CHAPTER XXXVIII
AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY
“Mr. Carter, can you spare me a couple of days?” asked Philip.
“Certainly, Phil,” answered the old gentleman. “May I ask how you wish to dispose of the time?”
“I would like to go to Planktown to see my friends there. It is now some months since I left the village, and I would like to see my old friends.”
“The desire is a natural one. Your home is broken up, is it not?”
“Yes, but I can stay at the house of Tommy Kavanagh. I know he will be glad to have me.”
“It is strange that your step-mother and her son have left no trace behind them,” said Mr. Carter thoughtfully. “It looks suspicious, as if they had some good reason for their disappearance.”
“I can’t understand why they should have left Planktown,” said Philip, appearing puzzled.
“Is the house occupied?”
“Yes. I hear that a cousin of Mrs. Brent occupies it. I shall call and inquire after her.”
“Very well, Philip. Go when you please. You may be sure of a welcome when you return.”
In Planktown, though his home relations latterly had not been pleasant, Philip had many friends, and when he appeared on the street, he met everywhere glances of friendly welcome. One of the first to meet him was Tommy Kavanagh.
“Where did you come from, Phil?” he asked.
“I am glad enough to see you. Where are you staying?”
“Nowhere, Tommy, at present. If your mother can take me in, I will stay at your house.”
“Take you? Yes, and will be glad enough to have you stay with us. You know we live in a small house, but if you don’t mind–”
“What do you take me for, Tommy? Whatever is good enough for you and your mother will be good enough for me.”
“What are you doing, Phil? You don’t look as if you had hard work making a living.”
“I am well fixed now, but I have had some anxious days. But all’s well that ends well. I am private secretary to a rich man, and live in a fine brown-stone house on Madison Avenue.”
“Good for you, Phil! I knew you’d succeed.”
“Where is Mrs. Brent? Has anything been heard from her?”
“I don’t think anybody in the village knows where she is—that is, except her cousin, who lives in your old house.”
“What is his name?”
“Hugh Raynor.”
“What sort of a man is he?”
“The people in the village don’t like him. He lives alone, and I hear that he cooks for himself. He is not at all social, and no one feels very much acquainted with him.”
“I shall call upon him and inquire after Mrs. Brent.”
“Then, Phil, you had better go alone, for he doesn’t like callers, and he will be more ready to receive one than two.”
Philip enjoyed his visit, and was busied making calls on his old acquaintances. He was much pleased with the cordiality with which he had been received.
It was not till the afternoon of the second day that he turned his steps toward the house which had been his home for so long a time.
We will precede him, and explain matters which made his visit very seasonable.
In the sitting-room sat Hugh Raynor, the present occupant of the house. He was a small, dark-complexioned man, with a large Roman nose, and his face was at this moment expressive of discontent. This seemed to be connected with a letter which he had just been reading. Not to keep the reader in suspense, it was mailed at Chicago, and was written by Mrs. Brent. We will quote a paragraph:
“You seem to me very unreasonable in expecting me not only to give you the house rent-free, but also to give you a salary. I would like to know what you do to merit a salary. You merely take care of the house. As for that, there are plenty who would be glad to take charge of so good a house, and pay me a fair rent. Indeed, I am thinking that it will be best for me to make some such arrangement, especially as you do not seem satisfied with your sinecure position. You represent me as rolling in wealth. Jonas and I are living very comfortably, and we have nothing to complain of, but that is no reason for my squandering the small fortune left me by my husband. I advise you to be a little more reasonable in your demands, or I shall request you to leave my house.”
“Selfish as ever,” muttered Mr. Raynor, after reading this letter over again. “Cousin Jane never was willing that any one else should prosper. But she has made a mistake in thinking she can treat me meanly. I AM IN A POSITION TO TURN THE TABLES UPON HER! This paper—if she dreamed I had found it, she would yield to all my demands.”
He laid his hand upon a paper, folded lengthwise, and presenting the appearance of a legal document.
He opened the paper and read aloud:
“To the boy generally known as Philip Brent and supposed, though incorrectly, to be my son, I bequeath the sum of five thousand dollars, and direct the same to be paid over to any one whom he may select as guardian, to hold in trust for him until he attains the age of twenty-one.”
“This will Mrs. Brent carefully concealed,” continued Mr. Raynor, “in order to save the money for herself and Jonas. I wonder she was not prudent enough to burn it, or, at any rate, to take it with her when she left Planktown. It is a damaging secret, but I hold it, and I mean to use it, too. Let me see, what is it best to do?”
Mr. Raynor spent some time in quiet thought. It seemed to him that it might be well to hint his discovery in a letter to Mrs. Brent, and to make it the basis of a demand for a generous sum of hush-money—one thousand dollars, at least. He might have decided to do this but for an incident which suggested another course.
The door-bell rang, and when he opened the door with some surprise, for callers were few, he saw standing before him a tall, handsome boy, whom he did not recognize.
“Do you wish to see me?” he asked. “What is your name?”
“My name is Philip Brent.”
“What!” exclaimed Mr. Raynor, in visible excitement, “are you the son of the late Mr. Brent?”
“I was always regarded as such,” answered Philip.
“Come in, then. I am glad to see you,” said Mr. Raynor; and Phil entered the house, surprised at a reception much more cordial than he had expected.
In that brief moment Mr. Raynor had decided to reveal the secret to Phil, and trust to his gratitude for a suitable acknowledgment. In this way he would revenge himself upon Mrs. Brent, who had treated him so meanly.
“I have been wishing to see you, for I have a secret of importance to communicate,” said Mr. Raynor.
“If it relates to my parents, I know it already,” said Phil.
“No; it is something to your advantage. In revealing it I make Mrs. Brent my enemy, and shall forfeit the help she is giving me.”
“If it is really of advantage to me, and I am able to make up your loss to you, I will do it,” said Phil.
“That is sufficient. I will trust to your honor. You look like a boy who will keep a promise though not legally bound.”
“You only do me justice, Mr. Raynor.”
“Then cast your eye upon this paper and you will know the secret.”
“Is it a will?” exclaimed Phil, in surprise.
“Yes, it is the will of the late Gerald Brent. By it he bequeaths to you five thousand dollars.”
“Then he did not forget me,” said Phil, more pleased with the assurance that he had been remembered than by the sum of money bequeathed to him. “But why have I not known this before?” he asked, looking up from the will.
“You must ask that of Mrs. Brent!” said Mr. Raynor significantly.
“Do you think she suppressed it purposely?”
“I do,” answered Raynor laconically.
“I must see her. Where can I find her?”
“I can only say that her letters to me are mailed in Chicago, but she scrupulously keeps her address a secret.”
“Then I must go to Chicago. May I take this paper with me?”
“Yes. I advise you to put it into the hands of a lawyer for safe keeping. You will not forget that you are indebted to me for it?”
“No, Mr. Raynor. I will take care you lose nothing by your revelation.”
The next morning Phil returned to New York.
CHAPTER XXXIX
AT THE PALMER HOUSE
It may be readily supposed that Phil’s New York friends listened with the greatest attention to his account of what he had learned in his visit to Planktown.
“Your step-mother is certainly an unscrupulous woman,” said Mr. Carter. “Doubtless she has left your old town in order to escape accountability to you for your stolen inheritance. What puzzles me however, is her leaving behind such tell-tale evidence. It is a remarkable oversight. Do you think she is aware of the existence of the will?”
“I think she must be, though I hope not,” answered Phil. “I should like to think that she had not conspired to keep back my share of father’s estate.”
“At any rate, the first thing to do is evidently to find her out, and confront her with the evidence of her crime—that is, supposing her to be really culpable.”
“Then you approve of my going to Chicago?” said Phil.
“Most emphatically. Nay, more—I will go with you.”
“Will you indeed, sir?” said Phil joyfully. “You are very kind. I shrank from going alone, being a boy ignorant of business.”
“A pretty shrewd boy, however,” said Mr. Carter, smiling. “I don’t claim much credit, however, as I have some interests in Chicago to which I can attend with advantage personally. I am interested in a Western railroad, the main office of which is in that city.”
“When shall we go, sir?”
“To-morrow,” answered Mr. Carter promptly. “The sooner the better. You may go down town and procure the necessary tickets, and engage sleeping-berths.”
Here followed the necessary directions, which need not be repeated.
It is enough to say that twenty-four hours later Phil and his employer were passengers on a lightning express train bound for Chicago.
They arrived in due season, without any adventure worth naming, and took rooms at the Palmer House.
Now, it so happened that in the same hotel at the very same moment were three persons in whom Phil was vitally interested. These were Mrs. Brent, Jonas, otherwise called Philip Granville, and Mr. Granville himself.
Let me explain their presence in Chicago, when, as we know, Mr. Granville’s house was situated at some distance away.
Jonas had preferred a petition to go to Chicago for a week, in order to attend some of the amusements there to be enjoyed, alleging that it was awfully dull in the country.
Mr. Granville was inclined to be very indulgent, to make up for the long years in which he had been compelled practically to desert his son. The petition therefore received favor.
“It is only natural that you should wish to see something of the city, my son,” he said. “I will grant your request. We will go to Chicago, and remain a week at the Palmer House. Mrs. Brent, will you accompany us?”
“With pleasure, Mr. Granville,” answered that lady. “It is not dull here for me, still I shall no doubt enjoy a little excitement. At any rate, I shall be best pleased to be where you and your son are.”
“Then so let it be. We will go to-morrow.”
One secret wish and scheme of Mrs. Brent has not been referred to. She felt that her present position was a precarious one. She might at any time be found out, and then farewell to wealth and luxury! But if she could induce Mr. Granville to marry her, she would then be secure, even if found out, and Jonas would be the son of Mr. Granville, though detected as a usurper. She, therefore, made herself as agreeable as possible to Mr. Granville, anticipated his every wish, and assumed the character, which she did not possess, of a gracious and feminine woman of unruffled good humor and sweetness of disposition.
“I say, ma,” Jonas observed on one occasion, “you’ve improved ever so much since you came here. You’re a good deal better natured than you were.”
Mrs. Brent smiled, but she did not care to take her son into her confidence.
“Here I have no cares to trouble me,” she said. “I live here in a way that suits me.”
But when they were about starting for Chicago, Mrs. Brent felt herself becoming unaccountably depressed.
“Jonas,” she said, “I am sorry we are going to Chicago.”
“Why, ma? We’ll have a splendid time.”
“I feel as if some misfortune were impending over us,” said his mother, and she shivered apprehensively.
But it was too late to recede. Besides, Jonas wished to go, and she had no good reason to allege for breaking the arrangement.
CHAPTER XL
A SCENE NOT ON THE BILLS
Phil was in Chicago, but that was only the first step toward finding those of whom he was in search. Had he been sure that they were in the city, it would have simplified matters, but the fact that Mrs. Brent directed her letters to be sent to that city proved nothing. It did not make it certain that she lived in the town.
“We are only at the beginning of our perplexities, Philip,” said Mr. Carter. “Your friends may be near us, or they may be a hundred miles away.”
“That is true, sir.”
“One method of finding them is barred, that of advertising, since they undoubtedly do not care to be found, and an advertisement would only place them on their guard.”
“What would you advise, sir?”
“We might employ a detective to watch the post-office, but here again there might be disappointment. Mrs. Brent might employ a third person to call for her letters. However, I have faith to believe that sooner or later we shall find her. Time and patience accomplishes much.”
“Were you ever a detective, sir?” asked Phil, smiling.
“No, Philip, but I have had occasion to employ them. Now how would you like to go to the theater this evening?”
“Very much, sir.”
“There is a good play running at McVicker’s Theatre. We will go there.”
“Anywhere will suit me, Mr. Carter.”
“Young people are easily satisfied,” he said. “When they get older they get more fastidious. However, there is generally something attractive at McVicker’s.”
It so happened that Philip and his employer took a late dinner, and did not reach the theater till ten minutes after the hour. They had seats in the seventh row of orchestra chairs, a very eligible portion of the house.
The curtain had risen, and Philip’s attention was given to the stage till the end of the first act. Then he began to look around him.
Suddenly he started and half rose from his seat.
“What is the matter, Philip?” asked Mr. Carter.
“There, sir! look there!” said the boy, in excitement, pointing to two persons in the fourth row in front.
“Do you recognize acquaintances, Philip?”
“It is my step-mother and Jonas,” answered Philip eagerly.
“It is, indeed, wonderful!” said Mr. Carter, sharing the boy’s excitement. “You are confident, are you?”
“Oh, sir, I couldn’t be mistaken about that.”
Just then Mrs. Brent turned to a gentleman at her side and spoke. It was Mr. Granville.
“Who is that gentleman?” said Mr. Carter reflectively. “Do you think Mrs. Brent is married again?”
“I don’t know what to think!” said Philip, bewildered.
“I will tell you what to do. You cannot allow these people to elude you. Go to the hotel, ask a direction to the nearest detective office, have a man detailed to come here directly, and let him find, if necessary, where your step-mother and her son are living.”
Philip did so, and it was the close of the second act before he returned. With him was a small, quiet gentleman, of unpretending appearance, but skilled as a detective.
“Now,” continued Mr. Carter, “you may venture at any time to go forward and speak to your friends—if they can be called such.”
“I don’t think they can, sir. I won’t go till the last intermission.”
Phil was forestalled, however. At the close of the fourth act Jonas happened to look back, and his glance fell upon Philip.
A scared, dismayed look was on his face as he clutched his mother’s arm and whispered:
“Ma, Philip is sitting just back of us.”
Mrs. Brent’s heart almost ceased to beat. She saw that the moment of exposure was probably at hand.
With pale face she whispered:
“Has he seen us?”
“He is looking right at us.”
She had time to say no more. Philip left his seat, and coming forward, approached the seat of his step-mother.
“How do you do, Mrs. Brent?” he said.
She stared at him, but did not speak.
“How are you, Jonas?” continued our hero.
“My name isn’t Jonas,” muttered the boy addressed.
Mr. Granville meanwhile had been eagerly looking at Philip. There appeared to be something in his appearance which riveted the attention of the beholder. Was it the voice of nature which spoke from the striking face of the boy?
“You have made a mistake, boy,” said Mrs. Brent, summoning all her nerve. “I am not the lady you mention, and this boy does not bear the name of Jonas.”
“What is his name, then?” demanded Philip.
“My name is Philip Granville,” answered Jonas quickly.
“Is it? Then it has changed suddenly,” answered Phil, in a sarcastic voice. “Six months ago, when we were all living at Planktown, your name was Jonas Webb.”
“You must be a lunatic!” said Mrs. Brent, with audacious falsehood.
“My own name is Philip, as you very well know.”
“Your name Philip?” exclaimed Mr. Granville, with an excitement which he found it hard to control.
“Yes, sir; the lady is my step-mother, and this boy is her son Jonas.”
“And you—whose son are you?” gasped Mr. Granville.
“I don’t know, sir. I was left at an early age at a hotel kept by this lady’s husband, by my father, who never returned.”
“Then YOU must be my son!” said Mr. Granville. “You and not this boy!”
“You, sir? Did you leave me?”
“I left my son with Mr. Brent. This lady led me to believe that the boy at my side was my son.”
Here, then, was a sudden and startling occurrence. Mrs. Brent fainted. The strain had been too much for her nerves, strong as they were. Of course she must be attended to.
“Come with me; I cannot lose sight of you now, MY SON!” said Mr. Granville. “Where are you staying?”
“At the Palmer House.”
“So am I. Will you be kind enough to order a carriage.”
Mrs. Brent was conveyed to the hotel, and Jonas followed sullenly.
Of course Philip, Mr. Granville and Mr. Carter left the theater.
Later the last three held a conference in the parlor.
It took little to convince Mr. Granville that Philip was his son.
“I am overjoyed!” he said. “I have never been able to feel toward the boy whom you call Jonas as a father should. He was very distasteful to me.”
“It was an extraordinary deception on the part of Mrs. Brent,” said Mr. Carter thoughtfully.
“She is a very unprincipled woman,” said Mr. Granville. “Even now that matters have come right, I find it hard to forgive her.”
“You do not know all the harm she has sought to do your son. The sum of five thousand dollars was left him by Mr. Brent, and she suppressed the will.”
“Good heavens! is this true?”
“We have the evidence of it.”
The next day an important interview was held at the Palmer House. Mrs. Brent was forced to acknowledge the imposition she had practiced upon Mr. Granville.
“What could induce you to enter into such a wicked conspiracy?” asked Mr. Granville, shocked.
“The temptation was strong—I wished to make my son rich. Besides, I hated Philip.”
“It is well your wicked plan has been defeated; it might have marred my happiness forever.”
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked coolly, but not without anxiety.
It was finally settled that the matter should be hushed up. Philip wished to give up the sum bequeathed him by Mr. Brent; but to this Mr. Granville objected, feeling that it would constitute a premium on fraud. Besides, Mrs. Brent would have the residue of the estate, amounting to nearly ten thousand dollars. Being allowed to do what he chose with this money, he gave it in equal portions to Tommy Kavanagh and Mr. Raynor, who had informed him of the existence of Mr. Brent’s will.
Mrs. Brent decided not to go back to Planktown. She judged that the story of her wickedness would reach that village and make it disagreeable for her. She opened a small millinery store in Chicago, and is doing fairly well. But Jonas is her chief trouble, as he is lazy and addicted to intemperate habits. His chances of success and an honorable career are small.
“How can I spare you, Philip?” said Mr. Carter regretfully. “I know your father has the best right to you, but I don’t like to give you up.”
“You need not,” said Mr. Granville. “I propose to remove to New York; but in the summer I shall come to my estate near Chicago, and hope, since the house is large enough, that I may persuade you and your niece, Mrs. Forbush, to be my guests.”
This arrangement was carried out. Mrs. Forbush and her daughter are the recognized heirs of Mr. Carter, who is wholly estranged from the Pitkins. He ascertained, through a detective, that the attack upon Philip by the man who stole from him the roll of bills was privately instigated by Mr. Pitkin himself, in the hope of getting Philip into trouble. Mr. Carter, thereupon, withdrew his capital from the firm, and Mr. Pitkin is generally supposed to be on the verge of bankruptcy. At any rate, his credit is very poor, and there is a chance that the Pitkins may be reduced to comparative poverty.
“I won’t let Lavinia suffer,” said Uncle Oliver; “if the worst comes to the worst, I will settle a small income, say twelve hundred dollars, on her, but we can never be friends.”
As Phil grew older—he is now twenty-one—it seems probable that he and Mr. Carter may be more closely connected, judging from his gallant attentions to Julia Forbush, who has developed into a charming young lady. Nothing would suit Mr. Carter better, for there is no one who stands higher in his regard than Philip Granville, the Errand Boy.