Without hesitation he yanked up the blotter, tacks and all. There was nothing underneath, so he next jerked forth the single drawer of the table, and dumped out its contents. A search through these revealed nothing of interest and he was about to replace the drawer when it occurred to him to thrust an inquiring hand into the space back of it. His fingers encountered paper, and a moment later his eyes gleamed with satisfaction as they rested on two envelopes addressed to his brother in that same erect black writing which had characterized the single sheet.
“Got you this time, I reckon,” he muttered, in a tone of intense satisfaction. “If Bainbridge ain’t interested in this——”
He paused abruptly, and raised his head with a jerk, his eyes narrowing, and his grip tightening unconsciously on the letters. From outside came a queer, vibrating clang. For an instant he listened tensely as the sound rose and fell on the night air, muffled a little by closed doors and windows, but still clear and unmistakable—the primitive village fire alarm. With a gasp of dismay, he leaped toward the door.
“Cripes!” he cried, gripping the knob. “It’s to-night—to-night! An’ I never guessed!”
CHAPTER XIV. FIRE AND SMOKE
Curly found himself, hatless, and with two letters and a scrap of paper clasped in one hand, running swiftly toward that portion of the riverbank where stood the Bainbridge mill. What he could accomplish alone and unaided was a question which troubled him vaguely. He meant, at least, to give the best that was in him toward fighting a calamity he might have prevented if only he had kept his wits about him.
Presently he slackened his pace a little, and a puzzled wrinkle came into his forehead. There was not the slightest glare to be seen in the direction of the mill. It seemed odd that a fire in such a place should not show itself sooner. He hurried on a little farther, but still there was no sign of fire—no noise or scurrying of people. At length, reaching the fence which surrounded mill and lumber yards, he paused, wondering in which direction lay the nearest gate. A second later, half turning, he saw the glow and sparks from a burning building rising above the leafless trees at least a mile away.
“Gee!” he muttered, in a tone of relief. “I’m sure glad I was fooled. For a bit I thought it was all up, but now mebbe I kin put a crimp in their game.”
He stood silent for a minute or two, turning the matter over in his mind. There were difficulties which had not occurred to him at first. If he went to Bainbridge or to the authorities with his discovery, Bill would be sure to pay the penalty. He was not anxious for this. He did not want to mix his brother up in the affair if it were possible to keep his name out of it. If he could only see Bill he felt sure he could make him cut it all and get out of the country. But that was the trouble—to find him and do it quickly. Where had he gone this night of all others? What was keeping him away so long? Was it possible, after all, that the burning had been planned for to-night, but planned to take place later?
The interior of the inclosure seemed very quiet and peaceful, yet Curly felt a fresh stab of apprehension when presently he discovered the big gate unlocked and ajar. After a momentary hesitation he pushed the gate still farther open, and, slipping through, closed it behind him, and crept, ghostlike, along in the shadow of the fence.