FLIGHT OF THE GUILTY MAN.
When Ronald Mason saw that the supposed minister was his enemy, Old
King Brady, a tigerish expression leaped to his eyes.
He recoiled a few steps and gasped, hoarsely:
"What! You here?"
"You can see for yourself!" replied the detective.
"What is the meaning of this trickery?"
"I denounce this will as a forgery!" thundered Old King Brady.
For an instant there was a deep, oppressive silence in the room.
The detective's words startled every one and the lawyer finally asked:
"Upon what ground do you make that remarkable statement, Mr. Brady?"
The old detective held up the will.
"In the first place," said he, forcibly, "the provisions of this
instrument are entirely unnatural. Who ever heard of a kind, indulgent
father disinheriting his only child for not marrying a man whom we all
know he formerly refused to accept as a son-in-law? Who would believe
Oliver Dalton criminal enough to leave his tenderly-nurtured daughter
an absolute beggar, dependent upon the cold charity of the world? What
has this girl done to forfeit her birthright? What has this man done
that Dalton should leave his daughter penniless, for his sake?"
"It does look rather queer," assented the lawyer.
"Queer? Why, it's utterly ridiculous!" cried Old King Brady, in tones
of supreme contempt. "It's beyond reason. Only an insane father would
be guilty of such a deed. Moreover, I have my doubts about the
signature attached to this paper. It looks similar to Mr. Dalton's
signature which I have appended to a letter now in my pocket. But there
are certain formations in the letters that lead me to suppose this
signature on the will is a rank forgery. I'm going to prove that idea
by giving the will and some of Mr. Dalton's signatures to a handwriting
expert. He will magnify them and throw the image of the enlarged
signatures on a screen by means of a magic-lantern. Any one can then
tell at a glance if this signature is a forgery or not."
"You'll do nothing of the kind!" yelled Mason, furiously.
"Won't I? You'll see, sir. I shall."
"That will shall be filed for probate with the surrogate."
"So it shall," grimly answered Old King Brady. "So it shall. And this
lawyer will contest it on behalf of Miss Dalton, and baffle your design
to rob her. And if it is proven that the will is a forgery, you can
rest assured that I'll arrest you for the crooked work the moment I get
my hands on you!"
Mason gave a hollow, mocking laugh.
"Fool!" he hissed. "I don't fear you."
"But you shall----"
"Bah! Shut up! You make me sick!"
And snapping his fingers at the old detective, Mason rushed from the
room, put on his hat and left the house.
When he was gone, Harry hastened after him.
Left alone with the girl and the lawyer, Old King Brady held a
conference with them and settled upon a plan of legal action.
In the meantime Mason had gone downtown, with Young King Brady
carefully shadowing him at a safe distance.
He entered Mr. Dalton's office and remained there until long after all
the clerks had gone home.
Harry remained outside the building on the watch for him, and at about
seven o'clock saw him emerge.
He dropped a letter in a lamp-post letter-box and rapidly strode across
town and entered a liquor saloon.
Young King Brady divested himself of his disguise in a hallway.
While waiting for his man to emerge from the saloon, the boy made a
bundle of the disguise and wrapped it in a newspaper.
Half an hour passed by.
Getting uneasy over the prolonged absence of the man, Harry strode into
the saloon, glanced around and failed to see Mason.
"He must have given me the slip!" thought the boy, ruefully.
"Looking for any one, sir?" queried a bartender who was watching him.
"Yes. What became of a fellow of this description who came in here half
an hour ago?" said Harry, and he minutely described Mason.
"Why, he went out the side door after getting a drink of whisky," said
the bartender. "He seemed to be in a hurry to catch a train."
"How do you know?"
"Well, he asked me what time the train for Savannah left, and as I told
him he only had a few moments to catch it, he hurried out."
Harry thanked the man and left.
"The villain is heading for the South again!" flashed across the boy's
mind. "I'll see if I can verify this idea."
He went over to the railroad ticket office and closely questioned the
agent, who admitted that a man such as the detective described had
bought a ticket for Swamp Angel and gone.
Young King Brady was puzzled over Mason's actions.
He could not understand why the man was running away from New York so
soon after the incident at Dalton's house.
"It looks as if he had a guilty conscience and feared exposure,"
muttered the boy, as he made his way home.
Old King Brady was there ahead of him and Harry told him about Mason's
flight to the South.
It made the old detective laugh.
"Guess we've frightened him," he remarked.
The Bradys remained up late that night discussing their plans.
On the following morning a letter reached them from Mason, worded in
the following manner:
"Messrs. Brady: By the time this reaches you I shall be so far from
New York that you'll never catch me. I know very well that you are
going to find out that Dalton's will is a forgery. If I remain
you'll put the screws on me. So I'll baffle you by going in good
season. Moreover, you will find out later in the day that all the
funds in Dalton's business are missing. I've got the stuff, as I
need it to get away. If the time ever comes for me to get even with
you for all the trouble you've caused me, I'll make you pay dearly
for your accursed interference.
"Ronald Mason."
"So he's gone," said Harry.
"In good season."
"And he left a black record behind him."
"We probably haven't heard the worst yet, Harry."
"Let's go to the office and see how much he stole."
Old King Brady was eager for the facts, and they passed out together.
In half an hour they reached Dalton's office and found a policeman in
charge, all the clerks frantic with alarm, and the safe open.
"There's been a robbery here," said the policeman to the detectives.
"How much was taken?" asked Harry.
"Thirty thousand dollars in cash and bonds."
"Well, we know who did the job. The clerks must go, and we must close
and lock the doors after I secure a few papers."
They had a talk with the chief clerk, got all the details, and the
place was then vacated and locked up.
Returning to the street the detectives strode down Broad street toward
the Battery, and the old sleuth remarked:
"He made quite a rich haul."
"As we know about where to find him," answered Harry, "we may be able
to recover the booty when we go after him."
Just then a little old man with a gray beard came waddling out of
Bridge street, clad in a blue jumper and an old felt hat.
The moment Harry saw him he sprang forward, clutched him by the arm,
swung him around, and said:
"Martin Kelly, the junk man!"
"Gosh!" exclaimed the old fellow. "Ther detectives."
"Yes, and we are going to arrest you, Martin, for your connection with
the case of the drowned man you brought to the morgue."
"What fer?" tremulously asked the old man, beginning to get frightened.
"Oh, we saw you, Ronald Mason and the coon fooling with that corpse in
your boat on the river before you brought it to the morgue, and we want
to know what you were up to."
"I'll tell, if yer don't jail me, Mr. Brady."
"That's a bargain. Out with it, then."
"Well, that there nigger was aboardin' with me. The other night him an'
me was on ther river carryin' some scrap iron from a boat where I
bought it an' we found that dead body. As soon as ther coon saw it, he
tied it to ther boat an' said he an' his boss would palm it off for
somebody else. So he went ashore an' telegraphed to Mason to fetch down
a suit of Dalton's clothes an' things to make it look as if the body
was Dalton's. When Mason come, we rowed out on the river, stripped the
corpse, put on him the things Mason brought, chucked him overboard and
I set them ashore down the river an' towed the body to the morgue where
I left it. They paid me ten dollars to keep my mouth shut about what
they done."
The Bradys were amazed.
His story cleared up a great deal of mystery and left the real fate of
Oliver Dalton a matter of doubt again.