IN THE TOILS OF THE CONSPIRATORS.
Lester Armstrong had no sooner stepped to the pavement than he was
accosted by a man who stepped suddenly up to him.
"Mr. Armstrong?" he said, interrogatively, touching his hat
respectfully.
"Yes," responded Lester, "what can I do for you?"
"I am here on a deed of mercy. A friend of mine, an employee of yours,
sir, has met with a serious accident and calls for you repeatedly. I am
a hackman, and I volunteered to come for you and ask you to let me take
you to him. It is not very far. My cab stands right here."
"I will go to the poor fellow, certainly," responded Lester, hurrying to
the vehicle in question and hastily entering it.
In a moment the driver had mounted the box and was off like the wind. It
did not occur to Lester until he was well under way that he had not
thought to inquire who the injured man was.
As the cab rolled swiftly along over the crowded thoroughfare, Lester
leaned back and gave himself up to his own thoughts.
Wealth had come to him, and with it honors had crowded thick and fast
upon him. The world of society held out its arms eagerly to him. Lovely
young girls, matrons of the house, offered their congratulations to him
with the most bewitching of smiles, and mothers with marriageable
daughters from all over the city opened an account with the great dry
goods house, whose sole owner was a young and handsome bachelor.
But for all this there seemed to be something sadly missing in his life,
a want which he could hardly define, and it seemed to take the shape of
something which he was striving to remember, but could not.
Only that morning he had been talking with some one in the office about
it, and had been laughingly informed that there was a method that could
bring back to his memory that which he desired so ardently to recollect.
"If you will tell me how to unravel this tangle that is in my brain, you
will have my everlasting gratitude," declared Lester, earnestly.
"It takes people with nerves of steel to accomplish it. A person who is
nervous to the slightest degree would not dare to try it, for fear of
turning suddenly insane from the terrible mental struggle. Do you still
wish to know what it is?"
"Yes," responded Lester, "and I can use my judgment whether I dare try
it or not."
"Very good," replied the gentleman, "then here it is: Counting five
thousand backward will either restore your loss of memory, or, as I have
taken care to warn you gravely in advance, cause you to go insane. It
must be done rapidly, and in a given space of time. In my belief the
remedy is by far worse than the malady. I feel, somehow, as though I
ought not to have told you about it."
"Nonsense," said Lester. "You need have little fear of my trying it."
He thought of it, however, as the cab rolled rapidly along.
"I wonder if harm would result from my trying it?" he mused. "I have
unusually strong nerves, and--and, if anything disastrous should come of
it, there is not one soul on the wide earth that would be injured. There
is no mother to weep, no fair young sister to grieve, no father or
brother to be bowed down with sorrow. I am alone in the world. My
foolhardiness would injure only myself--only myself."
He had been thinking so deeply that he had not noted the flight of time,
nor that the street lamps had grown fewer and far between, at last
ceasing altogether, and that they were traveling a country road.
Suddenly the vehicle came to a stop. The driver jumped from his box and
opened the door with a jerk, remarking:
"This is the place."
Lester alighted, looking about him in a rather mystified manner, but
before he could make the inquiry that rose to his lips the driver
hastened to say:
"The path that leads to the house, which is just beyond that clump of
trees, is so narrow that we cannot drive there. We will have to walk. It
is but a short distance. You will see the house at the first turn in the
path."
And as the man uttered the words he gave a peculiar cough.
"Who is the person who sent for me?" Lester queried, stopping short. The
man made an evasive answer, which aroused his suspicions that all was
not as it should be.
"Why do you not answer my question? I refuse to proceed a step farther
until you have satisfied me on this point," declared Lester, haughtily.
"That's your opinion. I think differently, my fine fellow," answered the
man insolently. "I'd advise you to come along quietly."
Lester Armstrong saw at once that he had been lured into a trap. It was
natural for him to jump to the conclusion that it was for robbery, owing
to the fact of his coming into possession of the great Marsh fortune so
recently, and a sudden sternness settled upon his face. He was not used
to broils, but this fellow should see that he was not quite a stranger
to the manly art of self-defense, and that he had an adversary worthy of
his steel.
"Are you coming along peaceably with me, or shall I be obliged to call
upon my pals for assistance?" he asked, grimly.
"I propose to defend myself against all odds," answered Lester, more
than angry with himself for falling so easily into the trap that had
been so cunningly set for him.
He had but a few dollars in money about him, and the disappointment of
his assailant in not finding a large roll of bills would in all
probability cause the man to take desperate chances in trying to make
away with him. If he was armed he was at the fellow's mercy. There might
be half a dozen accomplices in collusion with him, he had little doubt.
Again the cabby uttered that peculiar cough which was half a whistle,
and in response two men, whose features were covered by black masks,
sprang from the adjacent bushes.
Our hero put up a splendid defense, but the united strength of his three
antagonists at length overpowered him.
What was there in the figure of one of the men that seemed so familiar
to him? he wondered, and just as they were bearing him to the ground by
their united efforts, he suddenly reached forward and tore the mask from
his assailant's face.
One glance, and the horror of death seemed to suddenly freeze the blood
in his veins. His eyes dilated and seemed to nearly burst from their
sockets. The face into which he gazed was that of Clinton Kendale, his
cousin.
"You!" he gasped, quite disbelieving the evidence of his own senses.
Kendale laughed a diabolical laugh, while his features were distorted
into those of a fiend incarnate.
"I haven't the least hesitation in admitting my identity," he said,
coolly. "Yes, you are in good hands, if you give us no trouble, and come
along quietly, without compelling us to use further force."
"What is the meaning of this outrage?" cried Lester, white to the lips.
"That you shall learn all in good time, cousin mine," replied Kendale,
mockingly.
In struggling out of their grasp to better protect himself, Lester fell
headlong on the icy ground, striking his head heavily against the
gnarled, projecting root of a tree and lying at their feet like one
dead.
"He will give us little enough trouble now," said Kendale, grimly. "Lend
a hand there, both of you, and get him into the house quickly. I am
almost frozen to death here."
In less time than it takes to narrate it, Lester Armstrong was hurriedly
conveyed into the house.
The place consisted of but two rooms, and into the inner one Lester was
thrust with but little ceremony, and tossed upon a pallet of straw in
the corner.
He had not entirely lost consciousness, as they supposed, but was only
stunned, realizing fully all that was transpiring about him.
"Your scheme has worked like a charm, Halloran," said Kendale. "We have
bagged our game more easily than I imagined we would. Now there is
nothing in the way between me and the fortune that liberal old fool
Marsh willed to my amiable cousin."
"Everything rests with the shrewdness with which you play your part,"
answered the man addressed as Halloran.
"You ought not to have any scruples on that score," exclaimed Kendale,
boastfully. "After leaving my amiable cousin on the night of the
accident, did I not go immediately to the pretty little heiress, Faynie
Fairfax, and successfully pass myself off as the lover she was waiting
to elope with? And the little beauty never knew the difference."
"I must own that you played your cards successfully in that direction,"
was the response, "but this will be a far different matter from
hoodwinking a young, unsophisticated girl."
"Within a month from to-day I shall have the Fairfax fortune and the
Marsh millions added to it," said Clinton Kendale, emphatically.
"I would put an eternal quietus upon my fortunate cousin here, did I not
need his assistance in one or two matters concerning the method of
running the business, which was known only to old Marsh and himself."
"Are you fool enough to think that he will divulge those secrets to
you?" said Halloran, impatiently.
"They can be forced from him. I know how," returned Kendale, with a
brutal laugh. "Come," he said, turning on his heel.
His companion followed him from the apartment, and the door closed with
a resounding bang, and Lester lay there too horror-stricken to move hand
or foot, fairly spellbound by the disclosures he had overheard as they
stood over him, believing him unconscious.
All in an instant a great wave of awakened memory swept over him,
opening out the flood-gates of recollection like a flash. He remembered
his interview with his sweetheart, his darling Faynie, and how he was
arranging to hurry back to marry her when the fatal accident occurred,
and how, believing himself dying, he had confided all to his treacherous
cousin, bidding him take the message to his darling, that even in death
his only thought was of her.
Oh, merciful God! how horribly had his treacherous cousin betrayed that
sacred trust, because of his fatal resemblance to himself! He cried out
to God and the listening angels:
"Heaven help my beautiful darling and save her from the machinations of
that desperate villain!"
He knew that Clinton Kendale would stop at nothing to gain his end, and
his agony at the thought that he might be unable to prevent it in time
almost drove him to the verge of madness.
He felt that they would hold him there until they tortured from him
whatever secret he held which they wished to learn; then they would
deliberately make away with him. Clinton Kendale would step into his
place, personating himself so cleverly that the great world, under whose
very eyes the terrible tragedy had taken place, would never know the
difference. Even Faynie would not know how she had been tricked and
cheated, and the last thought almost drove him to the point of frenzy,
nearly succeeding in turning his tortured brain.