CHAPTER XXV THE MERCHANT FROM PORTLAND
"Look here, young chap," said Andy, "what made you tell me that was the Merchants' Bank?"
"Isn't it?" asked the bootblack, with a grin.
"It's the bank where you'll be wanted some time. Shouldn't wonder if they'd make a mistake and lock you up instead of your money."
"Have you got any money in the Merchants' Bank?" asked the other.
"I'm goin' to see if they won't give me some. If you hadn't cheated me, maybe I'd have invited you to dine with me at my hotel."
"Where are you stoppin'?" asked the street boy, not quite knowing how much of Andy's story to believe.
"At the most fashionable hotel."
"Parker's?"
"You're good at guessin'. Perhaps you'd like to dine there?"
"I don't know as they'd let me in," said the boy, doubtfully; "but I'll show you where there's a nice eatin' house, where they don't charge half so much."
"'Twouldn't be fashionable enough for me. I shall have to dine alone.
See what comes of tryin' to fool your grandfather."
Andy went on, leaving the boy in doubt whether his jest had really lost him a dinner.
Andy didn't go to the Parker House, however. His expenses were to be paid by the Misses Grant, and he felt that it wouldn't be right to be extravagant at their expense.
"I shall come across an eatin' house presently," he said to himself.
Not far off he found one with the bill of fare exposed outside, with the prices. Andy examined it, and found that it was not an expensive place. He really felt hungry after his morning's ride, and determined, before he attended to his business, to get dinner. He accordingly entered, and seated himself at one of the tables. A waiter came up and awaited his commands.
"What'll you have?" he asked.
"Bring me a plate of roast beef, and a cup of coffee," said Andy, "and be quick about it, for I haven't eaten anything for three weeks."
"Then I don't think one plate will be enough for you," said the waiter, laughing.
"It'll do to begin on," said Andy.
The order was quickly filled, and Andy set to work energetically.
It is strange how we run across acquaintances when we least expect it. Andy had no idea that he knew anybody in the eating house, and therefore didn't look around, feeling no special interest in the company. Yet there was one present who recognized him as soon as he entered, and watched him with strong interest. The interest was not friendly, however, as might be inferred from the scowl with which he surveyed him. This will not be a matter of surprise to the reader when I say that the observer was no other than Fairfax, whose attempt to rob Colonel Preston had been defeated by Andy.
He recognized the boy at once, both from his appearance and his voice, and deep feelings of resentment ran in his breast. To be foiled was disagreeable enough, but to be foiled by a boy was most humiliating, and he had vowed revenge, if ever an opportunity occurred. For this reason he felt exultant when he saw his enemy walking into the eating house.
"I'll follow him," he said to himself, "and it'll go hard if I don't get even with him for that trick he played on me."
But how did it happen that Andy did not recognize Fairfax?
For two reasons: First, because the adventurer was sitting behind him, and our hero faced the front of the room. Next, had he seen him, it was doubtful if he would have recognized a man whom he was far from expecting to see. For Fairfax was skilled in disguises, and no longer was the black-whiskered individual that we formerly knew him. From motives of prudence, he had shaved off his black hair and whiskers, and now appeared in a red wig, and whiskers of the same hue. If any of my readers would like to know how effectual this disguise is, let them try it, and I will guarantee that they won't know themselves when they come to look at their likeness in the mirror.
After disposing of what he had ordered, Andy also ordered a plate of apple dumpling, which he ate with great satisfaction.
"I wouldn't mind eatin' here every day," he thought. "Maybe I'll be in business here some day myself, and then I'll come here and dine."
Fairfax was through with his dinner, but waited till Andy arose. He then arose and followed him to the desk, where both paid at the same time. He was careless of recognition, for he felt confident in his disguise.
"Now," thought Andy, "I must go to the bank."
But he didn't know where the bank was. So, when he got into the street, he asked a gentleman whom he met: "Sir, can you direct me to the Merchants' Bank?"
"It is in State Street," said the gentleman. "I am going past it, so if you will come along with me, I will show you."
"Thank you, sir," said our hero, politely.
"Merchants' Bank!" said Fairfax to himself, beginning to feel interested. "I wonder what he's going there for? Perhaps I can raise a little money, besides having my revenge."
He had an added inducement now in following our hero.
When Andy went into the bank, Fairfax followed him. He was in the room when Andy received the dividends, and, with sparkling eyes, he saw that it was, a thick roll of bills, representing, no doubt, a considerable sum of money.
"That money must be mine," he said to himself. "It can't be the boy's. He must have been sent by some other person. The loss will get him into trouble. Very likely he will be considered a thief. That would just suit me."
Andy was careful, however. He put the money into a pocketbook, or, rather, wallet, with which he had been supplied by the Misses Grant, put it in his inside pocket, and then buttoned his coat up tight. He was determined not to lose anything by carelessness.
But this was not his last business visit. There was another bank in the same street where it was necessary for him to call and receive dividends. Again Fairfax followed him, and again he saw Andy receive a considerable sum of money.
"There's fat pickings here," thought Fairfax. "Now, I must manage, in some way, to relieve him of that money. There's altogether too much for a youngster like him. Shouldn't wonder if the money belonged to that man I tried to rob. If so, all the better."
In this conjecture, as we know, Fairfax was mistaken. However, it made comparatively little difference to him whose money it was, as long as there was a chance of his getting it into his possession. The fact was, that his finances were not in a very flourishing condition just at present. He could have done better to follow some honest and respectable business, and avoid all the dishonest shifts and infractions of law to which he was compelled to resort, but he had started wrong, and it was difficult to persuade him that even now it would have been much better for him to amend his life and ways. In this state of affairs he thought it a great piece of good luck that he should have fallen in with a boy in charge of a large sum of money, whom, from his youth and inexperience, he would have less trouble in robbing than an older person.
Andy had already decided how he would spend the afternoon. He had heard a good deal about the Boston Museum, its large collection of curiosities, and the plays that were performed there. One of the pleasantest anticipations he had was of a visit to this place, the paradise of country people. Now that his business was concluded, he determined to go there at once. But first he must inquire the way.
Turning around, he saw Fairfax without recognizing him.
"Can you direct me to the Boston Museum?" he asked.
"Certainly, with pleasure," said Fairfax, with alacrity. "In fact, I am going there myself. I suppose you are going to the afternoon performance?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you ever been there?"
"No; but I have heard a good deal about it. I don't live in the city."
"Nor do I," said Fairfax. "I am a merchant of Portland, Maine. I have come to the city to buy my winter stock of goods. As I only come twice a year, I generally try to enjoy myself a little while I am here. Do you stay in the city overnight?"
"Yes," said Andy.
"So do I. Here is the Museum."
They had reached the Museum, which, as some of my readers are aware, is situated in Tremont Street.
"We go up these stairs," said Fairfax. "If you don't object, we will take seats together."
"I shall be glad to have company," said Andy, politely.
Reserved seats adjoining were furnished, and the adventurer and his intended victim entered the Museum.
CHAPTER XXVI SPINNING THE WEB
There was a short interval before the play commenced. This Andy improved by examining the large stock of curiosities which have been gathered from all parts of the world for the gratification of visitors. Fairfax kept at his side, and spoke freely of all they saw. There was something about him which seemed to Andy strangely familiar. Was it in his features, or in his voice? He could not tell. The red whig and whiskers misled him. Andy finally set it down as a mere chance resemblance to someone whom he had met formerly, and dismissed it from his mind.
At length the increasing crowds pouring into the lecture-room reminded them that the play was about to begin.
"Shall we go in and take our seats?" said Fairfax.
Andy assented, and they were speedily in their seats.
I do not propose to speak of the play. It was a novelty to Andy to see a dramatic representation, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. Fairfax was more accustomed to such things, but pretended to be equally interested, feeling that in this way he could ingratiate himself better into Andy's confidence.
At last it was over, and they went out of the building.
"How did you like it?" asked Fairfax.
"Tiptop," said Andy, promptly. "Don't you think so?"
"Capital," answered Fairfax, with simulated delight. "I am glad I had company. I don't enjoy anything half as well alone. By the way, where do you pass the night?"
"At some hotel—I don't know which."
"Suppose you go to the Adams House. I've got to stop overnight somewhere, and it might be pleasanter going in company."
"Where is the Adams House?"
"On Washington Street, not very far off—ten or fifteen minutes' walk."
"If it's a good place, I'm willing."
"It is an excellent hotel, and moderate in price. We might go up there now, and engage a room, and then spend the evening where we like."
"Very well," said Andy.
They soon reached the Adams House—a neat, unpretending hotel—and entered. They walked up to the desk, and Fairfax spoke to the clerk.
"Can you give us a room?"
"Certainly. Enter your names."
"Shall we room together?" asked Fairfax, calmly.
Now Andy, though he had had no objection to going to the theater with his present companion, did not care to take a room with a stranger, of whom he knew nothing. He might be a very respectable man, but somehow, Andy did not know why, there was something in his manner which inspired a little repulsion. Besides, he remembered that he had considerable money with him, and that consideration alone rendered it imprudent for him to put himself in the power of a companion. So he said, a little awkwardly:
"I think we'd better take separate rooms."
"Very well," said Fairfax, in a tone of indifference, though he really felt very much disappointed. "I thought it might have been a little more sociable to be together."
Andy did not take the hint, except so far as to say:
"We can take rooms alongside of each other."
"I can give you adjoining rooms, if you desire," said the clerk.
Fairfax here entered his name in the hotel register as "Nathaniel Marvin, Portland, Maine," while Andy put down his real address. His companion's was, of course, fictitious. He did not venture to give the name of Fairfax, as that might be recognized by Andy as that of the highwayman, with whose little plans he had interfered.
A servant was called, and they went up to their rooms, which, as the clerk had promised, were found to be adjoining. They were precisely alike.
"Very comfortable, Mr. Burke," said Fairfax, in a tone of apparent satisfaction. "I think we shall have a comfortable night."
"I guess so," said Andy.
"Are you going to stay here now?"
"No; I'm going to wash my face, and then take a walk around. I want to see something of the city."
"I think I'll lie down awhile; I feel tired. Perhaps we shall meet later. If not, I shall see you in the morning."
"All right," said Andy.
In a few minutes he went out.
CHAPTER XXVII THE DROP GAME
Fairfax had an object in remaining behind. He wanted to see if there was any way for him to get into Andy's room during the night, that he might rob him in his sleep. To his great satisfaction, he found that there was a door between the two rooms, for the accommodation of persons in the same party, who wished to be in adjoining apartments. It was, however, locked, but Fairfax was not unprepared for such an emergency. He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and tried them, one after another, in the lock. There was one that would very nearly fit. For this again, Fairfax was prepared. He took from the same pocket a file, and began patiently to file away the key till it should fit. He tried it several times before he found that it fitted. But at last success crowned his efforts. The door opened.
His eyes danced with exultation, as he saw this.
"I might as well be in the same room," he said, to himself. "Now, you young rascal, I shall take your money, and be revenged upon you at the same time."
He carefully locked the door, and then, feeling that he had done all that was necessary to do at present, went downstairs, and took supper. Andy was out, and did not see him.
Meanwhile, our young hero was out seeing the sights. He walked up Washington Street, and at Boylston Street turned and reached Tremont Street, when he saw the Common before him. It looked pleasant, and Andy crossed the street, and entered. He walked wherever fancy led, and then found himself, after a while, in a comparatively secluded part. Here he met with an adventure, which I must describe.
Rather a shabby-looking individual in front of him suddenly stooped and picked up a pocketbook, which appeared to be well filled with money. He looked up, and met Andy's eyes fixed upon it. This was what he wanted.
"Here's a pocketbook," he said. "Somebody must have dropped it."
Andy was interested.
"It seems to have considerable money in it," said the finder.
"Open it, and see," said Andy.
"I hain't time. I have got to leave the city by the next train. I mean, I haven't time to advertise it, and get the reward which the owner will be sure to offer. Are you going to stay in the city long?"
"I'm going out to-morrow."
"I must go. I wish I knew what to do."
He seemed to be plunged into anxious thought.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," he said, as if a bright idea had suddenly struck him. "You take the pocketbook, and advertise it. If the owner is found, he will give you a reward. If not, the whole will belong to you."
"All right," said Andy. "Hand it over."
"Of course," said the other, "I shall expect something myself, as I was the one to find it."
"I'll give you half."
"But I shall be out of the city. I'll tell you what give me ten dollars, and I'll make it over to you."
"That's rather steep," said Andy.
"Heft it. There must be a lot of money inside."
"I'm afraid the reward might be less than ten dollars," said Andy.
"Well, I'm in a great hurry—give me five."
It is possible that Andy, who was not acquainted with the "drop game," might have agreed to this, but a policeman hove in sight, and the shabby individual scuttled away without further ceremony, leaving Andy a little surprised, with the pocketbook in his hand.
"What's he in such a hurry for?" thought our hero.
He opened the pocketbook, and a light flashed upon him, as he perceived that there was no money inside, but was stuffed with rolls of paper.
"He wanted to swindle me," thought Andy. "It's lucky I didn't pay him five dollars. Anyway, I'll keep it. The pocketbook is worth something."
He put it in his pocket, without taking the trouble to remove the contents.
CHAPTER XXVIII THE GUEST OF TWO HOTELS
Andy wandered about till nine o'clock, determined to see as much of the city as possible in the limited time which he had at his disposal; but at last he became tired, and returned to the hotel. Fairfax was seated in the reading-room. He looked up as Andy entered.
"Have you been looking around the city?" he asked.
"Yes," said Andy; "I wanted to improve my time."
"I suppose, as this is your first visit, you see a good deal that is new?"
"It's all new," said Andy. "I feel tired, walking around so much."
"No doubt. Are you going to bed now?"
"I guess I'll turn in."
"I shan't go up quite yet. I have been staying here quietly, and I don't feel tired. I shall go up in the course of an hour or two."
"Good-night, then," said Andy.
"Good-night. I hope you'll sleep sound," said Fairfax, who was certainly entirely sincere in this wish, as the success of his plans depended on the soundness of our hero's repose.
Andy went upstairs, and lighted the gas in his bedroom. He noticed the door communicating with the next one, and tried it, but found it to be locked.
"That's all right," said Andy. "Nobody can get in that way."
He locked the principal door, and bolted it, also, which seemed to make him perfectly secure.
"Now," thought he, after undressing, "where shall I put the money?"
This was an important question, as he had between five hundred and a thousand dollars belonging to the Misses Grant, of which it was his duty to take even more care than if it belonged to himself.
"I guess I'll put it under the bolster," he reflected, "covering it up with the sheet. Nobody can get in, that I can see, but it is best to be careful."
In emptying his pockets, he came across the pocketbook, with its sham contents, of which mention has already been made.
"I'll leave that in my pocket," he said to himself, with a smile. "I'm not afraid of losing that. By the powers, it wouldn't be much of a prize to the man that took it; I'm sure of that."
He laid his clothes on a chair, in the middle of the room, and jumped into bed, when he soon sank into a deep sleep.
Meanwhile, Fairfax remained below in the reading-room. He was not at all sleepy, as he had told Andy, and his mind was full of the scheme of robbery, which appeared so promising. He was glad Andy had retired so early, as he would be asleep sooner, and this would make things favorable for his entering his young companion's chamber. It was his intention, after he had secured the "plunder"—to adopt a Western phrase—to come downstairs and leave the hotel, not to return, as otherwise, as soon as Andy should discover his loss, the door between the two rooms would, naturally, point to him as the thief.
He didn't go up to his room till half-past ten. This was an hour and a half later than Andy retired, and would give him a chance to get fast asleep.
"He must be asleep now," he thought.
On reaching the corridor on which both of the chambers were situated, he stood a moment before Andy's door, and listened. It was not often that our young hero was guilty of snoring, but to-night he was weary, and had begun to indulge in this nocturnal disturbance. The sounds which he heard were very satisfactory to Fairfax.
"The boy's fast asleep," he muttered. "I'll go into his room, and make quick work of it. Fairfax, you're in luck, for once. Fortune has taken a turn."
Softly he opened the door of his own room, and entered. He lit the gas, and then, going to the door of communication between the two rooms, he listened again. There was no cessation of the sounds which he had heard from the outside. He determined to make the attempt at once. Taking the proper key from his pocket, he fitted it into the lock, and, turning it, the door opened, and he stepped into the adjoining apartment. It was dark, for Andy had extinguished the gas on going to bed, but the gas from his own room made it sufficiently light for his purpose. He at once caught sight of Andy's clothes lying on the chair, where he had placed them. He glanced cautiously at our hero, as he lay extended upon the bed, with one arm flung out, but he saw no reason for alarm. Quickly he glided to the chair with noiseless step (he had removed his boots, by way of precaution), and thrust his hand into the pocket of the coat. It came in contact with the false pocketbook, which seemed bulky and full of money. Fairfax never doubted that it was the right one, and quickly thrust it into his own pocket. Just then Andy moved a little in bed, and Fairfax retreated, hastily, through the door, closing it after him.
"Now, the sooner I get out of this hotel, the better!" he thought. "The boy may wake and discover his loss. It isn't likely, but it may happen. At any rate it's very much better to be on the safe side."
He did not stop to examine the prize which he had secured. He had no doubt whatever that it contained the money he was after. To stop to count it might involve him in peril. He, therefore, put on his boots, and glided out of the chamber and downstairs.
To the clerk who was at the desk he said, as he surrendered his key:
"How late do you keep open? Till after midnight?"
"Certainly," was the reply.
"All right. I may be out till late."
He left the key, and went out into the street. He hailed a passing car in Tremont Street, and rode for some distance. In Court Street he got on board a Charlestown car, and in half an hour found himself in the city everywhere known by the granite shaft that commemorates the battle of Bunker Hill. He made his way to a hotel, where he took a room, entering here under the name of James Simmons, Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Anxious to examine his prize, he desired to be shown at once to a chamber. He followed the servant who conducted him with impatient steps. The stolen money was burning in his pocket. He wanted to know how much he had, and was more than half resolved to take an early train the next morning for the West, where he thought he should be secure from discovery.
"Is there anything wanted, sir?" asked the servant, lingering at the door.
"No, no," said Fairfax, impatiently. "It's all right."
"Might be a little more polite," muttered the snubbed servant, as he went downstairs.
"Now for it!" exclaimed Fairfax, exultingly. "Now, let me see how much I have got."
He drew the pocketbook from his pocket, and opened it. His heart gave a quick thump, and he turned ashy pale, as his glance rested upon the worthless roll of brown paper with which it had been stuffed.
"Curse the boy!" he cried, in fierce and bitter disappointment. "He has fooled me, after all! Why didn't I stop long enough to open the pocketbook before I came away? Blind, stupid fool that I was! I am as badly off as before—nay, worse, for I have exposed myself to suspicion, and haven't got a penny to show for it."
I will not dwell upon his bitter self-reproaches, and, above all, the intense mortification he felt at having been so completely fooled by a boy, whom he had despised as verdant and inexperienced in the ways of the, world—to think that success had been in his grasp, and he had missed it, after all, was certainly disagreeable enough. It occurred to him that he might go back to the Adams House even now, and repair his blunder. It was not likely that Andy was awake yet. He was very weary, and boys of his age were likely, unless disturbed, to sleep through the night. He might retrieve his error, and no one would be the wiser.
"I'll do it," he said, at length.
He went downstairs, and left the hotel without the knowledge of the clerk. Jumping into the horse-cars, he returned to Boston, and entered the Adams House about half-past twelve o'clock. He claimed his key at the desk, and went upstairs to his room. He had scarcely lit the gas, however, when a knock was heard at the door. Opening it unsuspiciously, he turned pale, as he recognized the clerk, in company with an officer of the law.
"What's wanted?" he faltered.
"You are wanted," was the brief reply.
"What for?" he gasped.
"You are charged with entering the adjoining room, and stealing a pocketbook from the boy who sleeps there."
"It's a lie!" he said, but his tone was nervous.
"You must submit to a search," said the officer.
"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded Fairfax, assuming an air of outraged virtue.
"Not at all. I am only giving you a chance to clear yourself from suspicion."
"I am a respectable merchant from Portland. I was never so insulted in my life," said Fairfax.
"If the charge proves groundless, I will make you an ample apology," said the officer.
Fairfax was compelled to submit to the search. He cursed his stupidity in not throwing away the worthless pocketbook, but this he had neglected to do, and, of course, it was very significant evidence against him. Not only was this found, but the variety of keys already referred to.
"You carry a great many keys," said the officer.
"It isn't a crime to carry keys, is it?" demanded Fairfax, sullenly.
"Not if no improper use is made of them. I suspect that one of them will open the door into the next chamber."
The keys were tried, and one did open the door. As the light flashed into the room, Andy got up.
"Come here, young man," said the officer. "Can you identify that pocketbook?"
"I can," said Andy.
"Is it yours?"
"When I went to bed, it was in the pocket of my coat, lying on that chair."
"It is certainly a wonderful pocketbook. I have just found it in that gentleman's pocket."
Fairfax's eyes were bent malignantly upon Andy. A light flashed upon him. Now, he recognized him.
"I know you," he said. "You are the man that stopped Colonel Preston, and tried to rob him."
"You lie, curse you!" exclaimed Fairfax, springing forward, and trying to throw himself upon Andy. But he was not quick enough. The officer had interposed, and seized him by the collar.
"Not so fast, Mr. Marvin, or whatever your name is. We don't allow any such games as that. Sit down till I want you."
The baffled adventurer was jerked into a chair, from which he continued to eye Andy savagely.
"What's that affair you were talking about, young man?" asked the officer.
Andy briefly related his adventure with Fairfax on a former occasion.
"I'll trouble you to come with me, Mr. Marvin, or Fairfax," said the officer. "There's another hotel where lodgings are provided for such as you."
Resistance was useless, and the detected thief, though his name was registered at two hotels, was compelled to occupy a less agreeable room at the station-house. How he was detected will be explained in the next chapter.