Twelve Thousand Pounds

A Railway Adventure.

The hour grew late, and Mr. Brand paced his chamber in moody silence. The train had come in, but his messenger had not returned, and the merchant was troubled—troubled by a vague sort of doubt, which haunted him in spite of his faith in Lake. A staid, sober old trader of long experience had said that Lake was too young to fill the important position which he held, but Mr. Brand had never found his trust in Tom misplaced. 

Having heard rumors concerning a house with which he has extensive dealings, the merchant had dispatched Lake to London, telling him to make inquiries, and in any case to get the partners of the firm in question to settle their account. 

So Lake had gone from Liverpool to London. The time appointed for his return passed, and still he did not come. 

A lady entered, and stole to the merchant’s side. Her own sweet face was anxious, and there was a tremor in the music of her voice, as she said, “Do you think he will be here to-night, dear papa?” 

“I hope so, Mary; but it is very late.” 

“Is there no other train?” 

“Only the night express, and that does not stop except at the central station.” 

“Perhaps he will come, papa; he would not mind coming ten miles, even if he had to walk.” 

“He should not have missed the train,” said Mr. Brand, sternly; “punctuality is an imperative duty with men of business.” 

“But, papa, something may have happened to detain him.” 

“Nothing should detain a man who has given his word.” 

The fair pleader was silenced; her father was angry, and, knowing his strictness of discipline, and how inveterate was his dislike to any breach of discipline, she did not venture to speak again. 

The time dragged slowly on; Mr. Brand continued his restless walk, and Mary sat subdued and quiet, watching him. She saw that he was listening as the night express went whirling by, and from the depths of her heart there went up a prayer that Lake would come safely home. The girl loved him, would have staked her life on his truth, and knew that he was not beyond his time through any weakness or wrong. 

Two slow, weary hours passed. Mr. Brand was reading the commercial news; but for the first time in his life it did not interest him. He was thinking of the young clerk, and the heavy sum of money that would be in his possession should the London firm have paid him. And Mary, reading her father’s countenance, felt chilled and pained by the slur cast on her lover’s honesty by his suspicions; her every thought was a denial to his doubts, and, as the rapid clatter of a horse’s feet rang out, she ran to the window. 

“Look!” she said, dashing the curtain aside with eager hands; “look, papa; I said he would come—I knew he would.” 

The merchant’s stern face relaxed with a smile of pleasure; he was not emotional or demonstrative, but his daughter’s gladness pleased him. 

There were a few moments of expectancy, and then Tom Lake came in. He went straight to Mr. Brand, only noticing, with a bow, the lovely face whose glance thrilled his soul. 

“They have paid,” he said, quietly, as he placed a thick pocket-book in the merchant’s hand; “but I think we were only just in time.” 

“Indeed!” 

“There was a consultation at the banker’s before I could get cash for the check.” 

“Do you think that they will break?” 

“Hopelessly. They have given me an immense order, but it would not be wise to forward the goods.” 

“You did not hint that we had the slightest fear?” 

“No, but I was glad to get the money; £12,000 would have been a heavy loss.” 

“It would have done me serious injury just now.” 

“And yet,” said Tom, gravely, “this morning the odds were considerably against it ever reaching you.” 

“How[?]” 

Tom took two chairs, placed them side by side near the fire, led Mary to one, and seated himself in the other. He had done his duty as the merchant’s clerk, and was now Mr. Brand’s prospective son-in-law and partner. 

“I had an adventure,” he said; “I was the hero of a strange story in a ride by express.” 

Mary bent forward to listen. Tom clasped her hand in his own. Mr. Brand sat opposite [of] them, interested by the speaker’s manner, as he began: 

“When I got the check I had an idea that all might not be well, so to make sure, I presented it at the banker’s. There was, as I told you, a consultation before they cashed it, and, while the consultation was going forward, I noticed a stranger looking at me intently. I knew the man in my younger and wilder days. I had met him often at the race-course, in the billiard-rooms, and in other places more or less respectable. Now, he was changing a check for some petty amount, and was evidently astonished by the immensity of the order I had presented. I left the bank with my pocket-book full of notes, and found that I had lost the train. The next would be the night express, so I strolled into the billiard-room. There was some clever play going on, and I stood watching the players till some one challenged me to have a game. If I have one special vanity, it is in my science with the cue. I accepted, and as I did so a strange feeling, which had been growing upon me, took a sudden turn which startled me. 

“The challenge was from the man I had noticed at the banker’s. There was nothing strange in the fact of his being in the room, one of his favorite resorts, but I was possessed by the vague shadow of a single idea. I had read somewhere of a man being followed and plundered in a train, and somehow I associated the story with the man before me. It was the first time I had paid him any particular attention, but I have him full observation now. The more I looked at him the less I liked him. He was handsome, gentlemanly, with a fair form and elegant figure full of suppleness and strength. His manner was singularly unassuming, his face frank and genial, but by looking closely at him you could see something sinister-looking in the depth and softness of his eyes. 

“I never liked a stranger to be affable and prepossessing, and my friend was the very pink of affability and grace. 

“We played for an hour with alternating success. He was an amusing companion, well informed, and had traveled; but I was shy of conversation. I left him, and still having some time to spare, went to the Temple. 

“When, at the expiration of some thirty or forty minutes, I emerged into Fleet street, almost the first person upon whom my gaze fell was my late antagonist at billiards. 

“I thought there was something more than a mere coincidence in this second meeting, since we stood together at the banker’s. He was in a cigar shop opposite, but with a companion. 

“Not a hundred yards from the Temple gate stood a man whom I recognized with a very welcome feeling. It was George Vixen, the detective. 

“He was fashionably dressed, and looked an aristocrat of the first water. I went up, and greeting him as I should an old familiar friend, held out my hand, and said, ‘Come with me; I have something to say.’ 

“He shook hands in the most natural way possible. I took his arm, and entered an adjacent hotel. 

“I told him of my suspicion, told him of the sum in my possession, and of the journey I had to perform by rail. 

“I saw that, watching through the glass of the door, he was taking a mental photograph of the two men. 

“‘They mean business,’ said Vixen, quietly, ‘but I shall be with you. We must part at the door or they will see that we have scented the game.’ 

“‘And you,’ I said; ‘how will you act?’ 

“‘I will travel to Liverpool by the night express.’ 

“He left me. I had no fear now, knowing him to be a clever and determined fellow. 

“Taking a casual glance across the road, I saw my man with his companion. It was quite evident that they were tracking me, though I lost sight of them before reaching St. Paul. 

“I strolled along the churchyard, wandering nearly to Islington, then went through the city again before I made for the station. My acquaintance of the billiard-room did not come in sight, though I kept well on the alert. 

“I took my ticket, lingered almost to the moment of starting before I entered the carriage, but my man did not appear. Two men were in the compartment with me. I could not see the face of one, and the other was a stranger. 

“The bell rang. The guard had just time to put a bewildered old gentleman in by my side, and we were off. 

“The man whose face I had not seen turned towards me. 

“I could hardly repress an exclamation. There was no mistaking that frank, genial countenance, nor the lurking devil in those eyes, whose softness was sinister. 

“He had me, then, at last. Vixen had broken his promise, and I was left to travel that perilous journey alone with the man who had followed me so skilfully, another who might be his confederate, and an old gentleman who, after grumbling out his indignation against all railway servants and locomotive-traveling in general, was fast asleep in the corner. 

“That the intentions of my billiard-player were bad was manifested by the fact of his having assumed a false moustache and beard. They added to the beauty of his face, but left to his eyes that sleepy, cruel glitter that is characteristic of the Asiatic. 

“He spoke to me, remarking the oddity of our being traveling companions, and grew unpleasantly familiar. I answered him, not wishing to appear churlish or afraid, knowing that I could trust something to my own strength should the worst come. 

“We had made the last stoppage, and were rolling through the gloom, when among other topics our conversation touched on jewelry. He drew a showy ring from his finger, telling me it was a curious piece of workmanship, having a secret spring, which he said I could not discover. 

“I took it, searched in vain for a spring, and then, returning it to him, it dropped and and rolled under my feet. 

“I stooped to pick it up, and so did he; but at that moment, when my head was down, he had me tightly by the throat, and threw me to the carriage floor. 

“His confederate was upon me in an instant. I could scarcely breathe, and could not struggle, for a heavy knee was upon my chest and two strong, brutal hands were crushing the life from my throat. 

“Though the horror of the situation did not last a minute, it seemed an eternity to me. I felt the the ruffians’ hands searching for the pocket-book, and I strained desperately for a chance of resistance.  

“Their work was nearly done. Cramped in that small space, I was powerless, and the veins in my throat and head were swelling like sinuous bars, when the old gentleman in the corner awoke and came to my assistance. I heard a low whirr of some weapon in its descent, and my first assailant reeled from me, stunned. Then the old gentleman, with a strength and rapidity of action wonderful to see in a person of his age, seized the scoundrel, lifted him away, and dashed him down on a seat. 

“There was a brief struggle, and then I heard a sharp click. Scoundrel the second had a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. 

“‘They were more prompt than I had expected,’ said the old gentlemen, removing his woollen comforter, with which he fastened my first assailant’s hands behind him, ‘and a railway carriage does not afford much scope for a struggle.’ 

“The pocket-book was safe. The ruffians were securely bound, and the old gentleman, who, without his spectacles and muffler, stood out in bold and pleasant relief as the detective, kept guard over them. 

“At the station they were handed over into the custody of the police. I was all right by that time. Vixen rode with me as far as the hotel nearest here, and tomorrow he will call to see if I am any the worse for my ride by express.” 

The contents of the pocket-book were Mary’s bridal dowry. 

The detective speaks of the senior partner of the firm Brand & Lake as the most hospitable and generous man he ever met in the course of his professional career.