Luke Walton

"I think so," answered Luke, slowly. "I will read his description from the letter: He has a wart on the upper part of his right cheek – a mark which disfigures and mortifies him exceedingly. He is about five feet ten inches in height, with a dark complexion and dark hair, a little tinged with gray.

"Let me see the letter," said Browning, hoarsely.

He took the letter in his hand, and, moving near the grate fire, began to read it. Suddenly the paper as if accidentally, slipped from his fingers, and fell upon the glowing coals – where it was instantly consumed.

"How careless I am!" ejaculated Browning, but there was exultation in the glance.

CHAPTER XLI

MR. BROWNING COMES TO TERMS

The destruction of the letter, and the open exultation of the man who had in intention at least doubly wronged him, did not appear to dismay Luke Walton. He sat quite cool and collected, facing Mr. Browning. "Really, I don't see how this letter happened to slip from my hand," continued the philanthropist. "I am afraid you consider it important."

"I should if it had been the genuine letter," said Luke.

"What!" gasped Browning.

"It was only a copy, as you will be glad to hear."

"Boy, I think you are deceiving me," said Browning, sharply.

"Not at all! I left the genuine letter in the hands of my lawyer."

"Your lawyer?"

"Yes. I have put this matter in the hands of Mr. Jordan, of this city."

Mr. Browning looked very much disturbed. Mr. Jordan was a well-known and eminent attorney. Moreover, he was opposed in politics to the would-be mayor. If his opponent should get hold of this discreditable chapter in his past history, his political aspirations might as well be given up. Again he asked himself, "How much of the story does this boy know?"

"If you are employing a lawyer," he said, after a pause, "I don't understand why you came to me for advice."

"I thought you might be interested in the matter," said Luke, significantly.

"Why should I be interested in your affairs? I have so many things to think of that really I can't take hold of anything new."

"I will tell you, sir. You are the man who received money in trust from my dying father. I look to you to restore it with interest."

"How dare you insinuate any such thing?" demanded Browning, furiously. "Do you mean to extort money by threats?"

"No, sir, I only ask for justice."

"There is nothing to connect me with the matter. According to your letter it was a Thomas Butler who received the money you refer to."

"True, and your name at that time was Thomas Butler."

Mr. Browning turned livid. The net seemed to be closing about him.

"What proof have you of this ridiculous assertion?" he demanded.

"The testimony of one who knew you then and now – Mr. King, who keeps a cigar stand at the Prairie Hotel."

"Ha! traitor!" ejaculated Browning, apostrophizing the absent King.

"This is a conspiracy!" he said. "King has put you up to this. He is a discreditable tramp whom I befriended when in dire need. This is my reward for it."

"I have nothing to do with that, Mr. Browning. Mr. King is ready to help me with his testimony. My lawyer has advised me to call upon you, and to say this: If you will pay over the ten thousand dollars with interest I will engage in my mother's name to keep the matter from getting before the public."

"And if I don't agree to this?"

"Mr. Jordan is instructed to bring suit against you."

Drops of perspiration gathered on the brow of Mr. Browning. This would never do. The suit, even if unsuccessful, would blast his reputation as a philanthropist, and his prospects as a politician.

"I will see Mr. Jordan," he said.

"Very well, sir. Then I wish you good-morning."

Within two days Thomas Browning had paid over to the lawyer for his young client the full sum demanded, and Luke left Milwaukee with the happy consciousness that his mother was now beyond the reach of poverty.

CHAPTER XLII

CONCLUSION

Felicie reflected over Harold's dishonest suggestion, and concluded to adopt it. She meant to charge Harold with the second robbery, and to brazen it out if necessary. Accordingly, one day she stole into Mrs. Merton's sitting room, and with the keys supplied by Harold succeeded in opening the drawer. Inside, greatly to her surprise, she saw the identical pocketbook which it had been understood was taken at the time of the first robbery. She was holding it in her hand, when a slight noise led her to look up swiftly.

To her dismay she saw the old lady, whom she had supposed out of the house, regarding her sternly.

"What does this mean, Felicie?" demanded Mrs. Merton.

"I – I found these keys and was trying them to see if any of them had been used at the time your money was stolen."

"Do you know who took my money on that occasion?" continued the old lady.

"Yes, I do," answered Felicie, swiftly deciding to tell the truth.

"Who was it?"

"Your nephew Harold," answered Felicie, glibly.

"You know this?"

"I saw him open the drawer. I was looking through a crack of the door."

"And you never told me of this?"

"I didn't want to expose him. He begged me not to do so."

"That is singular. He warned me yesterday that he suspected you of being the thief, and that he had reason to think you were planning a second robbery."