CHAPTER XXII
BRADLEY WENTWORTH TRIES TO MAKE MISCHIEF
If Gerald was stupefied at meeting Bradley Wentworth the latter was even more amazed at encountering Gerald.
“You here?” he exclaimed abruptly.
“Yes, sir,” answered Gerald.
“Are you traveling alone?”
“No, sir. I am with an English gentleman, Mr. Noel Brooke.”
“His servant. I suppose.”
“No, sir; I am his private secretary.”
“Private secretary! Couldn’t he find a person better qualified for the position than a beardless boy from the hills of Colorado?”
“I presume he could,” answered Gerald coldly, “but he seems to be satisfied with me.”
“How long since you left home?”
“Two or three months.”
“Do you still own the cabin in which your father lived?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You had better sell it. I am ready to pay you a fair price.”
“I don’t care to sell it, Mr. Wentworth.”
“Humph! You are very foolish.”
“Perhaps so, but I shall not sell it at present. Is your son well?”
This question Gerald asked partly out of politeness, partly because he wished to change the subject.
A gloom overspread the face of Bradley Wentworth. It was a sore point with him. For a moment he forgot his dislike for Gerald and answered: “My son Victor is giving me a good deal of trouble. He ran away from school more than two months ago.”
“And haven’t you heard from him since?” asked Gerald in quick sympathy.
“No, but I have not taken any special pains to find him.”
“You will forgive him, won’t you?”
“Yes,” answered Mr. Wentworth with a sigh, “but I thought it best for him to reap the consequences of his folly. Perhaps I have waited too long. Now I have no clew to his whereabouts.”
“Did he go away alone?” asked Gerald, interested.
“No, he was accompanied by one of his schoolmates, Arthur Grigson. He had but little money. I thought when that gave out he would come home, or at any rate communicate with me. But I have heard nothing of him,” concluded Wentworth gloomily.
“I am sorry for you, Mr. Wentworth,” said Gerald earnestly. “Have you a picture of Victor with you?”
“Yes,” and Wentworth drew from his inside pocket a cabinet photograph of a boy whose face was pleasant, but seemed to lack strength.
“I suppose you have met no such boy in your travels,” said the father.
“No, but I may do so. If so I will try to get him to go home, and at any rate I will communicate with you.”
Mr. Wentworth seemed to be somewhat softened by Gerald’s sympathy, but he was not an emotional man, and business considerations succeeded his gentler mood.
“Have you got with you the papers I spoke of when we parted?” he asked with abruptness.
“They are safe,” returned Gerald.
“Do you carry them around with you?”
“I must decline to answer that question,” answered Gerald.
“You are an impertinent boy!”
“How do you make that out?”
“In refusing to answer me.”
“If it were a question which you had a right to expect an answer to, I would tell you.”
“I have a right to an answer.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, let that go. I will give you a thousand dollars for the papers, not that they are worth it, but because your father was an early friend of mine, and it will give me an excuse for helping his son.”
“If your intention is kind I thank you, but for the present I prefer to keep the papers.”
“Is the man you are traveling with rich?”
“I have reason to think he is.”
“Humph!”
Bradley Wentworth walked away, but kept Gerald under his eye. Soon he saw him promenading with Mr. Brooke, and apparently on very cordial and intimate terms with him.
“The man seems to be a gentleman,” reflected Wentworth, “but he can’t be very sharp to let an uneducated country boy worm himself into his confidence. It doesn’t suit my plans at all. I may get a chance to injure Gerald in his estimation.”
Later in the day he met Noel Brooke promenading the deck.
“A pleasant day, sir,” said Wentworth politely.
“Yes, sir,” answered the English tourist courteously.
“You are an Englishman, I judge?”
“Yes, sir. I presume I show my nationality in my appearance.”
“Well, yes. However, I was told you were English.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, by the boy who seems to be in your company.”
“Gerald Lane? Yes, he is in my company.”
“I know the boy.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, and I knew his father before him. He and I were young men together.”
“He must have been glad to meet you. He is an excellent boy.”
“I am glad you like him,” said Wentworth, but there was something unpleasant in his tone, that did not escape the attention of Noel Brooke.
“Don’t you feel friendly to him?” he asked keenly.
“Yes, but the boy is headstrong and repels my advances.”
“That is singular. He seems to be a very open, frank boy, and I have discovered nothing objectionable in him in the ten weeks we have been together.”
“I am pleased to hear it, but the boy’s ancestry is against him.”
“What do you mean? I thought you said his father was a friend of yours.”
“Yes; we were associated together in early life, but something unpleasant occurred. However, perhaps I had better not speak of it.”
“You have gone too far to recede. I insist upon your continuing.”
“Well, if you insist upon it I will do so. Mr. Lane was in the employ of my uncle and lost his position in consequence of getting money upon a forged check which was traced to him.”
Noel Brooke looked disturbed.
“I am sorry to hear it,” he said gravely.
“I presume Gerald has not mentioned the matter to you.”
“No.”
“Well, he could hardly be expected to do so.”
“Still the boy is no worse for his father’s crime.”
“Unless he inherits the same tendency,” said Wentworth significantly.
“I am sure he does not,” said Noel Brooke warmly.
“You can’t tell. I claim to be a sharp business man, but I have more than once been deceived in a man that I thought I knew well. Warren Lane seemed to my uncle and myself a thoroughly upright man, but – ” here he paused suggestively.
“What induced him to commit forgery?”
“Extravagant living,” answered Wentworth promptly. “His salary was only moderate and did not come up to his desires.”
“You surprise me very much,” said Noel Brooke after a brief pause.
“I thought I should, but I felt it to be my duty to warn you against Gerald. He is probably in confidential relations with you, and he might play some dishonest trick on you. I advise you, as soon as practicable, to discharge him and secure some one in his place on whom you can rely. I need only call your attention to the individual he is talking with at this moment. He looks like a confidence man.”
Samuel Standish had again joined Gerald, and to the boy’s disgust had almost forced his company upon him.
“That is a man whom we met at a hotel in Davenport, and he appears inclined to thrust himself upon us.”
Bradley Wentworth shrugged his shoulders and smiled in evident incredulity.
“At any rate,” he said, “I have warned you, and have done my duty.”
Noel Brooke bowed slightly, but did not feel called upon to make any other acknowledgment of Mr. Wentworth’s warning.
When Brooke had an opportunity he said to Gerald, “I have been talking to a man who claims to know you.”
“A tall, well-built man?”
“Yes.”
“He recently paid us a visit in Colorado.”
“Do you consider him a friend?”
“No.”
“He says he knew your father in early days.”
“That is true.”
“And he charges your father with having committed forgery and thus lost his position.”
“Was he really so base as that?” asked Gerald indignantly.
“Then it isn’t true?”
“No; a thousand times no!”
“I believe you, Gerald,” said the Englishman promptly.
CHAPTER XXIII
MR. STANDISH RECEIVES A COMMISSION
“Thank you for your confidence, Mr. Brooke,” said Gerald, “but I prefer that you should have proofs of what I say.”
“It is not necessary, Gerald.”
“But I prefer that you should look over some papers that I have with me, and for which, by the way, Mr. Wentworth is ready at any time to pay me a thousand dollars.”
“But why should he be willing to pay so much?” asked the Englishman in surprise.
“Because they prove that he, and not my father, committed the forgery. My father agreed to have it charged upon him at Mr. Wentworth’s urgent request, in order that Wentworth might not be disinherited by his uncle.”
“But your father ought not to have made such a sacrifice. Why did he do so?”
“Because Bradley Wentworth promised him twenty thousand dollars when he came into his fortune.”
“Was the fortune so large, then?”
“Over three hundred thousand dollars.”
“And he came into his fortune?”
“Yes.”
“And refused to carry out his agreement?”
“Yes; he said it was absurd to expect such a liberal reward, though it brought disgrace and loss to my poor father, and finally, as I think, shortened his life.”
“It should have been considered a debt of honor.”
“So my father thought, but Mr. Wentworth only offered him a thousand dollars, which, poor as he was, he indignantly refused. I don’t think he would have offered anything, if he had not known that my father had letters proving that he was innocent, and Wentworth himself the forger.”
“Who has these papers now?”
“I have.”
“And you say Mr. Wentworth has offered a thousand dollars for them?”
“He made me that offer this very morning.”
“And you declined to accept it?”
“Yes.”
“Gerald, the man seems to be unscrupulous. If he finds he cannot obtain the papers in any other way he may plot to have them stolen from you.”
“I don’t know but you are right, Mr. Brooke,” said Gerald thoughtfully.
“Shall I advise you?”
“I wish you would.”
“When you get to St. Louis, deposit them with some safe deposit company, and carry about with you merely copies of them. Then, if they are stolen, there will be no harm done.”
“Your advice is good, Mr. Brooke, and I shall follow it.”
This conversation took place in their stateroom. Meanwhile, Bradley Wentworth was engaged in reflection.
“That boy means mischief, I fully believe,” he said to himself. “He is of a different nature from his father. He is firm and resolute, and if I read him aright, he will never forego his purpose of demanding from me the sum which I so foolishly promised his father. The worst of it is, the papers he carries will, if shown, injure my reputation and throw upon me the crime of which during all these years his father has been held guilty. Those papers I must have! My security requires it.”
It was easy to come to this conclusion but not so easy to decide how the papers could be obtained. He would gladly have paid a thousand dollars, but that offer had more than once been made, and always decidedly refused.
As Bradley Wentworth paced the deck with thoughtful brow, Samuel Standish, who was always drawn towards men whom he suspected to be wealthy, stepped up, and asked deferentially: “General, may I ask you for a light?” for Wentworth chanced to be smoking.
Bradley Wentworth paused and scanned the man who accosted him closely.
“Why do you call me General?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon, but I took you for General Borden, member of Congress from Kentucky.”
“I am not the man.”
“I really beg your pardon. Perhaps, however, you will oblige me with a light all the same.”
“I will. What is your name?”
“Samuel Standish.”
“Humph! I suppose you are not a member of Congress?”
“No, indeed!” laughed Standish. “I wish I were.”
“Perhaps I could give a good guess as to who and what you are.”
Standish looked curious.
“Suppose you do!” he said.
Bradley Wentworth looked the man full in the face. It was a glance of sharp scrutiny, so sharp that Samuel Standish, though not a sensitive man, flushed and winced under it.
“I may be wrong,” said Wentworth, “but you look to me like an adventurer.”
“Do you mean to insult me?” demanded Standish, starting angrily.
“No; in fact, I rather hope that you are the sort of character I take you to be.”
“I don’t understand you,” and Standish looked and was really bewildered.
“Only because if you are as unscrupulous as I believe you to be, I may be able to throw a job in your way.”
“You may assume then that you are correct.” Wentworth laughed slightly.
“I thought so,” he said.
“I am ready for a job,” went on Standish. “In fact I am hard up, and am obliged to earn money in some way.”
“And are not very particular in what way.”
“Well, a man must live! If I had plenty of money it would be different. Will you kindly tell me what you want done?”
“I believe I saw you talking with a boy half an hour ago.”
“Yes.”
“Are you acquainted with him?”
“I saw him first at the hotel in Davenport. He is in company with an Englishman, who seems to have plenty of money.”
“I see. You feel more interested in the Englishman than in the boy.”
“Naturally. The boy is probably poor.”
“I want you to become interested in the boy.”
“If there is money in it, I shall certainly feel interested in him,” said Mr. Standish briskly.
“There is money in it – if you carry out my wishes.”
“What are they?”
“Listen! This boy is possessed of papers – probably he carries them about with him – which properly belong to me. I have offered to buy them of him, but he refuses to let me have them.”
“Of what nature are they?”
“There is a letter, and also a memorandum signed by myself, and given to his father many years ago. The father died and the boy came into possession of them. Knowing that I wished them he holds them for a large – a foolishly large sum.”
“I comprehend. How much did you say you had offered him for them?”
“I did not mention the sum, Mr. Standish.”
“Oh, I thought you did,” returned Standish, rather confused.
“In fact, that has nothing to do with you.”
“I thought it would give me an idea of the value of the papers.”
“It is quite unnecessary that you should know their value.”
“You wish me to get possession of them?”
“Yes.”
“How much will it be worth to me?”
“That’s another matter. That is something you do have a right to ask. Well, I am ready to pay” – Mr. Wentworth paused to consider – “I am ready to pay a hundred, yes, two hundred, dollars for them.”
Samuel Standish brightened up. To him in his present circumstances two hundred dollars was a great deal of money.
“Do you think there will be any chance to get hold of the papers on the boat?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“If not, I shall have to follow him.”
“Yes.”
“And I can’t do it without money.”
“I understand all that. Of course I would rather have you secure them on the boat, if possible, but it may not be possible.”
“Have you anything to suggest then?”
“The boy and his companion will undoubtedly stop a few days in St. Louis. You must go to the same hotel, and try to get a room near by. As to the details I can’t advise you. It is out of my line. I suspect that it may be in yours. Before you leave the boat, I shall give you some money so that you may be able to pay your hotel expenses.”
“I ought to know your name, so that I may communicate with you.”
“Yes, that is needful. Of course I rely upon your keeping secret and confidential all that has passed between us.”
“You can rely upon me. I am the soul of honor!” said Samuel Standish, placing his hand on his heart.
“If you are,” said Wentworth dryly, “I am afraid you are hardly the man for my purpose.”
“I mean that I shall be loyal to you. I am a gentleman.”
“I am glad to hear it. One thing more, you had better not be much in my company. It might excite suspicion. In two minutes I can give you such directions as you may require, and then we had better avoid each other.”
“I understand.”
As Gerald came out of his stateroom he saw the two walking together. It struck him as rather singular, but it did not occur to him that it boded harm to himself.
CHAPTER XXIV
A FALSE ALARM
Bradley Wentworth had some slight hope that the words he had spoken would prejudice the English tourist against Gerald, but he was destined to be disappointed. The two promenaded the deck together, and were evidently on the most cordial terms.
“The boy is artful,” thought Wentworth, “and for that reason he is the more dangerous. I wish he could happen to fall overboard. It would save me a great deal of anxiety, as he is the only one who is acquainted with the secret of my guilt.”
The voyage proceeded. There are many rivers that are more interesting than the Mississippi. The shores are low and monotonous, and the river itself in a large part of its course is turbid and narrow. There are but few towns of much size or importance between Davenport and St. Louis.
“I say, Gerald,” said Mr. Brooke, “we hear a good deal about American scenery, but if this is a specimen I can only say that it is a good deal overrated.”
Gerald laughed.
“I haven’t traveled a great deal myself, Mr. Brooke,” he said, “but I think you must have seen something worthy of admiration since you have been in this country. Have you been up the Hudson River?”
“Not yet.”
“Or seen Niagara?”
“Yes; I saw that. We haven’t anything like that at home.”
“I am told the Columbia River has some fine scenery.”
“I wasn’t in earnest, Gerald. It only occurred to me to joke you a little. You must admit, however, that there is nothing worth seeing here.”
“We don’t boast so much of our scenery as our men,” said Gerald. “Samuel Standish, for instance.”
“And Jake Amsden?”
“Yes.”
“I think we can match them both in England. I wish we couldn’t.”
On the third evening, however, there was a genuine sensation.
Some one raised the cry of “Fire!” and for five minutes there was a grand commotion. Those who were in their staterooms rushed out in dismay, and there was much rushing to and fro and wild confusion.
Among those who ran out of their staterooms were Gerald and Noel Brooke, but both of them were calm and collected. The Englishman looked about him quickly, but could see no signs of fire.
“I believe it is a false alarm, Gerald.”
At this moment one of the officers of the steamer passed by.
“Is there any fire?” asked Gerald.
“No; I should like to get hold of the miscreant who raised the cry. There is not the slightest indication of fire anywhere.”
Satisfied by this assurance the two friends returned to their stateroom. As they reached the door which had been left open a man darted out.
“Hallo, there!” exclaimed Noel Brooke, seizing him. “What brings you in my stateroom?”
“Why, it’s Standish!” exclaimed Gerald.
“I beg your pardon,” said Samuel Standish apologetically. “I thought it was my room.”
“That isn’t very probable!” rejoined Brooke sternly.
“I assure you, Mr. Brooke, that it is the truth. I was so alarmed that I really did not know what I was about. I presumed the steamer was doomed, and wished to secure my small baggage, for I am a poor man and couldn’t afford to lose it. Of course when I looked around me I saw that I was mistaken. I hope you will pardon me. Is the fire out? Excuse my agitation.”
“There has never been any fire. Some scoundrel raised the alarm. If he should be found he would probably be thrown overboard by the indignant passengers.”
“And serves him right, too!” said the virtuous Standish. “You have no idea what a shock he gave me. I am a victim of heart disease, and liable to drop at a minute’s notice.”
“I suppose you are ready to go?” said Brooke ironically.
“Well, no, I can’t quite say that. Life is sweet, even if I am a poor man.”
“Where is your stateroom?”
“On – on the opposite side of the steamer.”
“Then it seems rather strange that you should have mistaken ours for yours.”
“So it is, so it is! I can’t understand it at all, I give you my word. The sudden fright quite upset me. Didn’t it upset you?”
“No.”
“How I envy you! But it is no doubt the condition of my heart. Well, it is fortunate that the alarm was a false one.”
Meanwhile the officers had been instituting an investigation as to the person who had raised the cry.
A typical Yankee, who looked as if he had recently come from New England, pointed to Standish and said, “I am positive that man raised the alarm.”
There was an immediate commotion. Voices from the crowd of passengers called out: “Throw him into the river! Lynch him!”
Standish turned ghastly pale as he saw the menacing glances of those around him.
“I assure you, gentlemen,” he protested, “this is a base calumny.”
“Do you mean to tell me I lie?” demanded the Yankee fiercely.
“No, no, I beg your pardon. I only mean to say you are mistaken!”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Throw him into the river! There he will be safe from fire!” called out one man.
“Yes, yes, throw him into the river!”
Samuel Standish was not a hero. Indeed, he was far from it. He seemed overcome with fear, and his knees smote with terror as a brawny cowboy seized him by the shoulder and hurried him towards the side.
“A ducking will do him no harm,” said the cowboy, and he evidently voiced the sentiment of his fellow passengers.
“Gentlemen, friends!” exclaimed Standish, “I can’t swim a stroke. Would you murder me?”
The position was critical. His appearance was against him, and had Gerald or his English friend mentioned the intrusion of Standish into their stateroom it would have been all up with him. But he found a friend just when he needed one most. Bradley Wentworth pushed his way through the crowd, and exclaimed angrily: “Let go that man! I won’t permit this outrage.”
“He raised the alarm of fire.”
“He did not! I was standing six feet from him when the cry was raised, and if it had been he I should have known it.”
“But I heard him,” insisted the Yankee.
“You are mistaken! I hope you will not compel me to use a harsher word. I appeal to the officers of this boat to prevent an outrage upon an unoffending man.”
Bradley Wentworth was handsomely dressed, and looked to be a man of wealth and standing, and his testimony had great weight. The Yankee was poorly dressed, and from all appearances a laboring man. The fickle crowd changed at once and such cries were heard as “It’s a shame!” “It’s an outrage!” Samuel Standish was released. The tide had turned and he was safe.
“Sir,” he said, turning to Bradley Wentworth, “I thank you for your manly words. You have saved my life. You are a stranger to me, but hereafter I shall always remember you in my prayers.”
“Thank you,” answered Wentworth, “but I don’t deserve your gratitude. What I have done has been in the interest of justice; for I feel no interest in you except as a man unjustly treated. I would have done as much for any of my fellow passengers.”
These words created a very favorable impression and completely cleared Standish from suspicion, except in the minds of the Yankee passenger, Gerald and Noel Brooke.
“I believe Standish was the man,” said Brooke when they were by themselves, “and Mr. Wentworth’s interference in his favor leads me to think there is something between them.”
“But why should he give such an alarm?” asked Gerald puzzled.
“To get a chance to enter our stateroom.”
“I don’t quite understand why he should enter our stateroom rather than any other?”
“Gerald,” said his friend significantly, “he was after your papers. He thought you might keep them in the stateroom.”
“Do you really think that, Mr Brooke?”
“I think it altogether likely, and that he has been engaged for the purpose by your friend, Mr. Bradley Wentworth. Unless I am greatly mistaken, we shall see more of Mr. Standish after we land.”
“I believe you are right, Mr. Brooke,” said Gerald thoughtfully. “I shall most certainly adopt your suggestion, and copy the papers as soon as I reach St. Louis.”
The steamer arrived about three o’clock in the afternoon. Noel Brooke and Gerald went to the Lindell House and registered. An hour later, in the lobby of the hotel, looking, it must be confessed, rather out of place in his elegant surroundings, they recognized the familiar figure of Samuel Standish.