"I'll tell you. I think some one stole it," added the sick man impressively.
"Did any one know about the secrets written down in it?"
"Not that I know of. Some one may have taken it in order to get my account of the wreck of the Waldo. It may affect the insurance on the vessel, or something of that sort, for all I know. I think I know just who stole it too;" and Harvey related all the particulars of the tipsy man's visit to the chamber the night before. "He pretended to be drunk, but I think he knew what he was about all the time, just as well as I did. In my opinion he took that book."
"Why should he take it?" asked Leopold, who thought it was necessary to prove the motive before the deed was charged upon him.
"I don't know but I think he sat at the window of the room over there," continued Harvey, pointing to one in the L of the house, which opened at right angles with his own. "I believe he saw me put the diary in the flue, and then came into my room in the night and took it, while he was blundering about over the chairs and tables. I am sure that none of the folks who came in to see me in the afternoon could have taken it without my seeing them—not even the newspaper man. You may depend upon it, the tipsy man—if he was tipsy—took it. What he did it for is more than I can tell; but he may have thought it was money, or something else that was valuable. I saw him at that window after I had hid the diary in the flue."
Harvey Bath was entirely satisfied in regard to the guilt of the tipsy man, and had already ascertained that the fellow was a "drummer"—in Europe more politely called a "commercial traveller." He had also obtained the name of the man, and the address of the firm in New York city for which he travelled. With this information he hoped to obtain his treasure again, by shrewd management, when he went to New York. But, in spite of his grief over his loss, Harvey wrote the account of the wreck of the Waldo for the newspaper, in the course of the next day, and sent it off by mail.
After Leopold had done all he could to comfort the invalid,—though he failed, as others had, to lessen the burden which weighed him down,—he left the room, and walked down to the principal street of the village, on which the Cliff House was located. A few rods from the hotel he came to the smallest store in the place, in the window of which were displayed a few silver watches and a rather meagre assortment of cheap jewelry. On the shelves inside of the shop was a considerable variety of wooden clocks, and, in a glass case on the counter, a quantity of spoons, forks and dishes, some few of which were silver, while the greater part were plated, or of block tin. Over the door was the sign "Leopold Schlager, Watch-maker." The proprietor of this establishment was Leopold's uncle, his mother's only brother, which explains the circumstance of our hero's having a foreign name.
Of course, if Leopold Schlager was a German, Mrs. Bennington was of the same nationality, though any one meeting her about the hotel would hardly have suspected that she was not a full-blooded American. Over thirty years before, she had emigrated with her younger brother, when the times were hard in Germany. Her father was dead, and her elder brother, Leopold, was not yet out of his time, learning the trade of a watch-maker. The younger brother went to the west, taking her with him, and established himself on a farm. He was not very successful, and his sister, at the age of twelve, went to live with an American family in Chicago, the lady of which had taken a fancy to her. She was brought up to work, though her education was not neglected. Before she was twenty-one her brother in the west died. But by this time she was abundantly able to take care of herself.
When the family in which she was so kindly cared for was broken up by the death of the father, she went to work in the kitchen of a large hotel, where she enlarged her knowledge and experience in the art of cooking, till she was competent to take a situation as the cook of a small public house. In this place she increased the reputation of the establishment by her skill, till the proprietor was willing to pay her any wages she demanded.
Peter Bennington, a native of Maine, was employed in the hotel; and he was so well pleased with the looks of the German cook that he proposed to her, and was accepted. Katharina Schlager spoke English then as well as a native; and she was not only neat and skillful, but she was a pretty and wholesome-looking woman. Peter married her, and, after a while, bought out the hotel. But he was not successful in the venture; and, with only a few hundred dollars in his pocket, he returned to Rockhaven, his native place, where he soon opened the Cliff House.