THE CABLEGRAM FROM CHICAGO.
As soon as the team came to a halt Robert leaped to the ground and held their heads.
"Now you can get out, Mrs. Vernon," he said.
"Thank God we are safe!" murmured the lady.
She was so weak she could scarcely stand, and once having left the carriage she sank down on a flat rock, her breast heaving with emotion.
Robert tied the team fast to a nearby tree, and then came to her side.
"You are not hurt, are you?" he asked anxiously.
"I--I believe not," she faltered. "But, oh, Robert, we had a very narrow escape!"
"That is so, Mrs. Vernon."
"Had the carriage gone over the cliff nothing could have saved us from death!"
"Yes, it would have been a nasty fall."
"And that man who scared the team----" She paused. "Do you imagine----" She could go no further.
"Let us talk about that later on, Mrs. Vernon," he put in hastily. "You had better rest here while I see how much the carriage is damaged."
Our hero made the examination, and speedily found that the wheel was too badly shattered to permit the turnout being used again until it was repaired.
"I'll have to get another carriage," he said. "What will you do, remain here until I get back?"
"No! no!" she cried. "I--I--that man--he may come again----" She gazed at him with a world of meaning in her eyes.
"You are right," answered Robert. "There is a cottage some distance down the road. Can you walk that far with me?"
Mrs. Vernon said she would try, and they started out. As they approached the cottage they met the owner coming away in his wagon.
Matters were quickly explained to the Englishman, and he readily agreed to drive them both back to the village.
"I hav'n't no quick horses for to run away with ye!" he grinned. "But I can git ye there in time an' safe, too."
They seated themselves on a back seat of the farm wagon, and started. The pace was a slow one, and it was fully an hour before they reached the village and the turnout came to a halt before Mrs. Cabe's door.
"Let the livery stable people attend to the wreck," said Mrs. Vernon, "and tell them to send the bill to me."
"And what of the man who scared us?" asked Robert. "Shall I put the constable on his track?"
Mrs. Vernon's face became a study.
"Robert, what do you think of this?"
"What do you mean?"
"Have you any idea who it was?"
"Frankly, I have, Mrs. Vernon."
"You imagine it was Frederic?"
"I do."
"But why should he want to--to----" She could get no further, but burst into tears.
"Don't you remember he wanted to know about your will? He has probably found out that you have not yet altered it, and----"
"Well?"
"Well, he wanted to get you out of the way before any change was made. I am sorry to speak so plainly, but I think your nephew is a thorough villain."
"But we may be mistaken. The man may have been an ordinary highwayman."
Robert shook his head. "I don't believe there are highwaymen in this part of England."
Satisfied that the lady would be safe for the time being, Robert hurried off to the livery stable and explained matters to the proprietor.
"The horses got frightened on the road," he said, "and in saving them from going over the cliff I had to turn them into a thicket. A wheel is broken and one horse has his legs scratched."
"And who is going to foot the bill?" growled the livery stable keeper, imagining he scented trouble.
"Mrs. Vernon will pay any fair bill you may present. But she will pay no fancy price for the damage done."
"Oh, all right, I won't charge her any more than is necessary," said the man, much relieved.
He wished to know how the team had become frightened, but Robert evaded the question, for Mrs. Vernon had not given him permission to speak of the matter. Evidently the lady wished to think over it before deciding what to do.
When the young secretary returned to the boarding house he found Mrs. Vernon lying down, having taken a quieting draught. He attended to the writing of several letters, and was just finishing up when a messenger appeared from the telegraph office.
"The cablegram," said Robert, looking at the envelope.
"Read it, Robert," said the lady, and opening the communication he did as requested. The cablegram was from Mr. Farley. It read as follows:
"Check 865, Frederic Vernon. Six hundred dollars."
"Check 865, Frederic Vernon. Six hundred dollars."
"Check number 865," murmured Mrs. Vernon. "Robert, what is the last stub number in my book?"
"Number 838."
"Then check number 865 is a forgery!"
The young secretary bowed.
"It was drawn to the order of Frederic Vernon, and probably cashed by him," went on the lady, her breath coming short and fast.
"Mrs. Vernon, we are only reaching a conclusion we guessed at long ago," said the youth soothingly.
"I know, I know, Robert! Yet I had hoped there might be some mistake!"
"Your nephew is unworthy of the interest you take in him."
"That is where he got his money to come here."
"He was a fool to commit the forgery. He must have known that it would be discovered sooner or later," said Robert bluntly. He felt that the sooner Mrs. Vernon realized the utter rascality of her nephew the better it would be for the lady.
"But if I had been killed--if both of us had been killed----" she began.
"Then the forgery would never have been discovered, for your nephew would have taken charge of everything, including your private papers and your check-books."
"It is terrible! terrible!" The lady buried her face in a sofa pillow and began to weep. "Robert, what would you advise me to do?" she asked, after a while.
"Do you want my candid opinion?" he questioned.
"I do."
"I would have a straight talk with your nephew, and then send him about his business, and tell him if he ever came near me again I would have him arrested."
"I cannot be so harsh with one of my own flesh and blood."
"Well, then, I tell you what you might do. You might give him, say, a thousand dollars, with the understanding that he leave the country, and that he does not go back to the United States."
"But where would he go?"
"There are lots of places to go to--South Africa, South America, or Australia. With a thousand dollars and his passage money he might set himself up in some sort of business and get rich."
Mrs. Vernon's face brightened.
"If he would only do that I might be so glad! If he really made a man of himself I would not cut him out of my will."
"I would not allow him to be around where I was. He is too dangerous a young man. He may try to poison you next."
Mrs. Vernon shivered.
"Yes, and he may try poisoning you, too, Robert," she said. "I must be very careful. It would not be right for me to let you run any more risk. Perhaps you would prefer to leave my services."
"Mrs. Vernon, I will never leave you--at least, so long as you wish me to stay," he cried impulsively.
"You are a true friend, Robert, and I should not like to part with you. I will have a talk with Frederic as soon as he shows himself."
"I would like to be present at the interview, Mrs. Vernon."
"Yes?"
"I want to make certain that he tries no violence. After this I am going to arm myself with a pistol," added Robert.
"You shall be present, Robert. But perhaps Frederic will not come again--if he imagines that we suspect him."
"He will hang around as long as he dares. He can get hold of no money excepting what he wrings from you, and he knows it."
At that moment a servant knocked on the door.
"What is wanted?" asked our hero, who went to answer the summons.
"Mr. Parsons come to see you and Mrs. Vernon," answered the girl.
"Mr. Parsons?" repeated the young secretary. "Who is he?"
"A farmer, please sir, as lives up back of the cliff. He says he saw you driving, and he has something to tell you."
"He must know something of importance," put in Mrs. Vernon eagerly. "Show him up, Lucy."
In a moment more Farmer Parsons, a short, ruddy-faced Englishman, entered the apartment hat in hand. Robert gave him a chair, and then closed the door tightly, that no outsiders might hear what the newcomer had to tell.
FARMER PARSONS' STORY.
"You will excuse me for troubling you," began Farmer Parsons, after bowing several times to Mrs. Vernon and Robert. "But I thought I just had to come in and tell you that I couldn't help a-doing of it."
"Couldn't help doing what?" questioned Mrs. Vernon, in perplexity.
"Giving him a sound trouncing, lady. I thought as how he deserved it, I did."
"Whom did you whip?" asked Robert.
"Why, the lady's relative, of course!" cried the farmer, in surprise. "Isn't he back yet?"
"No, we have seen nothing of him."
Farmer Parsons fell back in his chair in open-mouthed surprise.
"By Harry! then I suppose I've put my foot into it!" he gasped.
"Into what?" asked Robert, although he guessed at the truth.
"Why I--that is--you see I collared him on the road and I couldn't help but give him the worst trouncing I guess he ever got in his life. He threatened to have me locked up, so I thought I would come here and explain matters."
"You caught Frederic Vernon up on the cliff road?" asked Mrs. Vernon.
"I did, madam--jest after he had up and scared your horses so that they ran away."
"Then it was Frederic, beyond a doubt," murmured the lady faintly.
"He said as how he had done it only in fun," went on the English farmer. "But I said it was mighty poor fun, and he deserved a thrashing."
"And then you whipped him?" said Robert.
"No, I didn't trounce him until after he got impudent and told me to shut up and mind my own affairs. I told him he might have killed both on you."
"And what did he say to that?" asked our hero curiously.
"He said he knew what he was doing and I must keep my mouth shut, or he would lay the whole thing off on to me. Then I up and knocked him down, madam, and when he comes back it will be limping and with a black eye. But I don't care," added the farmer defiantly. "He deserved it."
"I do not blame you, Mr. Parsons," said Mrs. Vernon quietly. "It was a--a mean thing for him to do."
"Some folks would have him arrested for it, madam."
"I do not doubt but that they would. Where did you leave my nephew?"
"I left him to find his way back to the village the best he could. But before we parted I took this thing away from him. I was afraid if I didn't he might shoot me."
Farmer Parsons reached into one of the deep pockets of his coat and brought forth a nickel-plated revolver.
Mrs. Vernon received it gingerly and passed it over to Robert.
"Is it empty?" she asked.
"No, it has two cartridges still in it," answered the young secretary, after an examination.
"I do not know what to do with it, Robert. I do not want it."
"I reckon I'll keep it for the present, Mrs. Vernon," said our hero, and placed the pistol in his hip pocket.
The lady turned to Farmer Parsons.
"I do not blame you for what you have done," she said. "I imagine my nephew got what he deserved. But I hate a family scandal, and I wish you would not say anything about this matter unless I call upon you."
"As you will, madam; only I don't want no trouble----"
"You shall get into no trouble, Mr. Parsons; I will see to that. And for coming here, I will pay you for your time."
Farmer Parsons wished to refuse, but he was a poor man with a large family to support and he readily accepted the two pounds--about ten dollars--which Mrs. Vernon tendered him.
"Very much obliged, madam," he said, as he bowed himself out. "But take my advice and watch your nevvy--watch him closely, for he's a bad un, he is!" And in a moment he was lumbering down the stairs again.
For several minutes after the farmer was gone Mrs. Vernon said nothing. She began to pace the floor nervously. The last of her faith in her graceless nephew was shattered.
"He is a villain, Robert," she said at last. "A villain in every sense of the word. There does not seem to be a redeeming trait in his whole character."
"Well, I wouldn't say that exactly, Mrs. Vernon. But one thing is certain, he is too dangerous a character to be allowed to remain where you are."
"You are right, and I shall send him off as you suggested."
"And if he won't go?"
"He will go--or else he shall go to jail."
For once Mrs. Vernon spoke firmly and in a manner that admitted of no dispute. It took a long time to arouse her, but once aroused her nature was a thoroughly stubborn one.
In the meantime Frederic Vernon had found his way to one of the ale-houses of the village. As Farmer Parsons had said, he had suffered a severe chastisement and he could scarcely walk. His chin and one eye were much swollen, and his back felt as if it had been pounded into a jelly.
"I'll get even with that man," he muttered. "I'd give a hundred dollars to see him hanged!"
Entering the ale-house he called for a glass of liquor, and then explained that he had suffered a severe fall from the cliff. As he had spent considerable money in the resort the landlord was all attention and led him to a side room, where he was given the chance to brush and wash up. At the same time the landlord's wife sewed up several rents in his coat and gave him a bit of court-plaster for a cut on his hand.
It must be confessed that Frederic Vernon was in a most unsettled state of mind. He hardly knew whether he dared to go to his aunt or not. From the landlord of the ale-house he learned that both Mrs. Vernon and Robert had escaped without serious physical injury, although the report was around that the lady was suffering from severe shock.
"I must put on a bold front," he told himself at last. "After all, my word is as good as that yokel's."
To put on a bold front, as he expressed it, Frederic Vernon drank rather more than was good for him, and then with a swagger he made his way to Mrs. Cabe's house that evening after supper.
"I want to see my aunt," he said to the landlady.
"Mrs. Vernon is not feeling very well," said Mrs. Cabe.
"I guess she will see me," he returned, and pushed past her and up to Mrs. Vernon's apartment. Robert heard him coming, and the two met at the door.
"What do you want?" asked our hero shortly. He saw at once that Vernon was partly under the influence of liquor.
"None of your business," retorted the young man. "My business is with my aunt."
"She is not well to-night."
"Then it is your fault, Frost. I heard all about how you let those horses run away with her."
By this time Mrs. Vernon had come to the door, and Frederic Vernon pushed his way into the room. Robert followed, and at the same time his hand went into his pocket to feel if the pistol Farmer Parsons had surrendered was still where he had placed it.
"Well, aunt, I've heard that you came close to losing your life this noon," began Frederic Vernon.
"It is true," answered Mrs. Vernon coldly.
"You ought not to let that boy drive you out. He might have lost all control and you would have been killed."
"It was not Robert's fault that the horses ran away."
"They wouldn't have run away had I been driving them."
"Frederic, I think it is about time that this farce came to an end. You know well enough what made our team run away in the first place."
The young man drew back.
"Why--er----" he stammered.
"You scared them with your white sheet and the pistol."
"It's false, aunt. Was that yokel of an Englishman here with his lying story?"
"Mr. Parsons was here, yes, and he told the truth, Frederic. You are an out-and-out rascal. My eyes are open at last, and you shall no longer deceive me."
As Mrs. Vernon spoke she faced the young man so sternly that he felt compelled to fall back, while his eyes sought the floor.
"I--I never deceived you, aunt."
"You have deceived me from start to finish, Frederic. At first you neglected my business and caused me several heavy losses. Then, when I engaged Robert to take your place, you tried to get him into trouble over my jewelry. After that you hired that Dr. Remington to aid you in placing me in an insane asylum, and your plot might have proved a success had I not left America. After that, running short of money, you forged my name to a check for six hundred dollars. And now you have finished up by trying to kill both Robert and me. Frederic, I am done with you, and I never want you to come near me again."
As Mrs. Vernon concluded the tears started down her cheeks, and she turned away to hide her emotions. Utterly dumfounded, Frederic Vernon sank in an easy chair the picture of despair. He realized that complete exposure had come at last, and he wondered what his rich relative would do with him.
AUNT AND NEPHEW'S AGREEMENT.
"Aunt, you don't mean it!" gasped Frederic Vernon, when he felt able to speak.
"I do mean it, Frederic, and it will be useless for you to argue the question," replied the lady, firmly.
"But this is a--a--all a mistake," he faltered.
"There is no mistake. And as I just said, I will not argue the question."
"You--you cast me out?"
"I do."
"But if you do that, what shall I do?"
"Go to work and make a man of yourself. Do that, and perhaps in time I will do something for you."
Frederic Vernon shook his head slowly. Then he faced Robert, and his proud face became black with illy-suppressed rage.
"This is your work, you young rascal----" he began, when his aunt stopped him.
"I will hear no talk like that here, Frederic," she said. "Robert is my best and truest friend, and you must respect him as such."
"He has done everything he could to cut me out!" howled the young spendthrift bitterly.
"That ain't so," burst out Robert. "You cut yourself out. Your aunt would never have discharged you had you done your work properly--she has told me that a number of times."
"I say it's a plot against me!" said Frederic Vernon, hardly knowing how to go on.
"Frederic, you are a very foolish young man," came from Mrs. Vernon gravely. "There was a time when I had unlimited confidence in you, and you could have retained that confidence had you chosen so to do. Instead, you became a spendthrift. Now you must go out into the world and earn your own living."
"What am I to go at?" he asked, in a hopeless tone. For the time being he seemed utterly crushed.
"You have a fair commercial education. You might become a bookkeeper."
"Bookkeepers don't earn their salt!" he snapped.
"Some of them earn twenty to forty dollars per week," put in Robert.
"Twenty to forty dollars! Do you suppose I am going to live on a beggarly twenty dollars per week! Perhaps a low-bred boy like you can do it. I am used to something better."
"I am not a low-bred boy," retorted Robert, clenching his fists, at which Frederic Vernon fell back before him. "I consider my breeding as good as yours, perhaps better."
"I will have no further arguments or quarrels," said Mrs. Vernon, coming between them.
"Aunt, do you mean to throw me off without a cent?" pleaded Frederic Vernon. "If you do that I shall starve, here among strangers. At least, pay my fare back to the United States."
"I do not want you to go back to the United States."
"Then where shall I go?"
"I have been thinking that over. Your best plan will be to strike out for some new country, say South Africa, South America, or perhaps Australia, where you can take a fresh start in life."
"I can't go to any of those places without money."
"I understand there are splendid openings in South Africa, and in Australia. If you will agree to go to one or the other of those places, and to keep away from the United States for at least five years, I will pay your passage money and give you a thousand dollars besides."
The young man's face brightened, but then it fell again.
"A thousand dollars isn't much," he ventured.
"It is enough."
"Make it five thousand, aunt, and I'll agree never to bother you again."
"No, I will not give you a cent more than the thousand dollars, and Robert shall buy your passage ticket."
"Always that boy!" howled the young man. "Cannot you trust me even to buy my own ticket?"
"I am sorry to say I cannot."
"You won't make it two thousand?" pleaded the wayward nephew.
"Well, I will give you fifteen hundred dollars," replied Mrs. Vernon, weakening a little. "That will give you a splendid start in some new place. Some men have made fortunes in South Africa and in Australia."
"I don't want to go to South Africa; I might try Australia. Dick Roberts went to Sydney, and, I believe, is doing first-rate."
"You ought to do as well as young Roberts. You have just as good an education."
"And how soon do you want me to start?"
"You must start within the next week."
"That is rather short notice."
"There is nothing to keep you here. You can find out when the Australian steamer leaves, and what the fare is, to-morrow," replied Mrs. Vernon.
A long discussion followed, in which Robert took but small part. In vain Frederic Vernon pleaded for more money and more time. Mrs. Vernon remained obdurate, and at last the graceless nephew bid her good-night and left. As the door closed after him the lady uttered a heavy sigh of relief.
"I am glad that is over, Robert," she murmured.
"It was certainly a heavy trial for you," he said, with a smile of sympathy.
"I trust he doesn't bother me any more before he leaves."
"I think it won't do any harm if I watch him and see what moves he makes. He may try to play some game upon you at the last minute, you know."
"Perhaps you are right, Robert. But so long as he remains around I shall try to look out for myself."
The next morning Robert met Frederic Vernon on the street, near the post-office.
At once the spendthrift caught our hero by the arm.
"Come along, I want to talk to you," he said, with a dark look on his face.
Feeling well able to take care of himself, Robert followed the young man down a side street which was practically deserted.
"You think you are mighty smart, don't you?" began Vernon, as soon as he felt that they were out of hearing of outsiders.
"I think I am smart in some things, Mr. Vernon," replied Robert, as coolly as he could.
"You think it's a fine thing to have me shipped off to Australia."
"It may prove the making of you."
"You want to get me out of the way so that you can get hold of my aunt's fortune."
"Well, it will be a good thing for her and for me when you are out of the way. You are too dangerous a young man to have around."
"Bah! What I have done against her doesn't amount to shucks."
"There is a difference of opinion on that score."
Frederic Vernon shook his fist in Robert's face.
"You have me down now, and I can't help myself," he hissed. "But my time will come, remember that!"
"Are you going to Australia, as your aunt wishes?"
"That is none of your business."
"She has made it my business."
"Do you mean to say you have been sent to watch me?"
"Yes, I am going to see that you are going to leave England, as intended."
"Then that is another score I will have to settle with you."
Without a word more, Frederic Vernon turned on his heel and hurried away.
Robert continued to the post-office for the mail, and then purchased a railroad and steamship guide.
In the guide he found that a steamer for Australia would sail from Liverpool on the next Tuesday at noon. He also learned where tickets could be procured, and the rate of fare.
With this information he returned to Mrs. Vernon.
One of the letters from America interested the lady deeply.
"I ought to return to Chicago at once," she said, after reading it. "There is to be a change in a manufacturing company in which I hold a large interest."
"Well, your nephew can sail for Australia on Tuesday," answered Robert. "We might return to New York by steamer, starting a day or two later."
That afternoon Frederic Vernon called upon his aunt again. He was quite humble now, for the last of the six hundred dollars procured on the forged check had been spent, and he was afraid Mrs. Vernon might cut him off entirely unless he agreed to do exactly as she desired.
"Robert tells me there is a steamer for Australia on Tuesday next," said the lady. "You can take that, Frederic."
"Very well," he answered. "But I must have the money for the ticket. I am dead broke."
"I will give you five pounds to spend on an outfit and to keep you until you sail. Robert will buy your ticket."
"I am old enough to do that myself," grumbled Frederic.
"No; I prefer to have him do so," said Mrs. Vernon pointedly, and the nephew did not dare to argue the point.
The ticket was bought on Saturday. Then Mrs. Vernon announced that Robert should see the young man to Liverpool and to the steamer.
"I hope all goes well," said Mrs. Vernon to our hero in private. "You must make certain that Frederic sails as intended."
THE ATTACK IN THE STATEROOM.
Frederic Vernon was only calm outwardly; inwardly he was boiling with rage, and more than anxious to "get square" with Robert.
He attributed his downfall completely to the young secretary.
"If it hadn't been for him I could have hoodwinked aunt right along," he told himself. "It's a shame that I've got to do just what that boy wants me to."
As soon as he heard that Robert was going to accompany him to Liverpool, he set to work to hatch up some plot against our hero.
Robert was to carry the fifteen hundred dollars, and give it to Frederic when the time came for the steamer to depart, and when young Vernon was on board.
Frederic Vernon spent Sunday night with his aunt, and did what he could to get Mrs. Vernon to allow him a little more money. As a consequence, he came away a hundred dollars richer than would otherwise have been the case.
Nor was this all. At the last minute, while the aunt was getting the money for him, he picked up some of Mrs. Vernon's jewels and slipped them into his pocket. Among the jewels was a diamond crescent worth five hundred dollars, and a pair of earrings worth three hundred dollars more.
Mrs. Vernon was not feeling well, and as soon as her nephew left she retired for the night, and the jewels were not missed until forty-eight hours later.
Early the next morning Frederic Vernon started for Liverpool, with Robert with him.
"I won't wake my aunt up to say good-by," said the young man. "I always hate a scene."
"She will be glad not to be disturbed," thought Robert, but said nothing.
Arriving in Liverpool Frederic Vernon set about buying such things as he thought he would need on his long ocean trip.
"Will you go along to the shops?" he asked Robert.
"No, I will remain at the hotel," answered our hero.
So Frederic Vernon went off alone. He had no heart to buy what was needed, for the thought of going to Australia was very distasteful to him.
"It won't be like living in Chicago or New York," he thought. "It's beastly uncivilized out there. I wish I could put Frost in my place and stay behind myself."
Among the places he visited was a ticket broker's office, and here he asked what they would give for the ticket to Australia.
Tickets were just then in good demand, and the broker looked the matter up.
"I'll give you seventy-five per cent. of its cost," he said. "But I want the ticket right away."
"I can give it to you in about an hour."
"That is positive?"
"Yes."
"Very well, bring it to me. I have a customer who wishes just such a ticket, but I cannot hold him long."
At once Frederic hurried back to the hotel.
"I am going on board the steamer at once," he said. "Give me my ticket."
"You seem to be in a tremendous hurry," said Robert suspiciously.
"Well, I'll tell you the truth, Frost, since we are to part to meet no more. Some of my old creditors are after me and I want to give them the slip."
"I see."
Robert felt it would not be honorable to help Frederic Vernon escape his creditors, but at the same time there was no use in detaining the young man, since he would have no money with which to settle his old obligations.
But he would not give up the ticket.
"I will go to the steamer with you, and give you the ticket there," he said.
He was firm in this, and wondering what he had best do next, Frederic Vernon led the way to the street and hailed a passing cab.
The two got in and were driven to the docks without delay. The young man had his hand-baggage with him.
"Now I am off," he said. "Give me the ticket and the money, and good-by to you."
"I will take you on the steamer," said Robert firmly.
Vernon grated his teeth, but had to agree, and both went on board, and down to the stateroom which had been selected. It was a room for two, but as yet Vernon occupied it alone.
"Now let me see that money and the ticket," snapped the young man. "I am not going off until I am sure that everything is right."
Sitting down on the edge of the lower berth, Robert brought out the articles in question, and passed them over. Vernon inspected the ticket closely and counted the money.
"There is twenty dollars missing," he declared.
"No, the money is all right," cried Robert.
"Well, count it out to me and see for yourself."
Anxious to prove that the amount was correct Robert began to count the bills one after another.
As he was doing this Frederic Vernon suddenly raised the umbrella he carried and brought down the heavy handle with crushing force on the boy's head.
The blow was as cruel as it was unexpected, and with a groan Robert fell forward on the stateroom floor.
Vernon bent over him, to find that he was totally unconscious, and liable to remain so for some time to come.
"That's the time I paid him off," muttered the rascal. "I'll teach him to meddle in my private affairs."
He gathered up the ticket and the money, and prepared to leave the stateroom. Then a sickly smile came over his face.
"Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb," he muttered, and going back he relieved Robert of his watch, his pocketbook, and the scarfpin Mrs. Vernon had given him.
"I reckon I'll be pretty well fixed for awhile," said the young rascal to himself. "And if the steamer carries him off to South Africa or Australia perhaps I'll be able to tell aunt a pretty good story and get back into her good graces."
Leaving the stateroom he locked the door, and as an extra precaution he stuffed the keyhole with a paper wad.
"Now he won't get out in a hurry, even if he does come around," he added, and hurried on deck and to the crowded dock. Soon he was lost to view amid the people and drays that were coming and going.
Half an hour after Frederic Vernon's departure a burly man of forty-five came on board the steamer and engaged the vacant berth in the stateroom Robert was occupying.
"I hope I have a good room-mate," observed Mr. Pelham, as he found his way below. "Frederic Vernon, eh? Well, that's a pretty good name."
He reached the stateroom, and finding the door locked, knocked upon it several times.
No answer came back, and Mr. Pelham was perplexed.
"Can the key be at the office?" he mused, and went off to see if such was the case.
Of course the article was not there, and a porter followed him to the room to let him in.
"The keyhole is stuffed," said the porter, after an examination. "Some of the children on board have been playing pranks again."
"Hark!" cried Mr. Pelham. "Am I mistaken, or did I hear a groan?"
He and the porter listened. The gentleman was not mistaken, for now a second groan sounded out, more loudly than the first.
"Your room-mate must be sick!" cried the porter. "Hi, there, sir, please open the door?" he called.
But Robert paid no attention, for he was not yet conscious. The porter dug away at the paper wad, and at last extricated it from the keyhole. Then he inserted the key and swung the door back.
Both men uttered exclamations of horror, for Robert lay across the lower berth unconscious, and with a small stream of blood running over his temple and cheek.
"Gracious! This looks like suicide!" ejaculated Mr. Pelham. "Run for the captain and a doctor, quick!"
The porter needed no second bidding, and made off with all speed. When he returned he found that Mr. Pelham had propped Robert up on a pillow and bound up the small wound on our hero's head with a handkerchief.
"Whe--where is he?" were Robert's first words.
"He? Who?" asked the men who surrounded him.
"Frederic Vernon, the man who struck me down."
"So you were struck down?" said the captain of the steamer.
"I--I was," gasped Robert. "Did he--he escape?"
The others looked around, but of course Vernon was nowhere to be seen.
"He must have escaped," said Mr. Pelham. "Frederic Vernon, you said. He was to be my room-mate."
A number of questions followed, and Robert told his tale, to which the others listened with close attention. Then a search was instituted for Frederic Vernon, but this was unsuccessful.
"He has left the ship," declared the captain. "It's not likely that he wanted to go to Australia."
It was not until some time later that Robert discovered the loss of his purse, watch, and the scarfpin, and then he was more angry than ever.
"Oh, if only I can lay hands on him," he thought. "I'll make him suffer for all his evil doings!"
A FRIEND IN NEED.
The steamer was now ready to sail, and Robert went ashore with a number of others who had come aboard to see their friends off.
Just as he left the gang-plank a belated passenger came rushing on the ship. It was the man who purchased Frederic Vernon's ticket at the cut-rate office.
It must be confessed that Robert was much downcast as he walked slowly away from the dock. Here he was in Liverpool without a shilling in his pocket, and the mission he had undertaken for Mrs. Vernon had proved a miserable failure.
"I was a chump not to watch Vernon more closely," he muttered to himself. "I might have known that he was just waiting to get the best of me."
Presently the idea struck him that Frederic Vernon might be watching the steamer to learn whether or not his victim would come ashore or set sail in the ship.
"I'll see if he is anywhere around," he thought, and set out on the hunt without delay.
The docks were piled high with merchandise of all sorts, and thus afforded numerous hiding places.
Robert made his way from one corner to another, until he reached a tall pile of lumber. On the top of this were seated half a dozen boys and a young man.
The latter individual was Frederic Vernon, who had returned to the dock to do just as our hero had suspected.
Vernon saw Robert at the same instant that the boy spotted him, and before our hero could reach the place he leaped from the lumber pile and started on a dead run for the street beyond the dock.
"Hi, stop!" cried Robert, giving chase. "Stop the thief!"
The boys and a number of others took up the cry, and in a few minutes fully a score of people were following Frederic Vernon.
Down one street and up another went the crowd, Vernon keeping fully a square ahead of them. Robert was nearest to him, and presently saw the rascal dart into an alleyway. When our hero reached the alleyway Vernon was out of sight.
Robert and the crowd searched the alleyway from end to end, but without success. Vernon had slipped all of his pursuers, and had hired a cab to take him to another part of the city.
The rascal remained in hiding at an obscure boarding house for nearly a week, and then took passage for Boston, satisfied that since Robert had not sailed for Australia, it would be worse than useless for him to appeal again to his aunt.
After the chase was over Robert found himself tired out and as hungry as a bear. Moreover his head, which the ship's doctor had patched up with court-plaster, hurt him not a little.
"Another failure," he muttered disconsolately. "Did ever a fellow have such a run of bad luck before!"
Had Vernon not been a close relative of the lady who employed him, Robert would have put the case in the hands of the Liverpool police, and got them to telegraph to Mrs. Vernon for him for aid. But this he knew would not suit the lady at all.
"I must find some means of getting back to Chishing without the aid of the police," he told himself. "Perhaps I'll run across somebody I know."
He scanned every face he met, but for several hours was unsuccessful. At last he met a farmer he had seen on the River Thames several times. Farmer Goodall had come to Liverpool to see his son off, who was bound for America. Father and son had just separated when our hero ran across the former.
"How do you do, Mr. Goodall," said Robert, extending his hand. "I trust you remember me."
"Indeed I do, Mr. Frost," answered the farmer, as he shook hands. "What brings you here? Are you going back home?"
"Not yet. I came on a little business for Mrs. Vernon. You know I am her private secretary."
"So they told me in the village, sir."
"I was just looking for somebody I might know," went on the youth. "I've got myself into trouble."
"Indeed, and how is that?"
"I've been robbed of my watch, my scarfpin and my money."
"Gracious me! is it possible, Mr. Frost? It must have been a bold thief that could do that."
"He caught me in an out-of-the-way spot and hit me over the head." Robert showed the plastered cut. "I just wish I could get hold of him."
"I've no doubt of that, sir. So he stole your pocketbook, eh? Then perhaps you are out of money."
"I am, and I was just looking for somebody who would advance me enough with which to get my dinner and a railway ticket to Chishing. Of course as soon as I get back Mrs. Vernon will, I am certain, make good the amount."
"Then in that case I'll advance what you need," answered Farmer Goodall. "But I am going back myself, and perhaps we can travel together, if you don't mind."
"Not at all."
"I generally travel second-class, but if you----"
"Second class will suit me well enough, Mr. Goodall. In America, you know, we have no classes at all, although in the South we have coaches for white folks, and coaches--we call them cars--for colored people."
"So I've heard. I suppose my son John will see many strange sights when he gets to New York. I've just been seeing him off."
"He will, for New York is somewhat different from any city you have over here. Is he going to remain in New York?"
"No, he's going to Chicago first, and then to what they call the West. I don't know much about it, but I hope the buffaloes and Indians don't kill him, that's all. Come on and have something to eat."
"I don't believe the buffaloes and Indians will trouble him," said Robert, as they moved toward an eating house. "There are very few buffaloes left, and none around the cities and towns, and as for the Indians they are quite peaceful now and live on the reservations the government has allotted them."
"It must be a great country. I wanted to go there when I was a young man, but my wife objected. She didn't want to take the long voyage over the ocean."
"That I presume was before we had the swift ocean steamers."
"Yes. Those that went over took the sailing vessels, and the trip lasted about a couple of months or so."
They entered a modest but respectable eating house, and here Farmer Goodall ordered a substantial dinner for two. He looked curiously at Robert when the youth turned down his glass.
"What, lad, won't have a bit of ale with your eating?" he queried.
"No, Mr. Goodall, thank you just the same. I never drink."
"Don't like to mix good ale with your eating?"
"I never drink at all."
The farmer dropped his knife and fork in sheer amazement.
"So you are temperance. Well, well! you Americans are queer folks, I must allow."
"All our folks are not temperance, I can assure you of that," laughed Robert. "Some of them drink far more than is good for them."
"I've been used to my ale from childhood; I couldn't get along without it," answered the farmer, and then fell to eating, and Robert did the same.
The dinner finished, the two walked around to the railway station, and learned that they could get a train for Chishing in an hour and a half.
"I guess I had better spend the time in looking around for that thief," said Robert.
"Shall I go along?"
"If you wish to do so, Mr. Goodall."
"Yes, since I haven't anything else to occupy the wait with," answered the farmer.
But the hunt amounted to nothing, and ten minutes before train time the two reached the station again.
Promptly on time the train rolled in, and Robert and his friend entered one of the second-class coaches.
Luckily they were the only passengers, so to the boy it was quite like riding in a special car.
Had he had the money he would have purchased some books and newspapers with which to while away the time, but he did not care to make any further calls upon the farmer's generosity, so contented himself with gazing at the scenery along the road and in talking with his companion.
It was long after nightfall when they reached Chishing.
"You can settle up with me to-morrow," said Farmer Goodall. "I want to get home now and tell Dora how John got away," and so they separated.
It must be admitted that Robert's heart was heavy when he walked to the Cabe boarding house.
"I've made a bad mess of it," he told himself. "Perhaps Mrs. Vernon will not like it at all. Who knows but what she may discharge me for what has happened."
IN CHICAGO ONCE MORE.
Mrs. Vernon was sitting up waiting for Robert's return. She at once saw by his face that something was wrong.
"How did you get hurt?" she cried, as she noticed the court-plaster on his forehead.
"It's a long story, Mrs. Vernon," he answered, as he dropped into a chair. "I'm afraid you will be very angry when I tell you all."
"Why, Robert, what has happened?"
"I allowed your nephew to slip through my fingers."
"And that bruise on your head?"
"He did that. He knocked me senseless and robbed me of my watch, my pocketbook, and also that diamond scarfpin you gave me."
"And he has robbed me too," added the lady. "Robert, I am very sorry for you!" And she caught his hand.
"Robbed you!" he ejaculated. "You mean that check?"
"No, more than that. He took some of my jewelry the last time he visited me."
Again Robert had to tell his tale, and this time he related all of the details, for he felt that it would not do to hold back anything from the lady. She listened with her face growing whiter every instant.
"He is a terrible villain, Robert," she gasped at last. "So he did not sail for Australia, after all."
"No. I think he must be still hiding in Liverpool."
"Were it not for the scandal I would place a detective on his track. The attack on you was a most cowardly one."
"I don't believe he will worry either of us again very soon," said the boy. "He is too much afraid of arrest."
"He knows I am very indulgent," she sighed.
"Yes, but he knows he now has me to deal with as well as yourself, and he won't expect to find me so tender-hearted."
"That is true."
"If he shows his nose again I will make him give up what he stole and then threaten him with immediate arrest if he comes near us a second time," went on our hero warmly.
They figured up between them that Frederic Vernon, after disposing of the stolen things, would have about three thousand dollars in his possession.
"That will probably keep him for twelve months, since he used to expend that amount yearly," said Mrs. Vernon. "Oh, I sincerely trust I never see or hear of him again."
She promised to make good Robert's loss.
"I will buy you another scarfpin when we go back to London," she said, "and also another timepiece."
"The watch came from my father," answered Robert. "I would like to get it back if I could."
"We will notify the Liverpool police to search for it in the pawnshops."
On the next day Mr. Goodall received a call from Robert, who paid the farmer the money coming to him, and gave him a gift in addition.
"I shall not forget your kindness, Mr. Goodall," he said. "I trust some day I shall be able to do as much for you."
"Perhaps some day you'll meet my son John in America," replied the farmer. "If so, and you can give him a lift, that will please me more than anything else."
"I'll remember, if we ever do meet," said Robert.
The Liverpool police were notified, and inside of thirty-six hours the watch was recovered from a pawnbroker who had loaned two pounds on it. But the jewelry could not be traced.
Ten days passed, and then Mrs. Vernon received several additional letters from Chicago urging her to return home. Robert also received a very interesting letter from Livingston Palmer, but no communication from his mother, which disappointed him not a little.
"I would like to know how she and Mr. Talbot are getting along," he thought. "I hope he isn't making her any fresh troubles." He did not know that his mother had written, telling of her hard lot, and that Mr. Talbot had intercepted the communication and burnt it up.
"I think we had better sail for New York next Saturday, Robert," said Mrs. Vernon. "I do not wish to lose anything by not being in Chicago if my presence is required there."
"I am more than willing," he answered promptly.
"You do not like England then?"
"Oh, I can't say that. But I like the United States better."
"So do I, and that is natural, for both of us were born and brought up there."
Friday night found them in Liverpool, and here they engaged passage on one of the fastest transatlantic vessels running to New York. By Saturday afternoon they were well out on the ocean.
On the whole, the trip to England had done both Mrs. Vernon and Robert a good deal of good. Robert's face was round and ruddy, and he looked what he was fast becoming, a young man.
"They won't be able to call you a boy much longer," said Mrs. Vernon, during the trip. "I suppose you will soon be sporting a mustache." And she laughed.
"I guess I can wait a while for that," answered Robert. "But I won't mind if people think you have a young man for a secretary, instead of a boy. Some folks don't like to trust their business with a boy."
"I am perfectly willing to trust you, Robert."
"A man might have been smarter in Liverpool than I was."
"I don't think so. You were taken off your guard, and that might happen to anyone."
The voyage passed without special incident outside of a severe storm which was encountered on the third day out. During this storm all of the passengers had to remain below, and meals were served only under great difficulties.
"This is not so pleasant," observed Robert. "But I suppose we have got to take the bitter with the sweet."
"I shall be thankful if we don't go to the bottom," said Mrs. Vernon, with a shudder.
The storm lasted for twelve hours, and then departed as speedily as it had come, and the balance of the trip proved ideal, for at night there was a full moon, making the ocean look like one vast sheet of silver.
It was about four o'clock of an afternoon when they came in sight of New York harbor. From a distance they made out the statue of Liberty.
"Home again!" cried Robert. "I tell you there is nothing so good as the United States."
"Right you are, young man," replied a gentleman standing near. "I have traveled in many foreign countries, but give me the States every time."
They anchored at Quarantine over night, and landed at the pier ten o'clock the next morning. One day was spent in New York, and then they took the train for Chicago.
It made Robert's heart swell with delight to tread the familiar streets of Chicago once more. It seemed to him that he had been away a long time.
Mrs. Vernon had sent word ahead that she was coming, and at the depot a coach awaited her to take the lady and Robert to the handsome mansion of Prairie Avenue. Here Martha, the maid, met them at the door, her good-natured face wreathed in smiles.
"Welcome home again, Mrs. Vernon!" she cried joyfully. "And glad to see you, Master Robert."
"I am glad to be back," answered Mrs. Vernon.
Robert was soon back in his old room, and the expressman brought in the trunks. By night the youth was as much settled as he had ever been, and the same can be said of the lady who had made him her private secretary.
Mrs. Vernon's first move in the morning was to settle domestic affairs. Two days later Mr. Farley called upon her, and her next move was to attend a meeting of the stockholders of one of the companies in which she was interested.
"If you wish you can take a run home, Robert," she said, before going away.
"I thought, if you did not mind, I would go home over next Sunday," he replied.
"Then you can do that. But I shall not need you to-day."
"Then I'll take a walk downtown and see how matters look."
Before going out Robert wrote a long letter to his mother, telling of his adventures in England, and stating when he was coming home.
As he had done with the other letters, he marked this for Personal Delivery only, and sent it in care of the postmaster at Granville, that his step-father might not get hold of it.
His first call was at Mr. Gray's office, where he found Livingston Palmer behind the desk as usual.
"Right glad to see you, Robert," cried the clerk. "And I must thank you for that gift of yours."
"I trust you had a good time on your money, Livingston."
"Well, I didn't spend it foolishly, I can tell you that. I have learned a lesson, Robert. I am saving my spare money, and I am putting in most of my nights in learning stenography and typewriting. I have an offer of twenty-five dollars per week if I learn stenography thoroughly, and I am pegging away at it for all I am worth."
"I am glad to hear it," answered Robert heartily. "I have taken up stenography myself," and such was a fact.
The conversation lasted for quarter of an hour, and then our hero mentioned Dick Marden.
"Why, he is in town and at the Palmer House," said Livingston Palmer. "I saw him yesterday afternoon. You had better call on him. I know he will be glad to see you."
"I certainly will call on him, and at once," said Robert, and moved off without further delay.
DICK MARDEN'S GOOD NEWS.
On entering the Palmer House Robert was very much surprised to run across Dr. Remington.
At first glance he did not recognize the physician, for the latter's face was much bloated, showing that he had been drinking heavily, and his general appearance was seedy to the last degree.
"Why, hullo!" cried Dr. Remington, on seeing our hero. "When did you get back to Chicago?"
"I got back yesterday," replied Robert coldly. He was about to pass on when the doctor detained him.
"Got back yesterday, eh? Did you have a nice trip?"
"Yes."
"Glad to hear it, Frost. And how is Mrs. Vernon?"
"Very well."
"Good enough. I suppose an ocean trip was just what she wanted."
"It was," said Robert. He was struck with a sudden idea that perhaps Remington knew something of Frederic Vernon's whereabouts. "How have you been?"
"Oh, so so. You see, I've been troubled a good deal lately with the grippe."
"A doctor ought to be able to cure himself of that."
"So one would think, but it's pretty hard for a doctor to cure himself, even though he can cure others."
"How is your old friend Frederic Vernon these days?" went on our hero, in an apparently careless tone.
At this question Remington's face fell and took on a sour look.
"Vernon played me a mean trick," he muttered.
"How so?"
"Why, I--er--I loaned him some money, and he went off without paying me back."
"And you haven't seen anything of him since?"
"No. Do you know where he is?"
"I do not."
"Didn't he follow you to Europe?"
"He did. But he wasn't there long before he cleared out," added Robert.
By the manner in which Remington spoke he felt that the doctor had told the truth about Frederic Vernon, and if this was so it was likely that Vernon had not returned to Chicago.
"I'll wager he worried his aunt a good bit while he was there," went on Remington, closing one eye suggestively.
"He did. But I must go on, because I do not wish to miss meeting a friend of mine."
Robert tried to proceed, but again the seedy doctor detained him.
"Hold on a bit, Frost. I--er--that is, how are you fixed?"
"What do you mean?"
"Can you lend me ten dollars for a few days? I'm out trying to collect some bills from my patients, but all of them seem to be out of town."
This statement was a falsehood, for Remington had neither an office nor a practice left, and the few people that he did treat now and then had to pay him his small fee in spot cash.
"You will have to excuse me, Dr. Remington," said Robert. He saw no reason for accommodating the man who had caused his best friend so much trouble.
"Won't you lend me the money?" demanded the doctor half angrily.
"I will not."
"Don't get on a high-horse about it, Frost. Anybody is liable to get into a hole now and then."
"I am not getting on a high-horse. I don't care to lend you ten dollars, that's all."
"Then make it five. I'll pay you back to-morrow evening, sure."
"Dr. Remington, I shall not lend you five cents. I understand you, and I have no use for you. Now let me pass."
"You--you monkey!" hissed the irate doctor, and raised the cane he carried as if to strike Robert on the head. But the steady gaze out of our hero's eyes disconcerted him, and lowering the stick he passed on, and was soon swallowed up in the crowd on the street.
Robert found Dick Marden's room without trouble, and came upon the miner just as the latter was preparing to go away for the day.
"Robert, my boy!" cried Dick Marden, as he shook our hero's hand warmly. "I was just wondering if you were in Chicago or in England. You look well. How has it been with you?"
"All right, on the whole," answered the boy. "But I've had some strange adventures since I parted with you."
"Tell me about them."
The two sat down and Dick Marden listened with deep interest to all Robert had to relate.
"That Frederic Vernon is a bad one--a regular snake in the grass," he declared. "You want to beware of him."
"I intend to keep my eyes open."
"And you want to watch that Remington, too. Now Mrs. Vernon is back to Chicago the pair may try to do her further injury."
"But Remington says he doesn't know where Vernon is."
"Never mind, rogues always manage to get together again, no matter how they become separated, and they soon patch up their differences if there is any booty in sight. Do you know what I think that lady ought to do?"
"What?"
"Employ a detective as a sort of bodyguard. Then if that nephew and the doctor try any underhanded work the detective can catch them red-handed."
"I will suggest that to Mrs. Vernon."
"I suppose you would like to know how matters are going on at Timberville, Michigan."
"I would."
"Well, the news is first-rate. In the first place my uncle, Felix Amberton, is as well as ever again."
"I am very glad to hear that."
"In the second place his lawyers have made it so warm for those Canadians and Englishmen that were trying to defraud my uncle out of his timber lands, that the foreigners have given up the contest."
"They have left Mr. Amberton in sole possession of the lands?"
"Exactly. That map you procured from old Herman Wenrich did the business."
"In that case I don't think Mr. Wenrich ought to be forgotten by your uncle."
"My uncle has sent Herman Wenrich his check for one thousand dollars."
"That's nice. I am certain it will help Mr. Wenrich and his daughter Nettie a good deal, for they are not very well off."
"My uncle also thinks that you ought to be rewarded for your trouble," continued the miner. "He told me that as soon as you returned to America he was going to place a thousand dollars in the bank to your credit."
"A thousand dollars!" ejaculated Robert. "What for?"
"For what you did for him."
"I didn't do so much."
"He thinks you did, and so do I. You had lots of trouble in getting that map, and lots of trouble in delivering it after you got it."
"But a thousand dollars!"
"My uncle can easily afford it, for the timber lands are worth fifty times that amount."
"I am getting rich," mused Robert. "Do you know how much Mrs. Vernon has given me?"
"I haven't the least idea."
"When we were in England she placed two thousand dollars in the bank to my credit. The money will be transferred to a Chicago bank in a few days."
"That will make three thousand dollars. You are doing well, Robert, but you deserve it. You have had no easy time of it, to defend Mrs. Vernon against that unscrupulous nephew of hers."
"I hardly think he will dare bother me again. He knows that I can have him locked up for the assault on me."
"What do you intend to do with your money?"
"I am going to let it rest in the bank for the present, until I see some good investment. I am adding a little to it every month from my salary."
"I am glad to see you haven't turned spendthrift, Robert," said Marden warmly. "Many a young fellow would have his head turned by so much good fortune."
"Well, I'll try to keep my head--and my money, too," rejoined the youth, with a laugh.
A pleasant talk lasting quarter of an hour followed, and then Marden said he would have to go.
"But you must call on me again, Robert," he said, as they parted. "Remember, I consider you very largely my boy still."
"And you must call on me," added our hero warmly. "I am sure Mrs. Vernon will be pleased to have you do so."
"I am going up to Timberville in a day or two, and I'll tell my uncle you are back. You will probably get a letter from him by the beginning of next week," concluded the miner.