Two Wonderful Detectives: or, Jack and Gil's Marvelous Skill

"I have discovered that the man who visited you was Jake Canfield."

"You have learned the name of the man?"

"I have."

"Is he living?"

"We know that he is dead, killed on the railroad, but it is believed down where he was raised that he was drowned from his boat while out fishing."

"Then that accounts for his body not being identified."

"That in one way, and in another there were interested parties who did not desire that his body should be identified."

"And you have learned all this?"

"I have."

"You are a wonder indeed."

Jack proceeded and told his remarkable story, and Mr. Townsend said:

"You have identified the man and you have located him?"

"I have, beyond all question, but it is very unfortunate that you lost the letter."

"It is, I admit."

"In that letter he has directed what should be done with the fortune. I can now plainly see why he made this deposit with you – yes, it is as plain as noonday."

"I'd like to hear your explanation."

"As old Berwick said, his second-hand family was a bad lot."

"Yes."

"He wanted to put the money away until his granddaughter came of age. If we had that letter you would learn that was the reason of his strange trust in you. He was preparing against all contingencies. He was evidently a very shrewd man; he desired to cover all trace for twenty years."

"He succeeded, and so well that by the loss of that letter I have deprived his granddaughter of her fortune."

"It is even so – yes, this accounts for his strange deposit, and it was a cunning one. His only risk was your honesty, and it is evident from your interview with him that he knew what he was about when he made you the depository."

"He certainly had great confidence in my honor."

"And your care and prudence."

"Yes, and in the latter I have failed."

"We can yet rectify your mistake."

"Do so and you will earn a fortune for yourself."

CHAPTER VIII

JACK'S FORESIGHT – A SECOND VISIT TO OLD BERWICK – THE PORTRAIT – OTHER SIGNIFICANT DISCOVERIES – "ALAS! THE LETTER!" – A STREET CAR INCIDENT – "I WILL FIND THAT LETTER."

"I will succeed; I have not made this remarkable progress and come upon these strange discoveries all for nothing."

"Jacob Canfield is dead?"

"Yes."

"The granddaughter if living would now be forty-five years of age."

"Yes, but still a comparatively young woman."

"She may be a humble woman with a family."

"Yes, but if I had a photograph I'd soon find her if living. It is now my duty to find this granddaughter. She was once a Miss Canfield; my 'shadow' is diverted to a solution of the whereabouts of the living. The mystery of the dead is solved."

"Yes, but here again you start without a clue."

"Not exactly; I know the name of the one I seek; and now, sir, you will not see me again until late to-morrow night, and by that time I may have something to impart."

"One more question, Mr. Wonderful Man: Where did Jacob Canfield get this fortune?"

"That is a mystery; the letter no doubt would have made that plain. One fact we can assume: he came by it honestly, for his record is that of an honest man, and again, all the drafts were paid without question. He told you to sell them; he did not attempt to hide his ownership of them. Yes, the money was his honestly to bestow, or he may have held it in trust for some one else. It may be that the letter would have revealed the latter fact, and it is here we may be at fault at the last. It may not have been his granddaughter, but some other person's child for whom he held the money. There is a great deal of mystery surrounding the case yet, but I doubt not that in time we will solve it. I will have something important to relate, no doubt, when I see you to-morrow night or the night following."

"No doubt, for you have come back with marvels to relate every time."

On the morning following his interview with Mr. Townsend, the detective again appeared at the tavern where he had met old Berwick, and he again met the voluble old gentleman. Berwick recognized our hero and said:

"Hello, you here again?"

"Yes, I am here again."

"I suppose you have some more questions to ask concerning Jake Canfield."

"Mr. Berwick, can I trust you?"

"You can as sure as my name is Berwick."

"You asked me if I had any special interest in Jake Canfield."

"I did, and you tried to throw me off, but you did not. I knew all the time that you did have an interest in him."

"Well, I have, in his history and also in his granddaughter, if she is alive."

"Well, now, see here; after you went away I got to thinking. I made up my mind there was something up in this case, and I remembered that I had a photograph of the little girl – not a photo, but one of those old-fashioned pictures they used to take before photos were invented."

"And have you that picture now?"

"I have, as sure as guns."

"Where?"

"Up at my house; I was looking at it this very day."

"Can I see it?"

"Yes, come along over to my house; you shall see it, sure. But tell me, is the girl living?"

"On my honor, I do not know; I want to find out and discover her if possible."

"I see, you are a detective."

"Possibly I am, but don't mention the fact."

"You can just bet I won't; but tell me all about it."

"You said it was rumored that Jake had a deposit in New York which he concealed from his second-hand family?"

"It was so said; I don't know if it was true or not."

"It was true."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, and the granddaughter is the heiress. You see this money has been at interest and it is quite a sum now – yes, quite a good sum. We want to find her or her heirs in case she is dead."

"I'll lend a hand – yes, I will, for all I am worth."

Old Berwick led the way to his home and produced an old-fashioned daguerreotype, the picture of a little girl not over five or six years of age. The picture was well preserved, and the features were well defined.

The detective examined it closely, and finally asked:

"Is this really and beyond doubt a picture of the grandchild?"

"Yes."

"Her name would be Canfield?"

"Yes."

"She was a child of old Canfield's son?"

"So they said."

"So they said?"

"Yes."

"But wasn't she?"

"Well, I can't say she was or she was not. Old Jake always said it was his granddaughter, but he was the only one who knew anything about it. No one else knew that his son left a child; possibly they didn't inquire into it. I wouldn't have thought of it now myself only I was talking it over with my old woman, and she said that young Jake Canfield never had a child. I remembered then that the old woman had always said so."

As stated, the detective had been studying the picture, and on the case in very small letters he saw printed with a pen and in ink the name Amalie Stevens. He required his powerful magnifying glass to read it, but under the glass he made it out. He trembled at the marvelous new lights that were flashing in on the dark mystery. Here was a chance for a new theory; a door was opened to account for the possession of the great fortune in possession of a humble fisherman, and here again was a partial suggestion as to the secrecy and the twenty-year clause in the trust, and Jack muttered:

"Oh, that the banker had not lost that letter – how plain everything would be now! Still we are on the right road, and no doubt after all that has been revealed I will eventually arrive at a full solution and clearing up of the whole matter."

Jack made some very close inquiries and learned particulars that convinced him that he was on the true road, but it was a difficult path that lay before him, and only a man of his wonderful energy and hopefulness would have dared to anticipate absolute success.

The detective returned to the city, and at the hour named once again met Mr. Townsend, and as usual the banker asked:

"Well, Mr. Wonderful, what now?"

"It is wonderful, Mr. Townsend, the strange facts I have secured; but first see here."

The detective passed the picture over to the banker.

"What is this?"

"A portrait of the heiress at the age of five or six."

"Well, well, you are closing down on facts."

"I am, but to me it is 'yet so near and still so far.' Here is the picture, but the original was but five or six when that was taken and she is now a woman of over forty. She cannot be shadowed on a resemblance."

"But you have a clue."

"Yes, I have a clue, but a very thin and unsatisfactory one."

"You are not getting discouraged?"

"I never get discouraged, but I do wish we had that letter."

"You cannot possibly wish it more than I do."

"You are absolutely certain that it is lost? You do not hold back a surprise for me?"

"I do not; I sincerely wish that I did."

"I will tell you something: that girl was not the granddaughter of the old fisherman Canfield. I do not believe she was a relative at all, and do you observe the suggestion?"

"I do not."

"It is plain."

"It is?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"If the girl was not his granddaughter Canfield only held the money in trust – yes, held it for a helpless orphan – and being a peculiar old man he was making sure that the fortune confided to him was properly invested and held until such time as the heiress was capable of taking care of it herself."

"Then this explains the mystery?"

"It does."

"And the letter would open up everything?"

"It would."

"And fire has consumed the letter; but matters are simplified."

"They are?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"All we have to do is find the reputed granddaughter of old Canfield."

"Easier said than done."

"But we have a clue now."

"We have?"

"Certainly."

"You are becoming quite a detective."

"I am."

"What is your clue?"

"The girl is probably living under the name of Canfield."

"That is possible."

"You say the name is Amalie Stevens?"

"I believe that to be the real name of the heiress to the fortune you hold."

"Then you are doubly armed."

"In that particular, yes."

"Remember what I have told you."

"Repeat, please."

"A fortune awaits you as well as the girl."

"I would solve this mystery if I could, without the prospect of receiving one cent."

"I believe that, but it is as well to know that you will be well paid."

"All right, sir, to-morrow I commence the search for the missing child, now a woman between forty and fifty."

The detective went forth, and we can here state that he with his brother spent three whole weeks searching for the missing woman, and in all that time, as Jack afterward stated, he believed he had looked on the face of almost every woman in New York, and during this strange "shadow" he encountered many very strange and remarkable experiences. He met nothing, however, that he could call a reward. He did meet many women who in a certain way possessed characteristics of feature that might have distinguished the heiress developed from a child into a woman. He visited the theaters, variety shows; he advertised for relatives of Jacob Canfield, and expected to receive answers from descendants of the old fisherman's second-hand family, if from no one else. He did receive many bogus replies, but nothing was really worth a second thought. At the end of the three weeks he did feel a little discouraged, but showed no disposition to surrender the search. He, however, became very thoughtful, and kept repeating:

"Hang it! if I only had that letter."

At last there came to him one day a singular suggestion. He was riding in a street car, and two old men met, and during the course of conversation one of them made a remark, saying:

"Well, I tell you it's sad how one will lose their memory in directions. My memory is as strong as ever it was, and then again it plays very strange pranks – yes, very strange pranks. Do you know I will do things and then forget that I did? For instance, I will deposit a letter in a U. S. box and ten minutes afterward forget all about it."

"I have the same weakness," said the other old man; "indeed, in that direction I am bothered very frequently."

These remarks started a line of thought in our hero's mind. He remembered asking Mr. Townsend if he had ever removed the letter that had been intrusted to him from his office. Mr. Townsend had replied that he was certain he never had. Our hero recalled that he had accepted the banker's word but had never tested it, and he exclaimed:

"By ginger! here is where I have been remiss."

Our hero proceeded to Mr. Townsend's home, and after a little talk said:

"You once told me you were certain you never removed that letter from your office."

"I am certain that I never did – yes, I repeat the declaration."

"You are mistaken."

The old banker started and exclaimed in a tone of surprise:

"I am mistaken?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you have found the letter?"

"No, but I will find it."

"You will?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Here in your house."

"Never."

"You are positive?"

"I cannot think it possible that I removed the letter. I once thought it possible and made a search."

"Oh, you once thought it possible?"

"Yes."

"And made a search?"

"Yes."

"And you failed to find it?"

"I did not find it.'"

"Where did you look?"

"In my private safe."

"You wish to find the letter?"

"I do."

"Then you will not object to my making a search?"

"Certainly not; I will oppose no effort to find the letter."

"Then I will make the search," said our hero.

CHAPTER IX

A WONDERFUL SEARCH – JACK BECOMES THE SEARCHER – A STARTLING DISCOVERY – THE LONG-LOST LETTER FOUND AT LAST – A MOST REMARKABLE FEAT – THE STORY OF THE SEALED LETTER

There came a perplexed look to the face of the banker, as he said:

"It cannot be possible that I removed that letter."

"It is not only possible, but it is probable."

"But I searched for it."

"No doubt; but, sir, while searching were you as positive then as you are now that you had not removed the letter?"

"I may have been."

"You will permit me to make the search?"

"Certainly."

"All right, sir; leave me the keys of your private safe, then leave me alone in the room where your safe is located, and we will settle the question once and forever."

"You will not find the letter."

"You think so?"

"I am sure."

"Why are you so sure?"

"If I put it anywhere I put it in my private safe, and I have looked through the safe several times."

"Looked through?" repeated the detective.

"Yes."

"But never made a search?"

"I would call it a search."

"I might not."

"Very well, sir, you shall satisfy yourself. Here are my keys, and the safe is in that room built into the wall, and guarded as no other private safe is guarded in this city."

Jack pulled out his watch and said:

"It is after eleven o'clock; I may be hours. Will you trust me alone here until morning?"

"I will."

"Then you will retire?"

"I will, but if you do find the letter arouse me. But nonsense, you will never find it."

"I will never be satisfied until I have at least made a search for it. The document is too important to be passed over as lost by one who only looked for it. I will make a search, and, sir, I have a strange, weird premonition that I will find it."

"Then, sir, you would only be doing your duty if you hung me by the neck until I should die."

"We will not punish you as severely as that."

The detective was left alone with the safe and the keys in his possession, and as he opened the safe a feeling came over him as though he were really opening the doors of a tomb. Jack removed every article from the safe; removed every drawer and piled them on a table which he had placed for the purpose. It was evident that indeed he intended to make a search.

Having taken everything from the safe he commenced to return them one at a time. First the drawers, and he closely examined and sounded them – indeed his examination was as precise as though he had an object under a magnifying glass, and so he returned article after article and had spent three full hours. All was returned to the safe but one book, a sort of ledger. The detective took it in his hands, and as he did so he muttered:

"Well, I have one satisfaction – I have at least made a search."

He took the ledger, sat down on a chair, and placing the book on his knees commenced turning over leaf after leaf, and his method was but an indication of the thoroughness with which he had conducted the whole examination. We will admit that he had lost all hope of finding the letter, but he was determined that he should never reproach himself for any carelessness in carrying on the investigation.

Patiently and carefully he turned leaf after leaf until he had passed through nearly three-quarters of the heavily-bound volume, and then suddenly it fell from his lap, and he sat rigid like one suddenly chilled to the heart. His eye had fallen on a letter, and on it was written:

"To be opened after twenty years by Mr. Townsend."

The detective had not been expecting anything of the sort. He was turning the leaves mechanically, and we can add without hope, when, as stated, his eye fell upon a letter, and at a glance he read the superscription, and it was then that his heart gave a great bound and the heavy volume slid off his knees to the floor. It had come so suddenly, so unexpectedly that literally it took his breath away, but after a moment – yes, a full minute – he was able to exclaim:

"I have found it – found the letter at last. It has indeed been a remarkable feat. I deserve to have found it."

Jack was a young man of iron nerve. Of course the discovery had caused a shock, but quickly he recovered his self-possession. He stooped down, picked up the book, and calmly returned it to the safe, and then picked up the precious letter, for in the fall it had slid from the book. It was an exciting moment. He again read the writing on the letter, and there it was plain and bold: "To be opened after twenty years." He did not open the letter, for it was written to Mr. Townsend – yes, the banker was the only man who had the right to open the letter.

As stated, the detective had regained his self-possession. He was perfectly cool; he stepped into the adjoining room and drank a glass of water from a pitcher which had been left for him. Then he lit a cigar – did this equally as coolly. He stepped from the room and started up the stairs. At the door of the rear room on the second floor stood Mr. Townsend, pale and excited.

"I heard something heavy fall," said the banker.

"Yes, I dropped one of the books."

"Have you found it?" came the question in a husky voice.

"I have found something."

"What is it?"

"I will not attempt to decide. You will please come downstairs and decide for me."

"I will be down in one minute."

The detective returned to the library, and after a few minutes Mr. Townsend joined him. The detective was sitting in an easy-chair drawn up to the table, smoking as coolly and calmly as though taking a last whiff just before going to bed.

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed the banker, when he beheld the detective sitting there so cool and apparently unconcerned, "I thought you had found something."

"So I have."

"It cannot be the letter; I did have hopes."

"What has dampened your hopes?"

"You are too cool for a man who has found the letter."

"I am?"

"Yes."

There came a smile to the detective's face, a smile that was thrilling in its suggestiveness, as he laid the letter on the table and said:

"Well, I have found something; you can tell what it is; look at it. No need to search now; I think the search is over."

Mr. Townsend advanced, seized the letter, and his face was ashen as he exclaimed, while trembling like one with ague:

"That is it."

"I thought so," said the detective.

"Yes, that is the letter."

"I thought so, and did not open it because it is written on it 'To be opened by Mr. Townsend only.'"

"Where did you find it?"

"Never mind where I found it; what have I found?"

"You have found the letter which was left with me by Jacob Canfield."

"You are certain?"

"I am. No doubt as to its identity. I must have removed it from the safe in my office."

"No doubt."

"Yes, it's one of the most remarkable lapses of memory."

"It is not so remarkable."

"Where did you find it?"

Jack told where he had found the long missing letter, and then said:

"Now, sir, all you have to do is to open that letter and we will learn what you are directed to do."

"We would have been wise to have searched for the letter at first."

"Oh, no, we have prepared the way now to act on what the letter may disclose. But read it."

"I will open it; you read it. I am so overcome I have not the strength to do so."

"All right."

Mr. Townsend did open the letter. We will not attempt to produce its contents in detail, but relate the main facts wherein the strange mystery of the extraordinary deposit was fully cleared up, and also how the remarkable cleverness of Detective Jack Alvarez was fully and most amazingly verified.

Jack had traced down to the real character. Jacob Canfield was the man who had made the deposit, and as Jack had discerned he held the money in trust. One morning the fishermen along the Jersey coast discovered a bark in distress off the shore. It was in the midst of one of the fiercest northeast storms in the remembrance of any man. No boat could go to the aid of the crew, and all efforts to send a line proved futile, and through the day the vessel was seen beating and thumping, and when night fell it was decided that ere morning she would have gone to pieces. Among those who were on the beach was Jacob Canfield, and at night he walked along the beach, when from the breakers he heard a cry. Jake was a powerful swimmer, and he ran down into the water, and it did seem as though in fitness of time and place his rush was providential. He saw a figure, brought in on a wave, and he plunged forward, seized the form of a man who had lost his strength and was being carried back, never to be plunged forward again alive. Jake dragged the half-drowned man ashore and carried him to his own little home. At that time he lived alone, a widower. After hours of work he managed to restore the man to life, and at the rescued passenger's request he let no one know of the rescue. In the meantime, during the night the storm went down, and lo, the stanch bark withstood the mad assaults of the waves, and life savers in good time were able to go aboard. They did so and later saved every man of the crew. There was one passenger, however, missing, named Harold Stevens. He was the only passenger, and he was washed overboard and drowned – that is, so every one believed. Luck favored the crew, as later on the baggage of the sailors was saved, and also the baggage of the missing passenger.

Meantime, as the rescued man revealed to Jake Canfield, he was Harold Stevens, and Jake was sent to bring the captain of the bark to his cottage, and the rescued passenger and the captain of the bark had a long conference. Later Harold Stevens went to New York, and being identified his baggage was delivered to him, and no one on the beach ever knew that Jake Canfield had been the saver of the life of the passenger reported as drowned. Six months passed, and Jake married and entered into the misery of his second-hand family, and as he stated in his letter in confirmation of old Berwick, his misery began at once. He learned that he had married an evil woman with an evil lot of children. Jake, however, was not a man to complain, and one day after the expiration of two years following the loss of the bark he received a summons to New York, and there met the man whose life he had saved.

CHAPTER X

CONCLUSION

The narrative in the letter went on to recite that the man Harold Stevens had taken a cold, owing to his experience when washed overboard, and the fatal disease consumption had ensued. He sent for Jake Canfield as a man whom he believed to be honest and faithful, and to him he confided his only child, stating that the mother had died in South America and the child had been in the hands of friends whom he feared. He stated that he had secured possession of his child, and desired to consign her to Jake. He gave many directions concerning the child, but enjoined that she should not know she was an heiress until she was twenty-five years of age. The letter did not state why this determination had been reached by the father. Jack took possession of the child and the fortune, and for reasons never explained the father desired that her real name and identity and parentage should be concealed until her twenty-fifth birthday. Jake took charge of the child and the fortune, and two weeks later the father died, and strange to say, about the same time Jake's son died, and when he took the little child to his home he represented her as the daughter of his son, hoping thereby to conceal her real parentage more effectively. Then came the time when he took the child and placed her in charge of perfect strangers, giving reasons that do not concern the interests of our story, but based on the idea of his second-hand family and their evil feeling toward his supposed granddaughter. In the meantime Jake had been worried about the fortune deposited with him. He was an old man, led a perilous life going to sea, and he finally determined to deposit the money with some one whom he knew would be honest. He had gone to school with Mr. Townsend's parents, as he originally hailed from New England. He made inquiries about the young banker and concluded that he would be a safe man with whom to deposit the money as trustee for the child, and he did go out in his boat as a "blind" and sailed in her to New York, where he disposed of her, having determined to let it be thought that he was dead and thus escape his second-hand family – we use the term second-hand family. The above is the gist of the narrative. What else may concern our narrative will be recorded incidentally as Jack had developed. As our readers know, Mr. Canfield was killed on the railroad and never spoke a word, and owing to the fact that he was supposed to have been drowned no inquiry was made concerning him, and thus for forty years all memory of him had been lost until revived by our hero through the incidents as we have narrated them.