Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret

Bert looked up in the face of his visitor, and started in great excitement.

"Tell me, quick," he said, "are you not Ralph Harding?"

"Yes," answered the other in great surprise. "Who are you that recognizes me?"

CHAPTER XXXVI.

RALPH HARDING IS FOUND

Bert was still partly under the influence of chloroform; but the sight of Ralph Harding, whom he recognized from the photograph which had been given him, roused him from his stupefaction.

Harding repeated his question.

"Who are you?" he asked, "and how do you know me?"

"I am Bert Barton."

"What? not the son of John Barton?" exclaimed Harding, drawing back with a troubled look.

"Yes," answered Bert, gravely; "I am the son of John Barton, and I have been in search of you for several weeks."

"You have been in search of me? Why did you want to see me?"

"I want you to clear my father of the false charge which was brought against him ten years ago," answered Bert, firmly.

"I don't understand what you mean," stammered Harding, who had sunk back into a chair and was eyeing Bert with a troubled look.

"Oh, yes, you do, Mr. Harding. It was you who gave the information that one of the stolen bonds was in my father's overcoat pocket."

"It was true," said Harding doggedly.

"Where were the rest?" asked Bert, pointedly.

"How should I know? Your father had them secreted somewhere, I suppose."

"You know better than that. My father was innocent. He knew nothing of the bonds. An enemy plotted to get him into trouble."

"Do you charge me with being that enemy?" demanded Harding.

"You had something to do with it, but you were the instrument of another."

"How do you know that?" admitted Harding, incautiously.

"Shall I tell you the name of that other?"

"Yes."

"It is Albert Marlowe."

Ralph Harding started in surprise.

"Does he admit it?" he asked, after a pause.

"No; he does not know that it is suspected. I want you to back me up in the demand that he clear my father from suspicion."

"He will never do it. How could he, without criminating himself?"

"Whatever be the result, my father's character must be cleared."

"Tell me, is your father still living?" asked Ralph Harding, earnestly.

"Yes, he is."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes. Poor father, he has suffered much. He has been separated from my mother and myself these many years, and has not dared to show himself at his old home, or among his old friends, because he was liable to be arrested on the old charge."

Ralph was looking down upon the floor, and his features were working convulsively. Bert guessed what was passing through his mind, and paused to give him time.

He looked up after a while, and asked: "What would you have me do?"

"Testify to what you know. It will clear my father, and he can come home once more."

"But it will condemn Albert Marlowe."

"Why not let it? He is the guilty man. Have you so much reason to like Albert Marlowe that you will not do this act of justice?"

"No!" Ralph Harding burst out, and his face wore an expression of resentment. "He has used me like a dog. It was through me that he became a rich man, and in return he has treated me with contempt and indifference. If I dared–"

"You would expose him?"

"Yes, I would. It is of no use to deny what you have said. Your father is an innocent man. The bonds were stolen by Albert Marlowe."

Bert looked triumphant. He had wrung the truth from the accomplice of Squire Marlowe.

"How did you find me?" asked Harding, abruptly. "How did you know I was in Chicago?"

"I was told so by your sister."

"Have you been in Peoria, then?" asked Harding, in great surprise.

"Yes; I was there last week."

"But how did you find out that I had a sister?"

"At Harrisburg. You left a letter from your sister at your boarding-house there, which gave me the clew I wanted."

"And how did you trace me to Harrisburg?"

Bert explained.

"And you defrayed your own expenses? I thought you and your mother were left in poverty."

"So we were; but an uncle of my mother's recently returned from California, and it is he who has supplied me with the funds needed for my journey."

"Then he is wealthy?"

"I don't think so. He is employed in New York on a small salary, but he is liberal with the little he has. He has set his heart on clearing my father's reputation. It is he who sent me on my present mission."

"Does your father think that Albert Marlowe is the real thief?"

"He does. In fact, he is firmly convinced of it. Now, Mr. Harding, I have told you why I wanted to find you. You have as much as told me I am right in my suspicion. You are partly responsible for my poor father's undeserved sufferings. But for you he would never have been charged with the crime. Is it not so?"

"I admit it," Ralph Harding answered, slowly.

"Will you tell me who put the bond into my father's pocket?"

"I did."

"And who prompted you to do it?"

"It was the man you suspected—Albert Marlowe."

"It was the proceeds of his theft that enabled him to start in business, was it not?"

"You are right."

"I have one more question to ask. Will you accompany me to New York and testify to this, if needful?"

"But what will happen to me?" asked Harding, troubled.

"My uncle bade me promise you that we will do our utmost to prevent your coming to harm. As to Albert Marlowe, we shall demand a confession from him, or we shall have him arrested, and the whole matter investigated."

Ralph Harding paused for a brief space, and then said: "What are your plans if I agree to help you?"

"To start for New York to-night," answered Bert, promptly. "In New York I will take you to Uncle Jacob's office, and we will decide what to do next."

Harding hesitated a moment, then said: "I believe you will keep your promise, and I will put myself in your hands. I always liked your father better than Albert Marlowe, who is a very selfish man, and he has not kept his promise to me. I have reproached myself more than once for consenting to help Marlowe in his plot. It has never been out of my mind. I have been restless, unable to settle down anywhere, and have suffered punishment myself, though not as severe as has fallen upon your father. When I have made reparation, as I now have a chance to do, I shall be more contented in mind."

"Can you be ready to take the evening train with me?"

"Yes."

"Where are you living?"

"In this house."

"Then we can remain together. I have not thanked you yet for coming to my help, and saving my money."

"I am glad to have helped the son. It will help offset the injury I have done the father."

Bert, accompanied by Ralph Harding, took the evening train for New York. Their arrival was timely, for reasons which will be shown in a later chapter.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

ALBERT MARLOWE MEETS HIS VICTIM

Like most wrong-doers, Albert Marlowe had never ceased to entertain an apprehension that his connections with the bond theft would some time be made public. Yet, as the years rolled by, and he became rich and prosperous, his fears abated somewhat, and he felt no qualms of conscience, though he knew that an innocent man was suffering exile for his sake. When he thought of John Barton it was with dislike. For nothing is truer than the saying that we dislike those whom we have injured. He did not know whether Barton was alive or dead, but hoped that he was dead, as this would make him absolutely safe.

When he learned from Percy that Mrs. Barton had a male boarder, his fears instantly suggested that it might be John Barton. The description given by Percy tallied with his recollections of the victim of his wicked plot. His fears and suspicions were instantly aroused. Why was John Barton here? He was under the ban of the law, liable to be re-arrested, yet he ran that risk. What object had he in view? That he sought the care of his wife because he was ill did not seem a sufficient motive. Evidently it behooved him to find out, first, whether Mrs. Barton's boarder was really her husband; and, secondly, if such should be the case, to warn him to leave Lakeville. It gave the squire an uncomfortable feeling to have his victim so near at hand.

First, to find out who the boarder was. Albert Marlowe got into the habit of walking two or three times a day past the cottage of Mrs. Barton, in the hope of seeing the mysterious stranger. He did this for several days, but did not succeed in his object. The reason was that Mr. Barton was confined by weakness first to the bed, and then to the lounge in the little sitting-room.

But on the fifth day Squire Marlowe was in luck. The mysterious boarder was walking to and fro in the front yard attached to the cottage. When he saw Albert Marlowe he turned away, and was about to re-enter the house. The squire did not need this corroboration of his suspicion, for he had already recognized Barton, though the two had not met for ten years.

He set his face firmly; his expression became hard and dogged.

"That man must leave Lakeville!" he said to himself.

Without hesitation he opened the gate and entered the yard.

Meanwhile John Barton, seeing that he was recognized, came to a halt, and, turning around, faced the man who had been his bitter enemy. He showed no signs of fear, for what had happened was only what he had anticipated.

Squire Marlowe came up and stood at his side.

"You are John Barton," he said. "Do not attempt to deny it!"

"I do not propose to deny it to you—Albert Marlowe," answered Barton, calmly.

"You are here under an assumed name. I was told that Mrs. Barton's boarder was named Robinson."

"I am passing under that name. You know why."

"Yes, I do know why. You are under the ban of the law. You are afraid of being arrested and brought to trial a second time."

"I know there is danger of it, and of course I shrink from it."

"Then why do you come here? Are you mad?"

"After ten years I wished to see my wife once more. I am a sick man. I came to her to be nursed back to health."

"Take care, or when you leave here it will be for a less desirable boarding-place!" said the squire, in a menacing tone.

"You mean the prison?"

"Yes; that is what I mean."

"No one in Lakeville knows who I am. Why should I fear?"

"I know."

"Surely you would not betray me—you, the man who worked for years at my side?"

"I cannot compromise with crime. It is my duty as a good, law-abiding citizen, to denounce you to the authorities."

"You—a good, law-abiding citizen!" repeated John Barton, with scornful emphasis.

Squire Marlowe started back in astonishment. The worm had turned.

"Do you mean to question it?" he demanded, sharply.

"Yes, I do."

"On what grounds?"

"Albert Marlowe," said John Barton, sternly, "one of us two is a thief, but I am not the one."

"Do you mean to insult me?" exclaimed the squire, white with anger, not unmingled with uneasy fear.

"Come in! I have something to say to you. It is better said in-doors, where no passer-by can hear it."

Mechanically Squire Marlowe followed John Barton into the little sitting-room. Mrs. Barton looked up from her rocking-chair in surprise and apprehension, and half rose.

"Stay where you are, Mary," said her husband. "I wish you to hear what I am about to say to Albert Marlowe."

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

MR. BARTON DEFIES THE SQUIRE

Squire Marlowe sat down, while John Barton, instead of quailing in his presence, eyed him with cool indifference.

"What is the meaning of this tomfoolery?" asked Albert Marlowe, uneasily.

"You may call it what you like, but the time has come for an explanation. Albert Marlowe, you have done me a cruel wrong. It is through you that I have had my name blackened and have been forced to fly from my country."

"So you went to Canada, did you?" sneered the squire. "It's a popular resort for gentlemen of your class."

"Your words do not trouble me, for I never committed the crime with which I was charged."

"Of course not. It is wonderful how innocent you all are. But you say that I am responsible for the consequences of your crime. What do you mean by that?"

"I mean," answered Barton, with a penetrating glance, "that the bonds were stolen by you, and that you schemed to throw the blame upon me. Is this plain?"

"Are you mad?" said the squire, angrily, "do you expect the world to believe this, or are you in a conspiracy to blackmail me?"

"The last question you can ask when I demand money from you as the price of my silence."

"Take care, John Barton! Your silly tale is the last desperate expedient of a criminal. You ought to see the folly of attacking a man in my position. For years I have been the most prominent man in Lakeville, owner of the large shoe factory that gives employment to fifty hands. It is no idle boast—and your wife will confirm my words—that I am the most influential and respected citizen of this town."

"And on what are your position and prosperity based, Albert Marlowe? Where did you obtain the capital that enabled you to start in business?"

Squire Marlowe looked confused for a moment, but his audacity did not desert him.

"I started," he answered, "on borrowed money."

"Of whom did you borrow?"

"That is my affair," returned Marlowe, doggedly.

"You would find it hard to answer. Let me answer for you."

The squire did not speak, but waited, not without uneasiness, for Barton to answer his own question. He didn't have long to wait.

"You started your factory on the money realized from the stolen bonds."

"You will have to prove this," said Marlowe, furiously.

"Do you wish me to do so?" asked John Barton, significantly.

"This is all a scheme to clear yourself from the charge," exclaimed the squire. "Don't think I am so dull that I don't see through it. How happens it that you have waited ten years before it occurred to you to implicate me?"

"It did not immediately occur to me; but when you started in business on a large scale, though you were no better off than myself at the time of the theft, it set me to thinking."

"I have already told you that I used borrowed money."

"You won't tell me where you borrowed it."

"Because it is my private business. John Barton, I warn you that you are making a powerful enemy. If you keep quiet and let me alone, I will not call attention to your presence in Lakeville, and for safety's sake I will not appear to know anything about you. Do you make that promise?"

"Albert Marlowe, I am an innocent man, but I am under a ban. I want to prove my innocence, and regain the right to live with my family, and hold up my head before my fellow-men. If, in doing this, attention should be drawn to you as the real criminal I cannot help it."

"So you defy me, do you?" demanded the squire.

"If what I have said is a defiance, then I defy you," answered John Barton, calmly.

Squire Marlowe rose from his seat, his face flushed with anger.

"Be it so," he said. "You will hear from me again."

"Oh, John," exclaimed Mrs. Barton as the squire left the room, "I am afraid Albert will do you some harm."

"Then, Mary, to relieve you, let me say that I have heard through Uncle Jacob that Bert has found the missing witness, Ralph Harding, and that both are probably in New York at this moment."

On his return Squire Marlowe telegraphed from a neighboring town as follows:

"To Robert Manning, No. 71 1-2 Fulton St., Brooklyn:

"John Barton, who ten years since stole your bonds, and escaped trial, is at Lakeville, at his wife's house.

"Albert Marlowe."

The last act in the drama was about to be played, and Squire Marlowe went about with a gleam in his eye as he anticipated the final downfall of the man who had dared to defy him.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

CONCLUSION

Bert arrived in New York in due time, accompanied by Ralph Harding. They received a cordial welcome from Uncle Jacob.

"You shall not regret your testimony in behalf of John Barton," he said to Harding. "I will see that you are protected."

"Uncle Jacob," said Bert, "I have twenty dollars left of the amount you gave me for expenses. Here it is."

"Keep it, Bert. You will need it."

"But, Uncle Jacob, I have already put you to too great expense. If you were a rich man–"

Jacob Marlowe smiled.

"I can spare the money," he said. "Don't trouble yourself on that score. You have done yourself great credit, Bert, and shown great shrewdness in your expedition in search of Mr. Harding. I am not sure that you would not make a good detective."

"I have no ambition in that direction, Uncle Jacob. I hope to get a little better education, and then to devote myself to business."

"I think you will have an opportunity to do both, Bert."

"Do you think you can get me a place of some kind in New York? I know, of course, that I must work before I can afford to study."

"We will speak of that later. Now I have to propose that we all go down to Lakeville to meet your father and mother, and incidentally to have an interview with Albert Marlowe."

"Do you wish me to go, too?" asked Ralph Harding.

"By all means! You are the most important member of the party."

Toward noon of the next day the three reached Lakeville. Uncle Jacob and Ralph Harding secured rooms at the hotel, and then repaired to the little cottage.

We will precede them.

It was in the spirit of revenge that the squire had telegraphed to Brooklyn, and after he had done so he half regretted it. If John Barton were re-arrested, he would undoubtedly try to incriminate the squire himself, and the mere accusation would do him harm. It would be best if Barton could be frightened into making his escape, and this very act would seem like a confession of guilt.

"Yes, that will be best," thought the squire. "Barton will never dare to come back, and we shall be spared the scandal of a trial."

He took his hat and cane, and set out for the Barton cottage.

Mrs. Barton opened the door.

"Is your husband in?" asked the squire.

"Yes."

"I would like to see him on very important business."

"I will see you," said John Barton, who had overheard the squire's words.

"Well?" he said, as Marlowe entered the sitting-room.

"I have come to urge you to leave Lakeville," began the squire, abruptly. "There is no time to be lost."

"Why should I leave Lakeville?"

"You don't want to be arrested, I take it?"

"Is there any danger of it?"

"Yes; I telegraphed yesterday to Robert Manning that you were here. Officers of the law may arrive at any time."

"Why did you betray me?" asked Barton, quietly.

"Because I thought it my duty. I had no right to shield a criminal."

"Then why have you put me on my guard?"

"For your wife's sake."

"I am surprised at your consideration. You showed very little when you discharged my boy from your factory."

"That was a matter of business. But there is no time to waste in discussion. I advise you to go to the station at once. A train will leave for New York in half an hour, and you may be able to escape before the arrival of the officers."

"But I don't want to escape."

"Are you mad?" demanded the squire, impatiently. "Do you want to spend a term of years in prison?"

"Heaven forbid!"

"Then profit by my warning, and escape while there is time."

"No. If I am arrested I will stand trial."

"Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"No; I wish to prove my innocence."

"What chance have you of that?"

"The testimony of Ralph Harding–"

"What!" exclaimed Squire Marlowe, rising in great agitation. "Where is Ralph Harding?"

"Here!" was the unexpected reply, and Uncle Jacob entered the room, accompanied by Bert and Mr. Harding.

Albert Marlowe turned his gaze from one to another in ill-concealed dismay.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, hoarsely. "Have you been hatching up a plot against me?"

"No," answered Uncle Jacob with dignity. "It is our object to relieve John Barton from the stigma upon his fair name. In doing so it may be necessary to fasten the crime upon the guilty party. Who that is, you know as well as I do."

"No one will credit the testimony of that man!" said the squire, pointing scornfully at Ralph Harding.

"Don't be too sure of that! His story is plain and straightforward, and I think it will impress the court that way."

"Albert has been urging me to escape," said John Barton. "He has set the officers on my track."

"Has he done this?" asked Uncle Jacob, sharply.

"So he says."

At this moment a knock was heard at the door, and there was a new and unexpected arrival, which produced a sensation.

It was Robert Manning, of Brooklyn.

"You telegraphed to me, Mr. Marlowe," he said. "This man, I believe, is John Barton."

"You are right, sir," responded Barton, calmly.

"I might have brought with me an officer and an order of arrest, but I have chosen instead to offer to drop all action against you if you will restore the bonds or their equivalent. I have no wish to be revenged, but I want reparation."

"As I never took your bonds, I am not the person to apply to," replied Barton.

"Then perhaps you will have the kindness to tell me who did take the bonds," said Manning, incredulously.

"I will do that," responded Ralph Harding, coming forward. "There he stands!"

"It is a lie!" interposed the squire, hoarsely.

"It is true. You hired me to put a five-hundred dollar bond into John Barton's pocket while you appropriated the remainder. It was this that enabled you to go into business for yourself in Lakeville. It was in this way that you got together your wealth."

Albert Marlowe was overwhelmed, and did not immediately reply.

"I think I remember you," said Robert Manning. "It was your testimony that weighed so heavily against Mr. Barton."

"And it has weighed heavily upon my conscience ever since. I have at last determined to tell the truth."

"What have you to say to this, Mr. Marlowe?" asked Manning pointedly.

"It is a lie," answered the squire, feebly.

"You are willing to have the matter go to trial?"

"Albert," put in Uncle Jacob, "it appears to me that you are in a bad box. Ralph Harding's testimony is sure to convict you. Will you take my advice?"

"What is it?" asked the squire, sullenly.

"Accept the offer made to John Barton under a misapprehension. Repay to Mr. Manning the value of the stolen bonds–"

"With interest attached," interposed Manning.

"And he will drop the matter. Am I right, Mr. Manning?"

"Yes, sir."

"It will amount to about double the original sum—say twelve thousand dollars."

"I can't raise so large an amount in cash."

"You are worth more?"

"Yes; but not in ready money."

"I will advance it to you, and take a bill of sale of the factory and your house," said Uncle Jacob.

All eyes were turned upon the old man in amazement.

"But where will you get the money?" gasped the squire.

"I can raise ten times that sum, if necessary."

"But I thought you were a poor man?"

"I never told you so. I said I had five hundred dollars; but I didn't add that I am worth at least two hundred thousand dollars more. That was my secret!"

"You said that you invested all your money in some mining shares that depreciated to nothing."

"I foresaw the decline, and sold out at a small loss."

"Why did you deceive us?" asked the squire, irritably.

"I wanted to test you all. When you thought me poor, you gave me my walking ticket; but Mary here," and Uncle Jacob glanced affectionately at Mrs. Barton, "gave me a warm welcome, though she thought me nearly as poor as herself. I shall not forget it. Bert also did not look down upon his old uncle, even though he had little to expect from him."

"But, Uncle Jacob," said Bert, "why, if you are so rich, do you work for twelve dollars a week?"

"It was a harmless deception, Bert," he replied. "I am at the head of the office where you think me employed, and president of one of the richest mines on the Pacific Coast."

"Mr. Marlowe," said the squire, not venturing upon the familiar name of Uncle Jacob, "instead of advancing money on my house, factory, and stock, are you willing to buy them outright?"