“My Dear Tom: I am having a great time out here in the beautiful Catskills. The peace and quiet of this picturesque mountain retreat are just the things for my jaded nerves. I have not forgotten my physician’s instructions to avoid all forms of excitement, nor your kind advice to try to forget that there is such a thing in the world as a camera. I like this calm, inactive life so much that if you can possibly spare me, I should like to stay out here a few weeks longer than I had contemplated. Hope this will be satisfactory, as I should really hate to leave here just now.”
Now, Paxton knew the Camera Chap too well to be entirely deceived by this ingeniously worded missive. He knew that peace, inactivity, and picturesque scenery were not sufficiently alluring to Hawley to cause him to wish to prolong his absence from Park Row. He had strong doubts, too, whether it was within the bounds of possibility for Hawley to go for so long a time without using a camera.
He read the letter over again, and chuckled. “He says that he has not forgotten his physician’s instructions to avoid all forms of excitement, or my advice to try to forget that there is such a thing in the world as a camera,” he mused. “He says he has not forgotten that advice, but he does not say that he has followed it.
“I wonder what mischief the young dare-devil is up to?” he went on. “There must be something pretty good going[Pg 38] on up there to make him ask for a longer vacation. He wasn’t at all keen on going away.”
Then Paxton took his pen, and answered Hawley’s letter:
“My Dear Frank: By all means, take as long as you like. Things are pretty slow in town, and your presence here is not needed. But even if we did need you, I should hesitate to take you away from the ‘peace and quiet of the picturesque Catskills,’ since you appear to be deriving so much enjoyment and benefit from them.”
It happened that the letter was never mailed. Paxton had inclosed it in an envelope, and was about to address it, when some important business matter claimed his attention. The missive was thrust into a pigeonhole of the managing editor’s desk, and it was not until several days later that Paxton came across it, and reproached himself for his carelessness.
He was just putting a stamp on it, with the intention of sending it out to the mail chute, when an office boy entered the private office, and handed him a telegram:
“Paxton, Managing Editor, New York Sentinel.
“Frank Hawley, Sentinel staff photographer, arrested here to-day. He is in a bad fix, and will surely go to jail for six months unless you can save him. Send help at once.
Oldham Daily Bulletin.”
Paxton was a man of quick action. Without wasting any time trying to read between the lines of this laconic message, he grabbed the receiver from the telephone on his desk, and gave an order to the switchboard operator.
“Get the Oldham Bulletin on the long-distance wire immediately,” he commanded, “and let me talk to the managing editor.”
Fred Carroll had been arrested and taken to police headquarters before this telephonic connection was made, but one of the Bulletin’s staff spoke to Paxton over the wire, and gave him the details of the Camera Chap’s predicament.
Then the managing editor of the Sentinel did some more telephoning.
“Call up Powers & Hands’ law office, and ask Mr. Hands to be kind enough to step over here and see me as soon as possible,” he said to the switchboard operator. “Tell him to be prepared to take a little trip out of town right away.”
Powers & Hands was the firm which attended to all the Sentinel’s legal business. They were one of the most prominent law firms in New York, and saved the Sentinel thousands of dollars annually by squelching incipient libel suits brought against that newspaper, or successfully fighting in the courts those which could not be squelched.
Mr. Horatio Hands, the younger of the partners, was not much to look at. He was an insignificant little chap, with a red beard and a thin voice that was almost falsetto. He was not much of a success at addressing a jury—his partner, big Alexander Powers, attended to that part of the work—but when it came to getting a client off on a legal technicality, or winning a case by picking flaws in a law, there wasn’t another lawyer in New York who was his equal. That was why Tom Paxton had chosen him to go to the rescue of the Camera Chap, instead of calling for the services of his more oratorical but less keen-witted partner.[Pg 39]
Mr. Hands came over to the Sentinel office right away. “Well, Mr. Paxton?” he squeaked, as he entered the managing editor’s sanctum. “What unfortunate citizen has the Sentinel been traducing this time?”
“It isn’t a libel suit, Mr. Hands,” Paxton explained, with a smile. “It’s one of the young men of our staff. He’s got into a little trouble in Oldham—a small town in the vicinity of the Catskills. I have just received word of his plight, and would appreciate it very much if you would go out there right away and help him out of this scrape.”
The lawyer frowned. “Only a reporter in a scrape, eh? Couldn’t one of our clerks attend to that just as well? Surely it isn’t necessary for me to go out there personally.”
“Yes, it is,” Paxton declared. “I understand that he’s in a pretty bad fix, and it’s require the best of legal talent to get him out. That is why I have sent for you, Mr. Hands.”
The lawyer bowed in acknowledgment of this compliment, but his frown deepened.
“Well, I’m very busy just now,” he said, “and I shall have to charge you a good fee if it is necessary to give my own time to this case.”
“I don’t care what it costs!” Paxton rejoined vehemently. “When the Camera Chap is in danger of going to jail, the Sentinel doesn’t consider the question of expense. You’ve got to get him out, Mr. Hands, even if you have to take his case all the way up to the United States supreme court.”
CHAPTER XXXVI.
A TYPOGRAPHICAL ERROR.
When Chief of Police Hodgins learned that a prominent lawyer had come from New York to take the case of the Camera Chap, he was somewhat worried; but when he got a glimpse of Mr. Horatio Hands, his anxiety vanished, and he expressed his opinion of that legal luminary by a guffaw of derision.
“You just oughter to see him, Mr. Mayor,” he said to the Honorable Martin Henkle. “He’s a little bit of a pink-whiskered runt that don’t look as if he’s got nerve enough to swat a fly. I guess we ain’t got nothin’ to fear from him.”
“Well, you can’t always go by appearances,” Mayor Henkle replied. “He must be a pretty good lawyer, or that newspaper wouldn’t have sent him here. However, we have no cause to worry that I can see. We’ve got a clear cut-and-dried case against that fellow Hawley, and all the lawyers in the world couldn’t keep him out of jail.”
Hodgins nodded. “Sure! He might as well plead guilty, and save the court’s time. What defense can he offer? None that I can think of. By the way, Mr. Mayor, I met my friend Timmins, the warden of the county jail, on Main Street this morning. I spoke to him about that Camera Chap, and Timmins has promised to make things hot for him when he arrives there. Timmins has his own little ways of rubbing it into an inmate of his institution when he don’t like him. I guess by the time that young loafer gets through servin’ his time he’ll have had all the chestiness taken out of him.”
Although Hawley, according to his legal rights, should have been brought before a magistrate on the same day[Pg 40] that he was arrested, he was not taken to court until the following morning.
The delay was due to the explosion in the Chronicle Building. Hodgins had been so busy working on that case that he had not had time to go to court, eager though he was to see the Camera Chap’s case disposed of as soon as possible.
The latter, with Carroll to keep him company, spent the night in the cell at police headquarters. The next morning both of them were taken to the police court, but while Hawley, his offense being only a misdemeanor, was to have his fate settled right away in that court, Carroll, being charged with a more serious crime, was to have merely a preliminary examination.
The explosion in the Chronicle Building had created a lot of excitement in Oldham, and the courtroom was crowded when the two newspaper men were arraigned. The Honorable Martin Henkle was among those present. He sat on the bench beside the magistrate, a smile of grim satisfaction upon his face.
Carroll was the first to be given a hearing. As he was arraigned at the bench, a little man with a reddish beard stepped briskly to his side.
“Who are you, sir?” the judge inquired.
“Counsel for the defense, your honor,” the little man answered, in a shrill, piping voice that caused many in the courtroom to smile.
Chief Hodgins scowled. “But I thought you was the lawyer for the other one—the camera feller,” he protested.
“I am not responsible for your thoughts, my friend,” the lawyer retorted. “If I were, my responsibilities would be light. However, in order to satisfy your curiosity, I don’t mind informing you that I have been retained as counsel in both cases. Mr. Carroll has honored me by asking me to look after his interests, too.”
The lawyer turned to the magistrate. “Your honor, in this case, although I am convinced that my client’s arrest is an outrage, as we shall easily prove later on, we will waive examination.”
“Very good, sir,” said the judge. “I will remand the prisoner to the county jail, to await the action of the grand jury. Call the next case.”
“Frank Hawley to the bar!” yelled the court officer.
As the Camera Chap stepped forward, his eyes met those of the Honorable Martin Henkle. The latter’s face wore an expression resembling that of a cat which is about to swallow a canary. It was an exact duplicate of the expression which at that moment adorned the countenance of Chief of Police Hodgins.
It did not take the latter long to present his evidence against the prisoner. Three recent victims of Hawley’s camera came forward, and identified him as the man who had snapshotted them on the streets of Oldham. Hodgins swore that these pictures had been taken without a license.
Copies of the Bulletin containing reproductions of these snapshots were offered in evidence. Counsel for the defense asked to be permitted to examine these exhibits. After he had glanced at them, the lawyer addressed the court.
“Your honor,” he cried shrilly, “admitting that my client took those snapshots without a license, I move that the case be dismissed on the grounds that he has violated no law.[Pg 41]”
The magistrate stared at him in astonishment. Mayor Henkle, rendered vaguely uneasy by the lawyer’s confident tone, fidgeted nervously in his seat. Chief Hodgins uttered a loud snort of contempt; never in all his experience had he heard such bosh.
“On the grounds that he has violated no law?” the magistrate repeated witheringly. “I don’t understand you, sir. It appears to the court that the prisoner has violated the law prohibiting the taking of photographs on the streets of Oldham without a license.”
“There is no such law, your honor,” squeaked the little attorney.
“What!” cried the magistrate fiercely. “You had better be careful, sir. If you attempt to trifle with the dignity of this court you will quickly find yourself committed for contempt. I don’t care if you come from New York or——”
“There is no such law,” the counsel for the defense repeated, his voice even more shrill than before. “If your honor will inspect the original copy of the ordinance requiring the licensing of cameras, you will realize the truth of my assertion.”
The judge frowned. “I think you had better explain, sir,” he said sharply. “Your statements are most extraordinary. They almost warrant a suspicion either that you are mentally unbalanced or that you have been imbibing too freely. With one breath you say there is no camera law, and with the next you ask me to inspect the original copy of the camera law. How can I inspect it if there isn’t any?”
“I beg your pardon,” said the lawyer, with a smile. “I did not say that there was no camera law. My contention is merely that there is no law which forbids the taking of photographs on the street of Oldham without a license.”
“Oh, indeed?” the magistrate sneered. “Then what does the law forbid—as you understand it?”
“It forbids the taking of photographs of the streets of Oldham,” the lawyer replied. “It’s wording is very clear.”
“Nonsense!” cried his honor peevishly. “It says on the streets, not of the streets. Somebody has been misleading you.”
“Not at all, your honor. I have seen the original copy of the ordinance myself. I had occasion to examine it less than an hour ago, and I was very particular to notice its exact wording. If your honor will take the trouble to inspect the original draft of the ordinance—the one which was signed by the mayor—you will find that I am right.”
“If such is the case,” Mayor Henkle broke in, with a scowl, “it is merely a typographical error. Everybody knows that it was the intention of the framers of the ordinance to regulate the taking of photographs on the streets of Oldham.”
“I am willing to concede that, sir,” counsel for the defense replied smilingly. “But, fortunately for my client, intentions don’t count. The use of the word of, instead of on, may be a typographical error, but the law must be interpreted precisely as it reads. It isn’t by any means the first time that a typographical error has saved a man from jail. I have known cases where even a misplaced comma has had that result.”
Then he turned once more to the magistrate. “I repeat my motion, your honor, that this case be dismissed. Since none of these snapshots which my client is accused[Pg 42] of taking—and which he admits having taken—is a photograph of the streets of Oldham, he is guilty of no violation of the law.”
The magistrate frowned. “We will adjourn court while we go and inspect the original draft of the ordinance,” he announced. Then, turning to the Honorable Martin Henkle, he whispered to that discomfited official’s ear: “If this typographical error really does exist, Mr. Mayor, I am afraid that we will have to throw the case out of court. As this lawyer has said, the accused is entitled to a strict interpretation of the law. If I decided otherwise, they would go to a higher court.”
Once more the Camera Chap’s phenomenal luck, which never seemed to desert him when he was in tight places, had come to his rescue. The carelessness of a typist in striking the letter “f” instead of the letter “n,” and the fact that the mayor had put his signature and seal to the document without noticing the error, enabled him to leave court, half an hour later, a free man.
But Hawley did not give all the credit to his lucky star. When the magistrate, returning from the vaults in which the original drafts of Oldham’s ordinances were preserved, very ungraciously granted Lawyer Hands’ motion that the case be dismissed, the Camera Chap turned to his counsel with a grateful smile.
“I owe my liberty to you, sir,” he exclaimed. “I shan’t forget it in a hurry. How on earth did you happen to guess that you would find that mistake in the wording of the law?”
“Oh, I always make it a rule in cases of this sort to examine carefully the original draft of the law, in the hope of finding some point on which to base a legal technicality,” the lawyer replied. “I had no idea, though, that I should find such a glaring typographical error as that. You certainly are a very fortunate young man.”
“I surely am,” the Camera Chap agreed heartily. “I only hope that my friend Carroll will be equally as fortunate.”
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE MAIN RESOURCE.
Although the Camera Chap had so provokingly slipped through their hands, Mayor Henkle, Chief Hodgins, and young Gale were confident that no legal technicality could save his friend Carroll.
True, he was no longer in danger of going to the electric chair. The surgeons at the hospital, who at first believed that old Delancey Gale was fatally injured, had a little later revised that opinion, and announced that, barring unforeseen complications, he would pull through all right. But Carroll’s enemies were not greatly disappointed at the thought of his escaping capital punishment. A sentence of life imprisonment for the proprietor of the Bulletin would be quite satisfactory to them.
That they had enough evidence to convict him of “assault with intent to kill” they felt sure. Chief Hodgins, with the assistance of his young friend Gale, had built up a strong case against Carroll.
In the first place, there was the box in which the infernal machine had been inclosed. The explosion had smashed this box, but the pieces were all there, and they had managed to put them together again.
It was a small, oblong wooden box, and undoubtedly it had come from the Bulletin office. This could be proved by the marks stenciled on the lid.[Pg 43]
Carroll had been in the habit of receiving each day from a New York syndicate two half-tone cuts of woman’s fashions for publication in the Bulletin. These cuts were shipped in small, oblong wooden boxes. It was one of these boxes which had been used for the infernal machine.
But the strongest proof of all that Carroll had sent the explosive package to the Chronicle office was the fact that the package was addressed in his own handwriting.
Chief Hodgins had on file at police headquarters a personal letter which the proprietor of the Bulletin had once sent to him. He had taken this letter from the file, and compared it with the handwriting on the wrapper of the infernal machine. Although he was not a handwriting expert, he was willing to wager every dollar he had in the world that both had been penned by the same hand.
So confident was he that Carroll could not succeed in breaking down the case against him that when young Gale asked to be allowed to photograph the wrapper of the infernal machine and reproduce it on the front page of the Chronicle, the chief consented.
“Generally speaking, it’s a bad thing to let the other side get a glimpse at your evidence the day of the trial,” he said; “but I can’t see that it’s going to do any harm in this case. Even that pink-whiskered lawyer fellow from New York won’t be able to make a jury believe that the address wasn’t written by Carroll. So go ahead, my boy, and publish it, if you want to.”
When the Camera Chap and Lawyer Hands saw this exhibit on the front page of the Chronicle, they were greatly interested.
“It certainly does look like Fred’s handwriting,” Hawley declared. “But it must be a clever forgery.”
The lawyer shook his head. “I’m not so sure that it is a forgery at all,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t be surprised if it were really Carroll’s own handwriting.”
Hawley stared at him in astonishment. “But I don’t understand. How could it have been written by him if he didn’t send the bomb—and I am quite sure that he didn’t.”
“So am I,” the lawyer answered, with a smile. “But let me read you a paragraph from to-day’s Chronicle. Then I think a solution of the mystery will suggest itself to you.”
Hawley listened intently while Mr. Hands read aloud this extract from the article which young Gale had written for the front page of his father’s newspaper:
“‘The cut published on this page is a photographic reproduction of the wrapper in which the deadly infernal machine was inclosed. The mechanism was packed in a small wooden box. This box was wrapped in stout blue paper, on which was pasted a small label of white paper. On this label the words, “Delancey Gale, Esquire, Chronicle Building, Personal,” was written in ink. That this address is the handwriting of Frederick Carroll, proprietor of the Oldham’s Bulletin, there cannot be the shadow of a doubt.’”
The Camera Chap’s face lighted up. “A label of white paper, eh?” he exclaimed, with a grin. “About the size of an ordinary correspondence envelope, I suppose?”
The lawyer nodded. “I see that you get the idea. At some time or other Carroll must have had occasion to send a personal letter to Gale. They happened to save the envelope of that letter, and they used the front part of it as the label for the infernal machine.[Pg 44]”
“That’s a very likely theory,” the Camera Chap agreed. “Quite an ingenious idea on their part, wasn’t it? But do you really think that old Gale fixed up that bomb himself?”
“Certainly. Don’t you? The whole thing is perfectly clear to me. They wanted to discredit Carroll in the eyes of the public, to make it impossible for him to win at the coming election, so they planned this bomb outrage. I think ‘planted’ is the word you newspaper men use, is it not?”
“But is it logical to suppose that old Gale would go to the length of deliberately blowing himself up?” the Camera Chap exclaimed.
“It is not,” the lawyer answered, with a smile. “And I don’t suppose anything of the kind. I feel perfectly sure that Gale had no intention of having that bomb explode in his hands.”
“Then how do you suppose it happened?”
“It was an accident, of course. My theory is that the Gales didn’t intend to have the bomb explode at all. They planned merely to have it ‘discovered’ in the Chronicle Building, timed to go off at a certain hour. They were going to send for Chief Hodgins, and have him remove the package to police headquarters. If the plan had gone through all right, Hodgins would have taken the package to headquarters, soaked it in a pail of water, and then examined its contents. He would have announced that it was a genuine, sure-enough infernal machine of the most deadly type. Within a few hours everybody in Oldham would have heard of the dastardly attempt to blow up the Chronicle Building.”
“And that Fred Carroll was responsible for it,” the Camera Chap added, with a grim smile.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” the lawyer answered. “I don’t think that they would have sprung that sensation right away. If they had a proper sense of the dramatic, they would have allowed the identity of the sender of the infernal machine to remain a mystery for several days. Then, when the people of Oldham were keyed up to a proper pitch of excitement, Hodgins would suddenly have announced that the infernal machine had been sent by Carroll, and would have produced his evidence to prove his startling charge.”
“You certainly possess a vivid imagination, Mr. Hands,” the Camera Chap declared. “I have no doubt, though, that that is just about what they intended to do, if the bomb hadn’t gone off accidentally while old Gale was handling it in his private office, and made the thing much more serious than they contemplated.”
“I am confident that my theory is correct,” said the lawyer; “but the trouble is, we are going to have a hard job proving it. In order to do so, we shall have to show that Gale made the infernal machine himself. I am afraid that is going to be a poser.”
“I’ve got an idea, Mr. Hands,” said Hawley. “I think if I were to go out and take a snapshot of young Gale it might help us a lot.”
“How?” the lawyer queried, with a bewildered frown. “A snapshot of young Gale? I must confess that I can’t perceive what good that’ll do.”
But when Hawley had explained what he intended to do with the picture when he got it, Mr. Hands smiled upon him approvingly.
“An excellent plan!” he cried enthusiastically. “Go ahead and carry it out. I congratulate you upon your bright[Pg 45] idea. If it succeeds, it will surely get your friend Carroll out of his predicament; and I have strong hopes that it will succeed.”
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A CLEVER SCHEME.
The younger Gale was greatly astonished when, as he was walking along Main Street, Hawley suddenly appeared a few yards in front of him with a camera in his hand, and coolly proceeded to take his picture.
Gale’s first impulse was to summon a policeman and have the Camera Chap placed under arrest; but he suddenly recollected that, as the city council had not yet passed an amended anticamera law, Hawley had a perfect right under the existing ordinance, with its typographical error, to take snapshots on the streets of Oldham without a license, provided he did not take pictures of the streets. Therefore, Gale gave up the idea of having Hawley arrested.
His next impulse was to rush forward, grab the camera out of Hawley’s hands, and crunch it beneath his foot. But he did not carry out this impulse, either. The Camera Chap was muscular, and, as Gale well knew, not wanting in physical courage. Gale thought that an encounter with him might prove painful.
“Oh, well, what do I care if he takes my picture?” he muttered philosophically. “Let him go ahead and enjoy himself. I’d give ten dollars, though, to know what his game is. I suppose he intends to publish my phiz in the Bulletin, but I’ll be hanged if I can imagine what for.”
The next morning Gale eagerly searched the pages of the Bulletin in the expectation of finding his picture there; but there was no sign of it.
“Possibly they’re holding it over until to-morrow,” he reflected. But his portrait did not ornament the Bulletin the next day, or for several days following.
Gale had just about decided that, after all, he had been mistaken in supposing that the Camera Chap had taken the snapshot for publication, when one morning he saw on the front page of Carroll’s newspaper something which well-nigh paralyzed him.
Stretched across the top of the page was the following “scare head”:
“The Truth About the Chronicle Explosion.—Daring Conspiracy Laid Bare.—The Innocence of Mr. Frederick Carroll, the People’s Party Candidate for Mayor. Fully Established.—The Bulletin in Possession of Positive Proof That He Is the Victim of Bold Frame-up Engineered by His Desperate Political Enemies.—Real Facts of Case to be Laid Before Grand Jury.”
There were other headlines beneath these, and several columns of smaller type were devoted to the details of the conspiracy.
In the center of the page was a half-tone portrait. Beneath it, in heavy-faced type, was the following:
“This is one of the scoundrels really responsible for the bomb outrage. It was this man who supplied the materials out of which the infernal machine was constructed. By means of the photograph, here reproduced, he has been positively identified by a man from whom he tried to purchase a stick of dynamite, and the jeweler who sold him[Pg 46] the cheap alarm clock from the works of which the mechanism of the infernal machine was made. Further details are given elsewhere on this page.”
It was the fact that Gale recognized the picture as a very good portrait of himself which caused him to turn pale and utter an exclamation of dismay as he read these startling lines.
With much trepidation he proceeded to read every word on the page. It was soon made very clear to him why there had been such a long interval between the taking of the snapshot and its publication on the front page of the Bulletin.
After taking the picture, Hawley had visited all the towns in the vicinity of Oldham. In each town he had gone to all the jewelry stores, and, showing Gale’s picture, had asked the salespeople if they recalled having sold a clock to the man within the past few days.
This was the plan which the Camera Chap had suggested to Lawyer Hands, and which had earned the attorney’s enthusiastic approval.
Hawley had reasoned that in all probability the clockwork used in the construction of the infernal machine had been purchased by the younger Gale. He had reasoned, also, that Gale would not be so careless as to purchase the clock in Oldham, but would take the precaution of going out of town for it. His scheme was to visit every nearby town in the hope of striking the store at which the purchase had been made.
It was a long and tedious task, and he realized that there was a good chance that he would have all his trouble for nothing; but Hawley resolutely stuck to it, and, after several days of discouragement, he met with success.
In a town called Roxbury, thirty-five miles from Oldham, he found a jeweler who positively identified the snapshot which the Camera Chap showed him as the photograph of a man who had bought a cheap alarm clock there a few days before.
The jeweler’s wife and clerk also remembered Gale very well. Both of them had been present when the sale of the alarm clock was made, and were positive that the customer was the young man in the picture.
Highly elated with his success, the Camera Chap was about to return to Oldham to tell the good news to Lawyer Hands, when, quite unexpectedly, he made another very important discovery.
A block from the jewelry store some workmen were engaged in excavating for the foundation of a building. As Hawley passed this spot, he noticed that the men were blasting some rock with dynamite.
An inspiration came to him. Was it not possible, he thought, that Gale, too, had passed by this place, and, seeing the blasting going on, had tried to obtain from the workmen the explosive needed for the infernal machine?
There was only the merest chance, of course, that such was the case; but he was not in the habit of overlooking mere chances. He decided that this “hunch” was well worth investigating.
Stepping up to the foreman of the gang of workmen, he once more produced his snapshot, and showed it to the man.
“Ever seen this fellow before?” he inquired.
The man stared hard at the picture. “Why, sure,” he[Pg 47] answered; “that’s the guy who came to me the other day and offered me ten dollars for a stick of dynamite.”
“And did you sell it to him?” the Camera Chap inquired eagerly.
“I did not,” replied the man. “I thought he might be one of them anarchists, and I wasn’t going to be responsible for no bomb outrages. I told him that if he wanted dynamite, he’d have to go somewhere else for it.”
Hawley was disappointed at this answer. It would have been more satisfactory, of course, if he could have obtained proof that Gale had actually bought the explosive.
When he got back to Oldham, he told Lawyer Hands that it was his intention to go over all the ground once more in the hope of finding the place from which the explosive had been obtained. But the lawyer discouraged this plan.
“I am quite sure that you wouldn’t succeed,” he declared. “The chances are a hundred to one that the man who sold him the dynamite, or whatever explosive was used, would be afraid to admit it for fear of getting into trouble. Anyway, we have got evidence enough now to save your friend Carroll. The fact that Gale tried to purchase dynamite from those workmen, plus the fact that he purchased that alarm clock, would be enough to convince any jury that the bomb outrage was a frame-up.”
“But suppose he claims that he bought the alarm clock for another purpose?” suggested the Camera Chap.
“In that event, he will be called upon to tell what he did with it. If he can’t produce the clock, he will have a hard job getting anybody to believe his story.
“Besides,” the lawyer added, “you are not the only one who has been making discoveries. I have found out where they got that wooden box in which the infernal machine was inclosed. Young Gale got it from in front of the Bulletin Building the other day. I have found a couple of witnesses who saw him pick it up.”
“Great work!” Hawley exclaimed joyously. “How long do you think it will be before poor Carroll is free, Mr. Hands?”
“Not more than a couple of days,” was the encouraging reply. “The grand jury meets to-morrow. I’m going to make it my business to see that they hear the real facts about this case. When they learn the truth, there’ll be no indictment against Carroll.”
Hawley’s face lighted up. “You’ve certainly done us a great service,” he said feelingly. “If ever I get a chance to show my gratitude——”
“You’ve got a chance now,” the lawyer interrupted, with a smile.
“How?” Hawley demanded, with an eagerness which was ample proof of his sincerity.
“By agreeing to return with me to New York,” the lawyer explained. “Mr. Paxton, your managing editor, made me promise that I would bring you back with me. He says he thinks you’ve had quite enough of the peace and quiet of the picturesque Catskills.”
Hawley laughed. “I guess he’s right about that,” he said. “I think I can promise to return to New York with you, Mr. Hands, as soon as Fred is set free. I don’t suppose he’ll need my services any longer. When the Bulletin publishes the truth about the Chronicle explosion, there’ll be such a wave of public sentiment in Fred’s favor that he’s sure to win at the coming election. I predict, too, a big boom in the Bulletin’s circulation from now on.[Pg 48]”
CHAPTER XXXIX.
BACK ON PARK ROW.
As Lawyer Hands had confidently expected, the grand jury, after considering all the facts pertaining to the Chronicle’s explosion case, refused to find an indictment against Fred Carroll.
As soon as the proprietor of the Bulletin was set free, the Camera Chap accompanied the lawyer back to New York, and received a warm welcome from Managing Editor Paxton and the Sentinel staff.
One of the first persons whom Hawley met after his return was Doctor Hugo Allyne, the eminent specialist, who had ascribed the Camera Chap’s headaches to nervous indigestion, and advised him to go to some quiet spot and take the “rest cure.”
It was on Broadway that Hawley encountered the man of medicine. Although the latter had a good memory for faces, he had some difficulty in recognizing in the ruddy-complexioned, clear-eyed young man who greeted him, the pale, tired patient who had come to his office for advice a few weeks before.
“Well, you’re certainly looking much better,” Doctor Allyne observed, when Hawley had finally succeeded in identifying himself. “You must have carried out my orders with great fidelity. How are the headaches?”
“Haven’t had a single one since I saw you,” the Camera Chap answered. “I’m feeling as fit as a fiddle.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said the specialist, much gratified. “There is nothing like a rest cure for cases such as yours. A few weeks in the clear mountain air, and a careful avoidance of all forms of excitement, will work wonders.”
“They certainly will,” Hawley agreed, trying hard not to grin.
For the next few months the Camera Chap was so busy that he did not have time to go back to Oldham to visit his friend Carroll; but he kept track of what was going on in that town by means of the copies of the Bulletin which the mail brought him each day.
One day, just as he was stepping out of the Sentinel office, on his way to take some snapshots of a society wedding, he almost collided with a tall, broad-shouldered young man who was about to enter.
“Why, hello, Mr. Mayor!” he exclaimed delightedly. “This is indeed a pleasant surprise. What on earth is your honor doing so far away from Oldham?”
The Honorable Fred Carroll, mayor of Oldham, smiled expansively as he gripped the Camera Chap’s hand.
“I’ve come to New York especially to look you up,” he announced. “I have just discovered, old man, that I am even more in your debt than I thought I was.”
As Carroll spoke, he drew from his waistcoat pocket a folded slip of pink paper, and handed it to Hawley.
“Why, what’s this?” exclaimed the latter, feigning great astonishment. “A check for five thousand dollars made out to my order! What is the meaning of this, Mr. Mayor?”
“It means,” replied Carroll, a break in his deep voice, “that I have learned the secret of that five thousand dollars’ worth of advertising which your friend Mr. Cheston brought to the Bulletin at a time when the money was sorely needed. I was suspicious of that advertising from the start, Frank, but it was only yesterday that I learned the truth about it—that it was nothing but a ruse on[Pg 49] your part to get me to accept a loan from you. Old man, I shall never forget your kindness. You certainly are the best friend a fellow ever had. You had done so much for me already; then, to cap it all, you went and drew your savings——
“Oh, quit it!” Hawley interrupted gruffly. “For Heaven’s sake, put out the stump speech, Fred. The money was idle in the bank. I had no immediate use for it, and I knew that you had; so it was only logical that I should let you have it until such a time as the Bulletin was making enough money to enable you to pay me back. If that time has now arrived, I’ll accept your check, and we’ll consider the incident closed. But I can’t take half of that amount. Rest assured, I didn’t give all those people free advertising. I made contracts with them through an agency, gave them very low rates, and in a little while I had part of the money back in the bank.”
As Carroll still seemed intent on thanking him, the Camera Chap headed him off by hurriedly changing the subject.
“How is Mrs. Carroll?” he inquired.
“First-rate, thank you. Melba joins me, Frank, in thank——”
“And how are you making out as mayor?”
“Fine! If I do say it myself, I seem to be making a great hit with the people of Oldham. I’ve already put into effect several important reforms. One of them was the repealing of the anticamera ordinance. It’s a different town since the People’s Party succeeded that bunch of grafters who were running things in Henkle’s time. But I say, Frank, I really must express my thanks for——”
“By the way, what has become of Henkle?” the Camera Chap inquired hastily.
“He has retired to private life—says he’s had enough of politics. I shall never forget, old man, what you have done for——”
“And the Gales? Are they still running the Chronicle? I understand they escaped being indicted for that bomb conspiracy.”
“Yes,” Carroll answered. “Henkle used all the influence he could wield to save them, and managed to get them whitewashed. Of course, for Melba’s sake, I was mighty glad to have it turn out that way. But they’re not running the Chronicle any more. Old Gale found himself so unpopular as a result of that explosion affair that as soon as he was able to leave the hospital he sold his paper at a ridiculously low figure; sold his house, too, and left town for good.”
“And did his son go with him?”
“Yes. I understand, though, that he’s trying to get back his old job on the New York Daily News, so possibly you’ll have the pleasure of seeing him again before long. But I say, Frank, I’ve come all the way from Oldham to tell you how much I appreciate——”
“And how about my old friend Chief Hodgins?” the Camera Chap relentlessly interrupted. “I saw in the Bulletin that you fired him from the force as soon as you were sworn in. What is he doing now?”
Carroll laughed. “He has gone into the hotel business. He’s bought an inn on Main Street, not far from police headquarters. He’s got a big sign in the lobby, just before the clerk’s desk, and it says: ‘No cameras allowed on these premises!’”
THE END.[Pg 50]
THE BANK ROBBER.
By HERO STRONG.
I think it was some time in July that she came to Locust Cottage.
It was a house that most ladies would have feared to live in, for its situation was lonely and secluded, and its reputation bad as possible. Some one was murdered there several years before, and such a circumstance is enough to blast the character of any house in the country. In the city they are used to such things, and do not mind them.
Mrs. Leroy did not take a lease of Locust Cottage without knowing what was just said of it. She heard old Granny Coe’s story of the “death lights” that danced past the windows on stormy nights, and listened, with tolerable patience to Peter Jones’ narrative of the immense black dog that had howled at him one night when he was passing the house. Peter was a brave fellow, according to his own estimate, and he averred that he went to the fence and got a stake to make “daylight shine through the sassy cur,” but when he struck at him the dog was not there. There was nothing left to mark the spot where he had stood and growled, except a speck of fire about as big as a dollar; and even that faded away as Peter gazed upon it, and left just nothing at all.
Then there was another story of a fair young girl, with long, flaxen hair, wreathed with water lilies; and this girl sat on the moldy piazza, of wet nights, and sang plaintive airs to an old broken-stringed lute, which, according to all descriptions, must have seen its best days long before.
In a country neighborhood, no one ever forgets anything, and so when the report transpired that Locust Cottage was haunted, every old crone in the vicinity would remember some occurrence which made it very reasonable that it should be haunted.
Captain Fox owned the cottage, and the captain was an extremely conscientious man. In fact, his conscience was a great trouble to him, for he was exceedingly fond of getting the best end of a bargain always, and it seems very unfortunate for such a man to have a conscience. Covetousness and conscientiousness never work well together. They go a great deal better in single harness.
The captain informed Mrs. Leroy that the cottage had the reputation of being inhabited by spirits, and this satisfied his conscientiousness. Then he told her that the people who said so were all irresponsible parties, and that satisfied his covetousness. Mrs. Leroy said it was quite immaterial to her about the spirits. She was not timid about dead people, and forthwith engaged the place.
Locust Cottage was very beautifully located, though it was fully half a mile from any other dwelling. There were locust trees in front, and at the rear of the house quite an extensive pond, where water lilies grew in abundance.
I remember of hearing the ladies of our family speaking about the new arrival, and I concluded that as they did not say anything against her she was some ugly old crone, who wanted to get away by herself and hire a house cheap. It is only young and pretty women who are slandered by their own sex.
I was busy in the village for seven hours of the day, but I went home to tea, and occasionally some lady caller of my mother’s would remark on the pertinacity with which Mrs. Leroy kept herself secluded; but further[Pg 51] than that I knew and heard nothing. Neither did I care, for I had never been a lady’s man, and at thirty-eight I was not likely to get up much of an interest for one I had never seen.
I was cashier of the Southbridge Bank, and, as ours was a manufacturing town, our institution did a very flourishing business, and kept one stirring most of the time.
It was a hot day in August, and i sat down for a moment, with a new number of a favorite magazine in my hand. It was so hot, and so near noon, that no one would be in until after dinner, I thought, and i should get a chance to read that article on South America of which there was so much said.
Scarcely, however, had I cut the first leaf before the door opened and a lady entered. As it was a lady, of course I could not do otherwise than bow, and be very polite to her.
She wanted a check cashed. I looked it over. It was New Orleans paper, and made payable to Eudora Leroy, or order.
Ah, thought I, looking at my fair visitor, so the old lady has a pretty daughter; and then I wondered that no one had ever spoken of her.
The face that gleamed on me through the black lace veil was a very beautiful face, though masked somewhat by lines of care or sorrow. Perhaps the old lady was tyrannical.
“Have you an order for the payment of a draft?” I asked.
“None is needed,” she replied quietly. “I will indorse it.” And, taking up a pen, she wrote the name on the back, in a free, graceful hand, Eudora Leroy.
“Then you are Mrs. Leroy?” I said, in some surprise.
“Yes, sir.”
I took a good look at her. She was a brunette, and I have always fancied that style of woman. Some way, they look as if they would wash and wear better than the light style.
Her hair and eyes were very dark; the hair combed loosely, but in these days, when every woman’s hair curls, it is not worth while to mention that fact, I suppose. She had some color, and her expression was sweet in the extreme.
The hand which she had ungloved to indorse the draft was white and shapely, not a hand unused to labor, by any means.
Her age was seven or eight and twenty, I judged; possibly she might be thirty. Faces like hers do not show their age.
After that I saw Mrs. Leroy quite frequently. She came to the bank about once a fortnight, and always on business of this kind. I mean with a check to be cashed. She evidently had plenty of money, so my supposition that she had taken Locust Cottage because the rent was low could not be correct.
Sometimes she would stop a moment in the bank and answer my remarks about the weather, or the news—for I always tried to have something ready to say to her; but generally she seemed in a hurry, and I noticed that she never went into the street, but always started directly for home when she left the bank.
All her marketing was done by a colored woman, a great, strong-looking, sphinx-faced creature, who never[Pg 52] spoke an unnecessary word, and never answered any questions.
Mrs. Leroy was a Southerner, so it was probable, and the village concluded, that she had brought the woman from her old home with her.
I think I never told any one that I was getting quite well acquainted with Mrs. Leroy. Somehow, I did not feel as if I wanted to discuss her, or hear her discussed.
I slept at the bank nights, but I always closed at four o’clock and went home to tea. And about eight in the evening I generally returned, and went to bed in a back room adjoining the reception room.
One night in October, just as I was about to close to go home, Mrs. Leroy came in. She seemed very much frightened, and her face paled and flushed alternately.
“I wish to see you alone,” she said, in a low voice. “Lock the outer door, if you please, and then listen to me.”
I did as requested, and then, sinking her voice to a whisper, she went on to tell me of a plot which had been laid by three men to break into the bank that night and rob the vault.
“Mr. Morelle,” she said, in conclusion, “if you had not slept here I confess that I should have done nothing about it, because I risk my life by betraying them. But I heard them say that if you awoke, the only way would be to murder you, and I could not remain idle and suffer any one to be killed.”
“But who are these men, and how did you learn their intentions? And from whom are you in danger?” I asked.
“These are questions I cannot answer. I have warned you, but you must not ask to know too much. Be on your guard. I think, if they discover that you have means of defense they will go away. You will call in some one, will you not?” And my heart beat a little faster as I marked the ill-concealed anxiety of her countenance.
“I will be prepared——”
“Hush!” she said, laying her hand imploringly on my arm. “You must not think of bloodshed! Promise me that you will not! Oh, Mr. Morelle, promise me that you will not kill him, for my sake! I have risked my life for you—now, in return, promise me that there shall be no bloodshed!”
“Who is it that I must not injure?”
“Alas, I cannot tell you! Oh!” she cried, under her breath, “what if I have doomed him to death?”
She evidently had a strong personal interest in one of the robbers, and I felt myself growing nervous and uneasy at the thought. What if one of the villains was her husband? Nothing more likely. One never knows anything about these women who move into out-of-the-way houses and do not join the sewing society, where every one is expected to put her character into the common stock for discussion.
I thanked Mrs. Leroy for coming to me. I promised that, so far as I could prevent it, there should be no bloodshed.
She went away with a sadly depressed air, and I went to call on Mr. Jenkins, the president of the bank. We talked the matter over, though, of course, I could not tell him how I had obtained my information. Then together, we called on Davis and Lucas, two of our most efficient policemen, and it was arranged that I should go[Pg 53] home to tea, as usual, return to the bank at my accustomed hour, and admit Davis, Lucas, and Peabody, one of their set, by the back door.
We carried out the program. We were all well armed, and prepared for any emergency. The policemen went to sleep, and I kept watch. About twelve I heard a noise, like the grating of a file, but so dexterously was the instrument handled that for some time I was not sure but the creaking of the heavy shutters had deceived me.
Presently I heard the slightest touch in the world of iron against iron, and then I knew that the strong staple which held the padlock of the south window was being drawn out.
I touched Davis, and in a moment the three men were awake and on the alert.
We let the burglars alone until they were fairly at work picking the locks of the safe, and then we pounced upon them.
They were only two, and we were four; but they were desperate characters, and did not stand bound by any promises not to shed blood.
“Betrayed!” cried one of them, the younger of the two, for the third one had not entered the building, but was standing at the window, outside. “I know who has done it, and I swear by the heavens above us she shall pay dearly for it!”
“Submit quietly,” said Lucas, “and we will not fire on you.”
“Get out of my way!” returned the burglar defiantly, and at the same time he drew a pistol and fired full in Lucas’ face.
He dodged, but the ball grazed his cheek, and the pain made Lucas forget everything else.
Before one of us could lift a finger to stop him, he had dashed the young man against the iron door of the safe, and, by the limp, helpless way in which his head hung down, I knew that his neck was broken.
Lucas eyed his work with grim satisfaction.
“It’s the first one I ever killed outright, but I swear I’d do it again under like circumstances.”
The other burglar submitted without resistance, but the third one was never secured.
There was a coroner’s inquest on the dead body of the young robber, and just in the gray light of the morning Mrs. Leroy forced her way through the crowd to where the corpse lay.
I shall never forget the expression of the face she lifted to mine, so sadly reproachful, so full of unutterable grief.
“You promised me that there should be no murder done!” she said hoarsely.
“I could not help it. What was he to you?” I asked, with an eagerness I could not repress.
“He was my half brother. I had no reason to fear that he would be injured, for, when I heard their plan, it was arranged that he should remain outside and receive the gold. But, still, I had apprehensions for his safety, and that was why I asked you to promise what I did. Take me to him now.”
I led her to his side, and saw her lift his cold head to her bosom and shower kisses on his icy lips.
“Oh, Albert, Albert!” she cried, in agony. “If my life would have saved yours! And to think that it was I who betrayed you to your death!”
Even as she spoke, I felt the strong shudder that shook[Pg 54] her frame, and the next moment I received her fainting form in my arms.
I did not care what people said. From the depths of my soul I believed Eudora Leroy was pure and innocent, and she had no protector. So I took it upon myself to care for her. I carried her home, engaged a nurse, and called a physician.
And I am afraid that I answered my lady mother anything but politely when she remonstrated with me on what she called my extraordinary conduct.
But you will want to know about the burglar who was secured alive, and a few words will give the facts regarding him.
His name was Granger. He was from New Orleans, and had known Mrs. Leroy’s brother there. His name was Albert Harper. He was a rash, high-tempered fellow, Granger said, and when in liquor easily influenced.
Granger was tried, and committed for four years, but I think he died before his time was out.
Mrs. Leroy was ill a long time. It was spring before she was able to see any one, and then she sent for me. I had known all along that she would do so, and had been awaiting her summons with nervous anxiety. For I suppose you have already guessed that I loved Eudora Leroy.
She was downstairs, lying on a lounge, when I was shown into her presence, but she arose instantly and took a chair by the window.
Before she spoke I had leisure to observe how much she had changed, and how wan and dejected she was generally. Even her voice had lost much of the silvery ring which I had loved so well to hear.
She began to tell me her little history. I had been kind to her, she said, and she thought it but justice that I should know all she had to tell.
By birth she was a Louisianian. Her father was a wealthy planter, who had been twice married. Albert was the son of his last wife. He had been a difficult child to manage from his birth, and, as he grew older, caused his friends a world of trouble. When he was fifteen, his mother died, committing him to the care of Eudora. She promised the dying woman to use her best influence for his good, and faithfully had the vow been kept. She had followed him into places where it brought a blush to her face to enter, and, vicious as he was, he never refused to go back with her. She had paid his debts—for all the property was left to her at the death of her father—she had borne with all his vices patiently, she had hoped always that he would eventually forsake his evil ways and become the honest, respectable man she desired him to be.
He had become concerned in a disgraceful affair at New Orleans which compelled him to leave the city, and she had settled up her affairs there and come to New England with him.
He was remorseful, and promised her faithfully that if she would take him to some secluded place, where he should never meet Granger again, he would try to reform. Granger had been his bane; but for his baleful influence he would never have sunk to such depths of degradation.
So, full of hope for the future, Eudora had come to Southbridge. She had married, only a year previously, a man much her senior, who had been thrown from his horse and killed only a year after the marriage.[Pg 55]
I gathered from Eudora’s manner while speaking of this marriage, that she had never loved her husband, but had become his wife because he loved her, and because his influence was very strong over Albert.
And the idea gave me unqualified satisfaction. You may say it is foolish to be jealous of the dead, but—well, never mind. Most of us are selfish enough to want the entire affections of those we love. We do not care to share a divided interest.
After their coming to Southbridge, Mrs. Leroy said, Albert had become thoroughly changed. He remained in the cottage all the time, engaged in painting, for he was possessed of considerable artistic talent. He would not go out, even for a walk, and thus it had happened that no one knew of his existence.
But Granger found him out at last, and then all hope of his reformation was over.
He brought him brandy, which always made him partially insane, and at such times Eudora’s life was in danger. Albert was kind to her when not under the influence of drink, but brandy made a demon of him. There was nothing too bad for him to do when he was intoxicated. It was while he was having one of those frenzies that the plan to rob the bank was started.
Eudora had refused to furnish him with the money he asked for, and Granger suggested that they should get it at the bank. It was agreed upon, and they made all their calculations at once. A confederate was secured by Granger, and the two men had the boldness to come to Locust Cottage and ask to see Albert.
Eudora dared not refuse them, but, suspecting some villainy, she listened to the interview, and thus became aware of the intended burglary. It was arranged that Granger and Sterling should enter the bank, silence me, if I was disposed to be troublesome, and pass the gold out to Albert.
Eudora said that much as she felt it her duty to warn me, she did not know as she would have had the courage had it not been that she believed, according to their plan, that Albert would be out of danger.
Did she say nothing of her discovery to her brother, do you ask?
She said that she went down on her knees to him, and besought him to give up the mad scheme; and he told her that if she ever lisped another word to him on the matter it should cost her her life.
She was weeping when she finished, but presently she grew calm.
She was going away, she said, as soon as she could arrange for the change, where no one who knew her would ever see her again.
She looked so distant and so cold, when she said so, that she froze the passionate words that sprang to my lips. I rose to take my leave, and she just touched her fingers to the hand I extended, and said good-by as calmly as she would have said good night.
Just outside the door, I discovered that I had left my glove. I went back softly. I saw her holding it to her lips.
The next moment I had her in my arms, and I was telling her, in some unstudied words, that I loved her, and that I would never let her go anywhere.
She was very hard to convince. If I had been less in earnest than I was, I should have lost her; but I threw[Pg 56] my whole soul into the work, and by and by she confessed that she did love me; that she had loved me a long time.
After that I did not care for the obstacles she raised. Dear, little, conscientious thing! She thought it would be wicked for her to disgrace me by becoming my wife because her brother had tried to rob a bank.
But I am a very determined man, and I would not let her out of my arms until she promised all I asked of her.
That day month I married her.
People talked about it, but Dora and I were happy enough to be able to afford to let them talk. Probably they felt easier after it.
A SMART BOY.
The power loom was the invention of a farmer’s boy, who had never seen or heard of such a thing. He fashioned one with his penknife, and, when he got it all done, he showed it with great enthusiasm to his father, who at once kicked it all to pieces, saying he would have no boy about him who would spend his time on such foolish things. The boy was sent to a blacksmith to learn a trade, and his master took a lively interest in him.
He made a loom of what was left of the one his father had broken up, and showed it to his master. The blacksmith saw he had no common boy as an apprentice, and that the invention was a valuable one. He had a loom constructed under the supervision of the boy. It worked to their perfect satisfaction, and the blacksmith furnished the means to manufacture the looms, and the boy received half the profits.
In about a year the blacksmith wrote to the boy’s father that he should bring with him a wealthy gentleman, who was the inventor of the celebrated power loom.
You may be able to judge of the astonishment at the old home when his son was presented to him as the inventor, who told him that the loom was the same as the model that he had kicked to pieces the previous year.
A BABOON WITH A BRAIN.
In the Transvaal some of the fruit gardens are much exposed to the ravages of large cynocephalic apes, and a good guard has to be kept, or the results of long labor would be lost. In some of those gardens grow certain shrubs which are much affected by wasps, the insects liking to attach thereto their nests.
These wasps, though small, have a very venomous sting. Baboons had often been noticed eying with envious glances the fast-ripening fruit in one certain garden, but feared to gather for fear of attracting the assaults of the wasps.
One morning the farmer heard terrible cries, and, with the aid of a good field glass he witnessed the following tragedy: A large, venerable baboon, chief of the band, was catching the younger apes and pitching them into the shrubs whereon hung the wasps’ nests. This he repeated again and again, in spite of the most piteous cries from his victims.
Of course, the wasps assumed the defensive in swarms. During this part of the performance the old brute quietly fed on the fruit, deigning occasionally to throw fragmentary remains to some female and young baboons a little farther off.[Pg 57]