Sawn Off Part 41

"Uncle," said Tom--and he spoke in a low whisper--"let me go, for Heaven's sake: I cannot bear it."

"No," said d.i.c.k sternly; "you shall not go till this has been set right.

Do you, too, believe ill of my girl?"

"G.o.d forbid, uncle! I only wanted to know that my case was hopeless; and I have heard."

"Heard what?" whispered d.i.c.k.

"What these men told you," said Tom bitterly.

"Do you dare to say--"

"I say nothing, uncle--only that what those men have said is true."

"Here!" cried d.i.c.k furiously, "mother, quick!--tell Jessie to come here.

Oh, you are there," he cried, as, hearing a door close on the landing, he looked up and saw Jessie.

"Uncle, for Heaven's sake think of what you are doing," cried Tom, catching his arm.

"I am thinking, sir, of clearing her name. My girl would not be guilty of--"

He stopped short; for he recalled the little incident in the old home.

"I don't care," he cried pa.s.sionately. "I'm driven to it, and it shall be sifted to the bottom."

As he spoke, he ran up the stairs, closely followed by Max and his private inquirers.

"Mr Hopper," cried Tom pa.s.sionately, "this is your doing, to bring me in here. Come away. It is too cruel to her."

"Hey? cruel?--I don't care," said Hopper st.u.r.dily. "I'll see it out; for look here, Tom, and you too, Mrs Richard,--I say, as I've said before, she'll come out of it clear as day. Now, come up."

He stumped hastily upstairs, Tom feeling compelled to follow, but hating himself for the part he was playing, the result of hanging about the house time after time, for the sake of catching a glimpse of Jessie, and then telling Hopper that evening what he had seen.

The old man had been astounded when, half-frantic, Tom had met him on his way to Richard Shingle's; and then insisted upon his coming to have the matter cleared up, vowing that there was a mistake.

As the party reached the large landing, Jessie stood in front of the door of her room, the policeman being the last to complete the half-circle that surrounded her; and then d.i.c.k spoke.

"Jessie, my darling," he said, tenderly, "I know this will upset you; but, my girl, when cruel conspiracies are hatched against us by scoundrels, we must meet them boldly."

"Yes, father," said Jessie, who did not shrink, but darted a reproachful look at Tom that went to his heart.

"Your uncle, to stab your fair fame, my dear, has brought these men to swear that they saw you let in some one to-night by the breakfast-room window; and they say he has not gone out. Speak out, my dear, and tell them it's a lie."

There was no reply, and Mrs Shingle caught at her husband's arm; but he flushed up with pa.s.sion and shook her off.

"Jessie," he cried in a choking voice, "speak out quick!--is any one in that room of yours?"

Jessie looked wildly from face to face, her glance resting longest on those of Max and Tom.

"I say, is any one in that room?" thundered d.i.c.k, catching her by the wrist, which she s.n.a.t.c.hed away, and, spreading her hands from side to side, as she stood back against the door, she cried out, wildly--

"No, father, no!"

As she spoke there was a sharp creaking noise from within, as of a sash being thrown up; and d.i.c.k once more caught her by the wrist.

"No, no!" she cried, struggling with him frantically. "Tom, dear Tom, for pity's sake save me from this disgrace!"

Tom dashed forward, and caught her in his arms, more in sorrow than in anger; for d.i.c.k had swung her round with a savage oath, throwing open the door, and dashing in with the private inquiry men, to return dragging out a man with a strong resemblance to Tom, till Gilderoy gave his beard a twitch, and pulled it off, revealing the sallow, frightened countenance of Fred.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

AFTER THE DISCOVERY.

"Fred!" cried Max, in alarm.

"Yes," said that gentleman savagely--"if you must blab it out."

"Tom, Tom," whispered Jessie, "for your own sake save him,--he is your brother."

He turned from her with a sigh, as he freed himself from her grasp and placed her hands in those of her mother.

"And this is my child!" groaned d.i.c.k.

"Oh, father!" cried Jessie, "don't condemn me unheard. Frederick, speak out."

"Not I," he said cynically. "Why should I?"

"And this is my son!" exclaimed Max, who was completely taken aback.

"There, don't cant, old man," cried Fred, brutally. "I don't suppose you have always been so very particular."

"Fred!" exclaimed Tom savagely, "it is enough that you have brought this disgrace upon your uncle, without insulting the poor girl you have injured."

"Bosh! I shall be off," said Fred, flippantly; and, as he spoke, he made for the head of the staircase, not noticing that a movement had bee made in that direction by the private detectives, the princ.i.p.al speaking to the policeman, who nodded sapiently.

"Stop!" cried Max. "You shall not go without hearing a few words from me. You shall listen, as you are present, to advice that may--"

"Do him good," cried d.i.c.k, turning upon him savagely. "Give it him, then, in your own place, and not in mine. You coward--you pitiful miscreant! To revenge yourself on me you stoop to this low, beggarly watching; and when your tools warn you of your opportunity, you are such a high-toned moral man that you come with your scoundrels to degrade and disgrace that poor child before her father. I don't defend her--she did wrong; but I'm not a high-toned moral man, I'm not. I know what she has suffered; and I say to her, `Come here, my poor darling--I'm only a weak fool, and I forgive you.'"

"Father!" cried Jessie, and she sprang to his breast.

"Yes--lie there, my darling," cried d.i.c.k, glancing round at all in turn.

"Now let's see who dare say a word against you--or touch you! You're my gal, and always will be, come what may. I can't cast you off and say I have no child; but--but, my darling, I'd sooner have been back, a poor man again, in Crowder's Buildings, and bullied for my bit of rent, than this should have happened."

"Oh, hush, father--hush!" whispered Jessie--"wait till they're gone-- wait till they're gone."

"No, I've nothing to be ashamed of," cried d.i.c.k, "without it is of my brother and his sons. All the world may know that I was a poor man who made his fortune, but never lost his ignorant ways. So I forgive you, my gal."