“Thieves?” Stebbins repeated. “If I told —” He stopped, shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t?”
The wild-haired young man stared down at them for another moment. Then his eyes flashed again.
“There’re four of you. Where are the other two?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Cluny taunted him.
Jupiter laughed. “We told you we’d beat you!”
“Beat me?” Stebbins said again, and suddenly he smiled. “So, they’re on the last step, right? The Ortega stone yard, that’s where they are! Thanks, kids.”
Jupiter groaned. He’d told Stebbins where Bob and Pete were! The young man smiled down, and then vanished. They heard him hurry across the deck above, jump down to the sand, and walk quickly away.
Alone, Jupiter and Cluny watched the tide rising in the hold. There was no way out. They began to yell.
It was late afternoon when Bob and Pete hiked up to Phantom Lake Lodge once more. Mrs. Gunn came out to greet them.
“No, Jupiter and Cluny aren’t back yet, boys,” she said.
They told her what they had learned at the Ortega yard.
“A ton of special stone?” Mrs. Gunn mused. “Heavens, what for, boys? The foundation of this house, perhaps?”
“No, ma’am. The house was already built,” Pete pointed out.
“Can you think of anything else here built of stone?” Bob asked.
Mrs. Gunn thought, and shook her head. “Not a thing, boys.”
“There has to be something!” Pete insisted. “Old Angus must —”
They heard a vehicle coming fast up the road from the highway. The truck? Then they saw it — Mrs. Gunn’s Ford. It sped down to the house and Rory jumped out. He carried the small generator he’d gone to have repaired.
“There’s nae a mon to do decent work these days,” the Scotsman grumbled. “Kept me waiting a’ afternoon for the repairs!”
“Rory,” Mrs. Gunn said, “do you remember anything built here out of stone? A whole ton of stone? Aside from the house and shed?”
“Stone?” Rory frowned. “A ton o’ it?”
Bob and Pete repeated what Mr. Ortega had told them.
“I dinna recall anything,” Rory said. “Ye say the quarry might tell ye more o’ the size ‘n shape o’ the stones?”
Bob nodded. “But it’s getting late. We’d never make it on our bikes before dark.”
“Then I’ll drive ye there,” Rory said. “I ha’ another trip I could make in that direction. I’ll drop ye on my way, and ye can ride yer bikes back.”
Bob put his bike in the boot of the Ford, and Pete squeezed his in along the back seat. They jumped in the front beside Rory and drove off.
There was still light when they reached the entrance to the old quarry. Rory dropped them and their bikes, and drove away.
The old quarry was a deep, vast pit at least two hundred yards across, with some water at the bottom. Stone jutted everywhere, glowing in the sunset. The whole mountainside had been gouged out in a series of encircling terraces, like steps. Far across, the quarry opened out away from the mountain and was only a few terraces deep. Here, near the bottom, a sturdy shack stood on a stone terrace that gave directly on to a low shoulder of the mountain. There was light in the shack, and a truck parked by it.
“The caretaker’s still here!” Pete said.
They scrambled down into the quarry and made their way along a terrace. They were less than halfway to the shack when the light went out. A man came out and got into the truck.
They shouted, “Hey!.. Mister!.. ”
The man was too far away, and the truck engine drowned their voices. They ran, but the truck drove off on a back road and was gone. When they reached the shack, it was dark and padlocked.
“Too late,” Pete moaned.
Bob studied the shack. Its four windows were shuttered and locked outside by heavy boards in slots.” Maybe we can get in and find the records ourselves. Mr. Ortega knows we’re here.”
Pete unbarred a shutter. “Bob! This window’s not locked!”
“We’re in luck,” Bob said. “Come on.”
They climbed inside. The shack was an office with old wooden files and furniture. Pete found a cabinet labelled “1870–1900”. He opened it, flipped through the files, and took out a folder marked “1872”. He carried it to a desk. Bob leaned over his shoulder.
Light footsteps sounded outside the shack.
“What’s that?” Bob whirled.
The open shutter banged closed. They heard the board slide in place to lock it. Footsteps hurried away.
They were prisoners!
The late sun slanted across the ragged opening in the hatch. Jupiter and Cluny had shouted themselves hoarse. Now they sat against the dank wall at the upper end of the barge and watched the tide rising steadily towards them.
“How long do you think we have, Jupiter?” Cluny said quietly.
“Perhaps two hours more,” Jupiter said. “Someone will find us soon.”
“No one’s heard us yet,” Cluny said in a low voice.
“They will. Hans must have missed us long ago.”
“But he doesn’t know we’re in this barge. He’ll never look here!”
“In a few minutes we’ll start yelling again. Someone will hear us.”
“Sure, of course they will,” Cluny said doubtfully.
But after a few more minutes, Jupiter didn’t start to shout. Instead, his eyes seemed to stare at something.