CHAPTER XXXIV
JOHN SAXTON SUGGESTS A CLUE
Wheaton sat in his room at The Bachelors' the next evening, clutching acopy of a _Gazette_ extra in which a few sentences under long headlinesgave the latest rumor about the mysterious disappearance of GrantPorter. Within a fortnight he had received several warnings from hisbrother marking his itinerary eastward. Snyder was evidently moving witha fixed purpose; and, as Wheaton had received brief notes from himcouched in phrases of amiable irony, postmarked Denver, and then, withina few days, Kansas City, he surmised that his brother was traveling onfast trains and therefore with money in his purse.
He had that morning received a postal card, signed "W. W.," which bore afew taunting sentences in a handwriting which Wheaton readilyrecognized. He did not for an instant question that William Wheaton,_alias_ Snyder, had abducted Grant Porter, nor did he belittle thesituation thus created as it affected him. He faced it coldly, as washis way. He ought not to have refused Snyder's appeals, he confessed tohimself; the debt he owed his brother for bearing the whole burden oftheir common youthful crime had never been discharged. The bribes andsubterfuges which Wheaton had employed to keep him away from Clarksonhad never been prompted by brotherly gratitude or generosity, but alwaysby his fear of having so odious a connection made public. This was oneline of reflection; on the other hand, the time for dealing with hisbrother in a spirit of tolerant philanthropy was now past. He was faceto face with the crucial moment where concealment involved complicity ina crime. His duty lay clear before him--his duty to his friends, thePorters--to the woman whom he knew he loved. Was he equal to it? IfSnyder were caught he would be sure to take revenge on him; and Wheatonknew that no matter how guiltless he might show himself in the eyes ofthe world, his career would be at an end; he could not live in Clarkson;Evelyn Porter would never see him again.
The _Gazette_ stated that a district telegraph messenger had left at Mr.Porter's door a note which named the terms on which Grant could beransomed. The amount was large,--more money than James Wheatonpossessed; it was not a great deal for William Porter to pay. It hadalready occurred to Wheaton that he might pay the ransom himself andcarry the boy home, thus establishing forever a claim upon the Porters.He quickly dismissed this; the risks of exposure were too great. Hesmoked a cigarette as he turned all these matters over in his mind.Clearly, the best thing to do was to let the climax come. His brotherwas a criminal with a record, who would not find it easy to drag himinto the mire. His own career and position in Clarkson wereunassailable. Very likely the boy would be found quickly and theincident would close with Snyder's sentence to a long imprisonment. Bythe time the Chinaman called him to dinner he was able to view the casecalmly. He would face it out no matter what happened; and the more hethought of it the likelier it seemed that Snyder had overleaped himselfand would soon be where he could no longer be a menace.
He went down to dinner late, in the clothes that he had worn at the bankall day and thus brought upon himself the banter of Caldwell, theTranscontinental agent, who sang out as he entered the dining-room door:
"What's the matter, Wheaton? Sold or pawned your other clothes?"
Wheaton smiled wanly.
"Only a little tired," he said.
"Come on now and give us the real truth about the kidnapping," saidCaldwell with cheerful interest. "You'd better watch the bank or thesame gang may carry it off next."
"I guess the bank's safe enough," Wheaton answered. "And I don't knowanything except what I read in the papers." He hoped the others wouldnot think him indifferent; but they were busy discussing various rumorsand theories as to the route taken by the kidnappers and the amount ofransom. He threw in his own comment and speculations from time to time.
"Raridan's out chasing them," said Caldwell. "I passed him and Saxtondriving like mad out Merriam Street at noon." The mention of Raridan andSaxton did not comfort Wheaton. He reflected that they had undoubtedlybeen to the Porter house since the alarm had been sounded, and hewondered whether his own remissness in this regard had been remarked atthe Hill. His fingers were cold as he stirred his coffee; and when hehad finished he hurriedly left the room, and the men who lingered overtheir cigars heard the outer door close after him.
He felt easier when he got out into the cool night air. His day at thebank had been one long horror; but the clang of the cars, the lights inthe streets, gave him contact with life again. He must hasten to offerhis services to the Porters, though he knew that every means ofassistance had been employed, and that there was nothing to do but tomake inquiries. He grew uneasy as his car neared the house, and heclimbed the slope of the hill like one who bears a burden. He hadtraversed this walk many times in the past year, in the varying moods ofa lover, who one day walks the heights and is the next plunged into thedepths; and latterly, since his affair with Margrave, he had known moodsof conscience, too, and these returned upon him with forebodings now. IfPorter had not been ill, there would never have been that interview withMargrave at the bank; and Grant would not have been at home to bekidnapped. It seemed to him that the troubles of other people ratherthan his own errors were bearing down the balance against his happiness.
Evelyn came into the parlor with eyes red from weeping. "Oh, have you nonews?" she cried to him. He had kept on his overcoat and held his hat inhis hand. Her grief stung him; a great wave of tenderness swept overhim, but it was followed by a wave of terror. Evelyn wept as she triedto tell her story.
"It is dreadful, horrible!" he forced himself to say. "But certainly noharm can come to the boy. No doubt in a few hours--"
"But he isn't strong and father is still weak--"
She threw herself in a chair and her tears broke forth afresh.
Wheaton stood impotently watching her anguish. It is a new and strangesensation which a man experiences when for the first time he sees tearsin the eyes of the woman he loves.
Evelyn sprang up suddenly.
"Have you seen Warry?" she asked--"has he come back yet?"
"Nothing had been heard from them when I came up town." He still stood,watching her pityingly. "I hope you understand how sorry I am--howdreadful I feel about it." He walked over to her and she thought hemeant to go. She had not heard what he said, but she thought he had beenoffering help.
"Oh, thank you! Everything is being done, I know. They will find himto-night, won't they? They surely must," she pleaded. Her father calledher in his weakened voice to know who was there and she hurried away tohim.
Wheaton's eyes followed her as she went weeping from the room, and hewatched her, feeling that he might never see her again. He felt thepoignancy of this hour's history,--of his having brought upon this housea hideous wrong. The French clock on the mantel struck seven and thentinkled the three quarters lingeringly. There were roses in a vase onthe mantel; he had sent them to her the day before. He stood as onedazed for a minute after she had vanished. He could hear Porter back inthe house somewhere, and Evelyn's voice reassuring him. The musicalstroke of the bell, the scent of the roses, the familiar surroundings ofthe room, wrought upon him like a pain. He stared stupidly about, as ifamid a ruin that he had brought upon the place; and then he went out ofthe house and down the slope into the street, like a man in a dream.
While Wheaton swayed between fear and hope, the community was athrillwith excitement. The probable fate of the missing boy was the subject ofanxious debate in every home in Clarkson, and the whole country eagerlyawaited further news of the kidnapping. Raridan and Saxton hearing earlyof the boy's disappearance had at once placed every known agency at workto find him. Not satisfied with the local police, they had summoneddetectives from Chicago, and these were already at work. Rewards for theboy's return were telegraphed in every direction. The only clue was theslight testimony of Mrs. Whipple. She had told and re-told her story todetectives and reporters. There was only too little to tell. Grant hadwalked with her to the car. She had seen only one of the men that haddriven up to the curb,--the one that had inquired about the ent
rance toMr. Porter's grounds. She remembered that he had moved his headcuriously to one side as he spoke, and there was something unusual abouthis eyes which she could not describe. Perhaps he had only one eye; shedid not know.
Every other man in Clarkson had turned detective, and the whole city hadbeen ransacked. Suspicion fastened itself upon an empty house in ahollow back of the Porter hill, which had been rented by a stranger afew days before Grant Porter's disappearance; it was inspected solemnlyby all the detectives but without results.
Raridan and Saxton, acting independently of the authorities in theconfusion and excitement, followed a slight clue that led them farcountryward. They lost the trail completely at a village fifteen milesaway, and after alarming the country drove back to town. Meanwhileanother message had been sent to the father of the boy stating that theransom money could be taken by a single messenger to a certain spot inthe country, at midnight, and that within forty-eight hours thereafterthe boy would be returned. He was safe from pursuit, the note stated,and an ominous hint was dropped that it would be wise to abandon theidea of procuring the captive's return unharmed without paying the sumasked. Mr. Porter told the detectives that he would pay the money; butthe proposed meeting was set for the third night after the abduction;the captors were in no hurry, they wrote. The crime was clearly the workof daring men, and had been carefully planned with a view to quickeningthe anxiety of the family of the stolen boy. And so twenty-four hourspassed.
"This is a queer game," said Raridan, on the second evening, as he andJohn discussed the subject again in John's room at the club. "I don'tjust make it out. If the money was all these fellows wanted, they couldmake a quick touch of it. Mr. Porter's crazy to pay any sum. But theyseem to want to prolong the agony."
"That looks queer," said Saxton. "There may be something back of it;but Porter hasn't any enemies who would try this kind of thing. Thereare business men here who would like to do him up in a trade, but thisis a little out of the usual channels."
Saxton got up and walked the floor.
"Look here, Warry, did you ever know a one-eyed man?"
"I'm afraid not, except the traditional Cyclops."
"It has just occurred to me that I have seen such a man since I came tothis part of the country; but the circumstances were peculiar. Thisthing is queerer than ever as I think of it."
"Well?"
"It was back at the Poindexter place when I first went there. A fellownamed Snyder was in charge. He had made a rats' nest of the house, andresented the idea of doing any work. He seemed to think he was there tostay. Wheaton had given him the job before I came. I remember that Iasked Wheaton if it made any difference to him what I did with thefellow. He didn't seem to care and I bounced him. That was two years agoand I haven't heard of him since."
Raridan drew the smoke of a cigarette into his lungs and blew it out ina cloud.
"Who's at the Poindexter place now?"
"Nobody; I haven't been there myself for a year or more."
"Is it likely that fellow is at the bottom of this, and that he has madea break for the ranch house? That must be a good lonesome place outthere."
"Well, it won't take long to find out. The thing to do is to goourselves without saying a word to any one."
Saxton looked at his watch.
"It's half past nine. The Rocky Mountain limited leaves at ten o'clock,and stops at Great River at three in the morning. Poindexter's is aboutan hour from the station."
"Let's make a still hunt of it," said Warry. "The detectives are busy onwhat may be real clues and this is only a guess."
They rose.
"I can't imagine that fellow Snyder doing anything so dashing ascarrying off a millionaire's son. He didn't look to me as if he had thenerve."
"It's only a chance, but it's worth trying."
In the lower hall they met Wheaton who was pacing up and down.
"Is there any news?" he asked, with a show of eagerness.
"No. We lost our trail at Rollins," said Raridan. "Have you heardanything?"
"Nothing so far," Wheaton replied. He uttered the "so far" bravely, asif he really might be working on clues of his own. His speculations ofone moment were abandoned the next. He was building and destroying andrebuilding theories and plans of action. He was strong and weak in thesame breath. He envied Raridan and Saxton their air of determinedactivity. He resolved to join them, to steady himself by them. He wasstruggling between two inclinations: one to show his last threateningnote from Snyder, which was buttoned in his pocket, and boldly confessthat the blow at Porter was also an indirect blow at himself; and on theother hand he held to a cowardly hope that the boy would yet berecovered without his name appearing in the matter. He was aware thatall his hopes for the future hung in the balance. He was sure that everyone would soon know of his connection with the kidnapping; and yet hestill tried to convince himself that he was wholly guiltless.
He was afraid of John Saxton; Saxton, he felt, probably knew the part hehad played in the street railway matter. It seemed to him that Saxtonmust have told others; probably Saxton had Evelyn's certificate put awayfor use when William Porter should be restored to health; but on secondthought he was not sure of this. Saxton might not know after all! Thiswent through his mind as John and Warry stood talking to him.
"Wheaton," said Saxton, "do you remember that fellow Snyder who was incharge of the Poindexter place when I came here?"
"What--oh yes!" His hand rose quickly to his carefully tied four-in-handand he fingered it nervously.
"You may not remember it, but he had only one eye."
"Yes, that's so," said Wheaton, as if recalling the fact withdifficulty.
"And Mrs. Whipple says there was something wrong about one of the eyesof the man who accosted her and Grant at Mr. Porter's gate. What becameof that fellow after he left the ranch--have you any idea?" Raridan hadwalked away to talk to a group of men in the reading room, leavingSaxton and Wheaton alone.
"He went West the last I knew of him," Wheaton answered, steadily.
"It has struck me that he might be in this thing. It's only a guess,but Raridan and I thought we'd run out to the Poindexter ranch and seeif it could possibly be the rendezvous of the kidnappers. It's probablya fool's errand but it won't take long, and we'll do it unofficiallywithout saying anything to the authorities." His mind was on the planand he looked at his watch and called to Raridan to come.
"I believe I'll go along," said Wheaton, suddenly. "We can be back bynoon to-morrow," he added, conscientiously, remembering his duties atthe bank.
"All right," said Warry. "We're taking bags along in case ofemergencies." A boy came down carrying Saxton's suit-case. Wheaton andRaridan hurried out together to The Bachelors' to get their own things.It was a relief to Wheaton to have something to do; it was hardlypossible that Snyder had fled to the ranch house; but in any event hewas glad to get away from Clarkson for a few hours.
As the train drew out of the station Raridan and Saxton left Wheaton andwent to the rear of their sleeper, which was the last, and stood on theobservation platform, watching the receding lights of the city. The dayhad been warm for the season; as the air quickened into life with themovement of the train they sat down, with a feeling of relief, on thestools which the porter brought them. They had done all that they coulddo, and there was nothing now but to wait. The train rattled heavilythrough the yards at the edge of town, and the many lights of the citygrew dimmer as they receded. Suddenly Raridan rose and pointed to asingle star that glowed high on a hill.
"It's the light in the tower at the Porters'," he said, bending down toSaxton, "her light!"
"It's the light of all the valley," said Saxton, rising and putting hishand on his friend's shoulder. He, too, knew the light!
The train was gathering speed now; the wheels began to croon theirmelody of distance; one last curve, and the star of the Hill had beenblotted out.
"It's like a flower in an inaccessible place on a hillside," saidRaridan; and he repeate
d half aloud some lines of a poem that had latelyhaunted him:
"'Though I be mad, I shall not wake; I shall not fall to common sight; Only the god himself may take This music out of my blood, this glory out of my breath, This lift, this rapture, this singing might, And love that outlasts death.'"
When they went in, Wheaton was alone in the smoking compartment and theyjoined him to discuss their plans for the drive to Poindexter's place.
"We'd better push right on to the ranch house as soon as we get to GreatRiver," said Saxton. "We're due there at three o'clock. We ought to getback to take the nine o'clock train home in any event."
"And what's going to happen if we find the man there?" asked Raridan."We want the boy and him, too, don't we?"
Wheaton sat with his eyes turned toward the window, which the darknessmade opaque.
"If he's cornered he'll be glad to drop the boy and clear out. But wewant to take him home with us too, don't we, Wheaton?" asked Saxton.
"I should think we'd better make sure of the boy first," Wheatonanswered. "That would be a good night's work."
The porter came to tell them that their berths were ready.
"It's hardly worth while to turn in," said Warry, yawning. "I shudder atthe thought of getting up at three o'clock." "But," he added, "if we'reon the right track, this time to-morrow night they'll probably bewelcoming us home with brass bands and the freedom of the city. Perhapsthey'll have a public meeting at the Board of Trade. Cheer up, Jim;those detectives will go out of business if we really take the boyhome."
Wheaton smiled wearily; he did not relish Raridan's jesting.
"Will your imagination never rest?" growled Saxton, knocking the ashesfrom his pipe.
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