Chapter VI: A Black Sheep in the Fold

Leaving Ingersoll to follow his crooked ways, we must now introduce a character, with whom Walter had formed an acquaintance, destined to have no small influence upon his own future life.

Bill Portlock was probably as good a specimen of an old, battered man-o'-war's man as could be scared up between Montauk and Quoddy Head. While a powder-monkey, on board the _President_ frigate, he had been taken prisoner and confined in Dartmoor Prison, from which he had made his escape, with some companions in captivity, by digging a hole under the foundation wall with an old iron spoon. Shipping on board a British merchantman, he had deserted at the first neutral port she touched at. He was now doing odd jobs about the wharves, as 'longshoreman; and as Walter had thrown many such in the old salt's way a kind of intimacy had grown up between them. Bill loved dearly to spin a yarn, and some of his adventures, told in his own vernacular, would have made the late Baron Munchausen turn green with envy. "Why," he would say, after spinning one of his wonderful yarns, "ef I sh'd tell ye my adventers, man and boy, you'd think 'twas Roberson Crushoe a-talkin' to ye. No need o' lyin'. Sober airnest beats all they make up."

Bill's castle was a condemned caboose, left on the wharf by some ship that was now plowing some distant sea. Her name, the _Orpheus_, could still be read in faded paint on the caboose; so that Bill always claimed to belong to the _Orpheus_, or she to him, he couldn't exactly say which. When he was at work on the wharf, after securing his castle with a stout padlock, he announced the fact to an inquiring public by chalking up the legend, "Aboard the brig," or "Aboard the skoner," as the case might be. If called to take a passenger off to some vessel in his wherry, the notice would then read, "Back at eight bells." A sailor he was, and a sailor he said he would live and die.

No one but a sailor, and an old sailor at that, could have squeezed himself into the narrow limits of the caboose, where it was not possible, even for a short man like Bill, to stand upright, though Bill himself considered it quite luxurious living. There was a rusty old cooking stove at one end, with two legs of its own, and two replaced by half-bricks; the other end being taken up by a bench, from which Bill deftly manipulated saucepan or skillet.

"Why, Lor' bless ye!" said Bill to Walter one evening, "I seed ye fish that ar' young 'ooman out o' the dock that time. 'Bill,' sez I to myself, 'thar's a chap, now, as knows a backstay from a bullock's tail.'"

"Pshaw!" Then after a moment's silence, while Bill was busy lighting his pipe, Walter absently asked, "Bill, were you ever in California?"

"Kalerforny? Was I ever in Kalerforny? Didn't I go out to Sandy Ager, in thirty-eight, in a hide drogher? And d'ye know why they call it Sandy Ager? I does. Why, blow me if it ain't sandy 'nuff for old Cape Cod herself; and as for the ager, if you'll b'leeve me, our ship's crew shook so with it, that all hands had to turn to a-settin' up riggin' twict a month, it got so slack with the shakin' up like."

"What an unhealthy place that must be," laughed Walter. Then suddenly changing the subject, he said: "Bill, you know the _Racehorse_ is a good two months overdue." Bill nodded. "I know our folks are getting uneasy about her. No wonder. Valuable cargo, and no insurance. What's your idea?"

Bill gave a few whiffs at his pipe before replying. "I know that ar' _Racehorse_. She's a clipper, and has a good sailor aboard of her: but heavy sparred, an' not the kind to be carryin' sail on in the typhoon season, jest to make a quick passage." Bill shook his head. "Like as not she's dismasted, or sprung a leak, an' the Lord knows what all."

The next day happened to be Saturday. As Walter was going into the warehouse he met Ramon coming out. Since the night at his lodgings, his manner toward Walter, outwardly at least, had undergone a marked change. If anything it was too cordial. "Hello! Seabury, that you?" he said, in his offhand way. "Lucky thing you happened in. It's steamer day, and I'm awfully hard pushed for time. Would you mind getting this check on the Suffolk cashed for me? No? That's a good fellow. Do as much for you some time. And, stay, on your way back call at the California steamship agency--you know?--all right. Well, see if there are any berths left in the _Georgia_. You won't forget the name? The _Georgia_. And, oh! be sure to get gold for that check. It's to pay duties with, you know," Ramon hurriedly explained in an undertone.

"All right; I understand," said Walter, walking briskly away on his errand. He quite forgot all about the gold, though, until after he had left the bank; when, suddenly remembering it, he hurried back to get the coin, quite flurried and provoked at his own forgetfulness. The cashier, however, counted out the double-eagles, for the notes, without remark. Such little instances of forgetfulness were too common to excite his particular notice.

On that same evening, finding time hanging rather heavily on his hands, Walter strolled uptown in the direction of Mr. Bright's house, which was in the fashionable Mt. Vernon Street. The truth is that the silly boy thought he might possibly catch a glimpse of a certain young lady, or her shadow, at least, in passing the brilliantly lighted residence. It was, he admitted to himself, a fool's errand, after walking slowly backwards and forwards two or three times, with his eyes fastened upon the lighted windows; and with a feeling of disappointment he turned away from the spot, heartily ashamed of himself, as well, for having given way to a sudden impulse. Glad he was that no one had noticed him.

Walter's queer actions, however, did not escape the attention of a certain lynx-eyed policeman, who, snugly ensconced in the shadow of a doorway, had watched his every step. The young man had gone but a short distance on his homeward way, when, as he was about crossing the street, he came within an ace of being knocked down and run over by a passing hack, which turned the corner at such a break-neck pace that there was barely time to get out of the way. There was a gaslight on this corner. At Walter's warning shout to the driver, the person inside the hack quickly put his head out of the window, and as quickly drew it in again; but in that instant the light had shone full upon the face of Ramon Ingersoll.

The driver lashed his horses into a run. Walter stood stupidly staring after the carriage. Then, without knowing why, he ran after it, confident that if he had recognized Ramon in that brief moment, Ramon must also have recognized him. The best he could do, however, was to keep the carriage in sight, but he soon saw that it was heading for the railway station at the South End.

Out of breath, and nearly out of his head, too, Walter dashed through the arched doorway of the station, just in time to see a train going out at the other end in a cloud of smoke. In his eagerness, Walter ran headlong into the arms of the night-watchman, who, seeing the blank look on Walter's face, said, as he had said a hundred times before to belated travelers, "Too late, eh?"

"Yes, yes, too late," repeated Walter, in a tone of deep vexation. While walking home he began to think he had been making a fool of himself again. After all, what business was it of his if Ramon had gone to New York? He might have gone on business of the firm. Of course that was it. And what right had he, Walter, to be chasing Ramon through the streets, anyhow? Still, he was sure that Ramon had recognized him, and just as sure that Ramon had wished to avoid being recognized, else why had he not spoken or even waved his hand? Walter gave it up, and went home to dream of chasing carriages all night long.

Walter went to the wharf as usual the next morning. In the course of the forenoon a porter brought word that he was wanted at the counting-room. When Walter went into the office, Mr. Bright was walking the floor, back and forth, with hasty steps, while a very dark, clean-shaven, alert-looking man sat leaning back in a chair before the door. This person immediately arose, locked the office door, put the key in his pocket, and then quietly sat down again.

Walter's heart was in his mouth. He grew red and pale by turns. Before he could collect his ideas Mr. Bright stopped in his walk, looked him squarely in the eye, and, in an altered voice, demanded sharply and sternly: "Ingersoll--where is he? No prevarication. I want the truth and nothing but the truth. You understand?"

Walter tried hard to make a composed answer, but the words would not seem to come; and the merchant's cold gray eyes seemed searching him through and through. However, he managed to stammer out: "I don't know, sir, where he is--gone away, hasn't he?"

"Don't know. Gone away," repeated the merchant. "Now answer me directly, without any ifs or buts; where, and when, did you see him last?"

"Last night; at least, I thought it was Ramon." The dark man gave his head a little toss.

"Well, go on? What then?"

"It was about nine o'clock, in a close carriage, not far from the Common." That, by the way, was as near to Mr. Bright's house as Walter thought proper to locate the affair.

Mr. Bright exchanged glances with the dark man, who merely nodded, but said never a word.

Thinking his examination was over, Walter plucked up the courage to say of his own accord, "I ran after the carriage as tight as I could; but you see, sir, the driver was lashing his horses all the way, so I couldn't keep up with it; and when I got to the depot the train was just starting."

"Pray, what took _you_ to that neighborhood at that hour?" the silent man demanded so suddenly that the sound of his voice startled Walter.

If ever conscious guilt showed itself in a face, it now did in Walter's. He turned as red as a peony. Mr. Bright frowned, while the dark-skinned man smiled a knowing little smile.

"Why, nothing in particular, sir. I was only taking a little stroll about town, before going home," Walter replied, a word at a time.

"Yet your boarding place is at the other end of the city, is it not?" pursued Mr. Bright.

"Yes, sir, it is."

"Walter Seabury, up to this time I have always had a good opinion of you. This is no time for concealments. The house has been robbed of a large sum of money--so large that should it not be recovered within twenty-four hours we must fail. Do you hear--fail?" he repeated as if the word stuck in his throat and choked him.

"Robbed; fail!" Walter faltered out, hardly believing his own ears.

"Yes, robbed, and as I must believe by a scoundrel warmed at my own fireside. And you: why did you not report Ingersoll's flight before it was too late to stop him?"

Though shocked beyond measure by this revelation, Walter made haste to reply: "Because, sir, I was not sure it was Ramon. It was just a look, and he was gone like a flash. Besides----"

"Besides what?"

"How could I know Ramon was running away?"

"Why, then, did you run after him? Are you in the habit of chasing every carriage you may chance upon in the street?" again interrupted the silent man.

Stung by the bantering tone of the stranger, Walter made no reply. Mr. Bright was his employer and had a perfect right to question him; but who was this man, and by what right did he mix himself up in the matter?

"Quite right of you, young man, to say nothing to criminate yourself; but perhaps you will condescend to tell us, unless it would be betraying confidence [again that cunning smile], if you knew that this Ingersoll was a gambler?"

The tell-tale blood again rushed to Walter's temples, but instantly left them as it dimly dawned upon him that he was suspected of knowing more than he was willing to tell.

"Gently, marshal, gently," interposed Mr. Bright. "He will tell all, if we give him time."

"One moment," rejoined the chief, with a meaning look at the merchant. "You hear, young man, this firm has been robbed of twenty thousand dollars--quite a haul. The thief has absconded. You tell a pretty straight story, I allow, but before you are many hours older you will have to explain why you, who have nothing to do with that department, should draw two thousand dollars at the bank yesterday; why, after getting banknotes you went back after gold," the marshal continued, warming up as he piled accusation on accusation; "why, again, you went from there to secure a berth in the _Georgia_, which sailed early this morning; and why you are seen, for seen you were, first watching Mr. Bright's house, and then arriving at the station just too late for the New York express. Take my advice. Make a clean breast of the whole affair. If you can clear yourself, now is the time; if you can't, possibly you may be of some use in recovering the money."

Walter felt his legs giving way under him. At last it was all out. Now it was as clear as day how Ingersoll had so craftily managed everything as to make Walter appear in the light of a confederate. Now he knew why Ingersoll had wished to avoid being recognized. In a broken voice he told what he knew of Ingersoll's wrong-doings, excusing his own silence by the pledge he had given and received.

When he had finished, the two men held a whispered conference together. "Clear case," observed the marshal; "one watched your house while the other was making his escape."

"I'll not believe it. Why, this young man saved my daughter's life."

"Think as you like. At any rate, I mean to keep an eye on him." So saying, the marshal went on his way, humming a tune to himself with as much unconcern as if he had just got up from a game of checkers which he had won handily. At the street corner he hailed an officer, to whom he gave an order in an undertone, and then walked on, smiling and nodding right and left as he went.

Left alone with Mr. Bright, Walter stood nervously twisting his cap in both hands, like a culprit awaiting his sentence. It came at last. "Until this matter is cleared up," Mr. Bright said, "we cannot retain you in our employ. Get what is due you. You can go now." He then turned his back on Walter, and began busying himself over the papers on his desk.

Walter went out of the office without another word. He was simply stunned.