"But the how of it was like this: a fellow named Captain Ord,—or some say it was one called George Tucker, but most think it was Ord,—had it all fixed up with some Bermudian friends that he should get the powder on the q. t., load it on board his ship, and beat it while the going was good. The powder-magazine was in the government grounds at a dump called St. George's, and Governor Bruère always slept with the keys under his pillow. Well, some smooth guy managed to swipe those keys one dark night, and they rolled down no end of barrels to a place called Tobacco Rocks, loaded 'em on whale-boats, and rowed out with 'em to the ship that was anchored off Mangrove Bay, wherever that may be, and Captain Ord was off with it before morning. Well, you can take it from me that, when Bruère got wise to what had happened, he went up in the air! He was a hot sketch, and he made it warm for the Bermudians; but it didn't do any good, as nobody knew much about the business—or if they did, they wouldn't tell!
"Anyhow, Washington got his powder, and it's on record that afterward he sent a heap of swell eats down to pay for it! Gee! wouldn't I like to have been in on that fun though—the night they swiped the loot!"
"But, Alexander, I don't see what all this has got to do with Alison!" cried Margaret. "There's nothing in it about a girl, or the least thing that concerns her!"
"That's just where I knew you'd throw me down!" remarked Alexander. "I told you to begin with that I hadn't found anything positive about it, didn't I? Well, this is the only thing that even passed it on the other side of the gangway! That Alison kid keeps talking about a plot in Bermuda and something that happened that the government didn't cotton to, and there isn't another blooming hook to hang your hat on but that, unless it's something that isn't spoken of or known about in history. Then there's one other reason. She speaks of some one called H., and his uncle, and his uncle's ship, and how they were afraid to go back to Bermuda because one of the sailors had turned piker and given way on them. Of course, it's all guesswork! And what in thunder a kid like Alison could have to do with such a piece of work, beats me! But there you are! I'm done!"
There was considerable disappointment in the Antiquarian Club, when Alexander had ceased, that nothing more definite had been unearthed by him. It seemed highly unlikely to them all that this strange little historical incident could have any bearing on the affairs of the mysterious "lass" whose secret they had stumbled upon. None but himself appeared to put any faith in the connection between the two, and they discussed it for a time hotly. At last Corinne, perceiving that Alexander was becoming piqued that his efforts were not more appreciated, declared:
"I think you've done splendidly, Alec, in discovering anything at all, among such a lot of uncertain stuff; and perhaps we'll come across something later that will make us sure. But you seem to have been reading quite a pile of books. Are they all about Bermuda?"
"Nope! Not on your tintype! There are precious few about Bermuda alone, anyway. So after I'd chewed up what there was, I took to doping out American history, and I came across some hot stuff there, too! The main guy over there in the library advised me to read Washington Irving's 'Life of George Washington' when I told her I was tracking down American history. And say, that's going some, too—in spots! I fell over something last night that'll make you all put on the glad smile—I found out the name of the feller that was soft on Phœbe!"