A Debt of Honor

“I am ready for a job,” went on Standish. “In fact I am hard up, and am obliged to earn money in some way.”

“And are not very particular in what way.”

“Well, a man must live! If I had plenty of money it would be different. Will you kindly tell me what you want done?”

“I believe I saw you talking with a boy half an hour ago.”

“Yes.”

“Are you acquainted with him?”

“I saw him first at the hotel in Davenport. He is in company with an Englishman, who seems to have plenty of money.”

“I see. You feel more interested in the Englishman than in the boy.”

“Naturally. The boy is probably poor.”

“I want you to become interested in the boy.”

“If there is money in it, I shall certainly feel interested in him,” said Mr. Standish briskly.

“There is money in it – if you carry out my wishes.”

“What are they?”

“Listen! This boy is possessed of papers – probably he carries them about with him – which properly belong to me. I have offered to buy them of him, but he refuses to let me have them.”

“Of what nature are they?”

“There is a letter, and also a memorandum signed by myself, and given to his father many years ago. The father died and the boy came into possession of them. Knowing that I wished them he holds them for a large – a foolishly large sum.”

“I comprehend. How much did you say you had offered him for them?”

“I did not mention the sum, Mr. Standish.”

“Oh, I thought you did,” returned Standish, rather confused.

“In fact, that has nothing to do with you.”

“I thought it would give me an idea of the value of the papers.”

“It is quite unnecessary that you should know their value.”

“You wish me to get possession of them?”

“Yes.”

“How much will it be worth to me?”

“That’s another matter. That is something you do have a right to ask. Well, I am ready to pay” – Mr. Wentworth paused to consider – “I am ready to pay a hundred, yes, two hundred, dollars for them.”

Samuel Standish brightened up. To him in his present circumstances two hundred dollars was a great deal of money.

“Do you think there will be any chance to get hold of the papers on the boat?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“If not, I shall have to follow him.”

“Yes.”

“And I can’t do it without money.”

“I understand all that. Of course I would rather have you secure them on the boat, if possible, but it may not be possible.”

“Have you anything to suggest then?”

“The boy and his companion will undoubtedly stop a few days in St. Louis. You must go to the same hotel, and try to get a room near by. As to the details I can’t advise you. It is out of my line. I suspect that it may be in yours. Before you leave the boat, I shall give you some money so that you may be able to pay your hotel expenses.”

“I ought to know your name, so that I may communicate with you.”

“Yes, that is needful. Of course I rely upon your keeping secret and confidential all that has passed between us.”

“You can rely upon me. I am the soul of honor!” said Samuel Standish, placing his hand on his heart.

“If you are,” said Wentworth dryly, “I am afraid you are hardly the man for my purpose.”

“I mean that I shall be loyal to you. I am a gentleman.”

“I am glad to hear it. One thing more, you had better not be much in my company. It might excite suspicion. In two minutes I can give you such directions as you may require, and then we had better avoid each other.”

“I understand.”

As Gerald came out of his stateroom he saw the two walking together. It struck him as rather singular, but it did not occur to him that it boded harm to himself.

CHAPTER XXIV

A FALSE ALARM

Bradley Wentworth had some slight hope that the words he had spoken would prejudice the English tourist against Gerald, but he was destined to be disappointed. The two promenaded the deck together, and were evidently on the most cordial terms.

“The boy is artful,” thought Wentworth, “and for that reason he is the more dangerous. I wish he could happen to fall overboard. It would save me a great deal of anxiety, as he is the only one who is acquainted with the secret of my guilt.”

The voyage proceeded. There are many rivers that are more interesting than the Mississippi. The shores are low and monotonous, and the river itself in a large part of its course is turbid and narrow. There are but few towns of much size or importance between Davenport and St. Louis.

“I say, Gerald,” said Mr. Brooke, “we hear a good deal about American scenery, but if this is a specimen I can only say that it is a good deal overrated.”

Gerald laughed.