Bernard Brooks' Adventures: The Experience of a Plucky Boy
TekstCHAPTER X. HATCH, DETECTIVE
Bernard was startled. He had heard of detectives and read about them, but this was the first time he had been brought face to face with one. It must be confessed that the quiet little man hardly came up to his expectations.
“You can open it if you like,” he said.
“Where is the key?”
“I haven’t got it.”
“Young man,” said the detective sternly, “I advise you not to throw any obstacles in my way. It may do you harm.”
“But,” said Bernard earnestly, “I am speaking the truth. The owner of the portmanteau no doubt has the key, but he didn’t give it to me.”
“The owner? Isn’t it yours?”
“No, sir.”
“Whose is it, then?”
“It belongs to a young man in an ulster, who handed it to me for safe keeping.”
“Where is the young man?” asked the detective searchingly.
“He got off at Newburg.”
“Leaving the portmanteau with you?”
“Yes.”
“When is he going to get it back from you?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you don’t know his name?”
“No, sir.”
“That seems a very probable story. Young man, there seems to be a good deal that you don’t know. How long have you known the young man you speak of?”
“Only since I came on board the boat.”
“I will open the satchel and then will question you further.”
He drew from his pocket a bunch of keys, and finally found one that fitted the lock. Opening the portmanteau, he drew out some bonds.
“Aha!” he said, “it is as I suspected. These are some of the bonds that were stolen from Murdock & Co. yesterday.”
“Is it possible?” asked Bernard, in amazement. “That is the robbery I was reading about in the Argus.”
“Exactly,” said the detective, with a sharp look. “Where are the rest?”
“Where are the rest? I am sure I don’t know.”
“Young man, there is no use in trying to deceive me.”
“I am not deceiving you. It is as much a mystery to me as to you.”
“Here are fifteen hundred dollars in bonds. The amount-taken was five thousand. That leaves a balance of thirty-five hundred dollars.”
“The young man must have taken them out and concealed them in his ulster.”
“So he wore an ulster?” said the detective, who had not at first noted this item in Bernard’s description.
“Yes. I told you so.”
“You may be right. On such a warm day as this he would not have worn an ulster unless he had some object in it. You say he got off at Newburg?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he tell you he was going to do so?”
“No. He only told me to keep the portmanteau for him.”
“Then how did you know he got off there?”
“After the steamer had started I saw him on the wharf.”
“Did he look as if he had got left?”
“No. He looked as if he had decided to remain there.”
“You positively know nothing of this man?”
“No, sir.”
“How do you account for his leaving the portmanteau in your charge?”
“We had sat and talked together considerably. Perhaps he wanted to have it found on me,” suggested Bernard, with a sudden thought.
“This may be, although it looks queer. I shall have to place you under arrest.”
“Why?” asked Bernard, in alarm.
“Because I have found a portion of the missing securities in your possession.”
“But I told you how that happened.”
“Very true, and your account may be correct – or it may not.”
“You will find it is.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bernard Brooks.”
“Where are you going?”
“To New York.”
“What friends have you there?”
“A guardian.”
“His name.”
“Cornelius McCracken.”
“Are you alone on the boat?”
“No, sir. I have a friend with me – Mr. Joshua Stackpole. There he comes now.”
Mr. Stackpole looked surprised as he saw Bernard and the detective together.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
“Mr. Stackpole, I have been under the painful necessity of arresting your young friend.”
“Arresting Bernard? What on earth has he been doing?”
“I have found some of the bonds taken from Murdock & Co. in his possession.”
Mr. Stackpole looked the picture of amazement.
“Well, that beats me!” he exclaimed. “Where did you get them, Bernard?”
“A young man in an ulster gave me the portmanteau which contained them, and asked me to keep them for him.”
“That’s straight. I saw the young man myself, and I saw the portmanteau in his hand. He landed at Newburg; I saw him on the wharf.”
“Yes.”
“Why did he land without them?”
“I don’t know.”
“A part of the bonds were found in the portmanteau – a little less than one-third,” said the detective. “The rest – ”
“Are probably in the young man’s possession.”
“I presume so.”
“Very well! Of course, you know your business, but it seems to me you ought to have him arrested.”
“I shall telegraph from the next landing to the chief of police at Newburg to detain him.”
“That is proper.”
“And I shall want your young friend here to testify against him.”
“I can guarantee that he will be ready. It’s a queer thing that the boy should be mixed up in this affair.”
“I think so myself,” said the detective, not wholly without suspicion.
At the next landing the detective got off, and sent the following telegram:
“Chief of Police, Newburg:
“Look for a young man about average height, wearing a brown ulster. Suspected in connection with the Murdock robbery in Albany. Search him.
“Hatch, Detective.
“Wire to me at central office, New York.”
In due time the boat reached New York. By special favor Bernard was allowed to go to the Grand Union Hotel with Mr. Stackpole on the guarantee of the latter that his young charge would be ready when wanted.
At the central office Detective Hatch found the following despatch from Newburg:
“Party in ulster under arrest. Bonds have been found in inside pockets of ulster – thirty-five hundred dollars.
“Smith,
“Chief of Newburg Police.”
Detective Hatch rubbed his hands in glee. He telegraphed to Murdock & Co.: “Bonds recovered and thief in custody.”
While upon this subject it may be stated that the thief was tried, convicted, and sentenced to a term of imprisonment. Bernard received the following letter from Murdock & Co.:
“Bernard Brooks:
“We are apprised by Detective Hatch that you have aided him in securing the bonds of which we were robbed. This has occasioned you some trouble and inconvenience, and we wish to make you some acknowledgment. We send you herewith a Waltham gold watch, and hope it may please you.
“Murdock & Co.,
“Bankers and Brokers.”
The watch was a very handsome one, and proved to be a good timekeeper. It was what Bernard had long desired, but had had very little hope of securing. Mr. Stackpole bought him a chain to go with it.
“This is my contribution,” he said.
Bernard had been a week in New York, and he thought it high time to call upon his guardian. He ascertained from the directory that Cornelius McCracken had an office in Pine Street, and he accordingly betook himself there one morning.
He went up-stairs to a room on the third floor. On a door he saw the name Cornelius McCracken, Agent.
He ventured to open the door, and found himself in a room of moderate size, provided with the usual office furniture.
At a desk in the right hand corner, beside a window, sat a man of medium size, rather portly, with scanty locks that had once been red, but were now sprinkled plentifully with gray.
Bernard paused in the doorway and finally said: “Is this Mr. McCracken?”
“Yes,” answered the agent. “Who wants me?”
“I am your ward – Bernard Brooks.”
Mr. McCracken wheeled round in his chair quickly, and fixed a pair of sharp, ferret-like eyes on Bernard.
“So you have found me at last!” he said. “And now what have you to say in extenuation of your shameful conduct?”
CHAPTER XI. MR. SNOWDON LOSES HIS PUPIL
Bernard colored, partly with indignation.
“What shameful conduct do you refer to?” he Risked.
“I have received a letter from Mr. Snowdon, your respected preceptor, telling me how you have behaved.”
“Would you allow me to read the letter?”
“Yes, though I think you won’t find it very pleasant reading.”
He lifted the lid of his desk and drew out a letter which he handed to Bernard.
Bernard opened and read it.
It ran thus:
“Cornelius McCracken, Esq.:
Respected Sir: It gives me keen anguish to reveal to you the unworthy conduct of the boy whom you intrusted to my charge. It may not wholly surprise you, for, if I remember rightly, you described Bernard Brooks to me as a “bad lot.” In truth he is so. He has been mutinous and disagreeable, and has bullied my son Septimus, whom for some reason he seems to dislike strongly. Septimus is of a very amiable disposition – he is very like me – but he was constrained to complain of Bernard’s overbearing conduct. I felt that the boy needed castigation. You remember that King Solomon approved corporal punishment. Accordingly I prepared to inflict it. Getting wind of my intention, Bernard ran away. He led me a long chase into the marshy lands to the rear of my farm, and managed to entrap me into a ditch where my wardrobe received considerable injury. Then he stayed away all night. In the morning, however, my boy Septimus found him in a hayloft in my barn and notified me.
“I immediately took a horsewhip and went out to the barn. I ascended to the loft, but he, being active and agile, managed to elude me, and escaped from the barn, removing the ladder so that I could not descend for some time. I won’t go into details, but I will mention that he ran away to the neighboring town of Poplar Plains, where I found him in the company of an escaped lunatic. I should have been able to capture him but for the presence and interference of a Western desperado, who produced a revolver and threatened my life. He is still at large and probably still in the company of this lunatic, who seems at present disposed to befriend him, but may at any time murder him, as his cousin, now in pursuit of him, gives him a very bad character.
“I have felt it my duty to lay these facts before you for your consideration. I may add that I was put to considerable expense in hiring a horse to pursue Bernard. This and some other items amount to about five dollars, which I shall be glad if you will remit to me, as my means are straitened and I cannot bear the loss.
“Yours sincerely,
“Ezekiel Snowdon.”
“What have you to say to this?” asked Mr. McCracken severely.
“Only that Mr. Snowdon is unfit to teach, and is as brutal as he dares to be. I was fully justified in running away. I don’t allow any man to horsewhip me.”
“So you abused his son, Sep – ” and Mr. McCracken referred to the letter to refresh his memory as to the name.
“Septimus? He is worse, if anything, than his father.”
“Do you expect me to send you to another school, where you can have your own way?”
“No; I would prefer to earn my own living.”
“Are you still with the lunatic?”
“Mr. Penrose is no lunatic, though he has a cousin who is trying to get him into an insane asylum in order to gain possession of his money.”
“Very plausible! I suppose he tells you so. Are you still with him?”
“No, sir. I am with a miner from Colorado – a Mr. Stackpole.”
“Is he the desperado referred to by Mr. Snowdon in his letter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Upon my word, I congratulate you on your choice of associates. Where is he now?”
“In New York, at the Grand Union Hotel. I have been staying there with him.”
“Has he adopted you?”
“No, sir. Mr. McCracken, there is one question I would like to ask you.”
“What is it?”
“You are my guardian. Have you charge of my property for me?”
“No. Who told you that I had?” demanded Mr. McCracken suspiciously.
“No one, but I thought my father might have left something.”
“He left about a hundred and fifty dollars, but it was gone long ago.”
“And have you been paying my expenses out of your own pocket ever since?”
“Yes,” answered Mr. McCracken, but he looked somewhat embarrassed.
“Then I thank you for your liberality, sir. I don’t like to impose upon it, and would like to make my own living.”
“That sounds very well, but what can you do?”
“I don’t know yet, but I am sure I can earn my board. I am young and strong.”
“Where did you get that gold watch?” asked Mr. McCracken, as Bernard drew it to consult the time.
“It was given me by a firm of bankers in Albany – Murdock & Co.”
“What induced them to give it to you?”
“I helped them to recover some bonds which had been stolen from them.”
“Humph! You seem to be fond of adventures.”
“The adventure was forced upon me.”
“Let me know what you want.”
“If you could help me to find a place where I can earn a living I should feel deeply indebted to you, and it would save you from supporting me out of your own pocket.”
“I will think of it. Where are you staying?”
“At the Grand Union Hotel.”
“Who is paying your bills?”
“Mr. Joshua Stackpole.”
“You can come to my house. In a few days I shall probably find you a place.”
“Thank you, sir. Where do you live?”
Mr. McCracken gave an address on Lexington Avenue.
“I will go there this afternoon.”
“I shall be home at five. You may present yourself then.”
Bernard was about to leave the office when Mr. McCracken called him back.
“Wait a minute. Did you notice what Mr. Snowdon said about his expense in getting you back?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Bernard with a smile. “Do you think he expended five dollars?”
“No, sir. I know he did not. The horse he hired is about twenty-five years old, and he can have it whenever he please for seventy-five cents.”
“So Mr. Snowdon wishes to make a little profit out of the transaction.”
“So it appears.”
“Very well, that will do.”
The next day Mr. Snowdon received the following letter:
“Dear Sir:
“I have delayed answering your letter till I could see my ward. He called on me this morning. He charges you with an attempt to horsewhip for insufficient cause. Into the merits of this controversy between you I will not enter. I doubt if it will be advisable to send him back to Snowdon Institute, and at his request I shall find him some employment.
“As to the charge you make for expenses in pursuing him I think you have greatly overcharged. I inclose two dollars, which Bernard tells me is considerably more than your horse hire cost you.
“Your obedient servant,
“Cornelius McCracken.”
Ezekiel Snowdon read this letter with a perturbed brow.
“Such is gratitude!” he exclaimed, raising his eyes to heaven in protest. “The mental anguish that that boy has cost me ought to count for something. Yet his guardian has sent me a paltry two-dollar bill. Truly the virtuous are persecuted in this world. They must seek their reward in a better sphere.”
“Has the crazy man been caught, pa?”
“Not that I have heard. That good man, his cousin, has been foiled in his efforts probably. I shall miss the money I have been accustomed to receive from Bernard’s guardian. Unless we can fill his place, I shall be obliged to cut down the rations of butter, and have it only every other day.”
“I can’t do without butter, pa. You needn’t give any at all to the boarders.”
“True, the suggestion is a good one. Competent medical authorities say that butter is apt to bring humors to children. They will be better off without it.”
Bernard reported to Mr. Stackpole the interview he had had with his guardian, and asked his advice as to what he had better do.
“You had better try him for a while, Bernard,” said Mr. Stackpole, “and see whether he is ready to do the fair thing by you. If he doesn’t you will always find a friend in Joshua Stackpole.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stackpole, I am sure of that.”
“So this Mr. McCracken says your father left you no property. When did he die?”
“When I was about seven years old.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Very little. He used to travel – I think he was an agent of some kind. Mr. McCracken never would tell me much about him. How long shall you stay in New York, Mr. Stackpole?”
“I shall leave in a day or two. I have to go to Philadelphia on business, and after I return I shall leave for Colorado. My address will be at the Red Dog Mine, Gulchville.”
“That’s a queer name, Mr. Stackpole. Was there ever a red dog?”
“One of the miners in a fit of intoxication painted his dog red, and that gave a name to the mine.”
The next day found Bernard at his guardian’s house.
CHAPTER XII. BERNARD MEETS A FRIEND OF HIS FATHER
Cornelius McCracken lived in a three story and basement house on Lexington Avenue. It was a solid and comfortable house, but not showy. He had a wife and three children. The eldest, a girl, had recently married.
There were two boys of sixteen and eighteen, but they were not particularly interesting, and as they were attending school Bernard did not get well acquainted with them.
On the first morning after breakfast Bernard asked, as his guardian was starting for his office, “Is there anything you wish me to do?”
“No; you can go about the city and make yourself familiar with it. If I should get you a place here it might be well for you to know your way about the streets.”
“I shall like that.”
“Oh, by the way, have you any money for car fare, or any small expenses?”
“Yes, sir, I have all I shall need for the present.”
Mr. McCracken looked relieved, for he was not a liberal man, and was glad to be freed from the expense of supplying his ward with pocket money.
Shortly after breakfast he went out and bent his steps toward Broadway. He had been in New York before, but not for some years, and it was quite new to him. He wandered about as chance suggested.
About eleven o’clock he was passing a barber shop on a side street, and it occurred to him that his hair needed cutting. He entered the shop, and sat down to wait his turn. He found himself sitting next a man with hair partially gray, who regarded him with some attention.
“Have you come in to be shaved?” he asked, with a smile.
Bernard smiled in return.
“No,” he answered. “That can wait. I shall have my hair cut.”
“You bear a striking resemblance to a man I once knew,” said the old gentleman, after a pause.
“What was his name?” asked Bernard, with natural curiosity.
“Clayton Brooks.”
“That was my father,” said Bernard quickly.
“Is it possible? That accounts for the resemblance. Is your father living?”
“No, sir; he died ten years ago.”
“I supposed he must be dead, as I had lost track of him.”
“Did you know him well?” asked Bernard eagerly.
“Quite well. We were both traveling salesmen. He traveled for a jewelry firm in Maiden Lane, I for a dry goods house. Our territory was in large part the same, and we often stayed at the same hotel. Is your mother living?”
“No, sir. She died before my father.”
“Then you are an orphan?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Bernard gravely.
“Pardon me – it is none of my business – but your father left you comfortably provided for, did he not?”
Bernard shook his head.
“On the contrary, he left almost nothing, I am told.”
“Who, then, took care of you, for you were too young to take care of yourself?”
“A business man down town, Cornelius McCracken. He is my guardian, though there seems to be no property for him to take care of for me.”
“I remember the name.”
“Did you ever hear my father speak of him? I have often wondered how he came to be my guardian.”
“Yes, I remember now that your father told me he had saved a few thousand dollars, and put it into Mr. McCracken’s hands to invest for him.”
“Are you sure of this?” asked Bernard, in surprise.
“Yes. The name is a peculiar one, and I remember it for that reason.”
“Then there was some property – at one time.”
“Yes; I am not mistaken about that.”
“It is singular that Mr. McCracken has never told me anything about it.”
“Yes,” answered the old gentleman slowly. “It is singular. Does he say that your father left nothing?”
“No. He says that he left a trifle, but that it was soon exhausted, and that he had since paid my expenses out of his own pocket.”
“The money which your father put into his hands was no trifle. The interest alone would have paid a boy’s expenses. Are you at Mr. McCracken’s house?”
“Yes, sir; but I only went there yesterday. He put me at a boarding-school in the country, and I ran away.”
“You don’t look like a boy who would run away from school.”
“I shouldn’t if I had not had good cause.”
“Suppose you tell me why you did it.”
Bernard, upon this, told the story already familiar to the reader.
“Do you blame me for leaving Mr. Snowdon?” he asked, at the conclusion of his tale.
“No, I do not. By George, I would have done the same if I had been in your place. Does Mr. McCracken want you to go back?”
“No; he is going to find a place for me.”
“If I were in business I would give you a position in a minute. I am sure that your father’s son would suit me.”
“Thank you, sir. Are you still traveling?”
“No. Four years since an old uncle died and left me a good sum of money, so that I have since been able to live at ease without working. I am not an old man, still I am fully ten years older than your father would have been, and it is pleasant to think I can do as I please.”
“I don’t care to retire just yet,” said Bernard, smiling.
“I should hope not. Even if you were able to live without work, I would not give much for a boy who would be willing to do so.”
“Next!” announced one of the barbers.
“It is my turn, I believe,” said the old gentleman.
“Can you meet me to-morrow at eleven o’clock at the St. Nicholas Hotel?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I may have more to say to you about your affairs. On your father’s account, I take a great interest in you. By the way, don’t say anything to Mr. McCracken about meeting a friend of your father’s.”
“No, sir, I will not.”
The next day Bernard kept his appointment. He had been in the hotel – now torn down – but five minutes, when his acquaintance of the day before made his appearance.
“By the way,” said he, “I forgot to tell you my name.”
“I thought of that after we parted,” said Bernard.
“It is Alvin Franklin. There is a tradition in our family that we are related to Benjamin Franklin. I can’t certify to it, but I hope it is true. Here is my card.”.
“Thank you, sir. I should have remembered it without a card, but I will keep it.”
“Referring to my conversation with you yesterday, I have made some inquiries of my business acquaintances.”
“What did you learn, sir?”
“That his reputation is not of the best. He is not a man who is above suspicion, but he takes care to keep within the law. In fact, as far as I can learn, he is a tricky man.”
“I hope that will never be said of me, Mr. Franklin.”
“It could never be said of your father. He was as straight and honorable a man as ever lived.”
“I am proud to hear you say so,” said Bernard, flushing with pleasure.
“I may be a little hasty, but I can’t help feeling that in some way Mr. McCracken has wronged you.”
“In what way, sir?”
“I think he has not accounted to you for property your father placed in his hands.”
“The same thought came into my mind, Mr. Franklin, but I did not wish to suspect my guardian, with nothing to go upon.”
“He seems to be just the man to cheat an orphan. A man who is dishonest in one way is likely to be dishonest in another.”
“Even if it is so, I suppose I have no way of proving it.”
“Probably not. If there were any proofs of the trust reposed by your father, Mr. McCracken would be likely to destroy them. I will think over the matter, and if I can hit upon any course that would benefit you I will let you know.”
Bernard and his new friend talked further of his father. It was a delight to the boy to meet some one who had known the parents of whom he could scarcely remember anything. All that Mr. Franklin had to say of the elder Brooks redounded to his credit, and this was naturally gratifying to his son.
When they parted, Bernard asked, “Shall I mention to Mr. McCracken meeting you?”
“I think not – at present.”
But chance ordered otherwise…
When Bernard was drawing his handkerchief out of his side pocket after supper, he twitched out the card, which fell to the floor.
Mr. McCracken’s sharp eye detected it.
“What is that?” he asked.
“A card.”
“Of course. What name is on it?”
“Alvin Franklin.”
“Who is he? Is it a man you know?”
“Yes, sir. It is an acquaintance of my father.”
“When did you see him?”
“To-day, at the St. Nicholas Hotel.”
“Did he talk to you about your father?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did he say, and how did he happen to know him?”
Bernard answered this question, but did not think it necessary to speak of the money which his father was said to have left.
Mr. McCracken made no comment, but did not seem pleased. When Bernard went up to bed, he said to himself, “I must get the boy out of the city. This man may tell him too much.”