In the Hands of the Malays, and Other Stories

"I am extremely obliged to you, sir; it is most kind of you, and is far better than anything I had hoped for."

"That is settled then; you may as well begin at once. Mr. Mullins will show you what you have to do."

Roland was indeed glad at the opening which Mr. Fernlea had made for him. The utmost he had hoped for was to obtain a position in a store, and as hitherto it had been intended that he should go to Harvard at the beginning of the next term, the thought of entering a store had gone somewhat against the grain. Now, with the position in Mr. Fernlea's office he might be considered not only to retain the position he occupied among his school-fellows and friends, but to have taken the first step in a promising career.

When it became known in Brownsville that Mr. Fernlea had taken Roland Partridge into his office, there was much surprise and comment. More than one leading man in the place had made overtures to the lawyer for placing his son with him, but he had always declined, saying that he found that he and Mullins were able to get through the work, and that he did not care for the trouble of teaching young bears. There was a general feeling among these that the lawyer had, in some sort of way, done them a personal wrong by thus taking into his office the son of a defaulter, and one whom they had hoped would be obliged to leave the place from his inability to find employment there.

The lawyer, however, was not the man to concern himself with the opinions of others, and would have been unconscious of the comments his decision had excited had not Tom told him, laughing, that he had outraged the feelings of all the old women in the place. Tom did not forget his promise to write to his cousin in New York, and to interest him in the search which Roland had undertaken, and did this so effectually that he received a letter by return saying that the writer would do anything he could to aid his old school-fellow, and that he would set enquiries on foot among all his acquaintances in brokers' offices to find out, if possible, if any resident in Brownsville had lately been going into extensive speculations. A few days after Roland had entered upon his new duties Mr. Fernlea called him into his office.

"By the way, Partridge," he said, "I have been thinking over that matter of yours with the idea that I might perhaps hit upon some clue upon which you might work. I have not done so, for a curious difficulty at once presented itself. It naturally occurred to me that one of the methods to be first pursued was to find out through whose hands some of the stolen securities had passed, and then to trace them backwards; but when I came to think of it, it at once struck me that the list of the securities stolen had never been published. This was so singular and so out of the usual course that yesterday I spoke to one of the directors of the bank, who had come in to smoke a cigar with me. He said it had been decided by the board that as the frauds had extended over some months, and as the defaulter had got safely away to Canada, there was no chance of being able to recover the securities, which by this time had probably passed through a dozen hands, and it was thought better for the credit of the bank, and so on, to let the whole matter drop, but of course the defaulter would be arrested at once if he ever showed his face in this country again.

"The course the directors have taken strikes me as being a very unusual one. I do not say that from some points of view it may not be a very wise one. The loss may be heavier than people suppose, and they may think it better not to call any further attention to it. It may be that it was policy, in fact I think perhaps it was so. Still, it is certainly unusual, and angry men do not always take the wisest course. I said as much to my friend. From what he said, I gathered that they had been to some extent influenced by a feeling of sympathy with you and your mother, and by their respect for your father's former position in the place. He said that was the view the president took, and that they all fell in with it. It wasn't my business to make any remark, and I changed the subject, but I must own, the more I think it over the more unusual and singular it appears to me.

"No doubt they were influenced far more by the thought of the credit of the bank than by their sympathy with your father and mother, and I must say that I am glad I am not a large shareholder in the bank. Still, it is curious, and at any rate one result is that there are no clues to be obtained from following up any of the missing securities. Of course the directors all know what has been taken, but naturally they will keep their own council, and no help is to be obtained in that way."

Now that it was manifest that Roland Partridge was settled for good in Brownsville the little party who had from the first taken his side gained ground rapidly. Their argument was indeed unanswerable: now that he was there it was as well to make the best of it. Tom Fernlea and several others of his set would anyhow stick to him, and as he would be met in their company it was of no use pretending to ignore his presence; it would indeed only cause unpleasantness and disagreement. Consequently, it was decided, with but few dissentient voices, headed by Percy Johnstone, that Roland Partridge should again be received into the set as if nothing unpleasant had taken place. Accordingly, he received an invitation to one of the first parties that was got up. He showed it to Tom Fernlea.

"Yes, I knew it was coming," Tom said, laughing. "We have won all along the line."

"Of course I shall not go," Roland said.

"Of course you will go," Tom replied. "Don't make a fool or a martyr of yourself. What has happened was natural enough. People thought your father had got into a scrape, and all the shareholders of the bank considered that they lost a lot of money by him. It was generally thought that you would be leaving the town, and naturally there was some sort of awkwardness about your joining in our fun as usual. Nobody thought any the worse of you, for it was, of course, not your fault; it was simply the awkwardness. Now that you are going to stay, the matter has altered. A month has passed, and the story has become an old one. Everyone will meet you just as before, and I shall be glad to have you with us again. Besides, if you were to refuse, it would place me and the others who have stuck to you all along in a very uncomfortable position; for whenever you happened to be with us, and we met some of the people whom you refuse to visit, we should either have to pass without speaking, or you would have to stand aloof in the cold while we were talking to them. You made up your mind to live here, and it is of no use your putting your back up and going about like a moral hedgehog. So sit down like a good fellow, and write and say that you will be happy to accept the invitation; then go at once and secure a cutter for the day, and ask Cissie White if she will keep her old engagement. I am going to take Bessie Hartley, and I will arrange that two or three others shall start just at the same time and place, so we can all drive there together in a party."

Roland felt that his friend's advice was good, and, although it needed an effort to follow it, he sat down at once and wrote saying that he would be very glad to join the party. Then he went out and secured the cutter, and called at Mrs. White's and saw Cissie.

"I have been asked to join the sleighing party next Thursday, Cissie; will you let me drive you?"

"With pleasure, Roland. I have an outstanding engagement with you, you know, and I have been hoping that you would call and remind me of it; in fact I made so sure you would, that I considered myself engaged and refused two invitations yesterday."

"That was good of you, Cissie; you have been my best friend all through this business."

"Not better than many others, Roland," she said quietly. "The two sides were pretty equally divided all along, and, now we have won, it is a triumph for us all."

Four cutters drew up together at Mrs. White's door at four o'clock on the Thursday afternoon. Tom Fernlea and Bessie Hartley occupied one; two of the others were filled with couples full of life and spirits; while Roland Partridge held the reins in the fourth. Cissie White was all ready to start and came out at once, and was soon muffled in the rugs by his side.

"Hoorah!" Tom Fernlea shouted as they started. "This is what I call jolly – a glorious day, capital company, and lots of fun before us!"

The whole party were in great spirits, and their laughter rose high as, at a rapid pace, they dashed along towards their destination. This was a barn belonging to the father of one of the party, who lived ten miles away. Two or three of the boys had gone over the day before to sweep and decorate the place. The contributions of provisions had been sent over in a sleigh the previous afternoon, and two or three cutters had driven on an hour or two before the rest, to light the fire and prepare tea. A fiddler had been engaged, and after tea they were to dance, and drive back at ten o'clock by moonlight.

On the way the party overtook several of the cutters, and ten of them dashed up together in procession to the barn. The jingling of the bells and the joyous shouts brought the early arrivals to the door, and there was general greeting and shaking of hands, and Roland, who had rather dreaded the moment, soon felt himself at home again. First of all the horses had to be put up in the stables and some empty barns, and when this was done the boys made their way to the place of assembly. Some forty young people were gathered there, all in the highest spirits. A great wood fire blazed at one end, and over it hung a huge cauldron of boiling water. Tables of boards and rough trestles were arranged down the side of the barn. They were covered with snowy table-cloths, on which were placed a great variety of eatables.

A committee had decided what each of those present should contribute. The most solid viands had been provided by the lads, and cold turkeys, chickens, and joints of meat showed that there was an ample store for the fifty who were to share the feast; while the variety of fruit-pies, cakes, and sweets of all descriptions showed that the girls had fully done their share. As soon as the last comers had arrived the meal began, and all did full justice to it, for the drive had sharpened their appetites. By the time it was finished it was growing dark, and while the boys cleared the tables and carried them outside, others lit the candles, placed in the sconces hired for the occasion and nailed against the sides of the barn, while the girls washed up the tea-things and packed them away in baskets ready for transport home on the following day. Then came five hours of dancing, and as the clock struck ten the boys hurried off for the horses, and the party started for home. Roland had enjoyed himself thoroughly. With the exception of Percy Johnstone and one or two others, everyone had behaved to him just as if the last month had been a blank, except perhaps that there was a little extra kindness and cordiality, as if each wished to show how glad he or she was to see him among them again.

"It was not so very dreadful, was it?" Cissie asked as they drove homeward.

"It was not dreadful at all," he said. "I think, Cissie, half our troubles arise from our own selfconsciousness. We fancy people are thinking and talking about us, when in fact they are not giving us a thought; and if one does but grasp the nettle firmly, one finds that there is no sting in it."

The next morning Roland received a letter from his mother saying that she had again heard from his father, and although he had not precisely given his address, he had given indications by which a letter could be addressed to him under a name not his own; and Roland that night sat down and wrote to him at great length. He told him that he and his mother were convinced that he was the victim of another's misdoings, and that he had determined that if it was humanly possible he would find out the guilty party; but that before he set about doing so with any chance of success, it was absolutely necessary that he should be in possession of all the facts of the case, and he implored him to write fully and frankly to him, giving him every detail, however minute, which could bear upon it. He concluded by saying:

"My dear father, I know how very painful to you the thought must be of appearing in the light of a suspected person in the presence of those who have known and respected you, but I cannot but think that it would have been better if you had made an effort and faced it out, for your innocence must sooner or later have been proved. However, for the sake of your good name and my mother's happiness, it is clearly incumbent on you now to aid us to the utmost in our effort to re-establish your good name, even if to do so you should have to come back and demand a trial. However, this is not necessary now, and I hope never will be. But the first thing of all is for us to understand exactly what the circumstances were that have caused a suspicion of this crime to fall upon you."

CHAPTER IV

A CLUE

A week later Roland received a letter from his father in answer to that he had written him. Its contents were as follows:

"My dear Roland, – I know that with your young heart and strong courage and a complete and happy absence of nerves, you cannot but think it weak and cowardly of me to run away instead of waiting and fighting hard against circumstances. I know as well as anyone can tell me that this is the course I should have adopted, and a score of times since I came away I have been on the point of returning and giving myself up, but each time when it has come to the point I have drawn back, and despised myself for my cowardice. But I cannot overcome it. I had an unhappy childhood under a stern father and a very unkind stepmother, and I think that any spirit I ever had was frightened out of me by the time I entered life – a shrinking, sensitive young fellow, conscious that I possessed fair abilities, but altogether unfit to fight my own way.

"For some years life was very hard to me, and my failing increased rather than diminished; and then by some good chance, certainly from no solicitation on my part, a course opened before me. I married. Your mother's firmness gave me support, and her love and goodness brought me happiness. Then when I obtained the post of cashier at the bank of Brownsville, it seemed that my trials were over. Although I could never bring myself to mix much with other men, I gained confidence in myself, and believed that I had grown out of that extreme sensibility which had rendered my early years so unhappy. When the trial came upon me suddenly I found that I was mistaken. The thought of standing before the world accused of theft filled me with an overpowering fear, and rather than stay and face it I should have put an end to my existence. I know that you will scarcely understand this feeling. I know that you will think it weak and cowardly. I simply say, my boy, that I cannot help it, and that I can no more withstand it than a madman can check his impulses.

"And now I have told you so much, my son, I will tell you of the events of that evening. For some days I had been low and out of sorts; a haunting sense that something was wrong had been upon me. The last clerk, before leaving, had, as usual, laid the keys on the desk beside me. I told him he could go, as I had some hours' work before me. For an hour I went through the books, and then a sudden impulse seized me. I would examine some of the securities and see that none were missing. I took the keys and went down to the strong room, a thing which I never that I can recall had done after the bank was shut; took out some large parcels of shares and bonds, and locked the doors again. I took them up with me to count in my room, and compare them with the books. I had just set to work when I heard the latch-key of the front door turn, and a minute later Mr. Johnstone came in. 'You are at work late, Partridge,' he said. 'I saw your light burning as I was passing. Why, hallo!' he said with a change of voice, 'what have you got all the securities up for? that is rather unusual, isn't it? Wasn't the strong room locked up before the clerks went away?' It had not struck me that there was anything strange about it, but the tone of the president's voice showed me that there was, and my old nervousness seized me as if with a sudden grip; and I have no doubt that the tone in which I explained my reason for going down into the strong room and bringing up the securities added to his suspicion. However, he said coldly: 'I am not aware of anything that should have excited your suspicions that all was not right, and induced you to unlock the strong room after the bank was closed. However, as you have brought up some of the securities, and I have nothing to do for the next half-hour, I will go through them with you.'

"He sat down by my side, and took the book containing the lists of the securities held by the bank and I read out the number of the bonds. 'New York Centrals of five hundred dollars each.' Presently he said sharply: 'That does not tally with the book.' He ran his eye down and remarked: 'There are fifty missing here, running in successive numbers, between the last two you read out.' 'Perhaps they are out of place,' I said, and looked through the rest of the bonds, but they were not there. 'How do you account for this?' the president asked sharply. 'I cannot account for it,' I said, bewildered. 'Oh!' he said in an awkward tone, that particularly struck me. 'Here are your initials to all these figures, showing that they have been paid out. When were they redeemed?' I looked at the book; there were my initials sure enough. The bonds had not been redeemed at all, I was certain, but there were my initials. I looked at them thunderstruck.

"'I have the highest opinion of you, Mr. Partridge,' the president said, 'but this, you must admit, has a very curious appearance. Here I find you have, after the bank has closed, opened the strong room, and have got some of the securities up here, and I find that some of them are missing, but that the book is initialled by you, so that anyone else going through it with the securities would suppose that they had been parted with in due course. Your own manner, if you will excuse my saying so, strikes me as altogether suspicious. However, let us go through some more.'

"Each bundle that we examined showed deficiencies, and although I had not brought up one-tenth of the bonds and securities, we found a deficiency of over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. When we had done, Mr. Johnstone did not make a single observation beyond briefly pointing out the numbers of the missing securities, and added: 'You see, Mr. Partridge, I have but one course to follow. The bank has been robbed of an immense amount. How much as yet I have no means of knowing. I find you here with the securities brought out of the strong room at this unusual hour. These securities were entirely in your hands, and no one touches them but yourself. You can give me no explanation of the deficiency, and in every case your initials are appended, as a proof that they have been paid out in due course. Under such circumstances it is my duty to at once give you into custody.'

"I had been getting more nervous and confused as each fresh discovery was made, and the horrible consciousness of my position became stronger.

"'I am innocent, sir!' I exclaimed; 'before God I am innocent!'

"'In that case, Mr. Partridge, you will no doubt be able to prove it to the satisfaction of the jury. In my mind I confess the matter is clear. This book in which your entries are made is your own private property, and you keep it, I presume, in your own safe here, of which no one but yourself has a key, and it is not the sort of book that you are in the habit of leaving about. What you have done with the proceeds of the bonds I know not, but that you have taken them seems to me as clear as day. Of course the matter may be explained in some way. I hope that it will be. You have worked here with me for the last fifteen years, and I have hitherto not only had implicit confidence in you, but respect and liking. I would give anything to escape the situation in which I am placed, but my duty is clear. I must hand you over to the police.'

"'It will kill me!' I said. 'I am innocent, Mr. Johnstone, innocent as a child, but the disgrace of this will kill me!'

"He was silent for some time, and then he said: 'I am sorry for you, Mr. Partridge, with all my heart, and still more sorry for your wife. This money, I suppose, is hopelessly gone in some wild speculation,' – I again protested, but he waved to me to be silent – 'and irretrievably lost. For the sake of our long friendship and of the good lady your wife, I will suffer you to leave this office a free man. I will take no steps till morning. More than that, I will, if possible, keep the affair out of the hands of the police for the next twelve hours, by which time you ought to be across the frontier into Canada. I am risking a great deal in doing this, but I will do it, and I will satisfy my colleagues as well as I can. There, let no more be said. Go! and strive in future, by a life of strict honesty, to justify the course which I am taking.'

"I murmured something, whether of thanks or protest I know not, and, seizing my hat, went out into the air. Anyone who had noticed me on my way home must have thought me drunk, for I know that I staggered blindly along. Your mother will have told you what happened when I got home. That is the tale, Roland, and it makes things look very black against me. I was at the bank late, having opened the strong room and taken out the securities. The president, coming in and finding me so employed, went through the books with me, and discovered large deficiencies in the securities, which were never handled by anyone but myself. Worst of all, in my private book, kept always under lock and key, are my initials, showing that I am cognizant of the securities having been parted with. Lastly, there is my flight and my manner against me. In answer I give my bare protest that I knew nothing about the securities being missing, and that though the initials appear indeed to be my own, that I certainly never signed them, though I own that the book was never to my knowledge out of my custody at any time, and that the safe in which it was kept was always locked up by me of an evening. That somebody has taken the securities is clear; also that somebody has got at my book and forged my initials.

"But it is only this bare assertion that I have against all the facts that seem to prove me guilty. I am going west. I have made the acquaintance of a gentleman, who has given me letters to two or three large store-keepers in Winnipeg, where, under another name, I hope to obtain employment. There, I trust, your mother will follow me. As for yourself, you have told me you have been taken by Mr. Fernlea into his office, and I trust, in spite of the terrible blot I have brought upon our name, that you will succeed. I have, however, no hope that you will be able to clear up the mystery of which I am the victim. Still, I will not dissuade you from trying, and although I cannot hope, I shall pray, day and night, that success may attend your efforts."

Roland read the letter through and through until he had almost learnt it by heart. The next morning he took it in to Mr. Fernlea. "You know what my object is in remaining at Brownsville, Mr. Fernlea. I should like you to read this letter which I have received from my father. I need not say that I shall show it to no one else. I received it yesterday evening, and have been thinking it over all night, but I cannot see that it furnishes me with any clue such as I had hoped. But you may think differently."

Mr. Fernlea read the letter through to the end; then, without a word, he turned it over and re-read it. "Frankly, Roland," he said, when he laid it down, "is there no impression left in your mind after reading that letter?"

"Well, sir," Roland said hesitatingly, "it seems too absurd, but I cannot but think it a little strange that Mr. Johnstone should let my father go off like that."

"That is it," Mr. Fernlea said. "Johnstone has the reputation of being a pleasant gentleman adverse to trouble and contention, and desirous of keeping on good terms with everyone, but he has nevertheless been always sharp enough on creditors to the bank, and has several times prosecuted when it appeared that the bank was the victim of sharp practices. I have always wondered that no attempt to discover and arrest your father was made when the loss was first discovered, which was, I understood, when Johnstone examined the bonds on the morning when your father was found missing; but now that I find he knew it before your father left, it is still more surprising to me that he should have let him go. He assumed, as it seems by this letter, that your father had spent all the proceeds of the robbery; but why should he assume that?

"Your father might still have had a great number of bonds in hand, and by arresting him at once a considerable number of the stolen securities might have been recovered. But this is not all. There is one very singular fact in the story. Your father was reading over the numbers of the bonds, when Mr. Johnstone suddenly exclaimed, 'That is wrong; there are fifty bonds missing between the last two numbers you read out. Where are they?' Why should he have said that? As I take it, the number of the bonds which had hitherto been read corresponded with the number of those marked still in hand, that is to say, of those against which no initial had been placed. But it seems that these fifty were initialled. What was there, then, to call Johnstone's attention to the fact that they should have been there? That is very remarkable, to say the least of it."

Roland clasped his hands before him. "Oh, Mr. Fernlea, do you really think – "

"I don't think anything, Roland," Mr. Fernlea said sharply. "Mr. Johnstone is president of the bank, a prominent citizen, a man of unblemished reputation. I simply say that these facts, stated together, are singular, and I think they give you a clue. How that clue is to be followed up, I cannot at present suggest, I simply affirm that it is a clue. Now I want you to take the next train to Chicago. A client of mine wants some enquiries made about a house which he is thinking of purchasing. Here are the papers connected with it; you can study them as you go along. Of course you will go to the land office and see if there are any mortgages on it, and you will look up the titles."

Roland reached Chicago in the afternoon, where he at once set about making the necessary enquiries. The lawyers upon whom he first called at once showed him the titles, which appeared to him to be correct, but of which he made an abstract for Mr. Fernlea's inspection. He then went to the land office and found that mortgages were registered on the house. From there he walked to the address of the owner, which he found to be in a small street. The house was shut up. He made some enquiries carefully among the neighbours, and found the reputation of the man was the reverse of favourable. It was now getting late in the afternoon, and he rode to the Central Telegraph office to send off a short message to Mr. Fernlea with the result of his enquiries. Two or three persons were writing their messages, and to his surprise he at once recognized in one of them Mr. Johnstone of Brownsville.