"Yes."
Sammy Simpson hesitated for a moment.
"Maybe I do," he replied, with a shrewd look in his eyes. "Is there anything to be made out of it?"
"I will pay you for whatever you do for me."
"Then I'm your huckleberry. Who are you and what do you want to know?"
Mr. Sammy Simpson was a character. He was tall and slim, certainly not less than fifty years of age, but with an evident desire to appear much younger. His face was cleanly shaven, and when he removed his hat to scratch his head I saw that he was nearly bald.
He was dressed in a light check suit and wore patent-leather shoes. I put him down as a dandy, but fond of drink, and that he proved to be.
"Whom do you work for now?" I asked.
"No one. To tell the truth, I'm down on my luck and I'm waiting for something to turn up."
"You say you worked for Holtzmann two years ago?"
"No, I said I worked for him two years. I only left last month."
"And he accused you of stealing?"
"Yes; but it was only to get rid of me because I knew too much of his private affairs."
"What do you know of his private affairs?"
Sammy Simpson rubbed his chin.
"Excuse me, but who am I talking to?" he asked abruptly.
"Never mind who I am. I am here to get all the information I can about Chris Holtzmann, and I'm willing to pay for it. Of course I'm not rich, but I've got a few dollars. If you can't help me I'll have to go elsewhere."
My plain speech startled Sammy Simpson.
"Hold up; don't get mad because I asked your name. You've a perfect right to keep it to yourself if you want to. Only make it sure to me that I'll get paid for what I tell and it will be all right."
I was perplexed. I had half a mind to mention Mr. Harrison's name, but if I did that, the man might expect altogether too much.
"I will promise you that you lose nothing," I said. "But we can't talk things over in the street. Tell me where I can meet you later on."
"Want to see Holtzmann first?"
"Yes."
"You won't get anything out of him, I'll wager you that."
"I don't expect to. I want to see what kind of a man he is."
"Well, you'll find me at 28 Hallock Street generally. If I'm not in, you can find out there where I've gone to."
"I'll remember it. In the meantime don't speak of this meeting to any one."
"Mum's the word," rejoined Sammy Simpson.
I went on my way deep in thought. I considered it a stroke of luck that I had fallen in with Chris Holtzmann's former clerk. No doubt the man knew much that would prove of value to me.
I doubted if this man was perfectly honest. I was satisfied that the concert-hall manager had had good grounds for discharging him. But it often "takes a rogue to catch a rogue," and I was willing to profit by any advantage that came to hand.
At length I reached the next corner. On it stood a splendid building of marble, having over the door in raised letters:&—
CHRIS HOLTZMANN'SPALACE OF PLEASURE.Open all the Time. Admission Free!
For a moment I hesitated. Should I enter such a hole of iniquity?
Then came the thought of my mission; how I wished to clear the family name from the stain that rested upon it and free my father from imprisonment, and I went in.
I do not care to describe the scene that met my eyes. The magnificent decorations of the place were to my mind entirely out of keeping with its character. The foulness of a subcellar would have been more appropriate.
In the back, where a stage was located, were a number of small tables. I sat down at one of these and had a waiter bring me a glass of soda water.
"Is Mr. Holtzmann about?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. There he is over by the cigar counter. Shall I call him?"
"No."
I paid for my soda and sipped it leisurely. The place was about half full, and all attention was being paid to "Master Ardon, the Wonderful Boy Dancer," who was doing a clog on the stage.
Mr. Chris Holtzmann was very much the style of a man I had imagined him to be. He was short and stout, with a thick neck and a double chin. He was loudly dressed, including several seal rings and a heavy gold watch chain.
I calculated that he would be a hard man to approach, and now that I was face to face with him I hardly knew how to proceed.
At first I thought to ask him for a situation of some kind and thus get on speaking terms with him, but concluded that openness would pay best in the end, and so, rising, I approached him.
"Mr. Holtzmann, I believe?" I began.
"Yes," he said slowly, looking me over from head to foot.
"If you please I would like to have a talk with you," I went on.
"What is it?" and he turned his ear toward me.
"I have come all the way from Darbyville, New Jersey, to see you."
"What!" He started. "And what is your business with me, sir?" he went on sharply.
"I would like to see you in private," and I glanced at the clerk and several others who were staring at us.
"Come to my office," he returned, and led the way through a door at one side, into a handsomely furnished apartment facing the side street.
"Ross, you can post the letters," he said to a clerk who was writing at a desk. "Be back in half an hour."
It was a hint that we were to be left alone, and the clerk was not long in gathering up the letters that had been written, and leaving.
"I suppose Woodward sent you," began Chris Holtzmann, when we were seated.
This remark nearly took away my breath. I thought he would deny all knowledge of having ever known the merchant, and here he was mentioning the man at the very start.
I hardly knew how to reply, and he continued:&—
"I've been expecting him for several days."
"Well, you know there was an accident on the railroad," I began as coolly as I could. "The bridge shifted and the trains couldn't run."
"Yes, I heard of that." He paused for a moment. "What brought you?"
This was a home question. I plunged in like a swimmer into a deep stream.
"I came to get the papers relating to the Strong forgeries. You have all of them, I suppose."
I was surprised at my own boldness. So was my listener.
"Sh! not so loud," he exclaimed. "Who said I had the papers?"
"John Stumpy spoke about them to Mr. Woodward."
"He did, eh?" sneered Chris Holtzmann. "He had better keep his mouth shut. How does he know but what the papers were destroyed long ago?"
"I hope not," I replied earnestly.
"What does Woodward want of the papers?"
"I don't know exactly. The Strong family are going to have the case opened again, and he's afraid they may be dragged in."
"No one knows I have them but him, Stumpy—and you." He gave me a suspicious glance. "Who are&—"
"The Strongs know," I put in hastily, thus cutting him off.
"What!" He jumped up from his chair. "Who was fool enough to tell them?"
"Nicholas Weaver left a dying statement&—"
"The idiot! I always said he was a weak-minded fool!" cried Chris Holtzmann. "Who has this statement?"
"I don't know where it is now, but Carson Strong's son had it."
"Strong's son! Great Scott! Then Woodward's goose is cooked. I always told him he hadn't covered up his tracks."
"Yes, but he paid you pretty well for your share of the work," I returned. I was getting mixed. The deception could not be kept up much longer, and I wondered what would happen when the truth became known.
"Didn't pay me half of what I should have got. I helped him not only in Brooklyn, but here in Chicago as well. How would he have accounted for all his money if I hadn't had a rich aunt die and leave it to him?" Chris Holtzmann gave a short laugh. "I reckon that was a neat plan of mine."
"You ran a big risk."
"So we did—but it paid."
"And John Stumpy helped, too."
"He did in a way. But he drank too much to be of any great use. By the way, do you drink?"
As Holtzmann spoke he opened a closet at one side of the room, behind a screen, and brought forth a bottle of liquor and a pair of glasses.
"No, thank you," I replied.
"No? Have a cigar, then."
"Thank you; I don't smoke."
"What! Don't smoke or drink! That's queer. Wish I could say the same. Mighty expensive habits. What did you say your name was?"
At this instant there was a knock on the door, and Chris Holtzmann walked back of the screen and opened it.
"A man to see you, sir," I heard a voice say.
"Who is it?" asked Chris Holtzmann.
"Says his name is Aaron Woodward."
I was thunderstruck by the announcement that Mr. Aaron Woodward was waiting to come in. Had it been John Stumpy who was announced, I would not have been so much surprised. But Aaron Woodward! The chase after me was indeed getting hot.
Evidently the merchant was not satisfied to leave affairs in Chicago entirely in his confederate's hands. Either he did not trust Stumpy or else the matter was of too much importance.
I did not give these thoughts close attention at the time, but revolved them in my mind later. Just now I was trying to resolve what was best to do. Would it be advisable for me to remain or had I better get out?
To retire precipitately might not be "good form," but it might save me a deal of trouble. I had had one "round" with the merchant in his mansion in Darbyville, and I was not particularly anxious for another encounter. I was but a boy, and between the two men they might carry "too many guns" for me.
I looked around for some immediate means of escape. As I have said, the office was located on the side street. Directly in front of the desk was a large window, opened to let in the fresh morning air. For me to think was to act. In less than a minute I was seated on the desk with my legs dangling over the window sill.
"Aaron Woodward!" repeated Chris Holtzmann, in evident surprise.
"Yes, sir, and he says he must see you at once."
"Did you hear that?" called out Holtzmann to me.
"Yes, I did," I returned as coolly as I could.
"Did you expect him?"
"No."
"Humph!"
Holtzmann made a movement as if to step into view, and I prepared to vanish from the scene. But he changed his mind and walked from the office.
I was in a quandary. To remain would place me in great peril, yet I was anxious to know the result of the meeting between the two men. They were the prime movers in my father's downfall, and nothing must be left undone to bring them to justice.
I resolved to remain, even if it were at the peril of my life. I was not an over-brave boy, but the thought of my father languishing in prison because of these men's misdeeds, nerved me to stay.
The closet door was still open, and that gave me a sudden idea.
As I jumped from the desk another idea struck me, and without any hesitation I scattered the papers on the floor and upset the ink-well.
Then I squeezed myself into the closet, crouching down into one corner, behind several canes and umbrellas.
I was not an instant too soon, for hardly had I settled myself than the door opened, and Chris Holtzmann reentered, followed by Mr. Aaron Woodward.
Both men were highly excited, and both uttered an exclamation when they saw the room was empty.
"He's gone!" cried Holtzmann.
"Gone?" repeated the merchant. "Get out, Holtzmann! He was never here."
"I say he was, less than two minutes ago."
"Well, where is he now?"
"I don't know. Ha! I see it! He has jumped through the windows. See how he has upset the ink and scattered the papers. It's as clear as day."
"Can you see anything of him outside?"
Chris Holtzmann leaned out of the window.
"No; he's up and around the corner long ago."
"We must catch the rascal," went on Mr. Woodward, in a high voice. "He knows too much; he will ruin us both."
"Ruin us both?" sneered the proprietor of the Palace of Pleasure. "I don't see how he can ruin me."
"You're in it just as deep as I am—just as deep."
"Not a bit of it," returned Holtzmann, with spirit. "You are the only one who profited by the whole transaction, and you are the one to take the blame."
"See here, Chris, you're not going back on me in this way," exclaimed the merchant, in a tone of reproach.
"I'm not going back on you at all, Woody. But you can't use me as you used John Stumpy. It won't go down."
"Now don't get excited, Chris."
"I'm not excited. But I know a thing or two just as well as you do. If there is any exposure to take place, you must stand the brunt of it. You were a fool to let the boy get ahead of you."
"I didn't; it was Stumpy. He let the boy get hold of Nick Weaver's statement, and that started the thing. Then the boy stole some of my papers that were in my desk, and how much information he has now I don't know."
"All your own fault," responded Holtzmann, coolly. "Why don't you destroy all the evidence on hand?"
"Do you do that?" asked Mr. Woodward, furiously.
"I do when I think it isn't going to do me any more good," replied Holtzmann, evasively.
"Have you destroyed all the evidence in this matter?"
Holtzmann closed one eye. "I'm not so green as you take me to be," he replied impressively. "All my evidence against you is locked up in my safe."
"You intend to use it against me?" said the merchant.
"Only if it becomes necessary."
"And yet you pretend to be a friend of mine."
"I was until you cheated me out of my fair share of the spoils. But I am satisfied, and willing to let the whole matter rest."
"What will you take for the papers you hold?"
"Wouldn't sell them at any price. I'm not running my head into any trap."
"It will be all right."
"Maybe it will, but I'll run no risk," He paused a moment. "I'll tell you what I will do. Give me a thousand dollars and I'll let you see me burn them up.
I was intensely surprised at this proposition, more so, I believe, than was Mr. Woodward.
"A thousand dollars!" he exclaimed. "Chris, you're crazy."
"No, indeed. I know a thing or two. What do you suppose the Strongs would pay for them?"
"You don't mean to say you would play me false?" ejaculated the merchant, hoarsely.
"I mean to say I'd do anything to save myself if you got us into a hole. As far as I can see, you have allowed this boy to get the best of you at every turn."
"Humph! You needn't talk. You let him walk right into your confidence the first thing."
"Only when he told me all about your affairs."
"Well, let that drop. Can't you let me have the papers cheaper?"
"I said I wouldn't let you have the papers at all. I'll burn them up."
"Will you let me see them?"
Chris Holtzmann's brow contracted.
"What for?"
"Oh, I only want to make sure of what you've got.
"Will you pay the price?"
"Make them cheaper."
"No."
"I'll take them."
"You mean have them burnt up."
"Yes. But I must examine them first."
"I'm willing. And I must have my check before they go into the fire."
"You are very suspicious, Chris, very suspicious."
"No more so than you, Woody. I wasn't born yesterday."
"Well, let's have the papers and I'll write out the check. But it must be understood that you give no more information to the boy."
"Give him information!" cried Holtzmann. "Let him show his face here again and I'll break every bone in his body," he added grimly.
This was certainly an interesting bit of news. I made up my mind that to be seen would render matters decidedly warm for me.
But I was even more interested over the fact that the two men intended to burn up part of the evidence that might clear my father's name. Such a thing must not happen. I must use every means in my power to prevent it.
Yet what was to be done? If the documents were produced at once, how could I save them from destruction?
A bold dash for them seemed the only way. Once snatched from Holtzmann's or Aaron Woodward's hands, and escape through the window or the door would be difficult, but not impossible.
Yet while I was revolving these thoughts over in my mind the same thing evidently suggested itself to the proprietor of the Palace of Pleasure.
"Wait till I lock the door," he said. "We don't want to be interrupted."
"No indeed," returned Mr. Woodward; "interruptions don't pay."
"And I'll close the window, too," went on Holtzmann; "it's cool enough without having it open."
"So it is."
So the window and the door were both closed and fastened. I was chagrined, but could do nothing.
A moment later I heard Chris Holtzmann at his safe, and then the rattle of something on his desk.
"The papers are in this tin box," he said. "I placed them there over six months ago."
He opened the box, and I heard a rustling of documents.
"Why—why—what does this mean!" he ejaculated. "They are not here!"
"What!" cried Mr. Aaron Woodward, aghast.
"The papers are not here!" Holtzmann hurried over to his safe and began a hasty search. "As sure as you're born, Woody, they have been stolen!"
"It's that boy," exclaimed the merchant. "He's a wizard of a sly one. He has stolen them, and we are lost!"
I was not as much surprised over the situation as were the two men. I could put two and two together as quickly as any one, and I knew exactly where the papers were to be found.
Sammy Simpson, of 28 Hallock Street, was the thief. He had intimated that he had evidence against Chris Holtzmann, and these papers were that evidence.
This being so, there was no further use for my remaining in my cramped position in the closet, and I longed for a chance for escape. It was not long in coming.
"I don't see how that boy managed it," said Holtzmann. "He was alone only a few minutes."
"Never mind. He's as smart as a steel trap. Was the safe door open?"
"Yes. My clerk left it open. He is a new one and rather careless. What's to be done?"
"I'm going after the rascal," cried Aaron Woodward.
"You'd have a fine time finding him here in Chicago."
"I must find him. Most likely when he discovers how valuable the papers are he'll be off at once for home with them. I can intercept him at the depot."
"That's an idea, if you can locate the right depot."
"I'll be off at once," went on Mr. Woodward.
"I'll go with you," returned Chris Holtzmann, and three minutes later the two men quitted the office, locking the door after them.
I waited several minutes to make sure they were not returning, and then emerged from my hiding-place.
I was stiff in every joint and nearly stifled from the hot air in the closet. But at present I gave these personal matters scant attention, my mind being bent upon escape.
Even if the door had been unlocked, I would not have chosen it as a means of egress. It led into the main hall of the Palace of Pleasure, and here I might meet some one to bar my escape.
The window was close at hand, and I threw it open. The noise I made did not frighten me, for in the main hall a loud orchestra was drowning out every other sound.
I looked out and saw a number of people walking up and down the street. No one appeared to be watching me, and waiting a favorable opportunity, I slid out of the window to the sidewalk below.
With my ever present handbag beside me I hurried down the side street as fast as my feet would carry me. The neighborhood of the Palace of Pleasure was dangerous for me, and I wished to get away from it as quickly as possible.
After travelling several blocks I slackened my pace and dropped into a rapid walk. Coming to a fruit-stand, I invested in a couple of bananas, and then asked its proprietor where Hallock Street was.
"Sure an' it's the first street beyant the cable road," was the reply.
"And where is the cable road?" I queried.
"Two squares that way, sor," and the woman pointed it out.
I thanked her and hurried on. When I reached the street, I found the numbers ran in the three hundreds, and I had quite a walk to the southward to reach No. 28.
At length I stood in front of the house. It was a common-looking affair, and the vicinity was not one to be chosen by fastidious people. The street, sidewalks, and doorways all looked dirty and neglected. I concluded that since being discharged Sammy Simpson had come down in the world.
"Does Mr. Simpson live here?" I asked of a slip of a girl who sat on the stoop, nursing a ragged doll.
"Yes, sir; on the third floor in the front," she replied.
I climbed up the creaky stairs two flights, and rapped on the door.
"Come," said a voice, and I entered. The room was the barest kind of a kitchen. By the open window sat a thin, pale woman, holding a child.
"Does Mr. Samuel Simpson live here?" I asked.
"Yes, sir, but he's not in now," she returned. "Can I do anything for you?"
"I guess not."
"I hope—I hope there is nothing wrong," she went on falteringly.
"Wrong?" I queried. I did not quite understand her.
"Yes, sir."
"Not exactly. What makes you think so?"
"Because he drinks so," she replied.
"I wish to get some information from him; that is all," I returned.
As I concluded a heavy step sounded in the hall, and an instant later Sammy Simpson appeared. He had evidently been imbibing freely, for his voice was thick and his sentences muddled.
"Hello!" he cried. "You here already, eh! What brought you? Want to find out all about Chris Holtzmann?"
"Yes."
"Thought so. Saw it in your eye. Yes, sir, your optic betrayed you. Sit down. Mag, give Mr. What's-his-name a chair. I'll sit down myself." And he sank heavily down on a low bench, threw one leg over the other, and clasped his hands on his knee.
"I want to see those documents you took from Mr. Holtzmann's safe," I began boldly.
He started slightly and stared at me.
"Who said I took any document out of his safe?"
"Didn't you say so? I mean the ones relating to Holtzmann's affairs in Brooklyn."
"Well, yes, I did."
"I want to see them."
"Again I ask, what is there in it?" he exclaimed dramatically.
"If they really prove of value to me, I will pay you well for all your trouble," I replied.
"Is that straight?" he asked thickly.
"It is," I replied, and, I may as well add, I was thoroughly disgusted with the man.
"Then I'm yours truly, and no mistake. Excuse me till I get them."
Be rose unsteadily and left the room. Hardly had he gone before his wife hurried to my side.
"Oh, sir, I hope you are not getting him into trouble?" she cried. "He is a good man when he is sober; indeed he is,"
"I am not going to harm him, madam. A great wrong has been done, and I only want your husband to assist me in righting it. He has papers that can do it."
"You are telling me the truth?" she questioned earnestly.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I think I can trust you," she said slowly. "You look honest. And these papers—ought you to have them?"
"Yes. If your husband does not give them up, he will certainly get into great trouble."
"You are young, and you don't look as if you would lie. If Sam has the papers, he shall give them to you. He's coming now."
"Here's all the evidence in the case," said Sammy Simpson, on returning. He held a thick and long envelope. "What's the value to you?"
"I can tell better after I have examined them," I returned.
"Will you give them back if I let you see them?"
"Yes."
He handed the precious papers to me and then sat down.
Oh, how eagerly I grasped the envelope! How much of importance it might contain for me!
There were three letters and four legal papers. Like Nicholas Weaver's statement, all were badly written, and I had a hard job to decipher even a portion of the manuscript.
Yet I made out enough to learn that Aaron Woodward was the forger of the notes and checks that had sent my father to prison, and that the death of a relative in Chicago was only a pretence. The work had been done in Brooklyn through that branch of Holland & Mack's establishment. Chris Holtzmann had helped in the scheme, and John Stumpy had presented one of the checks, for which service he had received six hundred dollars. This much was clear to me. But two other points still remained dark.
One was of a certain Ferguson connected with the scheme, who seemed to be intimate with my father. He was probably the man my father had mentioned when we had visited him at the prison. His connection with the affair was far from clear.
The other dark point in the case was concerning Agatha Mitts, of 648 Vannack Avenue, Brooklyn. She was a boarding-mistress, and the three or four men had stopped at her house. But how much she knew of their doings I could not tell.
"Well, what do you think?" muttered Sammy Simpson. "Mighty important, I'll be bound."
"Not so very important," I returned, as coolly as I could. "They will be if I can get hold of other papers to use with them."
"Exactly, sir; just as I always said. Well, you can get them easily enough, no doubt."
"I don't know about that," I said doubtfully.
"No trouble at all. Come, what will you give?"
"Five dollars."
"Ha! ha! They're worth a million." He blinked hard at me. "Say, you're a friend of mine, a good boy. Meg, shall I give them to him?"
"You ought to do what's right, Sam," replied his wife, severely.
"So I ought. You're a good woman; big improvement on a chap like me. Say, young man, give my lady ten dollars, keep the papers, and clear out. I'm drunk, and when Sammy Simpson's drunk he's a fool."
I handed over the money without a word. Perhaps I was taking advantage of the man's present state, but I considered I was doing things for the best.
A minute later, with the precious papers in my pocket, I left.
Down in the street I hesitated as to where to go next. I felt that the case on hand was getting too complicated for me, and that I needed assistance.
I did not relish calling on the police for help. They were probably on the watch for me, and even if not, they would deem me only a boy, and give me scant attention.
My mind reverted to the adventure earlier in the day, and I remembered Mr. Harrison's kind offer. I had done his little daughter a good turn, and I was positive the gentleman would assist me to the best of his ability.
I decided to call on him at once. I had his address still in my pocket, and though I was quite tired, I hurried along at a rapid rate.
On the way I revolved in my mind all that had occurred within the past two hours, and by the time I reached Mr. Harrison's place I had the matter in such shape that I could tell a clear, straightforward story.
I found the gentleman in, and pleased at my return.
"I was afraid you had gotten into more difficulties," he explained, with a smile.
"So I did but I got out of them again," I replied.
Sitting down, I gave him the particulars of my visit to Chris Holtzmann and to Sammy Simpson, and handed over the documents for inspection. Mr. Harrison was deeply interested, and examined the papers with great care. It took him nearly an hour to do so, and then he plied me with numerous questions.
"Do you know what my advice is?" he asked, at length.
"No, sir."
"I advise you to have both Holtzmann and Woodward arrested at once. They are thorough rascals, and your father is the innocent victim of their cupidity."
"But how can I do that? No one knows me here in Chicago."
"Hold up, you make a mistake. I know you."
"Yes, but you don't know anything about me," I began.
"I know you to be a brave fellow, and brave people are generally honest. Besides, your face speaks for itself."
"You are very kind."
"I have not forgotten the debt I owe you, and whatever I do for you will never fully repay it."
"And you advise me&—"
"To put the case in the hands of the police without delay. Come, I will go with you. Perhaps this Holtzmann may be frightened into a confession."
"I trust so. It will save a good deal of trouble."
"Woodward can be taken into custody as soon as the necessary papers are made out," concluded. Mr. Harrison.
An instant later we were on the way. I wondered what had become of John Stumpy. It was strange that he had not turned up at the Palace of Pleasure. Perhaps Mr. Aaron Woodward had intercepted him and either scared or bought him off.
The fellow held much evidence that I wished to obtain, for every letter or paper against Mr. Woodward would make my father's case so much stronger, and I determined with all my heart that when once brought to trial there should be no failure to punish the guilty, so that the innocent might be acquitted.
At the police station we found the sergeant in charge. Mr. Harrison was well known in the locality, and his presence gained at once for us a private audience.
The officer of the law gave the case his closest attention, and asked me even more questions than had been put to me before.
"I remember reading of this affair in the court records," he said. "Judge Fowler and I were saying what a peculiar case it was. Chris Holtzmann claims to keep a first-class resort, and I would hardly dare to proceed against him were it not for these papers, and you, Mr. Harrison."
"You will arrest him at once?" questioned the gentleman.
"If you say so."
"I do, most assuredly."
"You are interested in the case?" queried the sergeant, as he prepared to leave.
"Only on this young man's account. He saved my little daughter from a horrible death this morning."
"Indeed? How so?"
"There was a mad bull broke into my back garden from the street, and was about to gore her, when this young man, who had been driven into the garden in the first place, came between and drove the bull out."
"Oh, I heard of that bull."
"What became of him?" I put in curiously.
"He was killed by a couple of officers on the next block. He was nearly dead before they shot him, having received a terrible cut between the eyes."
"Given by this young man," explained Mr. Harrison.
"You don't mean it!" cried the officer, in admiration. "Phew! but you must be strong!"
"It was more by good luck than strength," I returned modestly.
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Harrison. "My wife witnessed the whole occurrence, and she says it was pure bravery."
Five minutes later a cab was called, and we all got in. I was not sorry to ride, for my long tramp from one place to another on the stone pavement had made me footsore. I did not mind walking, but the Darbyville roads were softer than those of Chicago.
It did not take long to reach the Palace of Pleasure.
"Just wait in the cab for a minute or two," said the sergeant to me. "If he sees you first, he may make a scene."
"Most likely he's gone out," I returned.
The sergeant and Mr. Harrison left the carriage and entered the building.
I awaited their return impatiently. Would they get their man? And would Mr. Aaron Woodward be along?
Five—ten minutes dragged slowly by. Then the two returned.
"He's not in the place, and no one knows where he has gone," said the officer.
"He can't be far off," I replied. "No doubt he and Mr. Woodward have gone off to look for me."
"And where?" put in Mr. Harrison. I thought a moment.
"The depot!" I exclaimed. "He spoke about looking for me there."
"Then we'll be off at once," returned the sergeant.
As he spoke, a familiar figure came shambling around the corner. It was Sammy Simpson.
"Hello, you!" he cried, on catching sight of me. "I want those papers back."
"Why do you want them back?" I asked.
"You didn't pay the value of 'em, didn't pay enough," he hiccoughed.
"I paid all I agreed to."
"Can't say anything about that. But 'tain't enough." He glared at me. "Holtzmann said he'd pay me a hundred dollars. Yes, sir, ten times as much as you."
"When de you see Holtzmann?" I cried, in great interest.
"Saw him about half an hour ago. He came to see me—came to see Sammy Simpson—climbed the stairs to my abode. Wanted the papers—said I must have 'em. Went wild with rage when I let slip you had 'em. So did the other gent."
"Who? Mr. Woodward?"
"That's the identical name. Yes, sir—the correct handle. And they wanted the papers. Offered a hundred dollars for 'em. Think of it. Here's the ten dollars—give 'em back."
Had Sammy Simpson been sober he would not have made such a simple proposition.
"No, sir," I replied decidedly. "A bargain's a bargain. I've got the papers, and I intend to keep them."
"No, you don't."
"What's that?" broke in the sergeant of police.
"I want those papers."
"Do you know who I am?"
"No, and don't care."
"I am sergeant of police, and I want you to behave yourself, or I'll run you in," was the decided reply.
At the mention of an officer Sammy Simpson grew pale.
"No, no, don't do that. I've never been arrested in my life."
"The papers are in the hands of the proper parties," went on the sergeant.
"Then I can't have 'em back?"
"No; and the less you have to do with the whole matter, the better off you'll be. Where has Holtzmann gone?"
"To Brooklyn."
I was astonished. To Brooklyn, and so soon!
"You are sure?" I queried.
"Yes; he and the other gent intended to take the first train."
Here was indeed news. This sudden and unexpected departure must portend something of importance.
"We must catch them!" I exclaimed.
"Do you know anything about the trains?" asked Mr. Harrison.
"No."
"Jump in, and we'll be off to the depot," said the sergeant.
In an instant we had started, leaving Sammy Simpson standing in the middle of the pavement too astonished to speak. It was the last I ever saw of the man.
We made the driver urge his horse at the top of his speed. I calculated that the pair would take the same line that had brought me to Chicago.
I was not mistaken; for when we reached the depot a few questions put by the sergeant revealed the fact that the two men had purchased tickets for New York but a minute before.
"And when does the train leave?" I asked.
"Her time's up now."
At that instant a bell rang.
"There's the bell."
"We must catch her," I cried, and ran though the gate and on to the platform.
But the train was already moving. I tried to catch her, but failed; and a minute later the cars rolled out of sight.
Mr. Aaron Woodward and Chris Holtzmann had escaped me.
What was to be done next?
I was thoroughly chagrined when I stood on the platform and saw the train roll away. Now that I had Mr. Harrison and the sergeant of police with me I had fondly hoped to capture the two men, even if it was at the last minute.
But now that chance was gone, and as I turned back to my two companions I felt utterly nonplussed.
One thing was perfectly clear in my mind. The two men had gone to Brooklyn to see Mrs. Agatha Mitts. No doubt they thought that now I had the papers Sammy Simpson had stolen in my possession I would follow up the train of evidence by calling on the woman—a thing I most likely would have done. They intended to head me off, and by this means break down my case against them at its last stage.
Yet though I was disappointed I was not disheartened. I was fighting for honor and intended to keep on until not a single thing remained to do. My evidence against Woodward and Holtzmann was gradually accumulating, and sooner or later it must bring them to the bar of justice.
"Well, they're gone," I exclaimed, as I joined the others. "That is, if they were on that train."
"We'll ask the gateman and make sure," said the sergeant.
This was done, and we soon learned that beyond a doubt Mr. Woodward and Chris Holtzmann had been among the departed passengers.
"My work in Chicago is at an end," remarked the sergeant, as we stood in the waiting-room discussing the situation.
"And so is mine," I replied. "I've got the papers, and now the two men are gone, there is no use of my remaining."
"What do you intend to do?" asked Mr. Harrison.
"Follow them to Brooklyn."
"To Brooklyn? It's a good distance."
"I can't help it; I must go. As for the distance, it is not many miles from my home."
Mr. Harrison mused for a moment.
"I have an idea of going along with you," he said at length.
"Going along with me!" I repeated, astonished by his offer.
"Yes; I intended to take a trip to New York, on special business next week, but I can go to-day instead. You no doubt need help, and I want to give it to you."
"You are very kind," I replied.
"I would like to see you and your family get your rights," he went on. "I wonder when the next train leaves."
"I'll find out at the ticket office," I replied.
I walked over to the box, and at the window learned that the next train would not start for two hours and a half.
"That will give me time to go home, pack my valise, and arrange my affairs," said Mr. Harrison. "Come, you can go with me, and we can dine together."
"Thank you," was my answer.
"And you, sergeant. I will be pleased to have you, too," continued Mr. Harrison, turning to the officer.
"You're kind, Mr. Harrison, but duty calls me elsewhere. I'll have to return to the station. But you've forgotten one thing."
"What?"
"That you can telegraph to New York and have the two men arrested as soon as they arrive."
"That's so! What do you say, Strong?"
I thought for a moment. It would be the simplest way to do, but would it be the best?
"Don't you think we had better let them go ahead?" I returned. "We know exactly where they are going, and by following them up may gain some additional information."
"I don't know but what you are right," replied Mr. Harrison.
"Then, in that case, my duty here is at an end," said the sergeant.
"I'm very much obliged for the trouble you've taken. Are there any charges to pay?"
"None at all. Good day. Hope you will meet with success in the future."
"Thank you. If we do, I'll write you."
"Now we'll jump into a cab at once," said Mr. Harrison, when we were alone.
A minute later we were whirling along in the direction of his mansion.
"I hope you are not taking too much trouble on my account," I observed.
"I don't consider it too much," he replied. "Even if I had no business of my own to call me to New York I would go along if I thought I would be of service to you. You saved my little girl's life, and that debt, as I have told you before, I can never repay you."
We soon reached Mr. Harrison's mansion. Of course Mrs. Harrison was surprised at her husband's sudden determination, but when the situation was explained to her, she urged him to do his best for me.
The dinner served was the most elegant I had ever eaten, and despite the excited state of mind I was in, I did ample justice to it. Little Millie was present, and during the progress of the meal we became great friends.
But all good things must come to an end, and an hour later, each with his handbag, we entered the cab and were off.
On the way we stopped at Mr. Harrison's office, where that gentleman left directions concerning things to be done during his absence. Evidently he was a thorough business man, and I could not help but wonder what he was worth when I saw him place several hundred dollars in bills in his pocketbook.
Arriving at the depot, we found we had just five minutes to spare. This Mr. Harrison spent in the purchase of a ticket for himself—I had mine—and in getting parlor-car seats for both of us.
It was a novelty to me to have such a soft chair to sit in, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
As we rode along, my kind friend questioned me closely about myself, and I ended by giving him my entire history.
"You've had rather a hard row to hoe, and no mistake," he said. "It is a dreadful thing to have one's family honor assailed. Many a man has broken down completely under it."
"It is so with my father," I replied. "He used to be as bright as any one, but now he doesn't have much hope of any kind left."
In the evening another surprise awaited me. Instead of remaining in the comfortable chair, Mr. Harrison bade me follow him to the sleeping-car, and I was assigned as soft a bed as I had ever occupied. I slept "like a top," resolved to get the full value of so elegant an accommodation. When I awoke, it was broad daylight.
I climbed down from my bed and made my toilet leisurely. When I had finished, Mr. Harrison appeared, and together we had breakfast, and, five hours later, dinner.
It was six o'clock in the evening when we rolled into the station at Jersey City, and alighted. I was a little stiff from the long ride, but not near as much so as I would have been had I travelled in the ordinary cars.
"We'll cross the ferry at once," said Mr. Harrison. "The sooner we get to New York, the better."
"And the sooner we get to Brooklyn, the better," I added. "Do you think it will be advisable for me to hunt up Mrs. Agatha Mitts to-night?"
"I think it would. Even if you don't call on her, you can find out about her and see how the land lies. We will find a hotel to stop at first."
We were soon in New York and on our way up Broadway. Opposite the post-office we found an elegant hotel, where Mr. Harrison hired a room for himself.
He insisted on my having supper with him. Then leaving our handbags in his room, we started for the Fulton Street ferry to Brooklyn.
It was now growing dark, and the streets were filled with people hurrying homeward. I tried to keep as close to Mr. Harrison as possible, but something in a window attracted my attention, and when I looked around he was gone.
I supposed he had gone on ahead and hurried to catch him. But in this I was mistaken, for in no direction could I catch sight of the gentleman.
Deeply concerned, I stood on the corner of a narrow street or alley, undecided what to do. Should I go on to Brooklyn or retrace my steps to the hotel?
I had about made up my mind to go on, when a disturbance down the alley attracted my attention.
Straining my eyes in the semi-darkness, I discovered several rough-looking young fellows in a group.
"Give it to him, Bandy; hit him over the head!" I heard one of them exclaim.
"Fair share of plunder, Mickey," cried another.
And then I saw a helpless young man in their midst, who was being beaten and no doubt robbed.
I did not give thought to the great risk I ran, but hurried at once to the scene.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Help me! help me!" called out the young man, in a beseeching voice.
I stared at him in amazement. And no wonder. The young man was Duncan Woodward.
"Duncan Woodward!" I exclaimed. "Is it possible?"
He gave me a quick look of wonder. "Roger Strong!" he gasped. Oh, save me, Roger! These rowdies want to kill me!"
Even as he spoke he received a cruel blow in the side.
"I'll help you all I can," I replied promptly.
I knew it would be a waste of words to try to argue with the gang of toughs, so I simply went at them in a physical way.
I hit out right and left with all my might, and as quickly as I could, repeated the blows.
The suddenness of my attack disconcerted the three footpads, and when Duncan recovered sufficiently to lend a hand, one of them took to his heels and disappeared up the alley.
The two remaining ones stood their ground, and called on their companions to come back and bring "Noxy an' de rest."
I received a blow in the shoulder that nearly threw me over on my back. But I straightened up, and in return gave my assailant a hard one in the nose that drew blood.
"Duncan, you clear out to the street," I whispered. "I'll come after."
The young man followed my advice, first, however, stopping to pick up several things he had dropped or that had been taken from him.
When he was twenty or thirty feet away I started after him. As I did so, I noticed he had left a large note-book lying on the ground. I took it up, and hurried on. For a moment more we were safe upon the street again, and the two toughs slunk away up the alley.
Then, for the first time, I noted something about Duncan that I thought shameful beyond words.
He had been drinking heavily. The smell of liquor was in his breath, and it was with difficulty that he kept from staggering.
"You're my best, friend," he mumbled. "My enemy and my friend."
"What are you doing in New York, Duncan?" I asked.
"Come on important business, Roger. Say, take me to the hotel, will you? That's a good fellow."
"Where are you staying?"
"Staying? Nowhere."
"Then why don't you take the train to Newville and go home?"
"Can't do that."
"Why not?"
"The old gent would kill me. He says I spend too much money. Well, maybe I do."
"You've bean drinking, Duncan."
"So I have, Roger. Take me to a hotel."
"Will you promise to go to bed and not to drink any more if I do?"
"Yes. I've had enough."
"Then brace up and come with me."
Not without a good deal of difficulty did I manage to make him walk several blocks to a good though not stylish hotel. Here I took him into the office and explained the situation to the clerk in charge, who promptly assigned us to a room on the third floor.
The charge was three dollars, which Duncan with some difficulty managed to pay; and then we took the elevator to the third floor.
The room was a good one, with a soft bed. No sooner did Duncan reach it than he sank down, and in five minutes he was fast asleep.
I was in a quandary as to what to do. I did not care to leave him in his present state, and at the same time I was anxious to find Mr. Harrison and visit Mrs. Agatha Mitts in Brooklyn.
I wondered if my kind friend from Chicago had gone on without me, until I suddenly remembered that the Brooklyn address was in my pocket, and that he probably did not remember the street and number.
This being the case, he had no doubt returned to the hotel and was awaiting me.
I looked at Duncan, and made up my mind that he would sleep several hours, if not longer, without awaking.
Making him as comfortable as possible on the bed, I left the room, locking the door behind me.
Down in the office I explained the situation to the clerk when I left the key, and he promised to attend to matters if anything unusual happened.
I was not very well acquainted with New York City, and in trying to find my way to the hotel at which Mr. Harrison was stopping, I nearly lost my way.
But several inquiries, made here and there, set me right, and at length I reached the large, open corridor.
As I was about to step into the office, a well-known voice hailed me.
"Well, here you are at last." Of course it was Mr. Harrison.
"Yes, sir."
"Did I lose you, orvice versa?"he went on.
"I don't know. I'm sure it wasn't intentional, anyway."
"Have you been over to Brooklyn?" he continued curiously.
"No, sir."
"I thought you had; it is so long since we parted."
"I've had quite an adventure in the meantime."
"Indeed? You didn't meet Chris Holtzmann or this Aaron Woodward, did you?"
"I met Mr. Woodward's son," I replied, and in a brief way I related my adventures. Mr. Harrison listened with deep interest.
"It is too bad that the son has started in such a wrong path," he said. "I trust it teaches him a lesson to let liquor alone. What do you intend to do now?"
"I suppose I had better go back and stay all night with him. It is now too late to go to Brooklyn."
"I think you are right. I can call for you at, say, eight o'clock in the morning."
This was agreed upon, and as it was then after nine o'clock, I hurried back to Duncan at once. I found him still sleeping, and I did not disturb him. There was a lounge in the room, and throwing off my coat, vest, and shoes, I made my bed upon this.
For once I found it difficult to sleep. It seemed to me that my adventures must soon come to an end. Was it the foreshadowing of coming events that disturbed me? I could not tell. I wondered how all were at home; my sister Kate, Uncle Enos, and the Widow Canby, and I prayed God that I might be permitted to bring good news to them.
About midnight I fell into a light doze. Half an hour later I awoke with a start. Some one was talking in the room. Sitting up, I listened intently. It was Duncan, muttering in his sleep.
"Lift the spring, Pultzer," he said in a whisper. "Hist! don't make so much noise, the old gent may hear you." He paused for a moment. "There wasn't any money. But I've got the papers, yes, I've got the papers, and when I find out their true value the old gent shall pay me to keep quiet."
I could not help but start at Duncan's words. Like a flash of lightning came the revelation to me. He had entered his father's library and taken the papers which Mr. Woodward had accused me of stealing.
It was as clear as day. It explained why Pultzer, accompanied by another, who must have been of the party, had been out so late the night of the robbery. They had helped Duncan in his nefarious work, hoping they would be rewarded by the finding of a sum of money. Evidently the Models were a bad set, and I was thoroughly glad Dick Blair had turned his back upon them.
I waited with bated breath for Duncan to continue his speaking, but was disappointed. He turned over on his side and dreamed on, without a word.
At length I fell asleep. When I awoke it was daylight. I jumped up and looked at Duncan. He was just stirring, and a moment later he opened his eyes.
"Where am I?" he asked, with a puzzled look at me.
"You're all right, Duncan," I replied. "Don't you remember?"
"Oh, yes, I do now. How my head hurts. Is there any water around?"
I went over to the faucet and drew him a glass. He sat up and gulped it down.
"Have we been here all night?"
"Yes."
"You saved me from those toughs that wanted to rob me last night?"
"Yes."
"I'm not dreaming?"
"No, you're not," I laughed. "I was just in the nick of time."
"I know it all. You saved me, brought me to this place, and put me to bed. Roger, you're a better fellow than I thought you were. You're a better fellow than I am."
"You ought to turn over a new leaf," I said.
"Don't preach, Roger."
"I'm not preaching. I'm only telling you something for your own good."
"I know it. I don't blame you. I've been doing wrong—sowing my wild oats. But they're all gone now. Just let me get straightened out and I'll be a different fellow, see if I'm not."
"I hope so with all my heart. What brought you to New York?"
He started.
"I—I came—I don't care to tell," he stammered.
"Were you going to Brooklyn?" I questioned, struck by a sudden idea.
"Why, how did you know?" he exclaimed.
"You have certain papers," I continued.
"Yes, I&—" he felt in his pockets. "Why, where are they?"
"Are they in this?" I asked, suddenly remembering the note-book I had picked up, and producing it.
"Yes, yes, give them to me."
"I think I had better keep them," I replied decidedly.
I fully understood the value of the papers that were contained in the note-book. Mr. Aaron Woodward would not have persecuted me so closely had he not deemed them of great importance.
And when I told Duncan I would keep them, I meant what I said. It might not be right legally, but I was sure it was right morally, and that was enough to quiet my conscience.
"Better keep them?" repeated Duncan, as he sprang to his feet.
"Exactly."
"You have no right to do that."
"I don't know about that. I was arrested for having them, and what's the use of my having the name without the game?"
Duncan sank down on the edge of the bed again.
"If you had spoken to me like that yesterday, I'd have wanted to punch your head," he said. "But you're a good fellow, Roger, and I don't blame you for acting as you do. Do you know what the papers contain?"
"I think I do."
"They concern my father's affairs," he went on uneasily.
"And my father's as well," I added.
"Not so very much."
"I think so."
"Let me show you. Hand the papers over."
"Excuse me, Duncan, if I decline to do so. You, aided by Pultzer and others, stole them from your father's library, and then threw suspicion on me."
"I didn't throw suspicion on you. My father did that himself."
"You had nothing to do with that handkerchief?"
"I took the handkerchief by accident."
"Then I beg your pardon for having said so," I said heartily.
"Never mind, let that pass. I'll tell you what I'll do. Give me the papers and I will restore them to my father and tell him the truth."
"I must decline your offer."
"Why? Don't you believe I'll confess? If you don't I'll give you a written confession."
"No, it isn't that. I am going to keep the papers because they are valuable to me."
"What do you mean by valuable?" asked Duncan, his curiosity increasing.
"Just what I say."
"What will the old gent say when he hears of it?"
"I don't care what he says. He'll hear of a good deal more before long."
"How about the robbery at the Widow Canby's?"
"That will be straightened out, too."
There was a knock on the door, and, opening it, I was confronted by one of the servants.
"Mr. Strong here, sir?" he asked.
"That's my name."
"A gentleman below to see you, sir. Gave his name as Mr. Harrison."
"Tell him I will be down in a minute," I said.
"Now I'm ready to leave you," I went on to Duncan, when the servant had departed. "I advise you to take a good wash, get your breakfast, and take the first train home. Good-by."
"Yes, but, Roger&—"
"By doing that you may be doing your father a greater service than in any other way. You say you will turn over a new leaf, and I hope you will. If all goes as it should you will have a hard trial to stand before long. But do as I did when things went wrong in our family, bear up under it, and if you do what's right somebody is bound to respect you."
And, without waiting for a reply, I caught up my hat and hurried from the room.
I found Mr. Harrison waiting for me in the parlor.
"I thought I'd come over early," he explained. "I know young blood is impatient, and I half expected to find you gone."
"I didn't want to make a call before folks were up," I answered. "Besides, I have made quite an important discovery since we parted."
"Indeed."
"Yes. Come away from this place and I'll tell you. I don't want to meet Duncan Woodward again."
And as we walked away from the hotel I related the particulars about the note-book.
"You are gathering evidence by the wholesale," laughed Mr. Harrison. "You'll have more than enough to convict."
"I don't want to make a failure of it," I said firmly. "When I go to court I want a clear case from start to finish."
"Good! Strong, I admire your grit. Come in the restaurant, and while we have a bit of breakfast let us look over the papers. I declare, I was never before so interested in some one else's affairs."
And as we waited for our rolls, eggs, and coffee, we read the papers through carefully.
They gave much information, the most startling of which was that John Stumpy and Ferguson were one and the same person.
"That explains why Mr. Woodward made so many slips of the tongue when addressing him," I said.
"Here is another important thing," remarked Mr. Harrison; "a letter from this John Woodward stating that Mrs. Agatha Mitts knows of the forgeries. Now, if you can get this woman to testify against the two culprits, I think you will have a clear case."
"And that is just what I will force her to do," I said, with strong determination.
I could hardly wait to finish breakfast. Fortunately it did not take Mr. Harrison long to do so, and, five minutes later we were on our way to the ferry. The trip over the East River, near the big bridge, did not take long, and we soon stood on the opposite shore. Vannack Avenue was pretty well up town, and we took the elevated train to reach it.
"There is No. 648," said Mr. Harrison, pointing to a neat three-story brick building that stood in the middle of the block; "let us walk past first, and see if there is any name on the door."
We did so, and found a highly polished silver plate bearing the words:&—
MRS. AGATHA MITTSBoarding
"Perhaps it would be a good plan to find out something about the woman before we call on her," suggested my companion, after we had passed the house.
"There is a drug store on the corner," I said. "We can stop in there. No doubt they'll think we are looking for board."
"An excellent idea."