CHAPTER XVIII.
The next morning Sam determined upon a personal interview with theprisoner. Upon arrival at the County jail, where the prisoner had beentransferred, Sam encountered Smith, who was standing on the curbtalking to a policeman.
"How dy yus do, Sor?" was Smith's greeting.
"Getting along as fast as could be expected," he answered.
"It do be surprisin' the number ave blackguards there do be infestingthe straits ove Portland after dark these days. Houldups, an''break-o-day Johnnies' an' 'shanghoin' an'--an' kidnappin'--an' whatbates me, all the worrk to be had at good wages the while--whill wanave the rogues do be off his bait for a time, so he do!"
"Sure, Smith, no mistake about that," Sam laughed. "We slipped it overhim in fine shape last night. Have you seen him this morning?"
"Indade oi 'ave, Sor, and he's the very wan that run the soule ave hisplexis ferninst me hand the other day for spakin' disrespectful ave alady."
"I came to see him," Sam said, with a smile at Smith's chivalry.
"Indade! Sure yees'll not recognize him as the wan we tuk last nightat all, fir the color ave hair do be turnin' from black to a fadedstraw, so it do."
"Through terror of his position, I suppose."
"Not wan bit, sor. It came out in the wash. It do be this way. Yeessee, the orficers cudn't get him to spake wan worrd an' no sweatbox orother terror ave the force did he fear, at all, sure! So they turnedthe water on him, after takin' off his clothes with the aid of two'trustys,' and it was raymarked by the jailer that his skin do lookuncommon fair, an the hair on his limbs was a sandy color, an' notblack, like the hair on his hid, and his mustache oily black, too, soit do."
"Artificial coloring," suggested Sam.
"Sure, that's jist phat the jailor sid, the very same worrds, althoughdo yees naw the color blend av his nick from the color bone up was abeautiful bit of worrk, as nate an' natural as anything yees wouldwant to see."
"He is possibly an Italian artist."
"Sure, he's no Italian at all, fir the trustys soaped an' lathered an'scrubbed all the Dago off ave him. He raysisted loike a madman, but itwas no use, and whin they held him under the shower bath his heavyblack mustache fell off onto the floor. Wan ave the trustys picked itup and said, says he: 'By jimminy, he's no Dago at all; he's ascoogy.' An' I say so, too, so I do. And the jailer raymarked it wasjust as he expected, and then he tould them to get the scoogy into hisduds."
"I will try and get permission to see him."
Sam then entered the office, followed by Smith. They were readilyallowed to see the prisoner, and upon approaching his cell, Samrecognized him at once, and the Sheriff wrote on the record, oppositethe name of George Golda--"Alias, Jack Shore."
An hour later Sam Harris was closeted with Detective Simms, in hisoffice.
"I believe the fellow who escaped from the cabin last night," saidSam, "was Jack Shore's partner Philip Rutley, otherwise known as 'LordBeauchamp'."
"Why do you suspect the lord to be Philip Rutley?" inquired thedetective.
"Because they were partners in business, and inseparable chumssocially," replied Sam. "And where one was to be found, the other wasnot far away."
"You say he got ten thousand dollars from the bank on your uncle'sindorsement?" inquired the detective.
"Yes," replied Sam, "and tomorrow afternoon he is to be uncle's guestat Rosemont."
"Well, tonight my lord will attempt to leave the city, but he willfind it impracticable," remarked the detective, dryly. "I desire youto keep strictly mum on this matter for twenty-four hours, and Ipromise you positive identification of his lordship."
Later, Detective Simms, smoking a cigar, sauntered carelessly into the"sweatbox," where Jack Shore was still confined, and dumb as a stonestatue on the question of kidnapping.
After silently looking at Jack for a time, he said with a smile: "Ifyou 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 trustingRutley, and a fool for doing his dirty work. I suppose you will thinkit is a lie when I say he 'tipped' us to the cabin for the tenthousand dollars reward offered by Mr. Thorpe for recovery of thechild, 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," hecontinued at length, "you must be a cheap guy to believe that fellowtrue 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 thecabin. We knew the dog was on watch and removed it. We knew the exacttime Rutley was to be with you, and arranged for him to get awaywithout your suspicion. Why, our man was waiting with a boat as soonas 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. Simmswas the very embodiment of coolness and indifference. "Not from us,no; but he is out on bail."
That assertion was a masterstroke of ingenuity, and he followed it upwith the same indifference. "Would you like to know who his suretiesare?"
Jack maintained a gloomy silence.
"Just to convince you that I am not joking, I will show you thedocument." And Simms turned lazily on his heel and left him. Returninga few moments later with a document, he held it for Jack to look at.
"Do you note the amount? And the signatures?--James Harris, JohnThorpe. You must be familiar with them," and the detective smiled ashe thought of the trick he was employing to fool the prisoner, for hehad himself written the signatures for the purpose.
"Jack's breathing was heavier and his face somewhat whiter, yet by asuperhuman effort he still maintained a gloomy frown of apparentindifference.
"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 packagethat Rutley had deftly abstracted from his pocket in the cabin, and hewas glad of it, for it would be used in his defense. And then hemuttered to himself: "This 'duffer' is slick and thinks he can workme, but I'll fool him."
"The fellow is pretty well fixed," continued the detective, as he eyedJack inquisitively.
"Clear of this case with twenty thousand dollars in his pocket."
"What!" exclaimed Jack, for the first time amazed, and then checkinghimself, said negligently:
"I understood you to say the reward was ten thousand dollars?"
"So I did. Ten thousand reward and that ransom money of MissThorpe'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 hisapproach, for some time after he had entered the cabin. Either ofwhich incidents, had it been mentioned immediately upon entry, wouldhave made escape possible. It seemed to corroborate the detective'sassertion--that he was sold. His jaws set hard.
"Can you prove that to me?"
"Sure!"
An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West Page 24