Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 437 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

_ + eR i LE LL LLL LC TS CT ne ee ee ——— i oe te ee os . to show the visitor just —— —_—— See His idea was to take his companions through this place, secrete them in the thick shrubbery fessor within view. , As he had seen Woodside outside the house in the forenoon, he did not think this would be dif- | | made until they reached there. ficult. Their journey took them near Agnes Benson Woodside’s home, and when she asked permis- sion to call and add her sister to the party, Dor- gan promptly agreed. Agnes had grown nerv- ous, and such company would be beneficial. Be- sides, this sister had known the Woodside of old very well, and hers would be another opinion on was the case of identity. Consequently, the sister was taken along, The detective led the party by the route he had planned. Nobody opposed their entrance to the grounds of the unoccupied house, and they had soon passed the fence and found a hiding- place in the rear of W oodside’s residence. It was clear that Oates and Bergnam now sus- pected whom they were to see, but they held their ce. They knew, though Mrs. Wood- side did not, that a detective was leading them, and they submitted to all, unpleasant though it was to them. ‘* Now,” said Dorgan, when ready to leave them, ‘‘I want to give you a word of caution. [ hope to bring within twenty feet of Se oteey to yonder rustic seat—the man whom I believe is Mrs. Woodside’s husband. [ shall talk to him on trivial matters, but I want you to look at him sharply, and notice the sound of his voice.” ‘* We will obey,” Oates answered, ** One thing more. Should he prove to be your Archibald Woodside, some of you may become excited. Now, it is my earnest wish that my man shall return to the house without a suspicion of this ambuscade. You must all remain as ‘silent as the grave, no matter who he proves to ‘*T understand,” said Mrs. Woodside, per- ceiving that he looked straight at her. *‘ You are afraid I will become excited, and spring from cover, if itis he. Have no fear; I do not want to recover my runaway husband, and I shall take good care that he does not see me.” Dorgan looked pleased, and then, after a few words further, retraced his steps through the grounds of the next residence, reached the street, and then made his entrance to the Wood- side grounds in the most matter-of-fact way possible, James answered his ring, and he asked to see the professor, An answer soon came; the mas- ter of the house was in his study and would be pleased to see him. Woodside met him at the study door. The two men looked straight into each other’s eyes, The professor evidently made an effort to seem frank and bold, but there was a shade of de- fiance in place of bravery, and a tremor of his eyes—an anxious air over all—which Dorgan was not slow to read. The professor wanted to appear well, but he was mentally asking himself: ‘‘Am I in dan- ion this man? Does he suspect?’ He was vying to read his fate in Dorgan’s face, even while outwardly solicitous to appear only as a courteous and pleasant host, ‘ ae detective, however, was smiling frankly, indly. Greetings over, Woodside abruptly said: ‘‘Mr. Dorgan, I owe you thanks for ridding us of those wretches yesterday. You went so abruptly that I had no chance to say so then, but I am very grateful.” ‘You are be welcome, professor, and I en- joyed giving Peters a metaphorical black eye, eis a wretch,” ‘‘Ts—is he a—detective?’ was the hesitating remy. ‘‘ Private detective, I suppose, but a mere blackmailer. One of these days he'll go to prison to stay. Don’t let him trouble you—l’ve scared him off. By the way, that’s a curious little machine you have there.” It was a scientific instrument, and though Dorgan did not care a picayune for it, he had managed to eg the subject of conversation. He soon made a plausible errand by supposing a scientific point on which he wanted Woodside’s opinion, and as they went on, it was clear that the latter’s suspicions had about vanished. Later, Dorgan spoke of a new house he was to build, and of the plan of the connecting grounds, aud so led the conversation that the professor spoke of his own unds and offered ow they were ar- eee ictory was perched on Dorgan’s banner; he could now show the professor to the persons in ambush without alarming him; and he went out with Woodside to make the test. They went over the grounds at once. The professor had never been more anxious tc be obliging, for of all men he felt that he needed to disarm Dorgan of possible hostility most, and he talked stead- ily, pointing ont each feature and commenting on it. | Duke had no trouble in inducing him to sit down on the desired rustic seat, and for ten minutes they remained close to the ambuscade. Not a sound from that quarter told of those in hiding. Deep Duke, the Sil a ee The detective did not test their endurance too | | much, but getting Woodside away, soon bade of Woodside’s grounds, and then bring the pro- | him good-day and retired from his premises. He then conducted his allies to the street, and they went to Mrs. Woodside’s sister’s. Not a question was asked nor an explanation Then Duke turned upon his companions, ** Well?” he questioned. ‘* It was my husband!” said Agnes, in a trem- ulous voice. ‘* What?” cried the sister. ‘**T said that the person Mr. Dorgan showed us was my husband, Archibald Woodside,” ‘*Why, Agnes, are you insane?” ‘‘Tnsane! What do you mean, Myra?’ ‘*T mean that that person was not your hus- band.” It was Agnes’s turn to look surprised, but Dorgan turned to the others, ‘** Wha*t have you to say, gentlemen?” “Tt was the Archibald Woodside once em- ployed by me,” said Bergnam, ‘‘and the man recommended to me by Mr. Oates.” ‘* Begging your pardon,” said the minister, ‘*T never recommended the man to you in the world. He don’t look any more like that Archibald Woodside than I do like Christopher Columbus.” ; ‘“ Why, Mr. Oates!” exclaimed, Agnes, ‘* you ought to know the man to whom you married me,” ‘* So I should, were 1 to see him.” ‘* But the man Mr. Dorgan showed us was my husband.” ‘* You must be crazy, Agnes,” said her sister, ** He lid not resemble your husband in the least. ‘* Not in the least,” added Mr. Oates. ‘* An error on your part,” put in Bergnam. ‘* It was Woodside, and he has not changed a particle.” ‘* | think I ought to know my own husband,” said Mrs. Woodside, with some spirit. Duke Dorgan looked at the quartette in per- ate yb The case had not grown clear, as he oped, but had become even more complicated. Here were four witnesses whom he could not but believe honest and sincere, and their testimony exactly contradicted each other. All of them ought to know positively, yet they differed to the extreme, He proceeded to talk the matter over with them, but all to no purpose. Not one would swerve from the expressed opinion. All had had a gone view of Professor Woodside, yet they had scen with eyes that could not agree. rs. Woodside seemed to be the one upon whose word the most dependence could be put, for, as she said, she certainly ought to know her husband if any one did; but on the other side was the minister, who asserted that he remem- bered the old-time Woodside well, and he de- clared that the professor did not resemble him in the least. Dorgan thus had the material to ‘ prove” whatever he wished, but that. was not his pur- pose. What he wanted were the facts in the case—the truth. He was forced to conclude that Mr, Oates and Myra were mistaken, for all outside evidence went to corroborate the other side of the ques- tion. The date of the desertion of Agnes by her husband corresponded to that of the professor’s alleged trip to Europe, and it did seem that this last part was a fraud—a device to blind others —and that the professor was also the other Archibald Woodside. Re mga this view of the matter, all seemed plain. He had never been the model man he was sup- pose to be, but had deliberately committed igamy by marrying Agnes Benson when his acknowledged wife was alive. When Temple Hathaway was killed—killed perhaps in a moment of passion—he fled to Ban- gor, assumed the name of Zachary Rose, and married Eunice Eastman, the Mrs. Rose of our story. There was one inconsistency about all this. Why should Woodside, with all his wealth, have pou to work for Bergnam, since this must have hn an impediment, rather than an aid, to the successful leading of a double life, and why did he become a log-driver on the rivers of Maine, when he might have taken along money enough to live in luxury if he wished. The more the case was considered, the more perplexing it became. _the conversation was prolonged for some time, for Dorgan was anxious to bring order out of chaos, but allin vain, His companions were firm, and an agreement was out of the question. He finally gave it up for the time being, and the party hegne Se. Mrs. Woodside spoke to the detective outside the door, ‘‘Is there danger that I shall be called into court in this matter, whatever it is?” she asked. ‘* There is a possibility of it.” ‘*Save me from that if you can, I never want to look upon Archibald Woodside’s face again. ‘** You forget that he is rich.” “T forget nothing; but were he the richest man alive I would never forgive him, I will ent Sleuth. —_—__—___ __ —__ ———— a never make peace with him, nor accept one cent of his money. Do not take this as a mere exhi- bition of temper; I am not acting viciously. The idea is, he deserted me basely, and I am done with him forever!” Dorgan looked after her thoughtfully as she moved away. ‘* She is at least sincere. She is not pretend- ing to recognize the professor as her husband to get his money, for she will not touchit. Yes, she’s plainly sincere—but so were the others. The case is complicated, and though many men would make an arrest at once, I am going deeper into it. My next step must be to trace the professor, if possible, from the time he pre- tended to go to Europe.” CHAPTER XXTX, A PAINFUL CHOICE OF EVILS. CLAUDIA WOODSIDE felt as though she was living over a volcano, and every moment she expected it to break forth and overwhelm her and those she loved in ruin. She had not received an motive of the visit of Peters and his com- anions, nor dared she seek light. True, she ad once asked her father, but she was glad now that she had not been answered as she felt he might, if he would, have answered her, She dared not know the truth. Despite her father’s denial, she felt that he knew the motive of that visit, and that it was one which threatened him with ruin. She watched him as closely as possible, fearing that he might again attempt suicide, but he was firmer and calmer than she had dared expect. To all the rest was added Ralph Hathaway’s conduct, and she felt that her cup of sorrow was full. She no longer felt resentment because he remained away, however—she now hoped he would not come. The more she meditated concerning the let- ters found in the cabinet—those from Temple Hathaway to her father—tbe more she felt that there might be good reason for Ralph’s course, What that reason was she dared not con- sider. Painful as was her position she bore it nobly, ever managing to be cheerful in her father’s presence, and loading him with kindness and tender care, but the weight of her fears was something terrible to bear alone. She did not think of sharing it with any one. Her brother was not the kind of a man to meet an emergency. True, Philip was honest and, in his way, devoted to both her and her father, but his nature was indicated by his course in the early part of the case. When he heard of Mrs. Rose he was all zeal and enthusiasm; he engaged Dorgan and want- ed—for a few hours—to become an amateur de- tective; but some new fever had attacked him and he gave no more thought to Mrs. Rose and Dorgan. At present he was considering a hunting-trip to the Far West; perhaps the next week he would plan to go to the North Pole, or cross Africa on a bicycle. No; Philip was not the man to confide in. He would probably laugh at her, pronounce her fears groundless, and go to a horse trot, or get a fever to help the poor of New York, instead of showing himself an aid and protector. So Claudia kept her own counsel and worried one. She saw Duke Dorgan when he called and ex- pected the worst from the visit, but her father returned to the house looking more qheerful than since his trouble began, and the danger seemed averted. Half an hour later the servant announced a caller to see her. Who wasit? She glanced at the card in her hand. ‘** Ralph Hathaway !” The girl’s face flushed, and then grew un- usually pale. What did this visit portend? She remembered Ralph’s last call, and feared the worst. Even if there had been a change in bis feelings, was it her place to receive him as though nothing had happened? The resolution was soon made, and she went quietly down to He rose as she entered the parlor, and the vity of her face was reflected in his own. She paused, and they looked at each other in silence fora moment. It was a strange oe for parties so lately married, but Claudia wou! not make it otherwise. An apology on bis part was certainly due. ‘*'You do not seem glad to see me, Claudia,” said Ralph, ina low and by no means steady voice, ‘*Can you expect anything more?” og| cope vod would ask the question. No, I can expect no more. Whatever cause I have explanation of the had for my behavior, I have done wrong to you. Nothing could excuse me for using you as | have when you are wholly innocent of wrong-doing.” The confession was made in a manly way, but | Claudia’s manner was still dignified and reserved as she asked: ‘‘ Then why have you done so?” ‘*T have come to tell you that—if you wish.” ‘*T not only wish it, but it is your duty to me,” | JOO C S <€om : ~ (E{o) ye