MARLOWE.
Four days later Julius arrived about dusk in the village of
Lawrenceburg. There was a citizen of this place against whom Mr. Taylor
had given him a note to collect. He put up at the hotel, and after
entering his name inquired where Mr. Philip Thompson resided.
“Two miles distant, on the Northcote road,” said the landlord. “Have you
business with him?”
Julius answered in the affirmative.
“If you want to go over there after supper, I will send my boy to show
you the way.”
“I think I will wait till morning,” said Julius, who felt tired. “My
business will wait till then.”
There was a man sitting on the piazza of the tavern when Julius drove
up. He was a tall man, rather shabbily built, with a slouching gait, who
kept his eyes bent downward, while his face was partly shaded by a soft
felt hat. Julius did not notice him, or rather did not do so
particularly; but the stranger fixed his eyes eagerly on the boy’s face,
and started perceptibly, while a look partly of recognition, partly of
hatred, swept over his countenance.
I do not intend to make this man’s personality a mystery. It was Dan
Marlowe, the burglar, whom, three years before, Julius had been
instrumental in trapping, and who, until within two or three months, had
been confined in Sing Sing prison. His escape has already been referred
to.
He had now two ends to accomplish. One was to elude capture, the other
to revenge himself on Julius.
While in prison he had heard from a fellow-prisoner that Julius was
somewhere in the West. He could not ascertain where. Till to-day he had
no clew whereby he might discover him; when all at once chance brought
him face to face with his young enemy. In spite of his growth he
recognized the boy, for he seldom forgot a face; but, to make certainty
more certain, he lounged into the office after Julius had recorded his
name, and examined the signature.
“Julius Taylor,” he repeated to himself. “The young cub has picked up
another name since he left us. But it’s he--it’s the same Julius. I
thought I couldn’t be mistaken. His face is the same, though he’s almost
twice as large as he was. He little dreams that Dan Marlowe is on his
track. I’d like to wring the boy’s neck!” he muttered to himself. “He’s
cost me over two years in Sing Sing; and poor Jack’s there yet.”
Having satisfied himself, he went back to his seat on the piazza.
Pretty soon Julius came out, and gave a casual look at Marlowe. But the
latter had his hat pulled down over his eyes, and not enough of his
features could be seen for our hero to distinguish him. Besides, Julius
was not thinking of Marlowe. He had no reason to suspect that his old
companion was in the neighborhood. If not caught, he supposed that he
was somewhere in hiding in the city of New York, or nearby.
Marlowe did not, however, care to run even a small risk of discovery. He
had not changed as much as Julius, and the latter might probably
recognize him. So, finding that our hero had also seated himself
outside, he quietly arose from his chair, and went out to walk.
“An ill-looking fellow,” thought Julius, casually. “He looks like a
tramp.”
Marlowe strolled off at random, not caring where he went. His sole
object was to keep out of the way of Julius. He went perhaps a mile, and
then, turning into a field, sat down on the grass. Here he remained for
a long time. He did not set out on his return till he judged that it was
near ten o’clock. When he entered the inn, not Julius alone, but all the
other guests had retired; for in the country late hours are not popular.
“We were just going to shut up, Mr. Jones,” said the landlord.
Jones was the assumed name by which Marlowe now passed.
“I went out for a walk,” said, Marlowe, “and didn’t know how time was
passing, having no watch with me.”
“You must like walking in the dark better than I do.”
“I wasn’t walking all the time,” said Marlowe. “I had some business on
my mind, and went out to think it over. Who was that young fellow that
came about six o’clock.
“Julius Taylor. He’s from Brookville. Do you wish to know him? If so, I
will introduce you to him.”
“I only asked from curiosity,” said Marlowe, carelessly.
“His room is next to yours, No. 8. Yours is No. 7.”
This was what Marlowe wanted to know, and he heard the information with
satisfaction. He proposed to make Julius a visit that night. What might
be the result he did not stop to consider. He only knew that this was
the boy to whom he owed two years of imprisonment, and that he would
have him in his power. He did not ask himself what he should do. He did
not consider whether he was about to endanger his own safety, and expose
himself to the risk of recapture. His spirit was fierce and revengeful,
and he had made up his mind to gratify it.
He called for a light, and ascended the staircase to his room, No. 7. He
noticed the number over the door which Julius occupied, and outside he
saw a pair of shoes, which had been left to be blacked.
“He’s been prospering,” he said to himself, gloomily, “while Jack and me
have been shut up. He’s had a good home, and good fare, and grown up to
consider himself a gentleman; while me and Jack, that brought him up,
have been confined like wild beasts. That’s his pay for selling us to
the cops. But the end is not yet. Marlowe’s on his track, and this night
there’ll be a reckoning.”
He sat down on the side of the bed and waited. He wanted to make sure
that all were asleep in the inn, that he might carry out his dark
designs without interruption.