MRS. EVEREST BEGINS TO EXPLAIN
Titus found his grandfather sitting in his armchair, with Bethany on her
little stool at his feet. Her head was pressed against him. Her eyes
were red and troubled, and occasionally she caught her breath in a faint
sob.
Mrs. Everest sat opposite them, and on seeing Titus she said, eagerly,
“Come, boy, we are just waiting for you.” Then she turned to the Judge.
“Do I understand you to say that you have not the slightest inkling of
all that occurred to-day?”
“It would perhaps not be right to say that I have not the slightest
inkling,” returned the Judge. “I see that something important has
happened—some attempt on Bethany’s life or liberty, I imagine. I am in
possession of not one detail.”
“Do you mean to say that no one told you about it?” said Mrs. Everest,
incredulously. “Why did not some of those people explain to you? I
depended on them. I was busy looking after the people myself, and I
wanted to say a few words to the reporters. Some things we don’t want to
get in the press. Why, where was Dallas? He knew all about it.”
“Here,” exclaimed a sudden voice, and the English boy pushed open the
door and came in. He was red and flushed, and looked tired.
“If I haven’t had a dance after that firecracker!” he exclaimed. “What a
beast of a boy! He was stealing right and left here, or trying to. I had
to drag him with me wherever I went. First of all, he brought his wheel
into the house by the back way and broke a stepladder and muddied a lot
of clean clothes down in the lower hall. Thank fortune, he’s gone now.
I’ve just escorted him to the corner of the first street.”
Mrs. Everest looked anxious. “I must hurry home and talk to him. But
first to enlighten you, dear Judge. I shall begin at the first. Two
weeks ago Barry Mafferty came to me in great anxiety. Now, this mustn’t
be talked about. You boys will be careful not to say anything about him.
Dear little Bethany is going to sleep,” and she threw a compassionate
glance at the tired face against the Judge’s knee.
“You don’t wish Mafferty’s name mentioned in connection with the
affair,” said the Judge, shrewdly.
“Not a murmur of it. You see, he used to be a miserable sort of a man,
and now he is really reforming. Well, he said a man he knew to be a
criminal was prowling about your house. He made up his mind—indeed, he
had cause to do so—that the fellow had designs upon some one in your
family. He decided that it was Bethany, for he found out that old Mr.
Hittaker—”
She paused an instant for breath, as she was speaking very rapidly, and
the Judge, with a faint gleam of amusement passing over his face,
inquired, “Of Hittaker’s soap?”
“The same. Poor old man, he had lost his daughter, her husband, and her
children. He hadn’t a relative in the world left but Bethany. Mafferty
said that probably some nest of criminals had decided to steal Bethany,
on the supposition that she would be made old Mr. Hittaker’s heiress,
or, even if she weren’t, that you would be willing to pay a considerable
sum to get her back.”
The Judge shook his head. “I don’t know how it is, but an impression has
got out that I am worth a great deal more money than I really possess. I
suppose it is because I stopped working when I thought I had enough, and
because I spend what I have, instead of hoarding it.”
“You could not be mean,” said Mrs. Everest. “You are very generous and
very sensible. Well, to continue. Barry was greatly excited, and didn’t
want to trouble you in the affair, so he enlisted my aid and my
husband’s. Then, too, he wanted to catch the would-be kidnapers, and he
was afraid you would not wait for them as we have done. It was sorry
work, in a way, but both my husband and Barry said that anyone bad
enough to carry off a child should be caught and shut up.”
“So you have been playing detective?” said the Judge, and his eyes
sparkled with interest and a slight inclination to tease.
“Yes, dear Judge, amateur detectives. We did nothing to entice to crime.
We merely waited. I knew, Barry knew, my husband knew, Roblee, your
coachman, knew, Mrs. Hume knew. Cracker, the naughty Cracker, was merely
told to watch certain people, and he has been scorching up and down this
avenue like a thing possessed. We did not call in the aid of the local
police or the New York police till the last day or two. Two young
newspaper men here have helped us wonderfully. One of them guarded
Jennie.”
“Jennie!” exclaimed the Judge.
“O, yes; I forgot to say that she had to be told, too. Those scamps
found out that she slept in the room with Bethany and had charge of her,
so they tried to become friendly with her in order to get information
from her. One of them came here one day in the guise of a workman.”
“Who came?”
“One of this gang of miscreants. He rang the bell, walked in, said he
was a workman come to do the window shades in the attic. Jennie went up
with him, and when he got in the attic she found there weren’t any
shades to mend; they were all in order. He laughed and said he had come
to the wrong house; then he rather made friends with her and said he was
a stranger in the city. He wished she would show him about a little.
Would she take a walk with him the next afternoon?”
“She did not go, of course?” said the Judge.
“She did,” said Mrs. Everest, reluctantly; “she mistook her
instructions. We would not have had her go with him for the world; but
you may be sure she did not go alone.”
“Why did you not stop her, if you did not wish her to go?” inquired the
Judge, slightly wrinkling his forehead.
“I did not know about it, dear Judge. You see, it was this way: One of
those young reporters had engaged a room in that quiet street around the
corner from here, where Bethany goes to school. What is the name of it?”
Titus supplied the name. “It is Garden Street, Mrs. Everest.”
“O, yes—Garden Street. Well, Mr. Busby took a room opposite Mrs. Hume’s.
Jennie consulted him, and he told her to go with the man. He would be
near her. So Jennie went, and Cracker, scooting after her, reported her
movements to Harry Busby. The pretended workman, who called himself
Simpson, acted like a gentleman. He talked nicely to Jennie, took her
for a walk down Broadway, and invited her to go into Duffy’s for ice
cream.”
The Judge did not like this, and Mrs. Everest hastened on: “She did it
for Bethany, dear Judge. She felt terribly embarrassed. You know what a
nice, quiet girl Jennie is—not one to take up with strangers at all.
However, when it came to the ice cream she thought she had gone far
enough, and Harry Busby released her. She put up her hand and took off
her veil. That was a sign that she was tired of the affair. Busby was
watching her through the doorway. He came in, pretended to be an old
friend, and that he was jealous to find her with a stranger, and in a
quiet way made her come with him.”
“And what came out of that escapade?” asked the Judge, with emphasis.
“Nothing, except that the stranger found that he could not gain any
control over Jennie.”
“Did he ask her any questions about Bethany?”
“Not one; he was evidently planning that for another meeting. But he
never saw Jennie again. Foiled in that, the kidnapers turned their whole
attention on gaining control of the child herself. By the way, we found
out that there were just two at first—two young men. One, whose real
name was Smalley, called himself Givins; the other, his confederate, who
tried to deceive Jennie, called himself Simpson, as I said before. Barry
didn’t know his real name.”
“Do you suppose Smalley was the right name of the first one?” asked the
Judge, searchingly.
“O, no, but that is the name he mostly goes by, Barry says. Anyway, we
had these two fellows well watched, and cleverly watched, for they did
not suspect us. You see, there were so many of us, and they were only
two. Well, two days ago they both disappeared, and at this point we took
our city detectives and the New York detectives into our confidence. One
of our own men went to New York with Givins and Simpson, reported to an
agency there, and the two men have been watched. We hope to hear of
their arrest any time now.”
“Well, this _is_ a plot,” said the Judge, drawing a long breath.
Mrs. Everest nodded her pretty head at him. “You don’t quite approve,
Judge. I see it in your eye. O, if you knew what a pleasure it has been
to watch over your interests!”
The Judge looked gratified. “My dear child, I thank you,” he said,
heartily; “but look there,” and he turned abruptly to Dallas and Titus.
The two boys’ faces were red; their heads and bodies, too, for that
matter, were bending forward. They were absolutely hanging on every word
she uttered.
“Just see them,” said the Judge, ironically, “their young eyes starting
out of their heads. You know what my career has been. I may say that
mine has been a profession that I have kept separate from my home
interests. I early made up my mind that, as far as possible, it is best
to keep the evil and the good apart. Not one word has my family ever
heard me utter with regard to the process of litigating or carrying on
suits in courts of law or equity or on the darker world of criminal
actions and cases. I know that the human mind, and especially the
youthful mind, is curious, morbidly curious, with respect to the
proceedings by which a person accused of crime is brought to trial and
judgment. I don’t think that that curiosity ought to be gratified.”
“Nor I,” replied Mrs. Everest, “but surely this is an exceptional case.”
“Possibly,” returned the Judge, “possibly. Please continue your story.”
She smiled sweetly at him, and went on: “After Simpson and Smalley,
alias Givins, left here, two strange women arrived. But we didn’t know
it. Of all the travelers arriving here daily, we could not be supposed
to know at first sight which ones were criminals. However, we did not
relax our vigilance with regard to Bethany. No stranger could approach
her, or any member of your family, without our knowledge. Sure enough,
this morning the kidnaping attempt was to be made.”
“Pardon me,” interrupted the Judge, “but there is a great noise in the
hall below. It goes through my head. Titus, will you see about it?”
The Judge was the only one that had heard the noise. The others had been
so absorbed in Mrs. Everest’s recital, and she herself was still so much
excited, that she was only aware of what was going on immediately about
her.
Titus sprang up and, running out into the hall, looked over the stair
railing.
Poor old Higby, in trouble once more, was executing a kind of war dance
round a young man that Titus speedily recognized as Mrs. Everest’s
husband.
Titus clapped a hand over his mouth to prevent an explosion of laughter,
and for a few instants wickedly did not interfere.
“Let me by, you old scamp,” Tom Everest was saying, half in amusement,
half in irritability. “Don’t you know me? Why, I’ve been coming to this
house ever since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”
“C-c-can’t help it,” replied Higby, flourishing a broom that he held in
his hand. “You aint a-a-a-goin’ up.”
“You old dog—get out of my way—isn’t my wife up there?”
“S-s-stand back,” vociferated Higby, “or I shall h-h-hit you with this
broom.”
“Why, Higby, you’re crazy,” said Tom, good-naturedly. “I tell you my
wife is up there. Would you separate man and wife? I’m going up, anyway.
Now, once more, and for the last time, will you announce me?”
Higby shook his head. Tom gave a grunt of disapproval, and adroitly
taking his broom from him put it over his shoulder and began to march
upstairs with it.
Higby came scrambling, stuttering, and scolding after him, and Tom,
mischievously allowing him to come quite near, would then take a short
run.
“Hello, Tom,” said Titus, familiarly.
“Hello,” returned Tom, looking up. “Since when has this castle been in a
state of siege? Here, retainer, take your flintlock,” and he gayly gave
Higby a playful dig with the broom as he handed it to him.
“Since the assault this morning,” said Titus, with a laugh.
“I declare,” said Tom, looking down at Higby with a whimsical face, “I
was just about to lift up my voice and ask you to call off your dog. I
believe the old fellow has gone crazy. Look at him prancing up and down
with that broom over his shoulder.”
“Higby,” said Titus, staring down at him, “put down that broom.”
“Y-y-yes, sir.”
“And sit down and rest yourself,” continued Titus, anxiously. “You look
tired. I believe the events of the morning have upset him,” he said
under his breath to Tom. “I found him crying just now.”
“He isn’t crying now,” said Tom, pointedly.
Higby, in a state of silly glee, was seated in one of the high-backed
hall chairs, making a succession of most extraordinary and most uncouth
noises.
“Man, what are you trying to do?” called Titus, severely.
“B-b-bow-wow! I’m practicin’ a-barkin’,” replied Higby, with a wild
burst of laughter. “’Tis the second time this mornin’ I’ve been called a
d-d-dog. Missis Blodgett, she begun it. M-m-mister Everest here, he went
on with it. Bow-wow-wow! Ole Higby’s a d-d-dog. Ha! ha! ha!”
“He’s off his head this time, Titus, sure pop,” said Tom. “He acted like
a fool when I arrived. Shut the door in my face, and when I went round
the back way he heard me coming and met me with that broom.”
“Higby,” said Titus, quietly.
“Y-y-yes, sir.”
“Come here.”
The old man got up and came giggling upstairs.
“Go down to the kitchen,” commanded Titus, “and tell Jennie that you are
going to retire to your room for the rest of the day. Then march
upstairs, take off your clothes, and get into bed. Do you hear me?”
“W-w-we’re a-goin’ to have some d-d-delicious jelly for luncheon,” said
Higby, anxiously.
“You shall have some. I’ll see that a big tray of everything going is
sent to your room. Now hurry.”
“B-b-bow-wow,” murmured Higby, under his breath.
“And Higby,” said Tom, kindly, “I was only in fun when I called you a
dog. You’re not one really, you know.”
“Be I a c-c-cat,” inquired Higby, mildly.
Tom’s evil genius prompted him to yield to his impulse to make fun.
“Yes,” he said, wildly, “meow, meow, poor pussy. Scat! Scat!”
He pretended to spit and hiss, and Higby scuttled precipitately
downstairs.
Tom watched him going, then he said, soberly, “How much would you sell
that fellow for, Titus?”
“Grandfather likes him,” said the boy, briefly, “and he was nasty to you
because he had been told to let no one in.”
“Does your grandfather let your servants eat just what you do?” inquired
Tom, curiously.
“The very same. You ought to see his bills in strawberry season.”
“Berty does the same; everyone in the house shares alike,” continued
Tom, “but my people don’t. They would think they couldn’t afford it.
Hello, here we are,” and he entered the Judge’s study.
“How do you again, sir,” said Tom, shaking hands. “I’ve come for my
wife, but I thought I’d never get here.”
“Tom, dear, do sit down,” said Berty, eagerly, “and listen, or perhaps
you can help me with my story. I was just at the most exciting part.”
Tom and Titus seated themselves side by side on the sofa, and Mrs.
Everest continued.