A STARTLING BETRAYAL—THE CUTENESS OF THE DETECTIVE—-SUGGESTIONS THROUGH A WORD—THE BODY IN THE BRUSH-WOOD—JACK LAYS A SCHEME—SADDEST OF ALL CONCLUSIONS.
Young Wagner smiled sadly and answered:
"I cannot go into that matter."
"But you do not understand me."
"I do not?"
"No."
"How so?"
"That man who interrupted us is a detective."
"Well?"
"He suspects that you are an abductor."
The young man started, and after a moment said:
"If that is true it is the Richards family who have thrown the suspicion around me."
"Then they must have had a purpose?"
"Certainly."
"And you know their purpose?"
"It is in line with what I have told you."
"Since you are the baron, so-called, I will make an admission to you. You must notthinkthat I knew you were the baron when we accidentally became acquainted, but now that I know you are I can tell you a great deal.Amalie Speir's mother suspects that you had something to do with the girl's disappearance."
Wagner was thoughtful for a long time before he answered, and then he said:
"It's not strange that the girl's mother should suspect me."
"It is not strange?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"You appear to be an honorable man; let me ask you one question: Did you ever meet Miss Amalie Speir?"
"I never saw her in my life," came the truthful answer.
"You know her mother?"
"I do."
"You can tell her mother that I say on my honor I do not know anything about the present whereabouts of her daughter."
"Oh, I see, you do not trust me."
"No, I distrust you."
"You distrust me?"
"I do."
"Why?"
"Because you have not been frank with me."
Our hero smiled. He had determined to declare himself, being satisfied that Wagner was an honorable young man.
"Do you want me to be frank?"
"Yes."
"What shall I do?"
"Tell me plainly why you made my acquaintance?"
"You suspect?"
"Yes, I suspect."
"What do you suspect?"
"That you are a detective employed to shadow me, andI suspect that the man who spoke to me a little while ago is your confederate."
"All right; what you suspect is true."
"And you are a detective?"
"I am."
"And you made my acquaintance with design?"
"I did."
"What is your conclusion?"
"My conclusion is that you are an honorable young man."
"Thank you, and now let me tell you I know nothing about Amalie. I do not knowwhom to suspect; I so told her mother."
There came a strange glitter in our hero's eyes, and a suspicion that almost caused his heart to stand still. He had reckoned himself a very shrewd, sharp man, but suddenly, and on evidence that would not have aroused a passing comment on the part of most men, he became convinced that he had been magnificently played. He was equal to the occasion, however; he had always been. He was indeed a wonderful man, and he said:
"I am very glad to hear you say so. Now that I have confessed so much I will confess more. I did believe you were guilty; I did believe that you were the abductor."
"No, I loved her too well."
"You loved her?"
"I did."
"And did she know that you loved her?"
"She did."
"And did she love you?"
"I have reason to believe that Amalie loved me; I know that I loved her."
"But she is a poor girl; she could not aid you to remove the mortgages from your estates in case you should become the baron."
"It makes no difference. She is a beautiful girl, one of the loveliest creatures I ever met in all my life. I am a sad man; I shall always be sad."
"You shall always be sad?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I have lost her."
"Lost her?"
"Yes."
"She may reappear?"
"Never."
"Why do you say she will never reappear?"
"She has carried out her threat."
"Her threat?"
"Yes."
"What did she threaten?"
"To drown herself."
"What led her to make this threat?"
"She was despondent—very despondent. Shall I tell you all?"
"Yes, tell me all."
"She loved me; I am poor. I offered her my love and asked that she wait until I became the baron and then I would make her my wife. She said she could not wait."
We will leave our readers to judge of the feelings of the detective as he listened to this singular statement. All he said was:
"Then you believe she is dead?"
"Yes."
"I do not."
"You believe she lives?"
"I do not believe, August, that she was fooling you.She is indeed a very beautiful woman if all reports are true, for I never saw her. I am glad, however, that you are not implicated in any way in her strange disappearance. This shall not interfere with our friendship. I honor and respect you, in case you have properly represented everything to me. Shall we meet to-morrow and lunch together?"
"No, I cannot accept more bounty; you have been very kind."
"All right; we will meet again and I may have a pleasant surprise for you."
The detective parted from the prospective young baron and returned to his own lodgings, and once in his own room he became a very thoughtful man. The detective muttered aloud, and there was much of suggestion in his mutterings. He said:
"There is a mystery here within a mystery. There is something I have not gotten on to yet. Why should this man secrete the girl Amalie Speir? Every move of this Richards family means something. Why should they become so deeply interested in this penniless girl? It is not within the bounds of possibility that they could have in any way discovered that she is an—" Here the detective stopped short and gave utterance to an expletive more expressive than elegant, and after a little he resumed his musings, saying:
"Let me see; yes, yes, it is possible. I see I have a little exploring to do in another direction, and in the meantime I must have an eye on this dignified young baron and these Richards people. Yes, yes, there is an underlying possibility that may explain the whole matter if I can ever strike to its bottom fact, and by ginger! I will."
Jack had arrived at a conclusion that necessitated thevery finest sort of detective work—indeed, his task was one of the hardest because it consisted in discovering a motive.
On the morning following the incidents related, the detective sat down to his rolls and coffee and had his paper, when a paragraph met his eyes which caused his blood to run cold. The paragraph was a brief statement under showy headlines that the body of a young woman had been found in the bushes near the Orange Mountains. There was nothing in the paragraph really to arouse so great interest on his part were it not that he was thrilled by one of those wonderful premonitions which ofttimes came to him.
Jack believed that later in the day there would come further details, and in the meantime he visited Mrs. Speir and showed her the paragraph. Mrs. Speir became greatly agitated at first, but after a moment said:
"You observe that it is a woman; my daughter is less than twenty."
"Yes, I observe that; but do you notice that the face is mutilated so the body will only be identified by the clothing? And now, Mrs. Speir, I have a few words to say. I fear you are going to be called upon to undergo a very trying ordeal, but mark my words: no matter what the later evidences may be, it is not the body of your daughter."
The woman glared but remained silent, and the detective continued:
"I believe I can discern the whole business, and more than that, I believe there is a most thrilling, startling and wonderful revelation under all this business. But again I say, mark well my words: it is not the body of your daughter, and I tell you now I believe all the evidence will go to prove that is your daughter's body."
"You talk in enigmas."
"And I believe I know just what I am talking about. There is a great game being played; the game is an old one. The motive is something we are not 'on to' yet, but we will uncover the whole business. But let me impress upon you with the greatest earnestness that I know your daughter lives."
"Then what does it mean?"
"You can accept my word that it is an attempt to prove that your daughter is dead."
"Why should any one wish to prove that she is dead?"
"I think I can discern; I may be mistaken, but one fact is certain: some very thrilling denouement is to follow in the end, but your daughter is not dead, and you can judge how reliable is my statement when I say now that I have only seen that newspaper paragraph, but in the end the most startling evidence will be produced to make it appear that it is your daughter, and it may be necessary that you should seem to accept the evidence and hold a funeral over the body of a stranger. I repeat, a great game is being played—has been played—but we will beat it. We will catch these people in their own trap."
"But what can be their motive?"
The detective hesitated a moment and then said:
"We cannot now tell how these folks found out that your daughter is a great heiress, your heir, for you are a very rich woman; and it is possible that there may be people who are ready to step forward and claim the estate which I hold as trustee."
We will again state that the detective held no such suspicion. He was leading the mother astray for reasons that will be disclosed later on. All he desired to do at the moment was to make it appear to Mrs. Speir that his idea explained the true motive, but he knew better.
Two days later the predictions of the detective in a certain direction were all singularly verified. The clothing and other incidents indicated that the body found in the woods was that of Amalie Speir, and that the lovely girl had committed suicide. There were proofs that she was young and beautiful, and acting under the detective's advice Mrs. Speir permitted it to be assumed that she recognized the dead girl. The remains were brought to New York, taken to an undertaker's, and after the usual preparation and ceremony, were buried from there, and our hero was the only attendant who accompanied the unfortunate girl to the grave, and that same night he held a long talk with Mrs. Speir. He said:
"They have played their last card now, but I cannot discern what their motive could have been in making it appear that your daughter is dead."
Tears were running down Mrs. Speir's cheeks as she said:
"I can."
"You can?" queried the detective.
"I can."
"Well?"
"They are seeking to cover up a more horrible crime than her murder."
This same suspicion had run through our hero's mind.
We will here state that the evidences attending the discovery of the dead girl apparently indicated beyond all possibility of doubt that she had taken her own life. The mutilations which prevented a positive identification were attributed to some animal that had discovered the remains before they were discovered by the lads who reported the find; and as apparently there was no mystery in the case, the affair dropped away from immediate public attention; the circumstances did not appearto call for an investigation, but here were the facts. Mrs. Speir was positive that it was not the body of her child, and against this was the tragic testimony that her daughter's clothing and trinkets had been found on the body, and these served for identification—an identification which was apparently complete and absolute. It not being Amalie Speir, and the fact that testimonies were present to indicate that it was, seemed to make it appear almost positive that there was some deep design in the presence of those articles, and we can add that our hero sadly feared that the motive suggested by the mother was the truth, that the girl had been the victim of some heartless villain, and he concluded that if such were indeed the fact the smooth, cunning, adroit and skillful baron was the despoiler.
JACK'S DEEP INTEREST IN THE AFFAIR—A NEW GAME—BETTER PLAY—SHOTS THAT TOLD—A SCHEME UNMASKED—A HURRIED MESSAGE—THE DETECTIVE PLAYS SPANISH.
It is not necessary to state that our hero was aroused and stirred to the very lowest depths of his nature. There did remain one remote chance that the motive was different from the one indicated, but such a possibility was very remote. Our hero had the deepest possible interest in the missing girl, and he did feel that if the mother's premonitions were correct that it would have been far better if indeed the dead had been veritably Amalie Speir; but as long as there was a possibility ourhero was determined not to give up, and he said cheerily to the almost distracted mother:
"I think I can assign another motive for the passing off of the dead for the living, and I will solve the mystery. If Amalie, your child, is the victim of villains she still lives and we can find and rescue her, and mark my words: if any harm has come to her the perpetrators will have reason to wish that they had never been born; but on my honor, I assure you I can discern where there could have been another motive, and up to this time, if I am correct, your daughter lives scatheless of any real harm save the sorrow and anxiety she must feel in considering your sufferings because of her strange absence."
"Can you bid me hope?"
"I can."
"And you will find my child?"
"I will; remember you are a rich woman; no one can dispute your right to the great fortune I hold in trust for you, and I have a suggestion to make. I desire that you follow my suggestion."
"I will."
"It may startle you, but it is for the best."
"You are my best and only friend in these present trying conditions. I will do whatever you suggest."
"I intend with the full approbation of Mr. Townsend to turn over your fortune to you. Among your properties is a very fine house handsomely furnished. I desire that you occupy this house, take possession at once."
"My doing so will excite comment."
"No, your life has been so comparatively obscure no one will pay any attention to it. I only desire that the Richards family and this baron become aware of the fact that you have fallen heir to a great fortune. All inquiries as to the source of your wealth will remain asecret—yes, a secret forever. No one can dispute your ownership. Should there be any comment Mr. Townsend can offer the explanation, and his high reputation as a former banker and citizen will silence all comment. I have a special reason for the carrying out of this scheme, and should any one so far interest themselves as to inquire whence your fortune comes refer them to Mr. Townsend, who has acted as trustee."
Our hero proceeded to carry out the business of the transfer. He had settled the matter as to the heirship, and in the meantime Mrs. Speir very reluctantly took possession of an elegant residence, and when Mr. Townsend and our hero called upon her the latter said:
"You will have a grand home to welcome your daughter to when she returns, and this home is your own."
When everything was arranged Jack went under a disguise and through Mr. Townsend he had himself introduced as a young Spanish millionaire of excellent family.
To those of our readers who have not read the previous exploits of our hero, we will say that Jack Alvarez had lived many years in Madrid and spoke the language like a native. His boyhood years had been passed in Spain—indeed, his mother, an American woman, was in Spain when her two sons, Jack and Gil, were born.
As the young Spanish millionaire Jack went under a most radical change. He was an adept at disguises, and no one would ever have suspected in the young Spaniard who could not speak English the real Jack Alvarez, the acute detective. Our hero arranged to play a dual rôle, and it was as Jack Alvarez he met the baron. There had come a complete change over the demeanor of the baron. He appeared to have money, and he actually invited our hero to dine with him and Jack accepted the invitation, and during the meal the baron said:
"I may appear gay, but I am very sad."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, you are my only confidant; I loved Amalie Speir, the young governess, and I have been heartbroken since the discovery that the poor girl committed suicide."
"It was sad. What do you suppose could have been her motive?"
"Despondency, of course."
"What could have caused the despondency?"
"Without egotism I can say that she loved me, and my inability to marry at present caused the despondency."
"You are wrong."
"I am wrong?"
"Yes."
"Then you know what caused her despondency?"
"I do not, but I know it was not love for you, nor her inability to marry for lack of money. Were you aware that Miss Amalie Speir was an heiress?"
The baron's face assumed the hue of death, while a feeling of exultation agitated our hero's heart. That sudden pallor to a man like Jack spoke volumes.
"She was an heiress?" repeated the man, and actually in husky tones.
"Yes, she was an heiress. Do you not know that her mother has come into her share of the property, and is at present living in a magnificent mansion of her own?"
"It is all news to me. Did Amalie know that she was an heiress?"
"Certainly she did, but she was a girl who would not boast of her prospects. She was to arrive at a certain age before she came into possession. In a year or two, if she had lived, she would have been a very rich woman;but you must excuse me; I have enjoyed your treat very much; next time it will be my treat."
"But hold, I desire to ask you a few questions."
"I cannot answer any questions now; I am very busy; in fact, I will tell you that evidence has been furnished that leads the friends of Amalie Speir to believe that she did not commit suicide, but was murdered.I am investigating the facts.If it is proved that she was murdered it will go hard with her murderers, that's all."
The changing expressions upon the face of the baron were many, and every change of expression was a telltale look to our hero, and as he was doing so well he proceeded and said:
"In fact, the incidents of that death are very conflicting and complicated. Mrs. Speir is beginning to believe that her daughter is not dead, that it is all a conspiracy to make it appear that her daughter is dead in order to rob her of her fortune. So you see, my dear baron, it may be that after all you may win a rich and handsome bride. I have the case in hand and am gaining ground every day. I believe I will soon be able to establish that Amalie Speir still lives."
The baron fell back in his chair like one suddenly stricken, and as the detective gazed upon the man the thought ran through his mind: "You played me nicely there for awhile, but my turn has come. We are playing another game now."
We will say that our hero did admire the man's talents, although mystified by the incidents attending the fine play, but he was getting even in a most thrilling manner. If ever a criminal by his agitation betrayed guilt, August Wagner did so. Under the fire of the detective, so skillfully directed, the schemer lost all his equipoise, for Jack had become, as indicated, fully convinced thatWagner was at the bottom of the whole scheme, or the instrument of the party who was putting up what our detective denominated "a game." Jack kept pretending all the time that he desired to get away, but Wagner urged him in almost pitiful tones to stay.
"I haven't time."
"But tell me what are the testimonies you have secured."
"It is not in my line of business to betray our movements. I am a regular detective and I have been assigned to this case. I am determined to push through to some startling denouement."
The detective had already pushed through to a startling denouement. He had purposely lingered a long time at the dinner. The two young men had entered the place very late in the afternoon, and darkness was beginning to fall.
Jack only took a few moments to work a complete change in his appearance. He was down to active work and determined to move very fast. While working his change our hero did not lose sight of the entrance to the hotel where he and Wagner had dined, and he had prepared for what is called a "lightning change." A few moments passed and he saw Wagner leave the dining-room. He fell to the man's trail under his new guise. He saw Wagner go to a district telegraph station, saw him write a note and dispatch a messenger with it, and he muttered:
"Aha! young man, I will watch you. Never mind the messenger, I reckon it is a case where the mountain will come to Mahomet."
Having dispatched his note Wagner issued forth and walked slowly along the street, but in a short time he returned to the restaurant where he had just dined, andJack followed him in. The detective called a waiter and addressed him in Spanish. The waiter did not comprehend, and Jack made quite a scene in his efforts to make himself understood, and finally the head waiter approached the table. Wagner was interested in the scene, as the Spaniard was only a few feet distant, and he heard the waiter say to his chief:
"This gentleman is a Spaniard; he cannot speak English. I cannot make out what he says."
The head waiter knew a few words of Spanish and managed at length to take the supposed Spaniard's order, and the latter ordered quite an elaborate dinner. He had a purpose; he desired to make time. He did so; he sat there over an hour eating very slowly and reading a Spanish paper which he had drawn from his pocket, and soon a lady entered and approached the table where Wagner sat. She said as she joined the baron:
"I received your hurried message; what has occurred?"
As the woman spoke she turned and glanced at the supposed Spaniard, and Wagner said:
"You need not fear him; he is Spanish; cannot speak a word of English. It is lucky he is there, as unconsciously he will protect us from other neighbors, and I have a great deal to say."
"Order some wine. I am greatly disconcerted and alarmed. Your note was so urgent."
"Necessarily urgent; I have the most startling information."
The man spoke in a low tone, but there were acute ears near by, and our hero distinctly overheard every word that was spoken.
"You have received startling information?"
"I have."
"In what direction?"
"As concerns Amalie."
"Well?"
"A detective is employed to work on the case."
"A detective is employed?"
"Yes."
"I thought the affair had dropped from public notice.'
"On the contrary, I know personally the detective who is employed. He isnot a very smart man, but he is energetic and persistent. He told me that evidence had been procured that Amalie had been murdered."
The woman laughed in a disdainful manner and replied:
"We know better."
"Certainly we do, but an investigation in that direction has already stirred up other suspicions."
"What other suspicions?"
"Suspicions that may lead to the most perilous consequences to us."
"Consequences to us?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"In the first place it is known that Amalie is an heiress."
"Impossible!"
"It is true, and more."
"What more?"
"There are those who suspect that she still lives."
A MEETING WITH THE BARON—STARTLING DISCLOSURES—AGAIN THE SPANISH MILLIONAIRE—SHADOWING DOWN FOR A CHAIN OF STEEL—THE DRAFT—A TRIUMPHANT TRICK—A DENOUEMENT TO COME.
The woman gave a start and also uttered an exclamation that was very significant under all the circumstances, and after an interval she added:
"This is all very strange."
"Yes, it is all very strange."
"How on earth any one could havelearned about that fortuneis a mystery to me."
Here was an admission that made our hero almost start and utter an exclamation himself, and if the woman's remark meant what he had reason to believe it did, once again had he given proof of his wonderful acuteness.
"It is not more wonderful,mother, than the way we found it out."
Here was a second surprise for our hero. The baron had called the woman mother, and the woman, as our hero knew, was Mrs. Richards.
"Something must be done at once, Mrs. Richards."
"What can we do but wait? The girl is buried; they can never secure any evidence, and in case they do finallyit will be too late."
"You know this detective?"
"I do."
"Very well, I must have time to think; I wish he were a gentleman."
"Why?"
"Then we could dispose of him."
The detective was getting a heap of information, but the information only complicated the affair; but he had learned enough to make him feel that he could carry the most pleasant assurances to Mrs. Speir.
The baron and the woman talked for some little time longer, but their words conveyed no further positive information, and finally they separated; and when once alone our hero had several problems to meditate over. In the first place Mrs. Richards was not a German woman and yet the baron had called her mother. Here was a mystery to solve. Jack did visit Mrs. Speir and told her to be hopeful—ay, more than hopeful—but he did not state the evidence on which his cheering words were founded, but he set to work to investigate the Richards family. He learned in good time that Mr. Richards was a well-known business man and a very good man as far as was known. Our hero's informant, however, shook his head when he came to speak of Mrs. Richards, and Jack asked:
"Was the lady ever married before she became the wife of Mr. Richards?"
The party questioned did not immediately answer. Jack pressed his question, and the party asked:
"Why do you wish to know?"
"I have vital reasons."
The gentleman whom our hero was questioning was a lawyer, a very shrewd man, who had the reputation of not being overscrupulous, but there were reasons why he desired to oblige our hero, and after a moment he said:
"You will not use my information?"
"Not in any way to involve you."
"My communication," said the lawyer, "is confidential?"
"Certainly."
"She was married to a German who claimed to be a baron. He was a worthless fellow; he may be living yet, but her husband, Mr. Richards, does not know of her previous marriage. The younger children are his children."
"There is a young man who is on very intimate terms with Mrs. Richards," said our hero, "known as August Wagner."
The lawyer made no remark and the detective asked:
"What do you know about him?"
"See here, I am getting into deep water."
"How?"
"You are up to something."
"I am, and if you do not give me the information I seek I shall look for it elsewhere. I think, however,youare bound to aid me."
"That young man, August Wagner, is her son by a former marriage. She pretends he is only a friend; her husband does not suspect the relationship."
Here was a bit of news that was very important and explained certain seeming perplexities. In the first place the woman had at times shown excellent feeling toward the baron, and then again she had apparently maligned him. Jack could see now the occasion—it was done to blind Mr. Richards. The woman was playing a double game.
"What have you to say concerning Mrs. Richards? Come, be open and frank with me."
"She is a very ambitious woman; her husband is a man of comparatively moderate means. She has spent a great deal of time in Europe. She was living too fast for her husband, and he made her return to New York, and she is now leading him beyond his means. Yes, she is socially very ambitious, not here in America, butabroad. To tell the truth, I do not believe her first husband is dead. She is leading a double life. She may not be so much to blame, for I have heard that her first husband was, or is, a contemptible fellow. She once had money in her own right, but the baron squandered it all. Her son has lived most of his time in Germany, and fortunately there is no family resemblance to betray the relationship. The son resembles the father; is essentially German in appearance, but he inherits from his mother a pretty bright intellect. He is a shrewd fellow; his mother supports him clandestinely, and I reckon he costs her a good round sum." The lawyer here lowered his voice and said: "In fact, the woman has put herself in jeopardy by several criminal transactions in connection with her son. They are carrying forged notes, and at any time there may come an explosion and disclosure."
"Do you think she would commit actual crime?"
"I do not think that she is a criminal by nature, but extravagance leads to criminal acts, and when one commits one crime they are often driven to commit others."
"You are right; but this family have come into considerable prominence lately owing to the tragedy connected with the young lady who was governess in their family."
"Ah! I see that is the part of it you are investigating?"
"Well, yes."
"I reckon that is all straight enough in one way."
"In one way?"
"Yes."
"What way do you mean?"
"The girl committed suicide."
"You think so?"
"Yes, and the evidence proves it."
"Yes, I know, but why should she be driven to suicide?"
The lawyer remained silent.
"Come, you have an idea," said our hero.
"I may have an idea, yes, but that's all."
"What is your idea?"
"I am perfectly willing to give you facts; I have no right to advance my suspicions. I may be wrong."
"I can tell you what you suspect."
"No doubt."
"You think the young baron had something to do with the girl's death."
"I understand she was young and handsome. He is young and handsome; it is probable that he may have had indirectly something to do with her death. I know one thing—his mother would never permit him to marry the girl. She is playing him off for a baron and seeks to marry him to a rich wife. I believe she will succeed. It will be fortunate for her and her son also if they succeed—indeed, certain matters are being held back in that contingency, that I know."
The detective had made great advances and he determined to work a great game, and within a few days he made the acquaintance of August Wagner under the disguise of the rich Spaniard, and as they both spoke French there was little trouble in their intercourse. Jack played his cards well, made a great display of money, and one day he advanced matters to a crisis. He had forced the lawyer to furnish him further details concerning the money transactions of the baron and his mother, and set matters in motion so that it became necessary for the baron to have some ready cash. Well, very well and skillfully had Jack played his game, and one day he and the baron were at dinner. The baron was being fooled andhe had not worked the same game on the Spaniard that he had worked on the detective. On the contrary, he pretended to be very rich and possessed of great sums of money; he even assumed to be richer than the baron. As stated, the crisis arrived; the baron and our hero were at dinner. The baron appeared to be greatly depressed, and the Spaniard observed it and said, speaking in French:
"My good friend, you do not appear to be in good spirits to-day?"
"I am not."
"I am sorry; I wish I could do something to cheer you up."
"My remittance failed to come."
"Aha! that is nothing."
"Not materially, and yet I am very much inconvenienced."
"Indeed; possibly I can come to your rescue."
"I would not dream of letting you do so."
"Why not?"
"Oh, no."
"But it would be a pleasure."
"Really?"
"Why, certainly."
"I cannot borrow from you, but if you would accept a draft on Berlin——"
"Why not?"
"For quite a sum?"
"Why not, if the draft is good?"
"I have a friend, a very rich gentleman, who has dealings with my banker in Berlin; he will make a draft for me. His name is Richards, a well-known business man here in New York."
"My friend, you will offend me if you go into details. No, no, it is not necessary. Have you the draft?"
"Not with me; I can get it."
"Ah, yes; but, my dear baron, you will indorse it?"
"I will, certainly."
"That is fine. I care not who makes the draft, your indorsement is sufficient for me."
"Have you such confidence in me?"
"Why not?"
"Then we may do better."
"Any way."
"I will get a draft accepted by my friend here in New York; I will indorse it and I will take care of it."
"Any way, my dear friend; I am only too glad to be of service to you."
"You are very kind."
"Why not—are we not good friends. And I have not many friends in New York. How much will you need?"
"Two thousand dollars."
"You shall have it at once—indeed, I feel ashamed to accept your note, but you see I must do so merely as a matter of business, that is all. If the amount were less I'd not permit you to give me the draft on your good friend. Let me see, what is the name—did you say Richards?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I see; he will accept the draft payable in sixty days. Ah, that is it; and you will make the draft?"
"Yes."
"Good, very good; the money is ready for you any time. I am so glad to oblige you—why not?"
The baron was an actor, but the detective was a better one, and it was agreed that they were to meet the following morning, when our hero would have the money ready. Meantime, the detective as known to the baron had most singularly been in evidence even within three minutesafter parting from the Spaniard. The baron met the detective, or rather he thought he did, but alas! it was just that part of the game where the twin brother of Jack, Gil, the excellent aid, came in. Of course Gil had his instructions well rehearsed, and he played his part with splendid address and cuteness. The baron was being outmaneuvered in every direction, while thinking that he was playing a winning hand.
On the morning following the incidents recorded the baron met the Spaniard, and strange to say, only a minute previously he had met the detective. Jack had the money all right, "why not?" and the baron had the draft, and in the presence of the detective he indorsed it. We may add in the presence of Gil also, for our hero had so arranged his plans that his brother was a witness, and after the money had been paid over and Jack had the draft in his possession, he invited the baron to breakfast with him. The baron was in high glee, excused himself, but said he would meet Jack and have lunch with him.
Our hero sauntered over to the elegant home of Mrs. Speir. The latter had suffered the most intense agony during all this time, and it had preyed upon her health. Our hero had learned that Mrs. Speir was a very lovely woman, and well fitted to adorn a mansion. On the occasion when Jack appeared he found Mrs. Speir seated in her library. There were tears in her eyes, and as the detective entered a photograph slid off her lap and fell to the floor. The detective leaped forward to restore it, and as he raised it from the floor he caught a glimpse of the face, and he stood gazing in rapt and intense admiration.
"I did not mean that you should see that," said Mrs. Speir.
"You did not mean me to see it?"
"Not at present."
"But I have seen it."
"I cannot help it."
"One question: Whose portrait is that?"
"It is a portrait of Amalie."
"Your child?"
"Yes."
"She is indeed a beautiful girl," came the declaration.
JACK'S GREAT DETECTIVE WORK—"WALK INTO MY MESHES," SAID THE DETECTIVE—A ROGUE WALKS IN—THE FORGED ACCEPTANCE—CLOSING DOWN FOR A CONFESSION.
There came a look of pride through the glittering tears as the mother responded:
"Yes, she was a beautiful girl, but alas! I fear her beauty has proved her ruin."
"Madam, you can dismiss that fear; I have set in motion a series of tricks which will enable me, I am assured, to restore your daughter to your love and arms unharmed."
"Alas! I wish I could share your hopefulness; I cannot. You are a noble man, you have proved it, and more, you have proved that you are one of the most honorable of men. I am grateful, but I am hopeless. If my daughter were alive, as you say, she would come to me."
"There is no doubt, madam, that your daughter is restrained of her liberty or she would come, but mark my words: within one week I will bring her to you unharmed. I cannot tell you now all I have learned, but you can accept my word; I will make good my promise."
When our hero left the presence of Mrs. Speir, wild, strange hopes were surging in his heart. He had never given much thought to ladies, beautiful or otherwise, only as they were a part of his duties, but when he had once gazed upon the face of the beautiful Amalie Speir there came a great change over him. There was something in the expression of her face, so bright and intelligent, so different from any face he had ever gazed upon.
We have often said, and we declare again, that beautiful faces are no rarity in America. One cannot walk the streets or even enter a public conveyance without being able to pass the time watching a beautiful face, and the types of beauty to be met with are varied, but not as varied as the expressions. It is the expressiveness of a face after all that constitutes its beauty, and among our girls who are compelled to earn their livelihood in factories and offices, one will behold faces delicate and features classically beautiful. The anxieties attending daily toil do not destroy their beauty, and some of these girls have features that light up with expressions wondrously charming, and here also the types are varied, and it is wonderful how an impression will sometimes be mutually made. This is what is commonly called "love at first sight," and it is not an uncommon experience. It does seem as though some souls were born as one.
We will not attempt to analyze the feelings of our hero, Jack, the detective. He was young, well educated, well-to-do, and talented, besides he possessed one of the grandest physical structures that every held a human heart, and again, strangely enough, under all the circumstances, he was not only an honorable man but a young man animated with the kindliest feelings. His great physical strength did not make him an aggressor, but a protector.
All along he had had a strong motive in solving the mystery of Amalie's disappearance, but after having seen her portrait his previous interest become wildly enthused, and he clinched his fist and muttered:
"If any harm has come to that fair girl, woe to the man or woman who has harmed her, that is all I've got to say."
As intimated, Jack had carried out a very cunning scheme, and on the day following his securing of the note he met the young man August Wagner. He met him under the rôle of the detective, invited him to dine with him, and together the two young man entered a well-known café. They were seated at a table, when lo, the Spaniard entered. Here again our hero had utilized his double, his twin brother Gil, and so well was Gil gotten up as the Spaniard that the most intimate friend of the disguised men would have failed to discover the "transform."
These brothers had a way of destroying their resemblance for the time being, and at the moment there was no observable resemblance between them. Jack had appeared as Jack in one way when he assumed the rôle of the Spaniard. He traveled under the name of Tavares, and as his brother Gil entered the baron leaped up and made to go toward him, but Gil, having his cue, turned suddenly and walked out, giving the baron no opportunity to address him. As the latter resumed his seat Jack said:
"Do you know that man?"
"Yes, he is my intimate friend."
"Your intimate friend?"
"Yes."
"Don't let any one know it."
"Don't let any one know it?" repeated the baron, in a tone of surprise.
"No, sir."
"Why not?"
"You know his character, don't you?"
"He is a young Spanish millionaire."
"A what?"
"A young Spanish millionaire."
"Hello, has he played you?"
"Played me?" repeated the baron.
"That is what I said."
"But I do not understand you."
"That man is the biggest fraud and pretense in New York—one of the most dangerous men to have any dealings with in the United States. If you have met him take my advice and do not keep up the acquaintance. When that man makes your acquaintancehe has a design every time."
The baron glared and turned pale—very pale—and finally asked:
"Are you sure?"
"I am sure. Why, has he worked you?"
"Oh, no, but I am surprised."
"He is a terrible man."
"He was introduced to me, as I said, as a Spanish millionaire."
"He is a Spanish Shylock; he loans money, and he usually gets about two hundred per cent before he gets through. Why, I know a case where he got a lady to forge her husband's name to a note, and as soon as he got the note he commenced to squeeze. He got all the woman's jewels, all her money, all the real estate she held in her own name, then exposed her, and she committed suicide."
The baron's face became ghastly, and the detective asked:
"What is the matter? You look deathly pale."
"The wine has turned against me."
"But you haven't drank any."
"No, no, I've a sort of dizziness; I do not know what is the matter with me. But I am amazed at what you tell me; there must be some mistake."
"No, there is no mistake."
"The Spaniard cannot speak a word of English."
"What?" ejaculated the detective.
"He cannot speak a word of English."
"Bah! he can speak English, French, and German. He is a splendid linguist; he plays ignorance, that is all; it is a part of his design."
The baron recalled the scene in the hotel café, and said:
"I know he can't speak English."
"How do you know?"
"It was through his inability to speak English that I became acquainted with him. He was in a café and could not make his wants known, and I went to his rescue."
The detective laughed outright.
"Why do you laugh?"
"At the idea that he could not speak English. Why, my friend, it is evident he had some design on you. Look out for him, or take my advice and do not have anything to do with him, or he will make you a heap of trouble. I tell you he is a dangerous man; the next time you meet him sound him on the question of his knowledge of English. Suddenly say something comical to him, and then watch. You are shrewd; you will soon find out he can speak English, even better than yourself."
Jack had set his fuse alight, and he started to work in another direction. He left the baron after a few morewords of warning, and enjoyed seeing the young man writhe in terror.
Once on the street the detective smiled grimly and said:
"The miserable little conniver, I reckon I am drawing the strings very tight on him now, and soon I will make him drop to his knees and confess all."
A little while following the scene we have described a gentleman appeared at the house of Mrs. Richards and sent in a card, intimating that his business was very urgent.
The lady sent back word she could not see any one until evening. The visitor would not accept this refusal to meet him, and sent such word as to cause the lady to have him invited inside, and after about half an hour's wait Mrs. Richards appeared.
"Good-afternoon, madam, I am sorry to have insisted upon seeing you, but my business is very urgent."
Jack spoke in broken English, and was gotten up as the Spaniard.
"Your name is Jones, I believe?"
"No, madam, my name is Tavares. I did not send you my own card for reasons which you will understand."
At the mention of the name Tavares Mrs. Richards winced, and there came a pallor to her face. She was a fine-looking woman, commanding in face and figure, but she was a woman of wonderful shrewdness and self-control, and she asked:
"What may be your business with me?"
"You are acquainted, madam, with a young man named August Wagner? I believe he claims to be a baron."
The woman spoke very slowly, as though measuring every word.
"I know the baron; I have befriended him."
"Yes, madam, no doubt, and I fear he has taken advantage of your kindness."
The woman trembled.
"Taken advantage of my kindness?"
"Yes, madam."
"You must be mistaken."
"I am not mistaken, and I thought I would come to you first—yes, come to you before I saw him, because I know you are deeply interested in him."
"Only in a general way."
"Don't say that, madam."
"Why not?"
"Simply because the statement does not agree with information I have received."
"What information have you received?"
"I have been informed that you are very deeply interested in the young man."
"It is not true; I have sought to aid him, that is all."
"Again, madam, I am sorry to hear you say that."
"And again why?"
"Because I have been informed that you take amotherlyinterest in young Wagner."
The woman's face became ghastly.
"Who was your officious informant?"
"I am not at liberty to tell at present."
"Will you tell me how young Wagner has taken advantage of my interest in him?"
"I will."
"Do so."
"He got me to cash a draft for him."
"Dear me, is that all?"
"Yes, madam, that is all."
"I know you will find the draft is good and will be paid."
"You know it will be paid?"
"Yes; but why did you come to me?"
"The draft purports to have been accepted by your husband."
The woman still maintained her coolness, and said:
"Then my husband will pay it on maturity."
"Oh, that would be all right, but I have received information which leads me to desire that your husband should acknowledge the acceptance as genuine."
The woman began to break up, and she demanded in eager tones:
"Has my husband repudiated the acceptance?"
"Not yet, madam, simply because I have not presented the draft. I thought I would come to you first."
"Do you believe the draft a forgery?"
"In fact, madam, I have the most positive evidence in that direction."
The woman meditated a moment, and then said:
"This rash young man, can it be possible that in anticipation of remittances he has dared do this?"
"It so appears, madam."
"I must save him. If it is a forged note my husband must not know it. Yes, poor young man, how I pity him! and I must save him, and I will save him."
"That is good and kind of you, madam."
"Yes, I will save him; I will accept the draft myself."
"You are very kind, madam."
"I cannot bear to see the young man humiliated."
"You do not desire to see him humiliated?"
"I do not, I will not."
"Then, madam, you must think of some other way of saving him, for your acceptance of the draft is not a sufficient security for me. Now if you will persuade your husband to acknowledge the acceptance that will save any humiliation."
JACK AT HIS BEST—THE HEARTLESS MILLIONAIRE—A TRICK THAT BROUGHT RESULTS—A CONFERENCE—TERRIBLE INTIMATIONS—THE MYSTERY CLEARED UP—SAFE BUT GREAT WORK DEMANDED.
"Oh, no, no," exclaimed the woman.
"Then pay me the cash."
"It is not convenient at present, but I will give you my note in exchange for the one you hold."
"I cannot accept your note, madam."
"You cannot accept my note?"
"No, madam."
"I am surprised; do you fear non-payment?"
"I do."
"Will you explain?"
"Certainly; I have received information that the baron has quite a number of notes out with your name on them and the name of your husband."
The detective had struck the fatal blow; the woman wilted.
"You must have mercy on the young man," she exclaimed.
"It is not in my way, madam, to show mercy. What I need is money—my own money."
"I will give you a note in double the amount."
"But, madam, I could not accept your note, no, and now I would not accept your husband's note, for I have information that you and the baron, your son, have so involved him that he will be a ruined man if he saves your honor and credit. I cannot stand to lose, but,madam, I will see you again. You will need time to think and time to confer with the baron. I will call again."
The detective rose; the woman was really overwhelmed.
The Spaniard evidently knew the truth—the whole truth—knew that the baron was really her son. She did not bid the Spaniard to stay; she did need time to think, and she walked the floor in the agony of her thoughts. Then she rang for a messenger boy and sent a hurried note, and in the meantime she had prepared to go forth to the street veiled, and the detective, having worked a change, was at hand, and he fell to her "shadow," and he muttered:
"This drama is approaching its end; the play is most over; the curtain will soon go down."
The woman went to the very same hotel where she had met the baron once before. She did not enter the dining-room, but proceeded to a room. Jack was on hand. He had learned that the baron had secured a room in the hotel and had been living there for some days, and with his usual foresightedness the detective under a "cover" had secured a room in the same hotel, thinking that the time might come when he would desire to watch the baron and his visitors. He waited for the woman to enter the baron's room and then quickly he entered the room he had secured.
Right here we desire to state that this securing of adjacent rooms when detectives are on a "lay" is a very common proceeding. It is done daily, it is being done to-day, and will be done in the future. It is indeed one of the most frequently adopted methods of the profession, and it is a common event also to place a detective as a pretended criminal in the same cell or the adjacent cell to a criminal, with a view to catch his mutterings awake orasleep, or to listen to conversations between the wretched man and his visitors.
Jack was all right; he wanted to learn facts and it was delightful to feel that he had run these schemers down to a point where he could listen to their mutual explanations.
The baron was in his room. This was a chance in the woman's favor, and upon her appearance he exclaimed:
"You here?"
"Yes, I am here."
The baron had gone to his room following his little chat with our hero. He had passed the time in a very uncomfortable manner, and of course the arrival of Mrs. Richards was a great surprise.
We wish to state one fact to our readers: Our hero could have "closed in" on the two schemers, but he was seeking certain facts which they could have withheld. He desired to know why they had taken such a sudden interest in Amalie Speir, why they had commenced to scheme and make it appear that the fair girl was dead. While seeking this information he was proceeding very slowly; he desired to gain it rather than attempt to force it, for in the latter attempt he might fail. He knew that neither Mrs. Speir nor her daughter knew the motive—that is, so he had decided—and his moves were intended, as stated, to gain information from the schemers themselves.
Mrs. Richards sat down; her face was pale and she was laboring under great excitement, as the baron observed the instant she entered the room. When she did gain sufficient composure she said:
"What have you been doing?"
"I do not understand."
"That last acceptance——"
"You knew all about it; you knew we needed the money to cover another transaction."
"But you have been trapped."
"Trapped?" ejaculated the young man.
"Yes, trapped."
"By whom?"
"This scoundrel Tavares."
The baron almost fainted as he fell back on a sofa and gazed with starting eyes, and the woman proceeded and said:
"This man called upon me within an hour, and he knows all. He knows you are my son, he knows the acceptance is forged. Were you drunk? did you make a confidant of that man?"
"Give me time to think," said the baron in a husky tone, and then after rising and drinking ice water from a goblet he asked:
"What does all this mean?"
"I tell you the Spaniard, Tavares, called upon me; he knows all."
"Did he call alone?"
"He did."
"How did he manage to convey his information to you?"
"He told me fact after fact with the utmost coolness and assurance."
"And he spoke English?"
"He did."
"Then I was rightly informed and we are in that man's power—yes, in his power absolutely."
"You say you were rightly informed?"
"Yes."
"What was your information?"
"I was informed that the man Tavares was a Shylock, a designing devil. You were right when you said I had been tricked."
"And who was your informant?"
The baron proceeded and told the whole story, all the facts known to our readers, together with his recent meal with the detective who was his informant.
The woman listened attentively with a glitter in her eyes, and when the narrative had been concluded, she said:
"All is lost unless you can force matters, then we can legitimately raise all the money we need. Your wife can get all the money she desires, and at once."
The detective's blood ran cold. The words "your wife" were terrible in their suggestion.
"I can do better."
"You can?"
"Yes."
"What can you do?"
"Recover that note with the forged acceptance."
"How?"
"I will invite that Spaniard to accompany me to some out-of-the-way place; I will overcome and force him to give up the note."
"You mean you would commit murder?"
"No."
"And you must not, my son. We have gone far enough in crime. I will never consent to the crime of murder."
"We need not murder him, we can abduct him and keep him out of the way until our plans are completed."
"Yes, we might do that if we could succeed, then we could force matters and let him loose later, even pay him an indemnity and return to Europe. My good husband would not object as long as it did not cost him anything."
"We must do something, and we must act at once."
"August, you are a brave and skillful man. Now youknow the real danger you will be able to devise some plan, but no time must be lost; we must move rapidly. Let us get this immediate danger removed and we can bring the other matter about at once, but it is strange how obstinate and determinedthat girlis. There we must force matters, but I did hope that we would secure money enough to go to Europe. If we could carry her to Europe we would be all right. We could furnish proofs of her identity, secure the money, and all would be well, but she must first be your wife, and I repeat, if she does not consent, then I will assentto the plan you proposed. It is a terrible device, but she must be your wife, and that within forty-eight hours. If she does not yield we will force matters, and she will be glad to become the baroness."
The mystery was indeed all clearing up, and the detective overheard every word of the conversation, and our readers can only imagine his emotions and excitement, as we will not attempt to describe either.