“Whose orders?”
“My employer’s, Mr. Brewster’s,” and Gerald proceeded to give him a brief account of the facts of the case, though he said nothing about the secret vault.
“That sounds all straight and right,” said the policeman, as he gravely turned to Mr. Hubbard.
“Yes; he tells a very plausible story,” was the sneering response, “but it is perfectly absurd, when you come to think of it, that Mr. Brewster should intrust such a commission to a mere boy, when I have been his attorney, and have conducted his affairs for years; and on Sunday, with so much secrecy, too! That was not Adam Brewster’s way of doing business; it is far more likely that he would have sent for what he wanted, openly and aboveboard, and on some day during regular banking hours. No, sir; he can’t pull the wool over my eyes; and as I feel bound to protect the interests of my late client, I shall expect you to do your duty, and take the fellow in charge,” he concluded authoritatively.
“Well, I suppose I must,” the man responded, with evident reluctance, adding, as he drew from a capacious pocket a pair of steel bracelets, “hold out your hands, my young man.”
Gerald shrank back a step.
“Oh! not that!” he said, with pale lips; “I beg you will not handcuff me. I will go with you peaceably.”
“Well, maybe you would. I’m inclined to believe you; but it’s my rule to make sure of my birds, and I don’t make any exceptions,” said the man, as he dexterously slipped the shackles upon the wrists of his prisoner; but with an air that betrayed he did not very much relish the business in hand.
“The keys, Mr. Officer; I must have the keys,” John Hubbard interposed, as they were about to leave the vault.
“Where are they, youngster?” demanded the man. “Hand them over.”
“They are in the left pocket of my coat,” said Gerald, with difficulty repressing a groan over his ignominious and utter failure to execute his employer’s commission.
He was impressed that the larger box contained some secret which Mr. Brewster would not, on any account, have made known to the world, and he could not bear the thought that John Hubbard would now learn it, and perhaps put it to an ignoble use.
The expert plunged his hand into the pocket designated, and drew forth the keys, after which he stooped to secure the boxes, and left the vault, followed by the officer and his prisoner.
“Now you may go and cage your bird,” he remarked to the former. “I will let you out of the bank, but I have some business here, and shall remain a while longer.”
He unlocked the outer door, and the two men passed out into the storm. John Hubbard stood looking after them for a few moments, a fiendish expression on his thin face.
“Gad! what luck!” he muttered. “If ever I made a shrewd move, it was in coming here this morning to get those papers.”
He returned to the vault, which he securely locked, also the gate to the iron inclosure.
Then, taking the two boxes, he went inside the banker’s private office, and deposited them upon the table there.
“Humph!” he observed, as he fastened a keen, curious glance upon the larger, “there is no key to that, but I’m going to know what it contains, all the same.”
Whereupon he sat down, drew it to him, and deliberately began to pick the lock.
After Gerald left Mr. Brewster, on Saturday afternoon, the banker—Allison also having retired—sat for a long time in deep thought, an anxious look on his thin face, a stern expression in his shrewd, gray eyes.
“It certainly looks bad,” he muttered; “somebody has evidently been meddling with my private accounts; but Gerald is not the rogue—he is true to the core. I never knew any one possessing a finer sense of honor. If I thought that Hubbard was up to any rascality—and I am sometimes inclined to think he is too sharp—I’d cut him loose without ceremony; and yet”—with a scowl of annoyance—“that might not be so easily done, for some of our transactions have become strangely mixed. Somehow, I have never had quite so much confidence in him since that day when he proposed for Allison. I—I really would like to break away from him before she gets through school next summer, for, of course, she will never want to marry him, and I am very sure I do not want him for a son-in-law.”
Again he dropped into profound thought, which was finally interrupted by the entrance of his attendant, with the light repast which constituted his supper.
A little later, Allison came again, to read the evening paper to him, after which they chatted socially fora while, when the banker said he felt weary, and would retire.
His attendant was assisting him to prepare for bed when he suddenly put his hand to his head and made an exclamation as if he were in pain.
“It is nothing,” he said, as the nurse glanced at him in surprise, “merely a neuralgic twinge in my head; but—what is this?” he added thickly, and beginning to rub his face, which was twitching and had a strangely drawn look.
The next moment he fell forward upon the bed, unconscious.
A physician was summoned, and everything done that medical skill could suggest; but the man never rallied; he remained in a stupor throughout the night, until an early hour of the morning, when he sank away like the sudden going out of a candle.
Knowing that John Hubbard was her father’s attorney, and otherwise connected with him in business, and having no relatives upon whom to call in this emergency, Allison had sent for the lawyer, when it was found that the banker could not live, and he had remained at the house until the end.
He assumed the care of everything, made all arrangements for the burial, subject, of course, to Allison’s wishes and preferences, and when these duties were over, he repaired immediately to the bank, as there were certain papers which he wished to secure, and certain accounts to be balanced, before Mr. Brewster’s death should become known to the employees of the institution.
It required some time for Hubbard to pick the lock of the box, for it was strangely constructed, and, not having been disturbed for many years, the lock was considerably rusted.
But patience and perseverance at length accomplished his purpose, when, throwing open the cover,an exclamation of disappointment and disgust escaped him when he found within only a few neatly folded articles of infant’s clothing.
Upon the garment uppermost there was a small pin, in the form of a key, with a tiny diamond in the thumb-piece, which attracted his interest for a moment.
“Pshaw!” the man impatiently ejaculated. “I might have saved my time and trouble; this trumpery doesn’t amount to anything. The things are doubtless some of Allison’s baby-clothes, which her mother wished to preserve for her. Bah!”
He was upon the point of closing the box, when a second thought prompted him to turn it upside down, whereupon, as the clothing slipped out, two sealed envelopes rattled out upon the table.
“Aha! this begins to be more interesting!” exclaimed the man eagerly, a curious look leaping into his shrewd eyes. He tore open the envelopes, one of which contained quite a bulky enclosure; the other but a single half-sheet of paper, with some careless writing on one side.
This latter John Hubbard read first, and a look of astonishment overspread his face while doing so.
“Well! well! here is romance worth reading!” he muttered, in a wondering tone, as he dropped the paperand took up the closely written sheets of the other missive and began to puruse them.
He seemed turned to stone as he read.
“My Dear Husband,” the communication began, “I have a confession to make to you, and I am wondering if you will ever forgive me when you learn the nature of it. I am dying, or I fear that I should not have the courage to make it even now; but I dare not go out of the world weighed down with this, the only secret I have ever kept from you, and with a living lie upon my conscience. It is an awful secret, Adam, and you will be shocked to your soul when you read it. Allison is not our own child, my husband; I do not even know whose child she is. There the truth is out at last, and, oh! my dear, my dear, I am trying to imagine how you will receive this dreadful revelation. Why did I deceive you so? How does it happen that our darling is not our very own? you will ask. Ah! it is a long, sad story, but you shall have every detail, and then judge me as you will. You remember that when you sailed for Europe, before our own little one came, I went to F—— to remain with my sister Nannie. Adam, that little one died at its birth; but no one knew it save Nannie, Sarah—her servant—and I. I had no physician, for baby came unexpectedly in the midst of a terrible tempest, and Nannie took care of me; but, oh! I was heartbroken when my darling died, and I grieved so knowing how terribly you also would be disappointed, my sister feared that you would lose me also. And now I will tell you how strangely Allison was sent to take the place of the child we lost. How dreadful it seems that hearts who so yearn for these darlings are ruthlessly deprived of them, while other children are remorselessly deserted, and left to the doubtful charity of a cold world.”
“My Dear Husband,” the communication began, “I have a confession to make to you, and I am wondering if you will ever forgive me when you learn the nature of it. I am dying, or I fear that I should not have the courage to make it even now; but I dare not go out of the world weighed down with this, the only secret I have ever kept from you, and with a living lie upon my conscience. It is an awful secret, Adam, and you will be shocked to your soul when you read it. Allison is not our own child, my husband; I do not even know whose child she is. There the truth is out at last, and, oh! my dear, my dear, I am trying to imagine how you will receive this dreadful revelation. Why did I deceive you so? How does it happen that our darling is not our very own? you will ask. Ah! it is a long, sad story, but you shall have every detail, and then judge me as you will. You remember that when you sailed for Europe, before our own little one came, I went to F—— to remain with my sister Nannie. Adam, that little one died at its birth; but no one knew it save Nannie, Sarah—her servant—and I. I had no physician, for baby came unexpectedly in the midst of a terrible tempest, and Nannie took care of me; but, oh! I was heartbroken when my darling died, and I grieved so knowing how terribly you also would be disappointed, my sister feared that you would lose me also. And now I will tell you how strangely Allison was sent to take the place of the child we lost. How dreadful it seems that hearts who so yearn for these darlings are ruthlessly deprived of them, while other children are remorselessly deserted, and left to the doubtful charity of a cold world.”
Then there followed a full account of the incidents which have already been related in the prologue to our story, and which it would be wearisome to the reader to have repeated here.
Nothing was withheld, neither was the deception defended; a concise, simple statement of facts was made; but when the story was all told the fond, yet timid, wife and mother poured out a wealth of love for the child of her adoption, and pleaded with a pathetic earnestness that would melt the coldest heart that her sin might not be visited upon the innocent little daughter whom they both so dearly loved, but that her husband, even though he had been secretly wronged and deceived, would still continueto tenderly cherish her and never allow her to know the story of her desertion, or that she was not their own flesh and blood.
“Humph! My wealthy and aristocratic banker, you were smart in certain directions, but you were inclined to neglect the burning of your bridges behind you,” sneered Hubbard, as he finished reading. “Doubtless that was what he meant to do, and that was why he sent Winchester here to get the things to-day? Gad! but it is a queer complication of circumstances—his dying so suddenly just at this time, these papers falling into my hands, and the sweeping of that young upstart from my path—that has conspired to throw the power for which I have been scheming for so many years directly into my hands in a way I least expected.”
He sat for a long time absorbed in thought, his sinister face changing in expression with the working ofhis mind, and plainly betraying that he was plotting some deep and villainous scheme.
“If she can be persuaded to marry me as soon as she finishes her education everything can be quietly settled just to my liking; and then, John Hubbard, you may play the high-toned gentleman to your heart’s content for the remainder of your life. But if she should be obstinate and refuse me——”
An ugly scowl contracted his brow as he abruptly paused at this point, while his eyes fastened themselves with an ugly glitter in their depths upon the box whose sacred secrets he had just fathomed. Then once more he fell into a fit of musing, which lasted a long while.
Finally he arose, and, making his way again to the vault—which he reopened with Mr. Brewster’s key—he sought the banker’s private drawer, removing it, and taking it, with its contents, back to the office, when he reseated himself and began to examine the papers within it.
He finally found what he was in search of—a legal document, which he drew from its envelope, unfolded, and began to study attentively. After he had read it through he went back to the first page, which he deliberately detached from the others; then, procuring another sheet of paper exactly like it, he proceeded to copy it, with a fountain-pen, which he always carried with him in a hand which showed that the entire document had been written by him, but making certain changes in the phraseology to suit himself.
“There!” he observed, with an air of satisfaction ashe finished his work; “that will fix things just as I want them—for the present.”
He then refolded the paper, inclosed it in a fresh envelope, sealed it with red wax, and wrote across the top of it in a bold, clear hand, “Last will and testament of Adam Brewster.”
This he replaced in the drawer, which he carried back to its place in the vault; then, making everything secure inside the bank, he left the building, taking with him the two boxes which he had previously wrapped in strong brown paper.
Three days later all that was mortal of Adam Brewster was laid away in the family vault in Greenwood Cemetery.
In the foremost carriage of the many which followed him to his last resting-place sat Allison, the once petted and idolized daughter, but now a lonely orphan, clad in deepest mourning, her fair face pale and tear-stained from heart-breaking grief and much weeping.
The faithful housekeeper, Mrs. Polard, who had been in the family for years, occupied the seat beside her, and John Hubbard the one opposite. He seemed in deep thought, and he scarcely took his eyes from the bereaved girl during the melancholy drive.
Immediately upon the return from this last tribute of respect to the late banker a few persons gathered in the elegant library, which would henceforth know his presence no more, to listen to the reading of his last will and testament.
Mr. Hubbard broke the seals in the presence of thegentleman’s pastor, two of the older officers of the bank, Allison and Mrs. Pollard.
The document was rather brief, considering the magnitude of the testator’s fortune, and to the point, and was dated some eight years previous.
It bequeathed all that he might die possessed of to his only and beloved child, Allison Porter Brewster, excepting certain bequests. “And I hereby appoint John L. Hubbard, my trusted attorney, to be her sole guardian—if he be living at the time of my demise—until she shall attain her twenty-fifth year, when she shall come into the unrestricted possession of her whole fortune,” read the will.
Allison listened attentively to the reading of the will, although she had flushed hotly upon learning that she was to be under the guardianship of John Hubbard during the next six or seven years.
She had never liked her father’s attorney, although he had always treated her with the utmost kindness and respect. But she knew that her father had long trusted him in business, and therefore, she tried to think that he must have considered him the most competent and trustworthy person to manage her property, or he would not have given him so much power.
Still, she would have preferred almost any one else; she felt that he might, at least, have consulted her, since she had grown old enough to think for herself, and not condemned her to such a long and wearisome bondage to one who was so uncongenial to her in every way.
Of course, she did not once dream that her father’s will had been tampered with since his death.
After the reading of the will, those who had been invited to be present during that formality took their leave, and Allison found herself alone with the man to whom, for the next six or seven years, she was to look for the management of her affairs.
He now remained with her for a half-hour or more, consulting her wishes with a gentle deference which disarmed her, and made her feel that perhaps, after all, he might be a very agreeable sort of person to have for a guardian.
He came again the next day and every day throughout the week—always upon some business which he contrived to make so interesting that Allison really began to look forward to his coming and to greet him with a growing cordiality and frankness that made the man’s heart burn with eager hope and the belief that he was destined to win the great stakes which for years he had been playing.
One morning, after an unusually entertaining call he arose to leave, remarking, in a laughing way:
“Well, Allison, I begin to think you would make quite a business woman with the right coaching; you have beenquite an apt pupil during the last few days.”
She glanced up at him with a smile, and then a sob burst involuntarily from her.
The man started, and bent a tender look upon her.
“Dear child, what is it?” he questioned, earnestly.
“Oh, I am so alone!” she moaned, tears raining over her face.“This great house seems so desolate, so empty! I feel as if I could not live here another day,” she concluded, glancing around the spacious, elegant room, and shivering nervously.
“I know you must be lonely, dear,” he said, trembling himself, as he leaned eagerly toward her, “and it pains me deeply to see you so sorrowful. I would that I might shield you from every pang, from every ill in life. Allison, may I?”
His voice was husky from mingled emotion and tenderness; he was very pale from the intensity of passion that throbbed in every pulse of his being; and Allison, looking up at him with a sudden shock, read in his burning eyes the story that he was yearning to tell her.
A hot flush instantly suffused her own face; then she shrank from him with a gesture of unmistakable repugnance.
But he had no intention of losing the vantage-ground that he had gained, and, bending still nearer her, he captured one of her hands.
“I perceive that you have fathomed my secret, my darling,” he said, in a tremulous tone. “Yes, I love you, sweet. I have loved you ever since you were a little girl, and have lived for years with the one hope in view of some day winning your love in return. Now let me become your guardian in more senses than one, Allison. Become my wife and give me the right to smooth every rough place in life for you; let me shield you from every rude wind and storm——”
“Oh, don’t! don’t!” suddenly interposed the girl, and snatching her hand from his grasp.“Oh, why do you say such things to me? You have no right to take advantage of my sorrow and loneliness. I will not listen to you!”
“Hush, my child!” said her companion gently, but growing very white about the mouth. “My declaration may seem somewhat premature, but I have waited many years for the time to come when I might tell you that all the hopes of my life were centered in you. I can wait still longer, Allison—I can even be as patient as Jacob of old if you will give me a crumb of comfort—if you will tell me that I may hope to win you at last——”
“No! no!I never could marry you,” Alison cried wildly, and with such significant emphasis there was no mistaking her attitude toward her would-be lover, and which stung him like a lash.
“Very well; we will drop the subject for the present,” John Hubbard remarked, with compressed lips, and making a visible effort for self-control, “but I want you to think over what I have said, and be prepared to give me a different answer later on.”
Allison started, and something in his tone stirred her anger and instantly restored all her self-possession.
“No,” she said decidedly, as she lifted her beautiful eyes, and steadily met his, “I do not need to think it over, and I could not give you any different answer later on. I know now that I do not love you well enough to marry you, and never shall; so, Mr. Hubbard, please never speak of this again to me.”
Her manner was so resolute, her tone so calmly authoritative he knew that she meant every word she uttered, and a terrible though silent rage took possession of him.
But he had far too much at stake to betray it, and thus incur her enmity. He meant to move heaven and earth to win her and her magnificent fortune. He meant to have both, if he could; but if she proved obstinate, and would not marry him, he had other plans—he would ruthlessly crush her, and so eventually win her money. Still, a young and pretty wife was worthtemporizing for; and so, with a forced smile, he said:
“My child, I love you far too well to bring even a cloud to your dear face, so we will drop the subject for the present, and some time, perhaps, you will realize the value of a true and faithful heart.”
When he went away, Alison, with a troubled face, watched him from a window, as he passed down the street.
“Ugh!” she cried, shrugging her shoulders impatiently. “I could never marry him—never! Why, he is years and years older than I! Then he has such horrid eyes, and, when he smiles, his teeth look just like those of an ugly dog through that mustache of his, and make my flesh creep. I don’t believe that any man so repulsive can be really good, and I wonder how papa could have trusted him as he seemed to. I suppose, though, he must be a good business man; but marry him! I’d rather go into a convent and live out the rest of my life as a nun,” she concluded, with a shiver of disgust.
Then, suddenly, her thoughts reverted to Gerald, and a little color came back to her pale cheeks.
“I wonder where he can be,” she mused. “I think it is so strange that he has not been here—that he did not come to papa’s funeral, and has not even sent me a note to tell me that he is sorry for my trouble—he might, at least, have done as much as that.”
Her lips quivered, and hot tears rushed to her eyes, in view of this seeming neglect.
Many times during those days of loneliness and sorrow she had thought that if she could see Gerald, ifonly for a few minutes, his presence would be an inexpressible comfort to her; but she had told herself that it was his duty to either come to her, or send her a note of condolence, and she had been too proud to write and ask him to come.
But now, after her disagreeable interview with her guardian, the longing for him became so intense that, after struggling for a few moments with her emotions, she bowed her face upon her hands, and burst into violent weeping.
But poor Gerald was still a prisoner, awaiting his trial, which, for some inexplicable reason, had been deferred, from day to day, until he was now very impatient and miserable.
On Monday, after his arrest, he had sent a note to Professor Emerson, who, after listening to the young man’s story, looked grave and perplexed. The case seemed difficult,and he at once procured a lawyer, Mr. Arnold, for the prisoner. The latter at Gerald’s request, went to his room to procure the note that Mr. Brewster had written to him, but it was nowhere to be found.
The landlady was interviewed to ascertain, if possible, if any one outside the house had been in his room during his absence; but both she and the chambermaid asserted that there had not.
It was, nevertheless, a fact that John Hubbard had himself been there. As it happened, he knew another lodger in the same house, and on Monday evening following Gerald’s arrest, he called upon him, making a plausible errand of some kind. In this way he learnedthat Gerald’s room was located upon the same floor, and upon taking his leave, he shyly slipped into our hero’s apartment, and in less than two minutes reappeared with Mr. Brewster’s note in his possession, thus depriving his victim of an important piece of evidence.
Gerald, in laying his case before his lawyer, did not mention Allison, or the fact that she had been present in the room during any portion of his interview with her father.
He really believed that she had not entered in season to overhear anything that had been said about the “doctored” accounts, and even if he had known that such was the case, it is doubtful if he could have brought himself to call upon her as a witness for him. The thought of dragging her into a criminal court, to have her name bandied about by newspaper reporters, was very repugnant to him. Besides, she had not shown the slightest interest in him, or sympathy for him in his trouble. He reasoned that she could not fail to know of it, since it had been widely chronicled in the papers, and her apparent indifference cut him to the quick, wounding his pride as well as his love, and thus a certain obstinacy took possession of him, and made him secretly vow that he would not appeal to her, even if he knew that her evidence would save him from serving a sentence in State prison.
The real facts of the case were, that during the first few days after her father’s death, Allison had been so prostrated with grief that it had been comparatively easy for John Hubbard to keep all newspapers from her, which he had taken special pains to do, as he did notcare to have her know anything of Gerald’s trouble until it was too late for her to interest herself for him. He believed that he had played his cards so cleverly that his conviction was inevitable, and, once behind prison-bars, he believed the fair girl would never give him another thought.
The case was finally called on the Tuesday following Mr. Brewster’s burial. John Hubbard appeared against Gerald armed and equipped with the falsified books, the casket of jewels, and the other box, which had been carefully relocked, for the wily plotter had no intention of having its secrets disclosed at present—those he was reserving for later schemes in connection with Allison.
The evidence for the prosecution was presented, with all the eloquence and cunning of which the expert was master, and to every listener in the room the fate of Gerald appeared settled before he concluded.
There were very few witnesses for the prisoner. The servant who had admitted him to the Brewster mansion on the Saturday previous to his master’s death, swore to the fact, thus proving that he had been there, and Professor Emerson,on taking the stand, spoke eloquently and in the highest terms of his pupil, and emphatically asserted that he believed him to be above doing a mean or dishonest act. But, of course, all this proved nothing.
Gerald was then allowed to go upon the stand, and tell his own story, and the moment that he turned his frank, handsome face to the audience, when he met those critical, searching glances with his clear, honesteyes, and manly bearing, it was evident that he made a favorable impression upon every person in the room—excepting his sworn enemy. When he finally concluded, Hubbard demanded the production of the note from Mr. Brewster relating to “a special commission.”
“It cannot be found,” Mr. Arnold gravely responded. “Mr. Winchester left it in a pocket of his business-suit on Sunday, when he went to the bank to execute his employer’s commission. He has not been in his room since; but when I was authorized to go to his room to secure this note, it had mysteriously disappeared. Nevertheless, the fact that he went to Mr. Brewster’s residence on the date stated, and was admitted to the man’s presence, proves conclusively that he was sent for.”
“Not at all,” retorted the prosecuting-attorney, “any one might have called at the banker’s residence, requested an audience, and been admitted to his presence without a previous appointment. We are not asking opinions, your honor, we want evidence. You assert,” he added, turning to Gerald, “that Mr. Brewster gave you the keys to the bank and his private drawer in the vault. Will you state where he took them from before handing them to you?”
“From a drawer in the table beside him.”
“Exactly. Where any one could easily have secured them in the event of Mr. Brewster’s back being turned for a moment,” retorted the expert laconically. “Now, with reference to these falsified accounts,” said Hubbard, touching the books before him, his white teeth gleaming viciously for a moment beneath his mustache,“you claim, I believe, that they are none of your work—that some one else has changed your figures. We would like to have your statements proven, young man.”
“I never knowingly made a false entry in my life,” Gerald proudly returned, but flushing hotly beneath the man’s insolent manner; “my own figures were all correct when entered, but my ‘ones’ have been made over into fours, nines, sevens, zeros, and so forth——”
“But the proof, young man—the proof!” interposed his tormentor.
“If any one will add the columns, calling such figures as I should point out, ‘ones,’ the balance would be found correct in every instance,” Gerald replied.
“Possibly, but we want evidence to prove that those ‘ones’ have been changed.”
“You can have it, sir,” said Mr. Arnold, in a brisk, businesslike tone, that made John Hubbard prick up his ears, and, at a signal, another witness now came forward.
He was a small, olive-complexioned man, with straight black hair, small, sharp features, with a pair of keen, black eyes, which were shaded by steel-bowed spectacles.
His manner was abrupt, and there was a decisive air about him which indicated strong personality, while he rejoiced in the sobriquet of Plum—Mr. Thomas Plum.
“Mr. Plum,” courteously observed Mr. Arnold,“will you tell the court what you have discovered with reference to those ‘doctored accounts’?”
“Yes, sir, yes, sir,” responded the brisk little man, taking out some tablets, “I find no less than eighty instances where the figure ‘one’ has been skilfully changed to some other figure, in those accounts, and covering a period of from sixteen, to eighteen months. If the figures were added as ones, which they were originally, the balance would, in every instance, be correct; but, according to the changes made, there seems to be a deficit of several hundreds of dollars.”
John Hubbard suddenly sat erect, an alert spark glittering in his cold, gray eyes.
“So you assert, under oath, Mr. Plum, that those figures have all been changed since the original balances were made up?” he observed, in a metallic tone.
“Yes, sir,” briefly but positively.
“You are willing to swear that the work was all square and right when the clerk left it under the dates there recorded?”
“Exactly, sir.”
“Prove it, if you please.”
“That I am prepared to do,” said the expert cheerfully, but flashing a look at his questioner which sent a sudden chill through him. “In the first place, Mr. Winchester’s figures were all entered with the same ink, and with a fine-pointed steel pen. The figures that have been tampered with show a different ink, and were evidently changed with a gold, and, probably, a fountain-pen.”
“How can you detect between the work of a gold and a steel pen?” queried Hubbard, with a skeptical smile.
An answering smile curved the lips of Mr. Plum.
“With the utmost ease, sir, as you would soon discover were you to study the subject with the aid of a powerful microscope. The ink flows very differently from a gold and from a steel pen. My examination has proved to me that Mr. Winchester was not guilty of any of the changes referred to—his figures all being very decided, especially in their angles, while the work of the real culprit, although very cleverly done, shows a certain individuality of roundness about the angles that appears nowhere in Mr. Winchester’s figures. Your honor will observe by the aid of this powerful glass the peculiarities of which I have spoken,” Mr. Plum concluded, as he passed a small case up to the judge, who, after making a careful examination of certain figures, pointed out to him, gravely observed:
“I do so observe; it is evident that the changes were not made by the prisoner.”
Gerald’s face lighted with pleasure at this remark, but his joy was short-lived, for the matter of the doctored accounts was dropped then and the charge of theft taken up.
There followed a long, sharp contest, during which his counsel fought nobly every inch of ground for him; but the burden of proof was all against him, and when the case was finally summed up the outlook was certainly very discouraging.
The judge had been strongly attracted toward Gerald by his frank, honest face, his manly bearing, and his straightforward story; but he was reluctantly compelled to admit that the evidence was decidedly against the prisoner, and he rose to address the juryand summarize the testimony, but before he could utter a word the door of the court-room was thrown open, and a slender, black-robed figure darted inside, and walked, with a quick, firm tread directly toward him.
The intruder was Allison Brewster.
The fair girl looked wan, thin, and sad, her recent bereavement having worn heavily upon her. But there was a spot of scarlet upon each cheek, called there by the excitement of the moment, while there was also a gleam of mingled indignation and determination in her beautiful blue eyes, which bespoke some high purpose in view.
Gerald half-started from his seat as he saw her enter the court-room, then a swift, hot flush mounted to his forehead, and he sank back with averted face and painfully compressed lips. As Allison went swiftly across the room her eyes met those of John Hubbard, who sprang to his feet, repressing an oath, and hurried forward to meet her, while the judge paused in surprise at the strange interruption.
“Are you Gerald’s counsel?” Allison questioned excitedly, as her guardian came to her side.
“No,” he said briefly, then added, in a tone of displeasure, “but why are you here? This is no place for you.”
“Who is his lawyer, then?” she demanded, without heeding his objection to her presence.
“No one whom you know; but the case is almost concluded—the judge is about to address the jury. Come, let me take you out.”
“Will Gerald be acquitted?” queried Allison, anxiously.
“I—I cannot say,” the man faltered, his glance wavering before her. “But, come now.”
“No, not until I know how this case is going,” said Allison sharply. “Oh, why did you not tell me about it? I never knew a word of it until an hour ago, when I went to the bank to get something that belonged to papa, which I wanted very much, and Mr. Whipple told me what was going on here.”
The truth was that Allison so yearned to see Gerald that she had made an errand to the bank for that very purpose, when, upon inquiring for him, she had learned the truth, and then, nearly wild with grief, hastened to the courthouse with the hope of being able to help him in some way.
“Order!” some one now called out, for the judge was still waiting for the prosecuting-attorney to return to his seat.
“Who brought this charge against Gerald?” Allison questioned eagerly, but lowering her voice.
“I did,” returned her companion, now white with anger, as he realized that she would not yield to him, and had some definite purpose in view.
“You? Why did you do it?” Allison demanded, with blazing eyes.
“Because I caught him in the act of stealing from the vault of the bank.”
“Never! Gerald could not be guilty of theft,” whispered the girl hoarsely.
“Unfortunately, his guilt has been proven. Now will you come?” And the man laid an authoritative hand upon her arm.
She drew herself haughtily away from him, and, turning, bent her gaze upon Gerald, who was responding to some question just put to him by his counsel.
“Order!” again called the voice; but Allison, all unmindful of the fact that she was becoming conspicuous, glided straight to the side of Albert Arnold.
“Are you Mr. Winchester’s lawyer?” she inquired, at the same time bestowing a tremulous smile upon Gerald.
“Yes,” he replied, smiling encouragement upon her, for he began to see a gleam of hope for his client, as Gerald had just told him who she was.
“Then I have something to tell you,” she said, eagerly; “I would have come before, but I did not know anything about this—this trouble until within an hour. Am I too late to help Gerald?”
“I hope not, my dear young lady, although, to use a slang expression, it is a pretty close shave. Your honor,” turning to the judge, with fresh energy, “this young lady is Miss Brewster, and she informs me that she has some evidence to give in favor of my client.”
“Do you know the nature of it?” inquired his honor.
“I do not; had I known that she was qualified to testify, I should have called her as a witness long before this.”
“She may take the stand,” said the judge, resuming his seat with a feeling of secret satisfaction.
“I object, your honor,” John Hubbard here interposed. “Miss Brewster is my ward—she can know nothing of the affair, and this is no place for her. The case is almost concluded—the evidence has been submitted, and——”
“Mr. Hubbard, the young lady has voluntarily come here to give evidence for the prisoner, and her testimony will be received,” interposed the judge, with considerable sternness, adding, peremptorily: “Officer, swear the witness.”
After Allison was sworn, he courteously remarked:
“Now, Miss Brewster, you may proceed.”
“I am told,” the fair witness began, but now very pale, “that Mr. Winchester is being tried for the crime of robbery. I know that he is guiltless, for I have heard my father say, many times, that he was the most trustworthy young man he ever met. I have heard him say that he was ‘almost morbidly honest.’ I have learned today that this supposed robbery was committed on Sunday, the—the morning after my father died.” Allison’s voice wavered slightly here.“But I am sure there was no theft—no intent to steal; I believe that he was sent to the bank to get the articles found in his possession. I know he came to see papa on Saturday—the day before—for I went into the room while he was there. I am sure, too, that he must have come by appointment, for my father denied himself to all visitors, and seldom saw any one outside the family except on necessary business. If Mr. Winchester says that he gave him the keys to the bank to enable him to perform this errand, I know he must have done so, for he is incapable of falsehood.”
The court-room might have been empty, it was so still. There was not a sound save that sweet, young voice, which was like music to at least one pair of eager ears, as it bravely rehearsed the sterling qualities of her persecuted lover.
The audience listened spellbound—even the judge betrayed, by his eager attitude, how intensely interested he was, while John Hubbard was as white as the handkerchief with which, from time to time, he wiped the moisture from his forehead.
“Neither my father nor Mr. Winchester was aware of my presence in the room until a minute or two after I entered,” Allison resumed, after a momentary pause, “and as I stepped inside the portiéres I heard Gerald say, ‘I have never made a false entry in one of your books.’ ‘I am sure you have not, Gerald,’ papa replied. ‘I would stake my fortune upon your integrity, and your faithfulness to my interests. I will look into this matter as soon as I am able.’ Then I made it known that I was in the room, and, a few minutes later, Mr. Winchester went away.”
Allison heaved a sigh of relief as she concluded, although she would have been willing to talk on indefinitely if she could have given conclusive proof of Gerald’s innocence. But the little that she had told tallied so exactly with his own account of his conversation with Mr. Brewster that it proved a great deal for him.
“Do you think it would have been possible for Mr. Winchester to get possession of your father’s keys without his knowledge?” Gerald’s counsel inquired, a ring of triumph in his tones.
“Certainly not,” Allison replied confidently; “papa always kept them in a small drawer of a table in his room. He was sitting close beside it when I entered the room, and Mr. Winchester was on the opposite side of the table, and there is no drawer on that side.”
There was a little burst of applause at this latter statement, which plainly betrayed the sympathy of those who had listened to the evidence.
Mr. Arnold said he had no further questions to ask, and John Hubbard refusing, with frigid dignity, to catechise his ward, Allison was allowed to leave the stand.
The judge then remarked that, in view of the evidence just given, the aspect of the whole case was reversed, and it was self-evident that the prisoner was innocent of all wrong. The jury announced a verdict of acquittal without leaving their seats.
The moment the court was adjourned, and before her guardian could intercept her, she darted to Gerald’s side and cordially shook hands with him, after which he formally introduced her to his lawyer, who commended her most heartily for the step she had taken, and the timely aid she had given his client.
“Gerald,” she asked, with a look of reproach, “why didn’t you call upon me as a witness?”
He flushed at the question.
“I could not,” he replied, with evident embarrassment;“I could not endure the thought of your coming to such a place, and, besides, I did not know how much or how little you had heard of my conversation with Mr. Brewster.”
“But, at least, you might have let me know that you were in trouble,” Allison returned, with a flash of resentment, while hot tears of wounded feeling rushed to her eyes.
“I supposed, of course, you knew,” he faltered, flushing sensitively, “the newspapers were full of the affair.”
“But I didn’t see the papers.” Then, with a searching look into his face, she added: “If you believed I was aware of your trouble, you must have thought me very—very unfriendly and indifferent—not to send you some word of sympathy, nor come near you.”
Again Gerald flushed.
“I am afraid I haven’t been quite just to you,” he confessed.
“Well?” questioned the girl, somewhat sharply, as a hand was at that moment laid upon her arm, and she turned to find her guardian at her side.
“I have come to take you home,” he briefly remarked.
“Thank you, Mr. Hubbard,” she coldly returned, “but I am not going home at present, and I will not detain you. The carriage is waiting for me, and I have several errands to attend to before dinner.”
“Very well, then, I will escort you to your carriage before I go,” the man responded, white in his lips with inward rage over his defeat.
She gave her head a little independent toss, but she did not quite dare to defy him further, for his tone hadbeen authoritative, and she knew she must go. But first she turned to Gerald and extended her hand.
“Good-by, Gerald,” she said. “I am so glad that all has ended well for you.” Then she added, in a hurried whisper, “Come and tell me about it—come to-morrow afternoon.”
Gerald thanked her, and telegraphed his assent to her request by a nod and a significant pressure of the hand he held.
Then, after bidding Mr. Arnold good-by, she signified to Mr. Hubbard her readiness to go, and so passed out of the court-room with him, but with a frigid manner and haughty bearing which warned him that it might not be to his advantage to presume too much upon his office as guardian of this spirited young lady; that the employment of tact might be more effectual.
Upon reaching the carriage, Allison sprang in, before he could put forth a hand to assist her, and she did not even offer to take him along, and drop him at the bank on her way up-town.
She was inwardly boiling with rage and resentment toward him, because he had been instrumental in bringing Gerald into such trouble and disgrace, and she told herself that she should hate him for it as long as she lived.
He was secretly chafed by her attitude, and yet there was something of amusement and admiration, as well as of anger, in the look with which he regarded her, as he closed the door of the vehicle.
She was very pretty—“deucedly pretty,” as hementally expressed it—with that spirited air, that defiant flash in her beautiful eyes, and the angry scarlet in her cheeks.
He had never seen her in such a mood before, but it only added to her charms, and he thought he rather liked it—unless it should become too emphatic—unless she should defy all curbing by “taking the bit in those dainty white teeth of hers.”
He bent forward through the open window and intercepted her glance with a smiling, indulgent look.
“I seem to have incurred your displeasure in some way, Miss Allison,” he remarked, in a friendly tone. “Don’t you think you are a trifle unjust to me? I am certainly ignorant of any wilful offense against you.”
“But you said you caused Gerald’s arrest,” Allison began, excitedly.
“And so I did,” he quietly interposed.
“How could you? how could you?” she burst forth angrily; “it was an outrage, for there isn’t a more honest fellow living than Gerald Winchester, and papa——”
“Softly, Allison, softly!” her companion interrupted, a cruel spark leaping into his eyes. “Don’t allow your personal regard for the young man to run away with your judgment. My fidelity to my employer’s interests demands that if I find a burglar in the act of robbing his bank I must guard them to the extent of the law, even though its clutch falls upon a confidential clerk.”
“But you might have given Gerald the benefit of the doubt, when he had the keys—when you knew he had never been guilty of a mean or dishonorable act since he came into papa’s employ,” the fair girl persisted, adding tremulously. “Oh, it would have been too dreadful if I had not found out about it!”
“Yes, doubtless Winchester would have had a three years’ sentence to serve,” John Hubbard returned, indifferently. “But,” he added, assuming a blandness he was far from feeling, “I will not keep you here discussing the matter further, even though I should be glad to convince you of my fidelity to your father, and to assure you that I shall continue to labor as faithfully for your interests.”
Allison gave a little shrug of impatience at this latter remark, thus plainly indicating that it would have pleased her better if she could have had some one more congenial to guard her interests.
The lawyer’s white teeth gleamed at her for an instant from beneath his mustache; then he remarked, in a matter-of-fact tone:
“By the way, you said you had some errands to attend to. Have you plenty of money for your purpose?”
“I have my check-book, thank you, and do not need any money,” Allison coldly returned, drawing her coat more closely about her as a hint that she did not care to be detained longer.
The man looked a trifle surprised at her reply.
“Very well, good-day,” he said, as he lifted his hat and stepped back, whereupon Allison was driven away.
“Humph! So the little minx has her check-book!” mused John Hubbard, as he bent his steps toward the bank after Allison’s departure, an ugly gleam in his cold blue eyes. “That old dotard, her father, must have had considerable confidence in her financial ability to trust her to that extent! However, the game is pretty well in my hands, and I haven’t much anxiety about the result. I’ll win her if I can; I’ll drive her if need be—but I’ll crush her if she defies me!”
Musing thus, the wily schemer proceeded on his way; but, always intolerant of opposition, he was in no amiable frame of mind when he finally reached his office, and settled down to a pile of accumulated work that had been neglected for the outside demands upon his time during the week just passed.
As he sat down to his desk he opened one of the books which he had produced in court to show that Gerald had been guilty of falsifying his accounts, and began to study it intently.
“Humph!” he ejaculated.“I could have sworn that there is not a man living who could detect any change in those figures! That glass must have been wonderfully powerful, and that expert a keen hand at his business. He has made a study of chirography to some purpose! I wonder where they found him? I never heard of him before, although Judge Haight seemed to recognize him. A man needs to have his wits about him nowadays, if he intends to do crooked work.” With which sage reflection Mr. Hubbard closed the book with an impatient bang, and, turning to his papers, was soon absorbed in his work.
An hour later Gerald walked into the bank, when he was most cordially greeted and congratulated by his fellow clerks, with whom he had worked so long. He then went directly to Mr. Brewster’s private office, where he found John Hubbard occupying the late banker’s chair and desk.
The man looked up with a scowl as he entered.
“Well,” he remarked frigidly, “did you think you could come back to your old place?”
“Certainly not, Mr. Hubbard. There is no Mr. Brewster to require a confidential clerk,” Gerald gravely returned. “I have simply come to take away what few things belong to me.”
“Very well; be as expeditious as possible about it,” was the caustic rejoinder, as the man turned his back upon him.
Gerald quietly gathered up his personal belongings and made them into a neat package, put the desk where he had labored so long in perfect order, then left the room and the bank, nodding a friendly adieu to the other clerks as he went, but with a very heavy heart, for without a position and with no influential friends to back him, the outlook was very dark for him.
That evening he called upon Professor Emerson,with whom he had a long talk relative to his prospects.
“There is nothing like a good education to begin life with,” he said. “You are still young, and two years at Harvard are just what you need. Have you anything ahead, Gerald?”
“Yes, sir; I have managed to save five or six hundred dollars since I have been with Mr. Brewster.”
“Have you? Well, that is pretty well for a young man in your position,” said his friend, in a gratified tone; “and now I’m sure I do not see what is to hinder you from going to Harvard.”
“Why to Harvard? Why not to Yale?” questioned Gerald, who would have preferred the latter college, because he would be nearer to New York and Allison.
“Well, Yale is all right; but I have a friend who has a Harvard scholarship to give away, and I am very sure I could get it for you.”
“You are very kind, sir,” the young man replied, flushing with emotion, “and I want a thorough education more than I can tell you; but, really, I do not feel as if I could spare the time to spend two years in college, and then study for a profession afterward. I would like to be working myself up in some business, and keep on with you as I have been doing.”
“I take it that you are ambitious to get rich, my young friend,” said Professor Emerson, with a smile.
“Yes, sir, I am,” Gerald frankly admitted, flushing consciously as he realized why he was so eager to acquire a competence.
“Well, of course, you must judge for yourself; but I should be sorry to have you let so fine an opportunity slip away from you. I advise you to take a little time to think it over before deciding definitely,” said his friend earnestly.
“I will—thank you,” Gerald responded; adding heartily: “But I trust, whether I accept your offer or not, you will feel that I am truly grateful for all your kindness and interest—both past and present.”
It was after ten o’clock when he left the house, and there were indications of a storm. Gerald buttoned his coat close up to his chin, and started briskly on his way.
After passing three or four blocks he turned into a small park, and observed, as he did so, a gentleman some distance in advance of him. He paid no especial attention to the individual until he was on the point of passing out at the opposite gate, when he caught sight of another figure shadowing the first by skulking behind the trunks of trees to keep out of sight.
Gerald felt sure that this latter person had some malicious design against the other, and he quickened his own steps that he might be on hand if assistance was needed; but both had passed out of the gate before he had half-crossed the park.
As he drew near the exit he heard voices in angry conversation, and, peering around a post, he saw the two in conversation, and, peering around a post, he saw the two men standing not a dozen paces away. One was a tall, fine-looking man, handsomely clad. The other was a disreputable-appearing fellow, wearing a rough ulster and a slouch-hat, and Gerald also observed that there was not another person in sight.
“I have told you never to appeal to me again,” Geraldheard the gentleman remark, in sternly resolute tones, “and I shall give you no more money to spend upon drink and gambling.”
“Oh, come, now don’t be hard on a fellow,” pleaded his companion, as he moved a step or two nearer, while Gerald saw him slip his right hand into the pocket of his ulster. “You’re just rolling in wealth, and I am starving. Give me a ‘V.’”
“Not a dime, you rascal! You have played no end of tricks upon me, and I am done with you forever,” was the reply.
“But I’m hungry, I tell you. I haven’t had a decent meal for a week,” persisted the beggar; and now Gerald saw him cautiously withdraw his hand from his pocket with an object in it that made his heart leap into his throat.
“Heavens! It is a sand-bag!” he breathed.
“Well, if you are hungry, go to the nearest station-house, where you will get a night’s lodging, with a supper and breakfast, and to-morrow morning you can work to pay for it,” said the gentleman.
“Work!” snarled the tramp. “Do you think I am going to dig ice from the gutters? Not if I know myself!”
“Very well, then, you may go hungry,” replied his companion, as he turned to proceed on his way.
With an angry oath the tramp raised his arm aloft, and, in a moment more, would have accomplished his deadly work had not Gerald, quick as a flash, sprung from his place of concealment, dashed upon the would-bemurderer, and, wrenched the weapon from his grasp.
The wretch was so taken aback that he was utterly unable to defend himself from this rear attack, and an instant later he lay sprawling and stunned upon the pavement, Gerald having dexterously tripped him.
“Now, sir, lend a hand, if you please,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the astonished man whom he had probably saved from a violent death.
“Certainly, certainly,” he replied, quickly recovering himself, and, darting forward, he planted a powerful knee upon the breast of his fallen assailant. “I am sure I had not a suspicion that he would dare do me any violence,” he added. “What was he up to, anyway?”
For answer Gerald held the sand-bag up before him.
“Good heavens! what a wretch!” said the gentleman, in a startled tone. “He is a distant relative—a worthless fellow—and has been a leech upon me for years. But I reckon this business will settle his fate for a while. Now, if you will go to the corner and call a policeman I will manage him while you are gone. Take care, there!” he added sternly, as the prostrate villain began to squirm and struggle, and he enforced his command by a powerful grip upon his throat.
Gerald darted away, and five minutes later came hurrying back with a guardian of the peace, who immediately took the highwayman into custody.
Then he learned that the name of the man whose life he had doubtless saved was Richard Morgan Lyttleton, a noted lawyer, of New York.
The officer demanded his name and address also, tellinghim that his presence would be required in court on the morrow to testify against the culprit.
Gerald smiled to himself as he thought of appearing so soon again in a criminal-court, and he observed, when he gave his name, that Mr. Lyttleton started slightly, and glanced keenly at him.
Then the policeman marched his prisoner off, when Mr. Lyttleton turned to our hero and cordially extended his hand.
“My young friend, you have rendered me an inestimable service to-night, and I am deeply grateful to you,” he said earnestly; then added: “But, more of this when I see you again, as we shall doubtless meet to-morrow. As it is late and cold, I will not keep you longer. Good night.”
Gerald responded to his adieu, and they separated, each going his own way.
Early the next morning Gerald received a summons to appear at the court-house at eleven o’clock, and, upon arriving at the place, he found his acquaintance of the previous night awaiting him, and who regarded him with curious intentness as he greeted him.
“Can it be possible that you are the Gerald Winchester whose case was before the court yesterday?” he asked.
“Yes, I am sorry to be obliged to confess that I am,” he replied flushing, and a look of pain clouding his fine eyes.
“It was rather a peculiar affair—I was quite interested in it,” said the lawyer.
“Indeed!” Gerald briefly observed.
“Yes, it was really romantic, and you came off with flying colors,” said his companion, smiling. “As I told you last night, I am a lawyer myself, and I confess, up to the moment of the appearance of that young lady upon the scene, I did not see a vestige of hope for you. Young man, you are to be congratulated upon having had so stanch a friend in the charming Miss Brewster. If I am not greatly mistaken, that John Hubbard is a scamp.”
Gerald lifted a glance of surprise to the gentleman’s face.
“What makes you think that?” he questioned.
“Well, I am something of a physiognomist, and, to me, he shows treachery in every glance of his shifty eyes.” Mr. Lyttleton’s expression plainly indicated a decided repugnance to the man under discussion.
“Lyttleton versus Ruggles,” was here shouted by the court-crier, and the conversation of the two gentlemen was interrupted. It did not take very long to settle the case, however, for, in the light of the indisputable evidence brought to bear upon it, the prisoner was found guilty of assault with intent to kill, and sentenced to seven years at Sing Sing. As soon as they were released, Mr. Lyttleton turned to Gerald.
“Come,” he said; “you must come and have lunch with me; I want to talk more with you.”
In a neighboring restaurant they took a secluded table, and over the coffee Mr. Lyttleton astonished Gerald by remarking:
“Mr. Winchester, I happen, just at this time, to be very much in need of a private-secretary. The poor fellow who has served me for five years died last week, and I have, as yet, found no one to fill his place. How would you like the position?”
Gerald lifted a look of bland surprise at the speaker.
“You think I am rather premature in making such a proposal to you upon so short an acquaintance,” Mr. Lyttleton observed, smiling; “but I have told you that I am pretty well versed in character reading, and so, if you are willing to take the place on trial, I am ready to give it to you. I like your looks—your manner; while that girl’s testimony yesterday proved that Adam Brewster had the most implicit confidence in you. That, of itself, is recommendation enough for me. A week from to-morrow, I sail for Europe, to investigate a complicated case which involves a large estate, and which I hope to bring to trial within a couple of months. My partner will manage the business here during my absence, which will probably be six months or more, as I intend to combine pleasure with duty, and see something of the old world before my return. Your salary will be eight hundred and all expenses, for the first year; more after that if we find ourselves mutually congenial. There, you have my proposition—what do you say to it?” the lawyer concluded, as he sat back in his chair and watched the expressive face opposite him.