A Counterfeit Presentment
We had not much talk together. The few questions which I cautiously put
evidently rendered him uncomfortable, and I on my part, having made sure
of one all-potent fact, was anxious to get away and think the puzzle
over.
I was at the last course of my dinner when the man entered, and having
finished I rose.
"Are you stopping long in San Francisco?" I asked, with my best air of
carelessness.
"A couple of days or so," he said. "See you again to-morrow, I daresay."
It was plain that he was glad to get rid of me. Naturally he was afraid
of all men, strangers to him, who claimed knowledge of him as Harvey
Farnham. He was playing a bold and dangerous game, and no doubt he was
aware that, unless he kept himself in hand, and never for an instant
lost his presence of mind, any moment might find him beaten.
So dizzy was I with the fumes of my discovery that my brain would not
answer to my command. I could not think. I could only say over and over
again--"Not Harvey Farnham! The fellow is a mere decoy!"
Out in the open I knew that I should have a better chance of mastering
myself. On the way to the door I stepped into the "office" again and
glanced at the visitors' book. Harvey Farnham's name was written down
opposite the number 249, and I knew, therefore, that his room must be
near, and in the same wing in the back as mine.
The glorious salt wind soon restored me to myself, and I wandered
through some of the streets I had known and forgotten, thinking busily.
I could understand much now that had been dark to me, though even yet
far too much for my peace of mind remained hidden.
It was no wonder that this counterfeit presentment of a dead man (for I
was certain enough now that poor Farnham was dead) had cumbered himself
with bandages, and simulated sprains, and thickened his voice with an
alleged bronchitis. There was a wonderful family likeness between
voices, when they only spoke in a rough whisper, and the green shade
over the eyes had doubtless proved very advantageous in keeping up the
optical illusion on which the man had courageously dared to count, even
among Farnham's Denver friends. To be sure he had hurried away as soon
as possible from every place where he had stayed since arriving at New
York on the _St. Paul_. In each one he had accomplished an object
vital to the interest of the plot. He had been able to refute the story
of Harvey Farnham's murder, in person, and having evidently been well
grounded in all prominent facts connected with Farnham's life, habits,
and trip to England, had made a _coup_ in his interview with the
New York police.
Having done all that was necessary in the east, he had then taken the
final and most hazardous step of going to Farnham's home. It was hardly
remarkable, therefore, that he had seized the opportunity of escaping so
trying an ordeal at once. It seemed to me impossible that he should
intend returning to Denver, where, in the light of day, and among old
business and domestic associates, he could not long hope to escape
detection, perfect as the likeness seemed to be. What, then, would he
do, I eagerly asked myself? He had so far been successful in
establishing the fact all along his route that Harvey Farnham had not
only returned in safety to America, but had shown himself at home. So
much having been gained, Wildred must perforce be relieved of all
suspicion of the crime which I had tried to fasten upon him, and this
being the case, I assured myself that it was Wildred's hand only which
had contrived this intricate and ingenious plot. This man, disguised as
Farnham, was in Wildred's pay, there could be no doubt of that, and had
in all probability been engaged for the purpose he was now carrying out
before the murder had taken place.
I tried as I walked to put myself in the place of the schemers, and thus
hew out, through an intimate mental process, some idea as to how the
loose ends of the mystery were to be disposed of.
"If I were that fellow," I said to myself at last, "I should think it
was about time to disappear. I should feel sure I'd come to the end of
my tether, and that somehow or other Harvey Farnham, as represented by
me, had got to be unostentatiously wiped out."
Farnham, however, was too rich and important a man in the western states
of his own country to disappear conveniently and with impunity. There
would be a hue and cry, and suspicious facts might somehow be brought to
light. The only safe way, I decided, would be for the alleged Harvey
Farnham to kill himself; but this it did not appear very likely that the
most dazzling bribe could induce him to do. He meant to find some more
comfortable way out of the hole into which he had so deliberately crept
than the way of suicide, and it began to seem that the only method by
which I could prove my case would be by finding out what that way was to
be.
At present, unless I could have the fellow arrested, and such disguise
as he might wear dragged off, I should have great difficulty in
obtaining credence of my story. The incidents were all so remarkable
that they must be certified with the best of evidence, and such evidence
as I wanted could only be forthcoming from Bennett, or someone else in
Denver who knew Farnham equally well.
What I must do, I thought, would be to keep on the man's track, and
never for an hour lose sight of him. I must do this without arousing any
suspicion on his part as to my motives until the last moment, when I
should be prepared to accuse him.
This conclusion naturally reminded me that at the very moment it was
reached I had virtually lost sight of my quarry, and that already I
might have missed my chance. Accordingly, I hurried back to the Santa
Anna Hotel, and though it was then too late to wire Bennett, I
determined to do so early the next morning. I would request him to come
on to San Francisco at once on a matter of extreme importance, and--his
mind being already disturbed concerning his employer--he would lose no
time in obeying. In Bennett, if I could fairly corner the bogus Farnham,
I should have the most valuable witness in the world.
My first question was as to whether Mr. Farnham were in the hotel. He
had not yet returned from a call which he had gone to make after dinner,
and I sat down, therefore, in the corridor inside the front doors,
through which he would have to pass on entering.
I pretended to be absorbed in a local paper, but in reality my thoughts
were a maelstrom. Suppose he had already escaped me!
At half-past eleven, however, he came in. I did not seem to lift my eyes
from the pages before them. He would have to go directly by me on his
way upstairs; time enough to appear to observe him then.
"Cablegram for you, Mr. Farnham," said the clerk of the hotel.
"Ah!" The exclamation was one of surprise. He had not, then, been
expecting the message.
I could not resist looking up after all to watch him in the act of
reading it, and as I did so my eyes caught a gleam from his, under the
green shade, as they turned to my face with an expression that was like
a hunted animal's. In the instant I was as positive as though he had
told me in so many words that the cablegram he had received was from
Carson Wildred, and intimately concerned me. Probably it said, "If a man
named Noel Stanton turns up, he is an enemy--beware of him."
I regretted immediately that I had given him my real name when we met at
dinner, for, warned now by Wildred, he would be ever on his guard. He
was seized with a creditable fit of coughing as he passed me, and having
growled out something about being "deuced tired, and sleeping like a
log," he went upstairs.
I followed him in time to see him enter his own room, which was only
half a dozen doors from mine, and to hear him noisily lock the door. It
occurred to me that he was desirous to have me know that he _had_
locked it, and I wondered if already he had begun to suspect my motive.