CHAPTER XIISILVIO'S GOLD
Jason Jones urged his little car to its best speed until he gained hisvilla. Entering the ground, he was confronted by his factotum, theItalian, Silvio.
He sprang out and approached the man.
"Is the prisoner safe?" he whispered.
"Certainly, Signore."
"Is she still in the grape-house?"
"With the wine presses, Signore."
"And she can't get out?"
"Unless she becomes small, like a rat, Signore."
Jones glanced around suspiciously, then fixed his gaze on a littleoutbuilding of stone, with a tiled roof, which stood quite removed fromthe others of the group.
"Has she screamed, or cried out?" he asked the man.
"Not since I put her in, las' night, Signore."
"Good. You've fed her?"
"The plenty. She eat very well. It's a nice lady, Signore."
"She's dangerous. Listen, Silvio: we must keep her there a weeklonger."
"If I am jailer a week, I mus' double my price," he asserted, shrugginghis shoulders.
"Nonsense!"
"The lady will offer me more to let her out. She say so."
"What! You'd betray me?"
"Not if I have the gold--here, in my hand--_now,_ Signore."
Jones grew red and then white. He eyed the man wickedly. He scowled,and Silvio smiled pleasantly. Silvio was big for an Italian; big andbrawny; as his smile faded his face assumed a look of stubborndetermination.
"So you want the gold now, Silvio?"
"At once, if it please the Signore. The gendarmes are ugly if the lawis broken. Their jails are not as pleasant as the grape-house. So thegold must be twice the amount we had spoken of, Signore."
"And you will promise she shall not escape; that you'll keep her safeuntil--until I tell you to let her go?"
"That is our bargain, Signore."
Jones sighed regretfully.
"Very well, then, Silvio," he said. "You're a robber--the son of abrigand--the spawn of a bandit! But come with me to the house, and youshall have your gold."
* * * * * * * *
Alora stayed all that week with Mary Louise, hearing nothing of herfather and almost forgetting her unhappiness in the society of herdelightful new friend. It was Sunday evening when the Colonel and MaryLouise drove their guest over to the villa and the two parties did notsee one another again until they met on the deck of the steamer inNaples on the following Tuesday morning.
The Joneses came aboard very quietly just at the last moment and at thegang-plank Alora's father was confronted by a grimy Italian boy whohanded him a letter. Without pausing to read it, Jones hurried below,and he kept his stateroom until the ship was well out in the blueMediterranean, on its way to Gibraltar and New York. But no one missedhim, for Alora and Mary Louise were happy at being reunited and Gran'paJim was happy in seeing them happy.
CHAPTER XIIIDORFIELD
In one of the middle-west states there is a delightful little citycalled Dorfield. It hasn't so many thousand inhabitants, but in all itsaspects and its municipal equipment it is indeed a modern city. It hasfactories and a big farming community to support its streets of neatand progressive shops, and at the west side of the business district isa residence section where broad, wooded streets furnish the setting formany cozy homes. Some of the houses are old and picturesque, and someare new and imposing, but each has its flower-lit garden, its fruit andshade trees and its little garage or barn tucked away in the back yard.
When you come to Oak Street there is a rambling frame house on thecorner, set well back, where Peter Conant, the lawyer, lives with hisgood wife and his niece Irene Macfarlane, who is seventeen. This is oneof the ancient dwellings of Dorfield, for the Conants are "oldinhabitants." Right next them stands a more modern and expensive, ifless attractive, mansion, with grounds twice as large and a velvet lawnthat puts the Conants' carelessly-cropped grass to shame. But the twofamilies are neighbors and friends nevertheless, for in the new houselives Colonel James Hathaway and his granddaughter Mary Louise Burrows.At least, they live there when at home and, although they seempersistent ramblers, they are glad to have this refuge to return towhen wearied with traveling and sight-seeing.
One morning in June Mr. Conant was just seating himself at thebreakfast table when a messenger-boy delivered a telegram--a "nightletter" from New York. The lawyer, a short, thick-set man of middleage, with a stern countenance but mild blue eyes, laid aside hismorning paper and read the telegram with his usual deliberation. Mrs.Conant silently poured the coffee, knowing any interference would annoyhim. Irene, the niece, was a cripple and sat in her wheeled chair atthe table, between her uncle and aunt. She was a pleasant-faced, happylittle maid, consistently ignoring her withered limbs and thankful thatfrom her knees up she was normal and that her wheeled chair renderedher fairly independent of assistance in all ordinary activities.Everyone loved Irene Macfarlane because of her brave and cheeryacceptance of her misfortune, and her merry speech and spontaneouslaughter rendered her, as "Aunt Hannah" often declared, "the light ofthe house." Irene was, moreover, an intimate and highly valued friendof her next door neighbor, Mary Louise Burrows.
Mr. Peter Conant, sipping his coffee reflectively, read the lengthytelegram a second time. Then he said, somewhat irritably and choppinghis words into distinct syllables, as was his habit at all times:
"I wonder why people imagine a lawyer's duties cover every phase oflife? My clients use me as a real-estate agent, a horse trader, apurchasing agent, a father confessor, an automobile expert, a medicaladviser, and sometimes--in their simplicity--as a banker!"
"What's wrong now, Peter?" inquired Mrs. Conant with wifely sympathy.
"Colonel Hathaway wants to know--"
"Oh, is Mary Louise coming back?" cried Irene eagerly.
He frowned at her.
"What does the Colonel wish to know, Peter?"
"I object to this unwarrantable cross-examination," said he. "It iscustomary to first allow one to state his case."
"Forgive me, Uncle Peter!"
"Take your time," said Aunt Hannah, composedly buttering the toast."You will, anyhow, and I'm sure Irene and I have both learned to curbour feminine curiosity."
He glanced at the telegram again.
"Do you know if the Pelton place has been rented, my dear?"
"The Pelton place? Why, it wasn't rented yesterday, for I passed bythere and saw the rent sign still in the window. Mr. Harlan is theagent."
"I know. And where can we find a female house-servant, Hannah?"
"Now, see here, Peter; it's all very well for you to keep your owncounsel, when there's a professional secret to be guarded, but if youwant any help from me you've got to open your mouth and talk outplainly, so I can answer you in a sensible way."
"You're always sensible, Hannah," he observed, quite unruffled by herdemand. And then he ate a whole slice of toast and drank his coffee andhanded his cup for more before he spoke another word.
Irene devoted herself to her breakfast. She knew Uncle Peter's ways andthat it was useless to attempt to hurry him or force him to explain,until he was quite ready to do so. Aunt Hannah bided her time. Peterwas a thoughtful man, and he was doubtless thinking. His wife was notonly a clever helpmate but was noted for her consideration of hererratic spouse.
"The Colonel," said Mr. Conant at last, "has run across a man who wantsto make his home in Dorfield. A very sensible idea. The Colonel met theman in Europe. The man----"
"What's the man's name?" inquired Mrs. Conant.
He referred to the telegram.
"Jones. Jason Jones."
"I never heard of him."
He looked at her reproachfully.
"Why should you, my dear? The Colonel found the man in Europe. We livein Dorfield. The man, it seems, has a daughter----"
"Oh, goody!" cried Irene.
"Who has become a friend of Mary Louise, therefore the Colonel wires toask if there is a furnished house to r
ent at a modest price and if acompetent female servant can be secured for the man and his daughter.He requests me to wire an answer promptly. That is the gist of thetelegram, although the Colonel, in his usual extravagant way, has paidfor more words than were required to express his meaning."
"And what are you going to do about it?" demanded Mrs. Conant.
"I am endeavoring to gain information from my wife."
"Very well. What does he mean by 'a modest price'? The Pelton place isexpensive. The rent is sixty dollars a month, while a comfortable houselike that of the Widow Harrington rents for fifteen dollars, with good,solid furniture."
"Is Mrs. Harrington's house for rent?" he asked.
"Yes. She'll go to live with her married daughter as soon as she canfind a tenant. The poor creature needs the money, and her house is justaround the corner from here and her back yard backs up to the Colonel'sback yard. Now, the Pelton place is two blocks from here, and thePeltons don't need the money, because they're already too rich andaristocratic to live in Dorfield any longer."
"H-m-m!" murmured Mr. Conant. "It occurs to me that a friend of ColonelHathaway might desire a more luxurious home than that of the WidowHarrington."
"Doesn't the telegram say 'a modest price'?"
"It does. I'll quote both places and let the man Jones take his choice.And how about the female servant, Hannah?"
"Leave that to me; I can hire plenty. But if Mr. Jason Jones takes thePelton place he will want one kind of a servant, and if he takes Mrs.Harrington's house he'll want a different sort."
He gazed at her admiringly and passed his cup again, saying:
"You've a logical mind, my dear. Had you been a man you might havebecome a fairly good lawyer."
"No, Peter; not another drop. You've two cups already."
"Are you sure, Hannah?"
"Absolutely positive!"
"Then," said he, rising with a sigh, "I'll go to the office."
To Mr. Conant's disappointment, to Mrs. Conant's delight, to Irene'ssatisfaction and the astonishment of all, Mr. Jason Jones selected Mrs.Harrington's modest house and ordered it rented and prepared for hisarrival on the following Thursday. This was conveyed in a secondtelegram from Colonel Hathaway, who requested the lawyer to inform oldUncle Eben and Aunt Sally, the Colonel's own faithful colored servantsand caretakers, that he and Mary Louise would return home on the sameday.
"You see," said Aunt Hannah, triumphantly, "I sized the Joneses uppretty well. It isn't necessary for a man to be rich to be a friend ofthe dear Colonel, for he considers a man, rather than a man'spocketbook."
"Yet a man who can afford to travel abroad, with his daughter," beganMr. Conant, argumentatively, "should certainly be able and willing----"
"What do you know about him, Peter? Perhaps he has spent his readymoney in Europe and is now obliged to economize. Unless that is thecase, why does he come to a sleepy little town like Dorfield, which isalmost forgotten by the big world, to settle down?"
"Why, he's the Colonel's friend," retorted the lawyer, stiffly.
"And Mary Louise is his daughter's friend," said Irene. "That accountsfor it, of course, and they couldn't have picked a prettier place.Dorfield may be sleepy, and quiet, and half forgotten by the rest ofthe big world, but it's simply delightful as a residence. Didn'tColonel Hathaway choose it for a home? And the Colonel could afford tolive at the Waldorf-Astoria, if he wanted to."
"I know why you are pleased, Irene," remarked Aunt Hannah, smiling uponher niece. "You're going to have another girl friend."
"She won't be as nice as Mary Louise, though," was the reply. "There'sno girl in the world as sweet and lovely as Mary Louise!"
"Or one that innocently gets into more trouble," declared Mr. Conant.
"That," said Aunt Hannah, "is because she can't let other people'stroubles alone."
Mary Louise Solves a Mystery Page 13