WHAT THE HANDWRITING EXPERT SHOWED.
Realizing the importance of Martin Kelly's confession, Harry now turned
to his partner and said, significantly:
"We'd better get what he says in the form of an affidavit."
"By all means," assented the old detective, eagerly.
"Say, yer ain't a-goin' ter do nuthin' to me, are yer?" demanded Kelly.
"Oh, no; merely going to make you swear to the facts you gave us."
"I'll do that willin' enough, sir."
They brought him before a notary public, and having written out his
statement and secured his signature and oath, they let him go, after
learning that Johnson did not return to his house since the body was
found.
The Bradys were delighted.
When they reached the street, Harry cried:
"That Mason was a clever schemer. But we've foiled his plan to palm off
a stranger's body for that of the missing broker. We must let Lizzie
Dalton know how she was duped. There's every possibility yet that her
father is still alive. With this doubt pending, the will need not be
probated yet."
"Steps have already been begun to test the signature," said Old King
Brady. "By this afternoon we shall know positively whether that
signature to the will is a forgery or not."
"And if it is?"
"We'll have to run down Mason and make him pay the penalty of his
crime," replied the veteran detective, decisively.
They then went up to the Dalton house.
Lizzie was at home and heard what Kelly confessed.
Her joy and astonishment knew no bounds, and she cried:
"Then there is some probability that my poor father yet lives!"
"Yes, indeed," replied Harry, "and it is our belief that he is still
concealed down South in the big swamp on his estate. We are going back
there to investigate the matter."
"And I sincerely hope you will be successful in finding him," fervently
replied the girl. "In fact, I am so anxious about the matter that I
shall go down to Swamp Angel myself as soon as I can get my affairs so
regulated here that I can go away."
"Then we shall meet there."
"I hope so. And if your work is going to keep you in the vicinity of
our place, I want you to make your headquarters there."
They thanked her for the invitation and after some further talk they
left the house and headed for the writing-expert's office.
The professor was located on Broadway near Chambers street.
He was in when they called.
They had furnished him with several check-vouchers, and other specimens
of Mr. Dalton's handwriting procured at his office.
He greeted them warmly and asked, with a smile:
"I suppose you are curious to learn the result of my labors?"
"We are," assented Old King Brady, taking a chew of tobacco.
"I've finished my investigations."
"And what is the result?"
"That signature is a rank forgery."
"A poor one?"
"Very."
"Let us see."
"I'll magnify the writing."
He had a projecting machine, and, lighting it, he placed the signature
on the will and several more signatures of Mr. Dalton in the machine.
The names were reflected on a sheet, in enormous proportions.
Three were exactly alike, but the fourth was entirely unlike them.
Magnified, the finest lines of the writing were now as coarse as a
broom handle, so that every little mark was plainly visible.
"Explanations are useless here," said the expert, smilingly. "You can
easily see for yourself all I could tell you. The three signatures
which are alike are taken from a check, a letter and a bill. You will
notice there isn't the slightest deviation in any of the lines from the
fixed method Mr. Dalton had of signing his name. The odd-looking
signature is the one affixed to the will. Here you will see that the
loops, straight lines, curves and angles are all entirely unlike the
original; the width of the lines and shading are different, and the
angle at which the letters are set is not the same as that in the
others."
The Bradys saw all this and more, too.
In fact, they had every evidence before them that the will was a base
forgery and they were well satisfied.
With this fact established, they went to the Central office.
Here they encountered their chief.
Old King Brady detailed to him all that transpired, and he listened
very attentively until the detective finished.
Then he pondered a moment, and said:
"The whole thing is a big plot on Mason's part to get his uncle's money
and daughter at one swoop."
"We've clearly established Mason's guilt, sir."
"Very true. He's a bad egg. Capture him and you may find out what he
has done with Oliver Dalton."
"I've become convinced of another fact since finding out what a villain
that fellow is," said Old King Brady.
"To what do you allude?"
"Well, you recollect that when we began this case it was for the
purpose of finding out who was stealing money from the broker's mail,"
said the detective.
"I'm aware of that."
"In view of all that happened, it begins to look as if Mason was the
guilty party the Federal Government is after."
"It wouldn't surprise me a bit if you brought home that crime to his
door," said the chief. "If, as you say, he had such extensive control
of the business, he must have handled all the mail. It would then have
been an easy matter for him to purloin the contents of many of the
envelopes without being detected."
"The misfortune now is that he's gone so we cannot set a trap to catch
him in the act," said Old King Brady. "If anything now is found out
about the matter, it will only be learned from Mason himself making a
clean breast of the crooked work."
"Convict him of his other misdeeds," said the chief, lighting a cigar,
"and you'll have evidence enough to send the villain to jail for a long
time. If Mr. Dalton is dead, you can lay the crime at his door, for he
was the only person in the world who hoped to be benefited by the
demise of his benefactor."
It was late when the Bradys took leave of the chief.
On the following afternoon they were ready to depart from New York, and
they each wore a clever disguise.
While Old King Brady in boots and whiskers might have passed for a
respectable old farmer, Harry had every appearance of being a typical
Texan cowboy.
They proceeded downtown by separate routes.
Harry crossed over to the west side of the city and boarding a Belt
Line horse-car, he paid his fare and glanced around.
The boy's picturesque costume and fierce big mustache attracted the
attention of all the passengers.
He returned their curious stares with interest, and looking from one to
the other, his gaze finally rested upon a negro sitting in a corner of
the car with a big black-enamel valise on his lap.
Young King Brady could hardly repress a start.
The negro was Sim Johnson!
"Great Scott!" he muttered. "It's Mason's friend, the valet. Where is
the black rascal going with that big valise? Shall I put the nippers on
him? What is he doing over here on West street?"
He thought it over.
Harry's first impulse was to arrest the man.
Cool second-thought restrained him, however, and he muttered softly:
"No. I'll shadow him and find out where he is going. It will be time
enough to arrest him when I find he's trying to get away."
He kept a wary eye on the coon after that.
Johnson rode down to the foot of Liberty street and alighted.
To Harry's astonishment he saw the darky buy a ticket for Swamp Angel,
and then the truth flashed across the boy's mind.
"He's going to the very place I'm heading for," thought the boy, "and
he must be doing that at the request of Ronald Mason. In that case he's
sure to meet the man. What a good decoy duck he will make! By Jove,
I've only got to shadow him and he will lead me right to the very place
where his employer is concealed. Then we'll be enabled to arrest Mason
right away."
The coon crossed the river, with Harry on the same boat.
Old King Brady met Harry on the Jersey side and Young King Brady told
his partner about Sim.
A smile of intense satisfaction crossed the old detective's bewhiskered
face, and he strode along behind the valet and saw him board the train.
The Bradys followed.
Shortly afterward the cars started.
On the following night they all alighted at Swamp Angel and the negro
took to the railroad track and started to tramp in the direction of the
swamp where Mr. Dalton's body had disappeared.
There was plenty shelter from the negro's gaze for the detectives, and
they silently and stealthily sped along in pursuit of their decoy.