An Important Discovery.
"Curtis Waring!" ejaculated Dodger, his face showing intense surprise.
"Is that the name of your husband?"
"Yes. Is it possible that you know him?" asked the woman, struck by
Dodger's tone.
"I know a man by that name. I will describe him, and you can tell me
whether it is he. He is rather tall, dark hair, sallow complexion,
black eyes, and a long, thin nose."
"It is like him in every particular. Oh, tell me where he is to be
found?"
"He lives in New York. He is the nephew of a rich man, and is
expecting to inherit his wealth. Through his influence a cousin of
his, a young lady, has been driven from home."
"Was he afraid she would deprive him of the estate?"
"That was partly the reason. But it was partly to revenge himself on
her because she would not agree to marry him."
"But how could he marry her," exclaimed the unfortunate woman, "when
he is already married to me?"
"Neither she nor any one of his family or friends knew that he was
already married. I don't think it would trouble him much."
"But it must be stopped!" she exclaimed, wildly. "He is my husband. I
shall not give him up to any one else."
"So far as Florence is concerned--she is the cousin--she has no wish
to deprive you of him. But is it possible that you are attached to a
man who has treated you so meanly?" asked Dodger, in surprise.
"There was a time when he treated me well, when he appeared to love
me," was the murmured reply. "I cannot forget that he is the father of
my child."
Dodger did not understand the nature of women or the mysteries of the
female heart, and he evidently thought this poor woman very foolish to
cling with such pertinacity to a man like Curtis Waring.
"Do you mind telling me how you came to marry him?" he asked.
"It was over four years ago that I met him in this city," was the
reply. "I am a San Francisco girl. I had never been out of California.
I was considered pretty then," she added, with a remnant of pride,
"faded as I am to-day."
Looking closely in her face, Dodger was ready to believe this.
Grief and privation had changed her appearance, but it had not
altogether effaced the bloom and beauty of youth.
"At any rate, he seemed to think so. He was living at the Palace
Hotel, and I made his acquaintance at a small social gathering at the
house of my uncle. I am an orphan, and was perhaps the more ready to
marry on that account."
"Did Mr. Waring represent himself as wealthy?"
"He said he had expectations from a wealthy relative, but did not
mention where he lived."
"He told the truth, then."
"We married, securing apartments on Kearney Street. We lived together
till my child was born, and for three months afterward. Then Mr.
Waring claimed to be called away from San Francisco on business. He
said he might be absent six weeks. He left me a hundred dollars, and
urged me to be careful of it, as he was short of money, and needed
considerable for the expenses of the journey. He left me, and I have
never seen or heard from him since."
"Did he tell you where he was going, Mrs. Waring?"
"No; he said he would be obliged to visit several places--among
others, Colorado, where he claimed to have some mining property. He
told me that he hoped to bring back considerable money."
"Do you think he meant to stay away altogether?"
"I don't know what to think. Well, I lived on patiently, for I had
perfect confidence in my husband. I made the money last me ten weeks
instead of six, but then I found myself penniless."
"Did you receive any letters in that time?"
"No, and it was that that worried me. When at last the money gave out,
I began to pawn my things--more than once I was tempted to pawn my
wedding-ring, but I could not bring my mind to do that. I do not like
to think ill of my husband, and was forced, as the only alternative,
to conclude that he had met with some accident, perhaps had died. I
have not felt certain that this was not so till you told me this
evening that you know him."
"I can hardly say that I know him well, yet I know him a good deal
better than I wish I did. But for him I would not now be in San
Francisco."
"How is that? Please explain."
Dodger told her briefly the story of his abduction.
"But what motive could he have in getting you out of New York? I
cannot understand."
"I don't understand myself, except that I am the friend of Florence."
"His cousin?"
"Yes."
"But why should she be compelled to leave her uncle's home?"
"Because Curtis Waring made him set his heart upon the match. She had
her choice to marry Curtis or to leave the house, and forfeit all
chance of the estate. She chose to leave the house."
"She ought to know that he has no right to marry," said the poor
woman, who, not understanding the dislike of Florence for the man whom
she herself loved, feared that she might yet be induced to marry him.
"She ought to know, and her uncle ought to know," said Dodger. "Mrs.
Waring, I can't see my way clear yet. If I were in New York I would
know just what to do. Will you agree to stand by me, and help me?"
"Yes, I will," answered the woman, earnestly.
"I will see you again to-morrow evening. Here is some money to help
you along for the present. Good-night."
Dodger, as he walked away, pondered over the remarkable discovery he
had made.
It was likely to prove of the utmost importance to Florence.
Her uncle's displeasure was wholly based upon her refusal to marry
Curtis Waring, but if it should be proved to him that Curtis was
already a married man, there would seem no bar to reconciliation.
Moreover--and thas was particularly satisfactory--it would bring
Curtis himself into disfavor.
Florence would be reinstated in her rightful place in her uncle's
family, and once more be recognized as heiress to at least a portion
of his large fortune.
This last consideration might not weigh so much with Florence, but
Dodger was more practical, and he wished to restore her to the social
position which she had lost through the knavery of her cousin.
But in San Francisco--at a distance of over three thousand miles--
Dodger felt at a loss how to act.
Even if Mr. Linden was informed that his nephew had a wife living in
San Francisco, the statement would no doubt be denied by Curtis, who
would brand the woman as an impudent adventuress.
"The absent are always in the wrong," says a French proverb.
At all events, they are very much at a disadvantage, and therefore it
seemed imperatively necessary, not only that Dodger, but that Curtis
Waring's wife should go to New York to confront the unprincipled man
whose schemes had brought sorrow to so many.
It was easy to decide what plan was best, but how to carry it out
presented a difficulty which seemed insurmountable.
The expenses of a journey to New York for Dodger, Mrs. Waring and her
child would not be very far from five hundred dollars, and where to
obtain this money was a problem.
Randolph Leslie probably had that sum, but Dodger could not in
conscience ask him to lend it, being unable to furnish adequate
security, or to insure repayment.
"If I could only find a nugget," thought Dodger, knitting his brows,
"everything would be easy." But nuggets are rare enough in the gold
fields, and still rarer in city streets.
He who trusts wholly to luck trusts to a will-o'-the-wisp, and is
about as sure of success as one who owns a castle in Spain.
The time might come when Dodger, by his own efforts, could accumulate
the needed sum, but it would require a year at least, and in that time
Mr. Linden would probably be dead.
Absorbed and disturbed by these reflections, Dodger walked slowly
through the darkened streets till he heard a stifled cry, and looking
up, beheld a sight that startled him.
On the sidewalk lay the prostrate figure of a man. Over him, bludgeon
in hand, bent a ruffian, whose purpose was only too clearly evident.