Geoffrey Hampstead: A Novel

When this was done and he had surveyed himself carefully, he took another pull at the flask on general principles and proceeded to take further steps. He might as well have left the liquor alone, because his nerve, once he commenced operations, was like iron.

He banged about some drawers, as if he were looking for something, and then called out:

"Jack?"

No answer.

"Jack?"

Still no answer.

The ledger-keeper from A to M, who occupied the stall beyond Jack's, then growled out:

"What's the matter with you?"

"Where's Jack?"

"I don't know. He asked me to look after his ledger for a moment, and then went out. He has been out for over an hour, and if the beggar thinks I'm going to be skipping round to look up his confounded ledger all day he's mistaken. I'll give him a piece of my mind when he comes in."

"A to M" went on growling and sputtering, like a leaky shower-bath.

"That's all very well," said Geoffrey; "but you fellows are playing a trick on me, and I don't scare worth a cent."

Everybody could hear this conversation. Geoffrey then stepped on a stool and leaned over the partition, smiling, and seized the hard-working receiving-teller by the hair.

"Come, you beggar, I tell you I don't scare. Just hand over the money. Really, it's a very poor kind of a joke."

"What's a poor kind of a joke? Seizing me by the hair?"

Geoffrey looked at him smilingly, as if he did not believe him and still thought there had been a plan to abstract the money and frighten him.

"Well, I don't care much personally; but that packet of fifty thousand is gone, and if any fellow is playing the fool he had better bring it back."

Several of the clerks now came round to his wicket. This sort of talk sounds very unpleasant in a bank.

"Where did you leave the bills?" they asked.

"Right here," said Geoffrey, laying his hand on a little desk close beside the wicket, opening into the box in which Jack had worked.

"Well, you had better report the thing at once," said several, who were looking on with long faces.

"I shall, right straight," said Geoffrey energetically. His face bore an admirable expression of consternation, checked by the sang froid of an innocent bank-clerk. He strode off into the manager's room.

"Excuse me for interrupting you, sir. I thought it was a hoax at first, but it looks very much as if fifty thousand dollars had been taken from my box."

"What, stolen!"

"Looks like it – very. If you would kindly step this way, sir, I will explain what I know about it."

Geoffrey then showed the manager where the bills had been laid, and did not profess to be able to tell anything more.

"Mr. Northcote, ring up the chief of police, and tell me when he is there," said the manager. "Where is Mr. Cresswell?"

No answer.

"Does anybody know where Mr. Cresswell is?"

Ledger-keeper from A to M then said that Mr. Cresswell went out over an hour ago, and had asked him to look after his ledger for five minutes. Mr. Cresswell had not returned.

The manager walked into Jack's box and looked around him. Everything was lying about as if he had just stopped working, and this, to the manager's mind, seemed to give the thing a black look. It seemed as if Jack, if he had made off with the money, had left things in this way as a blind.

The telephone was ready now, and the manager requested the chief of police to send a couple of his best detectives at once. Only one was available at first. This man, Detective Dearborn, appeared in five minutes, and was made acquainted with all the known circumstances. When this was done, fully two hours had elapsed since Jack's departure, and still he had not turned up.

Detective Dearborn was a man with large, usually mild, brown eyes. There was nothing in the upper part of his face to be remarked except general immobility of countenance. The lower part of his face, however, was suggestive. His lower jaw protruded beyond the upper. Whether this means anything in the human being may be doubted, but one involuntarily got the idea that if this man once "took hold," nothing short of red-hot irons would burn him off.

He took a careful, mild survey of the premises, listened to everything that was said, remarked that the package could not have been taken from the public passageway if left in the place indicated, looked over Jack's abandoned stall, asked a few questions from the manager, and, like a sensible man, came to the conclusion that Jack had taken the money.

He walked into the manager's room and asked him several questions about Jack's habits and his usual pursuits. Geoffrey was called in to assist at this. Yes, he could take the detective to Jack's room. Jack had no habits that cost much money. "Had he been speculating at all?" Geoffrey thought not, although some time ago Mr. Cresswell had said that he was "in a little spec.," and hoped to make something. Did not know what the "spec." was.

"May I ask," said Dearborn, "when you last spoke to Mr. Cresswell?"

"We spoke to each other for a minute just before he went out. He asked me if I was going to the Dusenalls' 'shine' to-night. I said I was. Then he spoke about several young ladies of our acquaintance, and other things which had no reference to this matter."

"Was the lost money in the place you say at that time?"

"Yes. I remember having my hand on the packet while I spoke to him."

"May I ask if you at any time during the morning left your stall?"

"Yes, I did, once. I went out as far as the side door for an instant shortly after Mr. Cresswell went out."

"What for?"

"Well," said Geoffrey, smiling, "I was thinking of boating this afternoon, and I wanted to see how the sky promised for the afternoon."

The mild eyes looked at Geoffrey with uncomfortable mildness at this answer. It might be all right, but Dearborn thought that this was the first suspicious sound which he had heard.

"My young gentleman, I'll keep my eye on you," he thought. "That reply did not sound quite right, and you seem a trifle too unconcerned."

Another detective arrived now, and he was detailed to inform the others and to watch the railway stations and steamboats. Immediately afterward, descriptions of Jack flew all over Canada to the many different points of exit from the country. Had he tried to leave Canada by sail or steamboat he would have been arrested to a certainty. Geoffrey laughed in his sleeve as he thought of the way he had sent Jack off in a schooner – a way that few people would dream of taking, and yet, perhaps, the safest way of all, as schooners could not, in the ordinary course of things, be watched by the detectives. But if the news got beyond police circles that Jack had absconded with money, or if it should be discovered in any way that he had gone on the schooner to Oswego – if this were published – Joseph Lindon might become alarmed, and prevent his daughter from going to Oswego also. Even the news of Jack's departure for parts unknown might make him suspicious. With this in view he immediately said to the manager and the detective:

"I would like to make a suggestion, if there be no objection."

"Certainly, Mr. Hampstead. We will be glad to listen to what you have to say."

"Of course, I can not think that Mr. Cresswell took the money," said Geoffrey. "But I think if complete secrecy were ordered, both in the bank and elsewhere, while every endeavor was being made at discovery, the detectives would have a better chance of success, on whatever theory they may work. Possibly the money may be recovered before many hours are over, and in that case the bank might wish to hush the matter up quietly. Prematurely advertising a thing like this often does harm; and there can be no question about the interests of the bank in the matter."

"I will act upon that suggestion at once," said the manager. "In the mean time, you will go, please, with the detective and admit him to Mr. Cresswell's rooms, and see what is to be seen there. I will give the strictest orders that nothing of this is to be told outside by the officials or police."

Orders were delivered to all the detectives to give no items to newspaper reporters, and the chance of Nina's getting away on the following morning seemed secured. Geoffrey laughed to himself as he thought he had crushed the last adder that could appear to strike him.

He let Mr. Dearborn into Jack's room. Everything was in confusion. Bureau drawers were lying open, and Jack's valises were gone. Dearborn saw at a glance that Cresswell had fled, and he lost no time, but turned on his heel immediately, thanked Hampstead, and rattled down-stairs. Geoffrey first ascertained that he was really gone, and then went back, took out the two thousand dollars that Jack had put under his bed-clothes, and, hastily taking the forty-eight stolen bills from the interior of his waistcoat, he stuffed the whole amount into an old Wellington boot that was hanging on a nail in a closet. Out of Jack's two thousand he put several bills in his pocket to pay for his evening's amusements. He then returned to the bank. It will be seen that his object in not taking this two thousand from Jack at the bank was that he could not safely conceal such a large package on his person, and he could not put it with his cash, because, in case his cash was examined, it would be found to contain two thousand dollars too much, which would cause inquiry.

The manager while brooding over the event, and asking questions, soon found out that the missing bills had been all in one deposit. The receiving teller had taken them in the day before. The item was looked into and it was noted that this was a deposit of the Montreal Telegraph Company. On inquiry it was found to be a balance due from the Western Union Telegraph Company in the States for exchanges. The Montreal Telegraph Company had received the money from New York by express, and to guard against loss the Western Union had taken the precaution to write by mail to the company at Toronto giving the number of each bill in full, and saying that all the bills were those of the United States National Bank at New York. In two hours, therefore, Dearborn was supplied with the numbers of all the bills. Geoffrey was startled at this turn of events. But he thought it did not matter much. He could slip over to the States in a few months and get rid of the whole of the money in different places.

While all this internal commotion was going on at the Victoria Bank, Nina was paying a little visit to her father's office. She alighted from an equipage every part of which, including coachman, footman, horses, and liveries, had been imported from England. The coachman and footman did not wear their hats on one side or cross their legs and talk affably to each other as they seem to do in the American cities. Joseph Lindon was, in effect, perfectly right when he said they were the "real thing" – "first chop."

Nina swept through the outer office, looking more charming than ever. After she had passed in, one of the clerks, called Moses, indulged in the vulgar pantomime peculiar to clerks of low degree. He placed both hands on his heart, gasped, and rolled back against the wall to indicate that he was irretrievably smashed by her appearance.

Her father received her gladly.

"Ah!" he said, "you have condescended to pay me a visit, my fine lady! It's money you're after. I can see it in your eye. Now, how much, my dear, will this little visit cost me, I wonder? Just name your figure, my dear, and strike it rather high." Mr. Lindon was in a remarkably good humor.

"No, father, I did not come altogether for money. I came to know if I could go over to Oswego for a week. Louisa Dallas, who stayed with us last winter, wants me to go over."

"Certainly, my dear, you can do anything you please – in reason. I thought the Dallases lived in Rochester?"

"So they did; but they have moved. Well, that is all right. Now, if you have any money to throw away upon me I will try to do you credit with it. Don't I always do you credit?"

"Credit? You are the handsomest girl I ever saw. Do me credit? Why, of course, and always will. Come and kiss me, my dear. I declare you would charm the heart of a wheel-barrow. Now, how much would you like this morning? Strike it high, girl. Understand, you can have all the money you want. You will go to Oswego and see your friends and have a good time. Perhaps they won't have much money to throw away, but don't let that stand in the way. Trot out the whole of them and set up the entire business yourself. Take them all down to Watkin's Glen, or some place else. There's nothing to do in Oswego. You can't spend half the money I can give you. Why, dash it, I cleared fifty thousand dollars before lunch-time to-day, and now how much will you have of it?"

"Well, there's a little bill at Murray's for odds and ends."

"How much?"

"Oh, five or six hundred, perhaps."

"Blow five or six hundred! Is that all the money you can spend? Of course you are the best-dressed woman in town, but you must do better than this. I tell you you have just got to sweep all these other women away like flies before you. I'll clothe you in gold if you say the word. Five or six hundred! Rubbish!"

He struck a bell, and the impressionable Moses appeared.

"How much will you have?" he said to Nina, smiling. He loved to try and stagger her with his magnificence.

"I suppose Murray ought to be paid and a few other bills lying about." Nina thought this would be a good chance for Jack, and she said to herself she would strike it high.

"I suppose a thousand dollars would do," she said, rather timidly; adding, "with Murray and all."

"Damn Murray and all!" cried Mr. Lindon, in a burst of good nature. "You sha'n't pay any of them. – Moses, write Miss Lindon a check for a couple of thousand, and bring it here."

While Moses wrote the check out, Lindon, with a display of affection he rarely showed, drew Nina down upon his knee.

"How did you make so much money to-day, father?" she asked.

"Oh, you don't know anything about such matters. Yesterday I bought the stock of a Canadian railway. At ten o'clock this morning it took a sudden rise because I let people know I was buying. I got a lot of it before I let them know, and then up she went, steadily, the whole morning. At twelve o'clock I had made at least fifty thousand, and by nightfall I may have made a hundred thousand. I don't know how it stands just now, and I don't much care."

This was the identical stock Hampstead had been unable to retain. If he could have held on a few hours longer he would have made more honestly on this day than he had stolen at the same hour.

The check was signed and handed to Nina. She put it in her shopping-bag and took her father's head between her hands and kissed his capable old face with a warmth that surprised him a little. To her this was a final good-by.

"You're a good old daddy to me," she said, feeling her heart rise at the thought of leaving him forever. She ran off then to the door to conceal her feelings.

"Just wait," he said, "till we go to England soon, and then I'll show you what's what."

She made an effort to seem bright, and cast back at him a glance like bright sun through mists, as she said:

"Of course – yes. We must not forget 'the dook.'"

She cashed the check with satisfaction, knowing that it took Jack a long time to save two thousand dollars.

When she rolled down to the wharf the next day in the Lindon barouche, the officials on the steamboat's deck were impressed with her magnificence and beauty.

For most men, nothing could be more sweetly beautiful than her appearance, as she went carefully along the gangway to the old Eleusinian, and there was quite a competition between the old captain and the young second officer as to who should show her more civility.

CHAPTER XXIV

Comprehensive talkers are apt to be tiresome when we are not athirst for information; but to be quite fair, we must admit that superior reticence is a good deal due to lack of matter. Speech is often barren; but silence also does not necessarily brood over a full nest. – George Eliot – (Felix Holt).

It did not take Detective Dearborn long to find out that Jack had engaged a cab early in the morning and had then removed some luggage from his rooms. This confirmed him in the idea that the crime had been a carefully planned one. But his trouble lay in not being able to find the driver of the cab. This man had driven off somewhere on a trip that took him apparently out of town, and Dearborn began to wonder whether Jack had been driven to some neighboring town, so as to proceed in a less conspicuous way by some railway.

Late at night, however, Jehu turned up at his own house very drunk. The horses had brought him home without being driven. He had been down at Leslieville all day, with some "sports," who were enjoying a pigeon-shooting match at that place, and who had retained cabby at regulation rates and all he could drink – a happy day for him. Dearborn found he could tell him nothing about the occurrence of the morning of the same day, or where he had gone with Jack's valises; so, perforce, he had to let him sleep it off till morning.

The first rational account the detective could get out of him was at ten o'clock on the morning following. He then found out why the valises had not been seen at the railway stations, or at any of the usual points of departure. The caretaker of the yacht club could only tell him, when he called, that Mr. Cresswell had been at the club somewhere about noon the day before, and had gone away in his boating-clothes, rowing east round the head of the wharf close by.

"I must tell you," said Dearborn to the caretaker, "that Mr. Cresswell's friends are alarmed at his absence and have sent me to look after him. Would you know the boat he went in if you saw it?"

"Oh, yes. I handle it frequently, in one way and and another. I painted it for him last spring."

"Well, if you don't mind making a dollar, I'd be glad if you would walk along the docks and help me find it."

"Come along," said the caretaker. "There is nothing to do here, at this hour, but watch the club-house, and I certainly can't make an extra dollar doing that. We'll call it two dollars if I find the boat, seeing as how I'm dragged off from duty."

"All right," said Dearborn, who had carte blanche for expenses from the bank.

They walked off together at a good pace.

"You say that none of the yachts left the harbor yesterday?"

"No. There they are, over there, every one of them."

"Well, what size was the skiff he went off in?"

"An ordinary fourteen-foot shooting-skiff. One of old Rennardson's. You mind old Rennardson? He built a handy boat, did the old man."

"Could it cross the lake?"

"Well it could, perhaps, on six days in the week, in summer. Perhaps on the seventh the best handling in the world wouldn't save her. But they are a fine little boat, for all that I've crossed the bay myself in them when there was an all-fired sea runnin'."

"Could it have crossed the lake yesterday?"

"I don't think Mr. Cresswell would be such a fool as to try. Perhaps he could have done it if anybody could. But risks for nothing ain't his style. Not but what he'll run his chances when the time comes. You should have seen him bring in that Ideal last fall, in the race I sailed with him. The wind sprung up heavy in the afternoon. Lord! it was a sight to see that boat come in to the winnin' buoy with the mast hanging over her bows like a Greek fruiter. You see, he had the wind dead after him, blowin' heavy, and he'd piled rags on to her, wings and all, till she was in a blind fury and goin' through it like a harpooned whale. The owner was a-standing by him a-watchin' for everythin' to carry out of her. 'Jack,' says he, 'she can't do it. The backstays won't do the work.' 'Slack them up, then, four inches, and let the mast do its own part of the work,' says Mr. Cresswell. And he kept on easin' backstays to give fair play all round, till the mast was hangin' forward like a cornstalk; but I'm dummed if he'd lift a rag on her till she passed the gun. Perhaps you don't care for that sort of thing. I follered the sea myself formerly. Lord! it was immense, that little sail! And thirty seconds ain't a great deal to win on. Nothin' but bull-head grit would ha' done it."

Mr. Dearborn was not much comforted by all this talk. Cresswell might have crossed the lake in his skiff. Evidently he was a man who would do it if he wished. They continued their search on every wharf and through every boat-house, which occupied a good deal of time.

Suddenly, near Yonge Street wharf, the caretaker said: "Give us your two dollars, mister. There's the skiff on the deck of the stone-hooker."

Inquiries soon showed that Jack had gone off on the schooner North Star to Oswego, and then Mr. Dearborn began to look grave. The schooner had got a long start. He was well acquainted with all different routes to different places, and he finally decided to go on the Eleusinian by water to Oswego. Possibly he might be able to come across the schooner in the lake before she arrived at Oswego, and bribe the captain to land him and his prisoner on Canadian soil, where his warrant would be good. He had still half an hour to spare, so he dashed off in a cab to the chief's office, and wired the Oswego police to arrest Jack, on the arrival of the North Star, on the charge of bringing stolen money into the States.

Of course, Dearborn knew he could not extradite Jack from Oswego for his offense, but he thought that after being locked up the money could be scared out of him, when he found that he could get a long sentence in the States on the above charge, which Dearborn knew could be proved if the stolen bills were found in his possession.

If Geoffrey had known what the able Mr. Dearborn had ferreted out, and what his plans were, he would have felt more uneasy.

As the afternoon wore on, it was interesting to watch two very unconcerned people at the bow of the upper deck of the Eleusinian. The steamer was making excellent time – plowing into the eye of the wind with all the power that had so nearly dragged the life out of the poor Ideal in the preceding summer. Nina was sitting in an arm-chair, cushioned into comfort by the assiduous second officer, who found that his duties much required his presence in that portion of the boat where Nina happened, to be. She was sitting, looking through the spyglasses from time to time at every sail that hove in sight, and seeming disinclined to leave the deck.

Mr. Dearborn was tempting providence by smoking a cigar close by. The steamer went almost too fast to pitch much, but there was a decided rise and fall at the bows. He noticed that the officer suggested to Nina that by sitting further aft she would escape some of the motion, and that she declined the change, saying she liked the breeze and was a good sailor. Once they passed close to a vessel with three masts. Dearborn had ascertained, before leaving, that the North Star had only two masts, so he was not anxious. Nina, however, knew nothing about the rig of the North Star, and she was up standing beside the bulwarks gazing intently through the binoculars at the crew. She seemed disappointed when she lowered the glasses, and Dearborn began to wonder whether this was "the woman in the case." He afterward watched her as she attempted to read a novel, and noticed that she continually stopped to scan the horizon. Still, nearly every person does this, more or less, and his idea rather waned again as he thought that this was quite too fine a person to bother her head about a poor bank-clerk – such a man as he was hunting. Mr. Dearborn, perhaps owing to the peculiar formation of his jaw, generally lost all idea of the respectability of a man as soon as he got on his trail. He might have the benefit of all doubts in his favor until the warrant for his arrest was placed in Mr. Dearborn's hands. After that, as a rule, the individual, whether acquitted or not at his subsequent trial, took no high stand in Mr. Dearborn's mind. If acquitted, it was only the result of lawyers' trickery; not on account of innocence. Men who ought to know best say that if a prize-fighter wishes to win he must actually hate his antagonist – must fight to really kill him; and that only when he is entirely disabled is it time enough to hope that he will not die. Mr. Dearborn, similarly, had that tenacity of purpose that made every attempt at escape seem to double the culprit's guilt, and in a hard capture this supplied him with that "gall" which could meet and overcome the desperate courage of a man at bay.