“Never you mind, old man. We’re just going up stairs for a private confab, an’ ef things turn out right, I kin promise a cool hundred for keeping your mouth shut. Savey?”
Brady nodded.
“I’m mum,” he said, with satisfaction. “On’y I don’t want dem cops down on me ag’in, so mind yer eye.”
Armed with a bottle and glasses, Leroyd led the way into a small room a good deal nearer the roof of the building, in which the New England Hotel was located. His two companions, however, left the sailor to dispose of the refreshments alone; the old farmer because he had never used liquor in any shape at home, and Weeks because he proposed to keep his brain perfectly clear that he might be sure to retain the “whip hand” of the other conspirators.
It is not my purpose to report verbatim the plans of the three villains. Let it suffice to say that after much discussion, and by virtue of coaxings, threatenings, promises, and what not, the sailor and Weeks (who saw at once that it would be for their mutual advantage to play into each other’s hands) obtained old Arad Tarr’s consent to furnish them with the sum of over two hundred dollars (and more if it was found to be actually needed) with which to charter the vessel.
You may be sure that the two rascals never worked harder (with their tongues) for two hundred dollars in their lives, for the amount looked as large to old Arad as ten thousand would to almost any other man.
The plot of the conspirators likewise included the discovery of Brandon’s whereabouts and his arrest on the charge of robbery, as set forth in the warrant with which Arad supplied himself before he left Rhode Island. This part of the scheme Weeks proposed to attend to.
Then, with a great deal of flourish and legal formula, the astute Mr. Weeks drew up a most wonderful document (he was well versed in legal phrases), which bound each of the three, Arad Tarr, James Leroyd, and Alfred Weeks, to a co-partnership, the object of which was to seek and obtain the floating hulk of the Silver Swan, and the treasure thereon, the profit of the venture to be divided equally between them, excepting the sum of one thousand dollars which was to go to Arad Tarr under any circumstances. And, of course, the document wasn’t worth the paper on which it was written.
But the old man didn’t know this. He was a great worshiper of the law, and he trusted in the legality of the paper to hold his partners to their promises. He lost sight, however, of the fact that the two men were going together on the quest for the Silver Swan, and that he—well, he was to stay at home, and wait. Waiting isn’t very hard work, to be sure; but it is terribly wearing.
These several things having been accomplished, and it being long past noon, the conspirators went their different ways—old Arad to interview the brokerage firm of Bensell, Bensell & Marsden, which, he was sure, was cheating him out of his dividends: Weeks to hunt up a scaly friend of his to serve the warrant upon unsuspicious Brandon; and Leroyd to look about for a vessel which could be converted to their purpose in the shortest possible time.