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Mansion of Mystery

<h2 id="id02153" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXVII</h2> <h5 id="id02154">TOM OSTRELLO'S STORY</h5> On the following evening, at exactly seven o'clock, an old man came to the depot at Sidham and met the incoming train. He was rather feeble in his movements and hobbled rather than walked to meet a man who came in with a portfolio under his arm. "Excuse me, but is this Mr. Granby?" he asked in a quavering voice. "That's my name," said the new arrival, with a slight start. "How are the sketches getting along? I hope you are making a good picture of my daughter." "Very good, I think, sir. If you will come to my room, I will show you my proof." "All right, sir," answered the old man. The two men left the depot, and crossing the roadway, walked to a hotel on the next block. They ascended to the third floor and made their way to a fine apartment in the front. Here the door was locked, the curtains drawn, and the gas was lit. Then both men removed wigs and false whiskers, and there stood revealed Charles Vapp and Adam Adams. "You are on time, I see," said the latter, as he dropped into an easy chair and lit a cigar. "Yes, I was lucky enough to get your telegram directly after it came in. The trail took me near the office and Frank passed it to me." "What of the man you have been following?" "He is looking for you." "Do you know the reason?" "Yes. He has had several talks with Letty Bernard, and she has advised him to speak to you, and tell you everything, whatever that may mean. The girl told him that you could clear him." "Humph! She takes a good deal for granted. Anything else?" "Do you know that Margaret Langmore has disappeared?" "So I heard, less than an hour ago." "They say she ran away to escape trial." "Perhaps so, but if she did she was out of her head. It is too bad, for it complicates matters." "By your telegram I see that you want me to turn to something else," went on Charles Vapp, after a pause. "I do." Adam Adams drew a long breath. "Charley, wonderful things can happen in twenty-four hours." "I know that, Adam." "Last night I was doomed to die. I was in the hands of one of the worst band of evil-doers I ever ran across. They drew lots as to who should slay me—just as the Anarchists draw lots to kill one who has been marked by them." "And you escaped?" "If I hadn't I shouldn't be here. It's a long story. As luck would have it, the foul deed fell to the lot of a fellow known as Number Four. He was a weak-kneed chap, and I had previously spoken to him about getting caught and imprisoned, and I said I would befriend anybody who would befriend me. He was to shoot me, tie my body in a bag with rocks, and sink me to the bottom of the river. He said he would do the job only when alone and the others took him at his word. When he got me where he wanted me, he told his story. He used to be poor but honest, and was once sent up for a theft that he had not committed. The gang got hold of him, when he came out of prison, and he was made to join the band. He said he did not want to kill anyone, that he was sick of what he had been doing, and wanted to reform. I promised him a thousand dollars if he would let me go, and promised not to testify against him, if he would tell me all he knew. He took me at my word, and sank a sack full of grass and stones to the bottom of the river, instead of yours truly. Then he came away with me, told me some astonishing things, took his thousand dollars; and I haven't seen him since, and I doubt if he will ever show himself again." "You were more than lucky. But what is this band—if it is any of my business?" Adam Adams leaned forward. "Don't breathe it to a soul, not even at headquarters," he whispered. "I have located a band of counterfeiters—the makers of that clever counterfeit bill on the Excelsior National Bank of New York. You've heard of it—the one they said was printed from the Racksburg plates." "Sure, the one Fields tried to run to earth last year." "The same." "That's a big feather in your cap." "In following up one thread I seem to have gotten away from another. I started out to find the murderer of Mr. and Mrs. Langmore. I thought I had a line on one fellow, but it would seem now that he can readily prove a complete alibi." "What do you want me to do?" "I want you to keep your eyes on certain people in and around this town, and especially on that Matlock Styles. If you see any indications of his running away, arrest him on the spot. Here is a list of the men to be watched." Adam Adams brought out a slip of paper. Then he described the old mill. "The counterfeiters' rendezvous is under that mill," he continued. "They make folks think the place is haunted and Styles has savage dogs on his farm near by, and that keeps the curious away. I want you to watch the mill, too, if you can. But keep out of all danger. If any of the gang try to trap you shoot them down, for if they catch you they won't be apt to let you get away alive. If you wish get Strong to help you." "I understand, and I'll be on my guard," said the assistant. After that the pair conversed for a quarter of an hour longer and then, after making some changes in his disguise, Charles Vapp hurried from the hotel and out into the darkness of what looked as if it would prove a stormy night. As soon as Vapp had gone, Adam Adams sat down and penned a brief note. This he sent out by a hotel messenger, and then sank back in his easy chair, to smoke and to meditate. The detective had learned much, yet about certain things he was in the dark as much as ever. The mysterious Number Four—he had not asked the penitent for his name—had given him the names and addresses of fourteen men connected with the band of counterfeiters. Eleven of these individuals were makers of the bogus bank bills, and the other three operated in the big cities, disposing of the "goods" in bulk to others, who in their turn, fed the bad bills to the general public. So far as Number Four knew, Matlock Styles was the head of the gang, but the man had said there was another individual, to whom Styles often went for advice. This man was considered to be very shrewd, but what his name was there was no telling. Number Four ventured a guess that he might be connected with the United States treasury department. After his escape from the den, Adam Adams had gone to Stony Hill in secret, and there verified Matlock Styles' story that the Englishman had not been near the Langmore mansion during the time the murders were committed. So, from that crime, at least, the counterfeiter was apparently cleared. But this only made the mystery connected with the counterfeits in the safe so much deeper. Number Four had never mentioned Barry Langmore when speaking of the members of the gang, and when questioned about the man, said he had known him by sight and that was all. Less than an hour after he had sent out the messenger, there came a knock on the door and Tom Ostrello presented himself. "You are the gentleman that wishes to see me?" he inquired. "I believe you wish to see me," was the reply, as the detective closed the door and locked it again. "Sit down, Mr. Ostrello. I am Adam Adams." "Oh, I—er—I didn't quite recognize you in that dress." "I suppose not." There was a brief pause. "Mr. Ostrello, if you wish to speak to me, I am at your disposal for the next hour." "Thank you." The young commercial traveler cleared his throat. "You are—I mean, I believe you know the relationship between Miss Bernard and myself?" "She has told me something about that." "She tells me you are her closest friend—that you have really been a father to her since her own parent died. And she tells me that you are one of the greatest detectives in the world. I wish I had known that when we first met—I should have engaged you to clear up the mystery of this sad affair." The young man paused again. Evidently it was hard work for him to get directly at the subject on hand. Adam Adams remained silent. "I did not imagine that I—well, that I would be connected with this great crime. I mean, that anybody would suspect that I had done the deed. It is a fearful thought! That I would kill my own mother! I know such things have been done, but they must have been done by beasts, not men. I know I should have spoken of the visit that very morning to my mother." "Then you admit that you called at the house?" "Yes." "You were dressed in a gray suit and wore a slouch hat, and you entered by the back way?" "How did you learn all that?" cried the young commercial traveler in astonishment. "Never mind. In coming away you slipped and fell, and your hat dropped off." Tom Ostrello nodded. "I understand that somebody must have noticed me after all. I came in by the back way because I missed the train for Sidham, and took that which stops only at Chester. It is a short cut through the woods from Chester Station to the Langmore place. When I came away I had just time enough to catch another train at Chester, and I was very anxious to get back to the city, for I had an important engagement with one of my customers." "I understand. Proceed, please." "I came to the house for two reasons. In the first place, as perhaps you know, my brother, Dick, is a spendthrift, and works occasionally only. He got into a scrape in Los Angeles, and telegraphed me to help him out financially. It was an old plea, but I thought if I left him to himself my mother would not forgive me. I did not have money enough to help him by myself, for my capital was tied up in such a fashion that I could not get at it. More than that, I had in my possession two one hundred dollar bills, which my mother had gotten from Mr. Langmore, and both of these were counterfeits." "One of those bills you had tried to pass at a theatre, eh?" "Ha! You know that, too! Then you have been following me up?" "The United States Government has been trying to follow up those bills for several years." "I came to the house and saw my mother. Mr. Langmore had gone to the bank. There had been a family row, but that was not all of the trouble. Mr. Langmore was strangely excited, so my mother said, and had declared he was going to have somebody arrested, before the week was out." "On account of the counterfeits?" "Either that, or on account of a patent. She said he had sent off several letters and was also going to telegraph to somebody. She said he had asked her to give back the hundred dollar bills, and had been much disturbed when she told him that I had them. She took the bills back and gave me good money for them, and also gave me two hundred dollars more, to forward to my brother Dick, which I did, adding a hundred of my own." "Did your mother tell you anything more about the counterfeits?" "No." "Did you see Miss Langmore?" "I did not, nor did I see the servant. I was in a hurry, and so I came away as soon as my business was accomplished." "When you came away from the house and dropped your hat, did you go back again, crawling along by the bushes?" "I certainly did not." "Did you see any other man around?" "Not there. I caught a glimpse of a man when I was hurrying through the woods to the station." "When you came to the house, after the tragedy, Mr. Ostrello, what were you so anxious about?" "You mean what was I looking for?" "Yes." "A letter Dick had sent me. It told about his trouble. I thought at first it might be in the library, but I found it in my mother's room. It contained an account of the scandal he had gotten into. I did not wish that scandal to become public property. I can show you that letter if you wish to see it." "Lately you have had some trouble with a man named Matlock Styles. What was that about?" "It was over a patent. I thought of an idea for a machine to box up pills in a new way, and spoke to Mr. Langmore about it. I left some papers with Mr. Langmore and I think Styles got hold of them and applied for the patent. We had several disputes, and at last he threatened to get me into trouble with the firm I represent. He said he had influence, and as I didn't want to lose my job, I didn't press him about the patent. He acts like a farmer, but he is a shrewd fellow, and not to be trusted." "You went back to the house lately, on the sly—told Mrs. Morse you wanted some books." "I admit it. I wanted to get some of my mother's private papers. Now she is dead, I wish to look out for any share of the estate that may be coming to my brother Dick and myself. Isn't that natural? It was foolish of me to run away as I did, but—well, I was nervous. This tragedy has completely unnerved me, and I hardly know what I am doing." "How about this bit of wrapping paper?" and Adam Adams brought forth the piece he had found under Mr. Langmore's safe. "I do not know where that came from, but it is evidently a part of some of my firm's advertising. The first three lines are the name and address. The last line reads, 'Keep dark'." "I found this under the library safe." "That is not to be wondered at. Some time ago, I remember, I got some powders for Mr. Langmore, for headaches. I remember the box had a wrapper of that sort on it. The powders lose their strength if exposed to the sunlight. And that reminds me, you—you think these murders were committed through the agency of a Chinese powder—yamlang-peholo—a powder my firm once introduced in this country." "The evidence points that way." "I know of nobody around that house who had any of the accursed stuff, for it certainly was accursed. I never took any there—or, at least, if I ever did, I do not remember taking it out of my grip." "Can you furnish me with a list of people who received this stuff from you or from others?" "I can. On my way to Sidham I made out this list, and here it is," and the young man brought it forth. Adam Adams glanced at it quickly, and read over the long line of names and addresses—doctors, druggists and private individuals. Suddenly he paused and a smile of triumph lit up his features. "Good!" he almost shouted. "You have discovered something?" asked Tom Ostrello quickly. "Yes, I have discovered a great deal. I think the murder mystery is as good as solved." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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