CHAPTER XXXV.
SUCCESS COMES STRANGELY
On his return to Chicago, Bert went back to Mrs. Shelby's boarding-house, and was cordially received. His board bill was but six dollars a week, and he took care not to spend any money unnecessarily for outside expenses.
About the middle of the week he received a letter from Uncle Jacob, to whom he had telegraphed his movements.
This is an extract therefrom:
"You will be surprised to learn that your father is sick at Lakeville, under your mother's care. I don't think his trouble is physical so much as mental. If, by your help, his reputation is vindicated, and he is relieved from suspicion, I am sure he will soon be himself again.
"There is some risk, no doubt, in the step he has taken. He might be denounced and arrested, if information were given to the authorities. But a long time has elapsed since the charge was made, and no one in Lakeville was cognizant of the circumstances except Albert Marlowe, and, though he may learn that the city boarder at your house is your father, I cannot believe he would be so base as to give a hint to the authorities. If he should, the letter of Ralph Harding's which you forwarded will throw suspicion upon him. I am anxious, however, to have you find the man himself, as his oral testimony will avail more than any letters. You may assure him, if found, that he will be liberally dealt with, if he helps clear your father.
"I don't know how you may be situated as to money, and I therefore send you an order for fifty dollars. Present it to Clement Green, of No. 13½ La Salle Street, and he will cash it. He is not a banker, but an insurance agent, with whom I am well acquainted. I am glad to hear that you have left the stage, as it will permit you to devote your entire time to hunting up Ralph Harding."
On account of the income from his dramatic engagement, Bert had spent but little of his uncle's money for the last three weeks. However, he thought it best to cash the order at once, as he might have unforeseen expenses. He accordingly made his way to the office on La Salle Street to which he had been directed, and presented his order to Mr. Green in person.
"How is my old friend Mr. Marlowe?" asked that gentleman, courteously.
"He was very well when I left New York," answered Bert.
"I knew him in California. In fact, we both worked together in the same mine. Try to persuade him to come out to Chicago. I should be delighted to entertain him. Are you a relative of his?"
"Yes, sir; he is my great uncle."
"Shall you stay long in Chicago?"
"I am not sure. It will depend on my business."
"You are young to be intrusted with a business matter."
"Yes, sir; but there was no one else to undertake it."
"How will you have the money?"
"In tens and fives."
"Very well. Let me advise you to divide your money and not carry it all in your pocket-book. You know, of course, that in a city like this there are pickpockets and designing persons who would be glad to rob you."
"Thank you for the suggestion. I will follow your advice." Bert borrowed an envelope, and put all his money, except about ten dollars in small bills, in the inside pocket of his vest. This was wise, for he had fifty dollars besides the sum which he had just been paid. It proved to be a prudent precaution.
Outside the office a young man of rather flashy appearance had noticed Bert, and, following him in on some pretext that would avert suspicion, had seen that Mr. Green was paying him money. He went out quickly, and waited till Bert emerged into the street. He then quickened his steps, and overtook him.
"Good-morning, young man," he said.
"Good-morning," returned Bert, eyeing the stranger with some curiosity.
"You must excuse the liberty I have taken in addressing you, but if you will favor me with a few minutes' conversation, I think I can make it worth your while."
"Very well. I am ready to hear what you have to say."
"By the way, are you staying at a hotel?"
"No; I am boarding on Monroe Street."
"Is it a good boarding-house?"
"Excellent."
"I am looking for one, and if you will allow me, I will walk round with you, and see what it is like."
Bert knew that Mrs. Shelby had a room which she was anxious to let, and he readily agreed to introduce the stranger.
"I am staying at a hotel just now," explained his companion, "but I prefer a boarding-house as more home-like. Are you a stranger in the city?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where from?"
"From New York."
"I am from San Francisco. I have only been here a week."
They conversed upon indifferent topics till they reached Mrs. Shelby's.
"I will go up and take a look at your room first, if you don't mind. That will give me an idea of the accommodations."
"Very well, sir."
Bert led the way to his own room, and both entered.
"Very neat, on my word!" said the stranger. "Now I will allude to the little matter of business—and then you can introduce me to your landlady."
"Just as you please, sir."
"It is briefly this: Do you see this watch?"
He took out a showy gold watch, and held it up before Bert.
"I find myself unexpectedly short of funds, owing to the failure of a remittance to come to hand, and I am going to offer you this watch at a bargain. You have none, I see."
"No, and I have no money to spare to buy one."
"Wait till I offer you an inducement. This watch cost me a hundred dollars. I have had it only six months. I offer it to you for twenty-five."
"I presume that is a good offer; but I have no money of my own that I can use for the purpose of buying a watch."
"My young friend, it will pay you to borrow, for you can double your money on the watch. Any one will give you fifty for it."
"Then why do you offer it to me for twenty-five?" asked Bert shrewdly.
"Because I can't wait to hunt up a customer."
"I cannot buy it."
"Then I will make you another offer. Lend me ten dollars on it, and I will redeem it in three days, and give you five dollars for the accommodation."
Bert hesitated. It seemed an easy way of earning five dollars.
"If I don't redeem it, you have the watch itself for security for a ridiculously small sum. Of course I shan't give you the chance, if I can help it. I expect funds from San Francisco to-morrow."
"I think I shall have to decline," Bert said, after a pause; "but your offer seems a good one, and I have no doubt you will easily get accommodated elsewhere."
Bert was not prepared for the next movement.
The stranger rose from his seat, drew a sponge from his pocket, and quickly applied it to Bert's nostrils. He felt his head swimming and consciousness departing.
"Aha," thought the stranger. "My prudent young friend will advance money this time without security."
He hastily thrust his hand into Bert's pocket, drew out his pocket-book, and, without stopping to open it or examine its contents, sprang to the door, with the intention of making his escape.
But another boarder chanced to be passing through the entry at the moment. A quick glance revealed to him Bert unconscious on a chair, and the pocket-book in the hand of the man who was leaving the room. He took in the situation at once.
"Give me that pocket-book," he said sternly. The other looked undecided.
"Give it to me, or I will hold you and summon help. If you surrender it, I will let you go scot free."
The thief muttered an execration, but did not dare to refuse.
The boarder entered the room and set himself to reviving Bert.
"Where am I?" asked Bert, languidly.
"You are all right now," was the reply.
Bert looked up in the face of his visitor, and started in great excitement.
"Tell me, quick," he said, "are you not Ralph Harding?"
"Yes," answered the other in great surprise. "Who are you that recognizes me?"
CHAPTER XXXVI.
RALPH HARDING IS FOUND
Bert was still partly under the influence of chloroform; but the sight of Ralph Harding, whom he recognized from the photograph which had been given him, roused him from his stupefaction.
Harding repeated his question.
"Who are you?" he asked, "and how do you know me?"
"I am Bert Barton."
"What? not the son of John Barton?" exclaimed Harding, drawing back with a troubled look.
"Yes," answered Bert, gravely; "I am the son of John Barton, and I have been in search of you for several weeks."
"You have been in search of me? Why did you want to see me?"
"I want you to clear my father of the false charge which was brought against him ten years ago," answered Bert, firmly.
"I don't understand what you mean," stammered Harding, who had sunk back into a chair and was eyeing Bert with a troubled look.
"Oh, yes, you do, Mr. Harding. It was you who gave the information that one of the stolen bonds was in my father's overcoat pocket."
"It was true," said Harding doggedly.
"Where were the rest?" asked Bert, pointedly.
"How should I know? Your father had them secreted somewhere, I suppose."
"You know better than that. My father was innocent. He knew nothing of the bonds. An enemy plotted to get him into trouble."
"Do you charge me with being that enemy?" demanded Harding.
"You had something to do with it, but you were the instrument of another."
"How do you know that?" admitted Harding, incautiously.
"Shall I tell you the name of that other?"
"Yes."
"It is Albert Marlowe."
Ralph Harding started in surprise.
"Does he admit it?" he asked, after a pause.
"No; he does not know that it is suspected. I want you to back me up in the demand that he clear my father from suspicion."
"He will never do it. How could he, without criminating himself?"
"Whatever be the result, my father's character must be cleared."
"Tell me, is your father still living?" asked Ralph Harding, earnestly.
"Yes, he is."
"Have you seen him?"
"Yes. Poor father, he has suffered much. He has been separated from my mother and myself these many years, and has not dared to show himself at his old home, or among his old friends, because he was liable to be arrested on the old charge."
Ralph was looking down upon the floor, and his features were working convulsively. Bert guessed what was passing through his mind, and paused to give him time.
He looked up after a while, and asked: "What would you have me do?"
"Testify to what you know. It will clear my father, and he can come home once more."
"But it will condemn Albert Marlowe."
"Why not let it? He is the guilty man. Have you so much reason to like Albert Marlowe that you will not do this act of justice?"
"No!" Ralph Harding burst out, and his face wore an expression of resentment. "He has used me like a dog. It was through me that he became a rich man, and in return he has treated me with contempt and indifference. If I dared–"
"You would expose him?"
"Yes, I would. It is of no use to deny what you have said. Your father is an innocent man. The bonds were stolen by Albert Marlowe."
Bert looked triumphant. He had wrung the truth from the accomplice of Squire Marlowe.
"How did you find me?" asked Harding, abruptly. "How did you know I was in Chicago?"
"I was told so by your sister."
"Have you been in Peoria, then?" asked Harding, in great surprise.
"Yes; I was there last week."
"But how did you find out that I had a sister?"
"At Harrisburg. You left a letter from your sister at your boarding-house there, which gave me the clew I wanted."
"And how did you trace me to Harrisburg?"
Bert explained.
"And you defrayed your own expenses? I thought you and your mother were left in poverty."
"So we were; but an uncle of my mother's recently returned from California, and it is he who has supplied me with the funds needed for my journey."
"Then he is wealthy?"
"I don't think so. He is employed in New York on a small salary, but he is liberal with the little he has. He has set his heart on clearing my father's reputation. It is he who sent me on my present mission."
"Does your father think that Albert Marlowe is the real thief?"
"He does. In fact, he is firmly convinced of it. Now, Mr. Harding, I have told you why I wanted to find you. You have as much as told me I am right in my suspicion. You are partly responsible for my poor father's undeserved sufferings. But for you he would never have been charged with the crime. Is it not so?"
"I admit it," Ralph Harding answered, slowly.
"Will you tell me who put the bond into my father's pocket?"
"I did."
"And who prompted you to do it?"
"It was the man you suspected—Albert Marlowe."
"It was the proceeds of his theft that enabled him to start in business, was it not?"
"You are right."
"I have one more question to ask. Will you accompany me to New York and testify to this, if needful?"
"But what will happen to me?" asked Harding, troubled.
"My uncle bade me promise you that we will do our utmost to prevent your coming to harm. As to Albert Marlowe, we shall demand a confession from him, or we shall have him arrested, and the whole matter investigated."
Ralph Harding paused for a brief space, and then said: "What are your plans if I agree to help you?"
"To start for New York to-night," answered Bert, promptly. "In New York I will take you to Uncle Jacob's office, and we will decide what to do next."
Harding hesitated a moment, then said: "I believe you will keep your promise, and I will put myself in your hands. I always liked your father better than Albert Marlowe, who is a very selfish man, and he has not kept his promise to me. I have reproached myself more than once for consenting to help Marlowe in his plot. It has never been out of my mind. I have been restless, unable to settle down anywhere, and have suffered punishment myself, though not as severe as has fallen upon your father. When I have made reparation, as I now have a chance to do, I shall be more contented in mind."
"Can you be ready to take the evening train with me?"
"Yes."
"Where are you living?"
"In this house."
"Then we can remain together. I have not thanked you yet for coming to my help, and saving my money."
"I am glad to have helped the son. It will help offset the injury I have done the father."
Bert, accompanied by Ralph Harding, took the evening train for New York. Their arrival was timely, for reasons which will be shown in a later chapter.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
ALBERT MARLOWE MEETS HIS VICTIM
Like most wrong-doers, Albert Marlowe had never ceased to entertain an apprehension that his connections with the bond theft would some time be made public. Yet, as the years rolled by, and he became rich and prosperous, his fears abated somewhat, and he felt no qualms of conscience, though he knew that an innocent man was suffering exile for his sake. When he thought of John Barton it was with dislike. For nothing is truer than the saying that we dislike those whom we have injured. He did not know whether Barton was alive or dead, but hoped that he was dead, as this would make him absolutely safe.
When he learned from Percy that Mrs. Barton had a male boarder, his fears instantly suggested that it might be John Barton. The description given by Percy tallied with his recollections of the victim of his wicked plot. His fears and suspicions were instantly aroused. Why was John Barton here? He was under the ban of the law, liable to be re-arrested, yet he ran that risk. What object had he in view? That he sought the care of his wife because he was ill did not seem a sufficient motive. Evidently it behooved him to find out, first, whether Mrs. Barton's boarder was really her husband; and, secondly, if such should be the case, to warn him to leave Lakeville. It gave the squire an uncomfortable feeling to have his victim so near at hand.
First, to find out who the boarder was. Albert Marlowe got into the habit of walking two or three times a day past the cottage of Mrs. Barton, in the hope of seeing the mysterious stranger. He did this for several days, but did not succeed in his object. The reason was that Mr. Barton was confined by weakness first to the bed, and then to the lounge in the little sitting-room.
But on the fifth day Squire Marlowe was in luck. The mysterious boarder was walking to and fro in the front yard attached to the cottage. When he saw Albert Marlowe he turned away, and was about to re-enter the house. The squire did not need this corroboration of his suspicion, for he had already recognized Barton, though the two had not met for ten years.
He set his face firmly; his expression became hard and dogged.
"That man must leave Lakeville!" he said to himself.
Without hesitation he opened the gate and entered the yard.
Meanwhile John Barton, seeing that he was recognized, came to a halt, and, turning around, faced the man who had been his bitter enemy. He showed no signs of fear, for what had happened was only what he had anticipated.
Squire Marlowe came up and stood at his side.
"You are John Barton," he said. "Do not attempt to deny it!"
"I do not propose to deny it to you—Albert Marlowe," answered Barton, calmly.
"You are here under an assumed name. I was told that Mrs. Barton's boarder was named Robinson."
"I am passing under that name. You know why."
"Yes, I do know why. You are under the ban of the law. You are afraid of being arrested and brought to trial a second time."
"I know there is danger of it, and of course I shrink from it."
"Then why do you come here? Are you mad?"
"After ten years I wished to see my wife once more. I am a sick man. I came to her to be nursed back to health."
"Take care, or when you leave here it will be for a less desirable boarding-place!" said the squire, in a menacing tone.
"You mean the prison?"
"Yes; that is what I mean."
"No one in Lakeville knows who I am. Why should I fear?"
"I know."
"Surely you would not betray me—you, the man who worked for years at my side?"
"I cannot compromise with crime. It is my duty as a good, law-abiding citizen, to denounce you to the authorities."
"You—a good, law-abiding citizen!" repeated John Barton, with scornful emphasis.
Squire Marlowe started back in astonishment. The worm had turned.
"Do you mean to question it?" he demanded, sharply.
"Yes, I do."
"On what grounds?"
"Albert Marlowe," said John Barton, sternly, "one of us two is a thief, but I am not the one."
"Do you mean to insult me?" exclaimed the squire, white with anger, not unmingled with uneasy fear.
"Come in! I have something to say to you. It is better said in-doors, where no passer-by can hear it."
Mechanically Squire Marlowe followed John Barton into the little sitting-room. Mrs. Barton looked up from her rocking-chair in surprise and apprehension, and half rose.
"Stay where you are, Mary," said her husband. "I wish you to hear what I am about to say to Albert Marlowe."
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
MR. BARTON DEFIES THE SQUIRE
Squire Marlowe sat down, while John Barton, instead of quailing in his presence, eyed him with cool indifference.
"What is the meaning of this tomfoolery?" asked Albert Marlowe, uneasily.
"You may call it what you like, but the time has come for an explanation. Albert Marlowe, you have done me a cruel wrong. It is through you that I have had my name blackened and have been forced to fly from my country."
"So you went to Canada, did you?" sneered the squire. "It's a popular resort for gentlemen of your class."
"Your words do not trouble me, for I never committed the crime with which I was charged."
"Of course not. It is wonderful how innocent you all are. But you say that I am responsible for the consequences of your crime. What do you mean by that?"
"I mean," answered Barton, with a penetrating glance, "that the bonds were stolen by you, and that you schemed to throw the blame upon me. Is this plain?"
"Are you mad?" said the squire, angrily, "do you expect the world to believe this, or are you in a conspiracy to blackmail me?"
"The last question you can ask when I demand money from you as the price of my silence."
"Take care, John Barton! Your silly tale is the last desperate expedient of a criminal. You ought to see the folly of attacking a man in my position. For years I have been the most prominent man in Lakeville, owner of the large shoe factory that gives employment to fifty hands. It is no idle boast—and your wife will confirm my words—that I am the most influential and respected citizen of this town."
"And on what are your position and prosperity based, Albert Marlowe? Where did you obtain the capital that enabled you to start in business?"
Squire Marlowe looked confused for a moment, but his audacity did not desert him.
"I started," he answered, "on borrowed money."
"Of whom did you borrow?"
"That is my affair," returned Marlowe, doggedly.
"You would find it hard to answer. Let me answer for you."
The squire did not speak, but waited, not without uneasiness, for Barton to answer his own question. He didn't have long to wait.
"You started your factory on the money realized from the stolen bonds."
"You will have to prove this," said Marlowe, furiously.
"Do you wish me to do so?" asked John Barton, significantly.
"This is all a scheme to clear yourself from the charge," exclaimed the squire. "Don't think I am so dull that I don't see through it. How happens it that you have waited ten years before it occurred to you to implicate me?"
"It did not immediately occur to me; but when you started in business on a large scale, though you were no better off than myself at the time of the theft, it set me to thinking."
"I have already told you that I used borrowed money."
"You won't tell me where you borrowed it."
"Because it is my private business. John Barton, I warn you that you are making a powerful enemy. If you keep quiet and let me alone, I will not call attention to your presence in Lakeville, and for safety's sake I will not appear to know anything about you. Do you make that promise?"
"Albert Marlowe, I am an innocent man, but I am under a ban. I want to prove my innocence, and regain the right to live with my family, and hold up my head before my fellow-men. If, in doing this, attention should be drawn to you as the real criminal I cannot help it."
"So you defy me, do you?" demanded the squire.
"If what I have said is a defiance, then I defy you," answered John Barton, calmly.
Squire Marlowe rose from his seat, his face flushed with anger.
"Be it so," he said. "You will hear from me again."
"Oh, John," exclaimed Mrs. Barton as the squire left the room, "I am afraid Albert will do you some harm."
"Then, Mary, to relieve you, let me say that I have heard through Uncle Jacob that Bert has found the missing witness, Ralph Harding, and that both are probably in New York at this moment."
On his return Squire Marlowe telegraphed from a neighboring town as follows:
"To Robert Manning, No. 71 1-2 Fulton St., Brooklyn:
"John Barton, who ten years since stole your bonds, and escaped trial, is at Lakeville, at his wife's house.
"Albert Marlowe."
The last act in the drama was about to be played, and Squire Marlowe went about with a gleam in his eye as he anticipated the final downfall of the man who had dared to defy him.