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Read Ebook: The Detective's Clew: Or The Tragedy of Elm Grove by Adams O S
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Ebook has 2505 lines and 78104 words, and 51 pages
The Detective's Clew
THE SECRET SERVICE SERIES--NO. 14.
A Monthly Periodical,
DEVOTED TO STORIES OF THE DETECTION OF CRIME.
The Detective's Clew:
OR,
THE TRAGEDY OF ELM GROVE.
"OLD HUTCH."
Table of Contents.
THE DETECTIVE'S CLEW.
THE BROTHER'S MESSAGE.
The little steamer Neptune plowed through the water, sweeping past lovely scenes of green verdure and jutting rocks, almost making her passengers regret that their journey's end was so near. And, in truth, the approach to Dalton did form a most delightful close to a journey of some forty miles from one of the principal cities on the New England coast. The trip could be made by rail, but the Neptune had been fitted up by a company of enterprising men, who offered comfort and pleasure in opposition to speed and dust. The project succeeded well, the little steamer receiving its fair proportion of passenger traffic.
On she sped, cutting the water cleanly, and rapidly drawing near the wharf.
Two young men stood on the deck in a position where they could best view the town. One of them was a trifle below the medium height, but his form was well proportioned, and his features indicative of individuality and character. His complexion was rather light, and so was his hair, but his eyes were black, deep-set, and luminous. He had a frank expression, which was marred, however, for the moment by a look of uneasiness and a shade of sadness.
His companion was a fair sample of the young American of the present day. He was a trifle taller than his companion, well built, with brown hair and blue eyes, a dark mustache overhanging a well-cut mouth, erect in carriage, deliberate in his motions, his general appearance designating him to the casual observer as a "man of business." You would naturally feel that he would be equal to any emergency--that his self possession would not be likely, even under trying circumstances, to desert him. Very different in this respect was he from his companion, who was plainly excitable, and whose total "make-up" suggested that he might not at all times be master of himself.
The latter spoke:
"I don't know how my uncle will receive me, Leonard," he said. "I almost tremble at going into his presence."
"Nonsense!" said the other. "I should not tremble at all. All you have to do is to tell your story, and then, if he doesn't behave himself, quietly bid him good-day."
"Ah, I know that would be your way," was the reply, "but I could not do it. He is my father's brother."
"Yes, and a model brother, too. His course has entitled him to so much respect that I should think you would be considerate of his feelings."
The tone was impatient and ironical.
"But I am here for reconciliation, you know. They have been like strangers so long--never holding any communication with each other--and on his dying bed my father enjoined me to go to him and tell him how it all came about--how Geoffrey Haywood produced, by his lies and misrepresentations, an estrangement between two brothers that had always been so fond of each other. They were both passionate, and neither would seek explanations. Haywood was cool and calculating, and knew how to approach both of them."
"And Haywood now lives in Dalton?"
"Yes; he still keeps on the right side of Colonel Conrad, and, I suspect, owes all his prosperity to his influence and aid."
"When did your father discover that Haywood had been the means of the feud?"
"Nearly a year ago. His health was at that time poor, and he was unable to leave Europe, where he was traveling. He wrote to his brother, but the letter came back unopened. My father never grew better. He thought that, if I could see my uncle and lay the case before him, he might go down to his grave without the old hate rankling in his heart."
The youth grew excited, and paced up and down the deck. Then he continued:
"I am to see this savage monster--this irate beast, as I have learned to regard him--and run the risk of hearing the memory of my father reviled, and his name insulted. It seems as if I could not bear it. His living face is yet too fresh in my memory. But the mission is intrusted to me, and I must fulfill it. I will tell him the facts, and my duty will have been done."
Leonard Lester looked upon his cousin as he spoke, and smiled a pitying smile.
His eyes proclaimed the truth of what he said.
Leonard Lester and Carlos Conrad were distant cousins, and cherished a strong regard for each other. Carlos was the son of Anthony Conrad, who, years before, had married a Spanish girl. Her dark beauty had won the affection of the American, and they had lived together ten years, when she died. The only fruit of the union was a boy, whom they named Carlos. He inherited the warm and voluptuous nature of his mother, and the firm and stable, though somewhat passionate, character of his father. And there was within him a vein of delicate sensibility, peculiarly his own, which added to the refinement of his nature, though it might at times render him weak and irresolute. A considerable portion of his life had been spent in Europe, near the home of his mother, and in other portions of the Continent.
His father had died but a few weeks before the time at which this chapter opens, and had charged Carlos with a mission which, as we have seen, he was about to undertake.
Leonard Lester was connected with a large importing house in New York. He had been abroad on business for the firm several times, and had met Carlos in Paris, Vienna, Berlin, and other places. The cousins seemed to gravitate toward each other, and a warm affection sprang up between them.
On this occasion they were going together to the residence of Anthony Conrad's brother, Colonel William Conrad, whose home was in the suburbs of the beautiful village of Dalton.
The steamer bumped against the dock, making everybody give an involuntary pitch forward, and was soon fastened to her moorings. The plank was thrown out, and the passengers thronged ashore.
Leonard and Carlos stood looking about for a moment, endeavoring to decide which way to turn.
"Shall we go to a hotel?" asked Leonard.
"Yes, by all means," quickly responded Carlos. "We will not intrude on his hospitality until we know what our reception is to be."
"It will be all right, I will venture," said Leonard, cheeringly. "If you have proofs of what you are about to say, he surely will not be so unreasonable as to turn you off."
Carlos sighed, but did not reply, as they stepped into a hack. They were driven rapidly through the lively streets of the busy village, and conveyed to a hospitable-looking hotel. A pleasant room, which commanded a fine view of the ocean in the distance, was placed at their disposal.
After an hour's rest and a good supper, they approached the hotel clerk, Leonard saying:
"I believe that Colonel Conrad is a resident of this place?"
"Yes, sir, he is," replied the clerk.
"Can you inform me where he lives?"
"He lives on his place--Elm Grove--about a mile out of the village."
"In what direction is Elm Grove?"
"Straight north, on this street--Main street it is called."
"Thank you."
And the cousins stepped aside.
"I wonder what they can want of ?Colonel Conrad?" mused the clerk, staring after them.
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