A FEW SURPRISING DISCLOSURES
When Judge Danvers returned to the city he at once set himself to the
completion of his plans for the liberation of Major Montague.
This was all the easier, because the very man who had caused that
gentleman’s arrest had done so without any intention of actually
bringing him to any “trial and conviction.”
Such a net as they had cast around the Major was readily untangled by
the skilful fingers of the great lawyer, even while he transferred the
whole of it to his own control.
As to the moderate sum of money it cost him, he never once thought of
that.
The immediate consequences were twofold.
The first, that Major Montague found himself that Saturday morning,
sitting in front of the Judge’s table in the inner room of his _suite_
of “offices,” to all appearances, at least, a free man again.
The second, that the moment the doors of the prison closed behind him
and he found his movements once more untrammeled, Major Montague began
to feel a strong return of his habitual “bumptiousness,” not to say
insolence, of disposition.
“I’m out now,” he said to himself, “and old Danvers’ll never dream of
sending me back again. Besides, I don’t half believe he can. Anyhow,
I mean to make some kind of terms for myself before I tell him all I
know. It’s the best card I’ve got and he must pay for it before he
plays it.”
Another idea, and one against the evil of which Judge Danvers ought
to have carefully guarded him, had been that he would go and poison
himself with “just about five fingers of old rye,” before he went to
the lawyer’s office.
Not that such a man could find anything like intoxication in a single
drink of whiskey, however liberal, but that it supplied him with the
very kind of wooden-headed obstinacy which he thought he needed, and
which fools of his kind--all fools who drink whiskey--mistake for
courage.
“I can face him down now,” he muttered, as he reached the door, “only I
wish I’d put in just one more real good snifter.”
Another, most likely, would have been followed by “just one more,” for
his prison fare had left him very “dry.”
There he was now, however, with the hard penetrating eyes of Judge
Danvers looking him through and through as he asked him:
“Did you ever see that black valise before?”
“It’s the one Jack Chills stole from me the day he ran away,” said the
Major, with a toss of his head.
“No nonsense, please,” calmly responded the lawyer. “Now, you’ve
promised to tell me the history of it and what is in it. Perhaps the
shortest way will be to open it at once.”
“That’s my property, Judge,” said the Major, in a voice which was
getting louder and firmer. “It’s mine, and I’ll open it when and where
I please. I’ll thank you to hand it right over to me.”
“Hand it over to you?” exclaimed the lawyer.
“Yes, or pay me my own price for it. I want ten thousand down, and good
security----”
“Pay you--you miserable jail-bird!” almost fiercely interrupted the
angry lawyer. “I’ll pay you----”
Under other circumstances, the manifest indignation of so dangerous
a man as Judge Danvers would probably have cowed the Major at once,
but the alcoholic poison he had absorbed had done its usual work. He
was--or seemed to be--perfectly sober, but the idea uppermost in his
mind at the moment, was that he could assert his ownership of that
valise, and that he had the physical strength to “clean out” not only
the lawyer, but his whole office full of clerks.
He sprang to his feet, therefore, and was reaching out his long,
powerful arm towards the black leather prize, when the door of the
office swung open, just as Judge Danvers struck sharply upon his
sonorous little table-bell.
“Mr. Norton!” exclaimed the Judge, whose usually placid face was fairly
purple with indignation.
“Norton!” echoed Major Montague, as he drew back his hand and turned to
face the newcomer.
“Davis!” shouted the Judge to the clerk who now put his head inside
the door, “call an officer and ask him to wait outside.”
“One here now, sir,” responded the clerk.
“All right,” said the Judge. “Sit down, Montague. Mr. Norton, I am glad
to see you, but I’m very much occupied at this moment. Please excuse me
till I’m done with this person.”
“Ah! yes, of course; I beg your pardon, really,” returned the
Englishman. “But, Judge Danvers, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to take a
look at your friend there. Did I hear you call him Montague?”
There was a strong expression of disgust on the lawyer’s face when
Norton began, but it was now rapidly changing to one of intense
curiosity if not of expectation.
That of Major Montague, however, had undergone an even more complete
and rapid transformation.
He had even made a motion towards the door, without so much as grasping
for the valise, but the assured presence of the “officer” in the outer
room came crushingly upon him, and he sank back on his chair in a state
of mind that was plainly too much for even the strength of the “old
rye.”
Mr. Ashbel Norton walked slowly and steadily forward, looking straight
in the face of the Major, and it instantly occurred to Judge Danvers
that there was a decided resemblance to be traced between them,
although the Englishman was somewhat the more slender and younger
looking of the two.
The only remark the Judge made was, however, “Major Montague--Mr.
Ashbel Norton,” as if he were formally introducing two gentlemen.
“Montague!” again repeated the latter. “Now, that’s very good indeed!
Bob, you old sinner, have I found you at last? What have you done with
Lydia’s child? Where are the papers? Montague, indeed! Judge Danvers,
I’m more sorry and ashamed than I can tell you; but I am compelled to
make you acquainted with my elder brother, Mr. Robert Norton, formerly
a gentleman and a Major in the British army. What he is now you may
perhaps know as well as I do.”
The most cowardly of all wild beasts, from a wolf down to a rat, will
show fight when he is cornered, and the “Major” was, probably, never a
physical poltroon.
Well was it, therefore, that Ashbel Norton had been an “Eton boy” and
was a master of the art of self-defence. Well too, probably, that
his graceless brother had no better weapon than his huge fist at his
command.
Ashbel warded off very skilfully the half-dozen furious blows which
were rained upon him, but without once “striking back,” and by that
time there was a heavier hand than that of Judge Danvers could have
been, upon the shoulder of the Major, and the “thud” of an officer’s
“locust” was beginning to sound on his head and arms.
It was a hopeless sort of business, and the sudden gust of
uncontrollable rage died away into a fit of utter dejection.
“Yes, Ash,” he exclaimed, as he was again forced down upon a chair,
“you’ve found me. I should have made it all right myself, in a little
while. I was making arrangements for that very thing.”
“Make it right, Robert?” exclaimed Ashbel Norton. “You make it right?
I won’t speak of the money you’ve wasted or the family you have
disgraced. I won’t say anything of the way you ruined yourself and
tried to ruin others! Make it right? Can you make it right with Lydia,
for all she has suffered, or with your own wife?”
“Ashbel,” huskily replied the now drooping and trembling Major, “don’t
speak of my wife. I saw her death in the papers, years ago.”
“And she died of a broken heart,” interrupted Ashbel.
“But Lydia,” continued the Major, “I can do something for her. I’ve
kept every paper and----”
“Robert,” exclaimed Ashbel, “Lydia, too, is dead, and that, also, is on
your own conscience.”
“Lydia dead? That, too, on me?” half vacantly responded the Major.
Whatever may have been on his “conscience,” just then, if indeed he
still kept any such thing about him, his mind was grasping at a very
different idea, for his next question was:
“And did she leave a will?”
“Indeed she did,” replied Ashbel, half angrily. “You’ve no chance
there. Judge Danvers has a copy of it in his safe.”
The Major stole a quick glance at the table where the valise had been,
but it had disappeared. That too, was now “in the safe.”
“And so Lydia’s dead,” slowly soliloquized the Major, as he bent his
eyes upon the floor. “And she’s made a will. That was a turn of things
that never occurred to me.”
“Nothing ever did seem to occur to you, except your own brutal
selfishness,” remarked Mr. Ashbel Norton, but the Major turned now to
Judge Danvers, with:
“I’m ready to hear anything you’ve got to say about that valise, Judge.”
“Say?” exclaimed Ashbel Norton. “I’m the only man who has anything to
say about that, Judge Danvers. You will understand that he has nothing
more to do with any of those effects.”
“They are in my charge,” quietly remarked the Judge, “not only as your
own legal representative, but also as counsel for the claimant in the
case, by whom they were deposited with me.”
“You have found him, then?” almost shouted Mr. Ashbel Norton.
“Perhaps,” replied the Judge. “At all events it will be necessary to
protect ourselves against any escape of Mr. Robert Norton. He must be
kept under lock and key till we need him again.”
“Judge,” exclaimed the Major, “didn’t you give me your promise?”
“And didn’t I keep it,” asked Judge Danvers. “And didn’t you break
your own, as soon as you thought you had a chance? Take him in charge,
Mr. Officer. I’ll come right along and attend to his commitment. Mr.
Norton, I must really ask you to excuse me until Monday at ten o’clock.
I have other persons to consult in this matter. I hope you feel assured
that your interests are safe in my hands.”
The Englishman seemed in a sort of brown study for a moment, but then
he held out his hand, saying heartily:
“I don’t quite understand it, indeed, but you seem to have done
wonders, already. The presence here of my unfortunate brother, so
completely in your power, proves that. So does the fact that you
seem to have obtained possession of the papers in so short a time.
I’d no idea the American detective police was up to that sort of
thing. Indeed, my dear sir, I trust the whole matter entirely to your
discretion.”
“And I shall see you on Monday morning at ten?” said the Judge.
“Without fail,” replied Norton, “only I can’t see how I’ll take care of
myself during the meantime.”
“You can manage that, I guess,” said the old lawyer, as he grasped his
hat and hurried away.
His first care was to see that “Major Montague” was properly secured
where he could be had when wanted, and he might well be pardoned any
lack of anxiety as to where and how Mr. Ashbel Norton should worry away
his time over Sunday.
The Major’s affair was a very easy and simple one, thanks to his hot
temper and folly, but, as soon as that was attended to, Judge Danvers
had an errand to the house of Dr. Manning.
His conference with the good physician was by no means a brief one, and
Val’s kind-faced mother was called in for her share of it, but when it
was concluded, Dr. Manning said:
“It’s really very wonderful, all of it. I’m very glad such an
opportunity has come to me. Of course, you can depend on me for any
amount of money it may cost to secure justice. How much do you require
now?”
“Money!” exclaimed the Judge. “Not a cent. Why, this is my affair. Do
you take me for a pauper?”
“Hardly that,” said the Doctor, with a benevolent smile. “You are
richer than I am, for all I know, but I can’t consent to let you work
for nothing or pay my law bills.”
“Your bills!” exclaimed the Judge. “Do you think a man has no soul
because he’s a lawyer? I know that’s the prevailing impression, but
it’s wrong in my case.”
“I believe that fully,” replied Dr. Manning; “but I want you to
understand that I have at least as deep an interest in this matter as
you have.”
“Well, then,” replied the Judge, “if I lose anything in it, I’ll call
on you for your check for half. Is that fair?”
“Perfectly,” said Dr. Manning. “When shall you send for him?”
“First thing Monday,” said the Judge. “I arranged that with him when I
was there. We’ll have this matter settled, or nearly so, before we’re a
week older.”
That was all very well for them who seemed to understand it, but what
of the two impatient boys up there in Ogleport?
What, too, of Mr. Ashbel Norton, fretting and fuming at his hotel, or
in aimless drives around the city?
What, more than all, of Major Montague, _alias_ “Major Robert Norton,
formerly of the British army,” as he drooped and muttered behind the
bars of his solitary prison cell?
“I never dreamed of this,” he said, as if reproaching somebody. “It
came awfully near it sometimes, that’s a fact; but I always thought I
could fend it off somehow. I always did, too, till that young rascal
caught me in a bad way, and run off with that valise. And so poor
Lydia’s dead, and she’s left a will! Don’t I wish I knew just what was
in that will!”
Very likely he did, but, just as likely it would not have done him any
especial amount of good if he had been familiar with every word of it.
He was only one of the vast crowd of human beings who “make their own
bed” and then have to lie on it.