Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 June 1892 — Hearts of Gold OR THE HEIRESS of- MAPLE LEAF FARM [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Hearts of Gold OR THE HEIRESS ofMAPLE LEAF FARM

CHAPTER XIV. “SOMKTtIISG UP!" Ralph Prescott awaited the effect of his words with eager triumph. He counted on frightening his enemy by betraying a knowledge of‘his affairs—by threatening to employ that knowledge to cause him serious trouble. He had miscalculated his man, however. Paul Dalton, the farm superintendent, had been a problem to him in the Dalton, the heartless seeker after wealth, was no less an enigma. He had started slightly at Prescott’s revelation, but that was the only evidence of internal emotion that he betrayed. A ouol, derisive smile on his sneering lips, he laughed jarringly. “Oh! you’ve found that out, have you?" “I have,” retorted Prescott, angrily, nettled at his failure to abash his foe. “And that would be your first move?” “Yes, it would.” “Bigamy, I believe you said?” “Yes, and an ugly word it is in the ■oountiy courts, I can tell you. It ain’t like your city divorce courts, and bribed juries, and corrupt judges—it’s the unbought, indignant verdict of honest men. ” “Like you and I—eh, Prescott?” jeered the other. “No!” fairly ohoked the plotter, driven to the verge of uncontrollable rage by * the tantalizing audacity of his companion, “farmers and—millers.” “So,” purred Dalton. “Very good. Quite a joke, Prescott, ” and he placed his hand familiarly on Prescott’s shoulder, while the latter started as if stung by a serpent. “Well, that will be move one, eh?” “Yes, it will.” “Bigamy?” “I said it.” “It won’t work.' “Won’t it?” “No. I see move one, and checkmate it.” “Do you?” “Yes. I silence all that babble with a letter I have in my pocket.” “From who?” “Never mind that, but it shows that Isabel, first wife of Paul Dalton, died •exactly two months before Paul Dalton married wife number two. Come on, Prescott. ” With mock friendly familiarity, as if they had been brothers, comrades, all their lives, Paul Dalton locked arms with his companton. The latter was a smoldering volcano ■of passion. Chagrin, disappointment, rage seemed to consume his soul like the blast of a red-hot furnace. The stony-hearted man at his side little dreamt of his peril. Had Ralph Prescott been armed he would have struck his victorious foe his death-blow then and there, made half frantic by the stinging taunts that fate seemed to award him at every new move he made. Oh, it was maddening! This man was a demon, a trickster in magic. He escaped scot-free from nets that would enmesh and destroy an average man. He let others plot, bided his time, and appeared at a critical moment to put out his hand and pluck the rich fruit before him, while the schemer gnashed his teeth in impotent rage. Rather dragged along than led, Ralph Prescott was forced to accompany the man who seemed to be the master of his fate. As in a dream, he found himself, ten minutes later, seated in the library of Lawyer Drew’s house, with Paul Dalton opposite him, smiling blandly. “Thought I might want a witness,” spoke the latter. “It’s no use, Pres--cott; I won’t fight with you.” Lawyer Drew, prim, severe and keen--ey#d, entered the room a minute later. “Good evening, Mr. Prescott; good •evening, Mr.——?” “Dalton.” The lawyer started, and stared sharply at the last speaker through his goldrimmed eye-glasses. “Ah! yes, ”he said slowly and dubiously; “Mr. Dalton—Mr. Paul Dalton. I see—l see. The legatee of my client, Mr. Geoffrey Forsythe. I believe I have seen you at Maple Leaf farm?” “Once or twice,” assented Dalton, carelessly. , “I would not have known you.” “I have changed, I suppose. ” “Remarkably.”“Well, beggary makes a man wear a mask of humility sometimes,” was the bare-faced admission of audacity. “You know my business, Mr. Drew?” “I can surmise it.” “I come about the Forsythe legacy. I believe the old gentleman left me quite •a sum.”“Yes. In cash and securities, it aggregates some $50,000.” “I want it.” The lawyer looked grave. He did not like this young man with his flippant eyes and aggressive ways. “I presume you are aware that a transaction of this importance and magnitude cannot be consummated in an hour?” he remarked.' “I don’t see why not,” interrupted Dalton impatiently. “It was left to me, •wasn’t it?” “Yes, to Paul Dalton.” “And I am Paul Dalton.” “I won’t deny that. I can remember your face well enough for that, and Mr. Prescott, of course, knows you, and Mr. Elliott.” “Certainly, air. 80, if I am the heir I expect the money. ” “Very well; I will consider this a formal demand and expedite matters as much as possible. There are certain forms to obey, certain papers to execute. Come again in a week. Meantime, if your necessities are pressing ” “They are,” bluntly admitted Dalton. “I will advance you some money. Bow much—fifty—a hundred?” “Two hundred will do.” The lawyer took out his check book. “In a week, then?” said Dalton, as he folded up the bit of paper. “Yes, we shall be ready for you then.” All these proceedings Ralph Prescott watched with lowering brows. He saw money that he had expected to handle given freely to another; he saw

BY GENEVIEVE [?]LMER.

an almost utter stranger to Geoffrey Forsythe as claimant of his fortune. Oh, it was maddening, hate-inspiring. The decrees of fate were cruel, unjust! “Say, Prescott, I want to cash this check,” said Dalton, as they left the lawyer’s honse together* ”Ca6h it, then," growled Prescott. “Come, don’t be wrathy. I may throw a few hundreds in your way yet. I bear you no ill-will. ” “Shouldn’t think you would, seeing that you’ve got all the plums in sight.” Dalton smiled complacently. “That’s my good luck,” he remarked. “Come; get the check cashed for me. I've gat a friend I'm to meet at the hotel to-night, and I need ready funds. Keep out a tenner for your trouble." It suddenly dawned on Prescott that he could gain nothing by sullen animosity; much, perhaps, by playing the sycophant. He led the way to his old friend, the tavern-keeper, explained the situation, and got the money, for Lawyer Drew’s check was as current as gold coin in Ridgeton. He watched Dalton indorse it with a flourish, and then, his glance falling to the name, his eyes bulged. “Hello!” he ejaculated forcibly. Dalton handed him the promised ten dollars, but Prescott was strangly lost in reverie. “I’ll see you again, Prescott,” ho said. “Suppose I’ll have to call around on Ruth soon. Pretty busy for a week or so, though, so if she gets better tell her I came, but was called away again. I’ve a friend to meet. See you again.” Ho passed from the tavern as he spoke. Jaunty, self-possessed, the sleek, successful knave, if there over was one, voted Ralph Prescott. The latter scratched his head thoughtfully. He stood for some moments like a man in a dream. He was thinking of Lawyer Drew’s check for two hundred dollars, and Paul Dalton’s indorsement on it. “What does it mean?” he muttered, as he too left the tavern. “Something’s up! What? Why, Paul Dalton has even changed his handwriting!”

CHAPTER XV. unmasked! Something’s up! Ralph Prescott described the situation in that terse expression. There was something up, to a certainty. Something dark, mystical, suspicious. But what? He had made a new discovery—that even the handwriting of Paul Dalton had changed; but what of that? A man noting a part for two years might, upon resuming his original identity, have changed his appearance, manner and handwriting back to the real from the false, and emerge as different into his new existence as a butterfly from a chrysalis. He was always “discovering" something, and every additional discovery generally resulted in disaster for himself. He had set out to sweep his enemy from the field by a simple plot, and had only succeeded in precipitating a climax that had richly benefited that, foe and impoverished himself. Still, plotting was like drinking—fascinating, cumulative. Once in the swim, to put it tritely, the victim plunged deeper and deeper into the labyrinths of crime. Besides all this, things looked queer. He could not imagine Paul Dalton so eminently heartless and insensible to the rare beauty of Ruth Elliott as to utterly ignore her and prefer wealth to her love, when he might have both. “I’ll keep him in view a bit, if only for curiosity,” soliloquized Prescott. “He said he was going to meet a friend at the hotel. I may learn something by watohing them." To the hotel, therefore, Prescott took his way. He passed by the open doors and glanced in, but caught no sight of the man he sought. Through the window of the smokingroom, however, opened to admit the fresh air upon the tobacco-smoke tainted atmosphere of the apartment, he made out Paul Dalton and a stranger. They occupied..the room alone, and, tilted back in chairs, sat conversing animatedly. "* Prescott had become quite an expert shadower of late, and he was soon lurking near the window. Distinctly on his hearing sounded the conversation of Paul Dalton and the black-bearded man who was his companion. “So you could not make it, Paul?” the the latter°was asking, in a disappointed tone of voice. “Not all of it; but what’s the odds?” “A week’s the odds!” returned the other; “and a week sometimes changes the destinies of nations.” “It won’t change mine,” asserted Dalton, confidently. “You don’t know that?” “Oh, yes, I do. Here’s the plain facts of the case: PaQ Dalton falls heir to a fortune. Paul Dalton appears and claims it.” “Proceed.” “He is accepted as heir, rightfully and undisputed. Very good.” “But the side entanglements?” “The girl?” “Yes.” “She’s sick. May die. Sick enough anyway, to be out of the way for a week.” “That’s good.” “By that time fortune and Paul Dalton will have disappeared. ” “But her father?” * “Won’t even look at me if he saw me, and this simpleton of a Prescott I can wmd about my finger.” “Can you?” ground out the enraged listener. “Well, everything looks all right,” remarked the bearded man. “Of course it’s all right,” spoke Dalton with convincing emphasis. “We get the fortune, leave and enjoy it. ” “And after we’re gone?” “Let these people figure out the cost of being too sure of a man at their own leisure.” “It will be a surprising awakening to reality,” smiled the other grimly. “Paul, about him ” “You mean ” “S—st. No names. Him. What of him?” “He’s safe and sound, isn’t he?” ■ “For the present.” “For a week, surely?” “Yes; but afterwards?” “Unlock the door, say ‘Go!’ We’ll be safe and far away by the time he comes here. ” “All right. Ah! thank you. A hundred? I need it. No instruction?” “Yes, get back to Black Rock, and stay there. Watch him close. If he escaped ’

“Don’t fear, he won’t." “It would mean ruin to our plans." “I realize that as well as you. I guess I’U go.” “Very good. I'll take a look at the rich girl, just for policy’s sake. Then I’ll try and devise a way to kill time until the lawyer’s ready to pay me my fortune.” “What does it mean?” Over and over again the marvelling Ralph Prescott asked himself the question. Here was a plot, beyond the peradventure of a doubt—here was mystery. Who was the bearded man? A fellowconspirator? In what? A plot. A plot for what? The fortune. But why? The acknowledged, proven and accepted heir to the legacy, why should Paul Dalton plot to secure that which was already his? Above all, who was the man so mysteriously and covertly alluded to? “I can’t make it out!” muttered the dazed Prescott. “I’ll find a way!” he asserted stubbornly, a few minutes later. “Black Rock! At that place this accomplice of Paul Dalton makes his headquarters, and a gruesome, desolate place it is. There he has him. I’ll drive there tonight, and take a look around. No, I won’t. Dalton spoke of going to see Ruth. Out of sheer curiosity I’d like to see how he acts when he does meet her.” Prescott left his place of espionage and hurried back to the former home of Geoffrey Forsythe. He met the woman In charge of Ruth at the door. “How is she?" he asked, concernedly. “Wandering—delirious at times, then rational. She sits up every now and then, looks around her confusedly, and then with a wild shriek, covers her face with her hands, and cries out wildly that her heart is broken that her husband is false! false! false!” “A man will call here in a few moments," spoke Prescott; “show him in when he comes. It is her husband, Paul Dalton.” The woman looked startled. “And leave him with her alone for a few moments,” went on Prescott. “If she recognizes him, he may be able to quiet her.” “AH right, Mr. Prescott.*" Prescott proceeded to the apartment adjoining that in which Ruth lay. He placed its door slightly ajar, so he could look into the sick-room, and see and hear all that was going on. There was a ring at the door bell, and a parley a few minutes later. The woman ushered Paul Dalton into the sick-room and left him there. Curiously the watcher in the next apartment regarded him. He was surprised, to note a timidity, a frightened look on the face of his rival. The latter advanced to the couch and glanced down at Ruth. Then he started back quickly. “Paul!" Springing up suddenly, Ruth Elliott with staring eyes transfixed the intruder. Fascinated by the weird manner of the invalid, he seemed utterly overcome. “Paul!” gasped the tortured girl, “you have come back, and—changed! Paul! Paul! I know all. .You deceived me. You were wedded to another." Her visitor seemed nervously anxious to leave the room, but he managed to articulate confusedly: “No, it is not true. I was wedded once, but she, my wife, diod, and ” A shriek interrupted him —ringing, echoing, appalling. As he spoke, Ruth Elliott had started. Not upqn his words did her interest hang, but upofi that strange, Changed tone. Viewing him as if she would read him through and through, she cried wildly: “He is not false. Oh! I see it all, Paul Dalton! The mystery, the secret he spoke of. Stay! I command you to remain where you are.” The man absolutely cowered. Amazed at his craven fear, the watohing Ralph Prescott could only stare and marvel. “He is true, my loyal love,” went on Ruth, excitedly. “I know it now; I divine the mystery now. Ralph Prescott was only mistaken, but you, im-. postor—l read your craven soul! ” White as 4eath, the Intruder recoiled, for Ruth, leaning toward him, projected the thrilling words: “Speak, ere I call for help to unmask you! I know what you are. not what you seem! Speak, imposter, coward, perhaps murderer! What have you done with ray husband —the real Paul Dalton?” [TO BE CONTINCEtJH