Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 437 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Qi. o> —+ —_— - wanted ter see no more o’ther, Woodside’s conduct was equally uliar. Before he had refused to talk, and had ordered the man out of the grounds; now he actually seemed pleased to see him. He folded his hands behind him and looked straight at the coarse, evil face before him. **So it is you?” he said. ** Yes, yer Honor.” Abe spoke hesitatingly, uneasily, and then added in a deprecating, apologetic way: **T hope I don’t intrude. Iseen ye from the street, an’—an’ so | come in.” ‘* You were here the other day?’ ** Yes, yer Honor.” “Te I ‘recollect right, you claimed to have known me some time in the past.” ‘* Why, yes,” said Abe, brightening. ‘‘ We sartainly did know one another. “Twas when I was 61, an’ you 59,” ‘* What do you mean by these numbers?” ‘*'You orter know.” Abe was perplexed, His man was insinu- ating that he did not know, yet his manner was gentle enough. ‘*T want to talk with you,” said the professor. ““Come this way. Now, sit on this bench and tell all you claim to know about me.” They had reached the extremity of the grounds, and a place where the thick trees and athering twilight mace it bard for either to distinctly see the other’s face, Abe was sorry for this, and wished for a clew. He did not understand the dignified master of Woodside. ** You ought ter know,” he said, again. “Task you to tell meall you know. When did we meet before? Where did we meet, and under what circumstances?’ ‘* Wal, lll tell ef ye say so, though other ears may hear,” the disreputable man slowly an- swered, ** Tell all without delay.” There was a touch of sharpness in the pro- fessor’s voice, and Abe Jooked still more uneasily at the quiet figure before him. He could not understand this aristocrat. ** Wal, I'll tell the story right from the first, ef it ‘ll be any good,” he said, atlast. ‘* Ye see, in 18—, I had the misfortin’ ter run ag’in’ the law in a certain way, fur I was a bit wild in them days, though sence reformed an’ settled down; an’ it come to pass that I got a sentence ter prison in Charlestown, Massachusetts.” as it fancy, or did the professor shiver? | ‘While in thar I made the acquaintance o’ other convicts, 0’ course, an’ among ’em was 59. Iwas6l. The real name o’ 59 was Archi- bald Woodside.” The listener unfolded his hands and made two steps as though about to leave the spot. Then he turned and faced Abe again, very quiet out- wardly. ‘*Go on!” he directed. ‘*He was un older man than me, but him an’ me soon got chummy; quite a likin’ we took ter each other, an’ I must say he was the best o’ the whole lot.” ‘* One word,” interrupted Woodside. ‘‘ What was his offense?” ‘* Horse-stealin’. Him an’ me was together a good deal, an’ we nat’rally confided in each other, so I learned a bit o’ his history, He had been livin’ in Bangor, Maine, and had a wife thar, but he was free so say he did not intend ter ever see her ag’in; he had soured on her, an’ When he left Maine he did it in a hurry, ’cause he had been connected with a bit o’ funny business abous ‘money-makin’, an had ter git out in such haste that he stole a horse at Newburyport ter help him along. It was that miserable horse that done him up; be was pursued, captered, an’ sentenced fur stealin’ him.” ‘What kind of a person was this man?” ** Good-hearted ez a lord, but odd—confound- ed odd.” ‘**] mean, how did he look personally?” Wal, yer honor, ’bout as you do. W’ot’s the use 0’ beatin’ around the bush? You know, an’ I know, that you was that same man, I never seen you from now until the other day, but ’ceptin’ fur bein’ older, you hev not changed a bit in the twenty years gone.” There was a brief silence. Convict Benlow was looking vp, hoping to be promptly acknowl- edged by his old associate, but the professor looked directly over his head and said nothing for some seconds. Finally he spoke in a steady, but low voice: ‘* Aré you sure you are not mistaken in iden- ” Dead sure. I could swear ter yer identity.” “Your old Se then, was only guilty of and— maeow finished the hesitating sentence. ‘* Wal, there was the counterfeitin’,” he said, ‘* an’ though he would never tell o’ his life be- fore that, it’s a fact that, the day arter he was released, some men come ter the prison ter ar- rest him fur another piece o’ work. They _ charged that he had murdered a man in New York city!” Woodside drew a quick, sharp breath which was almost a gasp. There was another pause before he asked: ** Murder of whom?” “That is what I don’t know. I never seen / es him arterwards, ez I said afore, an’ I merely know he was wanted fer killin’ somebody hyar in New York.” ‘** This all you can tell?” te Yes, ” **Now, my man,” and the professor’s voice grew very earnest, ‘‘ let me ask if you are sure 1 was the man you knew in Charlestown prison. I will pay you more to say you are mistaken than you can get to say that 1 am the same man,” ‘*Ef you mean ter ask ef I’m reely sure you're the man, L’ll say I kin swear ter it on a stack of Bibles, I know you are him! But ez fur keep- in’ my mouth shet, do the right thing by me, an’ tortur’ can’t make me squeal. I never go back on an old pal, but ez yow're rich an’ me poor, it does seem as though you orter do something fur me, ye know.” Pr Woodside extended a bit of crisp paper. ‘* Here is five dollars for your trouble—merely for your trouble,” he said, qmetly. ‘‘ As for the rest, tell me where to address you and wait un- til to-morrow, after the bank opens, Abe’s face grew jubilant. He had won an easier, more quiet victory than he carcd hope, and he felt so grateful to Iuck and his com- panion that he determined to let matters rest just as the professor wished. It would be in- gratitude—and folly, approaching danger—to talk of any certain sum Just then. He would wait and see how much Woodside sent by mail, or brought, and then, if it did not seem enough, he could apply the screws, He had the aristocrat in his power, now that the first payment was made, he thought, But when he was gone, which he did at once and very quietly, Woodside looked after him somberly. ‘*'You will look in vain for the next install- ment. By to-morrow I shall be past giving money to any one!” And then he returned to the house, went to his study, produced writing materials and began to cover a sheet of paper with a hurried scrawl quite unlike his usual neat chirography. But, had others seen him then, they would not have wondered that his writing was irregular and ob- scure; his face was almost deathly pale, and his hands shook painfully. Three pages of paper he covered, and then he put all ina stout envelope and wrote across its face these words: ‘*To be opened only when I am dead. ‘** ARCHIBALD Woopsipr.”’ It was less than half an hour later when the servants were startled by a sourd from the pro- fessor’s study—a noise which seemed so like a re- volver report to them that they grew at once panic-stricken. Philip was out, but they rushed to Claudia with their report. It frightened her terribly, and the known annoyance and suspected trou- bles which had lately beset her father flashed into her mind. What desperate act had he committed? Followed by the servants she ran to the study door. Contrary to her expectation, it was not locked. She opened it, and then her heart seem- ed to stop beating. Motionless on the floor lay her father, a revolver beside him, and his face covered with blood! CHAPTER XXII, SIGNS OF TROUBLE MULTIPLY. ' HvuMAN nature is tested in emergencies, and in this supreme moment it was shown that Claudia Woodside possessed great innate courage and resolution. Her father lay silent, apparently dead, at her feet, and everything seemed to tell pe a violent end, but she did not faint or shrink ack, It flashed upon her that then, if ever, was the time to show her devotion to him, and she arose to meet the emergency. Quickly she went down on her knees, and her hands sought for some sign of life. Her face was startlingly pale, but those fair, white hands did not waver. ‘* He lives!” she exclaimed. ‘‘ His pulse beats strongly, and there is still hope.” ‘* Where is the assassin?” asked James, looking around, _ “The assassin! Sure enough; [ did not think of that. A foul deed has been done, and we are standing here idly. Quick, men! place him on the sofa, and then one of you go for Doctor Ev- ington, The other—James, you must bear a note to Duke Dorgan, the detective!” And, when the unconscious professor had been moved as she directed, she hurried to the table and wrote one line; “Come at once, pened!’ To this she signed her nanie and then address- ed an envelope to Dorgan. She had heard Philip mention his address and remembered it well. This done. she bade James make all possible haste to deliver it. When he was gone she went resolutely about what seemed her next duty, and began washing away the bl which stained the professor’s face. She found the wound, which was a crease along the scalp, and to her eyes the case seemed hopeful. } Something terrible has hap- Deep Duke, the Silent Sleuth. SE ae, How ho After the lapse of some minutes Woodside’s eyes suddenly opened, and he looked up at her with more or less of reason. ** What is it?” he asked, in a voice almost as lg esse essence aera wmineneneuttnmeeanewe eoxe — ful it was she was soon shown.. strong asever. ‘*‘ What has happened?” ‘You are injured, father; some one bas as- sauited you. Don’t you remember who?” She stopped, for he had given a sudden start, He muttered two or three words; words shoe failed to catch, and then closed his eyes. What passed in his mind during the next minute no one but himself could know, but when he opened them again he looked at one of the female ser- vants, ** Lizzie, come here!” She obeyed. ‘*Upon my desk you will find a stout, brown envelope. I wish you to get that—no, no; not you, Claudia; you must stay by me; give me your hand. Lizzie, take that envelope and throw it in the fire at once!” There was aring of authority and resolution new to him in his voice, and both Miss W oodside and the servant did as he said. As the servant (hrew the envelope away she neticed that there was writing across its face, but she could not tell what, not being able to read. Had the professor been aware of the latter fact when he chose her to destroy it? He watched eagerly as the flames of the grate fire seized upon the document and turned it brown and shapeless, and an expression of satis- faction stole over his face. Then he turned again to his daughter. ‘* Claudia,” he said, in a firm voice, “‘ I am not seriously injured, and you need have no fear. As for this unfortunate affair, it was purely ac- cidental, I was bandling a revolver—a weapon I know but little about—and it was accidentally discharged. ‘that is the whole case in a nut- shell, and as no great harm is done, we need give it no more thought, This swept away James’s theory that thcre had been an assassin in the case, but Claudia was for a moment unable to answer. She remembered the first suspicion which had flashed over her—the fear that her father bad deliberately made away with himself—and her heart told her that his explanation was nota true one. It was equally clear to her, however, thet whatever he had done, he was now sorry for it; his unusual firmness told of a mind reawakened to healthy ideas and influences, and she felt sure that there was no danger of a repetition of the rash act. She concealed her thoughts with natural tact, and gave him only words of love and encourage ment, and then the hastily-summoned doctor ar- rived. He was a man of common sense and good judgment, and he did his work well and without empty show. “He pronounced the wound trifling in one sense of the word; it had at first stunned Woodside, but with proper care he would soon be all right ayain. Claudia watched jealously to see if he suspect- ed anything wrong, but, if so, there was nothing to indicate it, He was still there when the door-bell rung again. Claudia had expected it, and she at once glided from the room; she believed that she knew who had come. She now regretted having so prematurely sent for Duke Dorgan, and wish- ed to be the one to meet him. Her wish was gratified, and she it was who opened the door. She smiled into the deteetive’s face, but made no movement toward asking him in, or, indeed, allowing him to enter. ‘ Good-evening, Mr. Dorgan,” she said, pleas- antly. ‘‘I see you have come promptly, but there was really no cause for my course in sum- moning you.” | ‘* Indeed!” said Dorgan, with a puzzled air. ‘‘ Pather has met with an accident, He was handling a revolver in his study when it was ac- cidentally discharged, inflicting a@ painful wound. I supposed at fir-t that it was the work of some burglar, or something of that sort, but, happily, it proves to be otherwise.” She still stood directly before him, and he read the truth; he was not wanted inside—more, he could not go there without rudeness on bis part. “T trust that the injury is not serious,” he said, kindly. ‘¢ The doctor assures us it is not.” ‘*T should not have expected as careful a man as Professor Woodside to meet with such an ac- cident.” ‘* Ah! but he is not accustomed to revolvers,” If Dorgan had felt called upon to press the matter he would have asked how Woodside bap- pened to have a revolver then, but he was not disposed to do this. It was not bis place to show the iron hand and annoy Claudia. ** Well,” he added, after some minor conversa- tion, ‘‘ 1 suppose 1 ami not needed, after all?” “Thank you, Mr, Dorgan, but you are not. I was in a panic when I sent for you, and had not learned the truth. Happily, it was a simple af- fair. I am grateful that you came so promptly, and will see that you are rewarded.” ‘Pray don’t mention that part, Miss Wood- side; I could not think of considering it, I will not keep you here, for your father may need you. [am glad he is not seriously injured, and, “Si Gomichboo