CHAPTER XIV

--TURNING THE TABLES

"This is getting interesting--I think I am beginning to understand this affair," murmured Tom amid his helpless discomfort.

Mart Walters stepped into the hut. He felt about with his feet, and even groped with his hands. As one toe touched the prostrate Tom the visitor came to a stop.

"We'll have a little light on the subject," he observed, drawing out a cigar lighter. Mart fancied it was "mannish" and grand to exhibit this appurtenance when he lit a cigarette. He snapped a light and held the flame over Tom. Then he extinguished it, and stooping unsnapped the gag from the captive's lips, letting it drop under his chin.

Mart had not spoken to Tom since the day of the ducking at the creek. Twice Tom had met him in Rockley Cove, and had nodded to him pleasantly. This courtesy had been rewarded with a malevolent scowl. It was evidently still in the mind of our hero's enemy to "get even" with him.

More than once Tom had seen Mart on the Fernwood pier or in the powerful launch with the elegant young swell, Bert Aldrich. Several evenings Tom had passed at the Morgan mansion at little social gatherings of Miss Grace and her friends. On these occasions, however, Aldrich and his satellite had made a point to cut Tom direct. Tom had not minded this in the least, for Grace had laughed outright at such ridiculous manoeuvres.

Tom now instantly made up his mind that the present episode had something to do with his visits to Grace. Mart was not above mean plotting, and his supercilious friend, Bert Aldrich, had always struck Tom as an unpleasant cad.

"There's only just about five minutes to spare, Tom Barnes," spoke Mart smartly.

"For what?" demanded Tom.

"For me to save you."

"What from?"

"The Black Caps."

"You train with them, do you?" interrogated Tom.

"Who, me? No, indeed!" answered Mart. "It's this way: I'm your friend."

"Go ahead, Mart."

"The Barbers don't like you any too well. They think the best way they can beat your game is to keep you from coming here."

"Coming where?" challenged Tom specifically.

"Well, down to the Morgan place. They don't want you sneaking around anywhere near them."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" observed Tom.

"I overheard their talk. They've gone to get some tar and feathers. They're going to muss you up bad. I know them pretty well."

"I see you do," remarked Tom, significantly.

"Oh, I don't mean that I chum with them, or anything like that," corrected Mart, in a flustered manner. "But, I have--why, well--influence, that's it, with them. Then again, I'm interested personally."

"How are you interested?" inquired Tom.

"Well, I'll just be plain with you. My friend, Bert Aldrich, is sweet on Grace Morgan, and you've spoiled it."

"Indeed," said Tom simply.

"He thinks you have prejudiced Grace against him, and he's mad as a hatter about it. See here, she isn't your class. You know she ain't--half a million, classy family. Why, you're poor. Then again, she's going south soon, and when she gets into society she'll have to meet Bert and his family, and take up with him again--see?"

"Get along, Mart," railed Tom, "you're progressing finely."

"I'll save you from the Black Caps if you'll agree to keep away from Grace Morgan. There's the straight of it. What do you say?"

"I say no," responded Tom promptly.

"You won't do it?"

"Hardly."

"You'll be sorry."

"All right."

"Suppose--suppose Bert gives you fifty dollars, will you keep away?"

"Say, Mart," observed Tom, quietly, but with force, "you're too cheap. Grace Morgan is worth a million, if she is worth a cent. You can't scare me off nor buy me off. She's a dear little lady, my good friend, and I wouldn't give up her company under any circumstances as long as my coming seems to please her."

"Rot you!" shouted Mart, fairly infuriated at the failure of his cherished schemes. "I've a good mind to kick you. I'll do it, yes, I will----"

"Stop there, you miserable scamp!"

"Let go!"

"Speak another word, and I'll half choke the life out of you!"

"Ben!" murmured Tom gratefully.

A form had flashed through the doorway. There was the sound of a struggle, a thud, as Mart Walters' body struck the floor.

"I'm sitting on him, Tom," announced the newcomer. "Lie still, or I'll knock you silly. Where's that gag, Tom? I've got it."

Tom felt the hand of his friend grope in the dark and remove the gag from under his chin. Then, from the squirmings and splutterings of Mart, he knew that Ben had silenced him effectually. Next, Ben whipped out his pocket knife, and the ropes holding Tom a prisoner were severed.

"Trim and tidy," reported the diligent Ben as he helped Tom to his feet. "I've gagged him and tied him for keeps. Come outside."

"Why, how in the world did you happen to come along in the nick of time?" propounded Tom, wonderingly.

"Never mind that now. You do just what I tell you to do. You were bound for Morgan's?"

"Yes."

"Get there, then. I'll come along a little later. I've got something else to do hereabouts."

"But Mart, here?"

"He'll be taken care of, never fear," retorted Ben with a chuckle.

"And the Black Caps?"

"You forget all about it till I see you later," insisted Ben. "There will be quite a story to tell. Don't spoil it by hanging around here. I know my business. Go along."

Tom did as directed. He could guess that there was some motive in his chum's insistence. He rearranged his disordered attire, left the spot, and half an hour later had followed Ben's directions, having indeed forgotten everything except that he was seated on the Morgan porch with charming Grace as his companion.

"What is that?" exclaimed Grace suddenly.

Tom arose quickly to his feet at the startling inquiry. The light from the front rooms illumined the porch, but beyond the shadows were vague and dim. Amid these, Tom, peering, discerned some bustling forms.

He moved towards the button controlling the electric lights at either side of the pillars at the steps. Just as he pressed it, ear-splitting sounds rang out.

"The Black Caps!" exclaimed Tom, as he recognized his recent persecutors.

"Oh, what are they here for?" cried Grace, timidly clinging to Tom's arm.

"Fire him, men!"

A struggling form in the grasp of the six young outlaws was forcibly propelled forward, landed on the porch steps and rolled over on the gravel walk.

"Cut for it!" came the sharp mandate.

The Black Caps vanished as if by magic. Tom stared hard. Grace, trembling with excitement, gazed vaguely at the figure arising to its feet.

"Why," she faltered, catching sight of the terrified face of the unwilling visitor, "it is Mart Walters!"

It was Mart, indeed, and he was a sight. From head to foot loose fluttering feathers waved ghost-like in the night breeze. Mart was not bound now, but the gag was still in his mouth. He cast one appalled glance at Grace and Tom, tore the gag loose and uttered a shrill yell of rage and chagrin. Then, throwing his hands above his head, he, too, disappeared.

"What does it all mean, Tom?" quavered Grace with a bloodless face. "There--there is somebody else!"

She shrank back anew with the words.

"It's all right," Tom reassured her. "It is Ben Dixon."

Ben, smothering a laugh, came up the steps, lifting his cap and smiling, his eyes twinkling.

"The biter bit, the tables turned, Miss Grace," he said.

"Ben, explain what it all means," pleaded Grace. "Tom won't."

[Illustration: "WHY," SHE FALTERED, "IT IS MART WALTERS!"]

"It's like him not to," declared Tom's staunch chum. "I got a hint from a friend early in the evening that the Barber boys were on the rampage. I missed Tom by 'phone and started to intercept him on his way here, when I ran across the crowd talking with Mart Walters. I learned the whole scheme, and followed Walters to a hut where the gang had imprisoned Tom, and--well, I set Tom free and tied and gagged Walters in his place."

"What for?" questioned Grace.

"To give him a needed lesson," answered Ben promptly. "When the crowd returned I suppose they had arranged if Walters didn't come back to them they were to 'fix' Tom, as they called it. Two of them carried a feather bed. Two others carried pails of soft soap. It seemed they intended to use tar, but couldn't get any. They ripped open the bed, deluged Walters with the soap, mistaking him for Tom, rolled him in among the feathers, and--you saw him. They never got onto the fact that it was the fellow who had hired them who got the dose they intended for Tom."

"Why did he hire them?" inquired Grace.

"Because that Aldrich cad plotted with Walters to scare Tom away from coming here to see you," explained Ben bluntly.

Grace Morgan's eyes flashed. A flush of real anger came into her cheeks.

"Mart and Mr. Aldrich did that?" she cried. "Oh, they shall never come into this house again." And on hearing this Tom Barnes felt rewarded for all the tribulation he had gone through that night.

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