Chapter XXI: Part 21

Mrs. Savage cried, and Mr. S. persisted in his objections. Finally, Mr. Brooks told him that if he would give his consent, he would watch Leonard carefully, and that if he discovered the least thing to excite his suspicions that Leonard was in any way unfitted for the course of life in which he wished to place him, he would send him back to his father, and that, in the meanwhile, Leonard would have earned some money for himself, and that then he would not be too old to go to college; "for," said he, "a year's trial will decide all."

This was a new suggestion to Leonard, and he caught at it, and added his importunities to Mr. Brooks's; for he saw the brilliant prospect before him if he proved himself capable, and it was Mr. Brooks's own proposal that he go on trial. So, after much further conversation, Mr. and Mrs. Savage consented, and the parties returned to the house.

Mr. Brooks was so delighted that he could hardly contain himself, and insisted that Leonard should go with him and his family next day to the mountains. To this Leonard demurred, for he knew that fashionable people resorted there, and he had not, he said, a proper suit of clothes. He was having some made preparatory to going to college, but they were not done. Mr. Brooks gently laughed at this; told him he was well enough dressed now; that it was not his clothes, but him, that he wanted with him.

But it was finally arranged that Leonard should visit Boston, and provide himself with a ready-made suit, and follow the family in two or three days. Mr. Brooks, knowing a certain clothing-house in Boston, told Leonard to go there, and nowhere else; and after Leonard had selected his suit, judge of his surprise, when the clerk, asking his name, in order to make out the bill, presented it to Leonard, subscribed, "Payment received in full," as Leonard was drawing his wallet to pay for the goods.

"But what does this mean?" said Leonard, as, taking the bill, he handed the clerk the money, which was refused.

"I am not able to tell you more than that I had orders to hand you the bill receipted, and to refuse any money you might offer," said the clerk, as he started to go to do something needing then to be done.

"But stop, sir," said Leonard; "I cannot receive this compliment from your house. I must know what it means."

At this point one of the proprietors, seeing that Leonard was confounded, stepped up, motioned the clerk away to his duties, and said,--

"Allow me to ask what is the trouble?"

"No 'trouble' indeed," said Leonard, "but this: I've bought a suit of clothes, for which I wish to pay, and the clerk won't let me, and has given me the receipted bill."

The proprietor reached out his hand for it, looked at it for an instant, and said,--

"Is this your name?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then the bill seems to be correctly made out."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I am one of the proprietors of this house,--would you prefer _me_ to receipt the bill, rather than that it be done in our name by a clerk--is that it?"

Of course Leonard was astonished at the query.

"Why, no, sir," said he; "I suppose this is as correct as it can be, as far as the signature is concerned, but I am astonished that you won't take my money."

"Well, we do refuse to, and shall be greatly obliged to you if you will take the suit along with you. You will have no trouble in the future about it, and I am not at liberty to explain the matter to you. All I can say is, it is all right; we are satisfied, and should be glad of your custom when you wish anything in our line."

Leonard left the store confused, unable to conjecture what it meant, for he had no suspicion of the fact, afterwards disclosed to him, a year from then, that Mr. Brooks had written a private letter to the house, enclosing a draft on a New York bank, telling the house to let such a young man, whom he accurately described, and who would be there in a day or two, have the goods, and they could settle the difference between amount of draft and cost of goods thereafter. Of course he enjoined entire secrecy; hence it was that the proprietor was "not at liberty to explain."

Mr. Brooks intended this as a pleasant surprise upon Leonard, but it didn't prove so. He was more or less harassed by it till he came to know the facts. He was one of those independent, self-reliant souls, who rather go without this or that than receive it from patronizing hands; and as he did not even suspect this as Mr. Brooks's work, and as old Mr. Savage, when Leonard came to tell him of the occurrence, was equally unsuspecting, Leonard was a little vexed.

Mr. Brooks had been so long away they did not conceive that he had acquaintances in Boston; and moreover they knew that he had not been near the post office of the village while he was there, or had they suspected him they would have thought of that, and been puzzled. But Mr. Brooks had been wary, and without going to the post office himself, sent his daughter out to walk, and deposit the letter, and told her to say nothing about it, and to show its superscription to no one.

Leonard followed the family in his new but plain suit, for he had not been extravagant. His fine form needed no adornment, and the visitors at the mountains that season hardly knew which to admire the most, his frank, handsome face, his Apollo-like form, or his gentle, kindly manners. Of course Mr. Brooks was very proud of him, and was never so happy as when talking to the people he met of the prize he had found "up among the granite hills." He spoke of Leonard as his "clerk," and was, in short, a particle silly in the expression of his pride over Leonard; and Mrs. Brooks was not far behind him. So that the gossiping portion of the visitors to the mountains, when they met, began to whisper it about that it was "easy enough to be seen" that Mr. Brooks was arranging an alliance for his daughter, and they were very sure it was the next to the oldest; and before the Brookses left the mountains, these gossipers were certain of it; and, as they observed the quiet, modest, and reserved appearance of the beautiful Isabella, they construed her silence into her non-concurrence with the supposed plan, and Mrs. Brooks overheard some of them bewailing the condition of her daughter, declaring it was "too bad to compel a girl to marry against her will;" that although Leonard was so beautiful, and all that, yet it was not right to compel the girl to marry him, and the Brookses "ought to be ashamed of it." Little did they know what at the same time was going on in Isabella's heart, and as little foresaw what the future, not years distant, was to develop in the happiness and joy of the Brooks and Savage families. Ah, and much less could they then have conjectured of the terrible reverses--the inexpressible sufferings, which were to come to some, indeed all, of those then happy households.

The season over, Mr. Brooks and family returned to New York, making but a day or two's call at Mr. Savage's, where it was arranged that Leonard should follow them in a month, and then set out for Boston, where Mr. Brooks called on the clothing-house, and received the balance due on his draft.

"That young man," said the proprietor, who had had the conversation with Leonard, "is a splendid fellow to look upon, and I liked his manners. I've thought ever since he was here I would like to get his services in our store--if I could. Do you think he could be induced to come to Boston? We'd do well by him--give him a fair trial--he would have nothing to complain of."

"Then you like him? What struck you most in his appearance?"

"Well, he's intelligent and handsome, that everybody can see; but what I liked most, was his honest, open face. I think he's perfectly reliable--a thing I can say of but few of the clerks our house ever had."

Mr. Brooks was delighted with this estimation of Leonard by a shrewd, keen-sighted business man, and replied,--

"You've judged the young man rightly, I think; but you cannot secure his services. A business is already provided for him. Were it not for that, I might try to get him into your employ."

Soon after Mr. Brooks left the store; and, of course, the first thing he told Mrs. Brooks on entering the Revere House, where they were stopping, was what the merchant had said about Leonard, and the daughters all heard it too.

But I must cut this part of the story short, for I find my personal regard for Leonard is leading me to dilate upon those points which are not so exactly connected with the detective's business; and I have gone over the substance of Mr. Brooks's narrative to me of the past, in such detail, in order to give the reader some adequate notion of the intensity of the grief which came upon the Brooks family, and to show how the extremest innocence and the most lofty honor may sometimes suffer under false charges,--the designs of the base and vile for their own mean ends; or, as in this case, through the conspiracy of circumstances, the solution of which necessarily involves the innocent sometimes.

Leonard went to New York in due time, and was taken into Mr. B.'s family as a member, and duly installed in Mr. B.'s business, first as clerk, Mr. Brooks advancing him little by little, as he saw fit.

A year rolled round, and Leonard visited his country home, and Mr. Brooks had no occasion to "release" him in that he loved him; and all the family loved him; and there was one of them who more than loved him, Isabella; but so gentle and undemonstrative had she been, that Leonard did not know it; and he regarded all the girls as his sisters, and was kind, and gentle, and cheerful to them all alike. Still, sometimes he thought he "liked" (for he never thought of "love" towards any of them, save in the kindly, friendly sense), Isabella, in particular, the best.

When he returned there was rejoicing in the Brooks' house, and all went on smoothly. These things proceeded till Leonard became of age, and Mr. Brooks at once took him into full partnership, giving him outright an interest sufficient to make him wealthy. Leonard had not forgotten his love of books, and occupied most of his leisure hours at his happy home, reading to the family. Thus he was storing his mind, and fitting himself for greater usefulness.

So fashionable a family as the Brookses, had necessarily been called into society much, and had given many parties themselves, but they gradually lost their interest in those things after Leonard came; and as Mr. Brooks saw the advantage of which his reading and studential habits would be to his daughters, he encouraged their more quiet life. In short, Leonard became indispensable to that household, and lived there as a brother and a son, to whom they all had come to look up, till his twenty-fourth year, when, going a little into society, and meeting various ladies, whom he admired, he began to conceive the thought of marriage; but he found none who, in comparison with the young ladies at home, he thought equal to them, especially to one of them, the gentle Isabella, who was also a very good scholar, and had studied a great deal since Leonard became a member of the family. He dwelt upon the matter very much. Isabella was almost a sister, indeed. He felt a delicacy about revealing his affections; but at last he did, and the tears of Isabella revealed her only too great joy.

They made their story known to Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, who, in their gladness, would have had them marry the very next day. Mr. Brooks said that any delay under the circumstances was absurd; that he did not care for formalities, and wanted to make no show. But Mrs. Brooks's pride took another direction. She wanted time to make a great wedding, and Mr. Brooks yielded. The wedding came, and passed all happily, and Leonard Savage and Isabella Brooks were united for a happy life, to be checkered, however, by great misery to them both. They remained with Mr. Brooks's family for a year, when they moved into a new house which Mr. Brooks had erected meanwhile, and given to Isabella, and time went on; children were born to them, and happy grandparents lived over their lives again in the smiles of their loving grandchildren.

Meanwhile Mr. Brooks changed his business somewhat, and founding a bank, he became president of it, and along with him went Leonard, as chief clerk, his property, now sufficient for his support in style, being invested in various paying stocks. He went more as a companion for old Mr. Brooks, than to fill a position for the sake of its salary; and as Mr. Brooks had a dear friend, who, in his old age had become ruined in Wall Street, it was arranged that he should be cashier so long as he might desire, or might live, and that Mr. Savage should succeed him, if he so desired. But Mr. Savage was Mr. Brooks's confidential clerk in all respects, and was intrusted with everything.

All things went on happily and smoothly for a year and a half, till a certain fatal day arrived. The day before, Mr. Savage, who, in all the long time he had been with Mr. Brooks, never drew out at any time from the concern but a portion of his dues, told Mr. Brooks that he had become embarrassed a little through the decline of a certain stock, which was sure, however, to come up again, and that he wanted a thousand dollars for current expenses; and unwilling to sell any stock he held, and not willing to ask anybody else to loan him, was obliged to ask of him a favor. Mr. Brooks smiled at the matter, gave him the money at once, and in a manner of half reproof, and half joke, said, "Leonard, what made you think I'd lend you money? I won't, never. Take that as a birthday present _from_ me, to reverse the order of things, for to-morrow is my birthday." Leonard took the money, considering it a loan, which he should make up in a week.

The next day was a fatal one to the happiness of that house, and the one to which all I have written here has been pointing. It was noon. Mr. Brooks was out of town, the cashier had gone to his dinner, and so the clerks, and all but an old negro messenger, who had been with the house since its establishment, and he was dozing away in his accustomed seat, when a man entered the bank with a draft for two thousand dollars, and something over (I forget the exact sum); was in haste, or such was Mr. Savage's story; got it cashed by Mr. Savage, who acted as teller in the teller's absence, and cashier too, and made an entry in the books, and slipped the draft, as he declared, into the proper drawer, preparatory to its being duly filed, according to the custom of the bank. That night the entry was found in the books, but no draft to correspond was found. Mr. Savage was confounded; the old cashier said an unkind word to him about carelessness, and the bank closed without the matter being settled.

Next day the cashier brought the thing to Mr. Brooks's notice before Mr. Savage came in; and the old cashier presumed, on his intimacy with Mr. Brooks, to say that the affair "looked bad." The illness of one of Mr. Savage's children delayed him an hour or two beyond the usual time of arriving at the bank, and this added to Mr. Brooks's uneasiness, not knowing the cause. Moreover, there flashed into his mind, what had been forgotten for nearly thirty years, the mournful history of the latter life of a man in the South, whom he once knew, and who, in the midst of happiest surroundings, and after having enjoyed everybody's confidence for a period of over forty years, proved at last a villain.

Mr. Brooks deemed this man's name coming back, as it did,--he knew not how,--to memory, as a sort of providential presentation of light upon the matter in question; and, by the deep degree of his affection for his son-in-law, his suspicions became intense, as he afterwards explained it. By the time Leonard Savage got to the bank, Mr. Brooks was in the mood to believe almost anything of him. He remembered, too, that he was embarrassed the day before, and he had given him a thousand dollars. How did he know but he wanted more thousands? What had he done with his money?

When Mr. Savage arrived, Mr. Brooks, with a frown on his face, invited him into the directors' room, shut the door, and asked him to explain about that draft. Mr. Savage told him the whole simple story, quietly; expressed his great regret at his stupidity; said he knew he must have--in fact, he knew as well as he knew anything--put the draft in such a place; that it was drawn by such a bank in the country (a familiar one, often doing business with them); was all right, etc., and that he and the clerks had hunted high and low, and it was not to be found the day before. Mr. Savage was secretly annoyed at Mr. Brooks's pertinacity in the matter, and he finally said,--

"Father Brooks, of course I propose that the bank shall not lose the money. The other bank will, of course, recognize the fact of having given the draft; and now, as the draft is paid it is all the same to us if it is lost."

"Yes, yes," said Mr. Brooks; "that's all well enough. I wonder why I've not thought to send word to the other bank, and find if they have issued such a draft on us." This very suggestion piqued Mr. Savage's pride awfully, but he suffered the affront silently; and as the conversation closed, Mr. Savage said, "And, father, even if it were a forged draft, I should tell you to have it charged to me, against my stock and dividends. The bank shall not lose for my laches."

This suggestion about a forged draft struck Mr. Brooks unpleasantly. "What if it should prove that the bank has made no such draft on us that day?" asked Mr. B. of himself, as he and Mr. Savage parted; and he immediately despatched a messenger to the country to find out the facts, who, returning, said the bank had issued no such draft. Mr. Brooks's suspicions became strong that Mr. Savage, for some inscrutable reason, had done wrong. He did not care for the money, but his confidence was shaken in him. He would pay the sum withdrawn, and get rid of Mr. Savage as easily as he could. This was his purpose; but he bethought him, that perhaps somebody could unravel the mystery; _perhaps_--but he did not believe it--somebody had deceived Mr. Savage with a forged check; but, ah! where had that gone. "Perhaps," Mr. Savage had thought--well, he could not solve it for himself, knew not what to think; and after pondering over it, came to our office (for I then had a partner). He revealed his case to me,--told me the whole history which I have related, and far more, and said he had grown ten years older within the past two weeks. He had said nothing yet to his wife about it, and thought he never should.

I told him it looked to me that Mr. Savage was an honest man, and had been imposed upon with a forged check; that possibly, by some connivance with the old negro messenger, the forger had repossessed himself of that check; but that that was the most unlikely thing in the world. I tried to conceive various ways to account for it, even to supposing that Mr. S. was mistaken as to having put the draft in the drawer, but had tucked it, unthinkingly, into his vest pocket, and had lost it. But to all I could suggest, he had a ready reply; and I told him that I thought I'd better examine the premises, the drawers, and so forth; and we arranged a private examination,--he and I being alone in the bank,--which was made.

I saw that if the drawers were full,--and it appeared that on that fatal day much business had been done, and the drawer was probably full,--a paper might get out over the back end and fall on the floor, and so get lost; but this suggestion was answered to my satisfaction,--the greatest search had been made for the paper on the afternoon of the day it was said to have been presented, etc., and my theory was thus precluded. After a few conferences, I finally yielded to Mr. Brooks's opinion, that Mr. Savage was guilty of having taken the money, and trumped up the silly story for his defence; and yet it was all so absurd an act in one situated as was he.

A while after, Mr. Brooks had a serious talk with Mr. Savage, who was allowed to pay the bank the loss, and matters were so arranged that the clerks thought that the check had indeed been found, though they did not see it; but Mr. Brooks's confidence in and respect for Mr. Savage was gone, and the poor old man's grief was terrible. "Not one honest man in the world," he used to mutter; "even if you educate him yourself, and nurture him in your own bosom, and give to his keeping your dearest child, and your wealth and all, he'll deceive you."

Mr. Brooks caused Mr. Savage to give up his place; and told him that he wanted his daughter and their children to visit him as before, but hoped he should never see _him_ at his house, and if he did visit there, he trusted he would take care not to meet him. And Mr. Savage, whose feelings, under the circumstances, can perhaps be better conceived than described, seeing the old man's wretchedness, withdrew from his sight quietly, simply saying, "It is awful--I am innocent--perhaps something will convince you, some day, that I am."

"No, no," said old Mr. Brooks; "I have no such hope; there is no room for hope; you have deceived me in your character, and I am fast breaking down."

Mr. Savage went to his home an almost broken-down man himself. For a long time he kept all from his wife; finally, he told her; and she, against his advice, went to implore her father, now inexorable in his opinion. He cried over his daughter, but would not yield his opinion.

Mr. Savage became quite low in health, and it was finally thought best, by his physician, that he should take a sea voyage,--go to Europe to spend a year or two; which he did, leaving his wife and children at home. He made his will, and arranged everything as if he might never return. The physicians could not determine exactly what was his malady, but thought change of conditions and travel would do him good. They did not know that it was wounded affection--affection for his dear old father-in-law, whom he really loved and adored--that was secretly undermining his health; for he could not tell them his story.

Two years had passed since that unhappy day, of the presentation of the draft, when there came a letter to Mr. Brooks, purporting to be from a Catholic clergyman, who gave his name, saying that a dying penitent had confessed a presentation of a forged draft on his bank for two thousand dollars at about such a time--day of the month he could not recollect,--and that he was ready to make restoration, to the extent of his ability, with funds left in his hands for the purpose. He could restore twelve hundred dollars, and asked Mr. B. if such a check had been drawn on his bank at such a time, as the penitent was not in the most vivid state of memory at the time of confession, and talked of two or three banks at the same time.

Here is light! thought Mr. Brooks; and he lost no time in seeking out the priest, and getting from him all he could disclose; and when the priest,--who would not give him the man's name, on account of certain relatives of the forger's, who were respectable people,--Mr. Brooks remembered that Mr. Savage's meagre description of the man, who he alleged presented the check, was like the priest's, Mr. Brooks began to suffer remorse. "Yet, where is the check?" he constantly asked himself; and with this he settled his conscience as frequently as it was disturbed; and saying nothing to his wife about this,--to whom not till months after the fatal day he had told his story,--thought over the matter by himself. He did not receive the money from the priest, but caused him to put it in the bank, told him to act as its trustee, and that by and by he could come to some conclusion. He told the priest that there was alleged to have been a draft for two thousand dollars drawn at that time; and he learned from the priest that the man who confessed to drawing a forged order was skilful with his pen, and capable, probably, of forging successfully. And with this all, Mr. Brooks was constantly in trouble of mind.

Finally, it had been resolved by the bank to get a heavy safe, in addition to the one in the vault, for its increasing business; and when the position it was to occupy was selected, it was seen that the old desk must be removed. In placing the safe in its position, the old floor broke down on the part nearest the wall,--for the banking rooms were in an old building,--and it became necessary to repair the floor. The safe was rolled out in the middle of the room, and the floor, or a portion of it, taken up. It was found that for nearly nine inches from the side of the room the floorboards had nothing to rest on, and consequently broke down with the weight of the safe. They were not thick and stout enough, and the reckless joiners, in laying the floor, had saved themselves labor in slighting their work. But the floor had served its purpose well enough till that day. On tearing off the broken ends of the floor, several papers were found between them and the ceiling of the room below,--the basement offices,--and small bits of sealing-wax, short strings, a few cents, and such things.

The bank men and clerks looked at the papers, and one of them, taking up a paper of peculiar color, and folded, said, "What's this?" and carelessly opened it. "Why, this is a draft on our bank by the Bank of ----; cashed, too, I reckon; how came it here?"

Fortunately Mr. Brooks was looking on the scene. The old cashier was sick at home, the person in his place occupied, and the clerk who found the paper a new comer. "Let me see that," said Mr. Brooks, and reached his trembling hand for it, took it, and turned away; looked at it; put it in his pocket, and went into the directors' room; cried till he was weak; and finally, coming out, said he was sick, and must go home; had a carriage ordered, and was soon at home, revealing to his wife what, together with the confession of the dying penitent, he considered the full proof of Mr. Savage's innocence.

The color of the draft, which had proven a little dark in the mean while, however, was like that before and then still used by the country bank in its check blanks, and was all right. It flashed upon him that the forger had gotten possession of one of these, done his work, deceived Mr. Savage,--and all was clear but as to _how_ the check got there,--a mystery in some part never to be solved. But next day Mr. Brooks observed, what had never occurred to him before as remarkable, yet which he remembered to have carelessly noted every day of his life, that the base-board above the floor had shrunken away from the latter for the space of nearly a quarter of an inch; and he found that the broken ends of the floor boards revealed that they but barely reached under the base board, so short were they. The draft, found folded, had somehow slipped out of the drawer, and got on to the floor; and perhaps, in somebody's haste that fatal day, had chanced to be hit with the toe of a boot severely enough to be cast under the base board, into the receptacle where it was found.

Mr. Brooks's remorse was great. He would have hurried to Europe, to see his son-in-law, and bring him back, if he could possibly have then left New York, but he could not; and he did the next good thing. He would not trust to the slow process of the mail,--for where his son-in-law was at the time his daughter, who had been made acquainted with the facts, could not tell. He was last heard from at Rome, but was about to depart for some other place--Vienna, I believe. So Mr. Brooks wrote the most tender letter, imploring forgiveness, and together with one from Mr. Savage's wife, sealed it up very securely, selected a messenger, who was no other than the old cashier's, his friend's, son, and fitting him out, bade him make haste to find Mr. Savage, give him the letters, and bring him home.

The messenger left for Europe by the next steamer from Boston, and going directly to Rome, traced out Mr. Savage from there, and found him at last in Athens, Greece, an enfeebled, prematurely old man. He had suddenly changed his purpose to go to Austria, and set out with a party from Rome to Greece.

Mr. Savage was so overcome with joy that he was thrown into a fit of sickness, which lasted for some three weeks; but he recovered to his old status of late, and before he arrived in New York--his anxiety having gone, and his happiness at the prospect of soon being restored to the arms of the old man, whom he so loved, with all suspicions removed from his character, and his innocence proclaimed--he had grown to be quite like his old self in appearance, though yet unusually thin.

I will not attempt to describe the meeting between him, his father and mother-in-law, and his wife, for these were all at his own house, in a private room, when he arrived from the steamer,--Mr. Brooks feeling that he could not meet him there, as he wished to in his heart, for he would be overcome, had written him a note by the coachman, telling him where he would find him. Mr. Brooks's recital of that scene, which he told me more than once, was the most touching story I ever listened to; would that I had the power of pen to reproduce it; but I have not, and I will not depreciate it by the attempt.

During the messenger's absence Mr. Brooks had sought me, told me the story of the confession and the finding of the note, and would have scolded me a little I felt, because I did not think of the shrunken base board,--which I now think I noticed,--if he too had not overlooked that in the examination, although he had in fact noticed it nearly every day that the rooms had been occupied by his bank.

The still unravelled mystery of how the check got out of the drawer and under the base board, sometimes puzzles me; but it is no stranger, after all, than many things I have known. There can be no doubt of Mr. Savage's innocence in the matter. The twelve hundred dollars, with some interest thereon, was finally paid over by the priest; but Mr. Brooks took care that Father ---- received, in a way mysterious to him, and for his own use, a much larger sum; so grateful was he for the restoration to his home of his innocent son-in-law, whom he had so deeply, yet naturally enough under the circumstances, wronged.

This case, I hardly need add, served to increase my caution in the examination of my future "work," though I thought I was as wary and careful as a man could well be before.

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THE PECULIAR ADVERTISEMENTS.

--------------

THE DOCTRINE OF CHANCE--A NIGHT AT THE GIRARD HOUSE,
PHILADELPHIA--AN INOFFENSIVE GENTLEMAN, MY ROOM-MATE--I
DISTURB HIS SLEEP--A QUEER TALE--NELLIE WILSON AND HER
UNCLE--WILLIAM WILSON, NELLIE'S DISSOLUTE COUSIN--FEARFUL
LOVE-MAKING--A RESCUE--A CALL TO DUTY--A DEAD MAN'S WILL
MISSING--STUDYING UP THE CASE WITH THE GREAT CRIMINAL LAWYER,
JUDGE S.--FATE INTERPOSES--A MYSTERIOUS AND PECULIAR
ADVERTISEMENT--AT THE CONTINENTAL HOTEL, WAITING AND
WATCHING--AN "APPEARANCE"--WILLIAM WILSON AGAIN--AN UPPER
ROOM, AND THE VILLAINS THEREIN--A PRIVATE CONFERENCE NOT ALL
SECRET--A FLASH OF VICTORY BEFORE UTTER DEFEAT--NOTES AND
DOCUMENTS EXCHANGED--BASE REJOICINGS--A FATAL NEGLECT--THE
SURPRISE--COMPLETE DISCOMFITURE--THE END ACCOMPLISHED--"COALS
OF FIRE,"--BUT THEY DO NO GOOD--A VIOLENT DEATH--HAPPY
CONSEQUENCES--THE PECULIAR ADVERTISEMENTS UNRAVELLED.

Coincidences in life and its various pursuits are perhaps governed by some mysterious law, and are not always resolvable by the doctrine of chance. The detective is not only brought into contact with all sorts of people without the profession, but frequently finds himself in the company of his mysterious fellow-craftsmen, to some purpose. An advertisement among the "Personals" in the New York Herald had directed me to Philadelphia, in the spring of 1857; or, rather, following the thread of one by which I thought I might possibly unravel a mystery of great importance to a client of mine, I had gone to Philadelphia; and putting up at the Girard House, was compelled, on account of the crowded state of the hotel, to take room for the night with a quiet, inoffensive looking gentleman, whose appearance at times, however, betokened to me that something was pressing upon his mind.

Not a little harassed by the mission I was on, I found myself unable to sleep, and while pondering over this and that device for the next day's proceedings in my mazy work, I was conscious that I constantly changed position, rolling over in bed, etc., but as softly as possible, in order to not awaken my fellow-lodger, whom I supposed to be sweetly enjoying his dreams. The night had worn well on, when my companion addressed me:--

"Friend, are you ill?"

"O, no,--why?"

"I have observed that you have not slept any yet to-night."

"Then you, too, have been awake the whole time?"

"Yes, fully."

"Let me ask, then, if you are unwell?"

"O, no; but business cares press upon me, of a somewhat serious nature."

And thus beginning, after a long period of cautious colloquy the fact became developed to each that the other belonged to the fraternity of detectives. My new friend had come from Cincinnati upon an errand which he disclosed to me in part, and I had the happiness of making him, what he was pleased to call, valuable suggestions, and which so proved in the sequel, I believe. I had aided him, and he was ready to serve me if possible. In so far as I properly might, I made him acquainted with my business, and the end which I sought; told him of the advertisement in the Herald, and how I interpreted it, and why I believed that I was on the right track. He had an illustrative case in point, very like, in many respects, the affair I had in hand; and inasmuch as a change in the programme of my investigations took place in a day or two after, so that my affair was dropped, and never pressed to its full development, I will recall my friend's story here, as perhaps not less interesting than mine might have been, had I carried out things to their possible issue.

My friend's story was, in substance this: "Some years ago I formed the acquaintance of a wealthy gentleman, residing in this city. His name we will call Wilson, and his home was one of the most comfortable and luxurious in the city. His wife had died some years before, and his home was presided over by his very beautiful niece, Nellie Wilson, a girl of about twenty years of age, who, with his only son, constituted his 'family.' Miss Nellie was a most attractive person, tall, symmetrically formed, with a wealth of beautiful hair. Her eyes of that peculiar blue which is seldom seen in such richness as in hers, were among the most beautiful; in fact, to not be too sentimental, and yet to speak truth, I must say they were the most beautiful eyes I ever looked into. Her complexion was faultless, and her manners, especially in their quiet majesty, were more than faultless,--imposing and elegant. A great prize, you see. Well, I must say, and so I will say, friend, that if, when I first saw this Miss Nellie, I had not had at home one of the best wives in all my State, or in this whole country, I should have been obliged, I fear, to let myself go distracted over that embodiment of female perfections, Miss Nellie; and as 'twas, I confess I didn't forget her soon; and 'pears to me, if this is really I that's talking, I haven't quite forgot her yet!--how is that, friend?"

"Well," said I, in reply, "it would seem so to me, if I'd let it, but I won't trouble you with that. Go on with your story, for I am all interest."

Resuming, he went on to say that it wasn't strange that such a girl as Nellie, whose disposition was as sweet as her beauty was great, had captivated the kindliest affections of her uncle, to the disparagement of the son, who was an eyesore to his father, being exceedingly dissipated. His dissolute life had deeply tried his father, whose blasted hopes of his son's ever becoming reformed had only tended to deepen his regard and tenderness towards Miss Nellie. In fact, the son and father lived, if not in a sort of perpetual petty warfare, in very uncongenial relations.

Charles Wilson, the father, was a sort of _bon vivant_ (bating the use of liquors), and took great pleasure in inviting to his table such persons as pleased his fancy. Inviting me one day, I went, and enjoyed a most capital dinner, and with it an hour or more of very pleasing sociality. Mr. Wilson had the habit of retiring to rest for an hour after his dinner, and bowed himself out of the room with due explanations. I occupied myself in conning over some books in the studio, which was divided from the adjoining apartment by sliding doors. Miss Nellie had withdrawn soon after dinner to see, I suppose, after sundry household duties. A little weary of my solitude, I fell into a sort of doze in the capacious and inviting arms of a luxurious "study-chair," out of which I was awakened by voices which evidently proceeded from the adjoining room.

Our dinner had been partaken of at a late hour, and by this time the evening had advanced well on, so that the uproar of the street had ceased, leaving that quiet silence which one can almost feel by the touch, and rending audible almost the least sound. I was not obliged to listen, but was rather forced to hear all that was going on in the next room. It must have been, I saw, the voice of William Wilson, the son, that had broken my reverie, and as I discovered something husky and gross in it, I concluded he was intoxicated, muttering,--

"Hear me _now_, Nellie! Curse you! You--_know_--I--love--you,"--drawing out his words with the peculiar utterance of a drunken, but a very earnest man. "Yes, I worship the very dust under your feet. Your beauty makes me crazy. It transports me in imagination into fairy regions. Yes, it's the fairy regions themselves, in its complete self!"

"Away with your ridiculous praises; I will have none of your compliments now. Why do you continue to persecute me? Have I not made my decision plain to you? I cannot recall it. I will not change," she replied.

"Dear Nellie, do have mercy!--don't say so! If you but knew how utterly I worship you! I have no thoughts but of you! Every pulse of my being beats for you! O, I beg you, sweet, blessed idol!--do, do smile once upon me!" the intoxicated brute responded.

"William, you are grossly intoxicated. How dare you come to me thus?"

"My own cousin Nellie, drunk or sober, I will be yours; and by all the gods, you _shall_ be mine!"

"I pity you, William, but I beg you to leave me now, or I must and will leave your presence."

"Never! my beautiful cousin, until you own that you love me. I would barter all the hopes I ever had of future happiness for one moment of your love. I could stand a whole year gazing in rapture into your sweet face. O, darling one! blessed Nellie! swear that you _will_ be mine!"

Thus the young fellow went on, working himself into a great passion.

"Mister--Wilson!" here broke in Miss Nellie, "unless you leave the room, or let me, I'll call for help."

"No, you shall not! I know that my father loves you better than he ever did me, and I know that in his will he has left you nearly all his property, and left me with next to nothing. So much you have won upon him, and to add to my misery you scorn my love; but there's no power on earth to forbid you being mine, and you shall be!"

There was a movement in the room, as if Miss Nellie was proceeding to some action.

"Nellie, you shall not avoid me so. I tell you, you shall be mine. O, dearest! own that you love me! Come, let me fold you to my breast!"

There was a slight, fitful scream, and I heard the delirious fellow rushing towards her; and feeling her peril, I jumped to the sliding doors, pushed them apart just as the drunken wretch had wrapped his arms about the girl. But when he saw me he let go his grasp, and with a maddened expression on his face, hastened from the room. I caught the frightened girl in my arms, and bore her to the sofa; but it was some time before she recovered from her swoon.

Fearing that this might not be the last wrong which the drunken son would inflict upon that beautiful girl, I felt it nothing less than my duty to inform his father of the son's outrageous course; and William was banished from the house.

Not long after I left for the West, and was absent a week or so. The night of my return I received a call from Judge S----, the great criminal advocate, who told me that he had been hunting me all day, exclaiming, "And thank a blessed Providence I have found you at last."

"You are a little excited, judge; what's the matter?"

"I am in a great perplexity, and I want your aid to get out of it, for I know that you knew George Wilson--didn't you?"

"_Knew_ him? Yes, and know him perfectly well. He's a great friend of mine, I'm glad to believe."

"Hadn't you heard that he is dead?"

"Dead! It isn't possible--is it?"

"Yes; died night before last."

"How sudden! Is there any suspicion of something wrong about his death?"

"No; for he had been unwell for quite a while. He died of heart disease. You, perhaps, don't know that I was his attorney; but you do know how wretchedly he lived with that infamous son, William. A few months ago I drew Mr. Wilson's will. He had been so long complaining that he began to fear that he could not last long, and wanted to make all things secure for his niece, Nellie, who, by the will, was made legatee of nearly all his property, he leaving but a small annuity to his son--and--"

"But, here let me ask you if William knows about the provisions of the will?"

"Not that I know, for a surety; but let's see. I do remember that when the will was witnessed, we were disturbed by a slight noise, as of one disposed to obtrude; but I saw no one."

"You may be sure that it was William whom you heard, for I chance to know that he understood the chief contents of the will;" and then I recited to him what I had overheard William say to Miss Nellie.

"This may be a thing in point," said the attorney, when I had concluded; "but let me finish what I have to tell you. The will was placed in my care, and I enveloped it and placed it in my private drawer. When I heard of Mr. Wilson's death, I reverted to my drawer, took out the envelope, but found no will within it--only a blank piece of paper there! You can hardly judge of my thrilling surprise."

"Ah! some scamp, or interested person then, had played you a trick?"

"Precisely. I was so taken aback that I was quite nonplussed--more than 'thunder struck.' But after a while I recovered my self-possession, and began to revolve in my mind the proper course to pursue under the circumstances. As good luck had it, I was alone, and nobody knew my discomfiture."

"Do you entertain any special suspicions of anybody?"

"I am at a loss whom to suspect; but you give me a valuable hint, perhaps, in what you have related. It seems very probable that William Wilson could give me light upon the matter, if so disposed. Nevertheless, I feel certain that it was impossible for him to get access to my drawer."

"But you have several clerks?"

"Yes, five; but I have full confidence in each of them. None of these knew what the envelope contained, for I never confide to anybody more than I think he has need to know; and of the existence of the will none of my clerks had any occasion to be apprised. I made the loss known to no one; but locked up my drawer, and plunged into my business in my usual manner."

"You were wise in so doing. Did you notice anything at all disturbed in your desk?"

"Nothing. It must have been carefully manipulated, and opened by a skilful hand."

"And on reflection, you have no just reason to entertain suspicion of any of the clerks?"

"No. I have studied them closely, but can see nothing unusual, nothing guilt-like in the manner of any of them. But thus outwitted, as soon as I heard of your re-appearance in the city, the thought flashed upon me that perhaps you could unravel the mystery."

"Well, now I have your story, I'll see what I can do. Something tells me that that will can be found. Do you believe in Fate? Sometimes I have premonitions which come as suddenly as lightning, and prove in the end of worth. I guess I shall be able to serve you."

After the usual leave-taking, the attorney departed, and I leaned back in my chair, and threw my feet listlessly upon the table in the room, and set about conjuring up schemes. A score of plans flitted through my mind; but the case was a perplexing one, and I knew not which plan to adopt for action. But here Fate again; for in the midst of my greatest distraction, I chanced to note on the table a copy of the New York Mercury, of date a day or two before, which I picked up for diversion, and running almost unwittingly over a column of advertisements, my eye lighted upon this:--

"LET THE SEEKER AFTER KNOWLEDGE TAKE HEED. _Will will be
pleased to know the_ WILL _of the unwilling, at nine o'clock,
Monday night, next? for success and joy, perhaps, await him._

HIS CONTINENTAL FRIEND."

Looking back upon it now, I don't see why I was startled at this. But I was. Perhaps it was because of the frequent repetition of the word "will;" but so it was at any rate; and I thought I had a clew at last. "His Continental Friend"?----

"O, I have it! The Continental Hotel is a place of rendezvous. I'll watch and wait."

This much decided, I turned in reverie upon the beautiful Nellie, and felt more than usual joy in the prospect of being of avail to her, and, I confess, not a little ugly towards William, whom, what I had seen of him had led me to despise. But he was a fellow of some ability, and must have been the prompter of the work of abstraction; and, having money at times, might have corrupted one of the clerks into his interest. Thus I reflected, till I became, indeed, convinced. At the Continental I resolved to be, at the time appointed in the advertisement, or before.

I was on hand at an early hour, watching all that passed. The time went on very sluggishly, and I was getting nervous. A quiet stealthy-looking person came in at last, and ordered a room for the night. I watched the number on the register; and posting myself on the street, being partially disguised, I waited till William should come, which he did, in a half-intoxicated mood. He scanned the register in a maudlin way, and sent up his card to the room, which, as good luck would have it, was on the topmost floor, so crowded was the hotel that night.

The servant who bore the card returned, saying,--

"He says, 'Send the gentleman up.'"

I waited till the clumsy steps of William sounded as from on the second flight, when I quietly followed, increasing my pace as I neared him; so that I was near upon him when the door opened.

"Halloo, Wilson! Here all right! Well, I'm more than glad to see you!" exclaimed the inmate, as Wilson entered, and the door closed.

Tripping to the door, I listened, and heard William quite distinctly, his cups having added emphasis to his somewhat gruff voice.

"Well, Mr. Roberts, my very legs tremble, for I feared it might not be you here after all. I'd most forgot the name we'd agreed on for the register, but I knew your handwriting. _Was_ it Hyde? I thought it was Hood we'd fixed on. But no matter now. Here you are, and that's enough."

Instantly that I heard the name Roberts, I knew it must be the attorney's chief clerk, for he had spoken of this clerk as having been longest in his employ, and you can well understand how I became at once all ears.

"But you have that important paper all secure?"

"Of course I have, or I wouldn't have advertised. I feared you might have left New York, and wouldn't get the notice in time."

"But how did you get it--and when? Tell me the story, my brave boy," said William, with the patronizing voice of a new-made millionnaire.

"Never mind now--tell you some other time. It's enough, isn't it, that it's here?"

"All right, then. Let's take up the 'business in order,' as they say in Congress. How much shall I give you for that precious will?"

"It _is_ a 'precious' document, I assure you, Mr. Wilson," said the scheming Roberts. "Do you know its provisions?"

"Yes, I know all about it; or all that's important; for luckily I overheard most of it read. My blessed father left everything of consequence to my cousin Nellie; but, ah! ha! that will's got to be probated, and who's to do it? That fireplace" (pointing to the grate in the room) "will tell no tale, and here's matches. But fix your terms--what shall I give you for the document?"

"One hundred dollars down, for I am about visiting my old home in Canada, and want a little more ready cash; and say, if you don't think it's too much, your promissory note, made negotiable, but with a private agreement back from me that you shall not be pressed to pay it till you get in full possession of your estate, for ten thousand dollars."

"A _little_ 'steep'--aren't you, Roberts? But you are a brave fellow, and it shall be done! Here's ink, I see, and here's paper," said William, fumbling his pocket evidently for an old scrap, for he seemed to meet delays. "There, there's the note--now your agreement."