“He is in town. He will be over on the Point in the morning, disguised as a negro and chopping wood, on the edge of the timber. There isn’t much chance of him identifying the gang, but it’s the best we can do. It’s the girls first, the scoundrels afterward, if possible.”
At eleven o’clock the following day, Croyden, mounted on one of “Cheney’s Best,” rode away from the hotel. There had been a sudden change in the weather, during the night; the morning was clear and bright and warm, as happens, sometimes, in Annapolis, in late November. The Severn, blue and placid, flung up an occasional white cap to greet him, as he crossed the bridge. He nodded to the draw-keeper, who recognized him, drew aside for an automobile to pass, and then trotted sedately up the hill, and into the woods beyond.
He could hear the Band of the Academy pounding out a quick-step, and catch a glimpse of the long line of midshipmen passing in review, before some notable. The “custard and cream” of the 323 chapel dome obtruded itself in all its hideousness; the long reach of Bancroft Hall glowed white in the sun; the library with its clock—the former, by some peculiar idea, placed at the farthest point from the dormitory, and the latter where the midshipmen cannot see it—dominated the opposite end of the grounds. Everywhere was quiet, peace, and discipline—the embodiment of order and law,—the Flag flying over all.
And yet, he was on his way to pay a ransom of very considerable amount, for two women who were held prisoners!
He tied his horse to a limb of a maple, and walked out on the Point. Save for a few trees, uprooted by the gales, it was the same Point they had dug over a few weeks before. A negro, chopping at a log, stopped his work, a moment, to look at him curiously, then resumed his labor.
“The Pinkerton man!” thought Croyden, but he made no effort to speak to him.
Somewhere,—from a window in the town, or from one of the numerous ships bobbing about on the Bay or the River—he did not doubt a glass was trained on him, and his every motion was being watched.
For full twenty minutes, he stood on the extreme tip of the Point, and looked out to sea. Then he faced directly around and stepped ten paces inland. Kneeling, he quickly dug with a small trowel a hole a foot deep in the sand, put into it the package 324 of bills, wrapped in oil-skin, and replaced the ground.
“There!” said he, as he arose. “Pirate’s gold breeds pirate’s ways. May we have seen the last of you—and may the devil take you all!”
He went slowly back to his horse, mounted, and rode back to town. They had done their part—would the thieves do theirs?