CHAPTERXXXVI.DENTON IS CHECKMATED.OLIVER wished to communicate his discovery to Bundy, but Denton's presence interfered. His guardian was not an observant man, and thus far suspected nothing. Before Oliver obtained any opportunity the stage reached its destination.Kelso was a village of moderate size. A small hotel provided accommodation for passing travellers. Here the three stage passengers descended and sought accommodation. The house was almost empty, and no difficulty was experienced. Denton registered his name as Felix Graham, from Milwaukee. He registered first, and for a special reason, that the false name might divert suspicion, if any was entertained."Do you know our fellow-passenger,Mr.Bundy?" asked Oliver, when they were in the room assigned them, preparing for supper.Bundy looked surprised."I only know that he is from Milwaukee," he answered.Oliver laughed."My eyes are sharper than yours,Mr.Bundy," he said. "He is our old acquaintance, Denton, who tried to rob you in Chicago."Nicholas Bundy was amazed."How do you know?" he asked. "Surely it cannot be. Denton had black hair.""And this man wears a red wig," said Oliver."Are you sure of this?" asked Nicholas thoughtfully."I am certain.""When did you recognize him?""In the stage, when his glasses came off.""What does this mean?" said Bundy, half to himself."It means that he is on our track," said Oliver coolly."But why? What object can he have?""You have asked me too much. Ask me some other conundrum.""Can he hope to rob me again? It must be that.""We will see that he don't.""Possibly he has some other object in view. I should like to know.""I'll tell you how to do it,Mr.Bundy. Will you authorize me to manage?""Yes, Oliver.""Then I will take pains to mention in his presence before the landlord that we are going back to Chicago in the morning, and wish to engage seats in the stage. If he is following us he will do the same.""A good idea, Oliver."After supper Denton took out a cigar, and began to smoke in the office of the inn. Oliver enquired of the landlord:"When does the stage start in the morning?""At eight o'clock.""Can I engage two seats in it?""Yes, sir. Your stay is short.""True, but our business takes little time to transact. Let us have breakfast in time."Denton listened, but made no movement.The next morning when the stage drew up before the door, not only Oliver and Bundy, but Denton also, were standing on the piazza, with their carpet-bags, ready to depart.All got into the stage, and it set out.It had hardly proceeded half a mile when, by previous arrangement, Bundy said suddenly:"Oliver, I believe we must go back. There is one thing I quite forgot to attend to in Kelso.""All right!" said Oliver. "It makes no difference to me."The driver was signalled, and Oliver and Bundy got out.Oliver glanced at Denton. He looked terribly amazed, and seemed undecided whether to get out also."Good-morning,Mr.Graham," said Oliver, with a great show of politeness. "I am sorry you will have a lonely ride.""Good-by," muttered Denton, and the stage rolled on."He wanted to get out and follow us back,"said Oliver, "but he couldn't think of any excuse.""We have got rid of him," said Bundy; "and now I must attend to the business that brought me here."On his return to the hotel he interviewed the landlord, and asked if he ever heard of a man named Rupert Jones."I should think so," answered the landlord. "He cheated me out of a hundred dollars.""He did? How?""By a forged check upon the Bank of Conway. I wish I could get hold of him!" he ended.Nicholas Bundy's eyes sparkled."What could you do in that case?" he enquired."What could I do? I could send him to State prison.""Then you have preserved the forged check?""Yes, I have taken care of that.""Mr.Ferguson," said Nicholas, "will you sell me that check for a hundred and fifty dollars?""Will you give it?" asked the landlord eagerly."I will.""What is your object? Is this man a friend of yours?""No; he's my enemy.I want to get him into mypower!""Then you shall have it for a hundred, and I hope you may catch him."In five minutes the change was effected.One object more Nicholas had in view. He tried to ascertain what had become of Rupert Jones, but in this he was unsuccessful. No one in Kelso had seen or heard of him for years.
OLIVER wished to communicate his discovery to Bundy, but Denton's presence interfered. His guardian was not an observant man, and thus far suspected nothing. Before Oliver obtained any opportunity the stage reached its destination.
Kelso was a village of moderate size. A small hotel provided accommodation for passing travellers. Here the three stage passengers descended and sought accommodation. The house was almost empty, and no difficulty was experienced. Denton registered his name as Felix Graham, from Milwaukee. He registered first, and for a special reason, that the false name might divert suspicion, if any was entertained.
"Do you know our fellow-passenger,Mr.Bundy?" asked Oliver, when they were in the room assigned them, preparing for supper.
Bundy looked surprised.
"I only know that he is from Milwaukee," he answered.
Oliver laughed.
"My eyes are sharper than yours,Mr.Bundy," he said. "He is our old acquaintance, Denton, who tried to rob you in Chicago."
Nicholas Bundy was amazed.
"How do you know?" he asked. "Surely it cannot be. Denton had black hair."
"And this man wears a red wig," said Oliver.
"Are you sure of this?" asked Nicholas thoughtfully.
"I am certain."
"When did you recognize him?"
"In the stage, when his glasses came off."
"What does this mean?" said Bundy, half to himself.
"It means that he is on our track," said Oliver coolly.
"But why? What object can he have?"
"You have asked me too much. Ask me some other conundrum."
"Can he hope to rob me again? It must be that."
"We will see that he don't."
"Possibly he has some other object in view. I should like to know."
"I'll tell you how to do it,Mr.Bundy. Will you authorize me to manage?"
"Yes, Oliver."
"Then I will take pains to mention in his presence before the landlord that we are going back to Chicago in the morning, and wish to engage seats in the stage. If he is following us he will do the same."
"A good idea, Oliver."
After supper Denton took out a cigar, and began to smoke in the office of the inn. Oliver enquired of the landlord:
"When does the stage start in the morning?"
"At eight o'clock."
"Can I engage two seats in it?"
"Yes, sir. Your stay is short."
"True, but our business takes little time to transact. Let us have breakfast in time."
Denton listened, but made no movement.
The next morning when the stage drew up before the door, not only Oliver and Bundy, but Denton also, were standing on the piazza, with their carpet-bags, ready to depart.
All got into the stage, and it set out.
It had hardly proceeded half a mile when, by previous arrangement, Bundy said suddenly:
"Oliver, I believe we must go back. There is one thing I quite forgot to attend to in Kelso."
"All right!" said Oliver. "It makes no difference to me."
The driver was signalled, and Oliver and Bundy got out.
Oliver glanced at Denton. He looked terribly amazed, and seemed undecided whether to get out also.
"Good-morning,Mr.Graham," said Oliver, with a great show of politeness. "I am sorry you will have a lonely ride."
"Good-by," muttered Denton, and the stage rolled on.
"He wanted to get out and follow us back,"said Oliver, "but he couldn't think of any excuse."
"We have got rid of him," said Bundy; "and now I must attend to the business that brought me here."
On his return to the hotel he interviewed the landlord, and asked if he ever heard of a man named Rupert Jones.
"I should think so," answered the landlord. "He cheated me out of a hundred dollars."
"He did? How?"
"By a forged check upon the Bank of Conway. I wish I could get hold of him!" he ended.
Nicholas Bundy's eyes sparkled.
"What could you do in that case?" he enquired.
"What could I do? I could send him to State prison."
"Then you have preserved the forged check?"
"Yes, I have taken care of that."
"Mr.Ferguson," said Nicholas, "will you sell me that check for a hundred and fifty dollars?"
"Will you give it?" asked the landlord eagerly.
"I will."
"What is your object? Is this man a friend of yours?"
"No; he's my enemy.I want to get him into mypower!"
"Then you shall have it for a hundred, and I hope you may catch him."
In five minutes the change was effected.
One object more Nicholas had in view. He tried to ascertain what had become of Rupert Jones, but in this he was unsuccessful. No one in Kelso had seen or heard of him for years.
CHAPTERXXXVII.DENTON'S LITTLE ADVENTURE IN THE CARS.WHEN Denton, to his infinite disgust, saw his scheme foiled by the return of Oliver and Bundy to the inn at Kelso, he was strongly tempted to go back also. But prudence withheld him. It was by no means certain that he had been recognized. Very probably Bundy really went back on account of some slight matter which he had forgotten.Denton was of opinion that his visit to Kelso was not connected with the interest of his employer. Therefore he decided to return to Chicago and await the reappearance of Oliver and Bundy. Undoubtedly they would return to the same hotel where they had been stopping.By the time he took his seat in the car he was in quite a philosophical frame of mind, and reconciled to the turn that events had taken.It would have been well forMr.Denton if he had become involved in no new adventures, but his lucky star was not in the ascendant.He took a seat beside a stout, red-haired, coarse-featured man, with a mottled complexion, who might have been a butcher or a returned miner, but would hardly be taken for a "gentleman and a scholar." Yet there was something about this man that charmed and fascinated Denton. Not to keep the reader in suspense, it was an enormous diamond breastpin which he wore conspicuously in his shirt-front. Denton knew something about diamonds, and to his practised eyes it seemed that the pin was worth at least five thousand dollars. He only ventured to glance furtively at it, lest he should excite suspicion.The stout man proved to be sociable."Fine mornin'," he remarked."It is, indeed," said Denton, who had no objection to cultivating the acquaintance of the possessor of such a gem. "Pleasant for travelling.""Yes, so 'tis. Speakin' of travelling I've travelled some in my time.""Indeed," commented Denton."Yes, I've just come from Californy.""Been at the mines?""Well, not exactly. When I fust went out I mined a little, but it didn't pay; so I set up a liquor saloon in the minin' deestrict, an' that paid.""I suppose it did.""Of course it did. You see, them fellers got dry mighty easy, and they'd pay anything for a drink. When they hadn't silver, I took gold-dust, an' that way I got paid better.""You must have made money," said Denton, getting more and more interested."You bet I did. Why, they used to call me the Rich Red-head. Hallo! why, you're a red-head, too!"Denton was about to disclaim the imputation, when he chanced to think of his red wig, and answered, with a smile:"Queer, isn't it, that two red-heads should come together?""Your hair's redder than mine," said the stout man with a critical glance."Perhaps it is," said Denton, who was notsensitive, since the hair belonged to a wig. "So you became rich?""I went to California without fifty dollars in my pocket," said the other complacently. "Now I can afford to wear this," and he pointed to the diamond."Dear me! why, what a splendid diamond!" exclaimed Denton, as if he saw it for the first time."It's a smasher, isn't it!" said the stout man proudly."May I ask where you got it?""I bought it of a poor cuss that drunk hisself to death.Gave a thousand dollars forit!""Why, it must be worth more!" said Denton almost involuntarily."Of course 'tis. It's worth three thousand easy."And two thousand on top of that, thought Denton. He doesn't know the value of it. "How long have you had it?" he enquired."Risin' six months.""It's a beautiful thing," said Denton."Are you going to stop in Chicago, may I ask?""Maybe I'll stop a day, but I guess not. I live in Vermont—that is, I was raised there. I'm goin' back to astonish the natives. When I left there I was a poor man, without money or credit. Then nobody noticed me. I guess they will now," and he slapped his pockets significantly."Money makes the man," said Denton philosophically."So it does, so it does!" answered the stranger. Then, with a loud laugh at his own wit, he added: "And man makes the money, too, I guess. Ho, ho!"Denton laughed as if he thought the joke a capital one."By George, I never said a better thing!" said the stout man, apparently amazed at his own wit."Didn't you? Then I pity you," thought Denton. But he only said:"It's a good joke.""So 'tis, so 'tis. Do you live in Chicago?""Yes; I reside there for the present.""In business, eh?""No, I have retired from business. I am living on my income," answered Denton with unblushing effrontery."Got money, hey?" said the stout man respectfully."I have some," answered Denton modestly. "I am not as rich as you, of course. I can't afford to wear a breastpin worth thousands of dollars.""Kinder gorgeous, aint it?" said the other complacently. "I like to make a show, I do. That's me. I like to have folks say, 'He's worth money.'""Only natural," said Denton. "What a consummate ass!" he muttered to himself.There was a little more conversation, and then the stout man gaped and looked sleepy."I didn't sleep much last night," he said. "I guess I'll get a nap if I can.""You'd better," said Denton, an eager hope rising in his breast. "A man can't do without sleep.""Of course he can't. You jest wake me up when we get to the depot.""Have no trouble about that," said Denton quickly. "I'll be sure to let you know."In less than five minutes the stranger was breathing heavily, his head thrown back and his eyes closed beneath the red handkerchief that covered his face. Denton looked at him with glittering eyes."If I only had that diamond," he said to himself, "my fortune would be made. I'd realize on it and go to Europe till all was blown over."Everything seemed favorable to his purpose. First, he was in disguise. He would not easily be identified as the thief by anyone who noticed his present appearance, since he would, as soon as he reached Chicago, lay aside the glasses and the wig together. Again, the man was asleep and off his guard. True, it was open day, and there were twenty other passengers in the car at the very least. But Denton had experience. He had begun life as a pickpocket, though later he saw fit to direct his attention to gambling and other arts as, on the whole, a safer and more lucrative business.Denton riveted his eyes covetously on the captivating diamond. His fingers itched to get hold of it. Was it safe? A deep snore from the stout man seemed to answer him."What a fool he is to leave such a jewel in open sight!" thought Denton. "He deserves to lose it."An adroit movement, quick as a flash, and the pin was in his possession. He timed the movement just as the cars reached a way station, and he instantly rose, with the intention of leaving the car.But he reckoned without his host.As he rose to his feet his companion dashed the handkerchief from his face, rose also, and clutched him by the arm."Not so fast,Mr.Denton," he said, in a tone different from his former one. "You've made a little mistake.""Let go, then!" said Denton. "I am going to get out.""No, you are not. You are going back to Chicago as my prisoner.""Who are you?" demanded Denton, startled.The red-headed man laughed."I am Pierce, the detective," he said. "We have long wanted to get hold of you, and I have succeeded at last, thanks to the diamond pin. By the way, the diamond is false—a capital imitation, but not worth over ten dollars. You may as well give it up.""Is this true?" asked Denton, his face showing his mortification."You can rely upon it.""I'll buy it of you. I'll give you twenty dollars for it.""Too late, my man. You must go back with me as a prisoner. Suppose we take off our wigs. My hair is no more red than yours."He removed his wig, and now, in spite of his skin, which had been stained, Denton recognized in him a well-known detective, whose name was a terror to evil-doers."It's all up, I suppose," he said bitterly. "I don't mind the arrest so much as the being fooled and duped.""It's diamond cut diamond—ha! ha!" saidthe detective—"or, we'll say, red-headversusred-head."When Denton reached Chicago he became a guest of the city—an honor he would have been glad to decline.
WHEN Denton, to his infinite disgust, saw his scheme foiled by the return of Oliver and Bundy to the inn at Kelso, he was strongly tempted to go back also. But prudence withheld him. It was by no means certain that he had been recognized. Very probably Bundy really went back on account of some slight matter which he had forgotten.
Denton was of opinion that his visit to Kelso was not connected with the interest of his employer. Therefore he decided to return to Chicago and await the reappearance of Oliver and Bundy. Undoubtedly they would return to the same hotel where they had been stopping.
By the time he took his seat in the car he was in quite a philosophical frame of mind, and reconciled to the turn that events had taken.
It would have been well forMr.Denton if he had become involved in no new adventures, but his lucky star was not in the ascendant.
He took a seat beside a stout, red-haired, coarse-featured man, with a mottled complexion, who might have been a butcher or a returned miner, but would hardly be taken for a "gentleman and a scholar." Yet there was something about this man that charmed and fascinated Denton. Not to keep the reader in suspense, it was an enormous diamond breastpin which he wore conspicuously in his shirt-front. Denton knew something about diamonds, and to his practised eyes it seemed that the pin was worth at least five thousand dollars. He only ventured to glance furtively at it, lest he should excite suspicion.
The stout man proved to be sociable.
"Fine mornin'," he remarked.
"It is, indeed," said Denton, who had no objection to cultivating the acquaintance of the possessor of such a gem. "Pleasant for travelling."
"Yes, so 'tis. Speakin' of travelling I've travelled some in my time."
"Indeed," commented Denton.
"Yes, I've just come from Californy."
"Been at the mines?"
"Well, not exactly. When I fust went out I mined a little, but it didn't pay; so I set up a liquor saloon in the minin' deestrict, an' that paid."
"I suppose it did."
"Of course it did. You see, them fellers got dry mighty easy, and they'd pay anything for a drink. When they hadn't silver, I took gold-dust, an' that way I got paid better."
"You must have made money," said Denton, getting more and more interested.
"You bet I did. Why, they used to call me the Rich Red-head. Hallo! why, you're a red-head, too!"
Denton was about to disclaim the imputation, when he chanced to think of his red wig, and answered, with a smile:
"Queer, isn't it, that two red-heads should come together?"
"Your hair's redder than mine," said the stout man with a critical glance.
"Perhaps it is," said Denton, who was notsensitive, since the hair belonged to a wig. "So you became rich?"
"I went to California without fifty dollars in my pocket," said the other complacently. "Now I can afford to wear this," and he pointed to the diamond.
"Dear me! why, what a splendid diamond!" exclaimed Denton, as if he saw it for the first time.
"It's a smasher, isn't it!" said the stout man proudly.
"May I ask where you got it?"
"I bought it of a poor cuss that drunk hisself to death.Gave a thousand dollars forit!"
"Why, it must be worth more!" said Denton almost involuntarily.
"Of course 'tis. It's worth three thousand easy."
And two thousand on top of that, thought Denton. He doesn't know the value of it. "How long have you had it?" he enquired.
"Risin' six months."
"It's a beautiful thing," said Denton."Are you going to stop in Chicago, may I ask?"
"Maybe I'll stop a day, but I guess not. I live in Vermont—that is, I was raised there. I'm goin' back to astonish the natives. When I left there I was a poor man, without money or credit. Then nobody noticed me. I guess they will now," and he slapped his pockets significantly.
"Money makes the man," said Denton philosophically.
"So it does, so it does!" answered the stranger. Then, with a loud laugh at his own wit, he added: "And man makes the money, too, I guess. Ho, ho!"
Denton laughed as if he thought the joke a capital one.
"By George, I never said a better thing!" said the stout man, apparently amazed at his own wit.
"Didn't you? Then I pity you," thought Denton. But he only said:
"It's a good joke."
"So 'tis, so 'tis. Do you live in Chicago?"
"Yes; I reside there for the present."
"In business, eh?"
"No, I have retired from business. I am living on my income," answered Denton with unblushing effrontery.
"Got money, hey?" said the stout man respectfully.
"I have some," answered Denton modestly. "I am not as rich as you, of course. I can't afford to wear a breastpin worth thousands of dollars."
"Kinder gorgeous, aint it?" said the other complacently. "I like to make a show, I do. That's me. I like to have folks say, 'He's worth money.'"
"Only natural," said Denton. "What a consummate ass!" he muttered to himself.
There was a little more conversation, and then the stout man gaped and looked sleepy.
"I didn't sleep much last night," he said. "I guess I'll get a nap if I can."
"You'd better," said Denton, an eager hope rising in his breast. "A man can't do without sleep."
"Of course he can't. You jest wake me up when we get to the depot."
"Have no trouble about that," said Denton quickly. "I'll be sure to let you know."
In less than five minutes the stranger was breathing heavily, his head thrown back and his eyes closed beneath the red handkerchief that covered his face. Denton looked at him with glittering eyes.
"If I only had that diamond," he said to himself, "my fortune would be made. I'd realize on it and go to Europe till all was blown over."
Everything seemed favorable to his purpose. First, he was in disguise. He would not easily be identified as the thief by anyone who noticed his present appearance, since he would, as soon as he reached Chicago, lay aside the glasses and the wig together. Again, the man was asleep and off his guard. True, it was open day, and there were twenty other passengers in the car at the very least. But Denton had experience. He had begun life as a pickpocket, though later he saw fit to direct his attention to gambling and other arts as, on the whole, a safer and more lucrative business.
Denton riveted his eyes covetously on the captivating diamond. His fingers itched to get hold of it. Was it safe? A deep snore from the stout man seemed to answer him.
"What a fool he is to leave such a jewel in open sight!" thought Denton. "He deserves to lose it."
An adroit movement, quick as a flash, and the pin was in his possession. He timed the movement just as the cars reached a way station, and he instantly rose, with the intention of leaving the car.
But he reckoned without his host.
As he rose to his feet his companion dashed the handkerchief from his face, rose also, and clutched him by the arm.
"Not so fast,Mr.Denton," he said, in a tone different from his former one. "You've made a little mistake."
"Let go, then!" said Denton. "I am going to get out."
"No, you are not. You are going back to Chicago as my prisoner."
"Who are you?" demanded Denton, startled.
The red-headed man laughed.
"I am Pierce, the detective," he said. "We have long wanted to get hold of you, and I have succeeded at last, thanks to the diamond pin. By the way, the diamond is false—a capital imitation, but not worth over ten dollars. You may as well give it up."
"Is this true?" asked Denton, his face showing his mortification.
"You can rely upon it."
"I'll buy it of you. I'll give you twenty dollars for it."
"Too late, my man. You must go back with me as a prisoner. Suppose we take off our wigs. My hair is no more red than yours."
He removed his wig, and now, in spite of his skin, which had been stained, Denton recognized in him a well-known detective, whose name was a terror to evil-doers.
"It's all up, I suppose," he said bitterly. "I don't mind the arrest so much as the being fooled and duped."
"It's diamond cut diamond—ha! ha!" saidthe detective—"or, we'll say, red-headversusred-head."
When Denton reached Chicago he became a guest of the city—an honor he would have been glad to decline.
CHAPTERXXXVIII.THE MEETING AT LINCOLN PARK.FOR weeks Oliver and his mother had lived in the same city, yet never met. Each believed the other to be dead; each had mourned for the other. No subtle instinct led either to doubt the truth of the sad reports which, for base ends,Mr.Kenyon had caused to be circulated.But for her unhappy domestic troubles,Mrs.Conrad (for she had assumed the name of her first husband) was happily situated.Mrs.Graham was bound to her by the devoted care which she had taken of the little Florette. Indeed, the bereaved woman had come to love the little girl almost as if she were her own, and had voluntarily assumed the constant care of her, though regarded as a guest in the house.Mr.Graham was very wealthy, and hishouse, situated on the Boulevard, was as attractive as elegance and taste, unhampered by a regard for expense, could make it. A spacious, well-appointed chamber was assigned toMrs.Conrad, and she lived in a style superior to which she had been accustomed. Surely it was a fortunate haven into which her storm-tossed bark had drifted. If happiness could be secured by comfort or luxury, then she would have been happy. But neither comfort nor luxury can satisfy the heart, and it was the heart which, in her case, had suffered a severe wound.One day, asMrs.Graham andMrs.Conrad sat together, the little Florette in the arms of the latter,Mrs.Graham said:"I am afraid you let that child burden you,Mrs.Conrad. She never gives you a moment to yourself."Mrs.Conrad smiled sadly."I don't wish to have a moment to myself. When I am alone, and with nothing to occupy me, I give myself up to sad thoughts of the happiness I once enjoyed.""I understand," saidMrs.Grahamgently, for she was familiar withMrs.Conrad's story. "I can understand what it must be to lose a cherished son.""If he had only been spared to me I believe I could bear without a murmur the loss of fortune, and live contentedly in the deepest poverty.""No doubt; but would that be necessary? Certainly your husband has no claim to the fortune, which he withholds from you.""I suppose not.""If you should make the effort you could doubtless get it back.""Probably I could.""You had better let me askMr.Graham to select a reliable lawyer whom you could consult with reference to it."Mrs.Conrad shook her head."Let him have it," she said. "I care nothing for money. As long as you, my dear friend, are content to give me a home I am happier here than I could be with him.""My dearMrs.Conrad, it would indeed grieve me if anything should take you from us, even if to your own advantage. You seehow selfish I am? But I can't bear to think that that brutal husband of yours is enjoying your money, and thus reaping the benefit of his bad deeds.""Sometimes I feel so,"Mrs.Conrad admitted. "If Oliver were alive I should feel more like asserting my rights, but now all ambition has left me. If I should institute proceedings I should be compelled to return to New York, where everything would remind me of my sad loss. No, my dear friend, your advice is no doubt meant for the best, but I prefer to leaveMr.Kenyon in ignorance of my whereabouts and to keep away from his vicinity. You don't want me to go away, Florette, do you?""Don't doe away," pleaded the little girl, putting her arms roundMrs.Conrad's neck."You little darling!" saidMrs.Conrad, returning the embrace. "I have something to live for while you love me.""I love you so much," said the child."I don't know but what I shall become jealous," saidMrs.Graham playfully."Go and tell your mamma that you love her best," saidMrs.Conrad.She felt that a mother's claim was first, beyond all others. Nothing would have induced her to come between Florette and the affection which she owed to her mother.Little Florette ran to her mother and climbed in her lap."I love you best, mamma," she said, "but I love my other mamma, too.""And quite right, my dear child," saidMrs.Graham, with a bright smile. "It was but in jest,Mrs.Conrad. No mother who deserves her child's love need fear rivalry. Florette's heart is large enough and warm enough to love us both."Mrs.Conrad rejoiced in the liberty to love Florette and to be loved by her, and if ever she forgot her special cause of sorrow it was when she had the little girl in her arms."I have a favor to ask of you,Mrs.Conrad," saidMrs.Graham, a little later."It is granted already.""This afternoon I want to pay some calls. Will you be willing to go out with Florette?""Most certainly. I shall be glad to do so.""I am sorry I cannot place the carriage at your disposal, as I should like to use it myself.""Oh, we can manage without it. Can't we, Florette?""Let us yide in the horse-cars," said the little girl. "I like to yide in the cars better than in mamma's carriage.""It shall be as you like, Florette," saidMrs.Conrad.Florette clapped her little hands. Accustomed to ride in the carriage, it was a change and variety to her to ride in the more democratic conveyance, the people's carriage.Mrs.Conrad, intent on amusing her little charge, decided to take her to Lincoln Park, in the northern division of the city. This is a beautiful pleasure-ground, comprising over two hundred acres, with fine trees, miniature lakes and streams, and is a favorite resort for children and their guardians, especially on Saturday afternoons, when there are open-air concerts. It was a bright, sunny day, andevenMrs.Conrad felt her spirits enlivened as she descended from the cars, and, entering the park, mingled with the gay throngs who were giving themselves up to enjoyment.Little Florette wanted to go to the lake, and her companion yielded to her request.It was early autumn. The trees had lost none of their full, rich foliage, and the lawns were covered with soft verdure. Little Florette laughed and clapped her hands with childish hilarity.Mrs.Conrad sat down on the grass, while Florette ran hither and thither as caprice dictated."Don't go far away, Florette," saidMrs.Conrad."No, I won't," said the child.But a child's promises are soon forgotten. She ran to the lake, and while standing on the brink managed to tumble in. It was not deep, yet for a little child there was danger. Florette screamed, andMrs.Conrad, hearing her cry, sprang to her feet in dismay.But Florette found a helper.Oliver had strayed out to Lincoln Park like the rest in search of enjoyment, and was standingclose at hand when the little girl fell into the lake.It was the work of an instant to plunge in and rescue the little girl. Then he looked about to find out to whom he should yield her up.His eyes fell uponMrs.Conrad hastening to her young charge. As yet she had not noticed Oliver. She only saw Florette.Oliver's heart gave a great bound. Could it be his mother—his mother whom he believed dead—or was it only a wonderful resemblance?"Mother!" he exclaimed, almost involuntarily.At that wordMrs.Conrad turned her eyes upon him. She, too, was amazed, and something of awe crept over her as she looked upon one whom she thought a tenant of the tomb."Oliver!" she said wistfully, and in an instant he was folded in her arms."Then it is you, mother, and you are not dead!" exclaimed Oliver joyfully, kissing her."Did you think me dead, then?Mr.Kenyon wrote me that you were dead.""Mr.Kenyon is a scoundrel, mother; but I can forgive him—I can forgive everybody, since you are alive.""God is indeed good to me. I will never murmur again," ejaculatedMrs.Conrad, with heartfelt gratitude."But, mother, I don't understand. How came you here—in Chicago?""Come home with me, Oliver, and you shall hear. My little Florette's clothes are wet, and I must take her home immediately."A cab was hired, for delay might be dangerous. On the wayMrs.Conrad and Oliver exchanged confidences. Oliver's anger was deeply stirred by the story of his mother's incarceration in a mad-house."I take back what I said. I won't forgiveMr.Kenyon after that!" he said. "He shall bitterly repent what he has done!"
FOR weeks Oliver and his mother had lived in the same city, yet never met. Each believed the other to be dead; each had mourned for the other. No subtle instinct led either to doubt the truth of the sad reports which, for base ends,Mr.Kenyon had caused to be circulated.
But for her unhappy domestic troubles,Mrs.Conrad (for she had assumed the name of her first husband) was happily situated.Mrs.Graham was bound to her by the devoted care which she had taken of the little Florette. Indeed, the bereaved woman had come to love the little girl almost as if she were her own, and had voluntarily assumed the constant care of her, though regarded as a guest in the house.
Mr.Graham was very wealthy, and hishouse, situated on the Boulevard, was as attractive as elegance and taste, unhampered by a regard for expense, could make it. A spacious, well-appointed chamber was assigned toMrs.Conrad, and she lived in a style superior to which she had been accustomed. Surely it was a fortunate haven into which her storm-tossed bark had drifted. If happiness could be secured by comfort or luxury, then she would have been happy. But neither comfort nor luxury can satisfy the heart, and it was the heart which, in her case, had suffered a severe wound.
One day, asMrs.Graham andMrs.Conrad sat together, the little Florette in the arms of the latter,Mrs.Graham said:
"I am afraid you let that child burden you,Mrs.Conrad. She never gives you a moment to yourself."
Mrs.Conrad smiled sadly.
"I don't wish to have a moment to myself. When I am alone, and with nothing to occupy me, I give myself up to sad thoughts of the happiness I once enjoyed."
"I understand," saidMrs.Grahamgently, for she was familiar withMrs.Conrad's story. "I can understand what it must be to lose a cherished son."
"If he had only been spared to me I believe I could bear without a murmur the loss of fortune, and live contentedly in the deepest poverty."
"No doubt; but would that be necessary? Certainly your husband has no claim to the fortune, which he withholds from you."
"I suppose not."
"If you should make the effort you could doubtless get it back."
"Probably I could."
"You had better let me askMr.Graham to select a reliable lawyer whom you could consult with reference to it."
Mrs.Conrad shook her head.
"Let him have it," she said. "I care nothing for money. As long as you, my dear friend, are content to give me a home I am happier here than I could be with him."
"My dearMrs.Conrad, it would indeed grieve me if anything should take you from us, even if to your own advantage. You seehow selfish I am? But I can't bear to think that that brutal husband of yours is enjoying your money, and thus reaping the benefit of his bad deeds."
"Sometimes I feel so,"Mrs.Conrad admitted. "If Oliver were alive I should feel more like asserting my rights, but now all ambition has left me. If I should institute proceedings I should be compelled to return to New York, where everything would remind me of my sad loss. No, my dear friend, your advice is no doubt meant for the best, but I prefer to leaveMr.Kenyon in ignorance of my whereabouts and to keep away from his vicinity. You don't want me to go away, Florette, do you?"
"Don't doe away," pleaded the little girl, putting her arms roundMrs.Conrad's neck.
"You little darling!" saidMrs.Conrad, returning the embrace. "I have something to live for while you love me."
"I love you so much," said the child.
"I don't know but what I shall become jealous," saidMrs.Graham playfully.
"Go and tell your mamma that you love her best," saidMrs.Conrad.
She felt that a mother's claim was first, beyond all others. Nothing would have induced her to come between Florette and the affection which she owed to her mother.
Little Florette ran to her mother and climbed in her lap.
"I love you best, mamma," she said, "but I love my other mamma, too."
"And quite right, my dear child," saidMrs.Graham, with a bright smile. "It was but in jest,Mrs.Conrad. No mother who deserves her child's love need fear rivalry. Florette's heart is large enough and warm enough to love us both."
Mrs.Conrad rejoiced in the liberty to love Florette and to be loved by her, and if ever she forgot her special cause of sorrow it was when she had the little girl in her arms.
"I have a favor to ask of you,Mrs.Conrad," saidMrs.Graham, a little later.
"It is granted already."
"This afternoon I want to pay some calls. Will you be willing to go out with Florette?"
"Most certainly. I shall be glad to do so."
"I am sorry I cannot place the carriage at your disposal, as I should like to use it myself."
"Oh, we can manage without it. Can't we, Florette?"
"Let us yide in the horse-cars," said the little girl. "I like to yide in the cars better than in mamma's carriage."
"It shall be as you like, Florette," saidMrs.Conrad.
Florette clapped her little hands. Accustomed to ride in the carriage, it was a change and variety to her to ride in the more democratic conveyance, the people's carriage.
Mrs.Conrad, intent on amusing her little charge, decided to take her to Lincoln Park, in the northern division of the city. This is a beautiful pleasure-ground, comprising over two hundred acres, with fine trees, miniature lakes and streams, and is a favorite resort for children and their guardians, especially on Saturday afternoons, when there are open-air concerts. It was a bright, sunny day, andevenMrs.Conrad felt her spirits enlivened as she descended from the cars, and, entering the park, mingled with the gay throngs who were giving themselves up to enjoyment.
Little Florette wanted to go to the lake, and her companion yielded to her request.
It was early autumn. The trees had lost none of their full, rich foliage, and the lawns were covered with soft verdure. Little Florette laughed and clapped her hands with childish hilarity.Mrs.Conrad sat down on the grass, while Florette ran hither and thither as caprice dictated.
"Don't go far away, Florette," saidMrs.Conrad.
"No, I won't," said the child.
But a child's promises are soon forgotten. She ran to the lake, and while standing on the brink managed to tumble in. It was not deep, yet for a little child there was danger. Florette screamed, andMrs.Conrad, hearing her cry, sprang to her feet in dismay.
But Florette found a helper.
Oliver had strayed out to Lincoln Park like the rest in search of enjoyment, and was standingclose at hand when the little girl fell into the lake.
It was the work of an instant to plunge in and rescue the little girl. Then he looked about to find out to whom he should yield her up.
His eyes fell uponMrs.Conrad hastening to her young charge. As yet she had not noticed Oliver. She only saw Florette.
Oliver's heart gave a great bound. Could it be his mother—his mother whom he believed dead—or was it only a wonderful resemblance?
"Mother!" he exclaimed, almost involuntarily.
At that wordMrs.Conrad turned her eyes upon him. She, too, was amazed, and something of awe crept over her as she looked upon one whom she thought a tenant of the tomb.
"Oliver!" she said wistfully, and in an instant he was folded in her arms.
"Then it is you, mother, and you are not dead!" exclaimed Oliver joyfully, kissing her.
"Did you think me dead, then?Mr.Kenyon wrote me that you were dead."
"Mr.Kenyon is a scoundrel, mother; but I can forgive him—I can forgive everybody, since you are alive."
"God is indeed good to me. I will never murmur again," ejaculatedMrs.Conrad, with heartfelt gratitude.
"But, mother, I don't understand. How came you here—in Chicago?"
"Come home with me, Oliver, and you shall hear. My little Florette's clothes are wet, and I must take her home immediately."
A cab was hired, for delay might be dangerous. On the wayMrs.Conrad and Oliver exchanged confidences. Oliver's anger was deeply stirred by the story of his mother's incarceration in a mad-house.
"I take back what I said. I won't forgiveMr.Kenyon after that!" he said. "He shall bitterly repent what he has done!"
CHAPTERXXXIX.THE COMMON ENEMY.MRS. GRAHAM heartily sympathized in the joy of the mother and son, who, parted by death, as each supposed, had come together so strangely."You look ten years younger,Mrs.Conrad," she declared. "I never saw such a transformation.""It is joy that has done it, my dear friend. I was as one without hope or object in life. Now I have both.""Your husband has your fortune yet.""I care not for that. Oliver is more to me than money.""Thank you, mother," said Oliver; "but we must be practical, too. I have learned that money is a good thing to have.Mr.Kenyon has been led to wrong us, and make us unhappy, by his greed for money. We will punish him by depriving him of it.""I quite agree with you, Oliver," saidMr.Graham, who was present. "Your step-father should be punished in the way he will feel it the most.""What course would you advise me to pursue,Mr.Graham?" asked Oliver."I am not prepared with an immediate answer. We will speak of it to-morrow."Learning how much kindness Oliver had received from Nicholas Bundy,Mrs.Conrad invited him to bring his friend with him in the evening, and the invitation was cordially seconded byMr.Graham.Nicholas was overjoyed to hear of the good fortune of Oliver, but hesitated at first to accept the invitation."I'm a rough backwoodsman, Oliver," he said. "In my early life I was not so much a stranger to society, but now I shan't know how to behave.""You underrate yourself,Mr.Bundy," said Oliver. "I can promise you won't feel awkward in my mother's society, andMrs.Graham is very much like her."Nicholas looked doubtful."You judge me by yourself, my boy," he answered. "Boys adapt themselves to ladies' society easy, but I'm an old crooked stick that don't lay straight with the rest of the pile.""I don't care what you are,Mr.Bundy," said Oliver, with playful imperiousness; "my mother wants to see you, and come you must!"Nicholas Bundy laughed."Well, Oliver," he said, "things seem turned round, and you have become my guardian. Well, if it must be, it must, but I'm afraid you'll be ashamed of me.""If I am,Mr.Bundy, set me down as a conceited puppy," said Oliver warmly. "Haven't you been my kind and constant friend?"Nicholas looked pleased at Oliver's warm-hearted persistence."I'll go, Oliver," he said. "Come to think of it, I should like to see your mother."When Nicholas and Oliver entered the elegant Graham mansion, the former looked a little uneasy, but his countenance lighted up whenMrs.Conrad, her face genial with smiles, thanked him warmly for his kindness to her boy."I couldn't help it, ma'am," he said. "I've got nobody to care for except him, and I hope you'll let me look after him a little still.""I shall never wish to come between you,Mr.Bundy. I am glad that he has found in you a kind and faithful friend. His step-father, as you know, has been his worst enemy and mine. I hoped he would prove a kind and faithful guardian to my boy, but I have been bitterly disappointed.""He's a regular scamp, as far as I can learn," said Nicholas bluntly. "You haven't got a picture of him, have you? I should like to know how the villain looks.""I have," said Oliver. "This morning, in looking over my carpet-bag, I found an inner pocket, in which was a photograph ofMr.Kenyon. I believe Roland once used the bag, and in that way probably it got in.""Have you the picture here?" askedMr.Bundy."Here it is," answered Oliver, drawing it from his pocket.Nicholas took it, and as he examined it his face wore a look of amazement."Who did you say this was?" he asked."Mr.Kenyon.""Your step-father?""Yes.""It is very singular," he remarked, in an undertone, his face still wearing the same look of wonder."What is very singular,Mr.Bundy?" Oliver asked curiously."I'll tell you," answered Nicholas Bundy slowly. "This picture, which you say is the picture of your step-father, is the picture of Rupert Jones, my early enemy."Both Oliver and his mother uttered exclamations of surprise."Can this be true,Mr.Bundy?""There is no doubt about it, ma'am. It is a face I can never forget. There is the same foxy look about the eyes—the same treacherous smile. I should know that face anywhere, and I would swear to it in any court in the United States.""But the name! My step-father's name is Kenyon.""Names are easily changed, Oliver, my boy.The man's real name is Rupert Jones. I don't care what he calls himself now. He's misused us all. He's been my worst enemy, as well as yours, ma'am, and yours, Oliver. Now, I move we both join forces and punish him.""There's my hand,Mr.Bundy," said Oliver."He's your husband, ma'am," said Nicholas, "What do you say?""I was mad to marry him; I will never live with him again. I am out of patience with myself when I think that through my means I have brought misfortune upon my son.""I don't look upon it just that way, ma'am," said Bundy. "But for that, I might never have met Oliver or you, and that would have been a great misfortune. He's played a desperate game, but we've got the trump cards in our hand, and we'll take his tricks.""I fear that he may harm you," saidMrs.Conrad. "He is a bad man.""That is true enough, but I think I shall prove a match for him. I've got a little document in my pocket which I think will check-mate him.""What is that?""A note which he has forged. I picked it up at Kelso."The next day a consultation was held, and it was decided that Oliver and his mother andMr.Bundy should go on to New York at once, and that hostilities should be initiated againstMr.Kenyon.During the day a note was received from the city prison, to this effect:I have a secret of importance to your young friend, to divulge. Come and see me.Denton."Shall you go,Mr.Bundy?" asked Oliver."Certainly. It is worth while to strengthen our evidence as much as possible.""May I go with you?""I wish you would. You are the most interested, and it is proper that you should be present."There was no opposition made on the part of the authorities, and Oliver andMr.Bundy were introduced into the presence of the prisoner.Denton smiled."You see I'm hauled up for moral repairs," he said coolly. "Well, it's my luck.""Did you have a pleasant return from Kelso,Mr.Denton?" asked Oliver."So you recognized me?""Yes, in spite of your red wig!""Someone else recognized me, too—a detective. That is why I am here. But let us proceed to business.""Go on.""I can give you information of importance touching this boy's step-father.""Perhaps we know it already.""It is hardly likely. His name is not Kenyon. I can tell you his real name.""It is Rupert Jones," said Bundy."Where the deuce did you learn that?" asked Denton, astonished."I recognized his picture. Is that all you have to tell us?""No. I have been in his employ. As his agent, I dogged you.""Prove that to us, and we will give you a hundred dollars.""Make it a hundred and fifty.""Done!"Denton placed in the hands of Nicholas Bundy his letters of instruction fromMr.Kenyon."They will help our case," said Nicholas. "I think we shall be able to bring our common enemy to terms."
MRS. GRAHAM heartily sympathized in the joy of the mother and son, who, parted by death, as each supposed, had come together so strangely.
"You look ten years younger,Mrs.Conrad," she declared. "I never saw such a transformation."
"It is joy that has done it, my dear friend. I was as one without hope or object in life. Now I have both."
"Your husband has your fortune yet."
"I care not for that. Oliver is more to me than money."
"Thank you, mother," said Oliver; "but we must be practical, too. I have learned that money is a good thing to have.Mr.Kenyon has been led to wrong us, and make us unhappy, by his greed for money. We will punish him by depriving him of it."
"I quite agree with you, Oliver," saidMr.Graham, who was present. "Your step-father should be punished in the way he will feel it the most."
"What course would you advise me to pursue,Mr.Graham?" asked Oliver.
"I am not prepared with an immediate answer. We will speak of it to-morrow."
Learning how much kindness Oliver had received from Nicholas Bundy,Mrs.Conrad invited him to bring his friend with him in the evening, and the invitation was cordially seconded byMr.Graham.
Nicholas was overjoyed to hear of the good fortune of Oliver, but hesitated at first to accept the invitation.
"I'm a rough backwoodsman, Oliver," he said. "In my early life I was not so much a stranger to society, but now I shan't know how to behave."
"You underrate yourself,Mr.Bundy," said Oliver. "I can promise you won't feel awkward in my mother's society, andMrs.Graham is very much like her."
Nicholas looked doubtful.
"You judge me by yourself, my boy," he answered. "Boys adapt themselves to ladies' society easy, but I'm an old crooked stick that don't lay straight with the rest of the pile."
"I don't care what you are,Mr.Bundy," said Oliver, with playful imperiousness; "my mother wants to see you, and come you must!"
Nicholas Bundy laughed.
"Well, Oliver," he said, "things seem turned round, and you have become my guardian. Well, if it must be, it must, but I'm afraid you'll be ashamed of me."
"If I am,Mr.Bundy, set me down as a conceited puppy," said Oliver warmly. "Haven't you been my kind and constant friend?"
Nicholas looked pleased at Oliver's warm-hearted persistence.
"I'll go, Oliver," he said. "Come to think of it, I should like to see your mother."
When Nicholas and Oliver entered the elegant Graham mansion, the former looked a little uneasy, but his countenance lighted up whenMrs.Conrad, her face genial with smiles, thanked him warmly for his kindness to her boy.
"I couldn't help it, ma'am," he said. "I've got nobody to care for except him, and I hope you'll let me look after him a little still."
"I shall never wish to come between you,Mr.Bundy. I am glad that he has found in you a kind and faithful friend. His step-father, as you know, has been his worst enemy and mine. I hoped he would prove a kind and faithful guardian to my boy, but I have been bitterly disappointed."
"He's a regular scamp, as far as I can learn," said Nicholas bluntly. "You haven't got a picture of him, have you? I should like to know how the villain looks."
"I have," said Oliver. "This morning, in looking over my carpet-bag, I found an inner pocket, in which was a photograph ofMr.Kenyon. I believe Roland once used the bag, and in that way probably it got in."
"Have you the picture here?" askedMr.Bundy.
"Here it is," answered Oliver, drawing it from his pocket.
Nicholas took it, and as he examined it his face wore a look of amazement.
"Who did you say this was?" he asked.
"Mr.Kenyon."
"Your step-father?"
"Yes."
"It is very singular," he remarked, in an undertone, his face still wearing the same look of wonder.
"What is very singular,Mr.Bundy?" Oliver asked curiously.
"I'll tell you," answered Nicholas Bundy slowly. "This picture, which you say is the picture of your step-father, is the picture of Rupert Jones, my early enemy."
Both Oliver and his mother uttered exclamations of surprise.
"Can this be true,Mr.Bundy?"
"There is no doubt about it, ma'am. It is a face I can never forget. There is the same foxy look about the eyes—the same treacherous smile. I should know that face anywhere, and I would swear to it in any court in the United States."
"But the name! My step-father's name is Kenyon."
"Names are easily changed, Oliver, my boy.The man's real name is Rupert Jones. I don't care what he calls himself now. He's misused us all. He's been my worst enemy, as well as yours, ma'am, and yours, Oliver. Now, I move we both join forces and punish him."
"There's my hand,Mr.Bundy," said Oliver.
"He's your husband, ma'am," said Nicholas, "What do you say?"
"I was mad to marry him; I will never live with him again. I am out of patience with myself when I think that through my means I have brought misfortune upon my son."
"I don't look upon it just that way, ma'am," said Bundy. "But for that, I might never have met Oliver or you, and that would have been a great misfortune. He's played a desperate game, but we've got the trump cards in our hand, and we'll take his tricks."
"I fear that he may harm you," saidMrs.Conrad. "He is a bad man."
"That is true enough, but I think I shall prove a match for him. I've got a little document in my pocket which I think will check-mate him."
"What is that?"
"A note which he has forged. I picked it up at Kelso."
The next day a consultation was held, and it was decided that Oliver and his mother andMr.Bundy should go on to New York at once, and that hostilities should be initiated againstMr.Kenyon.
During the day a note was received from the city prison, to this effect:
I have a secret of importance to your young friend, to divulge. Come and see me.Denton.
I have a secret of importance to your young friend, to divulge. Come and see me.
Denton.
"Shall you go,Mr.Bundy?" asked Oliver.
"Certainly. It is worth while to strengthen our evidence as much as possible."
"May I go with you?"
"I wish you would. You are the most interested, and it is proper that you should be present."
There was no opposition made on the part of the authorities, and Oliver andMr.Bundy were introduced into the presence of the prisoner.
Denton smiled.
"You see I'm hauled up for moral repairs," he said coolly. "Well, it's my luck."
"Did you have a pleasant return from Kelso,Mr.Denton?" asked Oliver.
"So you recognized me?"
"Yes, in spite of your red wig!"
"Someone else recognized me, too—a detective. That is why I am here. But let us proceed to business."
"Go on."
"I can give you information of importance touching this boy's step-father."
"Perhaps we know it already."
"It is hardly likely. His name is not Kenyon. I can tell you his real name."
"It is Rupert Jones," said Bundy.
"Where the deuce did you learn that?" asked Denton, astonished.
"I recognized his picture. Is that all you have to tell us?"
"No. I have been in his employ. As his agent, I dogged you."
"Prove that to us, and we will give you a hundred dollars."
"Make it a hundred and fifty."
"Done!"
Denton placed in the hands of Nicholas Bundy his letters of instruction fromMr.Kenyon.
"They will help our case," said Nicholas. "I think we shall be able to bring our common enemy to terms."
CHAPTERXL.THE THUNDERBOLT FALLS.MR. KENYON returned from the South baffled in his enquiries about his wife. Henceforth his life was one unceasing anxiety. He had pretended that his wife was dead, and she might at any time return alive to the village. This would place him in a very disagreeable position. He might, indeed, say that she was insane, and that he had been compelled to place her in an asylum. But everybody would ask: "Why did you not say this before? Why report that your wife was dead?" and he would be unprepared with an answer.Indeed, he feared that the discovery of his conduct would make him legally liable to an unpleasant extent.We already know that he had employed Denton to dog the steps of Oliver and Bundy. All at once Denton ceased to communicatewith him. For five days not a word had come to him from Chicago. He naturally felt disturbed."What has got into Denton? Why doesn't he write to me? Can he have betrayed me?"This is what he said to himself one morning as he sat at his desk in the house which had once been his wife's."If I could only sell this place even at a sacrifice, I would go to Europe, taking Roland with me," he muttered. "Even as it is, perhaps it will be as well."Mr.Kenyon looked at the morning paper, searching for the advertisement of the Cunard Line. "A steamer sails on Saturday," he read, "and it is now Tuesday. I will go to the city to-morrow and engage passage. In Europe I shall be safe. Then if my wife turns up I need not fear her."At this point a servant—one recently engaged—came to the door of his room and informed him that a gentleman wished to see him."Do you know who it is?" he enquired."No, sir. I never saw him before.""Bring him up, then; or, stay—is he in the parlor?""Yes, sir.""I will see him there."Mr.Kenyon came downstairs quite unprepared for the visitor who awaited him.He started back when his glance fell on Oliver."Why do you come here?" he demanded with a frown."That is a strange question to ask,Mr.Kenyon. This is the house where I was born. It was built by my father. It ought to be mine.""Indeed!" answered Kenyon, with a sneer."You know it as well as I do, sir.""I know that the place is mine, and that you are an intruder.""Upon what do you rest your claim,Mr.Kenyon?" asked our hero."Upon your mother's will, as you know very well.""I don't believe that my mother would make a will depriving me of my rightful inheritance.""I care very little what you believe. The will has been admitted to probate and is in force. I don't think it will do you any good to dispute it.""Where did my mother die,Mr.Kenyon?" demanded Oliver, looking fixedly at his step-father."Can he have met his mother?" thought Kenyon, momentarily disturbed. But he inwardly decided in the negative. Of course they might meet some day, but then he would be in Europe and out of harm's reach."You know very well where she died.""Do you object to tell me?""I object to answering foolish questions. What is your motive in reviving this melancholy subject?""I want to ask you to have my mother's remains brought to this town and laid beside the body of my father in our family tomb.""He is still in the dark!" thoughtMr.Kenyon."Impossible!" he answered."That's true enough," thought Oliver."Have you any other business?" asked his step-father."I wish you to give me a fair portion of the property which my mother left."Mr.Kenyon smiled disagreeably. He felt his power."Really, your request is very modest," he answered, "but it can't be complied with.""Mr.Kenyon, do you think it right to deprive me of all share in my father's property?""You have forfeited it by your misconduct," said his step-father decisively.Just then the door opened, and Roland entered."Has he come back?" he demanded disagreeably."He has favored us with a call, Roland," saidMr.Kenyon. "He thought we might be glad to see him.""I wonder he has the face to show himself in this house," said Roland."Why?" asked Oliver."Oh, you know why well enough. You are a common thief.""Roland Kenyon, you will see the time when you will regret that insult, and that very soon," said Oliver, with honest indignation."Oh, shall I? I'm not afraid of you," retorted Roland."I permit no threats here," saidMr.Kenyon angrily."He is safe for the present," said Oliver."Thank you for nothing," said Roland. "Father, how long are you going to let him stay in the house?""That is not for your father to say, Roland," said Oliver coolly."What do you mean, you young reprobate?" demanded the step-father angrily. "If you have come here to make a disturbance, you have come to the wrong place, and selected the wrong man. Will you oblige me by leaving the house?"Oliver sat near the window. He saw, though neither of the others did, that a carriage stood at the gate, and that Nicholas Bundy and a New York lawyer were descending from it. The time had now come for a change of tone."Mr.Kenyon," he said, "My answer is briefly that this house is not yours. I have a better right here than you.""This insolence is a little too much!" exclaimed his step-father, pale with passion. "Leave this house instantly or I will have you put out!"Before there could be an answer the bell rang.Mr.Kenyon put a restraint on himself."Go out at once," he said, "I have other visitors who require my attention."The door opened, and the lawyer andMr.Bundy were admitted. ToMr.Kenyon's surprise both nodded to Oliver. It was revealed to him that they were his friends."Gentlemen," he said, with less courtesy than he would otherwise have shown, "I do not know you. I am occupied, and cannot spare you any time this morning.""We cannot excuse you,Mr.Kenyon," said Nicholas Bundy. "We come here as the friends of this boy, your step-son. My companion isMr.Brief, a lawyer, and my name is Bundy—Nicholas Bundy."Mr.Kenyon winced at this name."I don't understand you," he said. "We have no business together. I must request you to excuse me.""Plain words are best," said the lawyer. "Mr.Kenyon, I am authorized to demand your instant relinquishment of the property and estates of the lateMr.Conrad.""In whose favor?" askedMr.Kenyon, whose manner betrayed agitation."In favor of Oliver Conrad and his mother.""His mother is dead!" said Kenyon nervously; "and by her will the property is mine.""The will is a forgery.""Take care what you say, sir. I require you to prove it.""I shall prove it byMrs.Conrad herself."As he spoke,Mrs.Conrad, who had been in the carriage, entered the room. She never spoke to her husband, but sat down quietly, while Roland stared at her, open-mouthed, as at one from the grave."Father," he exclaimed, "didn't you tell me she was dead?""She never died, but was incarcerated by your father in an insane asylum, while he forged a will bequeathing him the property," said the lawyer. "Well,Mr.Kenyon, what have you to say?""Gentlemen, the game is up," said Kenyon sullenly. "I played for high stakes, and have lost. That's all.""You have placed yourself in the power of the wife you have wronged. You could be indicted for forgery and conspiracy. Do you admit that?""I suppose I must.""What have you to say why we should not so proceed?""Spare me, and I will go away and trouble you no more.""First, you must render an account of the property in your possession, and make an absolute surrender of it all.""Would you leave me a beggar?" asked Kenyon, in a tone of anguish."If so, we should only treat you as you treated your step-son. But my client is merciful. She is willing to allow you and yourson an annuity of five hundred dollars each, on condition that you leave this neighborhood and do not return to it.""It is small, but I accept," saidMr.Kenyon sullenly."For your own good, I advise you to go to-day, before your treatment of your wife becomes known in the village," saidMr.Brief. "Call at my office in the city, and business arrangements can be made there.""I am willing," said Kenyon."Wait a minute, Kenyon," said Nicholas Bundy, "I've got a word of advice. Don't go to Kelso, in Indiana.""Why not?" asked Kenyon mechanically."Because you look so much like a certain Rupert Jones, who once flourished and forged there, that there might be trouble. I used to know Rupert Jones myself, and he did me an injury. You remember that. I have wanted to be revenged for years, but I am satisfied now. Once you were up and I was down. Now it's the other way. I am rich, and when I die, that boy"—pointing to Oliver—"is my heir."Roland looked as if a thunderbolt had fallen. He had never been aware of his father's perfidy before. He had himself acted meanly, but at that moment Oliver pitied him."Roland," said he, "I once thought I should enjoy this moment, but I don't. I wish you good luck. Will you take my hand?"Roland's thin lips compressed. He hesitated, but hate prevailed."No," he answered. "I won't take your hand. I hate you!""I am sorry for it," said Oliver. "I am glad you won't be unprovided for, and won't suffer. If ever you feel differently, come to me."Mr.Kenyon and Roland left the house together, and took the first train for the city. They called at the office ofMr.Brief, and the final arrangements were concluded. Oliver and his mother came back to their own, and Nicholas Bundy came to live with them. Oliver concluded his preparations for college, where in due time he graduated.Three years laterMr.Kenyon died, by astrange coincidence, in an insane asylum. Then Roland, chastened by suffering and privation, for his father had squandered their joint allowance on drink, and many times he had fasted for twenty-four hours together, came back to his old home, and sought a reconciliation with those he had once hated. He was generously received, a mercantile position was found for him, his old allowance was doubled, and he grew to like Oliver as much as he had once detested him.IfMrs.Conrad is ever married again it will be toMr.Bundy, who is her devoted admirer. Oliver has decided to become a lawyer. If he carries out his purpose, he will always be ready to champion the cause of the poor and the oppressed. He is engaged to Carrie Dudley, and the wedding will take place immediately after he is admitted to the bar. The clouds are dispersed, and henceforth, we may hope, his pathway will be lighted by sunshine toTHE END.
MR. KENYON returned from the South baffled in his enquiries about his wife. Henceforth his life was one unceasing anxiety. He had pretended that his wife was dead, and she might at any time return alive to the village. This would place him in a very disagreeable position. He might, indeed, say that she was insane, and that he had been compelled to place her in an asylum. But everybody would ask: "Why did you not say this before? Why report that your wife was dead?" and he would be unprepared with an answer.
Indeed, he feared that the discovery of his conduct would make him legally liable to an unpleasant extent.
We already know that he had employed Denton to dog the steps of Oliver and Bundy. All at once Denton ceased to communicatewith him. For five days not a word had come to him from Chicago. He naturally felt disturbed.
"What has got into Denton? Why doesn't he write to me? Can he have betrayed me?"
This is what he said to himself one morning as he sat at his desk in the house which had once been his wife's.
"If I could only sell this place even at a sacrifice, I would go to Europe, taking Roland with me," he muttered. "Even as it is, perhaps it will be as well."
Mr.Kenyon looked at the morning paper, searching for the advertisement of the Cunard Line. "A steamer sails on Saturday," he read, "and it is now Tuesday. I will go to the city to-morrow and engage passage. In Europe I shall be safe. Then if my wife turns up I need not fear her."
At this point a servant—one recently engaged—came to the door of his room and informed him that a gentleman wished to see him.
"Do you know who it is?" he enquired.
"No, sir. I never saw him before."
"Bring him up, then; or, stay—is he in the parlor?"
"Yes, sir."
"I will see him there."
Mr.Kenyon came downstairs quite unprepared for the visitor who awaited him.
He started back when his glance fell on Oliver.
"Why do you come here?" he demanded with a frown.
"That is a strange question to ask,Mr.Kenyon. This is the house where I was born. It was built by my father. It ought to be mine."
"Indeed!" answered Kenyon, with a sneer.
"You know it as well as I do, sir."
"I know that the place is mine, and that you are an intruder."
"Upon what do you rest your claim,Mr.Kenyon?" asked our hero.
"Upon your mother's will, as you know very well."
"I don't believe that my mother would make a will depriving me of my rightful inheritance."
"I care very little what you believe. The will has been admitted to probate and is in force. I don't think it will do you any good to dispute it."
"Where did my mother die,Mr.Kenyon?" demanded Oliver, looking fixedly at his step-father.
"Can he have met his mother?" thought Kenyon, momentarily disturbed. But he inwardly decided in the negative. Of course they might meet some day, but then he would be in Europe and out of harm's reach.
"You know very well where she died."
"Do you object to tell me?"
"I object to answering foolish questions. What is your motive in reviving this melancholy subject?"
"I want to ask you to have my mother's remains brought to this town and laid beside the body of my father in our family tomb."
"He is still in the dark!" thoughtMr.Kenyon.
"Impossible!" he answered.
"That's true enough," thought Oliver.
"Have you any other business?" asked his step-father.
"I wish you to give me a fair portion of the property which my mother left."
Mr.Kenyon smiled disagreeably. He felt his power.
"Really, your request is very modest," he answered, "but it can't be complied with."
"Mr.Kenyon, do you think it right to deprive me of all share in my father's property?"
"You have forfeited it by your misconduct," said his step-father decisively.
Just then the door opened, and Roland entered.
"Has he come back?" he demanded disagreeably.
"He has favored us with a call, Roland," saidMr.Kenyon. "He thought we might be glad to see him."
"I wonder he has the face to show himself in this house," said Roland.
"Why?" asked Oliver.
"Oh, you know why well enough. You are a common thief."
"Roland Kenyon, you will see the time when you will regret that insult, and that very soon," said Oliver, with honest indignation.
"Oh, shall I? I'm not afraid of you," retorted Roland.
"I permit no threats here," saidMr.Kenyon angrily.
"He is safe for the present," said Oliver.
"Thank you for nothing," said Roland. "Father, how long are you going to let him stay in the house?"
"That is not for your father to say, Roland," said Oliver coolly.
"What do you mean, you young reprobate?" demanded the step-father angrily. "If you have come here to make a disturbance, you have come to the wrong place, and selected the wrong man. Will you oblige me by leaving the house?"
Oliver sat near the window. He saw, though neither of the others did, that a carriage stood at the gate, and that Nicholas Bundy and a New York lawyer were descending from it. The time had now come for a change of tone.
"Mr.Kenyon," he said, "My answer is briefly that this house is not yours. I have a better right here than you."
"This insolence is a little too much!" exclaimed his step-father, pale with passion. "Leave this house instantly or I will have you put out!"
Before there could be an answer the bell rang.Mr.Kenyon put a restraint on himself.
"Go out at once," he said, "I have other visitors who require my attention."
The door opened, and the lawyer andMr.Bundy were admitted. ToMr.Kenyon's surprise both nodded to Oliver. It was revealed to him that they were his friends.
"Gentlemen," he said, with less courtesy than he would otherwise have shown, "I do not know you. I am occupied, and cannot spare you any time this morning."
"We cannot excuse you,Mr.Kenyon," said Nicholas Bundy. "We come here as the friends of this boy, your step-son. My companion isMr.Brief, a lawyer, and my name is Bundy—Nicholas Bundy."
Mr.Kenyon winced at this name.
"I don't understand you," he said. "We have no business together. I must request you to excuse me."
"Plain words are best," said the lawyer. "Mr.Kenyon, I am authorized to demand your instant relinquishment of the property and estates of the lateMr.Conrad."
"In whose favor?" askedMr.Kenyon, whose manner betrayed agitation.
"In favor of Oliver Conrad and his mother."
"His mother is dead!" said Kenyon nervously; "and by her will the property is mine."
"The will is a forgery."
"Take care what you say, sir. I require you to prove it."
"I shall prove it byMrs.Conrad herself."
As he spoke,Mrs.Conrad, who had been in the carriage, entered the room. She never spoke to her husband, but sat down quietly, while Roland stared at her, open-mouthed, as at one from the grave.
"Father," he exclaimed, "didn't you tell me she was dead?"
"She never died, but was incarcerated by your father in an insane asylum, while he forged a will bequeathing him the property," said the lawyer. "Well,Mr.Kenyon, what have you to say?"
"Gentlemen, the game is up," said Kenyon sullenly. "I played for high stakes, and have lost. That's all."
"You have placed yourself in the power of the wife you have wronged. You could be indicted for forgery and conspiracy. Do you admit that?"
"I suppose I must."
"What have you to say why we should not so proceed?"
"Spare me, and I will go away and trouble you no more."
"First, you must render an account of the property in your possession, and make an absolute surrender of it all."
"Would you leave me a beggar?" asked Kenyon, in a tone of anguish.
"If so, we should only treat you as you treated your step-son. But my client is merciful. She is willing to allow you and yourson an annuity of five hundred dollars each, on condition that you leave this neighborhood and do not return to it."
"It is small, but I accept," saidMr.Kenyon sullenly.
"For your own good, I advise you to go to-day, before your treatment of your wife becomes known in the village," saidMr.Brief. "Call at my office in the city, and business arrangements can be made there."
"I am willing," said Kenyon.
"Wait a minute, Kenyon," said Nicholas Bundy, "I've got a word of advice. Don't go to Kelso, in Indiana."
"Why not?" asked Kenyon mechanically.
"Because you look so much like a certain Rupert Jones, who once flourished and forged there, that there might be trouble. I used to know Rupert Jones myself, and he did me an injury. You remember that. I have wanted to be revenged for years, but I am satisfied now. Once you were up and I was down. Now it's the other way. I am rich, and when I die, that boy"—pointing to Oliver—"is my heir."
Roland looked as if a thunderbolt had fallen. He had never been aware of his father's perfidy before. He had himself acted meanly, but at that moment Oliver pitied him.
"Roland," said he, "I once thought I should enjoy this moment, but I don't. I wish you good luck. Will you take my hand?"
Roland's thin lips compressed. He hesitated, but hate prevailed.
"No," he answered. "I won't take your hand. I hate you!"
"I am sorry for it," said Oliver. "I am glad you won't be unprovided for, and won't suffer. If ever you feel differently, come to me."
Mr.Kenyon and Roland left the house together, and took the first train for the city. They called at the office ofMr.Brief, and the final arrangements were concluded. Oliver and his mother came back to their own, and Nicholas Bundy came to live with them. Oliver concluded his preparations for college, where in due time he graduated.
Three years laterMr.Kenyon died, by astrange coincidence, in an insane asylum. Then Roland, chastened by suffering and privation, for his father had squandered their joint allowance on drink, and many times he had fasted for twenty-four hours together, came back to his old home, and sought a reconciliation with those he had once hated. He was generously received, a mercantile position was found for him, his old allowance was doubled, and he grew to like Oliver as much as he had once detested him.
IfMrs.Conrad is ever married again it will be toMr.Bundy, who is her devoted admirer. Oliver has decided to become a lawyer. If he carries out his purpose, he will always be ready to champion the cause of the poor and the oppressed. He is engaged to Carrie Dudley, and the wedding will take place immediately after he is admitted to the bar. The clouds are dispersed, and henceforth, we may hope, his pathway will be lighted by sunshine to
THE END.