CHAPTER XXXVI.
"WHO WAS JED?"
Mrs. Avery went up stairs to her own room, but reappeared in five minutes. She had in her hand an old-fashioned gold locket.
"This," she said, "was attached to the neck of the boy when he came into our hands."
"Have you opened it?" asked the detective eagerly. "Is there a picture inside?"
"There are two miniatures—one on each side."
She opened the locket, and it proved to be as she said.
One of these was a miniature of a young and handsome man, apparently thirty years of age, the other of a young lady with a very sweet and attractive face, probably five years younger.
"These must represent the parents of the boy Jed," said the detective.
"So we concluded—Mr. Avery and myself."
"Does the lady bear any resemblance to the girl who brought the child to you?"
"Not the slightest. The girl was common in appearance. She probably filled the position of a servant or nursemaid."
"Did it occur to you that she might be in any way related to the child?"
"Not for a moment. He was evidently the child of parents wealthy or well to do."
"Did you form any conjectures relative to her or her object in bringing you the child?"
"No. There was nothing to serve as a clew. It was all guesswork on our part. Still the thought did occur to us that the child had been stolen or abducted from his people for some reason unknown to us."
The detective hesitated a moment, and then, having apparently made up his mind to confide in the worthy couple, said: "Your guess was very near the truth. The child, I have every reason to believe, was stolen from its mother—the father was dead—through the machinations of an uncle who wanted the boy's title and estate."
"Title!" exclaimed Mrs. Avery, in great surprise.
"Yes. This boy I believe to be the only son of the late Sir Charles Fenwick, of Fenwick Hall, Gloucestershire, England."
"Well, well!" ejaculated Mrs. Avery. "Then if the boy had his rights would he be Sir Jed Gilman?"
"No," answered the detective smiling. "He has no more claim to the name Jed Gilman than I have."
"What is his real name?"
"Robert Fenwick, as I have every reason to believe."
"Why has there been no search for him till now?"
"There has been a search covering all the intervening years; but the mother, who is still living, had no information to guide her, and the search has been a groping in the dark."
"And did the wicked uncle get the title and estate?" asked Mrs. Avery.
"Yes. He is enjoying both now."
"Is it a large estate?"
"It would not be considered large in England. Probably it amounts to five thousand pounds annual rental."
"Five thousand pounds!" said Mrs. Avery.
"Yes, or in our money about twenty-five thousand dollars."
"And this large estate ought to belong to poor Jed?"
"I submit that, if so, he will not need to be called poor Jed."
"And you say that the mother is living?"
"She is living, and in New York. She is comfortably established at the Windsor Hotel on Fifth Avenue. It is by her that I am employed. This is my card."
He drew out a small card bearing the name
James Peake
"Yes. I am an American," he said in reply to a question by Mrs. Avery. "I am a New York detective, and was detailed for this work by Inspector Byrnes."
"What sort of a person is Jed's mother?" asked Mrs. Avery.
"Still a beautiful woman, though she cannot be far from forty years of age."
"Does she look like the picture in the locket?"
"There is considerable resemblance—of course, making allowance for the difference in the ages of the two. This locket, Mrs. Avery, is most important, and will, I think, establish the identity of Jed Gilman with the stolen heir of the Fenwick estate. Will you permit me to take it and show it to Lady Fenwick?"
"Has she a title, too?"
"Certainly. She was the wife of Sir Charles Fenwick."
"And what is the name of the wicked uncle?"
"Guy Fenwick. He is known as Sir Guy Fenwick, but probably, almost positively, has no rightful claim to the title."
"Does he know that you are looking for his nephew?"
"I presume he has taken measures to keep acquainted with all the movements of Lady Fenwick."
"I wonder how the girl came to give the boy the name of Jed Gilman?"
"I think I can explain this. The name of this treacherous nursemaid was Jane Gilman. She selected a name as near to her own as possible. You say you have neither seen nor heard anything of this girl since Jed was left in your hands?"
"We have heard nothing whatever."
At this moment there was a ring at the door-bell—a sharp, quick, impatient ring.
Mrs. Avery answered it.
She came back, her face showing excitement.
"It is a woman of middle age," she said, "and she, too, has come to make inquiries about Jed Gilman."
The detective also looked excited.
"Do you think," he asked, "it can be Jane Gilman herself come back after all these years?"
"That's it!" said Mrs. Avery, her face lighting up. "I wondered where I had seen her face before. Now, though she is so much older, I recognize in this middle-aged woman the girl who brought Jed to the door fourteen years ago."
"Bring her in here, hear what she has to say, and place me somewhere, so that, myself unseen, I can hear what she says."
This was what the detective said in a quick, decided tone.
"Very well, sir, go in there. It is a small bedroom. You can keep the door ajar."
The detective lost no time in concealing himself.
The woman came in. She was a stout, florid-complexioned woman, rather showily dressed, with the look of an Englishwoman of the middle class.
Before we proceed to record the interview that took place between Mr. and Mrs. Avery and herself we must go back again to the poorhouse, and our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Fogson.
Twenty minutes after the departure of James Peake, the detective, this woman knocked at the door of the poorhouse.
Her summons was answered by Mrs. Fogson.
"What's wanted?" asked the poorhouse matron, looking inquisitively at the new arrival.
"Is there a boy named Jed Gilman living here?" asked the woman eagerly.
"Jed Gilman again!" repeated Mrs. Fogson. "What do you want of Jed Gilman?"
"Answer my question first, if you please."
"Such a boy was living here till lately, but he became very troublesome and finally ran away."
"Then he is not here now?" said the woman, looking very much disappointed.
"No, but I expect he'll have to come back some time. A bad penny generally returns. You haven't told me what you have to do with him?"
"Then I will tell you. I was the person who brought him here fourteen years ago."
"You don't say so?" ejaculated Mrs. Fogson, her little bead-like eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Was he your child?"
"Certainly not, but he was my brother's child."
"And what was your object in bringing him here?"
"My brother was dead, and the child was thrown upon me for support," answered the woman after a little hesitation. "I could not support him, and so brought him where I thought he would have a home. But you are not the woman who was in charge of the poorhouse at that time."
"No; that was Mrs. Avery."
"And is Mrs. Avery still living?"
"Yes; she lives in a small house in the village."
"I will go and see her."
But this did not suit the views of Mrs. Fogson, who was curious to hear more about the antecedents of Jed.
"Won't you come in and take a cup of tea?" she asked with unusual hospitality.
"I don't care for tea—it's slops," answered the visitor. "If you could give me a thimbleful of whiskey I wouldn't mind taking it. When I am tired and dragged out it goes to the right spot."
"Yes, I can give you a glass," answered Mrs. Fogson. "Me and Fogson generally keeps a little in case of sickness, though we wouldn't have it known, as this is a temperance town."
"You are safe with me, I won't mention it," said the caller.
She then learned that Jed was probably at Bar Harbor; but Mrs. Fogson found out very little from her in return. After a few minutes the strange woman set out on her walk to the Avery cottage.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
JANE GILMAN
The visitor took a seat in the rocking-chair offered her by Mrs. Avery.
"Do you remember me?" she asked, throwing back her veil so as to give an unobstructed view of her full, florid face.
"Are you the girl who brought the boy Jed to me fourteen years ago?"
"The same. I don't find you in your old place."
"No; we—my husband and I—left the poor farm about a year since. Have you been there?"
"Yes, I saw the new woman, and a spiteful piece she is, I'll be bound."
Mrs. Avery smiled.
"I don't admire Mrs. Fogson," she said, "but I suppose that is natural."
"She tells me the boy is no longer in the poorhouse."
"No."
"Can you tell me why he left?"
"He was ill-treated by Mr. and Mrs. Fogson."
"That woman tells me he was very troublesome."
"We never found him so, and up to a year ago he was under our charge."
"I surmised as much. Then he has grown up a good boy?"
"Excellent. I feel great affection for Jed."
"That is gratifying to my feelings, seeing I am his aunt."
Mrs. Avery regarded her visitor with surprise.
"Do you claim Jed as your nephew?" she asked.
"Certainly. He is the son of my only brother."
But for her interview with the detective Mrs. Avery would have believed this story. As it was, she did not choose to dispute it. She only sought to draw out her visitor so as to understand better her object in calling.
"Are you willing to explain why it was that you were led to place your nephew under my care?"
"Certainly. There is no secret about that now. My brother, who was a blacksmith, failed, and was unable to support the boy."
"What was your brother's name?"
"Jedediah Gilman. That is why I desired to have the boy called Jed Gilman, after his father. My name is Jane Gilman."
"Then you are not married?"
"No," said Miss Gilman. "Not but I might have been married half a dozen times if I had wanted to. But the men are a shiftless lot, in my opinion."
"Not all of them. I never charged my husband with being shiftless."
"Oh, well, there are exceptions. But I liked my freedom, so I am Jane Gilman still. I may change my mind yet, and get married. There's a many after me, and I am only thirty-two."
Mrs. Avery was too polite to question her statement, but privately decided that the other was ten years older.
"Are you an American?" she asked.
"No, I'm English, and I'm proud to own it."
"Was Jed born in England?"
Jane Gilman hesitated, but finally answered in the affirmative.
"In what English town or village was he born?"
"Oh, lor, you wouldn't know any better if I should tell you. My brother came over here with Jed when he was a baby, to better his fortunes. He went out to Iowa, leaving the baby with me. But I found I couldn't get a place with a baby on my hands, and so I took it to the Scranton poorhouse."
"And where have you been since?"
"I went to Philadelphia and got a position there. Since then I've been in a many places."
"I wonder you didn't write to me for some news of the baby."
"I got news of him from time to time, though I don't mean to tell you how," answered Jane Gilman with a cunning smile. "But I've been away for the last three years, and so I didn't know that Jed had gone off."
"You must be disappointed not to find him."
"So I am. It seems so long since I've seen the dear child," and Jane drew out a handkerchief of ample size and pressed it to her tearless eyes. "Is he a nice-looking boy?"
"He has a fine, frank, open face, but you'll excuse my saying that he doesn't resemble you in the least."
"No," answered Jane, not the least bit disconcerted. "He didn't look like the Gilmans, but like his ma's family."
"What was his mother's maiden name?"
"Fenwick," responded Jane Gilman, having no suspicion that Mrs. Avery had heard the name before.
Mrs. Avery started.
"I've heard that name before," she said.
"Have you?" asked Jane, momentarily uneasy, but quickly recovering her self-possession she reflected that the Averys could not possibly know anything of Jed's real history. "I suppose there's a many Fenwicks in the world and some of 'em in America. My brother's wife was a good-looking woman, and the boy takes after her."
"She died young, I suppose?"
"Only three months after he was born."
"Is your brother still living?"
"No; he was killed in a railroad accident out in Iowa six months since. He was a brakeman on the railroad. He left me a tidy sum of money, and said that I was to look up Jed."
"This accounts for your visit, then?"
"Yes; I want to take my nephew with me and see to his education, as my brother wished me to."
"Did Mrs. Fogson give you any idea where he was?"
"She said he had run away, but she had information that he was at Bar Harbor, wherever that is, in the service of some rich gentleman."
"We have heard the same thing. What do you propose to do?"
"I'll have to go there, I suppose. But there is one thing I want to ask you about."
"What is that?"
"When I left the baby with you there was a gold locket suspended from his neck. Did you find it?"
"Yes, I found it."
"I'll thank you if you'll give it to me. I meant to take it at the time, but I went away in a hurry, as you know, and I thought it would be safe in your hands."
"I can't let you have it to-day, Miss Gilman."
"And why not?" demanded Jane suspiciously.
"I deposited it with a party I had confidence in, for safe keeping," replied Mrs. Avery.
"Then I'll be glad to have you get it as soon as you can. I want it," rejoined Jane Gilman sharply.
"How am I to feel sure you are entitled to it?" asked Mrs. Avery.
"If I am not, who is, I'd like to know? I'm the one that left the boy with you at the poorhouse."
"I presume this is true."
"Of course it's true. I'll tell you what, Mrs. Avery, I'm not much pleased with your trying to keep the locket. Are you sure you haven't sold or pawned it?"
"Yes, I am sure of that. But perhaps I shall not have to make you wait long for it. The gentleman in whose hands I placed it is in this house at this very minute."
Jane Gilman looked very much surprised.
"Where is he?" she asked.
Detective Peake answered for himself. He stepped into the room from the small bedroom and held up the locket.
"Is this the one?" he asked.
"Yes," answered the woman eagerly. "Give it to me."
Mr. Peake quietly put it back into his pocket.
"Not till I have asked you a few questions," he answered.
"What right have you to ask me questions?" asked Jane defiantly.
"I will assume that I have the right," the detective answered. "Whose miniatures are those in the locket?"
"They are my brother and his wife."
"Your brother doesn't seem to look like you, Miss Gilman."
"Perhaps you know better than I who it is," said Jane sullenly.
"Well, perhaps so."
"And who do you say they are?"
"Sir Charles and Laura Fenwick of Fenwick Hall, England."
Jane Gilman started to her feet in astonishment.
"Who told you?" she asked hoarsely.
"It is not necessary for me to tell you. It is enough that I am commissioned by the boy's mother to find him and restore him to her. There may be trouble in store for you, Miss Jane Gilman," he added significantly.
Jane Gilman fanned herself vigorously and seemed very ill at ease.
"However," continued the detective, "you can save yourself and secure a handsome reward by giving me all the help you can, and making full confession of your stealing the child, and telling who instigated you to do it."
The woman hesitated, but her hesitation was brief.
"Will you promise this?" she asked.
"Yes. I am the confidential agent of Lady Fenwick, who is now in America."
"Then I'll do it. Guy Fenwick hasn't treated me right, and I don't mind if I do go back on him. It was he that hired me to make off with little Robert, though I didn't let him know what I did with him."
"And what was your present object?"
"To take the boy away and make Sir Guy pay a good round sum for my keeping the secret."
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE DETECTIVE SECURES AN ALLY
"Are you in communication with Guy Fenwick? Do you know whether he is now at Fenwick Hall?" asked the detective.
"No, he is not there."
"Where is he, then?"
"At sea. In a day or two he will probably be in New York," answered Jane Gilman coolly.
Mr. Peake started. This was unexpected intelligence.
"What brings him to New York?" he inquired hastily.
"I do."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I wrote him some time since for a hundred pounds. He sent me five pounds and told me that I needn't call on him again."
"He doesn't seem much afraid of you."
"No; he thought the boy was dead."
"I suppose you told him so?"
"I let him think that the boy had died of fever four years ago. That made him feel safe, and he concluded that he had no more use for Jane Gilman. He'll find out!" and Jane tossed her head, in an independent manner.
"Have you any letters from him in reference to the matter?" asked Detective Peake.
From a pocket of unknown depth Miss Gilman drew out an epistle which she handed to the detective.
"You can read it if you want to," she said.
Mr. Peake opened the letter and read it. It ran thus:
Miss Jane Gilman:
Your letter requesting me to send you a hundred pounds is received. Your request is certainly an audacious one. Why I should send you a hundred pounds, or even ten pounds, I am at a loss to imagine. The boy Robert, whose existence you think would be dangerous to me, is dead by your own admission, and my right to the Fenwick title and estates is undisputed and indisputable. If you expect me to support you for the balance of your life, your expectations are doomed to disappointment. You are strong and healthy, and are able to earn your own living in the sphere in which you were born. Besides, if you had been prudent you would have saved a considerable sum out of the large pension you have received from me during the last dozen or more years. I think it quite probable that you have a snug sum invested and are not in any danger of suffering.
Still I don't want to be hard upon you. I accordingly inclose a five-pound note, which you will please consider as a final gift on my part.
Guy Fenwick.
"Miss Gilman," said Detective Peake, "will you permit me to keep this letter—for the present?"
"What do you want to do with it?" asked Jane suspiciously.
"Use it against the man who calls himself Sir Guy Fenwick. In connection with your testimony it will prove valuable evidence."
"You have promised that I shall be well paid?"
"Yes, I can take it upon myself to promise that."
"Very well. You may keep the letter."
"One question more. You tell me that Sir Guy Fenwick is on his way to New York. Can you tell me why he is coming?"
"Yes. I dropped him a hint, in answer to this letter, that the boy Robert was still living, and this alarmed my gentleman," she added with a laugh.
"Did he write you that he was coming?"
"Yes."
"Have you that letter?"
"No; but I can tell you what was in it. He wrote that he did not believe my story, but he would come to New York, and I might call upon him at the Brevoort House on Monday next."
"You infer from that that he was anxious?"
"It looks like it, doesn't it?"
"Yes. What did you propose to say to him?"
"That the boy was living, and that I could lay my hand upon him."
"That is why you came to Scranton?"
"Yes."
"I see. The whole thing lies in a nutshell. Even without your evidence I shall probably be able to establish the rights of my young client. But your help will make it surer."
"I am at your service, if you will keep your promise. What do you want me to do?"
"Go with me to Bar Harbor and see the boy."
"I would like to," said Jane Gilman with an expression of pleasure. "I haven't seen him since he was a baby. I'd like to see how he looks now."
"When he is restored to his title and estate he will not see you suffer."
"When will you start for Bar Harbor?"
"We shall leave Scranton by the next train."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
JED LEARNS WHO HE IS
Mr. Roper and Jed were having a very enjoyable time at Bar Harbor. They made trips, chiefly on foot, to the various interesting localities—Schooner Head, Great Head, Hull's Cove and The Ovens—being favored with unusually fine and clear weather. They had just returned at four o'clock in the afternoon from a trip to the summit of Green Mountain when they were informed at the hotel that a gentleman wished to see them.
Mr. Roper took the card and examined it.
"James Peake," he said. "I don't know of any such person. Do you, Jed?"
"No, sir," answered Jed.
"You may bring him up," said Roper, turning to the bell boy.
In less than a minute the latter reappeared, followed by a plain-looking man, who scanned both attentively as he entered, but devoted the most attention to Jed.
"Mr. Peake?" said Schuyler Roper interrogatively.
"Yes, sir."
"You have business with me?"
"Rather with your young friend. Is he known as Jed Gilman?"
"Yes," answered the boy so designated.
"I am a detective from the staff of Inspector Byrnes of New York."
Jed blushed and looked uneasy. This announcement naturally alarmed him.
"Am I charged with any offense?" he asked quickly.
"No," answered Mr. Peake with a pleasant smile. "When I state my business I am inclined to think you will be glad to see me."
"I feel relieved, Jed," said Mr. Roper with a smile. "I took you without a character, and I trembled lest some terrible charge was to be brought against you."
"Rest easy on that score, Mr. Roper," returned the detective. "My mission may involve some one else in trouble, but not your young friend. Will you permit me to ask him a few questions?"
"I am sure he will be quite ready to answer any questions you may ask."
Jed nodded assent.
"Then, Mr. Gilman, may I inquire your age?"
"I am sixteen."
"What is the date of your birth?"
Jed colored and looked embarrassed.
"I do not know," he answered.
"Can you tell me where you were born?"
"No, sir," returned Jed. "I was left at the age of two years at the Scranton poorhouse by a girl who disappeared the next morning. Of course I was too young to know anything of my earlier history."
"Exactly; and you spent the intervening years at that interesting institution."
Jed laughed.
"It didn't prove very interesting at the last," he said. "When my good friends the Averys were turned out, Mr. and Mrs. Fogson succeeded them, and I concluded to leave."
"I am not surprised to hear it. I have seen Mrs. Fogson," remarked the detective dryly.
"Did she give me a good character?"
"Quite the contrary. She prepared me to find you a desperate young ruffian."
Jed laughed.
"Do I come up to your expectations?" he asked.
"Not altogether. I may conclude that you have no information in regard to your family or parentage?"
"No, sir. Can you"—something in the detective's face prompted the question—"can you give me any information on the subject?"
Jed fixed his eyes with painful intensity upon the visitor.
"I think I can," he answered.
"Who, then, am I?"
"To the best of my knowledge you are the nephew of Sir Guy Fenwick, of Fenwick Hall, Gloucestershire, England."
Both Mr. Roper and Jed looked exceedingly surprised.
"Sir Guy Fenwick?" repeated Roper.
"He is so called, but I have reason to believe he is a usurper, and that the title and estates belong to your young friend, who, if I am correct, isn't Jed Gilman, but Sir Robert Fenwick."
Jed looked dazed. Schuyler Roper went up to him and grasped his hand.
"My dear Jed, or rather Robert," he said, "let me be the first to congratulate you. But, Mr. Peake, are you prepared to substantiate Jed's claim to his title and inheritance?"
"I think so. I will tell you how the case stands."
When he had concluded, Mr. Roper asked, "And where is this nurse whose testimony is so important?"
"At Rodick's. I brought her with me to Bar Harbor."
"And what is your program?"
"I should like to carry our young friend with me to New York to confront the pseudo baronet."
"We will be ready whenever you say. I say we, for I propose to accompany Jed—I beg pardon, Sir Robert—and stand by him at this eventful period."
"Call me Jed, Mr. Roper, till I have proved myself entitled to the other name," returned the "poorhouse boy."