Mr. Leonard was in quite a serious mood as he sat that evening in the
spacious library of his elegant home.
The room he occupied was charmingly appointed. Bookcases in rich
foreign woods, well-filled with tasteful volumes, alternated with fine
pictures and suggestive bits of statuary, gave the room an aspect
which only combined culture and wealth could produce. A richly-colored
carpet covered the floor. An elegant chandelier in bronze hung over the
wide center-table, which was covered with delicate bits of ornament,
utilized as ink stands, paper-weights, etc.
This was Mr. Leonard’s favorite room. Here he spent most of his
evenings, and here the family were apt to follow him, leaving the more
pretentious rooms below for company purposes.
He had been a widower now for about a year, and his present family
consisted of his ward, Jennie Arlington, of a son and daughter, both
as yet quite young, and of a matronly maiden aunt, who filled the
responsible position of housekeeper.
She was too old-fashioned to entertain company, and on Jennie were
thrown the labor and the pleasure of entertainment. Fortunately none
could have been better fitted to do the honors of the elegant mansion.
Despite her youthfulness, she had that womanly tact which makes natural
entertainers sometimes of mere children in years.
“And what ails Uncle Harry to-night?” she asked, confronting him in his
restless stride.
By this title she had always been used to call him, though there was
really no relationship between them. He had become her guardian, and
taken her as a member of his family, at the request of an old friend
by whom she had been raised, and who had left her a good share of
his fortune though even he was but an adopted father. There was some
mystery, known only to Mr. Leonard, about her origin.
“Nothing, child,” he said, somewhat querulously. “Some business bother,
that is all. Sit down to your book, and I will walk my nerves into
quietness in five minutes.”
“But you always leave business at the store,” she said, persistently.
“I never knew business yet to affect your appetite or unsettle your
nerves.”
“I suspect I am getting old and uneasy,” he answered, with a forced
laugh. “You must look for more whims from me in the future.”
“I think I will take a walk, too, uncle,” she replied, taking his arm.
“But, you really go too fast; I cannot follow such a stride as that.”
“If you get in my carriage you must travel at my speed,” he said,
laughing. “You are a little pest, Jennie. I wish you would let me
alone.”
“Your hair wants smoothing,” she said, stroking his abundant locks.
“Sit down and let me put it into shape. It is tossed like a lion’s
mane.”
“Well, well, I suppose I will have to give in. A man cannot enjoy his
troubles in any comfort where you are.”
“It was bothers a minute ago. Now it is troubles. What will it be next,
I wonder?” she said, as she hovered about him, tastefully arranging his
hair. “What has ruffled you, Uncle Harry? I want to know.”
“So that you can tell your bosom friends, Miss Milton and Annie Jones?”
“My lips are sealed to silence, sir,” she said, with mock dignity.
“It is a secret, then? So much the better. I dote on secrets. I would
not divulge it for an ocean of silver. What is it? Murder, arson, or
burglary? Something delightfully horrible, I hope.”
She looked the spirit of mischief, as she stood over him, in her gray
evening dress, her black, waving hair, and sparkling eyes in strong
contrast, while a color sash, and a gay bow at her throat, broke the
uniformity. It was the forfeit which her lover, John Elkton, had given
her.
“I am in earnest, Jennie. I want you to be secret,” he said, gravely.
“Your last guess is the right one. It is a robbery that frets me.”
“Robbery!” she cried, with parted lips. “Well, I declare! Was it
serious? Was your store broken into last night?”
“Nothing so commonplace as that, or there would be no secret about it.
There is a mystery connected with the affair which obliges us to be
circumspect, lest we should put the villains on their guard.”
“Well, really!” she cried, with childish excitement, taking a chair,
and seating herself beside him. “Go on, uncle, I am so eager to learn
all about it. Maybe I could be of some help.”
“Not you, my child. It is a matter for police detectives. Even they
are, as yet, at fault.”
“Tell me! quick! before Aunt Hannah comes in. You don’t know what a
talent I have for guessing. I may throw wonderful light upon it.”
“Yes, a talent for guessing wrong,” he said, smilingly.
She had quite roused him from his abstraction. Laughing at her
impatience, he proceeded to give a description of the mysterious
robberies that had been discovered in his store within the last few
days.
This relation was interrupted by a dozen exclamations on her part.
“Now that is too strange,” she cried, drawing her chair round, so that
she directly fronted him. “I don’t wonder you are worried. The thieves
must be ever so shrewd. I won’t begin to guess just yet. And such a
fool, too! Those silks were very valuable?”
“Yes. They were of superior quality. I don’t think there are any like
them in the city.”
“That may help then to find them, if they should be offered for sale.”
In her eagerness she had leaned forward till her face was very near his.
“We have hopes in that direction,” he replied. “But--what--where did
you get that?”
His face had suddenly become pallid. He was pointing with a trembling
finger at her throat.
“What?” she asked, drawing hastily back with a frightened look.
“That! That bow! Where did you get it?” he cried, starting up, and
seizing her wrist in his excitement, while he eagerly scrutinized the
innocent ornament.
“I do not know what you mean, uncle,” she exclaimed, drawing her wrist
from his too severe gripe.
“It is a piece of the silk! of the stolen silk! I tell you,” he
ejaculated, in strong excitement. “You may have the clew there to the
robbery. Where did you get it?”
“The stolen silk! It cannot be!”
“It is. There is no doubt of it.”
This was a dreadful revelation. She sunk back in her chair, a deep
pallor coming upon her face. A thousand fearful contingencies crossed
her mind in that one dread minute.
“But you have not answered, Jennie.”
Nor did she yet answer. Her face grew even whiter. She covered it with
her hands, with a shuddering motion that surprised and pained him.
The strong man looked down upon the girl, almost cowering before him.
With a sudden impulse he seized her hands and drew them from her face,
looking with a searching glance into her eyes.
“Where did you get it?”
“I cannot tell you.”
It was a strained, unnatural voice that spoke.
“You cannot?” His tones vibrated with surprise and dread. “What shall I
understand by this strange action? Answer me! You must!”
“Oh, uncle!” she exclaimed, in agony, again covering her face. “Ask me
not. It is impossible that I should answer.”
“Why, are you crazy, Jennie?”
“No, no! Let me go! Give me time to think!”
“You know the robber, girl. He has been giving you part of his stolen
goods. I must have his name.”
“I do not know him! I could not tell you now if I did.”
“Was it that boy I sent here yesterday?”
“That boy?” she asked, doubtfully, as a sudden dishonorable thought
shot across her mind.
“Yes! It was he! He gave you the silk!” He spoke with a tone of
conviction.
“I will not answer! I will answer nothing! Not now! I must have time to
think!”
With a quick, stooping motion she broke from him, and darted out of
the door of the room, her black hair streaming behind her, her pallid,
scared face haunting him as if he had seen a specter.