SAVED BY A SHADOW.
In a few seconds Al perceived that the picture had not been endowed with
life; the painted figure remained in its place; it was a being of flesh
and blood that was approaching him.
The intruder had been standing in front of the picture; the dim light
and Al's preoccupation had conspired to render the boy unconscious of
his presence.
"Who are you?" our hero exclaimed, as the man approached him.
The next moment he recognized the fellow, and added in a startled voice:
"Farley!"
"Yes," said the ex-advance agent, "it's Farley, the man you knocked out.
You're a little surprised to see me, aren't you?"
"What do you want?" demanded the boy.
"I'll show you what I want."
And he darted between Al and the door.
"Get out of my way!" the lad exclaimed, attempting to push him aside.
But Farley seized him by the throat and forced him to the floor.
"You won't escape me this time," he hissed.
Al struggled to release himself, but the grasp of the drink-maddened
brute was not to be shaken off.
"No, you don't!" he said, in a fierce whisper. "I warned you that you
had not heard the last of me."
Al tried to cry for help, but could only make an inarticulate sound.
Farley dragged him in the direction of the window, saying:
"You got away from me last night, but you won't this time."
"So," Al managed to gasp, "you were the masked man who accused me of
being a horse thief?"
"I was the man. You nearly turned the tables on me that time, but you
won't have the same luck twice in succession."
As he spoke Farley relaxed his grasp on the boy's throat.
"Youngster," he went on, "if it hadn't been for you I shouldn't have
lost my job with Gus Wattles. Its loss, under the circumstances, means
ruin for me. I can't catch up again, unless----"
"Is that my fault?" interrupted Al, seeing that the man was crazed with
drink, and that the wisest policy was to attempt to conciliate him. "I
didn't take the position until Mr. Wattles had decided to discharge
you."
"It's a lie!"
"It's the truth."
"If you had not been available he would have taken me back."
"I don't know anything about that. Of course, I had no feeling against
you in the matter. I wanted the place, but I could not have obtained it
if your work had been satisfactory."
"You used some underhanded method to oust me."
"I did not."
"You did. If you had not, how could you have gotten the place? There are
dozens--hundreds--of experienced men, who would have been glad to take
the position at half my salary. No, you did it for private reasons of
your own. You were hired to do it to separate me from her."
"From whom?"
"You know well enough who I mean."
"I have not the slightest idea," replied Al.
By this time Farley had permitted him to rise to his feet, but still
kept between him and the door.
"I mean Gladys--as you know," said the drink-maddened man; "Gladys, for
whom I would give my very life."
"Miss March?"
It was with genuine surprise that Al asked this question.
"Yes."
"You think that I am in a conspiracy to separate you from her?"
"I know it."
"You are entirely mistaken. I know nothing at all about Miss March's
affairs; in fact, I have never even spoken to her."
"It is a lie. But come, I have no more time to waste. This job must be
done."
He again seized the boy by the throat, and dragged him toward the
window. Al was by no means a weakling, but he was absolutely powerless
in the grasp of his frenzied assailant.
With one hand Farley held his intended victim, while with the other he
threw up the window sash.
"No one in the street below," he hissed, "is looking, and if they were
they could not see us. When your body is found, your death will be
considered an accident."
Al now lay on his back upon the sill; half his body was out of the
window. Apparently the villain's object was almost accomplished, and in
a few seconds the boy's mutilated body would be lying upon the pavement
below.
"I never knew before," said Farley, "how sweet revenge was."
"You won't know just yet," said Al, "if I can help it."
As he spoke, realizing his extreme peril, he made one last, desperate
effort, exerting all his strength, and succeeded in regaining his
footing.
The struggle was renewed, but it seemed certain that it must result in
the boy's defeat.
Suddenly, however, Farley released his hold on Al and rushed to the
opposite side of the room, crying:
"Interfere, will you?"
At first our hero could not understand this action, but in a moment he
comprehended it.
The villain had actually been frightened by his own shadow, which was
strongly outlined on the wall opposite. It might have been mistaken even
by a sober man for an intruder; and in his excited condition Farley was
certain that some one had come to the rescue of his intended victim.
Of course, he quickly discovered his mistake, but Al had now time to
rush to the door, fling it open, and make his escape from the room.
Outside the door stood one of the hotel clerks, who had evidently just
arrived upon the scene, and who demanded:
"What's going on in there?"
Before Al could reply Farley rushed out of the room and started for the
staircase. In a moment he had disappeared.
Al started to follow him, but the clerk seized him by the collar,
shouting:
"You won't get away quite as easily as all that, my fine fellow! Now,
what's your little game?"
"Don't keep me standing here," cried the boy, trying to shake off the
man's detaining grasp.
"That's all right," was the response of the zealous employee, who was
under the impression that he had captured a hotel thief. "You just keep
quiet. I've got you all right, and your pal won't get out of the house
as easily as he thinks."
By the time Al had explained the situation so that the clerk understood
it, Farley had had ample time to make his escape.
The man was somewhat crestfallen when he realized that he had made a
mistake.
"No matter," he said, "the ruffian can't have gotten out. They'd be sure
to detain him downstairs."
But, as they learned when they reached the office, Farley had eluded
them. He had walked leisurely out, lighting a cigar, apparently in a
perfectly easy, unconcerned frame of mind.
Having notified the police of what had occurred, Al returned to his
room, and in a few minutes had retired for the night, having first
assured himself that there were no other unbidden guests in the
apartment.
The next morning he found a note awaiting him in the office. It read as
follows:
"You are a lucky youth, but your luck won't last
forever. You don't lead a charmed life. I am on my
mettle now, and I am going to settle you if I swing
for it."
There was no signature, but of course Al knew well enough who the writer
of the precious communication was.
He did not feel particularly worried; in fact, he had no time to worry
just then, for, as he put the note in his pocket, the morning papers
were placed in his hand by the clerk, with the remark:
"Well, young man, you are a corker and no mistake."