Three People Part 32

The voice that uttered these disjointed sentences was only too well known to Theodore. He stepped down one step and spoke in a low tone:

"Pliny, what does this mean? Where are you going?"

"Going round like a top, first on my head and then on my heels. How are you?"

Poor Theodore! the plot thickened. What should he do with this poor drunkard? Could he endure to let him stagger to his home to that waiting sister in this condition? A shrill, sharp, merry whistle broke at this moment on his ear; that voice he knew too, and waited until its owner came up; then addressed him still in low tones:

"Tommy, where are you going?"

"Going home--been to a fire--whole block burned down by the square, Mr.

Stuart's house and--"

Theodore checked his voluble information.

"Have you seen anything of McPherson?"

"Yes, sir; he was at the fire too. Just whisked around the corner below here to go to his rooms. We came up together."

Theodore's listening ear caught the sound of an approaching policeman, and he hastened his plans. Pliny had sunk down on the steps and was muttering to himself in drunken, broken sentences.

"Tommy," said Theodore, addressing that individual, "there are empty carriages coming around the corner; the train is in. Will you take this young man in a carriage, drive to McPherson's door, and tell him to drive to my rooms with you, and make this gentleman comfortable till I come? Can I trust you, Tommy?"

"Yes, _sir_, every time," Tommy answered, proudly.

The policeman came up.

"What's all this?" he asked, gruffly.

Theodore turned to him and spoke a few words in a low rapid tone, and he moved hastily away. Then Theodore came back to Pliny.

"Will you go and spend the night with me at my rooms, Pliny?" he asked, gently.

"Well," said Pliny, trying to rouse himself from his half stupor, "I _did_ promise Doralinda Mirinda that I'd come home, but seeing the street has taken such a confounded notion to go round and round, why I guess she will excuse me and I'll oblige you."

"This boy will call a carriage for you and make you comfortable, and I will be with you as soon as possible. I have a little business first."

He gave a little shiver of relief as he saw Pliny stagger quietly away with Tommy. All this time, and indeed it was but a _very_ little time, although it seemed hours to the young man whose every nerve was in a quiver, his ear had been strained ready for the slightest sound that might occur in the room over which he was keeping guard; but the utmost quiet reigned. Winters evidently suspected nothing, and was biding his time. "The villain means to escape hanging if he can," muttered Theodore, under his breath.

And now the dim moonlight showed the tall forms of three policemen approaching. He advanced and held a brief whispered conversation with them, then the four ascended the steps. Theodore applied his night-key, and with cat-like tread they moved across the hall, and the library door swung noiselessly open. They were fairly inside the room before Mr.

Stephens, intent upon his papers, observed them. When he did he sprang to his feet, with a face on which surprise, bewilderment and consternation contended for the mastery. "Theodore," he gasped, rather than said; and it was Mr. Stephens' sorrow ever after that for one little moment he believed that his almost son had proved false to him.

The next the whole story stood revealed. From the moment that Mr.

Stephens uttered his exclamation all attempt at quietness was laid aside. A policeman strode across the room, flung wide the closet door, and said to the cowed and shivering mortal hiding therein, "You are my prisoner, sir," and from his pocket produced the handcuffs and proceeded to adjust them, while another disarmed him. Theodore went over and stood beside the gray-haired startled man.

"Don't be alarmed, sir," he said, gently and quietly; "the danger is quite over now. His pockets must be searched," this to the policeman.

"He has twenty thousand dollars about him somewhere that belong to us."

"My boy," said Mr. Stephens, tremulously, and with utmost tenderness in his tones, "what does all this mean? How did you learn of it?"

"By a special providence, I believe, sir," answered Theodore, reverently.

Meantime the packages of money were found and in order.

"Have you special directions, sir, in regard to the prisoner?"

questioned the policeman.

Mr. Stephens broke away from Theodore's restraining arm and went toward Winters.

"My poor, poor boy," he said, compa.s.sionately, "how _could_ you do it?"

Winters' eyes expressed nothing but malignancy as he muttered between shut teeth:

"Because I _hate_ you, and that upstart who hoodwinks you."

Theodore came forward with quiet dignity.

"Mr. Stephens," he said, laying a gently detaining hand on the gentleman's arm, "let me manage the rest of the business for you, you are excited and weary. Secure the man in safe and comfortable quarters for the night," he added, turning to the policeman, "and you will hear from Mr. Stephens in the morning."

Five minutes more and Theodore and Mr. Stephens were left alone in the library.

"No explanations to-night," said Theodore, with an attempt at playfulness, as the other turned toward him with eager questioning eyes.

"I withdraw my prohibition, sir, as regards the papers, and will permit you to retire at once."

"One word, Theodore, about the point that troubles me the most What shall we do with the poor young man?"

Theodore's face darkened.

"The very utmost that the law allows," he said, sternly. "He deserves it all. If you desire my advice on that point I should say--"

Mr. Stephens interrupted him, laying a quiet hand on his arm and speaking gently:

"My boy, suppose you and I kneel down here and pray for him?"

All the heat and anger died out of Theodore's face. He remembered the midnight interview which took place years before in that very room, when Mr. Stephens was the judge and he himself the culprit. He remembered that at that time Mr. Stephens had knelt down and prayed for _him_.

Reverently now he knelt beside the n.o.ble-hearted man, and heard him pour out his soul in prayer for the "poor boy" who had tried so hard to injure him. When they arose he turned quiet smiling eyes on his young friend as he said:

"My dear boy, can you advise me now?"

"You do not need advice, sir," said Theodore, speaking somewhat huskily and with a reverent touch in his voice. "Follow the dictates of your own n.o.ble soul in this as in everything, and you will be sure to do the best thing."

It was two o'clock when Theodore applied his own night-key and entered his front door. The gas was still lighted in the back parlor, and thither he went. It was not the back parlor that belonged to the little cottage house near the depot; not the same house at all, but one larger and finer, and on a handsomer street. The back parlor was nicely, even luxuriously, furnished with that dainty mixture of elegance and home comfort which betokens a refined and cultivated taste. Winny had grown into a tall young lady with coils of smooth brown hair in place of the crisp locks of her childhood. Her crimson dress set off her clear dark complexion to advantage. The round table was drawn directly under the gaslight, and she sat before it surrounded by many beautiful books and writing material. She glanced up at Theodore's entrance, and he addressed her in grave business-like tones:

"Winny, do you know it is two o'clock? You should not study so late at night under any circ.u.mstances."

"You should not perambulate the streets until morning, and then you would have no knowledge of my misdemeanors," answered Winny in exactly the same tone, and added: "What poor drunken wretch have you and Jim in train to-night?"

"Is Jim here?" said Theodore, eagerly.

"Yes, and has been for an hour. He stumbled up stairs with a poor victim who was unable to walk, and domiciled him in your room. Remarkable company you seem to keep, Mr. Mallery. Who is the creature?"