Driven From Home

by Horatio Alger, Jr.

  “Tell me what you want me to do,” said Gibbon, desperately.

  “Tell me first whether your safe contains much of value.”

  “We keep a line of deposit with the Milford Bank.”

  “Do you mean to say that nothing of value is left in the safe overnight?” asked Stark, disappointed

  “There is a box of government bonds usually kept there,” the bookkeeper admitted, reluctantly.

  “Ah, that's good!” returned Stark, rubbing his hands. “Do you know how much they amount to?”

  “I think there are about four thousand dollars.”

  “Good! We must have those bonds, Gibbon.”

  CHAPTER XXII.

  MR. STARK IS RECOGNIZED

  PHIL STARK was resolved not to release his hold upon his old acquaintance. During the day he spent his time in lounging about the town, but in the evening he invariably fetched up at the bookkeeper's modest home. His attentions were evidently not welcome to Mr. Gibbon, who daily grew more and more nervous and irritable, and had the appearance of a man whom something disquieted.

  Leonard watched the growing intimacy with curiosity. He was a sharp boy, and he felt convinced that there was something between his uncle and the stranger. There was no chance for him to overhear any conversation, for he was always sent out of the way when the two were closeted together. He still met Mr. Stark outside, and played billiards with him frequently. Once he tried to extract some information from Stark.

  “You've known my uncle a good while,” he said, in a tone of assumed indifference.

  “Yes, a good many years,” answered Stark, as he made a carom.

  “Were you in business together?”

  “Not exactly, but we may be some time,” returned Stark, with a significant smile.

  “Here?”

  “Well, that isn't decided.”

  “Where did you first meet Uncle Julius?”

  “The kid's growing curious,” said Stark to himself. “Does he think he can pull wool over the eyes of Phil Stark? If he does, he thinks a good deal too highly of himself. I will answer his questions to suit myself.”

  “Why don't you ask your uncle that?”

  “I did,” said Leonard, “but he snapped me up, and told me to mind my own business. He is getting terribly cross lately.”

  “It's his stomach, I presume,” said Stark, urbanely. “He is a confirmed dyspeptic-- that's what's the matter with him. Now; I've got the digestion of an ox. Nothing ever troubles me, and the result is that I am as calm and good-natured as a May morning.”

  “Don't you ever get riled, Mr. Stark?” asked Leonard, laughing.

  “Well, hardly ever. Sometimes when I am asked fool questions by one who seems to be prying into what is none of his business, I get wrathy, and when I'm roused look out !”

  He glanced meaningly at Leonard, and the boy understood that the words conveyed a warning and a menace.

  “Is anything the matter with you, Mr. Gibbon? Are you as well as usual?” asked Mr. Jennings one morning. The little man was always considerate, and he had noticed the flurried and nervous manner of his bookkeeper.

  “No, sir; what makes you ask?” said Gibbon, apologetically.

  “Perhaps you need a vacation,” suggested Mr. Jennings.

  “Oh, no, I think not. Besides, I couldn't be spared.”

  “I would keep the books myself for a week to favor you.”

  “You are very kind, but I won't trouble you just yet. A little later on, if I feel more uncomfortable, I will avail myself of your kindness.”

  “Do so. I know that bookkeeping is a strain upon the mind, more so than physical labor.”

  There were special reasons why Mr. Gibbon did not dare to accept the vacation tendered him by his employer. He knew that Phil Stark would be furious, for it would interfere with his designs. He could not afford to offend this man, who held in his possession a secret affecting his reputation and good name.

  The presence of a stranger in a small town always attracts public attention, and many were curious about the rakish-looking man who had now for some time occupied a room at the hotel.

  Among others, Carl had several times seen him walking with Leonard Craig

  “Leonard,” he asked one day, “who is the gentleman I see you so often walking with?”

  “It's a man that's boarding at the hotel. I play billiards with him sometimes.”

  “He seems to like Milford.”

  “I don't know. He's over at our house every evening.”

  “Is he?” asked Carl, surprised.

  “Yes; he's an old acquaintance of Uncle Julius. I don't know where they met each other, for he won't tell. He said he and uncle might go into business together some time. Between you and me, I think uncle would like to get rid of him. I know he doesn't like him.”

  This set Carl to thinking, but something occurred soon afterwards that impressed him still more.

  Occasionally a customer of the house visited Milford, wishing to give a special order for some particular line of goods. About this time a Mr. Thorndike, from Chicago, came to Milford on this errand, and put up at the hotel. He had called at the factory during the day, and had some conversation with Mr. Jennings. After supper a doubt entered the mind of the manufacturer in regard to one point, and he said to Carl: “Carl, are you engaged this evening?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Will you carry a note for me to the hotel?”

  “Certainly, sir; I shall be glad to do so.”

  “Mr. Thorndike leaves in the morning, and I am not quite clear as to one of the specifications he gave me with his order. You noticed the gentleman who went through the factory with me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He is Mr. Thorndike. Please hand him this note, and if he wishes you to remain with him for company, you had better do so.”

  “I will, sir.”

  “Hannah,” said Mr. Jennings, as his messenger left with the note, “Carl is a pleasant addition to our little household?”

  “Yes, indeed he is,” responded Hannah, emphatically.

  “If he was twice the trouble I'd be glad to have him here.”

  “He is easy to get along with.”

  “Surely.”

  “Yet his stepmother drove him from his father's house.”

  “She's a wicked trollop, then!” said Hannah, in a deep, stern voice. “I'd like to get hold of her, I would.”

  “What would you do to her?” asked Mr. Jennings, smiling.

  “I'd give her a good shaking,” answered Hannah.

  “I believe you would, Hannah,” said Mr. Jennings, amused. “On the whole, I think she had better keep out of your clutches. Still, but for her we would never have met with Carl. What is his father's loss is our gain.”

  “What a poor, weak man his father must be,” said Hannah, contemptuously, “to let a woman like her turn him against his own flesh and blood!”

  “I agree with you, Hannah. I hope some time he may see his mistake.”

  Carl kept on his way to the hotel. It was summer and Mr. Thorndike was sitting on the piazza smoking a cigar. To him Carl delivered the note.

  “It's all right!” he said, rapidly glancing it over. “You may tell Mr. Jennings,” and here he gave an answer to the question asked in the letter.

  “Yes, sir, I will remember.”

  “Won't you sit down and keep me company a little while?” asked Thorndike, who was sociably inclined.

  “Thank you, sir,” and Carl sat down in a chair beside him.

  “Will you have a cigar?”

  “No, thank you, sir. I don't smoke.”

  “That is where you are sensible. I began to smoke at fourteen, and now I find it hard to break off. My doctor tells me it is hurting me, but the chains of habit are strong.”

  “All the more reason for forming good habits, sir.”

  “Spoken like a philosopher. Are you in the employ of my friend, Mr. Jennings?”

  “Yes, sir.”

>   “Learning the business?”

  “That is my present intention.”

  “If you ever come out to Chicago, call on me, and if you are out of a place, I will give you one.”

  “Are you not a little rash, Mr. Thorndike, to offer me a place when you know so little of me?”

  “I trust a good deal to looks. I care more for them than for recommendations.”

  At that moment Phil Stark came out of the hotel, and passing them, stepped off the piazza into the street.

  Mr. Thorndike half rose from his seat, and looked after him.

  “Who is that?” he asked, in an exciting whisper.

  “A man named Stark, who is boarding at the hotel. Do you know him?”

  “Do I know him?” repeated Thorndike. “He is one of the most successful burglars in the West.”

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  PREPARING FOR THE BURGLAR.

  CARL stared at Mr. Thorndike in surprise and dismay.

  “A burglar!” he ejaculated.

  “Yes; I was present in the courtroom when he was convicted of robbing the Springfield bank. I sat there for three hours, and his face was impressed upon my memory. I saw him later on in the Joliet Penitentiary. I was visiting the institution and saw the prisoners file out into the yard. I recognized this man instantly. Do you know how long he has been here?”

  “For two weeks I should think.”

  “He has some dishonest scheme in his head, I have no doubt. Have you a bank in Milford?”

  “Yes.”

  “He may have some design upon that.”

  “He is very intimate with our bookkeeper, so his nephew tells me.”

  Mr. Thorndike looked startled.

  “Ha! I scent danger to my friend, Mr. Jennings. He ought to be apprised.”

  “He shall be, sir,” said Carl, firmly.

  “Will you see him to-night?”

  “Yes, sir; I am not only in his employ, but I live at his house.”

  “That is well.”

  “Perhaps I ought to go home at once.”

  “No attempt will be made to rob the office till late. It is scarcely eight o'clock. I don't know, however, but I will walk around to the house with you, and tell your employer what I know. By the way, what sort of a man is the bookkeeper?”

  “I don't know him very well, sir. He has a nephew in the office, who was transferred from the factory. I have taken his place.”

  “Do you think the bookkeeper would join in a plot to rob his employer?”

  “I don't like him. To me he is always disagreeable, but I would not like to say that.”

  “How long has he been in the employ of Mr. Jennings?”

  “As long as two years, I should think.”

  “You say that this man is intimate with him?”

  “Leonard Craig--he is the nephew--says that Mr. Philip Stark is at his uncle's house every evening.”

  “So he calls himself Philip Stark, does he?”

  “Isn't that his name?”

  “I suppose it is one of his names. He was convicted under that name, and retains it here on account of its being so far from the place of his conviction. Whether it is his real name or not, I do not know. What is the name of your bookkeeper?”

  “Julius Gibbon.”

  “I don't remember ever having heard it. Evidently there has been some past acquaintance between the two men, and that, I should say, is hardly a recommendation for Mr. Gibbon. Of course that alone is not enough to condemn him, but the intimacy is certainly a suspicious circumstance.”

  The two soon reached the house of Mr. Jennings, for the distance was only a quarter of a mile.

  Mr. Jennings seemed a little surprised, but gave a kindly welcome to his unexpected guest. It occurred to him that he might have come to give some extra order for goods.

  “You are surprised to see me,” said Thorndike. “I came on a very important matter.”

  A look of inquiry came over the face of Mr. Jennings.

  “There's a thief in the village--a guest at the hotel--whom I recognize as one of the most expert burglars in the country.”

  “I think I know whom you mean, a man of moderate height, rather thick set, with small, black eyes and a slouch hat.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What can you tell me about him?”

  Mr. Thorndike repeated the statement he had already made to Carl.

  “Do you think our bank is in danger?” asked the manufacturer.

  “Perhaps so, but the chief danger threatens you.”

  Mr. Jennings looked surprised.

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Because this man appears to be very intimate with your bookkeeper.”

  “How do you know that?” asked the little man, quickly.

  “I refer you to Carl.”

  “Leonard Craig told me to-night that this man Stark spent every evening at his uncle's house.”

  Mr. Jennings looked troubled.

  “I am sorry to hear this,” he said. “I dislike to lose confidence in any man whom I have trusted.”

  “Have you noticed anything unusual in the demeanor of your bookkeeper of late?” asked Thorndike.

  “Yes; he has appeared out of spirits and nervous.”

  “That would seem to indicate he is conspiring to rob you.”

  “This very day, noticing the change in him, I offered him a week's vacation. He promptly declined to take it.”

  “Of course. It would conflict with the plans of his confederate. I don't know the man, but I do know human nature, and I venture to predict that your safe will be opened within a week. Do you keep anything of value in it?”

  “There are my books, which are of great value to me.”

  “But not to a thief. Anything else?”

  “Yes; I have a tin box containing four thousand dollars in government bonds.”

  “Coupon or registered?”

  “Coupon.”

  “Nothing could be better--for a burglar. What on earth could induce you to keep the bonds in your own safe?”

  “To tell the truth, I considered them quite as safe there as in the bank. Banks are more likely to be robbed than private individuals.”

  “Circumstances alter cases. Does anyone know that you have the bonds in your safe?”

  “My bookkeeper is aware of it.”

  “Then, my friend, I caution you to remove the bonds from so unsafe a depository as soon as possible. Unless I am greatly mistaken, this man, Stark, has bought over your bookkeeper, and will have his aid in robbing you.”

  “What is your advice?”

  “To remove the bonds this very evening,” said Thorndike.

  “Do you think the danger so pressing?”

  “Of course I don't know that an attempt will be made to-night, but it is quite possible. Should it be so, you would have an opportunity to realize that delays are dangerous.”

  “Should Mr. Gibbon find, on opening the safe to-morrow morning, that the box is gone, it may lead to an attack upon my house.”

  “I wish you to leave the box in the safe.”

  “But I understand that you advised me to remove it.”

  “Not the box, but the bonds. Listen to my plan. Cut out some newspaper slips of about the same bulk as the bonds, put them in place of the bonds in the box, and quietly transfer the bonds in your pocket to your own house. To-morrow you can place them in the bank. Should no burglary be attempted, let the box remain in the safe, just as if its contents were valuable.”

  “Your advice is good, and I will adopt it,” said Jennings, “and thank you for your valuable and friendly instruction.”

  “If agreeable to you I will accompany you to the office at once. The bonds cannot be removed too soon. Then if anyone sees us entering, it will be thought that you are showing me the factory. It will divert suspicion, even if we are seen by Stark or your bookkeeper.”

  “May I go, too?” asked Carl, eagerly.

  “Certainly,” said the manufacture
r. “I know, Carl, that you are devoted to my interests. It is a comfort to know this, now that I have cause to suspect my bookkeeper.”

  It was only a little after nine. The night was moderately dark, and Carl was intrusted with a wax candle, which he put in his pocket for use in the office. They reached the factory without attracting attention, and entered by the office door.

  Mr. Jennings opened the safe--he and the bookkeeper alone knew the combination--and with some anxiety took out the tin box. It was possible that the contents had already been removed. But no! on opening it, the bonds were found intact. According to Mr. Thorndike's advice, he transferred them to his pocket, and substituted folded paper. Then, replacing everything, the safe was once more locked, and the three left the office.

  Mr. Thorndike returned to the hotel, and Mr. Jennings to his house, but Carl asked permission to remain out a while longer.

  “It is on my mind that an attempt will be made to-night to rob the safe,” he said. “I want to watch near the factory to see if my suspicion is correct.”

  “Very well, Carl, but don't stay out too long!” said his employer.

  “Suppose I see them entering the office, sir?”

  “Don't interrupt them! They will find themselves badly fooled. Notice only if Mr. Gibbon is of the party. I must know whether my bookkeeper is to be trusted.”

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  THE BURGLARY.

  CARL seated himself behind a stone wall on the opposite side of the street from the factory. The building was on the outskirts of the village, though not more than half a mile from the post office, and there was very little travel in that direction during the evening. This made it more favorable for thieves, though up to the present time no burglarious attempt had been made on it. Indeed, Milford had been exceptionally fortunate in that respect. Neighboring towns had been visited, some of them several times, but Milford had escaped.

  The night was quite dark, but not what is called pitchy dark. As the eyes became accustomed to the obscurity, they were able to see a considerable distance. So it was with Carl. From his place of concealment he occasionally raised his head and looked across the way to the factory. An hour passed, and he grew tired. It didn't look as if the attempt were to be made that night. Eleven o'clock pealed out from the spire of the Baptist Church, a quarter of a mile away. Carl counted the strokes, and when the last died into silence, he said to himself: