CHAPTER XVII

THE PRIVATE BUCCANEER

The offer of double pay brought even some of the neighboring farmers to life. Within an hour a string of carts of all descriptions wound its way along the village street to the spur railroad track. Ryder was there, chewing on a cigar, watching the first loads taken from the cars. The station master came running, mad as a hatter.

"You can't do that, you derned fool!" he shouted, shaking his fist in John Ryder's face.

"You watch and see if I can't."

"But you'll get into trouble. You'll be arrested. These fellers will be arrested. Why, hang it! it's high-handed piracy, that's what it is."

"If anybody is arrested I stand ready to pay the bill," Ryder coolly told him. "I tell you this is a case of necessity."

Naturally the agent did not see it that way, and he rushed to wire his headquarters. Of course he got orders to stop the robbery and came back and bawled commands that nobody paid any attention to.

"You'll get neck deep into trouble over this," the agent sputtered to Ryder. "There is a sheriff on the way here to arrest you."

"All right. He'll find me at the hotel," and having seen the first car cleaned out he strolled back to Pinewood Inn. He knew there would be enough coal in the bins to last over Sunday at least. Two carloads was enough anyway, and he ordered the work to cease when the second gondola was clean. He left two cars for the Lossing Soap Factory.

Sam Crabtree furnished the cash needed and he paid his teamsters; and when John Ryder entered the hotel office again it was past eleven o'clock. Steam was already knocking in the pipes, and the hotel guests were beginning to smile once more.

Few had tried to leave. A couple of unattached men had gone on the eight o'clock combination that jounced down to the Junction over the worst ballasted road in seven states. One man had cranked up his automobile and tried to get away by the back roads; but had come limping in again, having been drawn out of the mire by a farmer with a team of horses.

The hotel motorbus was still across the inlet; and it was broken down anyway. It would take several days to repair it. A few of the guests, with light baggage only, had arranged to be punted across the inlet and would walk to Barr, the station on the main line.

The most of them, however, had made no plans to get away. Heat being supplied again, the promise of lights as usual, and a reorganization of the working force of the house, satisfied most of them that matters would soon take their usual course.

John Ryder hoped that this was to be the fact. He had done all--and more--than he desired to do for the welfare and comfort of the company. And he certainly would not have assumed this last responsibility regarding the coal supply had not Ruth expressed a desire to remain here for the rest of their honeymoon.

Jim Howe, the clerk's assistant, was at the desk, and he spoke to Ryder as soon as the latter came near.

"I say, sir, you're Mr. Ryder, aren't you? Well, there are two ladies been after you this morning, they want to see you."

"Two ladies?"

"Yes," and Howe had hard work to suppress a grin. "One's our house detective, Miss Solomons. You had a run-in with her last night?"

"Something like that," returned Ryder.

"The lady with the craze for five-cent detective fiction. She's carrying one of those novels around now--'The Great Limburger Cheese Mystery, or Dick Squawker on a Strong Scent'; you know the kind. I used to read 'em when I was a kid. But she is after you."

"Humph!" observed Ryder not at all pleased.

"And the lady in Suite Three," added Jim Howe, now flashing the guest a sharp look. "She's asking for you. Al sent up her breakfast and then she telephoned down here to ask if her--ahem!--her husband was about."

"Well?"

"I did not know just who she meant at first," acknowledged Howe, still eying Ryder curiously. "She--she did not get your name right."

The business man felt himself flushing. But he braved it out. "Asked for her husband, didn't she?"

"Er--yes."

"Well, that's me," and he moved away from the desk.

But he was suddenly impressed by the fact that Ruth must have said or done something to stir up suspicion at the hotel desk. With Mrs. Judson peddling her misinformation through the house, he and his bride were likely to be misunderstood. What could it be? Did Ruth mispronounce his name?

The puzzle of it enfolded him in a blanket of doubt. He went upstairs muttering to himself and with clouded brow.

As he approached Parlor A he saw a familiar figure standing at the door. It was White--the man who had been so suddenly and strangely taken ill in the office during the night. The man was speaking to one of the boys, and Ryder saw him give the messenger a card and a coin.

"Yes; Suite Three. Give it to the lady and tell her I am waiting for her here."

White went quickly into the parlor and the boy darted away. Ryder was dumbfounded. He was fixed to his place in the corridor for some moments before he could move.

White, the man of mystery, had sent his card to his, Ryder's, wife! He expected Ruth to come to the parlor at his summons!

There could be no mistake about it. Ryder was sure enough now that Suite Three was the one he had taken for himself and his bride.

White's questions the night before, Ruth's fear of the man when he had come to the door, her attempt at supper time to have private conversation with White (Mrs. Judson's interference Ryder now saw had broken up that) and various other suspicious circumstances rose in Ryder's mind in horrid procession.

He staggered forward a step until he was where he could see into the parlor. He was aware that Miss Solomon's sharp face suddenly came within range of his vision; but he did not give the steely eyed house detective a second glance. His eyes were fixed on White.

Besides that individual, there seemed but two other guests of the hotel in Parlor A. Cudger and James had disappeared. Two women stood talking beside one of the other doors. They were the vivacious Mrs. Judson and Mrs. Dent, the hard-featured member of the advance committee of the S.B.C.D.G.

Ryder hung back. John B. White was pacing a length of rug nervously. Suddenly Ruth appeared at the door beside which the widow and her companion stood.

Ryder's heart leaped at the sight of his bride. She looked as fresh and sweet as a rose. She wore a delightfully pretty house dress. She carried what was evidently White's card in her hand, and she cast a puzzled glance about the parlor. She first saw Mrs. Judson.

"Good morning, Mrs. Judson," she said brightly. "I hope you are better?"

Up went the widow's lorgnette. She stared Mrs. Ryder up and down without replying. Then she deliberately turned her back without speaking, much to Ruth's pain and surprise.

Ryder's gorge rose. He was about to step forward to protect Ruth when the latter saw White and uttered a little cry. The man wheeled and came toward her. Did Ruth shrink from him and did she cry out in fear?

"Madam, I must speak to you," White said, as Mrs. Judson and her companion left the room. "At least you owe me some reparation--some explanation. I demand that of you!"