A SURPRISING REVELATION.
Horace Sumner was terribly alarmed. Paying no attention to the tin box,
he knelt down and raised Hal up on his knee.
"Shot in the shoulder and in the side," he murmured after a brief
examination. "Oh, I trust it be not serious!"
All of the prisoners had been handcuffed, and one of the officers
followed Mr. Sumner out.
"Hullo! is he shot?" he cried.
"Yes."
"Where is the fellow with the tin box?"
"The box is here, safe. There lies the fellow. Arrest him, and fix it so
he cannot get away."
The policeman at once hurried to Hardwick's side, and before the
ex-book-keeper had fully recovered consciousness he was handcuffed and
then placed in a room with the other prisoners.
"What are you going to do with us?" he demanded of the policeman who
stood guard at the door, pistol in hand.
"You will see later. Not another word now."
And Hardwick was forced to keep silent, as were also the others.
There was another house not far distant, and getting the sleigh, Mr.
Sumner placed Hal's form into it, and drove him around to the door.
Matters were quickly explained, and as the broker showed that he was a
wealthy man, and well able to pay for accommodations, Hal was at once
lifted into the house and placed on a comfortable bed in one of the
upper rooms.
"Send for the nearest doctor, please," said Horace Sumner. "And tell him
he must come at once, no matter what the expense. Tell him I am Horace
Sumner, the broker, of Wall Street."
The man about the place at once hurried off, and placing the tin box,
which he had picked up out of the snow, on the table, Horace Sumner bent
over Hal's motionless form, and sought by every means in his power to
restore him to consciousness.
In working over Hal's clothing the golden locket the youth considered
his birthright came to light. For the moment Horace Sumner paid no
attention to it, but placed it on top of the tin box.
At last Hal opened his eyes and stared around him.
"Hal, how do you feel?" questioned the old broker, with real anxiety in
his tones.
"Mr. Sumner! the box--did you----"
"It is safe, Hal."
"I am so glad," and a smile came over the pallid face.
"But, my poor boy, you are hurt--Hardwick shot you. Can't you feel it?"
"Yes, in my side and my shoulder, but I don't think it's very bad, and
I'll soon----"
Before Hal could finish he fainted away. Less than ten minutes later the
man about the place returned with an experienced physician.
"Not dangerously wounded," was his opinion, after a thorough
examination. "He will be as sound as a dollar in a couple of months. But
he ought not to be moved for several weeks."
"He shall not be," said Horace Sumner.
And he at once made arrangements with the owner of the house to have the
use of that room and the next for the entire time mentioned with board
and care for a nurse and Hal.
An hour later Hal was resting easier, and then Horace Sumner arose to
leave and find out what the officers had done with the captured
criminals.
As he turned to pick up the tin box he noticed the golden locket. He
took it up rather carelessly, but suddenly a peculiar look stole into
his eyes, and dropping the tin box he hurriedly opened the locket.
"My heavens!" he ejaculated.
The exclamation was so pronounced that it awoke Hal, and the youth
opened his eyes wide, and stared at the man.
"Where--where did you get this locket?" demanded Horace Sumner, in a
voice husky with emotion.
"It is my birthright--or at least all I have of one," replied the youth.
"Your birthright?"
"That's what I call it, sir. It was around my neck when I was found on
the streets of Fairham."
"Can this be true? When was this?"
"About sixteen years ago. But what--what--"
"Stop! what part of the year, Hal? answer me quickly."
"It was one Fourth of July night."
Horace Sumner staggered back.
"Fourth of July," he muttered to himself. "And little Howard disappeared
on the twenty-seventh of June. Can it be----"
"You say you do not know anything about yourself?" he asked of Hal.
"No, sir. The people at Fairham tried to find out, but they didn't make
a very great effort, I'm thinking, and so I--I--well, you can see how it
is."
"You are not to blame, Hal. A better or more noble boy never
lived--and--and I thank God that is so, for it--I will explain later. I
must see Caleb Allen without delay."
And with his tin box under his arm, Horace Sumner rushed from the house,
taking the golden locket with him.
When he appeared at the station-house he seemed almost like a crazy man,
so eager was he to interview Allen. A private meeting between the two
was speedily arranged.
"Allen, I have come on an important mission," began Horace Sumner.
"Have you? I thought you had your bonds," returned the swindler, as
cooly as he could.
"I am not referring to the bonds. This matter is far more important."
"Indeed!"
"When you and the others were at the old Flack mansion Samuels mentioned
a subject that lies close to my heart."
"Samuels didn't know what he was saying," growled Allen, turning pale.
"He did, Allen. I have been blind, but my eyes are now wide open. Caleb
Allen, years ago you stole my son, my little baby boy."
"It's not true!" almost shouted Allen, but he trembled from head to
foot.
"It is true. I have the evidence to prove it. Do you deny that you took
the little one first to Philadelphia and then to the village of Fairham,
and on the night of the Fourth of July----"
Caleb Allen jumped up as if shot.
"So Tommy Macklin has been blabbing, had he?" he screamed. "But it won't
do you any good, Horace Sumner. The boy is lost to you--you will never
hear of him again."
"So?" The old broker pulled the golden locket from his pocket. "Look at
this. It was around his neck when he was stolen, and it has been the
connecting link to prove his identity. He is found, and my little boy
Howard is--Hal Carson, the youth who helped to bring you to justice."
Here we must bring our tale to a close.
What Horace Sumner had said was true. Hal Carson was really his son, who
had been stolen by Caleb Allen and Tommy Macklin, the latter having,
even in those days, been a ready tool of the swindler.
Even after having robbed Sumner of his only son, Allen's hatred was not
satisfied, and he entered into the limited partnership only for the
purpose of ruining the man.
Allen had fallen in with Hardwick at a gambling house uptown, and the
two soon became firm friends. At that time Dick Ferris was a great
admirer of Hardwick, who found the tall boy a fellow without scruples of
any kind.
Hal was amazed when he learned the truth concerning himself. At first he
could not believe it, but when it came home to him he was overjoyed. He
speedily recovered from the wounds Hardwick had inflicted, and one fine
day in the early part of the following year Horace Sumner and Laura took
him to the elegant mansion which was in future to be his home as well as
theirs.
Hardwick, Allen, Macklin, and Samuels were all tried, and sentenced to
various terms of imprisonment. Parsons escaped, and went to England.
When the police started to find Dick Ferris they found that the tall boy
had shipped on a three years, whaling voyage. To this day he has not
returned to New York.
The recovery of the tin box containing the railroad bonds saved Horace
Sumner from ruin. He and his son are now in partnership on Wall Street,
and trusty Jack McCabe is their office boy. Hal, or Howard, as he is now
called, is rich, and is surrounded by friends, but it is not likely that
he will ever forget the time he came to New York a poor boy, and solved
the mystery of the Missing Tin Box.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Missing Tin Box, by Arthur M. Winfield