Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 37, Number 102, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 August 1905 — THE DIAMOND RIVER [ARTICLE]

THE DIAMOND RIVER

BY DAVID MURRAY

CHAPTER VIII. The inquest on the body of the murdered man was held in due course, and ft suited the police authorities to keep Utoir own counsel. Mr. Joseph Taylor was not publicly supposed to be under restraint when he failed to identify the nemains. The error of Mr. George Johns «s to the man's personality was-shown to be due to the fact that the fugitive dad adopted the name of the elder Jeth»e. No awkward questions were opened, and the jury were satisfied that the deceased was an absconding swindler. A verdict of "•‘willful murder - ’ against some person or persons unknown was returnad. and there the public interest in the ease came to an end. The inspector had arranged to make himself aware of Mr. Taylor's every movement, but it was not his cue to say so, and he was almost apologetic when he parted with that gentleman. “People don't like being mixed up with these unpleasant affairs, I know,” said the inspector. “That's n common experience. We see it every day, I can assure you. But then, what a greenhorn's trick it is to run away! You see. now, If our inquiries hadn’t enabled us to acooant for all your time since you've been here, you might have drawn suspicion an yourself, Mr. Taylor, and have got into no end of trouble. Good-by. sir.” So Mr. Taylor departed, and thought himself well out of a very dangerous position, and the police shadowed him night and day. Believing that he had no further reason, for evasion, he .stayed on; and as any uneeevqned man might do, he made casual acquaintances, who came and went. He made one acquaintance of aather more than the casual sort in the person of a simple country gentleman who came from Indiana. This gentleman had recently inherited what- he described as a “tidyish bit of niunny,” and, being strange to the city, was very grateful to a man of the world, like Mr. Taylor, for being kind enough to shepherd him. He was not wi tji any portion of the "tidyish bit.” but lie paid bis share, 'and he treated Mr. Taylor with great, respect, and had the highest opinion of his knowledge of men and affairs; so that, in spite of his yokel simplicities, Mr. Taylor began to think him. within a limited measure, a rather discerning sort of fellow. They went about to the theaters in the evenings, frequently the second best places, and when Mr. Taylor encountered an acquaintance, as be sometimes did. the gentleman from Indiana always made a point of effacing bimself, unless he were actually pressed to join in the conversation. “I never saw such a retiring chap,” said Mr. Taylor on one occasion. “You •eem to shrink from people. Why don’t yon buck up a bit more?” “Well,” said the gentleman from Indiana, who answered to the name of Fielding. “I like to be sure my company’s wanted before I thrust it upon Anybody.” “That's the right spirit, of course,” Mid Mr. Tnylorl "but you can carry it to excess.” But Mr. Fielding was not to be cured of his shyness, although it turned out that when there was need for it he could show as bold a front as any man. He and Mr. Taylor had been close chums for something more than a fortnight when this occasion offered itself. The two were ni the promenade at a theater, and were walking from end to end in casual conversation. when Taylor suddenly cheeked In his speech, and his companion, glancing at him. saw a look of lowering displca sure and of something like alarm upon his face. “Hilio!” said the gentleman from Indiana. "What's the matter?” “Nothing,” returned Taylor gruffly—“nothing at ail.” , “Come, now, there's something,” said jfielding. “Look here, candid's my mot to. Mr. Taylor. Have yon got the same Sdea as I have. I wonder? “How should I know?” asked Taylor rather shiftily. “Well, now,” pursued Fielding, “it oeems t ome that I'm a-meeting a certain party once or twice too often.” “I don't know what you mean,” said Taylor. His face was mottled, and he looked about him with a furtive keenness. “Well, then. I’ll tell you,” Fielding an•nrered. "We’re both more or less strangers here. We're both carrvin’ a tidyish bit o’ munny about with us, an’ perhaps we’ve flashed it about a bit too much.” “Well?” asked Taylor, with a slight ■nsteadinoss in voice and breathing. “Well,” said Fielding, “I'll bet ten to ane that chap's a sharp. I'll deal with Sim. He hasn't been watching us two tor a week for nothing. Leave him to rae. now.” “No. no!” cried Taylor, “don't make m row iu a public place like this. You're ignite right. I dare say—in fact. I'm sure you're right. Rut forewarned'* forearmed, you know. We can take care of ■mrselves.” “I’m goin' to take care of ’im,” said Fielding; “come along.” He mude an imperative little sign to Taylor to follow, hut that gentleman prebrrrcd to stray behind him slowly and to watch his companion as ~e walked swaggacingly toward the door. There the aaan from Indiana reached out a walking aftlcfc aud tapped a lint at arm's length fcaai him, with much more vigor than pafiteness. The wearer of the lint turned with a face of wrath and amazement, wtocfc fell in a second to a ludicrous eonrimqation. “I want you. ' said Fielding. “Come tin way.” He took the man by the ans astd lad him unresistingly toward Yriyloe. “D'ye know this gentleman?” -be ratio si: The atni» snkl “No.” He looked crestrialni and ashamed. He said "No” again wtoai l>c wars bullyingly asked if lie knew KaftKng: “TsTl know it* both in future." said tor aatn from Indiana. “And I shall lass jwii L'U mark you, too. If I catch «*«*riaiig after me again. Hook it, wsa!* Book it; your game's over.” The mam marie a move to go. "It’U take a waMrterrhup than you to play that job,” male the triumphant Fielding. “Bend a riheerrr band next time.” Sat a word had the detectsd person

to say for himself. He went, and seemed genuinely glad to go. “Eh?” said Fielding, squaring his shoulders. “It didn’t take long to fix his flint, did it?” Mr. Taylor could barely make shift to say. "Thank you.” It had been growing in his- mind for a day or two- past to think that he was being followed by the man whom his comrade'had just so effectively got rid of, and it comforted him to believe that no authorized police spy would have permitted himself to be swag* gered' over by a rustic outsider, as this fellow had been. But he was naturally a nervous man. and the unexplained way in which he had been switched hack on his journey to Cincinnati made him subject to alarms. ;The poor man’s conscience was clear enough of offense. He had done nothing lnit deliver a message with which lie had been intrusted. He had been promised a handsome reward if he succeeded, by the emphatic presentation of-that message, in bringing certain people together. In a manner entirely mysterious to him, his errand had been associated with bloodshed, a thing of which he had a natural horror. But innocent as he was, lie was easily alarmed. and, but for his Indiana friend's unexpected protection, he would have begun to think Very seriously of cutting short him holiday and taking the quickest way home. They supped together and went to their hotel together, and Mr. Taylor retiring to bed rathfr early, his comrade quietly strolled nejoss to Central station, where'The inspector on duty hailed him familinjJy „.as "Jim” and asked him if things were livening up at all. "Fairish.” said the man from Indiana. “I'd like a private five minutes with you.” The inspector, assenting, led the way to a grimly official little apartment. “That cove you lent me,” Said Mr. Fielding, “has got about as much sense as a carthorse. My 111411 spotted him. and I had to pretend to take him for a sharp and pick a quarrel with him for following us about.” “Oh!” said the inspector, “lie's been here. Says he was over-anxious. I dressed him down, of course; but he'll do in time. He’s new. you know.” “Well. I hope lie's properly ashamed of himself,” the other answered. “I don’t want him any more. Let me have a man as knows his business next time. But what I’m here about is this —this man Taylor seems to have had a fair scare already. There’s three men after him.” "Oh,” said the inspector. "What for?” , "For news. They're badly in want of the whereabouts of Jethroe senior. Taylor came home aboard same ship with him. Taylor took that threatening message to him, aud only found the old man's nephew. Now, that chap Edgecome took old Jethroe's name, and was like him to look at. Edgecome was done for in mistake for Jethroe. That's how you read it. ain't it?” “That's how I-read it,” said the inspector. "Up to now that’s my opinion also. Now. if we're both right, there’s a pretty square likelihood of the men 'who are after Jethroe being the men who laid out Edgecome.” •- “Yes,” said the inspector, carefully cleaning his nails with the end of a broken lueifer match; “I should take that for a moral.” “Well, we're on their trail, and they’re trying to get on Jethroe’s. So am I. I don't care who gets there first.” “You know ’em?” asked the inspector. “I’ve had a word with all of ’em,” said Mr. Fielding, with a quiet smile.

CHAPTER IX. =Jethroe the elder, in a wild storm of wind and rain, was being driven in a dog cart along a country road. He was heavily clad against the weather, and was in need of all eys wrappings, for the storm blew up bitterly from the lake. He hail been silent for an hour, and his driver had been just as taciturn. The wheels alternately droned and splashed on rock or through mire, and the horse in the shafts slogged along with an occasional shake of the head, as if in protest against the stinging rain. “Much farther?” Jethroe asked at last. • “Yonder,” said the driver, pointing forward with his whip. Jethroe made out a group of houses in a hollow, all shrouded with the rain, and a minute later the wheels were rattling noisily over a cobbled pavement. The driver pulled up in front of an inn, which, though of modest dimensions, had an' sir of cleanliness and comfort, and Jethroe, dismounting cumbrously. shouldered a big brown canvas traveling bag and entered at the door. “When you've had the horse seen to,” he said, turning as lie reached shelter, “come in and get some dinner.” The man nodded with an answering grunt of acceptance, and. turning his horse through a gateway, disappeared. “House!” Jethroe shouted—“house!” The rain dripping from his mackintosh had begun lo make a pool about his feet, when at his third call a red faced man opened the ddOr and peered at him. “Wasn't expecting nobody to-day,” he said cheerily. “I'd fell asleep afore the tire. I'll take your bag. sir.” “Let me have a private room,” said Jethroe, “aud light a fire. Bee what I can have to eat. And—tell me —how far is it from here to Dr. Monboddo’s house?” "A matter of a mile,” said the landlord; “but. as it happens, the doctor’s in the kitchen at this minute.” "This way?" asked Jethroe, pointing to the doorway from which the landlord bail emerged. At the man's answering nod lie cast off his dripping mackintosh, tossed it on a chair in the hall and entered the room. A great tire glowed on the hearth. A shabby, ponderous man. with loose lips and a blotchy face, nnd a noae of ruby and amethyst and carbuncle, was sipping at a glass with a relishing look, holding the heavy tumbler caressingly in both hand*. He looked casually at the newcomer and went on sipping. “How d’ye do, Monboddo?” asked Jsthro*.

The Hhnlous doctor stared. “Excuse me." he said, with a pomp- 1 (Sus, husky rumble in his voice, “I think yoiihave the ad vantage of me. .sir."— He fumbled short-sightedl.v about the table and found a pair of spectacles, aud, setting these astride that danger signal of a nose lie carried, stared anew, with winking, watery eyes. “Come, now.” said Jethroe, “you haven’t forgotten me?” “I don't remember to have had the pleasure of meeting you,” the doctor answered. “Come, now,” said Jethroe; “it is a longish time hack, but you haven’t forgotten your old companion in Brazil.” "Bra—Brazil!” said Dr. Monboddo. 11 is flaming complexion paled and his big under lip began to shiver like a shaken jelly. : - “Exactly." answered Jethroe. cheerily, “I've traveled on purpose to meet you, doctor! Ah! here is the landlord. Bitter day. isn't it? Storm outside. Snug little country inn; roaring tire; kettle singing on the hearth. Quite Diekensj'J' isn’t it, Monboddo? You and 1 are going to make an evening of it. How about dinner. landlord?” “Loin o’ pork?” said the landlord, inquiringly; and, meeting with a nod of ape proval, went on: “Apple tart, bit o’ cheese an’ salary.” “Excellent!” Jethroe answered boisterously. “Couldn’t do better —eh, doctor? Let me know when that fire has burned up. landlord!” cried Jethroe. "I want a quiet chat with my old friend here.” “I've lit it a'ready.” Said the landlord. “Shall us see about the dinner now?” “At once, please.” * ■ The driver of the dog cart came stamping in at this juncture. Jethroe sat kjly gazing at the fire, smiling now and then, as if his own thoughts tickled him. The doctor sipped and shot wondering glances at him. The fire rustled, the wind roared in the chimney, ail eight-day clock ticked, and not a word was spoken for half an hour. The landlord returned to say. that the-sit-ting room -was warm and comfortable, and Jethroe, with a sudden return to his boisterous mood, marshaled Monboddo into it. “Now, doctor.” he said, as soon as the two were alone again, “haven’t you made me out .yet?” “I—l don’t recall you, sir.” "My name is, for the present, Jones. Remember that, will you? Bo long as I stay here —Jones. But” —he drew a card case from his pocket, and took a card from it —"that is the name by which you used to know me.” Monboddo took the Card with a shaky hand and glanced at it. His fiery face paled again, and his under lip again began to tremble. "I remember now,” he said, handing back the card and fumbling for a handkerchief —“I remember now.” “Of course you do,” said Jethroe quietly. “Now listen to me, Monboddo. I am here to put a bit of business in your way. But, toll me. how is business?” “Bad,” said Monboddo. “The district is healthy, and I am not what I was — not what I was.” “I bring you luck.” said Jethroe. “Now listen.” He had spoken in a carefully modulated voice, from the moment at which the landlord had closed the door behind him. but now he sank his utterances to a mere murmur, and dropped his speech word by word into his companion's ,oar. “It suits me for the present to disappear —you understand? —to drop right out of life, to have it universally believed that I am dead.” Monboddo drew back, and looked at him in a sort of terror; but Jethroe took him by the shoulder and returned him to his old position. “I want you to kill me —on paper. I want a medical man's certificate of the death of Harvey Martin Jethroe. Now, name your price.” “I cant do it.” said Monboddo, in a' husky whisper; “it’s felony.” “Well, so is bigamy, for that matter, Jethroe whispered back, “and so is forgery.” (To be continued.)