University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER FOURTH.
“CAPTAIN BRADBURNE, OF THE FALCON.”

“Lester!” he cried, panting for breath, as
he lifted his broad-rimmed hat from his head,
“I've found 'em, I've found 'em!”

The stranger was below the middle stature
— attired in a shabby frock coat buttoned to
the neck — and his pallid face was surmounted
by short brown hair streaked with silver.

“Mr. Mervyn!” ejaculated Charles.

“I've found 'em, I've found 'em,” continued
the intruder, still panting and blowing:
“You see I noticed you in the crowd at St.
Simon's. Saw your eye fixed upon our friend
(he named the Popular Preacher,) and therefore
I concluded that I might find you at
Brother Caleb's house, notwithstanding the
lateness of the hour. — — puts up
here, doesn't he, Brother Goodleigh?”

“I do not know you, sir,” was the stern response
— “Nor do I know this Preacher of
whom you speak. Who are you?”

“One of th' accomplices,” whispered Stewel,
and his whisper was echoed by the thirty
guests.

The good Mr. Mervyn was abashed. Holding
his hat in both hands, he exclaimed —

“I never had an introduction to you, but as
I saw you so frequently at St. Simon's, I —”

“Found whom?” cried Charles, like one
waking from a dream.

“Harry and Annie!” and Mr. Mervyn
turned suddenly and confronted the pinioned
man: “What's this? Your hands bound?
This is indeed extraordinary —'

“Harry and Annie!” exclaimed Charles —
and the words roused him from his stupor

He started to his feet, bound as he was. His
face flushed in an instant; he was in possession
of all his powers once more. As he spoke,
his voice firm and deep-toned, thrilled the
spectators with involuntary respect — we do
not say — fear.

“Where have you discovered these children?”
he said. Mr. Mervyn, who seemed half
crazed with joy, replied as he panted for
breath:

“You remember what you told me to-night,
at your room in the — Hotel? Well, that
rested on my mind as I went home — followed
me to church — I was haunted by the idea
that I could identify the woman of your story,
with some woman whom I had lately met, in
a narrow court of this city.”

“Profligate old man,” interrupted Scissleby,
from his chair: “Met a woman — at his age.
Reads French Novels. Steamer in?”

“And going home from St. Simon's the
truth burst upon me all at once. I turned back
— went to your hotel — hunted you all over
the city — and at last, by a lucky thought,
called at this house. The door was open. I
am here, and that's enough, but the idea which
has been working in my brain all night, is out
at last. The woman of your story,” his voice
fell, and he whispered in the ear of Lester,
“The woman Ann Clarke, is none other than
Ann Jones of Bonus Court, where I live —”

Lester did not suffer him to proceed:

“And the children?” he said, his voice
tremulous with agitation.

“Are Ralph and Fanny Jones, otherwise
called Harry and Annie Baldwin,” was the
response of the Home Missionary.

“Fanny Jones,” repeated Charles Lester,
very slowly, but in an emphatic tone, as he
felt the blood bound and grow chill by turns,
from his heart to his finger ends: “Fanny
Jones!” his eye with a lightning glare traversed
the faces of the company. “The
Preacher and the girl — where are they?” he
shouted in a voice of thunder: “Caleb Goodleigh
you must answer for this. Let but the
finger of harm be laid upon her, and you shall
answer with your blood.”

The surprise of the guests, at these words,
was equal in every respect to the wonder of
the Home Missionary, when he surveyed the
young man “in bonds.” Brother Caleb alone
was calm and smiling.

“Stewel,” he whispered — whispered in a
tone audible to every ear: “Remove these
persons, the robber and his accomplice, to the
nearest Station House. In the morning I will
appear against them.”

Turning to his guests, he continned:

“Come, my friends; let us withdraw into
the front room. It grows late, and my nerves
are somewhat ruffled. We had better postpone
all further conversation about the `Squashahogany'
until to-morrow.”

The guests were turning away; Stewel laid
his hand upon the arm of the Home Missionary,
whispering, “Ain't you ashamed o' yourself,
to go about robbin' in the name o' th'
Clergy? You're the pious burglar, are you?”

As for Charles, all the blood in his body
seemed to mount at once, and in a torrent, to
his head. He did not struggle with the cords
which bound his hands, but grated his teeth,
as he stood motionless with despair.

“No way of escape! None — none! And
Fanny is here, in this house, in the power of
Ellen's murderer. To-morrow will release me,
but to-morrow will be too late. Mr. Goodleigh
— Mr. Goodleigh hear me — only for a
moment, I beseech you.”

But Mr. Goodleigh, already on the threshold
of the front room, only replied by inviting his
guests to follow him.

“Leave the culprits in the hands of the Police,”
he said: “This way my friends.”

“Fanny in this house!” ejaculated Mervyn,
who had been thunderstruck by the vague
words of Lester.

Charles again besought Brother Caleb to
hear him — only for a moment — but Brother
Caleb treated him with silent contempt. At
this moment, a singular idea, which had been
working slowly through the brain of the young
man for hours, suddenly resolved itself into a
distinct shape.

Pinioned as he was, Charles Lester advanced
a single step:

“If Mr. Caleb Goodleigh will not hear me,”
he said in a loud voice, “perchance Captain
Bradburne of the Falcon, will grant me the
favor of a private interview.”

Why was it that Brother Caleb turned suddenly
on his heel? Why was it that with a

changed voice, and altered countenance, he besought
the guests to excuse him for a moment?

“Perhaps the fellow will confess,” he said
smiling: “I don't want the trouble of a public
trial. If he restores me this tin box, I will let
him off. Walk this way, sir.”

And Charles Lester, with his hands tied behind
his back, walked through the throng, and
passed into the first apartment.

And Caleb Goodleigh closed the folding
doors, and thus, was entirely alone with the
burglar; engaged in a private and confidential
interview with the man who had robbed him
of his title-deeds.

And the guests stood looking into each
other's faces, as though a steam engine had exploded
in the cellar beneath their feet.

And Stewel Pydgeon, Esq., made various
remarks to himself, to the effect, that he was
struck stupid; his time was burnt; he was
knocked into the middle of next week.

Amid all this, poor Mr. Mervyn stood thunderstruck,
pinching himself slyly to discover
whether he was awake, or only dreaming. He
made a trifling mistake in his confusion, and
pinched Stewel, who looked at him with his
large bulging eyes, as though he could have
eaten him alive.

“Well,” exclaimed Mrs. North, breaking
the dead stillness.

And the four-and-twenty guests (six were
under the table in the front room, we believe,)
also exclaimed “Well!” each one modulating
the emphatic monosyllable to his own taste.

Scissleby alone, swaying to and fro on his
chair, asked in a tone of piteous entreaty —

“What they meant by looking like stuck
pigs? Was the steamer in?”

Five minutes elapsed, while Brother Caleb
and Charles Lester were closeted in close conversation
in the front room.

Five minutes were over at last, and the folding
doors were thrown open. With one impulse
the guests started forward. Brother Caleb
appeared on the threshold, very pale, but
with a smile upon his face.

And Brother Caleb, by his right hand, held
the hand of Charles Lester. Advancing into
the back room, and leading the young man by
the hand, he said in a distinct voice:

“My friends I have made a very sad mistake.
This young gentleman is the son of an
old friend of mine, and I may add, of a very
rich friend. He is incapable of a mean action.
Mrs. North, allow me to make you acquainted
with Mr. Charles Lester — gentlemen, Mr.
Charles Lester.”

The guests had not time to get fairly through
one surprise, before another took their breath,
and held them dumb.

“Wait a few moments,” whispered Charles
to the Home Missionary, and then turning to
Brother Caleb, he uttered two very simple but
emphatic words:

“Now, sir.”

Brother Caleb without a word took a silver
candlestick from the hands of Bung, and
passed through the door-way leading into the
hall, followed by Charles Lester.

“This way friend Charles,” he said, as he
closed the door. The guests were alone once
more.