a prisoner."
"You helped yourself as much as we helped you," said Bert "It was a good idea, to think of starting that fire."
"Yes, it was the only thing I could think of. This place is so lonesome that persons seldom pass by, or I might have called to some of them, when I was well enough. Often I had to stay in bed for days at a time. I made the fire of some old papers and rags, and I had a pail of water ready to throw on it in case it got going too fiercely. Then Muchmore came and caught me, and locked me up. Oh, how I prayed that they might send in an alarm, and that the fire department would come, for I heard from the old housekeeper that a company had been started in addition to the old hand-engine corps26."
"Yes, we think we have quite a fine department," said Herbert proudly.
"Well, you'll soon have a better one," said Mr. Stockton. "I want to show my appreciation27 in some way, and I'm going to buy a regular steam-engine for the town."
"But we'll need a water system for that," objected Bert.
"That will come. I am going to sell a lot of property I have, and put a water system in Lakeville. I've held on to my land too long. We'll develop this village, until the old inhabitants, like myself, won't know the place. And, when we have the new department, I want you boys to have a hand in running it."
Mr. Stockton was as good as his word. It took some time to make the improvements he suggested, but finally a fine water system was installed in the town, and the best steam fire-engine money could buy was presented to Lakeville, with the compliments of the aged millionaire. In this work he was aided by Mort Decker, whom Mr. Stockton appointed his secretary.
It needed horses to draw the steamer, and of course required men to operate it. But the boys were not forgotten. They still kept the chemical engines--and the smaller lads the hand-engines--and they were often called on to put out trifling28 blazes, and help at the larger ones.
Mr. Stockton did not forget what Bert had done for him. He owned a comfortable house with two acres of ground and a barn, on one of the side streets of the town, and one day he surprised the young fireman by handing him a legal-looking document.
"What is this?" asked the youth in surprise.
"A deed to a house on Cherry Street," answered the rich man. "The place is now yours, free and clear. You and your mother can move into it at any time."
"Why, I didn't expect this," stammered29 Bert.
"I know you didn't, my lad, but it is yours, nevertheless. I want to do something for you--and for that good mother of yours."
Of course, Bert and Mrs. Dare were very grateful. They moved into the house a month later, and found it a far more comfortable home than they had ever before enjoyed.
Lakeville is now quite a city. It has two steam fire-engines, instead of one, the taxpayers30 purchasing the second. And if you were to go there tomorrow, or any other day, for that matter, and ask for the chief of one of the finest small departments in the United States, you would be introduced to Herbert Dare. For, after he finished his schooling31, he was unanimously selected to act in his former capacity. And here, wishing him all success in the field which he has chosen for himself, and hoping that he may help save many lives and much property, we will say good-bye to our young fireman and his loyal comrades.
The End
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enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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rascally
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| adj. 无赖的，恶棍的 adv. 无赖地，卑鄙地 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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taxpayers
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| 纳税人，纳税的机构( taxpayer的名词复数 ) | |
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schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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