A STARTLING APPEARANCE.
Paul Morton was sitting in his library, carelessly scanning the daily
paper. He no longer wore the troubled expression of a few weeks before.
He had succeeded in weathering the storm that threatened his business
prospects by the timely aid afforded by a portion of his ward's
property, and now his affairs were proceeding prosperously.
It may be asked how with such a crime upon his soul he could experience
any degree of comfort or satisfaction. But this is a problem we cannot
explain. Probably his soul was so blunted to all the best feelings of
our common nature that he was effected only by that which selfishly
affected his own interest.
"At last I am in a secure position," he said to himself. "Then the
opportune death of my ward, of which I am advised by Cromwell, gives me
his large estate. With this to fall back upon, and my business righted,
I do not see why I should not look forward in a few years to
half-a-million."
He was indulging in these satisfactory reflections when the door
opened, and a servant entered.
"A gentleman to see you," she said.
"Who is it?" asked Mr. Morton.
"I think it is the same one that called several times about the time of
Mr. Raymond's funeral."
"Cromwell!" repeated Mr. Morton. "Show him up," he said.
A moment afterward James Cromwell entered the room.
The two looked at each other with a kind of guilty intelligence. Each
saw in the other a murderer. One had put to death his intimate friend,
for the sake of his money. The other had sent to death (so both
supposed) an innocent boy, confided to his charge, and his crime, too,
was instigated by the same sordid motive.
"Well," said Paul Morton, slowly.
"Did you receive a letter from me a day or two since?" asked James
Cromwell.
"Yes."
"About the boy?"
"Yes, but I did not quite understand it. You wrote that he had
disappeared. Has he returned to you?"
"No," said Cromwell.
"How do you account for his disappearance?" asked Paul Morton.
"I think he must have gone out in a boat on the pond and got drowned,"
said Cromwell.
"Has the body been found?" questioned the merchant.
"Not yet."
"Was not the pond searched, then?"
"No."
"Then how do you know that he was drowned there?"
James Cromwell moved uneasily in his chair. It was not a pleasant
question for him to answer.
"I cannot, of course, say positively," he stammered, "but I have every
reason to feel satisfied that the boy is dead."
"And yet, come away from Madison without ascertaining definitely."
"I thought there was no need," said Cromwell.
"No need! Do you think I am willing to remain in uncertainty as to
whether or not my ward is dead? What faith am I to put in your statement
since it appears that you have no satisfactory evidence to offer?"
James Cromwell began to perceive his mistake. He saw that he ought to
have had the pond dragged, and personally superintended the funeral
ceremonies of his victim, in order that he might have brought to the
merchant the most indubitable proof of the reality of his death.
"Why need he be so particular?" he thought. Then, with a suspicious
feeling, he began to think that Mr. Morton was making all this
unnecessary trouble in order to evade the payment of the sum which he
had promised him. This thought irritated him, and to satisfy himself
whether his suspicions were correct, he determined to broach the subject
at once.
"I need not remind you," he said, "of the promise you made me in case
the boy should not live."
"To what promise do you refer?" demanded Paul Morton.
"You promised me the sum of ten thousand dollars as a reward for my care
of your ward."
"It would be a handsome reward for a few weeks' care," said the
merchant, sneering.
"I can't help that," said Cromwell, angrily. "Handsome or not, it is
what you promised me. Do you mean to say you did not?" he added,
defiantly.
"Softly, my friend. I have said nothing of the sort. But you will do me
the favor to remember that it was only to be given in case the boy
died."
"Well, he is dead."
"How am I to know that?"
"Because I say so."
"You only say you think he is dead. You bring me no proof. When I ask
you how you can know it positively, you offer me no explanation."
"I saw his ghost Thursday night," said James Cromwell, shuddering.
"His ghost! What ridiculous nonsense is this?" demanded the merchant.
"I saw his ghost as plain as I see you," said Cromwell, in a subdued
voice.
"And where was it that this precious apparition came to you?" asked Mr.
Morton, with contempt.
"It was in a hotel at Wheeling," said James Cromwell. "I was lying awake
when the door of my chamber suddenly opened, and his person entered."
"Did he speak?" asked Paul Morton, impressed in spite of himself, by the
tone of conviction with which the other spoke.
"Yes," said Cromwell.
"What did he say?"
"I--cannot tell," he said, with a shudder.
"Pooh, man! you had a night-mare, nothing more and nothing less," said
the merchant. "You must be crazy if you expect me to believe that the
boy is dead on any such absurd testimony as this. I dare say you had
eaten a heavy dinner, or perhaps drank too much, and so the supposed
ghost was only the offspring of your own distempered fancy, and that
proceeded from a disordered stomach."
James Cromwell shook his head.
"You are wrong," he said. "I was as wide awake as I am now."
"Well, that is your affair--if you choose to believe in the reality of
this visitation, well and good. That is nothing to me. But if you want
me to credit the story of the boy's death, you must bring a certified
statement from the coroner in your town--Madison is the name, I
believe--then there will be no room for doubt."
"To do that, I shall be obliged to return to the West," said Cromwell,
disconcerted.
"Then you have only yourself to blame for the extra trouble you are
obliged to take. You ought not to have come away at all until you could
bring with you satisfactory evidence of the boy's death."
James Cromwell looked down in dismay. This did not suit his views at
all. Besides, he saw that it would be awkward to go back, and institute
such proceedings so late. But Paul Morton evidently meant to keep him to
it.
"Perhaps it would have been better," he said, at last.
"Of course it would. You can see for yourself that until I have
satisfactory proof of my ward's decease I cannot take possession of the
property, nor of course can I give you any portion of it while I am not
sure whether it is mine to give. I should think that was plain enough."
It was plain enough. James Cromwell saw that now, and he was provoked at
his mistake.
"Then," he said, disappointed, "I suppose I must go back."
"No, that will not be necessary. You can telegraph to some person to
institute a search of the pond, if you have reason to think the body
will be found there, and request information to be sent at once of any
discovery that may be made."
"I will do so," said Cromwell, relieved.
While they were speaking, the doorbell had rung, though neither had
heard it, and Major Woodley, instructing the servant to usher him in
without previous announcement, entered the presence of the guilty
employer and his equally guilty confederate; close behind him followed
Robert Raymond.
At the sight of him Cromwell staggered to his feet, and gazed upon him
with distended eyes, and Paul Morton sat as if rooted to the chair.
It was an effective tableau.