CHAPTER XXV
GERALD HAS AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE
It was certainly a matter of surprise that a man like Standish should put up at a high-priced and fashionable hotel like the Lindell. Moreover Gerald soon learned that he had a room very near them. There was but one between. One thing more that looked suspicious was that Standish, though he frequently passed Gerald and his companion, appeared to take very little notice of them.
“I am afraid Mr. Standish is cutting us, Mr. Brooke,” said Gerald laughing.
“Perhaps we are not up to his standard,” returned Brooke. “I suppose there is no help for it. If you think a little social attention would conciliate him – ”
“Such as lending him a five-dollar bill,” suggested Gerald.
“I see you have some knowledge of human nature, Gerald. I confess I should like to find out the man’s object in following us, for it is evident that our being at this hotel is the attraction for him.”
“I will engage him in conversation,” said Gerald, “on the first opportunity.”
“Do so.”
That evening Gerald met Mr. Standish in the lobby of the hotel.
“I believe we met on the steamer coming down the river,” began Gerald politely.
“Yes,” answered Standish promptly. “You are with an Englishman.”
“Yes.”
“I recognized you both, but I did not wish to intrude. Do you remain long in this city?”
“I don’t know. Mr. Brooke is making a leisurely tour of the States, and it depends upon him.”
“If you are not expected to spend all your time with him, I should like to go about a little with you.”
“Then you are going to spend some time in St. Louis?” Gerald ventured to inquire.
“That depends on circumstances. I am here on a little matter of business. I am a traveling salesman.”
“Indeed! In what line?”
“I travel for a house in Chicago,” said Mr. Standish vaguely. “I would answer your questions, but our house is peculiar, and requires its agents to be very close-mouthed.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I didn’t wish to be inquisitive.”
“You can imagine how absurd it was for a man of my standing to be accused of raising the alarm of fire on the boat.”
“Yes,” answered Gerald non-commitally.
In his own mind he was convinced that Standish did raise the alarm, but did not consider it necessary to say so.
“You are much indebted to the gentleman who came to your assistance,” he said instead.
“Yes, he is a gentleman! I believe you know him?”
“Yes. Is he staying in St. Louis?”
“I think he went on to New Orleans.”
“But he left the boat.”
“Yes, for a day or two. I have not seen him since.”
“Your room is near ours.”
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”
Gerald knew better than this, for he had seen Standish standing in front of their door and scrutinizing it curiously.
The next morning he noticed something else. In the vicinity of the Southern Hotel he saw Samuel Standish and Bradley Wentworth walking together in close conference. It might have been their first meeting, so he found an opportunity some hours later of saying to Standish: “I thought I saw Mr. Wentworth in the street to-day.”
“Indeed! Where?”
Gerald returned an evasive answer.
“You may be right,” said Standish. “If he is here I shall be glad to meet him and thank him once more for the service he did me.”
“It is clear there is something between them,” decided Gerald, “and that something must relate to me and the papers Mr. Wentworth is so anxious to secure.”
But in that event it puzzled Gerald that Mr. Standish seemed to take no special pains to cultivate their acquaintance – as he might naturally have been expected to do. He was destined to find out that Standish was not idle.
One day – the fifth of his stay in St. Louis – Gerald was walking in one of the poorer districts of the city, when a boy of ten, with a thin, pallid face and shabby clothes, sidled up to him.
“Oh, mister,” he said, whimpering, “won’t you come wid me? I’m afraid my mudder will beat me if I go home alone.”
“What makes you think your mother will beat you?”
“Coz she sent me out for a bottle of whisky this mornin’ and I broke it.”
“Does your mother drink whisky?” asked Gerald compassionately.
“Yes, mister, she’s a reg’lar tank, she is.”
“Have you any brothers or sisters?”
“I have a little brudder. She licks him awful.”
“Have you no father?”
“No; he got killed on the railroad two years ago.”
“I am sorry for you,” said Gerald, in a tone of sympathy. “Here is a quarter.”
“Thank you, mister.”
“Perhaps that will prevent your mother from beating you.”
“I don’t know,” said the boy doubtfully. “Mudder’s a hard case. She’s awful strong. Won’t you go home with me?”
“I am afraid I can’t say anything that will make any impression on your mother. Where do you live?”
The boy pointed to a shabby house of three stories, situated not far away.
“It’s only a few steps, mister.”
“Perhaps I may be able to do the little fellow some good,” thought Gerald. “At any rate, as the house is so near, I may as well go in.”
“Very well,” he said aloud. “I’ll go in and see your mother. Do you think that she has been drinking lately?”
“No; I spilt the whisky. That’s why she’s mad.”
Gerald followed the boy to the house. His companion opened the outer door, and revealed a steep staircase covered with a very ragged oil-cloth, and led the way up.
“Come along!” he said.
When he reached the head of the first flight he kept on.
“Is it any higher up?”
“Yes, one story furder.”
Gerald followed the boy, inhaling, as he went up, musty and disagreeable odors, and felt that if it had not been on an errand of mercy he would have been inclined to retreat and make his way back to the street.
The boy pushed on to the rear room on the third floor, and opened the door a little way.
“Come in!” he said.
Gerald followed him in, and began to look around for the mother whom he had come to see. But the room appeared to be empty.
A sound startled him. It was the sound of a key in the lock. He turned quickly and found that his boy guide had mysteriously disappeared and left him alone.
He tried the door, only to confirm his suspicion that he had been locked in.
“What does it all mean?” he asked himself in genuine bewilderment.
He knocked loudly at the door, and called out, “Boy, open the door.”
The only answer was a discordant laugh, and he heard the steps of the boy as he hurried downstairs.
Gerald was completely bewildered. Had the boy been a man he would have been on his guard, but who could be suspicious of a street urchin, whose story seemed natural enough. What evil design could he have, or what could he do now that his victim was trapped?
“I wish he would come back, so that I might question him,” thought Gerald.
With the hope of bringing this about Gerald began to pound on the door.
“Come back here, boy!” he called out in a loud tone. “Come back, and let me out!”
But no one answered. In fact the boy who had proved so unworthy of his compassion was by this time in the street, laughing aloud at his successful maneuver.
“Dat’s a good one!” he said gleefully. “I got de bloke in good. Uncle Sam offered me half a dollar if I’d do it. I’ll strike him for a dollar if I can.”
After waiting five minutes Gerald tried a second fusillade on the door. This brought a response, not from his young jailer, but from a choleric German who lived opposite.
“I say, you stop dat or I’ll come in and break your kopf!” he said.
“Come in!” cried Gerald eagerly. “I have been locked in.”
“If I come in I mash you!”
“Come in, and I’ll take the risk.”
“How I come in widout de key?”
“I don’t know unless you break open the door.”
“And pay damages to de landlord? Not much, nein, I guess not,” and the stout German walked away.
“I suppose I shall have to wait till some one else comes,” said Gerald to himself, and he sat down on a wooden chair without a back.
CHAPTER XXVI
TIP AND HIS TRICKS
A little reflection led Gerald to feel more comfortable. Without knowing exactly why he had been imprisoned, he concluded that it might be for purposes of plunder. Now he was not in the habit of carrying much money about with him, and his purse contained but fifteen dollars. Having no bills to pay, he allowed his salary to accumulate in the hands of his employer, and this accounted for his being so poorly provided.
“They are welcome to the fifteen dollars if they will let me out of this cage,” he soliloquized. “Of course it’s an imposition, but it won’t ruin me. I wish that young rascal would come back.”
But the young rascal was at that very moment talking in the street below with a man whose face looks familiar. In fact, it was Mr. Samuel Standish.
“I’ve got him, Uncle Sam,” said the boy, when his respected relation turned the corner.
“You have really?” exclaimed Standish, his face lighting up with satisfaction.
“Wish ter die if I ain’t. Now give me that dollar.”
“I didn’t promise you a dollar, Tip. It was only fifty cents.”
“It’s worth a dollar,” said the boy, screwing up his face. “I had awful hard work getting him here. Told him my mudder would beat me if he didn’t come along and get me off.”
“You’re a smart one, Tip – take after your uncle.”
“Den it’s worth a dollar.”
“Here, I’ll give you seventy-five cents; that is, I’ll see first if he’s there,” added Standish cautiously.
“You don’t think I’d lie, do you, Uncle Sam?” said Tip with an injured look.
“It wouldn’t be the first time, I’m afraid.”
“I take after my uncle,” said Tip, twisting his elf-like features into a grin.
“You’ve got me there, Tip. You are a smart one. Where is he?”
“Up-stairs, in de room.”
“Is he locked in?”
“Well, I reckon.”
“Come up with me, Tip, and, if I find it’s true, I’ll give you the dollar.”
“Come along, den.”
Tip went up the rickety staircase, two steps at a time, and Samuel Standish followed in a more leisurely way.
Arrived at the landing, Standish signaled to Tip to knock on the door.
Tip did so.
“Is you dere?” he asked.
“Yes; let me out!” cried Gerald eagerly.
“What’ll you give me?”
Gerald was tempted to answer “a licking,” but he reflected that it would not be prudent. He must temporize.
“You’ve played a trick on me, and you don’t deserve anything. But I’ll give you another quarter, and won’t say anything about it.”
“So he gave you a quarter, did he, Tip?” inquired Standish.
“No; he’s only gassin’,” said Tip. “Now, do you believe he’s dere?”
“Yes; it’s all right.”
“Where’s de money?”
Samuel Standish drew seventy-five cents from his pocket – a fifty-cent piece and a quarter – and handed them to his promising nephew.
“I want a dollar,” said Tip doggedly.
“You’ve got it.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“The boy inside gave you twenty-five cents.”
“Dat’s what I call mean.”
“Go away, you young rogue! You’ve got more money now than you will make good use of. There’s many a time even now when I haven’t got as much.”
“I say, uncle,” asked the boy, excited by curiosity, “what are you goin’ to do wid him?”
“That’s my affair. I have some business with him – important business.”
“Let me go in wid you!”
“If you don’t clear out I’ll kick you downstairs.”
A glance at his uncle’s face satisfied Tip that he meant what he said, and making a virtue of necessity, he descended the stairs, two steps at a time.
Gerald heard him and became alarmed.
“Come back here and let me out!” he called. “I’ll pay you well.”
If Tip had heard this he would have been tempted to retrace his steps, for if there was anything the young rascal was fond of it was money. But he was already out of hearing.
Gerald, however, heard a key inserted in the lock, and his hopes rose again. He had not heard the voice of Standish, and was not aware of his presence, but stood ready to make a rush out of the room when the door opened. But he reckoned without his host. The door opened, indeed, but only sufficiently to admit the figure of Samuel Standish.
“Mr. Standish!” exclaimed Gerald in astonishment.
“Yes, my dear young friend. I’ve come to make you a call.”
CHAPTER XXVII
MR. STANDISH STATES HIS BUSINESS
As Mr. Standish spoke, he slipped into the room adroitly, closed the door again, and locked it.
He looked about for a seat, and discovered a rocking-chair, which, like the chair Gerald occupied, appeared to be suffering from infirmity and old age.
“Glad to see you again, Gerald!” he said urbanely.
“Mr. Standish, are you responsible for this outrage?” demanded Gerald angrily.
“For what outrage, my dear young friend?”
“Did you send that boy to lure me in here?”
“That boy is my promising nephew, Tip Standish.”
“I am not surprised to hear it. Was he acting under your orders?”
“You’ve hit it, my dear boy. He was acting under my orders, and I am proud to say that he did himself credit.”
“He told me a story about being in danger of a beating from his mother.”
Standish laughed.
“His mother is a poor weak woman weighing about ninety pounds. She isn’t strong enough to harm a fly.”
“In other words the boy lied.”
“Tip has remarkable inventive powers. He may make a story-writer in time.”
“I am quite sure he doesn’t excel you – in invention, Mr. Standish.”
“Thank you, dear boy. It is pleasant to be appreciated. You do me proud, you really do.”
“Never mind compliments, Mr. Standish. Of course you had some object in luring me here. What is it?”
“I admire the quickness with which you come to business. Really you are a very smart boy.”
“With all my smartness I have fallen into a trap. Now, what do you want?”
“Perhaps you might have some idea – can’t you now?”
“I can think of nothing except money. I suppose you want to rob me.”
“My dear boy!” protested Standish, “you misjudge me. What, Samuel Standish a common thief? I am indeed mortified. I was not aware that you carried a large sum of money with you,” he added, not without curiosity.
“I don’t,” answered Gerald. “I have only fifteen dollars in my pocketbook.”
Samuel Standish in spite of his disclaimer looked somewhat disappointed, but he kept up appearances.
“Keep the money, my boy!” he said with a wave of the hand. “Keep the money! Heaven forbid that I should deprive you of it. Samuel Standish is a man of honor.”
Gerald gazed at him with increasing bewilderment. He had not expected such a display of honesty. Moreover, if Standish did not want money, what did he want? What could be his object in trapping him?
“If I have done you injustice, Mr. Standish, I apologize,” he said. “I supposed it must be money you wanted, for I could think of nothing else. Of course in confining me you are committing an illegal act. If you will release me at once I will overlook what has already passed.”
“You are a smart boy, Gerald,” said Samuel Standish jocosely. “You ought to have been a lawyer.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
“Oh, you are quite welcome, I am sure.”
“I must trouble you to release me at once, as Mr. Brooke expects me back at the hotel. We had arranged to take an excursion.”
“I shouldn’t like to interfere with any little arrangement you have made. Gerald, I am your friend, though you may not think it.”
“Well, your treatment of me this morning doesn’t seem like it. Is it your custom to trap and kidnap those to whom you are friendly?”
Mr. Standish laughed.
“Not in general,” he answered, “but I wanted an interview with you for special reasons.”
“It was not necessary to kidnap me in order to obtain it. If you had requested an interview I would have granted it.”
“Well, perhaps so, but I wanted to make sure. I wanted an interview somewhere where we were not likely to be interrupted.”
“As you have your wish, will you please come to business, and let me know what you want of me?”
Samuel Standish leaned forward and said significantly, “I want some papers that you are carrying about with you.”
CHAPTER XXVIII
MR. STANDISH GAINS A BARREN VICTORY
Gerald was not altogether surprised by what his visitor said. When Standish disclaimed any wish to secure his money, he began to suspect, remembering the confidential meeting with Bradley Wentworth, that it was the papers that were wanted. Desiring to learn what he could of Wentworth’s agency in the matter, he said non-committally, “To what papers do you refer?”
“You know well enough,” answered Standish, winking.
“Perhaps I do. Are you employed by Mr. Wentworth?”
“Who is Mr. Wentworth?”
“The gentleman who saved you from being thrown overboard on the steamer.”
“Have you any papers of his?”
“No; but I have some papers that he wants to get possession of.”
“He told me they belonged to him.”
“Then you are his agent?”
“I may as well admit it. Now what have you got to say?”
“That the papers are mine.”
“Then why does Mr. Wentworth want them?”
This inquiry was made in good faith, for Standish had not been taken into confidence by his employer, and he was puzzled to understand why it was that the papers were considered of such importance.
“Because he owes me, as my father’s representative, a large sum of money, and these papers are very important evidence to that effect.”
“How much did you say that he owes you?” asked Standish in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I didn’t say,” returned Gerald.
“Oh, I beg pardon. I did not suppose it was a secret.”
“I don’t mind telling you that Mr. Wentworth has repeatedly offered me a thousand dollars for the papers.”
“You don’t say so!” ejaculated Standish; “and he only offered me two hundred dollars for them,” he soliliquized. “The boy has given me a valuable hint, which I shall make use of. When the papers are in my possession it will go hard with me if I don’t get more than two hundred dollars for them.”
His only fear was that Gerald would refuse to deliver them to him, and hold them for the large sum promised by Mr. Wentworth.
“You have no further dealings with Mr. Wentworth,” he said hastily. “You must deal with me. But, first, have you the papers with you? You had better answer truly, for if you deny it I shall search you.”
“I have them with me,” answered Gerald briefly.
“Come, we are getting on,” said Standish, delighted to hear this. “Now you will save yourself trouble by handing them over at once.”
“How much are you authorized to give me for them?” asked Gerald demurely.
“Your freedom. Give them to me and you shall be released at the end of an hour.”
“Why not at once?”
“Because you might be tempted to hand me over to the police, though you could not prove anything against me. Still it might be inconvenient.”
“Do you expect me to give you without compensation what I have been offered a thousand dollars for?”
“Yes, under the circumstances.”
“Suppose I refuse to give them up?”
“Then you will be imprisoned here for an indefinite period.”
“I don’t believe it. I would raise an alarm, and some one would be sure to hear it and interfere in my behalf.”
“I am glad you have put me on my guard. Nothing will be easier than for me to charge you with insanity and have you committed to an asylum.”
Gerald shuddered at this threat, though he had made up his mind to secure his release by surrendering the duplicate papers in his pocket. The real documents were in the custody of a safe deposit company in the city, having been placed with them only the day previous.
“Won’t you give me something for them?” he asked. “I don’t like to give them up without any return.”
“I may be able to secure a hundred dollars, but I won’t promise. I don’t see why you don’t accept Mr. Wentworth’s offer. How long since was it made?”
“It was made for the last time on the steamer Rock Island.”
“You won’t tell me how large a sum Mr. Wentworth owes you?”
“I may as well tell you, as the papers would inform you. It is twenty thousand dollars!”
“Twenty thousand dollars!” ejaculated Standish thoroughly amazed. “How is it possible that he should owe so much?”
“I can only tell you that it is a debt of honor.”
“Do you mean by that that it is a gambling debt?”
“No,” answered Gerald indignantly. “My father never gambled in his life.”
“Aha!” thought Standish, “it is well that I have wormed the truth out of this boy. Wentworth actually wants to pay me the pitiful sum of two hundred dollars for evidence that will save him twenty thousand. It won’t go down, Mr. Wentworth! it won’t go down!
“Give me the papers,” he said aloud, “and I will do what I can for you. I feel a sympathy for you, my dear young friend, but I must of course consult the interests of my employer.”
“Meaning Mr. Wentworth?”
“Yes; you will of course conjecture that I am acting as his agent.”
“I thought so,” returned Gerald. “I didn’t think the man was so unscrupulous.”
“Perhaps it would inconvenience, or ruin him to pay so large a sum as twenty thousand dollars,” suggested Standish.
“Not at all. He is worth, I have reason to believe, over three hundred thousand dollars.”
“Is it possible?” said Standish, his eyes sparkling. “Then he is a very rich man. Where did he get his money?”
“It was left him by his uncle. But for my father he would have been disinherited.”
“That is why you call it a debt of honor?”
“Yes.”
“He hasn’t done the fair thing, I must confess. Let anybody secure me an inheritance of three hundred thousand dollars, and I won’t haggle about paying a twenty thousand dollar fee.”
“I am sorry Mr. Wentworth’s sentiments are not as liberal as yours.”
“Exactly so. I would have treated your father a great deal better. Mr. Wentworth is evidently a mean man. Still he is my employer and I must do what I can for him. Still my sympathies are with you.”
“You have played me a mean trick, Mr. Standish.”
“I admit it, but it isn’t my fault. My poverty, and not my will, consents. However, we are losing time. Will you do me the favor of handing me the papers?”
“Do you insist upon it?” asked Gerald in apparent mortification.
“I must, for reasons which you understand,” said Standish, extending his hand for the expected papers.
Gerald unbuttoned his vest, and from an inner pocket drew out the duplicate documents, or rather the copies of the original papers.
Standish took the two letters and ran his eye over them eagerly.
“I am not surprised that Mr. Wentworth wanted these letters,” he said. “They are a confession in so many words that he committed forgery, and hired your father to bear the blame, in consideration of a large sum which he promised to pay when all danger was over and the estate was his.”
“You have stated the matter clearly, Mr. Standish.”
“Your father was badly used.”
“His life was ruined,” said Gerald bitterly, “his life and his prospects, for his employer. Mr. Wentworth’s uncle intended to give him an interest in the business. As it was he died with the conviction that my father was a forger.”
“It’s too bad, it is upon my honor.”
“Then you will return me the papers?”
“I couldn’t do that. I am a poor man, and the money that Wentworth is to give me is of great importance to me. If you could raise five or six hundred dollars, I might afford to return them to you.”
“That will be quite impossible, Mr. Standish.”
“Then I am afraid I must retain the papers. It goes to my heart to do it, I assure you. I am a very tender-hearted man, Gerald, but I am a poor man, and I feel that I must not injure my own interests. I will do what I can for you, however, and I may be able to persuade Mr. Wentworth to give you something. Now I must bid you good morning.”
Samuel Standish opened the door, and prepared to go out.
“In an hour you will be released,” he said. “I shall leave directions with Tip.”
As he went downstairs, Gerald settled back in his chair, trying to resign himself to remaining for another hour in the shabby room.