CHAPTER LIX.
AND LAST.
"But," queried Walter Parks, when question and comment had beenexhausted, "are you sure that we have, even now, evidence enough toconvict Krutzer, or Francoise, as you call him?"
"He has called himself Francoise from the day he and his worthy wifeleft the wagon-train," rejoined Stanhope. "He has never been Krutzersince. As for proof, we shall not lack that; but I think the oldvillain, if he lives to come to trial, will plead guilty. His wifepossesses all the courage; he is cunning enough, but cowardly. He willnot be allowed to see or consult with her; and free from her influence,he can be made to confess. Besides, the old woman has been wearing abouther person a belt, which, if I am not mistaken, is the one stolen fromthe body of Arthur Pearson. It is of peculiar workmanship, and evidentlyvery old. It contains papers and money."
"If it is Pearson's belt," interposed Walter Parks, "I can identify it,and so could some others of the party if--"
"Was a certain Joe Blakesley a member of your band?" asked the Chiefquickly.
"Yes."
"And could he identify this belt?"
"He could."
"Then Vernet has done something; he has found this Blakesley."
"Where?" asked the Englishman, eagerly.
"In California."
"Good!" cried Stanhope; "Van shall have the full benefit of hisdiscovery."
And in the final summing-up, he did have the benefit, not only of this,his one useful exploit, but of all Stanhope's magnanimity. Through hisintercession, Vernet was retained in the service he had abused; but hewas never again admitted to the full confidence of his Chief, nortrusted with unlimited power, as of old. The question of supremacy wasdecided, and to all who knew the true inwardness of their drawn battleRichard Stanhope was "the Star of the force."
In regard to Papa Francoise, as we will still call him, Stanhope hadjudged aright.
He was possessed of wondrous cunning, and all his instincts were evil,but he lacked the one element that, sometimes, makes a successfulvillain: he was an utter coward. Deprived of the stimulus of the oldwoman's fierce temper and piercing tongue, he cowered in his cell, andfell an easy victim to his inquisitors. He was wild with terror whenconfronted by the girl Nance, risen, as it seemed to him, from the graveto denounce him. And when, after Nance had withdrawn, he faced Stanhopeand his Chief, Walter Parks and John Ainsworth, he was as wax in theirhands.
Up to that moment the name of Arthur Pearson, and that long-ago tragedyof the prairies, had not been mentioned, and Papa believed that thekilling of Siebel, with, perhaps, the stealing of little Daisy, were, inthe eyes of the law, his only crimes. But when Walter Parks stood forthand pierced him through and through with his searching eyes, Paparecognized him at once, and fairly shrieked with fear.
And when he learned from Richard Stanhope, how Franz Francoise met hisdeath, and that it was his son's dying words which condemned him, hethrew himself before his accusers in a paroxysm of abject terror, andconfessed himself the murderer they already knew him to be.
But Mamma was made of other timber. When consigned to her cell, she wassilent and sullen until, in compliance with Stanhope's instructions,they attempted to take from her the belt she wore. Then her rage wasterrible, and her resistance damaging to the countenances and garmentsof those who sought to control her.
She received Richard Stanhope with such a burst of fury, that restraintbecame necessary; and even when she sat bound and helpless before heraccusers, her struggles were furious, and her imprecations, shriekedout between frothing lips, were horrible to hear.
When she saw Walter Parks, she seemed to guess why he was there. Andwhen she knew all: that Franz Francoise was surely dead, and how hedied; that Papa had confessed everything; that John Ainsworth had comeback to claim his daughter, and lavish upon her his love andfortune--her ravings broke out afresh. She was frightful to see, anddangerous to all who ventured to approach. So they treated her as a madwoman, and for many days Mamma hurled unheard imprecations at hercowardly spouse, and cursed Richard Stanhope, arrayed in astrait-jacket.
But she was non-committal, baffling, from first to last. She would admitnothing, explain nothing, confess nothing. She defied them all.
* * * * *
On the following morning, at the Warburton Mansion, a happy groupassembled to hear, from Mr. Follingsbee, all that was not already knownto them of Stanhope's story.
How it was told, let the reader, who knows all, and knows Mr.Follingsbee, imagine.
Leslie was there, fair and pale, robed once more in the soft, richgarments that so well became her. Alan was there, handsome and humble.He had made, so far as he could in words, manly amends to Leslie, andshe had forgiven him freely at last. Winnie too, was there, obstinatelyavoiding Alan's glance, and keeping close to Leslie. Mrs. French wasthere, smiling and motherly. And little Daisy was there, the centre oftheir loving glances.
In her childish way, the little one had told all that she could of hercaptivity.
She had gone to sleep upon the balcony of her Papa's house and in thearms of "Mother Goose." She had awakened in a big, dark room, whosewindows were tightly shuttered, and where she could see nothing but atiny bit of sky. A negress, who frightened her very much, had broughther food, and sat in the room sometimes. She had been lonely, terrified,desolate.
The little that she could tell threw no light upon the mystery of herhiding-place, but it was all that they ever knew.
"I used to pray and pray," said Daisy, "but God didn't seem to hear meat all. And when I woke in that little room that smelled so bad--it wasworse than the other--I just felt I must _make_ God hear, so I prayed,oh, so loud, and then the door broke in, and that nice, funny man pickedme up, and there was Mamma; and only think! God might have let me outlong before if I had only prayed loud enough."
When Leslie learned her own story, and was brought face to face with herfather, her cup of joy was full indeed. She was at anchor at last, withsome one to love her beyond all others; with some one to love and torender happy.
"Oh," she said, "to know that my dear adopted parents were after all myown kindred; my uncle and my aunt! What caprice of their evil naturesprompted those wretches to do me this one kindness?"
"They knew where to find the Ulimans," said her father, "and knew thatthey were wealthy. It was the easiest way to dispose of you."
"I suppose so," she assented, sighing as she thought of those dear onesdead; smiling again as she looked in the face of her new-found father.
In the present confidence, the happiness and peace, that surroundedher, Winnie French could not continue her perverse _role_, nor, indeed,was Alan the man to permit it. She had let him see into her heart, inthat moment when he had seemed in such deadly peril, and he smiled downher pretty after-defiance.
"You shall not recant," he said laughingly; "for your own sake, I darenot allow it. A young woman who so rashly espouses the cause of a swain,simply because he has the prospect of a pair of handcuffs staring him inthe face, is unreliable, sadly out of balance. She needs a guardian andI--"
"Need an occupation," retorted Winnie, maliciously. "Don't doom yourselfto gray hairs, sir; repent."
"It's too late," he declared; and they ceased to argue the question.
* * * * *
They would have _feted_ Stanhope and made much of him at WarburtonPlace, for Alan did not hesitate to pronounce such a man the peer ofany. But the young detective was perversely shy.
He came one day, and received Leslie's thanks and praises, blushingfuriously the while, and conducting himself in anything but a courageousmanner. Once he accepted Alan's invitation to a dinner, in which theFollingsbees, Mr. Parks and Mr. Ainsworth participated. But he took nofurther advantages of their cordially-extended hospitality, and he wentabout his duties, not quite the same Dick Stanhope as of yore.
On her part, Leslie was very reticent when Stanhope and his exploitswere the subject of discussion, a
lthough, when she spoke of him, it wasalways as the best and bravest of men.
"Parks talks of returning to England," said her father one day atluncheon, "and he wants Stanhope to go with him."
"Will he go?" asked Alan, in a tone of interest.
"I hope not; at least not until I have time to bring him to his senses."
"Why, Papa!" ejaculates Leslie.
"Has our Mr. Stanhope lost his senses, uncle?" queries little Daisyanxiously.
"You shall judge, my dear. He has refused, with unyielding firmness, toaccept from me anything in token of my gratitude for the magnificentservice he has rendered us."
"And," added Alan, "he has refused my overtures with equalstubbornness."
"But he has accepted the splendid reward promise by Mr. Parks, has henot?" queries Mrs. French.
"That, of course; he was bound to do that," said Mr. Ainsworth,discontentedly. "And in some way I must make him accept something fromme. Leslie, my dear, can't you manage him?"
"I fear not, Papa." And Leslie blushed as she caught Winnie's laughingeye fixed upon her. "I don't think Mr. Stanhope is a man to be managed."
"Nonsense, Leslie," cries Winnie. "He's afraid of a woman; he blusheswhen you speak to him."
"Did he blush," queried Leslie maliciously, "when you embraced him thatnight of the masquerade?"
In the midst of their laughter, Winnie was mute.
* * * * *
One day, some weeks after the _denouement_, Stanhope, sauntering down aquiet street, met Van Vernet.
"Stop, Van," he said, as the other was about to pass; "don't go by mein this unfriendly fashion, if only for appearance's sake. How do youget on?"
"As usual," replied Vernet indifferently, and looking Stanhope steadilyin the face. "And you? somehow you look too sober for a man who holdsall the winning-cards."
"I don't hold all the winning-cards, Van. Indeed, I'm inclined to thinkthat I've lost more than I've won."
Vernet continued to regard him steadily and after a moment of silence,he said quietly:
"Look here, Dick, I'm not prepared to say that I quite forgive you foroutwitting me--I don't forgive myself for being beaten--but one goodturn deserves another, and you did me a very good turn at the end.You've won a great game, but I'm afraid you are going to close it with ablunder."
"A blunder, Van?"
"Yes, a blunder. You have devoted yourself, heart and soul, to a prettywoman, and you are just the man to fall in love with her."
"Take care, Van."
"Oh, I know what I am saying. On the day of our meeting at WarburtonPlace--the last meeting, I mean, when you figured as Franz Francoise--Isaw what you missed. You may think that I was hardly in a state of mindfor taking observations, but, in truth, my senses were never moreintensely alert than while I stood there dumbly realizing the overthrowof all my plans. And I saw love, unmistakable love, shining upon youfrom a woman's eyes."
"Van, you are mad!"
"Not at all. It's a natural termination to such an affair. Why, man, youare deservedly a hero in her eyes. Don't be overmodest, Dick. If youcare for this woman, you can win her."
He turned with these words, passed his amazed listener, and walked on.And Stanhope resumed his saunter, looking like a man in a dream.
That evening he made his first voluntary call at Warburton place.
* * * * *
Alan and Winnie, two months later, were married, and Stanhope was amongthe wedding-guests.
"Warburton Place will have a new mistress, Mr. Stanhope," Leslie said tohim. "I am going to abdicate in Winnie's favor."
"Entirely, Mrs. Warburton?"
"Entirely; I have fought it out, and I have conquered, after a hardstruggle. Alan and Winnie, when they return, will reign here. Papa and Iare already preparing our new home. We shall not be far away, and wewill divide Daisy between us."
Later in the evening, Mrs. Follingsbee captured him and inquired:
"Have you heard Leslie's last bit of Quixotism?"
"No, madam."
"She has made this house over to Winnie as a bridal gift. And everydollar of her husband's legacy she has set aside for Daisy Warburton."
"I'm glad of it," blurted out Stanhope; and then he colored hotly andbit his lips.
When Alan and his fair little bride were installed as master andmistress of Warburton Place, Leslie and her father received theirfriends in a new home. It was not so large as the mansion Leslie had"abdicated;" not so grand and stately; but it was elegant, dainty,homelike.
"It suits me better," said Leslie to Stanhope. "The other was too grand.Winnie can throw upon her mother the burden of its stateliness, and Mrs.French will make a charming dowager. I am going to leave my past behindin the old home; and begin a new life in this."
"Are you going to leave me behind, with the rest of your past?" heasked.
"No," she said smilingly, "you have not lost your value; and if I shouldturn you out, fresh troubles would arise. I should have to contend withDaisy, and Papa too."
And indeed Daisy had given him a prominent place in her affections.
"Some of my friends," he said after a pause, "are advising me to abandonthe Agency, and embark in some quieter enterprise."
"Do you mean that they wish you to give up your profession? to cease tobe a detective?"
"Yes."
"And what did you answer?"
"I am seeking advice; give it me."
"Any man may be a tradesman," she said slowly. "Nine tenths of mankindcan be or are doctors, lawyers, clergymen. The men who possess theskill, the sagacity, and the courage to do what you have done, what youcan do again, are very few. To restore lost little ones; to reunitefamilies; to bring criminals to justice, and to defeat injustice,--whatoccupation can be nobler! If I were such a detective as you, I wouldnever cease to exercise my best gifts."
"I never will," he said, taking her hand in his.
* * * * *
Months passed on; winter went and summer came. Walter Parks lingeredin America, his society dearly valued by John Ainsworth and Mr.Follingsbee, his presence always a welcome one in Leslie's daintyparlors, and at Warburton Place. Winnie, who had been a saucy sweetheartand piquant bride, had become a sweetly winsome wife. John Ainsworth wasrenewing his youth; and Leslie, having passed the period of herwidowhood, once more opened her doors to society.
"A man of your calling should have guessed that longago!"--page 461.]
Richard Stanhope had become a frequent and welcome guest at Leslie'shome, and all his visits little Daisy appropriated at once to herself.Indeed she and Stanhope stood upon a wondrously confidential footing.
"Next month comes Mamma's birthday," said Daisy to him one day, when shesat upon his knee in Leslie's pretty flower-decked room. "We're going tohave a festival, and give her lots of presents. Are you going to giveher a present, Mr. Stanhope?"
"I don't know," he said, looking over at Leslie; "your Mamma is such avery particular lady, Daisy, that she might be too proud to accept myoffering."
"Why," cried the child, "that's just what Uncle Ainsworth says aboutyou: that you are too proud to take a gift from him, and it vexes him,too."
"Daisy, Daisy!" cried Leslie, holding up a warning finger.
"Your uncle is a very unreasonable man, Daisy," laughed Stanhope. "Nowtell me, do you think I had better offer your Mamma a birthday present?"
"Why"--and Daisy opened wide her blue eyes--"Uncle Alan says thateverybody who loves Mamma will remember her birthday. Don't you love myMamma?"
"Yes," said Stanhope slowly, and fixing his eyes upon Leslie's face, "Ilove her very much."
Leslie's cheeks were suffused with blushes, and she sat quite silent,with downcast eyes.
"Daisy," said Stanhope, putting the child down quickly, "go to youruncle Ainsworth, and tell him that I have changed my mind; that I wantthe best part of his fortune. Run, dear."
And as the child fle
w from the room, he rose and stood before Leslie.
"If your father yields to my demand," he said softly, "what will be yourverdict?"
A moment of stillness. Then she lifts her brown eyes to his, a smilebreaking through her blushes.
"A man of your calling," she said, "should have guessed that long ago!"
* * * * *
Papa Francoise never came to trial. His terror overcame his reason, andin his insanity he did what he never would have found the courage to dohad he retained his senses. He hanged himself in his prison cell.
But Mamma lived on. Through her trial she raved and cursed; and she wentto a life-long imprisonment raving and cursing still. Her viciousnessincreased with her length of days. She was the black sheep of theprison. Nothing could break her temper or curb her tongue. She wasfeared and hated even there. Hard labor, solitary confinement, severepunishment, all failed, and she was at last confined in a solitary cell,to rave out her life there and fret the walls with her impotent rage.
Millie, the faithful incompetent, remained in Leslie's service until shewent to a home of her own, bestowed upon her by a good-looking andindustrious young mechanic.
Nance, the one-time drunkard, became the object of Leslie's pityingcare, and did not relapse into her former poverty and evil habits.
The Follingsbees, the Warburtons--all these who had been drawn togetherby trials and afflictions--remained an unbroken coterie of friends, whonever ceased to chant Stanhope's praises.
And little Daisy passed the years of her childhood in the firm beliefthat,
"God will do anything you want him to, if you only pray loud enough."
THE END.
Dangerous Ground; or, The Rival Detectives Page 60
