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.
* * * * *
The second volume in the "Brave and Honest" Series is entitled "Honest
Ned."