An hour later Sam Harris was closeted with Detective Simms, in his office.

"I believe the fellow who escaped from the cabin last night," said Sam, "was Jack Sh.o.r.e's partner Philip Rutley, otherwise known as 'Lord Beauchamp'."

"Why do you suspect the lord to be Philip Rutley?" inquired the detective.

"Because they were partners in business, and inseparable chums socially," replied Sam. "And where one was to be found, the other was not far away."

"You say he got ten thousand dollars from the bank on your uncle's indors.e.m.e.nt?" inquired the detective.

"Yes," replied Sam, "and tomorrow afternoon he is to be uncle's guest at Rosemont."

"Well, tonight my lord will attempt to leave the city, but he will find it impracticable," remarked the detective, dryly. "I desire you to keep strictly mum on this matter for twenty-four hours, and I promise you positive identification of his lordship."

Later, Detective Simms, smoking a cigar, sauntered carelessly into the "sweatbox," where Jack Sh.o.r.e was still confined, and dumb as a stone statue on the question of kidnapping.

After silently looking at Jack for a time, he said with a smile: "If you had been shrewd you would not be here. You were sold."

"Then I am either a knave or a fool?" interrogated Jack, carelessly.

"To be frank," laughed Simms, "you are both. A knave for trusting Rutley, and a fool for doing his dirty work. I suppose you will think it is a lie when I say he 'tipped' us to the cabin for the ten thousand dollars reward offered by Mr. Thorpe for recovery of the child, and a promise of immunity from imprisonment."

"Who is Rutley?" nonchalantly asked Jack.

"Why, your partner; that fellow who has been masquerading as a lord."

"Lord who?"

"Come, now," Simms laughed. "Why, me Lord Beauchamp! Surprised, eh?"

and again Simms laughed and looked at Jack questioningly. "Well," he continued at length, "you must be a cheap guy to believe that fellow true to you. See here, he gave the whole thing away. Don't believe it, eh? Well, I'll prove it. We knew the time Miss Thorpe was to be at the cabin. We knew the dog was on watch and removed it. We knew the exact time Rutley was to be with you, and arranged for him to get away without your suspicion. Why, our man was waiting with a boat as soon as he got out of the cabin."

"Did he get away?" It was the first question that Jack had asked, though non-committal, in which Simms detected a faint anxiety. Simms was the very embodiment of coolness and indifference. "Not from us, no; but he is out on bail."

That a.s.sertion was a masterstroke of ingenuity, and he followed it up with the same indifference. "Would you like to know who his sureties are?"

Jack maintained a gloomy silence.

"Just to convince you that I am not joking, I will show you the doc.u.ment." And Simms turned lazily on his heel and left him. Returning a few moments later with a doc.u.ment, he held it for Jack to look at.

"Do you note the amount? And the signatures?--James Harris, John Thorpe. You must be familiar with them," and the detective smiled as he thought of the trick he was employing to fool the prisoner, for he had himself written the signatures for the purpose.

"Jack's breathing was heavier and his face somewhat whiter, yet by a superhuman effort he still maintained a gloomy frown of apparent indifference.

"The reward was paid to him this morning," continued the detective, between his puffs of smoke.

"How much?" asked Jack, unconcerned.

"Ten thousand dollars!"

"Quite a hunk!" Jack said, carelessly. For he thought of the package that Rutley had deftly abstracted from his pocket in the cabin, and he was glad of it, for it would be used in his defense. And then he muttered to himself: "This 'duffer' is slick and thinks he can work me, but I'll fool him."

"The fellow is pretty well fixed," continued the detective, as he eyed Jack inquisitively.

"Clear of this case with twenty thousand dollars in his pocket."

"What!" exclaimed Jack, for the first time amazed, and then checking himself, said negligently:

"I understood you to say the reward was ten thousand dollars?"

"So I did. Ten thousand reward and that ransom money of Miss Thorpe's."

"The devil he has!"

Jack was beginning to waver. He thought of Rutley holding back the "tip" that he was shadowed, and also about the dog not barking at his approach, for some time after he had entered the cabin. Either of which incidents, had it been mentioned immediately upon entry, would have made escape possible. It seemed to corroborate the detective's a.s.sertion--that he was sold. His jaws set hard.

"Can you prove that to me?"

"Sure!"

CHAPTER XIX.

On the afternoon of the second day following the rescue of Dorothy, Mr. Thorpe, accompanied by his child, visited Mr. Harris by urgent invitation. The trees were still dressed in their leafy glow of autumn glory and, with the luxuriant green velvety gra.s.s of the lawn, invited a pause for contemplation of the entrancingly serene and happy condition earth intended her children to enjoy. Above was a clear, infinitely beautiful blue sky, through which the radiant orb of day poured down its golden shafts of light in ma.s.ses of exuberant splendor and warmth.

It was an environment singularly touching and persuasive in its appeal to human nature for "Peace on earth and good will toward men."

As John Thorpe and his child walked up the path toward the house and arrived near the spot where his quarrel with Mr. Corway had taken place, just one week previous, he could not but halt, sensitive to the insidious influence so softly streaming about him--so gentle, yet so powerful in contra-distinction to the unhappy change that had so recently come into his life. Oh, for something to banish the bitter memories conjured up as his gaze riveted on the "d.a.m.ned spot" where his wife's inconstancy had been told to him.

And as he looked, a far-off dreamy stare settled in his eyes, as there unrolled before his vision the sweet bliss of happy years fled--gone, as he thought, never to return.

"Oh, G.o.d!" he exclaimed, overwhelmed with sudden emotion, and he clapped his hand to his forehead as an involuntary groan of anguish welled up from his heart.

His composure slowly returned to him, but the eroding effect of his smothered anguish would not obliterate, and he found himself thinking, "It was unwise to come to this place--here where memory is embittered by recollections of what has been. Terrible revelation! Terrible!

Yet--I could not have been brought to credit it but for the evidence of my eyes."

These words seemed to startle him with a new light, for he paused, and then in a voice almost reduced to a whisper, fruitful with eager doubt, said, "What have my eyes proved to me? Is there room for a possibility of a mistake? No, no! The ring is evidence of her guilt.

Oh, Constance, when I needed you, the world owned no purer or more perfect woman; but now--fallen, fallen, fallen!"

While deeply absorbed in sad reflection, Dorothy stole to his side and, looking up, wistfully, in his face, said:

"Dear papa, isn't mama here, either?"

The question from the child, uppermost in her mind, aroused him from his heart-aching reverie. He looked at her sternly. "Mama," he repeated; "child, breathe that name no more! Banish it from your memory! Oh, no, no, no! I did not mean that!" and he turned his head aside with downcast eyes, shocked and ashamed at his pa.s.sionate outburst in the presence of his little child.

He sat down on a bench and put her on his knee, and as he did so became conscious of the child again looking wistfully in his eyes.