GEOFFREY HAYWOOD’S SECRET JOURNEY.
Leaving Leonard Lester, Carlos Conrad, and Mr. Stark together,
concocting their plans, we will turn again to Dalton and its
neighborhood.
Every one believed Carlos guilty. The evidence (of which only the
merest apology for a synopsis was given in the chapter devoted to that
purpose) pointed to no other conclusion.
Consequently the sentiment on the subject was well-nigh unanimous,
unless exception be made of the few whose sympathies were excited by
the prisoner’s pale, refined face, and those who attached importance
to Mr. Royalton’s closing speech, hinting at new and surprising
developments.
Mr. Geoffrey Haywood, when the examination was concluded, passed
through the crowd with the air of one who had done his duty, and with
an expression of very becoming and impressive sadness.
He proceeded to his store, which was of course closed, and the doors
and shutters of which were draped in black. He stepped within, and soon
emerged, bending his footsteps in the direction of Elm Grove. He paid
Florence Darby, the late Colonel Conrad’s ward, a short visit, offering
words of consolation, and informing her that he had made arrangements
for attendants during the night upon the remains of Colonel Conrad,
which lay in state in the parlor.
He suggested that she permit him to send Tom, with a horse and buggy,
to bring her friend, Mabel Cummings, to bear her company for a few
days during her loneliness and sorrow. To this she assented, and then
Mr. Haywood took his departure, announcing that he would call during
the forenoon of the succeeding day.
It was now after eight o’clock in the evening. Mr. Haywood again
proceeded to his store, and locked himself within, where he remained
for some time.
He heard the train arrive and depart which was to convey Officer George
Johnson and Carlos to Hillsdale. Another hour passed.
Then Mr. Haywood emerged from his store again, carrying a small satchel
in his hand, and proceeded to the railroad depot.
Within ten minutes he was on board the train which was carrying Carlos
from Hillsdale and on to safety. But, as has been before stated, he had
no knowledge or suspicion of the presence of the escaped prisoner.
The station at which he alighted was perhaps a mile from the village
which it was designed to accommodate. At that late hour there was no
hangers-around present; they were only the baggageman, switch-tender,
and an old woman who climbed aboard the train.
Mr. Haywood alighted at the opposite side of the track from which
the depot stood, and quietly stepped beneath a shed. After the train
departed again, the baggageman and switch-tender went within doors, and
no living soul was in sight.
Then Mr. Haywood stepped cautiously forth, and, after a glance all
around, walked briskly down a road that led in an opposite direction
from the village. It was a road that was but little traveled, as was
indicated by the thrifty growth of grass.
He proceeded half a mile, and then climbed a fence and made his way
across a field. Another field was traversed, and then there appeared
a thick clump of woods. Mr. Haywood plunged into the woods, and, with
a readiness which indicated that the locality was familiar to him, made
his way to an immense tree.
With surprising and undignified activity, he caught hold of a
low-growing bough and swung himself up on one of the thick branches.
At this elevation there was an aperture in the trunk of the tree which
afforded access to a capacious cavity. Producing a small dark lantern
from his pocket, and drawing the slide from the glass, Mr. Haywood
proceeded to make a change in his toilet.
He divested himself of his black coat and donned a long linen duster
which he took from the satchel. For his glossy “beaver” he substituted
a rough-looking slouch hat. Then, after taking a brown mask from the
satchel, he put therein the discarded garments, and thrust the satchel
into the hollow place in the tree. The dark lantern he disposed of in
a similar way. Next he tied his long whiskers back under his chin and
fitted the mask over his face.
These preparations being completed, he descended to the ground.
Resuming his walk, he soon emerged from the woods, and came to an open
space.
He was near the sea-coast, and the sound of the wind and the waves
could be distinctly heard. He walked with caution, listening and
peering intently in every direction.
Soon he came to the edge of a high bluff, and began a steep,
precipitous descent. This brought him to the ocean’s edge.
He now had a walk of a mile before him, and proceeded at a rapid pace,
feeling secure against unwelcome meetings.
In fifteen minutes he was at Rocky Beach.
Why he should have taken this circuitous, laborious, and secret route
to reach a point that was a pleasant four miles’ ride from Dalton, will
duly appear.
He halted within a few rods of the rocky cavern, and blew a signal on a
small, shrill whistle.
No answer came.
He blew again, and the signal remained unregarded, to his evident
vexation.
The next instant he was startled by the sound of rapid footsteps.
Roake and Snags came running from the cave, uttering cries of anger and
alarm. They came almost upon Haywood.
“Here he is!” shouted Snags.
“What’s the matter, boys?” asked Haywood, in a low tone.
“That’s the boss, you fool,” exclaimed Roake.
Both the men stopped suddenly, uttering suppressed imprecations.
“What is the trouble?” demanded Haywood.
“Trouble enough,” replied Roake. “The bird has flown.”
“What! you don’t mean Lester?”
“Yes; that’s just who I mean. He has given us the slip.”
“How in Satan’s name did that happen?”
“Why, we had to get in the goods, and there was no place to keep him
except――you know where. We gave him some wine that was fixed, and he
went to sleep. But the effect passed off sooner than we expected, and
while we were all up in the loft he stepped out.”
“Curse the luck! How long was it before you discovered that he was
gone?”
“I don’t know. I told Ratter to go down and shut the door, but he
waited some little time, being hard at work. When he did go down he
yelled up the news to us, and Snags and I rushed out, leaving the
others up there. But here we are talking, when we ought to be after
him. I wonder which way he went.”
The three men commenced an active search in various directions. In a
moment Snags exclaimed, with an oath:
“One of the boats is gone!”
All three rushed to the spot.
“Yes,” exclaimed Roake, “and it’s the Gull――the fastest one we’ve got.
There’s not another yacht here that can catch it. There is no use in
pursuing him.”
“It won’t do to give up that way,” replied Haywood. “He can’t have gone
a great distance. Take the other boat and go after him.”
“I tell you it’s no use.”
“And I tell you nothing must be left untried. Go!”
Haywood was evidently the “boss” in earnest, for Roake instantly
prepared to start.
“I’ll take the little Fleetwing,” he said, “for I can’t do anything
with this unwieldly old hulk here.”
He referred to the larger yacht that stood close to the one that
Leonard had taken. The Fleetwing was one of the regular boats kept at
Rocky Beach for the accommodation of visitors.
Roake ran up the beach a few rods, sprang into the Fleetwing, and set
sail, leaving Snags and Haywood on the shore.
Snags soon spoke.
“Boss,” said he, in a mysterious tone, “I must know who you are
to-night. I must see you without that mask on, too.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Haywood.
“I mean that I’ve worked in the dark long enough. I have never seen
your face, nor heard your real name. You have given all your orders
to Roake, and all your confidence. He has been the favored one.”
“Well, Snags,” said Haywood, soothingly, “you know I cannot be too
cautious. A secret is best kept by a few.”
“Not if those who have a right to know it are kept in the dark.
However, we won’t argue that. I’ve got something to tell you. I haven’t
told Roake yet. I preferred to wait and see you. Roake sent me to Elm
Grove that night, by your order, not to do what I did do, but to see
what was going on. I was to steal into the house, open Colonel Conrad’s
private desk, and see if I could find any papers of importance――a will,
for instance. I know why I was sent. It was because Roake had not the
courage, and, besides, he wouldn’t know a will from a search-warrant.
Is not this all true?”
“All true,” assented Haywood.
“The murder was not in the plan,” continued Snags, with a shudder.
“I did it in self-defense, for the colonel saw me and turned on me. I
had nothing to do but the thing I did do, and it will haunt me all my
life. But never mind that. What I have to tell you is that I did find
something.”
“Ah!”
Haywood was betrayed in the act of showing surprise.
“Yes, I found something that you would like to see.”
“Was it a will?”
“No, it was a letter, or part of one. But I think he had made a will――a
new one.”
“Why do you think that?” asked Haywood in agitation.
“Because the letter spoke of it, among other things. It was addressed
to Timothy Tibbs Dalton.”
“Yes, his lawyer. And there was an envelope directed to him on the
table.”
“Was there?” said Snags. “I didn’t notice that. The letter was what I
saw, and secured.”
“You took it, did you? Where is it now?”
“That is the secret that I offer in exchange for yours.”
“That of my identity――my name and face, you mean.”
“Yes.”
Haywood reflected.
“How am I to know that the letter will be of any value to me?” he asked.
“You can take my word for it, or I will repeat part of its contents to
you. I have read it often enough to remember it pretty well. But first
I must tell you that it is not complete. In pulling it from his hand I
tore it, leaving a fragment in his grip. He was holding it and reading
it over. That missing piece contains some important words, too, but
probably they can be guessed at.”
“Well, well, I haven’t much time to spare. Repeat the contents of the
letter, as nearly as you can remember.”
Snags thereupon whispered a few words in Haywood’s ear, to which the
latter ♦listened with great intentness. They seemed to be of vital
import, judging from their effect on Haywood.
“Give me the letter!” he exclaimed. “And the fragment torn off――where
is that?”
“Carlos Conrad has it.”
“Ah! Why did you not take it from him?”
“Because he was too lively for me. Roake has told you of his flight and
my pursuit, and my catching the wrong man?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you see the secret of Colonel Conrad’s last message lies between
Carlos Conrad and myself. Put what I know and what he knows together,
and something will be revealed that you want to know. My share is for
sale at the price I have named.”
“Very well. You have told Roake nothing of this?”
“No.”
“Then give me the letter.”
“The price first.”
Snags drew the letter from his pocket and held it aloft.
“My name is Geoffrey Haywood. Now look at me.”
Haywood tore away the mask and turned his face full on Snags. The
light of the moon enabled the latter to take a satisfactory view of
the countenance of his hitherto unknown “boss.”
He made no comment, but silently delivered the letter. Haywood,
replacing the mask, put the letter carefully in his pocket, and said:
“You got all the goods in?”
“Yes.”
“Good! You had better send the men off, and set the cataract going
immediately. I must be off. I have less than an hour to reach the
station and catch the train that will take me in Dalton before daylight.
If you wish to see me at anytime, drop a note in the post-office,
mention the time and place, and sign your name Bullfinch. Good-night.”
And Haywood hastened down the beach, to retrace his steps through the
fields and woods, and make his return trip to Dalton.
He was unconscious that a skulking form followed him, watching his
every movement, and that when he stopped in the woods to cast off his
disguise, a pair of eager eyes were fixed upon him.
He accomplished his return safely, and, as he supposed, secretly, and
breathed a sigh of relief, when, after passing through the silent and
deserted streets of Dalton, he locked himself within his own store.