“We’ll climb down and cross by the sluice instead of the pipe,” he said.
“Why?” Dick asked. “The light is better than when we came.”
Jake gave him a curious look. “Your nerve’s pretty good, but do you want to defy your enemies and show them you have found out their trick?”
“But I haven’t found it out; that is, I don’t know the object of it yet.”
“Well,” said Jake rather grimly, “what do you think would happen if a drunken man tried to walk along that pipe?”
Then a light dawned on Dick and he sat down, feeling limp. He was abstemious, and a large dose of strong spirit would, no doubt, have unsteadied him. His companions would notice this, but with the obstinacy that often marks a half-drunk man he would probably have insisted on trying to cross the pipe. Then a slip or hesitation would have precipitated him upon the unfinished ironwork below, and since an obvious explanation of his fall had been supplied, nobody’s suspicions would have been aroused. The subtlety of the plot was unnerving. Somebody who knew all about him had chosen the moment well.
“It’s so devilishly clever!” he said with hoarse anger after a moment or two.
Jake nodded. “They’re smart. They knew the boys were coming to make a row and Stuyvesant wouldn’t have them on the veranda. Then the wine was on the table, and anybody who’d noticed where we sat could tell your glass. It would have been easy to creep up to the shack before the moon rose.”
“Who are they?”
“If I knew, I could tell you what to do about it, but I don’t. It’s possible there was only one man, but if so, he’s dangerous. Anyhow, it’s obvious that Kenwardine has no part in the matter.”