THE SQUIRE IN HOT WATER.
As the reader well knows, there was no love lost between Squire Paget and
the Nelsons. The squire had not treated Ralph and his mother fairly, and
they were inclined to look upon him with considerable distrust.
Yet when the squire entered the cottage with the announcement that he had
bad news to convey, the widow forgot all the past and began to question him
eagerly.
"You have bad news?" she faltered.
"I am sorry to say I have," he returned, in a hypocritical tone of
sympathy.
"And what is it?" she went on, her breast heaving violently.
"Pray, calm yourself, madam."
"I cannot wait, squire. You have news of Ralph! The poor boy has been--has
been----"
She could get no further.
"His body has not yet been found, Mrs. Nelson."
"Then he is dead!" she shrieked, and fell forward in a swoon.
Fortunately a neighbor arrived just at this moment, and this good woman,
aided by the squire, soon revived the widow. At the end of ten minutes she
sat up in a chair, her face as white as a sheet.
"Tell me--tell me all," she gasped out.
"There is not much to tell, unfortunately," returned the squire, smoothly.
"I was up to the islands in company with others, and I found strong
evidence that made me believe that Ralph fell over the cliff."
"Then he was killed!" burst out the neighbor.
"Most likely, Mrs. Corcoran. The cliff is more than a hundred feet high,
and the rocks below are sharp."
"But his body--what of that?" asked Mrs. Corcoran, for Mrs. Nelson was
unable to utter a word.
"His body must have been carried off by the current which sweeps around the
island, especially during such a breeze as we had recently."
"It must be true," cried Mrs. Nelson, bursting into tears. "I found his
fishing towel, and that was covered with blood. Oh, my poor Ralph!"
She went off into a fit of weeping, and in that state Squire Paget left her
to the attention of Mrs. Corcoran. He had expected to go into the details
of his search, but, evidently, they were not now needed.
"I guess my plan will work all right," he said to himself, as he walked
home rapidly. "It's a pity I must hurry matters so, but unless I do that
valuable piece of property may slip through my fingers."
Not for one moment did the squire's conscience trouble him for what he had
done. He thought only of the end to be gained--of the money he intended to
make.
Of course, he imagined that Ralph was really dead. He would have been
furious had he known the real truth.
But an awakening was close at hand. It came on the following day, when the
squire was at the post office.
He was standing in a corner looking over the various letters he had
received when he heard Henry Bott, the clerk, address a few words to a
laboring man who had come in to post a letter.
"Kind of mysterious about Ralph Nelson?" remarked the man, whose name was
Fielder.
"It is," returned Bott.
"Any news of him yet?"
"None, excepting that he fell over the cliff on Three Top Island and his
body was washed away."
"The widow must feel bad about it."
"Sure."
"I was going to stop at the cottage, but I must get over to Eastport."
"There's a letter just came in for Mrs. Nelson from New York," went on
Bott. "I suppose I might send it to her. It might have some sort of news
she might want to hear."
At these words the squire became more attentive than ever. Who knew but
what the letter might refer to the missing papers that the widow had
advertised for?
"Did you say you had a letter for Mrs. Nelson?" he asked, stepping to the
window.
"Yes."
"I am going down to the place. I'll take it to her if you wish."
"All right, squire; here it is," returned Bott, and handed over the
epistle.
Squire Paget at once hurried from the building, and in the direction of the
Nelson cottage. But once beyond the village proper he turned into a
by-path.
Here he stopped to examine the letter. It was not sealed very tightly, and
by breathing upon the mucilage in the back he soon managed to get it open
without tearing the envelope.
It was Ralph's letter to his mother, and for the moment Squire Paget was so
stunned that he was in danger of collapsing then and there. He staggered to
a stone and fell upon it.
"Alive!" he muttered to himself. "Alive! and the rascals said he was dead!"
He read the letter carefully, not once, but several times. He saw how
Martin and Toglet had failed twice in their efforts to take Ralph from his
path forever.
"The scamps! They knew he was alive when he boarded the empty freight car!
Why did they not come back and tell me! I suppose they expect to get that
five hundred dollars out of me at Chambersburgh! Just wait till I see
them!"
Squire Paget did not know what to do with the letter. If he destroyed it,
might not the widow hear of his having a letter for her and ask him for it?
And yet if he gave her the letter, that would be the end of the plot
against her--the whole cake would be dough.
Already a new plan to get Ralph out of the way was forming in his mind,
based on the fact that Martin and Toglet had really tried to do as agreed.
Perhaps they would make another trial, if urged on.
"I'll fix this letter business," he said.
Among his own mail had been a circular from a New York dry-goods house,
calling attention to a big midsummer bargain sale, and soliciting orders
from out-of-town patrons. This circular the squire now thrust into the
envelope which had contained Ralph's letter. To make the deception more
complete, the squire drew out his stylographic pen and went over the
address, altering the handwriting quite a little, so that it might not be
recognized.
Then, stowing away the genuine letter among his own, he walked on to the
Nelson cottage, where he left the bogus letter with Mrs. Corcoran, who came
to the door.
"I thought I would bring it along, as it might have news," he said.
Mrs. Nelson was handed the letter. She gave it a hasty examination, and
finding, to her great disappointment, that it was merely an advertisement,
she threw it aside; and thus her son's communication, upon which so much
depended, never reached her.
The squire found out that nothing could be done to further his plan just
then, so far as the widow was concerned. So leaving the cottage, he took
the evening boat for Chambersburgh.
He knew exactly where to look for Martin and Toglet, who had come down from
an upper lake town by railroad. It was in a fashionable club-house, with a
saloon attached, at which many of the sports of the city congregated.
He saw Martin sitting at a table playing some game of chance, and at once
motioned him to come out.
"What is it?" asked Martin, but his face showed that he was much disturbed.
"You know well enough," returned the squire, sharply. "Ralph Nelson is
alive and well!"
"Never!" cried Martin, in some surprise.
"It is so, and you know it," went on the squire, coldly.
"Why, he went over the cliff----"
"And escaped."
"Escaped!"
"Yes, and you know he did, for you met after that in the woods."
"It is false!"
"No it isn't, Mr. Martin. He was too smart for you, and he got away."
"Is he in Westville?" questioned Martin, anxiously.
"No; he is in New York."
"When is he coming home?"
"Never, if I can prevent it," returned Squire Paget, earnestly. "He wrote
to his mother, but I got the letter. She does not even know he is alive."
"And he is in New York?" said Martin, looking suggestively at the squire.
"He is, Martin."
"I might go down there----"
"That is what I thought."
"I can go alone. Toglet is too chicken-hearted for this business. I know he
wishes he was out of it. If he hadn't been in it from the start there would
have been no failure."
"Then go alone, but lose no time, for he may write more letters, and one
of them may slip through my hands. Now he has disappeared, I do not wish
him to be heard of again."
"But he has a friend in New York."
"I don't care for that. I do not wish his mother to hear from him, that is
the whole point."
"All right, squire. Give me time to get to the city and she'll never hear
of her boy again. There will be no failure this time."
The two talked the matter over for half an hour longer, and arranged all of
their plans. Then Martin took the first train for the metropolis, and
Squire Paget the last boat for Westville.