A Successful Shadow: or, A Detective's Successful Quest

There followed a moment's silence and then the woman asked:

"What do you conclude now?"

"I will tell you; I believe that Jacob Canfield did have a granddaughter, and that this granddaughter was but a little younger than his ward. I believe he placed his granddaughter in the care of certain people, and that this child died, while the real heiress, Amalie Stevens, survived."

"You believe now that Amalie Stevens survived?"

"I do."

"And why have you told me this strange, weird narrative?"

"Madam, do you not guess?"

The woman did not answer, and the detective again produced his daguereotype, and pointed to the name Amalie Stevens.

"What does this suggest, sir?"

"That is a portrait of Amalie Stevens, and Amalie Stevens is the heiress of Harold Stevens, and you claim to be the original of that portrait. Madam, if this can all be substantiated you are a very wealthy woman. I will tell you candidly, I believe you are the heiress; I believe your claim can be established. Remember, your baby clothing was marked A. S. We need but one more proof."

"And what is that?"

"You say your girlhood lineaments are preserved in your daughter?"

"Yes, in a most remarkable manner."

"Then all we have to do is to find your daughter, confirm your claim, and all the evidence under present conditions is gained, and you shall be recognized as the heiress, and the fortune will be surrendered to you."

"Who holds this fortune?"

"I do, madam – yes, the banker is now an old man. He turned the fortune over to me to hold in trust for any heir that might be found, or failing that the money under the original plan as outlined in the letter was to be mine through the banker, who under certain conditions became the heir."

"But how will I prove all the facts in court?"

"There is nothing to prove in court; I alone am to be convinced that you are the heiress, and all I have to do is to transfer the property over to you – yes, let me learn, or rather, be satisfied that you are really Amalie Stevens that was, and the whole property is yours."

"Sir, you are a most extraordinary man."

"I am?"

"You are."

"How?"

"You tell me if the heirs are not found the property is yours."

"That is true; part mine, and part goes to charity."

"And you have been searching for parties to whom you might give this fortune?"

"No, madam, I give nothing; I've been searching for parties to whom this fortune belongs."

"And you think it belongs to me?"

"Frankly, I do."

"Again I say you are a remarkable man, and now I will ask one favor. If it should prove that the fortune is mine do not mention the fact to a living soul until you receive permission from me."

"I do not recognize your right to place me under any such restriction, but I will so agree all the same to oblige you."

"And you will never regret your decision; and now, sir, how about my child?"

"I propose to search for your child."

There came a sad look to the face of Amalie Speir, as she said:

"If anything evil has befallen my child this fortune is yours."

"What evil do you fear?"

"There are several. One is that this baron has bewitched her. If this shall prove true, in mercy never reveal the story of the fortune. I will never need it, and that wretch shall never enjoy it. No, sir, if my child has become his victim, I should wish her in her grave."

The detective did have grave misgivings as to the possible fate of the missing girl, and knowing who she was, for in his own mind he was perfectly satisfied, he determined to devote all his time and his best energies to discovering what her fate might be.

"Madam," he said, "one fact is assured, since what has developed you can trust me."

"I can; you are a noble man."

"Then do not make any efforts yourself to find your child; leave all to me."

"I will."

The detective made a great many inquiries concerning the Richards family with whom Amalie Speir had resided. Mrs. Speir, however, knew but little about them. He made an arrangement, however, that he would call upon Mrs. Speir on the following day and then went forth. He had such a description of the young baron that he did not doubt being able to recognize the man at a glance, and when he left the humble home of Mrs. Speir he proceeded to the home of the Richards family.

Jack had determined upon a very novel plan in order to assure the safety of Amalie Speir in case he should become satisfied that she had been abducted. He had thought the matter over very calmly, and had arrived at a very positive conclusion in one direction. He arrived at the Richards house at a very fortunate moment, for lo, the very man he had started to "shadow" had just issued forth. The detective recognized the man at once and started to follow him, and saw him enter a low gambling house on the East Side. The detective followed the man, saw him put up a few chips, and start in to gamble. His face betrayed great anxiety, although he had only a few dollars at stake, and he was a loser. Our hero got into the game and bet recklessly. Jack could afford to lose when set to accomplish a given purpose, for he had plenty of money to spare. He was very reckless and had taken a seat beside the baron, with whom he engaged in conversation, and soon he learned that the pretended nobleman was "broke."

"Luck went against you," said our hero.

"Yes, it always does."

"Permit me to give you a chance to win your money back."

"Sir, you are a stranger."

"A friend in need is a friend indeed."

"But I have no right to accept your money."

"You have if I offer it to you."

"But why should you offer me money?"

"I believe your luck will change."

"Alas! no, luck is against me, I cannot lose your money."

Here an enigma confronted our hero. If this man was a fraud, as had been represented, he would have accepted money from any source. The question arose, Was he refusing the money fairly or was he merely playing a game?

"I have good luck as a rule," said Jack; "I will play for you."

"There is no reason, sir, why you should play for me."

The detective was more and more perplexed. He had been led to believe that the baron was a cold-blooded fraud, and yet here he was displaying the qualities of a proud and honorable man, with a high sense of honor.

The detective played on and luck turned in his favor. He won a little money. The baron had gotten up from the table, but stood over our hero's chair and occasionally a word would pass between the two young men. Jack admitted that he was mystified – all at sea concerning the real character of the so-called baron. He discounted prior prejudice, which, as is known, goes a great way in forming conclusions, and yet he did not understand the young man. Finally our hero rose from the table and said:

"My luck was much better than yours."

The baron was certainly a very handsome young man. His manners were those of a gentleman, and his language and general demeanor indicative of one who had been well born, and we repeat, in view of all statements concerning the young man, our hero was mystified.

"Come," he said in an offhand way, "let's go and have some supper."

"Why do you ask me?"

"I need a companion; you are a good fellow and a loser. I am a good fellow and a winner. You will go with me?"

"As you insist I will; you appear to be a very charming gentleman."

Jack led his new friend to a fine restaurant and they were soon seated at a table, and our hero undertook to order a very sumptuous meal, also some very choice wine; but later, to his surprise, he observed that the baron did not touch the wine, and Jack said:

"You do not drink the wine?"

"No, I never drink wine."

"That is strange, seeing you are a German. Probably you prefer beer?"

"No, thank you. Yes, I am a German, but I never drink beer."

"You amaze me."

"Possibly so, but I have the best of reasons for not using any sort of liquors."

The baron spoke good English, but there was just enough of the German dialect to indicate that he was not an American.

"Your countrymen, as a rule, are free drinkers."

"Yes, unfortunately, yes; but I am not; I repeat, I never do drink liquor of any sort."

"To tell the truth," said Jack, "I am not a drinking man myself. I rarely use liquors; I really ordered the wine thinking it would be agreeable to you."

"You were very kind."

"You made a remark," said our hero, "that I did not understand."

"Indeed?"

"Yes."

"What did I say, please?"

"You said you always had hard luck."

"It is true."

"Then why do you gamble?"

"I do not desire to air my misfortunes."

The baron spoke as a reserved gentleman would speak under the circumstances.

"Excuse me," said Jack, "I did not put the question in a specific manner, but only in a general way."

"You appear to be a good fellow. I will answer you frankly. I gamble because I want the money."

"It's a poor way to get money."

"Yes, I know it, but I am very poor. I have a small remittance, not sufficient to support me. I was not reared to labor – indeed, I do not know what to do. I am half-inclined to put a pistol to my head and end it all."

Jack was more and more amazed. The young man talked less like a rogue than any individual he had met in a long time. He meditated a moment and then said:

"I have plenty of money; possibly I can be of some service to you."

"A stranger?"

"Yes, a stranger; why not? We are both young men and have the world before us. I will admit that I have taken a great fancy to you."

"I am very much obliged for your kind interest in me, but you cannot be of any service."

The detective was perplexed beyond measure.

CHAPTER IV

PLAYING A DEEP GAME – AN AMENDED NARRATIVE – IN THE OPERA HOUSE – A RECOGNITION – GETTING DOWN TO FACTS BY ACCIDENT – THE STORY OF AN EXPECTANT HEIR – GAINING A CLEARER LIGHT

Jack remained nearly two hours with the young baron, and as will be learned, made a very favorable impression upon him – indeed, it was agreed that they were to meet the following evening and go to the opera together. The detective was approaching his point by easy stages.

When the detective finally bade the young baron good-night he walked off toward his own lodgings lost in deep thought. He had started out with one theory, but following his meeting with the young baron other suspicions penetrated his mind, and he muttered:

"There is something here I cannot explain, but I will get at the bottom of it before I get through; and I will here say that the present aspect of the affair presents a more hopeful view of the probabilities."

On the day following our hero called upon Mrs. Speir, and that lady demanded in eager tones:

"Do you bring me news of my daughter?"

"No direct news, madam, but I desire to question you very particularly. You gave me to understand that August Wagner was a pseudo baron?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever impart this fact to your daughter?"

"I hinted it to her."

"She discussed the baron with you?"

"Yes."

"And she displayed the utmost aversion to him?"

Mrs. Speir did not answer immediately, and Jack said:

"That is right, Mrs. Speir, think well. Answer me slowly and truthfully, for this is a very important matter we have on hand."

"I cannot answer you positively."

"Aha! this is a different view from your original statement."

"I may have used too strong a word when I said aversion."

"How will you put it now?"

"My daughter laughed every time I mentioned the baron's name, as I thought, or possibly as I wanted to believe, derisively."

"She did not say right out that she despised the baron?"

"Frankly, no."

"You admit you overstated the matter?"

"In my bewilderment and anxiety I may have done so; but, sir, what do these questions mean?"

"They are general and intended to serve as side lights only. Now tell me, how did you learn that the young man, August Wagner, was a pseudo baron?"

"I have no positive evidence; I so believe, however."

"But suppose he is a real baron?"

"Then my daughter's peril is greater, and I have the saddest prospect ahead of me."

"You told me the baron betrayed no sorrow at the disappearance of your daughter."

"I so interpreted his tone and manner. Now tell me, sir, what you have learned."

"I have not learned anything positively, but let me ask you, is there any one else who would have a motive in abducting your daughter?"

"I know of no one else."

The detective had learned facts which threw a new light on the affair, and he went to meet August Wagner under different impressions than had governed him when he first started upon the young man's trail.

Jack met young Wagner and went to the opera with him, and during the course of the evening he saw the young man acknowledge a recognition from a party in one of the boxes. The detective did not immediately inquire who the parties were, but he observed that Wagner sought to avoid any further recognition, and just before the close of the last act he said:

"I will go out if you will excuse me."

"I have had enough of it; I will go with you," said Jack, adding: "We will go and have some supper."

The young men left the theater, and once outside, young Wagner said:

"I cannot go and have supper with you."

"Why not?"

"You treated last night."

"Nonsense, don't mention that to me."

We will here announce that our hero was under a disguise, and he persuaded Wagner to go with him, and he observed that his companion ate very heartily. He observed another fact. Near the table where he sat with Wagner another party, a shrewd-faced man, had taken a seat, and Jack soon fell to the fact that this shrewd-faced man had young Wagner under surveillance, and when the two young men had nearly completed their repast this party boldly walked over and took a seat at their table with the remark:

"Excuse me, but, young man, I desire to ask you a few questions."

The words were addressed to the young baron, and special emphasis was laid on the word you.

The baron was singularly cool under the circumstances, proving him to be a man of nerve. Really our hero was more disturbed than his companion. The latter made no answer to the man's declaration, but quietly waited for a further explanation, and the stranger said:

"Your name is Wagner, or at least, you are known as August Wagner?"

"That is true."

"You claim to be a German baron?"

"That is not true."

"It is not true?"

"It is not true," repeated the young man.

"Then I have been misinformed?"

"Probably not."

"What do you mean?"

"I do not claim to be a baron, but I am next heir to a barony; at present an elder brother is the baron."

"Then you are not a fraud?"

"It would be dangerous for any one to intimate that I have at any time made a false claim."

Jack was delighted at the turn the affair had taken. Another was eliciting facts that our hero most desired to have made clear.

"You were at the opera this evening?"

"I was."

"There was a party in Box C?"

"Yes, sir."

Jack observed that there came a glitter to the young man's eyes, and a slight color to his cheeks as he answered:

"I was."

"The parties in that box were the Richards family?"

"Yes, but I do not know how the fact concerns either you or me."

"It may concern you, my young friend. What do you know about the Richards family?"

"Nothing save in a social way, sir."

"That is all?"

"It is."

"Then permit me to advise you to drop all social intercourse with them if you wish to avoid future trouble; that is all, sir."

The stranger, having spoken in the strange manner related, rose and without another word departed, and there followed a few moments' silence, broken at length by our hero, who said:

"So that was the Richards family who occupied the box in the theater this evening?"

"Yes."

"They are friends of yours?"

Wagner made no answer, but asked:

"Do you know them?"

"I have heard about them."

"I met them in Paris; I know nothing about their social standing. I have found them very pleasant people and I do not understand the hints of that man, nor why he should address me. He appeared to know my name, and was otherwise well posted, as it appears, concerning my acquaintance with those people. Who can the man be?"

"He is probably a detective."

"A detective?"

"Yes."

Young Wagner became thoughtful for quite an interval, and then in a musing tone said:

"I do not understand it."

"Let me see," said Jack; "it strikes me that this Richards family is the same family from whose home a young lady disappeared a week or so ago. Possibly this detective has his suspicions concerning that young lady's disappearance. I've heard about it. I remember now that some young baron's name was associated with her disappearance."

Wagner's face became very pale. He fixed his fine eyes on the detective, and after a moment said:

"From whom did you hear this?"

"The girl's mother; she is an acquaintance – yes, she told me all about it. She is very much distressed; and now, come to think, are you the young German baron alluded to in the case?"

Wagner sat for a moment with a solemn and perplexed look upon his handsome face, when suddenly he demanded:

"Who are you?"

"I told you my name was Jack Pitts."

"And you know the mother of this missing girl?"

"Yes."

"What did she tell you?"

"Merely that her daughter was missing, and that it was very strange. She appeared to feel, however, that her daughter was only temporarily absent, and would return all right in a little while."

"Did you ever see this daughter?" asked Wagner.

"I never did."

"She is a very beautiful girl."

"Then you are acquainted with her?"

"I saw her at the Richards' home."

"What sort of folks are these Richards people?"

Wagner made no immediate answer, but after a moment he said:

"I am only slightly acquainted with you. Remember, we first met last night; I do not feel at liberty to give you my confidence. I wish I could, for at this moment I need a friend. I have been sadly villified, I know, and there is a false impression concerning me in some quarters. I do not deserve to be misunderstood in this way, for I never did a dishonorable act in my life."

"Although we only met last night, August, you can trust me – yes, trust me as freely as though I were your own brother. Tell me about yourself."

The young German meditated a few moments and then said:

"I am really the brother of a baron. The baron is unmarried and has been, so I have been informed, stricken with a fatal disease. My brother has lived a very reckless life; he has mortgaged our family estates beyond their market value. To-day should he die I would become the baron, but alas! only an empty title would come to me. I came to America intending to win and woo some wealthy heiress. In Paris I met the Richards family. To me they have always appeared honorable enough, but I will admit that I have heard stories to the contrary. Mr. Richards has a daughter living in Paris – " and here the young man suddenly stopped.

"Go on," said our hero.

"Do not think me egotistical if I tell the truth."

"Certainly not; I see you are not an egotistical man."

"I am not, although the second son of a baron who was descended from a long line of barons. I have known poverty all my life. My brother, the present baron, is twice my age, and he had involved the estates as prospective heir before I was born, and when he came into possession he finished them up. No, I am not proud in one way, and I will tell the truth. I know that the Richards family, who appear to have a great deal of money, desired to have me marry their daughter. I could not do so."

"Why not?"

"I did not love her, and she is not a true type of the American girl. I crossed in the same steamer with the Richards family, and they are about the only people with whom I have been intimate since my arrival here, and – " Again the young man stopped shortly, and the detective urged:

"Proceed, tell me the whole story; you will not regret it."

"I have reason to believe that while the Richards family have been very kind to me, for reasons of their own they have circulated the stories about me. They have recognized me at their social gatherings, but I have evidence that they have given out that I am a pretense."

"Have you suspected their motive?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"They do not wish me to meet with recognition outside of themselves. They are determined that I shall marry their daughter; I never will."

It was the detective's turn to meditate, and we will here state that he believed the young man had told him the truth. He had brought his logical mind to bear upon the circumstances and had arrived at a conclusion. After a moment he said:

"I am very much obliged to you for trusting me, but there is something you have held back."

"I believe I have told you all."

"No, I am a sort of mind-reader, and I have discerned something that you have not told me."

"Then you have a suspicion?"

"Yes."

"What do you suspect?"

"I suspect that you know something concerning the disappearance of the young lady who was acting as governess in the Richards family."

CHAPTER V

A STARTLING BETRAYAL – THE CUTENESS OF THE DETECTIVE – SUGGESTIONS THROUGH A WORD – THE BODY IN THE BRUSH-WOOD – JACK LAYS A SCHEME – SADDEST OF ALL CONCLUSIONS

Young Wagner smiled sadly and answered:

"I cannot go into that matter."

"But you do not understand me."

"I do not?"

"No."

"How so?"

"That man who interrupted us is a detective."

"Well?"

"He suspects that you are an abductor."

The young man started, and after a moment said:

"If that is true it is the Richards family who have thrown the suspicion around me."

"Then they must have had a purpose?"

"Certainly."

"And you know their purpose?"

"It is in line with what I have told you."

"Since you are the baron, so-called, I will make an admission to you. You must not think that I knew you were the baron when we accidentally became acquainted, but now that I know you are I can tell you a great deal. Amalie Speir's mother suspects that you had something to do with the girl's disappearance."

Wagner was thoughtful for a long time before he answered, and then he said:

"It's not strange that the girl's mother should suspect me."

"It is not strange?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You appear to be an honorable man; let me ask you one question: Did you ever meet Miss Amalie Speir?"

"I never saw her in my life," came the truthful answer.

"You know her mother?"

"I do."

"You can tell her mother that I say on my honor I do not know anything about the present whereabouts of her daughter."

"Oh, I see, you do not trust me."

"No, I distrust you."

"You distrust me?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because you have not been frank with me."

Our hero smiled. He had determined to declare himself, being satisfied that Wagner was an honorable young man.

"Do you want me to be frank?"

"Yes."

"What shall I do?"

"Tell me plainly why you made my acquaintance?"

"You suspect?"

"Yes, I suspect."

"What do you suspect?"

"That you are a detective employed to shadow me, and I suspect that the man who spoke to me a little while ago is your confederate."

"All right; what you suspect is true."

"And you are a detective?"

"I am."

"And you made my acquaintance with design?"

"I did."

"What is your conclusion?"

"My conclusion is that you are an honorable young man."

"Thank you, and now let me tell you I know nothing about Amalie. I do not know whom to suspect; I so told her mother."

There came a strange glitter in our hero's eyes, and a suspicion that almost caused his heart to stand still. He had reckoned himself a very shrewd, sharp man, but suddenly, and on evidence that would not have aroused a passing comment on the part of most men, he became convinced that he had been magnificently played. He was equal to the occasion, however; he had always been. He was indeed a wonderful man, and he said: