CHAPTER XXV.
SQUIRE PAGET'S NEWS.
Martin and Toglet were very white when they reached the sloop, and the younger man trembled from head to foot.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Martin, with a forced laugh, as they got on board.
"No—nothing," stammered Toglet.
"You've got a bad case of the shakes."
"Well, to tell the truth, that's the worst job I ever tackled, although I've accomplished many that were tough enough."
"Humph! you'll get over that feeling when you are as old as I am," replied Martin, heartlessly. "What's the boy to us?"
"Oh, I ain't squealing. Only he looked so innocent——"
"Bah! don't give me any more of that stuff. Here, have something to brace you up."
Martin pulled a black flask from his pocket and thrust it forward. Toglet drank copiously, as if to drown out the memory of what had occurred. Martin followed with an equally liberal dose.
"It was done easier than I at first imagined it would be," said the latter. "Had he suspected the least thing we would have had a nasty struggle with him."
The anchor was hoisted and the sails set, and in a few minutes the sloop had left the island and was on her way down the lake.
"We won't go near Glen Arbor," said Martin. "Let them find out about the affair in the natural way. If we report it we may get ourselves into trouble."
"But the squire——" began Toglet.
"That's none of our affair. We'll land near Westville, and watch our chance to report."
It was about four o'clock when the two rascals beached the sloop in an out-of-the-way spot just north of the village in which Ralph lived. No one had seen their coming, and as quickly as they could they left the craft and then sent her adrift.
Both of the men had worn wigs, and these they now cast aside, altering their appearance slightly. Their guns and game-bags were hidden behind a pile of decayed logs and then they sneaked through the woods toward the hill at the extremity of Westville.
They waited about Squire Paget's house for nearly an hour and at last saw that gentleman come out and start up the country road which led away from the village center.
Presently the squire came to an old, disused cottage, which years previous had been used as a road tavern. Here he halted, and the two men at once joined him.
"It's done, squire," said Martin.
"Hush! not here," cried Paget, in a scared voice. "Come inside."
He took from his pocket a key and with it unlocked the cottage door. The two men passed inside, and the squire of Westville immediately followed.
"Take a look about before you say anything," he said. "We must not be overheard."
Martin's lip curled, but he did as requested, and Toglet did the same. Not a soul but themselves was anywhere in sight.
"We're all right, squire," said Martin. "So we'll get to business without delay."
"Exactly, exactly! And did you—is he—is he gone?" asked Squire Paget, breathing hard.
"Yes, he's gone," returned Martin, boldly. "He went over the top of the big cliff, and that is the end of him."
"You are sure it was the right boy?"
"Yes, he said his name was Ralph Nelson," put in Toglet.
"You saw him go—go down all right?" asked the squire, hesitatingly. "There was no failure——"
"Not a bit of it," said Martin. "He went over into the rocks below and into the water. He gave one scream, and that was all," he added, dramatically.
The squire shuddered. It must really be true. Ralph Nelson was dead!
"Very good," he said, in a hoarse voice. "Here is the hundred dollars each I promised you. You shall have the other five hundred when—the body is found."
"All right, but you'll have to do the finding," said Martin. "It's at the bottom of the big cliff on the west side of Three Top Island. His cap is among the rocks close by."
"And his boat——"
"We sent that adrift. If we are traced up we want to shield ourselves by saying we went off hunting and when we got back could find nothing of him and the boat, and had to get a stranger to take us ashore."
"Ah, I see. Very good."
"Now we want to be going. We'll look for you in Chambersburgh inside of a week. Don't fail us if you value your secret."
"I will be on hand."
"You ought to pay us more than five hundred," put in Toglet. "You are going to make a pile out of this."
"How do you know anything about what I am going to make?" asked the squire, in great surprise.
"The boy told us about his property and the papers that were missing."
"I know nothing of that."
"Humph! We can put two and two together. You'll make a fortune out of that land, no doubt."
"I know nothing of that land you mention."
"Maybe you don't."
"And I haven't his missing papers," went on Squire Paget, and for once he spoke the truth.
"Then what's your aim in getting him out of the way?"
"That is my affair."
"Of course it is," broke in Martin. "But you might make it a bit more than five hundred."
"I am poor, gentlemen. I had to do what has been done to keep me from ruin."
Both of the rascals laughed at his words, but they could get nothing more out of the squire, and a few minutes later, after a little more conversation concerning poor Ralph, they separated. The two villains who had pushed the boy over the cliff went back for their guns and game-bags, and then set out for a town at the north of the lake.
Squire Paget watched them out of sight, and then hurried back to his mansion. Somehow, he did not feel safe until he had locked himself in his library.
"At last the boy is out of the way," he murmured, to himself, as he sank into an easy-chair. "It was accomplished much easier than I imagined it would be, thanks to my intimate knowledge of the character of that rascal Martin, and Toglet, his tool. Now what is to be done next? It will not do to get the widow out of the way—that would excite suspicion. I had better wait and watch her closely. Maybe she'll be unable to hold her cottage with her son no longer at hand to earn enough to keep them, and she'll be forced to sell out at a low figure, and then—by Jove!" he exclaimed, suddenly. "That's a grand idea! It's a wonder I didn't think of it before!"
The new idea made the squire walk up and down the library rapidly. He was a great schemer and could evolve a whole transaction, no matter how intricate, much more rapidly than most men.
"I'll do it!" he said, to himself. "I'll offer her a good price for the cottage and the land, and when the papers are drawn up for her signature, I'll take good care that all the other land is included in the plot mentioned. I can make the papers so confusing that she won't know the difference, and she'll sign them without knowing their real contents. Glorious!"
Then came a knock on the door.
"Dinner is ready, sir," said the housekeeper.
"Very well; I will be there in a few minutes," he returned.
Then he gazed out of the window thoughtfully.
"But what if those papers should turn up? I must watch out for them, and get the land in my name before that occurs—if it ever does occur. What a fool I was to trust them in the mails to have them certified to by that old woman in New York!"