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Authors: Anna Katharine Green

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Trembling in every limb, he dashed down the hill and confronted
the person standing there.

"You!" he cried, "you!" And for a moment he looked as if he would
like to fell to the ground the man before him.

But this man was a heavyweight of no ordinary physical strength
and adroitness, and only smiled at Frederick's heat and
threatening attitude.

"I thought I would be made welcome," he smiled, with just the hint
of sinister meaning in his tone. Then, before Frederick could
speak: "I have merely saved you a trip to Boston; why so much
anger, friend? You have the money; of that I am positive."

"Hush! We can't talk here," whispered Frederick. "Come into the
grounds, or, what would be better, into the woods over there."

"I don't go into any woods with you," laughed the other; "not
after last night, my friend. But I will talk low; that's no more
than fair; I don't want to put you into any other man's power,
especially if you have the money."

"Wattles,"—Frederick's tone was broken, almost unintelligible,—
"what do you mean by your allusion to last night? Have you dared
to connect me—"

"Pooh! Pooh!" interrupted the other, good-humouredly. "Don't let
us waste words over a chance expression I may have dropped. I
don't care anything about last night's work, or who was concerned
in it. That's nothing to me. All I want, my boy, is the money, and
that I want devilish bad, or I would not have run up here from
Boston, when I might have made half a hundred off a countryman
Lewis brought in from the Canada wilds this morning."

"Wattles, I swear—"

But the hand he had raised was quickly drawn down by the other.

"Don't," said the older man, shortly. "It won't pay, Sutherland.
Stage-talk never passed for anything with me. Besides, your white
face tells a truer story than your lips, and time is precious. I
want to take the 11 o'clock train back. So down with the cash.
Nine hundred and fifty-five it is, but, being friends, we will let
the odd five go."

"Wattles, I was to bring it to you to-morrow, or was it the next
day? I do not want to give it to you to-night; indeed, I cannot,
but—Wattles, wait, stop! Where are you going?"

"To see your father. I want to tell him that his son owes me a
debt; that this debt was incurred in a way that lays him liable to
arrest for forgery; that, bad as he thinks you, there are facts
which can be picked up in Boston which would render Frederick
Sutherland's continued residence under the parental roof
impossible; that, in fact, you are a scamp of the first water, and
that only my friendship for you has kept you out of prison so
long. Won't that make a nice story for the old gentleman's ears!"

"Wattles—I—oh, my God! Wattles, stop a minute and listen to me.
I have not got the money. I had enough this morning to pay you,
had it legitimately, Wattles, but it has been stolen from me and—
-"

"I will also tell him," the other broke in, as quietly as if
Frederick had not uttered a word, "that in a certain visit to
Boston you lost five hundred dollars on one hand; that you lost it
unfairly, not having a dollar to pay with; that to prevent scandal
I be came your security, with the understanding that I was to be
paid at the end of ten days from that night; that you thereupon
played again and lost four hundred and odd more, so that your debt
amounted to nine hundred and fifty-five dollars; that the ten days
passed without payment; that, wanting money, I pressed you and
even resorted to a threat or two; and that, seeing me in earnest,
you swore that the dollars should be mine within five days; that
instead of remaining in Boston to get them, you came here; and
that this morning at a very early hour you telegraphed that the
funds were to hand and that you would bring them down to me to-
morrow. The old gentleman may draw conclusions from this,
Sutherland, which may make his position as your father anything
but grateful to him. He may even—Ah, you would try that game,
would you?"

The young man had flung himself at the older man's throat as if he
would choke off the words he saw trembling on his lips. But the
struggle thus begun was short. In a moment both stood panting, and
Frederick, with lowered head, was saying humbly:

"I beg pardon, Wattles, but you drive me mad with your suggestions
and conclusions. I have not got the money, but I will try and get
it. Wait here."

"For ten minutes, Sutherland; no longer! The moon is bright, and I
can see the hands of my watch distinctly. At a quarter to ten, you
will return here with the amount I have mentioned, or I will seek
it at your father's hands in his own study."

Frederick made a hurried gesture and vanished up the walk. Next
moment he was at his father's study door.

XIII - Wattles Goes
*

Mr. Sutherland was busily engaged with a law paper when his son
entered his presence, but at sigh of that son's face, he dropped
the paper with an alacrity which Frederick was too much engaged
with his own thoughts to notice.

"Father," he began without preamble or excuse, "I am in serious
and immediate need of nine hundred and fifty dollars. I want it so
much that I ask you to make me a check for that amount to-night,
conscious though I am that you have every right to deny me this
request, and that my debt to you already passes the bound of
presumption on my part and indulgence on yours. I cannot tell you
why I want it or for what. That belongs to my past life, the
consequences of which I have not yet escaped, but I feel bound to
state that you will not be the loser by this material proof of
confidence in me, as I shall soon be in a position to repay all my
debts, among which this will necessarily stand foremost."

The old gentleman looked startled and nervously fingered the paper
he had let fall. "Why do you say you will soon be in a position to
repay me? What do you mean by that?"

The flash, which had not yet subsided from the young man's face,
ebbed slowly away as he encountered his father's eye.

"I mean to work," he murmured. "I mean to make a man of myself as
soon as possible."

The look which Mr. Sutherland gave him was more inquiring than
sympathetic.

"And you need this money for a start?" said he.

Frederick bowed; he seemed to be losing the faculty of speech. The
clock over the mantel had told off five of the precious moments.

"I will give it to you," said his father, and drew out his check-
book. But he did not hasten to open it; his eyes still rested on
his son.

"Now," murmured the young man. "There is a train leaving soon. I
wish to get it away on that train."

His father frowned with natural distrust.

"I wish you would confide in me," said he.

Frederick did not answer. The hands of the clock were moving on.

"I will give it to you; but I should like to know what for."

"It is impossible for me to tell you," groaned the young man,
starting as he heard a step on the walk without.

"Your need has become strangely imperative," proceeded the other.
"Has Miss Page—"

Frederick took a step forward and laid his hand on his father's
arm.

"It is not for her," he whispered. "It goes into other hands."

Mr. Sutherland, who had turned over the document as his son
approached, breathed more easily. Taking up his pen, he dipped it
in the ink. Frederick watched him with constantly whitening cheek.
The step on the walk had mounted to the front door.

"Nine hundred and fifty?" inquired the father.

"Nine hundred and fifty," answered the son.

The judge, with a last look, stooped over the book. The hands of
the clock pointed to a quarter to ten.

"Father, I have my whole future in which to thank you," cried
Frederick, seizing the check his father held out to him and making
rapidly for the door. "I will be back before midnight." And he
flung himself down-stairs just as the front door opened and
Wattles stepped in.

"Ah," exclaimed the latter, as his eye fell on the paper
fluttering in the other's hand, "I expected money, not paper."

"The paper is good," answered Frederick, drawing him swiftly out
of the house. "It has my father's signature upon it."

"Your father's signature?"

"Yes."

Wattles gave it a look, then slowly shook his head at Frederick.

"Is it as well done as the one you tried to pass off on Brady?"

Frederick cringed, and for a moment looked as if the struggle was
too much for him. Then he rallied and eying Wattles firmly, said:

"You have a right to distrust me, but you are on the wrong track,
Wattles. What I did once, I can never do again; and I hope I may
live to prove myself a changed man. As for that check, I will soon
prove its value in your eyes. Follow me up-stairs to my father."

His energy—the energy of despair, no doubt seemed to make an
impression on the other.

"You might as well proclaim yourself a forger outright, as to
force your father to declare this to be his signature," he
observed.

"I know it," said Frederick.

"Yet you will run that risk?"

"If you oblige me."

Wattles shrugged his shoulders. He was a magnificent-looking man
and towered in that old colonial hall like a youthful giant.

"I bear you no ill will," said he. "If this represents money, I am
satisfied, and I begin to think it does. But listen, Sutherland.
Something has happened to you. A week ago you would have put a
bullet through my head before you would have been willing to have
so compromised yourself. I think I know what that something is. To
save yourself from being thought guilty of a big crime you are
willing to incur suspicion of a small one. It's a wise move, my
boy, but look out! No tricks with me or my friendship may not
hold. Meantime, I cash this check to-morrow." And he swung away
through the night with a grand-opera selection on his lips.

XIV - A Final Temptation
*

Frederick looked like a man thoroughly exhausted when the final
echo of this hateful voice died away on the hillside. For the last
twenty hours he had been the prey of one harrowing emotion after
another, and human nature could endure no more without rest.

But rest would not come. The position in which he found himself,
between Amabel and the man who had just left, was of too
threatening a nature for him to ignore. But one means of escape
presented itself. It was a cowardly one; but anything was better
than to make an attempt to stand his ground against two such
merciless antagonists; so he resolved upon flight.

Packing up a few necessaries and leaving a letter behind him for
his father, he made his way down the stairs of the now darkened
house to a door opening upon the garden. To his astonishment he
found it unlocked, but, giving little heed to this in his
excitement, he opened it with caution, and, with a parting sigh
for the sheltering home he was about to leave forever, stepped
from the house he no longer felt worthy to inhabit.

His intention was to take the train at Portchester, and that he
might reach that place without inconvenient encounters, he decided
to proceed by a short cut through the fields. This led him north
along the ridge that overlooks the road running around the base of
the hill. He did not think of this road, however, or of anything,
in fact, but the necessity of taking the very earliest train out
of Portchester. As this left at 3.30 A.M., he realised that he
must hasten in order to reach it. But he was not destined to take
it or any other train out of Portchester that night, for when he
reached the fence dividing Mr. Sutherland's grounds from those of
his adjoining neighbour, he saw, drawn up in the moonlight just at
the point where he had intended to leap the fence, the form of a
woman with one hand held out to stop him.

It was Amabel.

Confounded by this check and filled with an anger that was nigh to
dangerous, he fell back and then immediately sprang forward.

"What are you doing here?" he cried. "Don't you know that it is
eleven o'clock and that my father requires the house to be closed
at that hour?"

"And you?" was her sole retort; "what are you doing here? Are you
searching for flowers in the woods, and is that valise you carry
the receptacle in which you hope to put your botanical specimens?"

With a savage gesture he dropped the valise and took her fiercely
by the shoulders.

"Where have you hidden my money?" he hissed. "Tell me, or—"

"Or what?" she asked, smiling into his face in a way that made him
lose his grip.

"Or—or I cannot answer for myself," he proceeded, stammering. "Do
you. think I can endure everything from you because you are a
woman? No; I will have those bills, every one of them, or show
myself your master. Where are they, you incarnate fiend?"

It was an unwise word to use, but she did not seem to heed it.

"Ah," she said softly, and with a lingering accent, as if his
grasp of her had been a caress to which she was not entirely
averse. "I did not think you would discover its loss so soon. When
did you go to the woods, Frederick? And was Miss Halliday with
you?"

He had a disposition to strike her, but controlled himself. Blows
would not avail against the softness of this suave, yet merciless,
being. Only a will as strong as her own could hope to cope with
this smiling fury; and this he was determined to show, though,
alas! he had everything to lose in a struggle that robbed her of
nothing but a hope which was but a baseless fabric at best; for he
was more than ever determined never to marry her.

"A man does not need to wait long to miss his own," said he. "And
if you have taken this money, which, you do not deny, you have
shown yourself very short-sighted, for danger lies closer to the
person holding this money than to the one you vilify by your
threats. This you will find, Amabel, when you come to make use of
the weapon with which you have thought to arm yourself."

BOOK: Agatha Webb
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