Dave Porter and His Double: or, The Disapperarance of the Basswood Fortune

“I don’t know, Roger. This place ought to be burned down–it’s the only way to get it clean,” Dave added, shaking his head in disgust over the sight.

Less than fifty feet away was the corner of the main building of the ranch. Peering out cautiously, to make sure that no one was watching them, the two chums hurried across the open space and crouched down beneath a wide-open window. Then Dave, pistol in hand, looked in through the opening.

The room beyond was deserted, and a glance around showed him that it contained little besides some heavy pieces of furniture which the looters had evidently been unable to remove. On a table rested several empty liquor bottles, and also a number of cigar and cigarette stubs. On the floor were scattered newspapers and some playing cards.

“The fellows who were here evidently got out in a hurry,” remarked Dave.

“Are you going to go in?” questioned Roger.

“I guess so. What do you think about it?”

“I’m with you, Dave. Now we have gone so far, we might as well finish the job.”

It was an easy matter for the two chums to climb through the low window. Once in the room, they advanced toward a doorway leading to an apartment that opened on the patio of the ranch home–an open courtyard which had once boasted of a well-kept flower garden, but which was now neglected and overrun with weeds.

As Dave gazed out across the patio he saw a movement in a room on the opposite side of the ranch home. The face of a man had appeared for a few seconds. Behind him was some one else–who, however, Dave could not make out.

“My gracious, Roger!” gasped our hero in a low voice. “Did you see that fellow?”

“I saw some one.”

“It was William Jarvey!”

“Jarvey! Are you sure?”

“I am certain of it. Now what do you think of that!”

“I’m sure I don’t know what to think, Dave. Maybe he is making his headquarters here, the same as Ward Porton.”

“I am going to try to find out. Come on.”

Our hero made a quick mental calculation as to the ground plan of the ranch homeland then he and Roger began to work their way from one room to another, and then through a long, narrow hallway, until they reached the other side of the building. Here they paused at the end of the hallway to listen.

From a room close at hand came a murmur of voices. By straining his ears Dave made out the tones of William Jarvey. The former bookkeeper for the Mentor Construction Company was evidently talking to another man, but what was being said was not distinguishable.

“It’s Jarvey all right enough,” whispered Dave.

“Yes. But that isn’t Ward Porton with him,” returned Roger.

“I know it. It’s some man.”

Both continued to listen, and presently heard William Jarvey give a sarcastic laugh.

“You’ve got another guess coming, Packard Brown, if you think you are going to get that much out of the deal!” he cried. “Remember, you haven’t done a thing to help us.”

“That’s all right, Bill Jarvey,” retorted the man called Packard Brown. “When we left the U. S. A. and came over here it was understood that we were to share and share alike in everything.”

“Yes, but I didn’t think this new thing was coming up,” growled Jarvey. “We were to share equal on what we happened to get out of the greasers. This is another thing entirely.”

“I admit that. Just the same, I think I’m entitled to my share.”

“Well, you help us all you can and you’ll get a nice little wad out of it, Brown.”

What more was said on this subject did not reach the ears of Dave and Roger, for just then the latter pulled our hero by the sleeve.

“Somebody’s coming!” he whispered. “Maybe it’s Porton.”

Dave did not answer. At the end of the semi-dark hallway there was a closet which in years gone by had been used for the storage of guns and clothing. Into this closet the two youths went, closing the door carefully after them.

“It’s Porton all right enough,” whispered Dave, who a moment later was crouching low and looking through a large keyhole devoid of a key. “There he goes into the room where the two men are.”

“Then those two men must be in with him,” returned the senator’s son. “Say, Dave, this is certainly getting interesting!”

“It’s going to make our job a pretty hard one,” answered our hero. “If Ward Porton was alone we might be able to capture him. But I don’t see how we are going to do it with Jarvey and that man named Brown present.”

“Maybe if we offer Jarvey and Brown a large reward they will help us make Porton a prisoner,” suggested Roger. “More than likely Jarvey is on his uppers and will do anything to get a little cash.”

The two youths came out into the semi-dark hallway once more, and on tiptoes crept toward the door of the room occupied by Ward Porton and the two men.

“I went all around the buildings, and looked up and down the roadway, but I couldn’t see anything of them,” the former moving-picture actor was saying. “I guess they got cold feet when they saw those soldiers. Say, those greasers certainly were a fierce-looking bunch!”

“I don’t believe they were any of General Bilassa’s army,” returned William Jarvey. “They were probably some detachment out for whatever they could lay their hands on,” and he chuckled coarsely. Evidently he considered that such guerrilla warfare under certain circumstances was perfectly justifiable.

Following this there was some talk which neither of those outside the door could catch. Then came a rather loud exclamation from Ward Porton which startled our friends more than anything else that could have been said.

“Well, now, look here, Dad!” cried the former moving-picture actor. “You let me run this affair. I started it, and I know I can put it through successfully.”

“That’s right, Jarvey!” broke in Packard Brown. “Let your son go ahead and work this deal out to suit himself. He seems to have made a success of it so far–getting the best of that fellow Crapsey,” and the speaker chuckled.

Dave and Roger looked at each other knowingly. Here indeed was a revelation. Evidently Ward Porton was the son of the man they knew as William Jarvey.

“My gracious! I remember now!” burst out our hero in a low tone. “When we went to Burlington to see that old man, Obadiah Jones, about Ward don’t you remember that he told us that Ward was the son of a good-for-nothing lieutenant in the army named Jarvey Porton? That man Pankhurst who was captured declared that Jarvey was living under an assumed name and had been an officer in the army. It must be true, Roger. This fellow is really Jarvey Porton, and he is Ward Porton’s father!”

CHAPTER XXIX

THE CAPTURE

What Dave said concerning the man he had known as William Jarvey was true. He was in reality Ward Porton’s father, his full name being William Jarvey Porton. Years before, however, on entering the United States Army, he had dropped the name William and been known only as Jarvey Porton. Later, on being dismissed from the army for irregularities in his accounts, he had assumed the name of William Jarvey.

A lively discussion lasting several minutes, and which our hero and Roger failed to catch, followed the discovery of Jarvey Porton’s identity. Then the listeners heard the former lieutenant say:

“Brown, I think you had better go outside and watch to make sure that no one is coming to this place.”

“All right, just as you say,” was the other man’s answer. Evidently he understood that this was a hint that Jarvey Porton wished to speak to his son in private.

As Packard Brown placed his hand on the door leading to the semi-dark hallway Dave and Roger lost no time in tiptoeing their way back to the closet in which they had before hidden. From this place they saw Brown leave the room and walk outside. Then they returned to their position at the door.

“Are you sure the cases are in a safe place, Ward?” they heard Jarvey Porton ask anxiously.