"Well," said Jake rather grimly, "what do you think would happen if a
drunken man tried to walk along that pipe?"
Then a light dawned on Dick and he sat down, feeling limp. He was
abstemious, and a large dose of strong spirit would, no doubt, have
unsteadied him. His companions would notice this, but with the obstinacy
that often marks a half-drunk man he would probably have insisted on
trying to cross the pipe. Then a slip or hesitation would have
precipitated him upon the unfinished ironwork below, and since an obvious
explanation of his fall had been supplied, nobody's suspicions would have
been aroused. The subtlety of the plot was unnerving. Somebody who knew
all about him had chosen the moment well.
"It's so devilishly clever!" he said with hoarse anger after a moment or
two.
Jake nodded. "They're smart. They knew the boys were coming to make a row
and Stuyvesant wouldn't have them on the veranda. Then the wine was on
the table, and anybody who'd noticed where we sat could tell your glass.
It would have been easy to creep up to the shack before the moon rose."
"Who are they?"
"If I knew, I could tell you what to do about it, but I don't. It's
possible there was only one man, but if so, he's dangerous. Anyhow, it's
obvious that Kenwardine has no part in the matter."
"He's not in this," Dick agreed. "Have you a cigarette? I think I'd like
a smoke. It doesn't follow that I'd have been killed, if I had fallen."
"Then you'd certainly have got hurt enough to keep you quiet for some
time, which would probably satisfy the other fellow. But I don't think
we'll stop here talking; there may be somebody about."
They climbed down by the foot of the tower and crossing the sluice went
up the ladder. When they reached their shack Dick sat down and lighted
the cigarette Jake had given him, but he said nothing and his face was
sternly set. Soon afterwards he went to bed.