CHAPTER II.

LITTLE DETECTIVES.

THE plot, part of which Alf Oliver had overheard, ripened so quickly that events followed each other closely. First, the English governess took fright and left in a hurry for St. Petersburg, where she had friends.

In the factory there was a spirit of rebellion and defiance, and the men, instead of doing their work, were constantly gathering in little groups, muttering and scowling when the manager passed them.

At last things came to such a point that next to no work was done. The oil barrels remained unfilled, the cart-horses stood idle in the stables, and the great sledge-carts, which should have been carrying casks of oil to the railway station in the town fifteen miles off, were hauled up close together, lumbering the loading yard.

At length, Mr. Oliver resolved to take a bold step and meet the so-called strike half-way. He gave orders that the men should come together into one of the buildings, and he met them there.

But he had no idea that Alf and Bert, who were like their father's shadows, had followed him in and now stood behind him on a platform made of a few planks laid upon barrels.

"My men," said Mr. Oliver in a loud, clear voice, "something is wrong with you; anyone can see it! You won't work, and I am running the factory at a loss. Well, now! Let us say you are tired, and this being so, I am going to give you all a holiday. To-morrow this factory will be closed, your wages paid, and you will all be discharged.

"Those of you who wish to return to your duty, and do it properly, may come back in a week's time, when the works will open again. But any men who return later than that will find their places filled by new hands.

"Now, foremen of the various departments, see that my orders are carried out. Put out the fires, pile up the empty barrels tidily, put away the tools, lock up everything, and bring the keys to me. I have no more to say—the matter now lies with you. Good-night, my men."

Only one or two loyal voices made response; the rest of the workmen kept silence. Two and two they filed past the manager, some looking nervous and frightened, others sullen, evil and threatening.

Alf pulled Bert's sleeve.

"Look at that squinting pudding of an Anton," said he. "Doesn't he look as if he meant mischief?"

"What can he do?" replied Bert. "Isn't the place to be closed for a week? And perhaps he's one of those who won't come back."

"I don't know; I fancy he's one of the worst of them, and now dad's nipped their little plot in the bud, that villain will think of something else to do. I'm sure of it."

"Well, we must be dad's detectives and keep a sharp look-out, Alf," said little Bert with pride, and his brother assented.

The next day or two passed quietly enough, but on the third night something happened.

The two boys were awakened about eleven o'clock by the sound of men's voices, loud and angry. Their bedroom was over the office, and it was from the office that the sounds came.

Always now on the alert, Alf and Bert quickly got into their dressing-gowns and soft slippers and stole down the wide staircase of the big, two-storeyed house. The office door stood open, the lights were burning, and peering in unperceived from the dark hall, the boys saw Anton Griboff, his friend Stepan the fitter, and a third man, a fierce, rough-looking fellow, with a broken nose and a large red scar that cut across both cheeks on a line with the mouth, giving the appearance of a hideous grin from ear to ear.

The three ruffians were standing before the manager, and the boys heard Anton say: "We have come for the key of that safe, and we mean to have it. Give it up."

"The money in the safe is not mine, and I hold the key in trust," replied Mr. Oliver firmly. "You shall not have it."

Anton made a sign, and the other men suddenly sprang upon Mr. Oliver and held him, while Griboff searched the pockets for the key. In a moment, with a cry of triumph, he held it up.

But the next instant, he suddenly fell violently forward, struck his head sharply against the big open desk, and lay still, the cause of this being that Alf and Bert, creeping in on their hands and knees behind Griboff, just as he found the key, each seized a leg and pulled back with all their might. As the man's burly form came crashing down, the key of the safe dropped from his hand, and Alf pounced upon it and passed it on to Bert.

"Run and hide it," he whispered, "while I try to help dad."

The struggles of the manager were vain. The two rascals, taking no heed of their fallen comrade, proceeded to tie Mr. Oliver's arms to his side, and his ankles together. Alf, behind them in the dark doorway, and unseen by the ruffians, dared not speak, but his father saw him, and gave him a look which the boy rightly understood to mean that he was to go and get help.

For a long minute he stood in the dark corridor, wondering what he should do.

Two of the men belonging to the factory—Oscar Kleinweh, a German, and Samuel Levi, a little Jewish engineer—were true men and loyal to his father, but they had gone away when the factory was closed.

Alf's thoughts turned to his mother, who had gone to bed with a bad headache. Her room was in the next wing, and she would probably have heard nothing; he would not go to her.

There was no one of whom he could ask advice. Well, then, he must judge for himself.

"There's no help to be had nearer than the town," said he to himself, "and that's fifteen miles away."

Alf scampered upstairs.

"Quick, Niania, my clothes!" he said. "I'm the only one to go and get help, and I must start at once."

The nurse did not try to prevent him. She saw that the situation was desperate. The man-servant and coachman had joined the strikers, and would not have helped had they been on the spot. Everything now depended upon this boy, who was hardly more than a child.

"The key, Bert!" said Alf. "What have you done with it?"

"It is here," said nurse, "on a string round my neck, under my dress. It shall be quite safe; have no fear for that! Nor for your father. I am going to lock Bert into this room to keep him safer, while I go down and see if I cannot be of use to the master. But the villains will not dare to harm him. It is the money they want. But now how wilt thou go on thy quest, my pigeon? If thou take the sledge and horse, the men will be sure to see thee."

"Yes," replied Alf, "I must ride the pony, for I can saddle him myself in the stable, and watch my time for getting out. I've got the duplicate key of the stable door. Now, nurse, my short fur coat, my fur cap, and big felt boots! So! Now I'm ready!"

And giving the old woman and Bert each a kiss, Alf left the nursery and slipped noiselessly down the back stairs, meeting no one.

The women servants were asleep in the further wing of the big house, and none of the ordinary working household were about at this time of night.

Alf did not dare to return even for a moment to the front of the building, for fear of being caught. Softly he crept out the back way, and in a moment was inside the stable, and had bolted himself in and lighted a lantern.

Sharik (ball), the pony, was a plump, round, sturdy little creature, a great pet with the boys; and now he rubbed his rough head fondly against Alf's shoulder, as the saddle and bridle were being adjusted.

Then, softly undoing the door, Alf peeped out. There was no one in sight; all was clear. He led Sharik out, locked the door, and was soon in the saddle.

The direct road to the town passed the front of the house, and took a straight line for some distance, but Alf dared not risk going to the front. He made for the frozen river at the back, and only joined the road when he felt it safe to do so. Then, however, he put the pony to its full speed. For such a sturdy little beast, Sharik was very swift, and he was also docile, strong and sure-footed.

The night was fine, and but for the burden of care on his young heart, Alf would quite have enjoyed his ride. In little more than an hour the lad reached the town, and at full gallop arrived at the police-station. The head constable was well-known to the Olivers, and he at once promised to send help.

A sotnia (hundred) of Cossacks, too, were in the town for a day or two, and the sergeant thought that their lieutenant would allow some of his men to accompany the police to the factory.

"Will you wait and go with us, little gentleman?" asked the sergeant.

"No, thank you, Yakov Ivanitch, I must get home quickly; I am so anxious."

The constable eyed the gallant little figure of the boy, who had mounted again.

"You are young to ride out alone so far, at dead of night," said he.

"I was not alone, Yakov Ivanitch," replied Alf, his fearless dark eyes meeting the man's frankly.

"How not?" exclaimed the sergeant.

"God was with me," said the boy. "I felt Him there every step of the way." And with a wave of his small hand, he galloped away.

Sharik needed no urging on the homeward journey, and even Alf's impatience could find no fault with his good little steed.

When within a quarter of a mile of the house, he left the high road and again took the way by the river, coming up at the back of the house.

He could see no lights in any of the windows as he dismounted and led his pony into the stable. The kitchen door was unlocked, as he had left it, and when once inside, he soon had the gas alight. But what was his surprise to see the long pinewood table loaded up with dirty plates and dishes with remnants of food; glasses, cups and empty bottles added to the disorder. The place looked like some low tap-room.

Full of forebodings, the boy took a candle from the shelf, and went down the long corridor that ran from the back to the front of the house.