The Face and the Mask by Robert Barr (books under 200 pages .txt) 📗

to a lot of fellows who would show you some sport, that is, if you care for snow-shoeing, toboganning, and the like of that.”

“I never went in much for athletics,” said Staples.

“I don’t care much for exertion myself,” answered Brown. “I come up here every winter for some ice-yachting. That’s my idea of sport. I own one of the fastest ice-boats on the bay. Ever been out?”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve seen them at it a good deal. Pretty cold work such weather as we’ve been having, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so. Better come out with me tomorrow?”

“Well, I don’t care if I do.”

The next day and the next they spun around the bay on the ice-boat. Even Staples, who seemed to be tired of almost everything, liked the swiftness and exhilaration of the iceboat.

One afternoon, Brown walked into the bar of the hotel, where he found Staples standing.

“See here, Armstrong.” he cried, slapping that gentleman on the shoulder. “Are you in for a bit of sport? It’s a nice moonlight night, and I’m going to take a spin down to Hamilton to meet some chaps, and we can come back on the iceboat, or if you think it too late, you can stay over, and come back on the train.”

“Hamilton? That’s up the lake, isn’t it?”

“Yes, just a nice run from here. Come along—I counted on you.”

An hour later they were skimming along the frozen surface of the lake.

“Make yourself warm and snug,” said Brown. “That’s what the buffalo robes are for. I must steer, so I have to keep in the open. If I were you I’d wrap up in those robes and go to sleep. I’ll wake you when we’re there.”

“All right,” answered Staples. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“General George Washington!” said young Brown to himself. “This is too soft a snap altogether. I’m going to run him across the lake like a lamb. Before he opens his eyes we’ll have skimmed across the frozen lake, and he’ll find himself in the States again when he wakes up. The only thing now to avoid are the air-holes and ice-hills, and I’m all right.”

He had been over the course before and knew pretty well what was ahead of him. The wind was blowing stiffly straight up the lake and the boat silently, and swifter than the fastest express, was flying from Canada and lessening the distance to the American shore.

“How are you getting along, Walker,” cried Staples, rousing himself up. “First rate,” answered Brown. “We’ll soon be there, Staples.”

That unfortunate slip of the tongue almost cost young Mr. Brown his life. He had been, thinking of the man under his own name, and the name had come out unconsciously. He did not even notice it himself in time to prepare, and the next instant the thief flung himself upon him and jammed his head against the iron rod that guided the rudder, with such a force that the rudder stayed in its place and the boat flew along the ice without a swerve.

“You scoundrel!” roared the bank-robber. “That’s your game, is it? By the gods, I’ll teach you a lesson in the detective business!”

Athlete as young Brown was, the suddenness of the attack, and the fact that Staples clutched both hands round his neck and had his knee on his breast, left him as powerless as an infant. Even then he did not realize what had caused the robber to guess his position.

“For God’s sake, let me up!” gasped Brown. “We’ll be into an air-hole and drowned in a moment.”

“I’ll risk it, you dog! till I’ve choked the breath out of your body.” Brown wriggled his head away from the rudder iron, hoping that the boat would slew around, but it kept its course. He realized that if he was to save his life he would have to act promptly. He seemed to feel his tongue swell in his parched mouth. His strength was gone and his throat was in an iron vice. He struck out wildly with his feet and one fortunate kick sent the rudder almost at right angles.

Instantly the boat flashed around into the wind. Even if a man is prepared for such a thing, it takes all his nerve and strength to keep him on an iceboat. Staples was not prepared. He launched head first into space and slid for a long distance on the rough ice. Brown was also flung on the ice and lay for a moment gasping for breath. Then he gathered himself together, and slipping his hand under his coat, pulled out his revolver. He thought at first that Staples was shamming, but a closer examination of him showed that the fall on the ice had knocked him senseless.

There was only one thing that young Mr. Brown was very anxious to know. He wanted to know where the money was. He had played the part of private detective well in Toronto, after the very best French style, and had searched the room of Staples in his absence, but he knew the money was not there nor in his valise. He knew equally well that the funds were in some safe deposit establishment in the city, but where he could not find out. He had intended to work on Staples’ fears of imprisonment when once he had him safe on the other side of the line. But now that the man was insensible, he argued that it was a good time to find whether or not he had a record of the place of deposit in his pocket-book. He found no such book in his pockets. In searching, however, he heard the rustling of paper apparently in the lining of his coat. Then he noticed how thickly it was padded. The next moment he had it ripped open, and a glance showed him that it was lined with bonds. Both coat and vest were padded in this way—the vest being filled with Bank of England notes, so the chances were that Staples had meditated a tour in Europe. The robber evidently put no trust in Safe Deposits nor banks. Brown flung the thief over on his face, after having unbuttoned coat and vest, doubled back his arms and pulled off these garments. His own, Brown next discarded, and with some difficulty got them on the fallen man and then put on the clothes of mammon.

“This is what I call rolling in wealth.” said Brown to himself. He admitted that he felt decidedly better after the change of clothing, cold as it was.

Buttoning his own garments on the prostrate man, Brown put a flask of liquor to his lips and speedily revived him. Staples sat on the ice in a dazed manner, and passed his hand across his brow. In the cold gleam of the moonlight he saw the shining barrel of Brown’s revolver “covering” him.

“It’s all up, Mr. Staples. Get on board the iceboat.”

“Where are you going to take me to?”

“I’ll let you go when we come to the coast if you tell me where the money is.”

“You know you are guilty of the crime of kidnapping,” said Mr. Staples, apparently with the object of gaining time. “So you are in