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Brave Tom: The Battle That Won, a fiction by Edward Sylvester Ellis |
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Chapter 23 |
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_ Chapter XXIII That night, after the establishment of Mr. Warmore was closed and the employees had gone home, two persons remained behind to engage in earnest consultation. They were the proprietor and G. Field Catherwood, the young man who expected, at the end of the year, to become an equal partner with him. The doors were fastened, and the two sat alone in the private office, the expression on the faces of both showing that some grave matter weighed upon them. "How long has this been going on?" asked Mr. Warmore. "For two weeks or more; that is to say, I discovered it about a fortnight ago. No doubt it has been kept up in a small way for a long time previous to that." "How much do you suppose has been taken altogether?" "Several hundred dollars; perhaps a thousand." "And your suspicions point to Mr. Gordon?" "I am sorry to say they do. Of course he was the last one to suspect; but, when I began quietly investigating, the trail led unmistakably to him." "What caused you first to suspect him, Mr. Catherwood?" "Well, when a merchant finds some, one of his employees is robbing him, the most natural thing to do is to look into the habits of them all. If he discovers that one is living beyond his means, he naturally probes a little farther; and, if his habits prove to be extravagant, the suspicion increases." "What did you find out about Mr. Gordon?" "I accidentally learned that he has a considerable sum in the savings-bank." "He deserves credit for that." "True, if that which was deposited was his own. Besides, he spends a good deal of money." "In what way?" "In the first place, on his clothes." "He certainly is well dressed, but no more so than his salary will permit." "Last week he paid off a mortgage on the farm of Mr. Pitcairn, and then made a present of it to the old gentleman." "What was the amount?" "Several thousand dollars." "You are mistaken. Mr. Pitcairn told me of it three days ago. He had promised Mr. Gordon not to tell any one; but the farmer was so happy that he said he could not keep it back. It was only three hundred dollars, however." "Then I was misinformed," Catherwood hastened to say with a flush; "but I happen to know he is speculating in Wall Street, and betting on the races." "That is bad; is your information reliable?" "There can be no doubt of its truth." "Have you any objection to telling me the channel through which this knowledge reached you?" "I would be glad to do so, but the source at present is confidential." "Very well; I am sorry to hear this about Mr. Gordon, for, as you know, I held him in high regard. For the present, let us keep the matter a close secret. Do not let him see he is under suspicion, and we will not move until certain there can be no mistake in the matter." A few minutes later the two walked out of the front door, which was carefully locked behind them, and sauntered homeward. The younger man went to the chief hotel of the town, while the elder continued up the highway, thinking deeply over the subject he had just discussed with Catherwood. Now, it so happened that Josiah Warmore, the merchant, was a far shrewder man than G. Field Catherwood suspected. If the latter had been playing a part, so had the former. As has been intimated, it came to the knowledge of the merchant, about a fortnight before, that some one in his employ was systematically robbing him. Gatherwood first dropped a hint, and then both investigated so far as the opportunity allowed. The result turned suspicion toward Tom Gordon. The merchant had learned, in the course of his long and varied experience, the sad truth that no man in the world can be picked out and declared, beyond all possibility of doubt, to be absolutely honest. Thousands of people live and die and go to their graves wrapped in the mantle of unassailable integrity. It may be they have not defrauded a person out of a penny, for the simple reason that the temptation has never been strong enough to make them do so. Had it been a little stronger, they would have succumbed. Others, after years of straightforward life, have fallen. So it might be that, though he had given full trust to Tom Gordon, he was not worthy to receive that trust. This half-belief caused the chill in his treatment of the young man, so different from that to which he had been accustomed. Before making up his final judgment, however, Mr. Warmore resolved that every vestige of doubt should be removed. He sent for Mr. Fyfe Lathewood, one of the shrewdest detectives in New York City, told him all the circumstances, and ordered him to find out the whole truth, no matter what it cost, or where it might strike. The detective had been at work the better part of a week, without any one in Bellemore suspecting his identity or business. On the afternoon of the day in which Tom Gordon checked the runaway pony of Miss Warmore, the detective dropped into the store, as any stranger might have done, made a few trifling purchases, and then turned and walked out. As he did so, he managed to pass close to the proprietor, who was standing at the front, and whispered:-- "_It isn't Gordon; I'll see you to-night_." Mr. Warmore was strolling homeward, swinging the heavy cane which he always carried, when, in passing a small stretch of woods just beyond the outskirts of the town, a man stepped from among the trees with the stealth of a shadow and waited for him to approach. The merchant hesitated a moment in doubt of his identity, but the other spoke in a low voice,-- "It's all right; come on." "I wasn't quite sure," remarked Mr. Warmore, turning aside among the trees, where he could talk with the detective without the possibility of being seen or overheard. "Well," said the merchant in a guarded voice, "what is it?" "It was a dirty piece of business to throw suspicion on that young Gordon. He is as innocent as you or I." "What did you learn about him?" "You told me of that mortgage which he paid off for the farmer where he has lived so long." "Yes; there is no doubt of the truth of that." "He has been in your employ for four or five years. You tell me he is saving, and has no bad habits. So the paying of such a small mortgage ought not to be impossible." "By no means." "Nor would it be strange if he had a nest-egg in the savings-bank?" "Knowing him as well as I do, I would be surprised if such was not the fact. There is no one in the world dependent on him, and his wages are liberal. But what about Wall Street and the races?" "He has never risked a dollar there, I am sure of it." "I had my doubts, but Catherwood told me he had positive information." "He simply lied to you--that's all. Have you found how this money is taken from you? Does it disappear through the day,--that is, is it missing at night in making up the accounts, or is the money short in the morning?" "It has happened in both ways." "You do not keep a private watchman?" "We have one who passes along the front every half hour or so, and looks in to see if the light is burning, and everything is right. Two of the clerks sleep overhead, so it would seem that such a thing as burglary is out of the question." "Can you get me inside the store to-night without being seen?" "I guess I can manage it," replied the merchant in surprise. "How would you like to go with me? There will be no personal danger. I will see to that." "What time of the night do you wish to enter?" "It isn't likely there will be a visitor before midnight; but, to make sure, we will say about eleven." "I can warn the watchman"-- "You mustn't think of such a thing! We must slip inside without a soul knowing it. The watchman is the last one to trust." "Do you suspect _him_?" asked the astonished Mr. Warmore. "Not in the least; but you must never trust any person when it can possibly be avoided. Doubtless, he means well, but he may leak. The gentleman for whom we are looking might take it into his head to quiz him: do you see?" "It shall be as you say. Will you call for me?" "Yes; it will be safe enough, I think, to do that." After his family had retired, Mr. Warmore lit a cigar a few minutes before the time mentioned, and sauntered down the path in front of his house. Detective Lathewood was prompt, and met him at his gate. They walked briskly along the highway, until they entered the town and approached the large establishment which had been in the possession of the Warmore family for the better part of a century. The merchant's familiarity with his own premises enabled him to enter by a back way, without attracting the attention of the watchman or any one. They waited till the streets, which were quite clear at that late hour, showed no one near, when they slipped inside, and closed the door behind them. It was important that the two clerks sleeping upstairs should not be awakened; for they were not only likely to begin shooting, if they heard intruders below, but, of necessity, would learn of the project which the detective and the merchant had in mind. Every foot was familiar to Mr. Warmore, who reached the large main room of his establishment without mishap. Lathewood did the same, by keeping close to him, and feeling each inch of the way. Here there was a light burning; and they had to be extremely careful, since their movements could be seen by any one passing the front. The opportunities, however, for concealment were so good that they readily secured a place where they could sit down behind the far end of the counter, and remain unobserved in comfort. This was done, and the trying wait began. The detective was so accustomed to that sort of thing, that he remained cool and collected. He would have liked to smoke a cigar to help while away the time, but was too wise to attempt anything of the kind. The odor of tobacco would be certain to warn any one who entered by means of the front door. Mr. Warmore was nervous, for the experience was new to him. He succeeded by a great effort in keeping himself well in hand, venturing only to whisper a word now and then. "You don't think he is likely to come in the back way?" he asked in a guarded undertone. "There is not the slightest danger of his doing so. That would look suspicious. He will use the front door, so, if seen and challenged, he will be ready with the excuse that he has called on legitimate business of his own. At the same time, he will try to manage it so as not to be observed by any one. That watchman of yours is not the keenest-eyed fellow in the world." Some time later, just as the town clock finished booming the hour of midnight, the officer touched the arm of his companion, who said,-- "I haven't noticed anything; what is it?" "Did you hear some one walk past?" "Yes; the footfall sounded plainly enough: what of it?" "That is the third time that man has gone by. He is on the alert." "It may have been different persons." "It was the same man--sh! there he comes on the porch." In the stillness of the night the sound was plainly heard. The next moment a key turned in the lock of the door, which was silently shoved inward. The visitor, whoever he was, acted with the coolness of a professional. He entered by the main door, so, if it chanced that any one saw him, he could explain the cause of his visit. At the same time, he made as sure as was possible that no one did see him. Knowing the movements of the watchman, he waited until he was out of the way, with the certainty that he would not be back again under a half-hour at the least. That interval was more than sufficient to do all that he had in mind, and to take his departure. He opened the door so quietly that, but for the warning rattle of the key, it would have been hard for the watchers to hear him. Almost before they knew it he stood inside with the door closed. Here the light fell upon him, and revealed his identity to the men at the rear. Neither was surprised. Although they had not mentioned their suspicions to each other, both were morally certain the thief would prove to be the man whom they now identified. G. Field Catherwood. Walking quickly and softly across the floor to the private office, which opened off from the other end of the counter, the prospective partner of the business stooped down, turned the shining knob of the safe round until the right combination had been struck, and swung back the immense, massive door. Then from an inner drawer he drew the merchant's bank-book, in which were clasped several hundred dollars in bills. Two of the largest denomination--fifty each--were withdrawn, and the book returned to its place. No veteran could have been cooler than Catherwood. He looked and acted no more like the exquisite on the steamboat than did Tom Gordon himself. He was the sleek, cunning, hypocritical villain he had always been, stealing, not because he was in need of money, but because it was his nature to do so. "_Well, Mr. Catherwood, it looks as if the account will be a little short to-morrow_!" The miscreant started as if he had heard the warning of a rattlesnake at his feet. Turning like a flash, he saw Mr. Warmore standing at his elbow. Had he received but a few seconds' notice, he might have tried to bluff it out, by pretending he had come to look after some matters about which he was not fully satisfied. Holding the situation he did in the establishment, he could feel certain no one would suspect him of any sinister purpose. But the exposure dropped like a thunderbolt. He had not an instant to prepare himself. He was caught in the act, and could explain nothing. Mr. Warmore, upon seeing who the thief was, whispered to the detective,-- "Leave him to me; don't show yourself, unless he resists." Before the shivering rogue could make protest, the merchant, suppressing his anger, said with a coolness which surprised himself as much as it did the officer crouching a few paces away, with his hand on his revolver,-- "We will call the amount stolen an even thousand dollars, Mr. Catherwood. How soon will you be prepared to restore it?" "Why--why--why"-- "As a beginning, suppose you return that which you have just taken." Catherwood did as ordered without a word. "Now re-lock the safe. Be sure you have the right combination. No one knows it besides you and me. I will give you a week in which to send back the rest." G. Field Catherwood was recovering his nerve. He was furious with himself that he had been so completely knocked out. "Suppose I don't choose to return it, what then?" "It will be ten years or more in State prison." "Bah! you will have a sweet time proving anything against me." "I have a witness at hand." "W-w-what!" "_Give me the word and I'll have the nippers on him before you can say Jack Robinson_." The detective, without rising to his feet or allowing himself to be seen, uttered these words in such a sepulchral tone that they almost lifted the hair on the head of the criminal. He started, and stared affrightedly back in the gloom. "What do you say?" asked the merchant. "It's all right; it's all right. I'll send it to you as soon as I can get back to the city. Don't be too hard on a fellow, Warmore. I declare"-- "Enough has been said. Now go!" He went. "You are too tender-hearted," remarked Detective Lathewood, when he and Mr. Warmore were walking homeward. "Perhaps I am; but mean as is the man, I shuddered at the thought of disgracing and ruining him for life." "But it was _he_, not _you_, who does that." "True; I know that's the way you officers of the law look at it. But this is not the first time I have had dealings with young men who have yielded to temptation. I think it is safer to err on the side of charity than that of sternness. It is better to reform than to punish a man." "Do you think you have reformed that specimen?" "Far from it; he is the most contemptible scoundrel I ever knew. He is rich, and therefore has no excuse for stealing. Worse than all, he tried to ruin a young man whose shoe-latchet he is not worthy to unloose." "So you unloose _him_. But let him go. He is certain not to trouble you or any of your family again." Two days later Mr. Warmore received a certified check for nine hundred dollars; and thus the account between him and G. Field Catherwood was closed. He was never seen in Bellemore again. Ten years later he died, while travelling abroad with a woman whom he had made his wife. Then, for the first time, Tom Gordon learned the particulars of the night when Mr. Warmore assisted the detective. Let us take one more, and the final, leap forward. Three years have passed since Tom Gordon checked runaway Jack, and saved the life of pretty Jennie Warmore. They have been three years of undimmed happiness to both; for during the last one of those years they two became man and wife. Oh, it all came about so naturally, that you would not care to know the particulars. Tom was given a share in the business which he had done so much to develop; and on the day previous to his wedding his prospective father-in-law presented him with a half interest, thus insuring him a handsome income for life. Tom made one condition, which was carried out in spirit and letter. Mr. Pitcairn, from whose hospitable roof he took his final departure, was to have all the groceries, dry-goods, and every sort of supplies from the store as long as he lived, without paying one penny therefor. And it is a pleasure to record that this arrangement continued without break until the old couple were finally laid to rest in the churchyard beside poor Jim Travers who had passed on long before. Among the wedding presents to the bride was the locket and chain which she herself had taken from her neck years previous, when drowning in the North River, and linked about the button on the coat of her rescuer. She and her parents were amazed beyond measure as they stood with only her smiling husband present, examining the treasure. "It is the same," said the wondering mother, opening the locket, and looking at the childish features, "the very one you wore about your neck on that awful night." "But where did it come from?" asked the father, taking it from his wife's hand, and examining it with an interest that can hardly be described. "There is no name with it," added Jennie, "and--do you know anything about it, Tom?" she asked abruptly, turning short upon him. "Didn't I tell you years ago, when you related the story, that the boy would turn up sooner or later. Well, he has done so, and what of it?" "But where is he?" He opened his arms, and the proud, happy bride rushed into his embrace, while the parents stared, not able quite to understand what it all meant. "Yes," said he, looking around, "I was the fortunate boy who jumped into the water after you, and found that chain wound round the button of my coat. I have kept it and the locket ever since, but I never knew you were the original until I heard the story from your lips." "You scamp!" exclaimed Mr. Warmore. "And you never said a word about it." "Yes, you mean fellow, why didn't you tell us?" demanded Jennie, disposed to pout. "You were sure you would know the young gentleman; and I meant that if I ever gained your love you should love me for myself, and not for any accident of the past." "But--but how jolly it would have been if we had known it was you! For you see I have had two heroes all along. One was you, and the other was that unknown boy who took a plunge in the icy river for my sake." "You may have those two heroes still," said Tom. "So I have; but now the two are one." "And so are _we_," he added, touching his lips to the sweet mouth that did not refuse to meet them. "And any way, I could not love you a bit more than I have all along." And the grateful, happy fellow, in looking back over his stormy boyhood and young manhood, and feeling how strongly he had striven at all times to live by the Golden Rule, knew in his heart that it was to that fact that he had Fought the Battle that Won.
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