Ralph Raymond's Heir

CHAPTER VII.

PAUL MORTON HAS A VISITOR

Paul Morton's consternation can hardly be described, when, in the number who had come to witness the funeral ceremonies of Ralph Raymond, he recognized the shopman in the obscure druggist's shop where he had purchased the poison. The sweat stood out upon his brow, and he eagerly questioned himself—how much did this man know, or what did he suspect, or was his presence purely accidental?

But he could hardly believe that a man in such a position would attend the funeral, unless he had some object in view. How had he found out his name and residence? Was it possible that he had been tracked?

He looked furtively at the young man, now grown an object of strange and dread interest to him. He noted his insignificant features, and the general meanness of his appearance, and he began to pluck up courage.

"Suppose he does suspect anything," he thought; "will his testimony be believed against mine? A miserable druggist's clerk, probably on a starvation salary. At the worst I can buy him off for a small sum."

Reassured by these thoughts, he recovered his boldness, and in looking about him, did not hesitate to meet the gaze of James Cromwell, without suffering a trace of the first agitation to be seen.

But that first agitation had been observed at the time by the druggist's clerk, and he had drawn his own conclusions from it.

"He has used the poison," he said to himself, "and it is for that reason that my presence alarms him," he said.

At length the funeral ceremonies were over.

The company who were assembled left the house, and with them James Cromwell. He went back to his room, not feeling that it was of importance to remain longer. He had shown himself at the funeral, he had been recognized, and thus he had paved the way for the interview which he meant to have, and that very shortly.

Two evenings later, he approached the house in Twenty-ninth Street, and ascending the steps, boldly rang the bell.

The servant who answered the summons, looked at him inquiringly, supposing from his appearance that he had merely come to bring some message.

"Is Mr. Morton at home?"

"Yes, he is at home."

"I would like to see him."

"He doesn't see visitors, on account of a death in the family. I will carry your message."

"I must see him," insisted the clerk, boldly.

"I don't think he will see you."

"I do. So go and tell him I am here."

"What name shall I carry to him?"

"The name is of no consequence. You can tell him that the young man whom he noticed at the funeral is here, and wishes to see him on very important business."

"That's a queer message," thought the servant, but concluded that it was some one who had something to do with furnishing something for the funeral, and was anxious to get his pay.

Mr. Morton was sitting in his library, or a room furnished with books, which went by that name, when the servant entered.

"There is somebody to see you, sir," she said.

"Who is it?"

"I don't know his name."

"Is it a gentleman?"

"No, sir."

"Did you tell him I was not receiving visitors now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well?"

"He said he wanted to see you on very important business."

"Why didn't he give his name?"

"He said that I was to tell you it was the young man you noticed at the funeral," said the servant.

Mr. Morton turned pale, but at once recovered himself.

"I am not sure that I know who it is," he said, "but I can easily ascertain. You may bring him up."

"You are to come up," said the girl reappearing.

James Cromwell smiled in conscious triumph.

"I thought so," he said to himself. "Well, now for my game. It will be a difficult one, but I will do my best."

Left alone, Paul Morton began to consider how he should treat the new-comer. He resolved to affect no recognition at first, and afterward indifference. He thought he might be able to overawe the young man, from his own superiority in social position, and so prevent his carrying out the purpose he proposed.

Accordingly, when James Cromwell entered the room, he arched his brows a little, and looked inquiringly at him.

"Have you business with me?" he said, abruptly. "Did not my servant inform you that, on account of a recent death, I am not receiving callers at present?"

"I thought you would see me," said the young man, with a mixture of familiarity and boldness.

"Really, I don't know what claims you have to be excepted to my rule," said Paul Morton, haughtily. "If you are a tradesman, and have a claim against me, you might have sent it in the regular way."

"I am not a tradesman, and I have no claim against you, Mr. Morton," said the young man—"that is, no regular claim."

"You speak in riddles, sir," said Mr. Morton, in the same haughty tone. "If you have no business with me, I am at a loss to know why you have intruded yourself upon me at such a time. Perhaps, however, you were unaware of my recent affliction."

"I am quite aware of it, Mr. Morton. In fact, I was present at the funeral, if you refer to the death of Mr. Raymond, and unless I am greatly mistaken, you yourself observed me there."

"You were present at the funeral! What brought you here?"

"That seems rather an inhospitable question. For some reasons of my own, I felt an interest in what was going on in this house, and made it my business to become acquainted with all that passed. When I heard of Mr. Raymond's death, I resolved at once to attend the funeral."

"I suppose you must have known Mr. Raymond, then," said Paul Morton, with something of a sneer.

"No, I had not the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with the gentleman," said James Cromwell, who, far from being overawed by the evident haughty tone of the other, preserved his composure with admirable success.

"Then let me repeat, I do not understand why you should have taken the trouble to be present at his funeral. Persons, in general, wait for an invitation before intruding on such occasions," he added, with a palpable sneer.

"He wouldn't parley so long if he did not know me and fear me," thought James Cromwell, and this conclusion showed that he was not without a certain natural shrewdness.

"Was Mr. Raymond rich?" he asked, nonchalantly.

This was more than Paul Morton could bear. He was naturally an irritable man, and he had been obliged to exercise considerable self-control thus far in the interview. It angered him that this insignificant druggist's clerk—this miserable specimen of a man—should have ventured to intrude himself in this manner on his privacy, but the terror of his crime and the consciousness that this man suspected it, had hitherto restrained him.

But when James Cromwell asked this question, sitting coolly, with one leg crossed over the other, and staring impudently in his face, he could not restrain himself any longer. He rose to his feet with angry vehemence, and pointing to the door with a finger literally quivering with rage, he said, hoarsely:

"You impertinent scoundrel! begone instantly, or I will summon my servants and have you kicked down my front steps!"

"That might not be altogether prudent, Mr. Morton," said James Cromwell.

"Might not be prudent! What do you mean by your cursed impudence?" demanded the merchant, glaring furiously at the druggist's clerk.

"What do I mean?" repeated James Cromwell. "Do you wish me to answer your question?"

"I demand that you answer my question, and that immediately," said the merchant, hardly knowing what he did, so carried away was he by his unreasonable anger.

"Very well, I will do so," said the clerk, quietly, "but, as it may take a brief time, will you not be kind enough to resume your seat?"

CHAPTER VIII.

JAMES CROMWELL'S TRIUMPH

The coolness displayed by James Cromwell had its effect upon the merchant. Mechanically he obeyed, and resumed his seat.

"Say what have you to say, and be done with it," he muttered.

"In the first place, then, I beg leave to ask you a question. Do you not remember me?" and the clerk looked searchingly with his cold gray eyes in the face of Paul Morton.

"I may possibly have met you before," he replied with an effort, "but I meet a great many people, and there is no particular reason, that I am aware of, why I should remember you in particular."

"I also meet a considerable number of persons," said James Cromwell, "but circumstances have led me to remember you very well."

"Well, grant that you remember me," said the merchant, with nervous impatience, "what then?"

"It may be necessary for me to remind you that I am employed in a druggist's shop on the Bowery."

"I hope you like your situation," said Paul Morton, with a sneer.

"No, I don't like it, and that is the reason why I have come to you, hoping that you will help me to something better."

This was said with quiet self-possession, and Paul Morton began to realize with uneasiness that this young man, whom he had looked upon with contempt, was not so easily to be overawed or managed as he had expected.

"This is a cool request, considering that you are a comparative stranger to me."

"But consider the peculiar circumstances," said James Cromwell, significantly.

"What peculiar circumstances?" demanded the merchant, desperately.

"Shall I mention them?" asked Cromwell, pointedly.

"If you want me to understand, yes. You are talking in enigmas, and I never was good at understanding enigmas."

"Then," said James Cromwell, leaning slightly forward, and looking intently at Mr. Morton, "may I ask to what use you have put the subtle poison which you purchased of me ten days since?"

The color rushed to Paul Morton's face at this direct interrogation.

"The poison?" he repeated.

"Yes, you certainly have not forgotten the purchase."

"I think you must be mistaken in the person."

"Pardon me, I am not."

"Suppose that I did buy poison, how should you identify me with the purchaser, and how came you to know where I lived?"

"I sent a boy to follow you home," said Cromwell.

"You dared to do that?"

"Why not? We have no curiosity about our ordinary customers, but when a person makes such a purchase as you did, we feel inclined to learn all we can about him."

"A praiseworthy precaution! Well, I admit that I did buy the poison. What then?"

"I asked to what purpose you had put it?"

"Very well, I have no objection to tell you, although I deny your right to intrude in my private affairs, which I regard as a piece of gross impertinence. I bought it, as I think I stated to you at the time, at the request and for the use of a friend."

"Would you tell me the friend's name?" asked the clerk, imperturbably.

"He lives in Thirty-seventh Street."

"What is his name?"

"None of your business," exclaimed the merchant, passionately.

"I beg your pardon, but I was blamed by my employer for not taking down the name of the purchaser, and I told him in return that I would gather full particulars."

"You may tell him it is all right. He must have heard of me and of my firm, and that will satisfy him."

"But the name of this gentleman in Thirty-seventh Street–"

"It is not necessary to the purpose."

"Has there been a death in his family within ten days?" asked the clerk in quiet tones, but there was a significance in them which sent a thrill through the frame of his listener.

"What makes you ask that?" he stammered.

"I will tell you," said James Cromwell, boldly throwing off his reserve. "It is as well to be frank, and there is no use in mincing matters. I do not believe this story of the man in Thirty-seventh Street. I think you bought the article for your own use. Since the purchase there has been a death in your house."

"Your inference is ridiculous," said the merchant, nervously. "My intimate and dear friend, Mr. Raymond, was sick of an incurable disease, as the physician will testify, and it could have terminated in no other way."

"I am quite willing to believe you are right," said the clerk. "Still, under the circumstances, you will not object to an investigation. I feel it my duty to inform a coroner of the facts in the case, and if on examination no traces of the action of poison can be found in the deceased, of course you are entirely exonerated from suspicion!"

"What!" exclaimed Paul Morton. "Do you think I will suffer myself to be subjected to such a degrading suspicion—a man of my position in society—what advantage could I possibly reap from my friend's death?"

"He was a rich man," suggested James Cromwell, significantly.

"That is true," said the merchant, with self-possession. "He was a rich man."

"And he may have left his property to you."

"You happen to be mistaken there. He had left his property to his son, a boy of fourteen."

"Where is this son?" asked the clerk, a little taken aback by this discovery, which was new to him.

"He is now in my house."

"And suppose the boy dies?"

It was now Paul Morton's turn to hesitate.

"That is not very probable," he said. "He is a strong, vigorous boy."

"Who is to be his guardian?"

"I am."

"Indeed! And if he dies, is there no provision made as to the property?"

"It will go to me, if he dies before attaining his majority."

The clerk coughed—a little significant cough—which annoyed Mr. Morton not a little. It conveyed an imputation which he couldn't resent, because it was indirect.

"I hope you are satisfied," he said at length.

"Oh, certainly; that is, nearly so," said James Cromwell: "but then it is not enough that I should be satisfied."

"Why not?"

"My employer may not be."

"Does your employer know who made the purchase?"

"No, I have not as yet communicated the name to him."

"Don't tell him, then. It is none of his business."

"He will not agree with you there."

"What matter if he does not?"

"You must remember that I am a poor clerk, dependent on my salary, and that in my position, it is not safe to risk offending my employer. Suppose I am discharged from my position, how am I to live?"

"Can you not procure another situation?"

"Not if he refuses his recommendation, which would probably be the case. Besides, our business is crowded, and under the most favorable circumstances I might be weeks, and possibly months, without employment."

Paul Morton leaned his head on his hand, and considered what was to be done with this difficult visitor. It was evident that he expected to be bought off and that he must be.

"What wages do you get?" he asked, looking up.

"Twenty dollars a week, sir," said Cromwell.

As the reader knows, this was just double what he did receive, and as Mr. Morton was not likely to inquire of his employer, he felt that the lie was a safe one, and likely to conduce to his advantage.

"Twenty dollars a week! Very well, I will tell you what you must do. In the first place, you must refuse to make your employer any communications respecting this affair."

"Very well, sir."

"And if he discharges you, I will pay you twenty dollars a week until you can get another situation. Perhaps I may find you some other employment, unless you prefer your present business."

"No, sir, I don't like it."

"Do, then, as I tell you, and I will see that you suffer no loss."

"Thank you, sir," said James Cromwell, rising. "I will follow your directions, and let you know the result to-morrow evening."

The clerk left the house in a very contented frame of mind. He determined to resign his situation the next morning, and claim the stipulated weekly allowance.

CHAPTER IX.

HOW MATTERS WERE ARRANGED

After the clerk had left him, Paul Morton began to consider what was best to be done. He had at first been inclined to despise this man as insignificant and incapable of mischief, but the interview which he had just had convinced him that on this point he was mistaken. It was evident that he was in the clerk's power, and just as evident that the latter wanted to be bought off.

"After all, it is not so bad," he said to himself, "he has his price; the only question is, whether that price is an exorbitant one or not. I must make the best possible terms with him."

There was another question to be decided, and that related to his ward—young Robert Raymond.

Should he send him back to school or not?

While he was pondering as to this question, an idea occurred to him.

Why should he not kill two birds with one stone, by placing his ward in the charge of James Cromwell, with a liberal allowance, to be deducted from his ward's income for his trouble? Not that he considered the clerk, of whom he knew next to nothing, and that little not to his credit, a suitable person to have the charge of a boy. But then, he was not a conscientious guardian, and his only desire was, so to arrange matters as best to subserve his own interests. Besides, there were certain plans and hopes which he cherished that could best be subserved by a man not over scrupulous, and he judged rightly that James Cromwell would become a pliant tool in his hands if he were paid well enough for it.

He was not surprised to receive another visit from the clerk on the evening succeeding the interview which was chronicled in the last chapter.

"Well," he said, when the latter was ushered into his presence, and they were left alone, "what have you to tell me?"

"I have lost my situation," said Cromwell, briefly.

"Then your employer was offended at your silence?"

"Yes; he said he must know who bought the article."

"And you refused to tell him?"

"I did. Upon this he said that he had no further occasion for my services, and that under the circumstances he must refuse me a recommendation. So you see I have got into serious trouble on account of keeping your secret."

Paul Morton winced at the last two words, but he didn't comment upon them.

Could the late employer of James Cromwell have heard the assertions just made by his clerk, he would have opened wide his eyes in astonishment. The fact was that the clerk had alleged failing health as a reason for giving up his situation, and had at that very moment an excellent recommendation from his employer in his pocket. It must be said that he deserved it, for he had been a faithful and competent assistant in the shop, however destitute he might be of moral qualities. But James Cromwell had no idea of entering the shop of another druggist. His ideas had been enlarged, and he aspired to something less laborious, and more remunerative.

"I must see what I can do for you," said Paul Morton, who was quite prepared for the communication which had been made him. "Last evening I did not see any way clear, but a plan has since then occurred to me. But it is necessary that I should first know a little more about you. Have you ever been in the West?"

"Yes, sir, I was born in Indiana."

"Then you have some acquaintance about there?"

"Yes, sir," said the clerk, wondering what was coming.

"How would you like to buy out a drug-shop in some prosperous Western town? As a proprietor the business might be more agreeable to you than as a clerk."

"Yes, sir, it would," said the clerk, brightening up. The prospect of a business of his own struck him favorably.

"But I have no money," he added.

"That matter could be arranged," said the merchant. "Of course I cannot pay except for services rendered, but I have a charge to intrust you with."

James Cromwell awaited with interest and curiosity what should be said next.

Paul Morton continued:

"I have been thinking," he said, "that it will be better for my ward's health that he should reside in the West. My opinion is that the rough winds of the Atlantic coast may be injurious for him, but I have been puzzled to decide upon a competent man to take charge of him. I am inclined to think that as you have nothing to prevent your going out West, and moreover, are acquainted with the country, it will suit my views to give you the general oversight of Robert. He can board at the same place with you, and go to school."

"What shall I receive for my services?" asked James Cromwell, coming at once to that part of the business which was to him of the greatest importance.

"I have been thinking of that," said the merchant. "How much will it cost to buy out a fair druggist's shop?"

"It might be managed for two or three thousand dollars."

"Two thousand dollars will be quite enough, I am sure. Very well, I am willing to buy you such a business, and allow you besides, a thousand dollars a year for the charge of the boy. Out of this you will pay for his board and clothes, and the balance you can keep for your trouble."

"There won't be much left," grumbled the clerk, though the offer exceeded what he anticipated. Still he wished to make the best bargain he could.

"Half of it will be left," said the merchant; "his board in a Western town won't cost more than two hundred and fifty dollars a year, leaving the same sum for his clothing and miscellaneous expenses. That will consume only one-half of the money, leaving you five hundred, besides what you can make from your business."

"How old is the boy?"

"Fourteen years old."

"Do you think he will be willing to come with me?"

"It doesn't make much difference whether he is willing or not. As his guardian, it is my right to make such arrangements for him as I choose."

"How soon do you wish me to undertake the charge?"

"As soon as you can. Do you think of any town or village where you think it would suit you to settle down?"

"Yes," said James Cromwell, after a pause, "I think of one town where I heard that the druggist wished to sell out."

"What is the name of the town?"

"Barton."

"And where is it located?"

"In the southern part of Indiana."

"Yes, that will do."

There was a pause at this point. James Cromwell was waiting to learn what farther communication the merchant might have to make. The latter hesitated because he wished to come to an understanding on a certain point which it required some delicacy to introduce.

"I suppose," he commenced, "when you inquired the boy's age, you wished to understand how long this arrangement was likely to last?"

"Yes, sir. That is an important consideration."

"Then again," said Paul Morton, trying to speak indifferently, "of course there is the contingency of his early death, which would cut off your income arising from the allowance I make for him."

"Yes," said the clerk, "but if I remember rightly, it would be a benefit to you, for you would inherit the property in his place."

"Yes; that was the arrangement his father made without my knowledge. But that has nothing to do with you. I will tell you what I have decided to do in the contingency which I have just named. If the boy dies, you will be an annual loser; I will agree to give you outright such a sum as will produce an equal annual income, say ten thousand dollars."

"You will give me ten thousand dollars if the boy dies?"

"Yes; should he be removed by an early death, though, of course, that is not probable, I will make over to you the sum I have named."

"Ten thousand dollars?"

"Yes; ten thousand dollars, as a testimonial of my appreciation of your services in taking charge of him. That certainly is a liberal arrangement."

"Yes," said James Cromwell, in a low voice, his pale face a little paler than its wont, for he knew as well as his employer, that the sum mentioned was indirectly offered him as an inducement to make way with the boy. He could not prove it, of course, but it was clear to his own mind, and Paul Morton meant that it should be.

"Come here to-morrow," he said, rising, as a signal of dismissal, "and meanwhile I will prepare my ward for the new plans which we have been discussing."

James Cromwell rose, and his mind in a tumult of various emotions, left the house in Twenty-ninth Street.

CHAPTER X.

A VILLAINOUS SUGGESTION

"Tell Robert Raymond that I wish to speak to him," said Paul Morton, to a servant who answered his bell.

"Yes, sir."

In five minutes Robert entered his presence. The boy was clad in a suit of black, and his face was grave and sad. The death of his father, his only relation of whom he had any knowledge, had weighed heavily upon his feelings, and he moved about the house in a listless way, with little appetite or spirit.