UNDER ARREST
I will not hesitate to state that I was nearly stunned by Mr. Aaron
Woodward's unexpected statement. I knew that when he announced that I
was a worse villain than my father he meant a good deal.
Yet try as hard as I could it was impossible for me to discover what
he really did mean. I was not conscious of having done him any injury,
either bodily or otherwise. Indeed, of late I had hardly seen the man.
The Widow Canby was not partial to dealings with him, and I never went
near him on my own account.
It was plain to see that the merchant was thoroughly aroused. His face
was pale with anger, and the look he cast upon me was one of bitter
resentment. For the instant he eyed me as if he intended to spring
upon me and choke the life out of my body, and involuntarily I shrank
back. But then I recollected that the minions of the law who stood
beside me would not allow such a course of procedure, and this made me
breathe more freely.
"Yes, sir; he's a worse villain than his father!" repeated Mr. Aaron
Woodward, turning to Judge Penfold; "a most accomplished villain,
sir." And he shook his fist within an inch of my nose.
"What have I done to you, Mr. Woodward?" I demanded, as soon as I
could speak.
"Done, sir? You know very well what you've done, you young rascal!"
puffed the merchant. "Oh, but I'll make you pay dearly for your
villainy."
"I've committed no villainy," I returned warmly. "If you refer to the
way I treated Duncan this morning, why all I've got to say is that it
was his own fault, and I can prove it."
"Treated Duncan? Oh, pshaw! This is far more serious affair than a
boy's quarrel. Don't let him escape, Parsons"--the last to the
constable, who had his hand on my shoulder.
"No fear, sir," was Parson's reply. "He's already under arrest."
"Under arrest?" repeated the merchant quickly. "Then you've already
heard--"
"He is ahem--only under detention as a witness," spoke up Judge
Penfold. "I do not think he had anything to do with the theft of the
widow's money."
"Widow's money! What do you mean?"
In a few words Judge Penfold explained the situation. "Isn't this what
you came about?" he asked then.
"Indeed, no, sir. My affair is far more important--at least to me.
But you can make up your mind that Strong's story is purely fiction.
He is undoubtedly the real culprit, undoubtedly. Takes after his
father."
"My father was an honest man!" I cried out. "I don't care what you or
any one may say! Some day he will be cleared of the stain on his
name."
"Oh, undoubtedly," sneered Mr. Woodward. "Mean while, however, the
community at large had better keep a sharp eye on his son. Whom do you
assert stole the Widow Canby's money?"
"A tramp."
"Humph! A likely story."
"It's true. His name was John Stumpy."
"John Stumpy!"
As Mr. Aaron Woodwind uttered the name, all the color forsook his
face.
"Yes, sir. And he claimed to know you," I went on, my curiosity amused
over the merchant's show of feeling.
"It's a falsehood! I never heard of such a man," cried Mr. Woodward,
but his face belied his words.
"Well, what is your charge against Strong?" asked Judge Penfold,
impatiently, probably tired of being so utterly ignored in the
discussion.
The merchant hesitated.
"I prefer to speak to you about the matter in private," he said
sourly.
"That isn't fair. He ought to tell me what I am accused of," I cried,
"Every one who is arrested has a right to know that. I have done no
wrong and I am not afraid."
"All assumed bravery, Judge Penfold; quite assumed, sir."
"No, sir. Tell me why you want me locked up," I repeated.
But instead of replying Mr. Woodward drew Judge Penfold to the rear
end of the hall and began to speak in so low a tone that I could not
catch a word.
"You don't mean it!" I heard the judge say presently. "Come into the
library and give me the particulars."
The two men passed into the room, closing the door tightly behind
them. They were gone nearly quarter of an hour--a long wait for me. I
wondered what could be the nature of Mr. Woodward's accusation against
me, but failed to solve the mystery.
At length they came out. Judge Penfold's face was a trifle sterner
than before. Mr. Woodward looked pleased, as if his argument had
proven conclusive.
"You will take Strong to the jail at once," said the judge to Parsons
"and tell Booth to be careful of his prisoner."
"Yes, sir."
"Don't let him escape," added Aaron Woodward, anxiously. "Don't let
him escape, sir, under any circumstances."
"No fear," was Parsons's ready answer. "I never had one of 'em give me
the slip yet."
And with great gravity he drew from his pocket a pair of ancient
handcuffs, one of which he attached to my wrist and the other to his
own.
"Come, Roger. Better take it easy," he said. "No use of kicking.
March!"
"But I'd like to know something about this," I protested. "What
right--"
"It is all quite legal," put in Judge Penfold, pompously. "I
understand the law perfectly."
"But--"
"Say no more. Parsons, take him away."
"I shall see you later," whispered Mr. Woodward in my ear as the
constable hurried me off.
The next instant we were on the street. Arrests in Darbyville were
rare, and by the time we reached the jail we had a goodly following of
boys and idle men, all anxious to know what was up.
"He stole the Widow Canby's money," I heard one man whisper, to which
another replied:--
"Light fingered, eh? Must take after his father. I always knew the
Strongs couldn't be trusted."
The jail was a small affair, being nothing more than the loft over a
carpenter shop. The jailer was a round-faced man named Booth, who
filled in his spare time by doing odd jobs of carpentering in the shop
downstairs. We found him hard at work glueing some doors together. I
knew him tolerably well, and he evinced considerable surprise at
seeing me in custody.
"What, Roger; arrested! What for?"
"That's what I would like to know," I returned.
In a few words Parsons told him what was to be done, and Booth led the
way upstairs.
"'Tain't a very secure place," he returned. "Reckon I'll have to nail
down some of the windows unless you'll give me your word not to run
away."
"I'll promise nothing," was my reply. "I'm being treated unfairly, and
I shall do as I think best."
"Then I'll fasten everything as tight as a drum," returned Booth.
Going below, he secured a hammer and some nails, with which he secured
the windows and the scuttle on the roof.
"Reckon it's tight enough now," he said. "Just wait, Parsons, till I
get him a bucket of water."
This was done, and then the two men left me, closing and locking the
door of the enclosed staircase behind them.
The loft was empty, saving a nail keg that stood in one corner of the
floor. Pulling this out, I sat down to think matters over.
Try my best I could not imagine what charge Mr. Aaron Woodward had
brought against me. Yet such had been his earnestness that for the
nonce everything else was driven from my mind.
The sounds of talking below interrupted my meditations. I recognized
Kate's voice, and the next moment my sister stood beside me.
"Oh, Roger!" was all she could say, and catching me by the arm she
burst into tears.
"Don't take it so hard, Kate," I said. "Make sure it will all come out
right in the end."
"But to be arrested like--like a thief! Oh, Roger, it is dreadful!"
"Never mind. I have done no wrong, and I'm not afraid of the result.
Have they heard anything of John Stumpy yet?"
"Dick Blair says not. Mr. Parsons and the rest are after him, but he
seems to have disappeared for good--and Mrs. Canby's money with him."
"Have you heard from her yet?"
"No; but I've written her a letter and just posted it to Norfolk."
"She won't get it till day after to-morrow."
"What will she say? Oh, Roger, do you think--"
"No, I don't. The widow always trusted me, and I know she'll take my
word now. She is not so narrow-minded as the very folks who look down
on her."
"But it is awful! Over two hundred dollars! We can never make it up.
We've only got twenty-eight!"
"We can't exactly be called upon to make it up--" I began.
"But we'll want to," put in Kate, hastily.
"I'd feel better if we did. The widow has always been so kind to us."
"How long must you stay here?"
"I don't know. As long as Judge Penfold sees fit, I suppose."
"If only they could catch this John Stumpy."
"I hope so--for other reasons than those you know, Kate."
"Other reasons?"
"Yes; very important ones, too. John Stumpy knew father well. And he
was mixed up in that--that miserable affair."
"Oh, Roger, how do you know?"
"I heard him say so. Besides, he dropped a letter that proved it. I
have the letter in my pocket now. It's the dying statement of one
Nicholas Weaver--"
"Nicholas Weaver! He was a clerk with father!"
"So I thought. Who Stumpy is, though, I don't know. Do you?"
"No; but his face I'm sure I've seen before. Let me see the letter.
Have you read it?"
"No; I hadn't time to spell it out, it is so badly written. Maybe you
can read it."
"I'll try," replied Kate. "Hand it over."
I put my hand in my pocket to do so. The statement was gone!