"I'll tell you what I'll do, Mrs. Nelson. I'll take the _Ariel_ and sail up
to the islands and take a look around."

"Will you go this afternoon?"

"If you wish it, yes."

"I do, very much."

"Then I won't waste another minute. Maybe you would like to go along?"

"I would," returned Mrs. Nelson, impelled by a fear she could not banish.

Franchard lost no time in towing the sloop back to the boat-house. Ten
minutes later he and the widow were sailing up the lake as fast as the wind
would carry them.

It was well on toward evening when the islands were reached.

"I'll give them a call if they are anywhere about," said Franchard, and he
yelled many times at the top of his lungs.

No reply came back, and after sailing around for some time they came to
anchor beside Three Top Island.

"If they landed anywhere, they landed here," said the boatman. "So as long
as we are in the vicinity we may as well take a look around."

As luck would have it they had reached shore close to the bottom of the
cliff. As they leaped on the rocks, Mrs. Nelson gave a start.

"What is it?" cried her companion, quickly.

"Oh, Mr. Franchard, look!" screamed the poor woman. "It is Ralph's fishing
towel, and it has blood upon it!"

And as she spoke, she held up the object.

"You are sure it is his?"

"I am positive. Oh, I am sure something dreadful has happened."

"Perhaps not, Mrs. Nelson. Let us hope for the best, and search further."

Mrs. Nelson heaved a long sigh. Her heart was heavy within her breast.

The two searched around until nightfall, but nothing more was found.

At last they returned to Glen Arbor, and after another inquiry there for
Ralph, the poor widow made her way back slowly to her home.

She was all but prostrated, and all that night paced the rooms, watching
and waiting in vain for her son's return.

The news of Ralph's disappearance spread, and several parties went out to
hunt for him. Strange to say, one of the parties contained Squire Paget.

The squire went up to the islands in a private boat of his own. He remained
there probably half an hour. Then he returned and called at the Nelson
cottage.

"It is too bad, Mrs. Nelson," he said. "But I have, I am afraid, very bad
news for you."




CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE SQUIRE IN HOT WATER.


As the reader well knows, there was no love lost between Squire Paget and
the Nelsons. The squire had not treated Ralph and his mother fairly, and
they were inclined to look upon him with considerable distrust.

Yet when the squire entered the cottage with the announcement that he had
bad news to convey, the widow forgot all the past and began to question him
eagerly.

"You have bad news?" she faltered.

"I am sorry to say I have," he returned, in a hypocritical tone of
sympathy.

"And what is it?" she went on, her breast heaving violently.

"Pray, calm yourself, madam."

"I cannot wait, squire. You have news of Ralph! The poor boy has been--has
been----"

She could get no further.

"His body has not yet been found, Mrs. Nelson."

"Then he is dead!" she shrieked, and fell forward in a swoon.

Fortunately a neighbor arrived just at this moment, and this good woman,
aided by the squire, soon revived the widow. At the end of ten minutes she
sat up in a chair, her face as white as a sheet.

"Tell me--tell me all," she gasped out.

"There is not much to tell, unfortunately," returned the squire, smoothly.
"I was up to the islands in company with others, and I found strong
evidence that made me believe that Ralph fell over the cliff."

"Then he was killed!" burst out the neighbor.

"Most likely, Mrs. Corcoran. The cliff is more than a hundred feet high,
and the rocks below are sharp."

"But his body--what of that?" asked Mrs. Corcoran, for Mrs. Nelson was
unable to utter a word.

"His body must have been carried off by the current which sweeps around the
island, especially during such a breeze as we had recently."

"It must be true," cried Mrs. Nelson, bursting into tears. "I found his
fishing towel, and that was covered with blood. Oh, my poor Ralph!"

She went off into a fit of weeping, and in that state Squire Paget left her
to the attention of Mrs. Corcoran. He had expected to go into the details
of his search, but, evidently, they were not now needed.

"I guess my plan will work all right," he said to himself, as he walked
home rapidly. "It's a pity I must hurry matters so, but unless I do that
valuable piece of property may slip through my fingers."

Not for one moment did the squire's conscience trouble him for what he had
done. He thought only of the end to be gained--of the money he intended to
make.

Of course, he imagined that Ralph was really dead. He would have been
furious had he known the real truth.

But an awakening was close at hand. It came on the following day, when the
squire was at the post office.

He was standing in a corner looking over the various letters he had
received when he heard Henry Bott, the clerk, address a few words to a
laboring man who had come in to post a letter.

"Kind of mysterious about Ralph Nelson?" remarked the man, whose name was
Fielder.

"It is," returned Bott.

"Any news of him yet?"

"None, excepting that he fell over the cliff on Three Top Island and his
body was washed away."

"The widow must feel bad about it."

"Sure."

"I was going to stop at the cottage, but I must get over to Eastport."

"There's a letter just came in for Mrs. Nelson from New York," went on
Bott. "I suppose I might send it to her. It might have some sort of news
she might want to hear."

At these words the squire became more attentive than ever. Who knew but
what the letter might refer to the missing papers that the widow had
advertised for?

"Did you say you had a letter for Mrs. Nelson?" he asked, stepping to the
window.

"Yes."

"I am going down to the place. I'll take it to her if you wish."

"All right, squire; here it is," returned Bott, and handed over the
epistle.

Squire Paget at once hurried from the building, and in the direction of the
Nelson cottage. But once beyond the village proper he turned into a
by-path.

Here he stopped to examine the letter. It was not sealed very tightly, and
by breathing upon the mucilage in the back he soon managed to get it open
without tearing the envelope.

It was Ralph's letter to his mother, and for the moment Squire Paget was so
stunned that he was in danger of collapsing then and there. He staggered to
a stone and fell upon it.

"Alive!" he muttered to himself. "Alive! and the rascals said he was dead!"

He read the letter carefully, not once, but several times. He saw how
Martin and Toglet had failed twice in their efforts to take Ralph from his
path forever.

"The scamps! They knew he was alive when he boarded the empty freight car!
Why did they not come back and tell me! I suppose they expect to get that
five hundred dollars out of me at Chambersburgh! Just wait till I see
them!"

Squire Paget did not know what to do with the letter. If he destroyed it,
might not the widow hear of his having a letter for her and ask him for it?

And yet if he gave her the letter, that would be the end of the plot
against her--the whole cake would be dough.

Already a new plan to get Ralph out of the way was forming in his mind,
based on the fact that Martin and Toglet had really tried to do as agreed.
Perhaps they would make another trial, if urged on.

"I'll fix this letter business," he said.

Among his own mail had been a circular from a New York dry-goods house,
calling attention to a big midsummer bargain sale, and soliciting orders
from out-of-town patrons. This circular the squire now thrust into the
envelope which had contained Ralph's letter. To make the deception more
complete, the squire drew out his stylographic pen and went over the
address, altering the handwriting quite a little, so that it might not be
recognized.

Then, stowing away the genuine letter among his own, he walked on to the
Nelson cottage, where he left the bogus letter with Mrs. Corcoran, who came
to the door.

"I thought I would bring it along, as it might have news," he said.

Mrs. Nelson was handed the letter. She gave it a hasty examination, and
finding, to her great disappointment, that it was merely an advertisement,
she threw it aside; and thus her son's communication, upon which so much
depended, never reached her.

The squire found out that nothing could be done to further his plan just
then, so far as the widow was concerned. So leaving the cottage, he took
the evening boat for Chambersburgh.

He knew exactly where to look for Martin and Toglet, who had come down from
an upper lake town by railroad. It was in a fashionable club-house, with a
saloon attached, at which many of the sports of the city congregated.

He saw Martin sitting at a table playing some game of chance, and at once
motioned him to come out.

"What is it?" asked Martin, but his face showed that he was much disturbed.

"You know well enough," returned the squire, sharply. "Ralph Nelson is
alive and well!"

"Never!" cried Martin, in some surprise.

"It is so, and you know it," went on the squire, coldly.

"Why, he went over the cliff----"

"And escaped."

"Escaped!"

"Yes, and you know he did, for you met after that in the woods."

"It is false!"

"No it isn't, Mr. Martin. He was too smart for you, and he got away."

"Is he in Westville?" questioned Martin, anxiously.

"No; he is in New York."

"When is he coming home?"

"Never, if I can prevent it," returned Squire Paget, earnestly. "He wrote
to his mother, but I got the letter. She does not even know he is alive."

"And he is in New York?" said Martin, looking suggestively at the squire.

"He is, Martin."

"I might go down there----"

"That is what I thought."

"I can go alone. Toglet is too chicken-hearted for this business. I know he
wishes he was out of it. If he hadn't been in it from the start there would
have been no failure."

"Then go alone, but lose no time, for he may write more letters, and one
of them may slip through my hands. Now he has disappeared, I do not wish
him to be heard of again."

"But he has a friend in New York."

"I don't care for that. I do not wish his mother to hear from him, that is
the whole point."

"All right, squire. Give me time to get to the city and she'll never hear
of her boy again. There will be no failure this time."

The two talked the matter over for half an hour longer, and arranged all of
their plans. Then Martin took the first train for the metropolis, and
Squire Paget the last boat for Westville.




CHAPTER XXXV.

RALPH A PRISONER.


At the appointed time, Ralph called again upon Horace Kelsey, and was given
instructions in regard to the work he would be called on to do.

"But you had better not start in until you hear from your mother," said the
insurance agent. "She may wish you to pay a visit home before you settle
down here."

Ralph thought this good advice, and he resolved to act upon it.

"I ought to get a letter by to-morrow noon or night," he said. "And I will
wait that long. If I don't get word, I'll take the trip home anyway, seeing
as you say you will be kind enough to wait for me."

Kelsey then asked him what he intended to do while waiting, and learning
Ralph had nothing in particular in view, he advised the boy to get a
guide-book of the city and walk about, so that he might become familiar
with the streets.

"The work I have for you will take you out more or less," he said. "And it
is a great help if you understand how to get around."

At a nearby bookseller's Ralph purchased a guide-book for twenty-five
cents. He studied it off and on the entire afternoon, walking around in the
meantime. Before he retired that night at the hotel, he had taken in the
city from Fourteenth street down to the Battery.

"It's awful big and crooked," he thought. "But I guess I'll manage to get
around, especially if I keep the guide-book on hand for reference."

His first duty in the morning, even before he had breakfast, was to go to
the post office. Of course, he found no letter there for him. He inquired
at the information office about the Westville mail, and ascertained that
the next pouch from that place would be ready for delivery about three
o'clock in the afternoon.

"I'll wait for that," he thought. "And then, if there is no word, I'll take
the first train home."

To tell the truth, Ralph was growing anxious. The more he thought over the
matter, the more he became convinced that he had done wrong in not
returning home at once. He was willing to admit that the sight of the great
metropolis had proven too much for his better judgment.

When Ralph left the post office building he did not know that he was being
followed, yet such was a fact. Martin, who had got into the city but a
short while before, had been watching for him, knowing that he would most
likely call for mail. The man slunk out of sight when Ralph appeared, and
when he went out, dogged him through the crowd like a shadow.

Ralph returned from the post office across Park Row, and from there made
his way toward the East Side, as the great tenement district of New York is
termed. He had not been through this section very much, and thought to make
a tour along the East River.

Martin followed him for a distance of eight or ten blocks. Just as Ralph
was about to go past a coal yard he tapped the boy on the shoulder.

Ralph turned quickly, and was almost dumbfounded to see who it was that had
accosted him.

"What, you!" he exclaimed.

"Then I am really right!" cried Martin, reaching forth and grasping his
hand. "Thank heaven that you are safe!"

"Why, I don't understand," stammered Ralph.

He could not comprehend the other's manner.

"I was afraid you had been killed on the cars," went on Martin. "I am very
glad to see that you escaped."

"Indeed! I thought you wished me dead," said Ralph, coldly.

"Dead! No, indeed, my young friend!"

"But you pushed me over the cliff on the island."

"That was accidental, I assure you."

"Perhaps our meeting in the woods was accidental, too," and the boy could
not help sneering.

"It was all because I took charge of my poor friend Toglet," said Martin,
with an anxious look in his face. "That poor, poor fellow has caused me no
end of trouble."

"How?"

"Well, I presume I will have to make a clean breast of it. Toglet is more
or less insane. His folks do not care to place him in an asylum, and so I
offered to take care of him for a while. It was his sudden fit of insanity
that caused all of the trouble."

"What made you point your gun at me in the woods?" asked Ralph, who could
not help but doubt Martin's story.

"I wanted you to stop so that I might have a chance to explain. I was
afraid you would return home and have us arrested."

"After you pushed me over the cliff why didn't you try to find out whether
I was dead or alive?"

"Please don't say I pushed you over. It was Toglet, and directly after you
disappeared he turned on me and I had all I could do to keep him at bay."

"You don't look as if you had a very tough time with him," remarked Ralph,
bluntly.

"Luckily, I am a strong man, and I soon overpowered him. But he then got a
strange fit, and I knew I must get him to a doctor at once. So I took the
boat and left the island. If I had thought that you were still alive you
may rest assured I would not have left you behind."

Ralph hardly knew what to say. He did not believe that Martin was telling
the truth, plausible as the villain tried to make his story appear.

"You took him to a doctor's?" he asked.

"I did. Then he got away and disappeared in the woods. I had just found him
when I saw you. That is the whole story. Why, my young friend, what reason
would I have for pushing you over the cliff?"

"I don't know," returned Ralph. "That is something I have been trying to
find out."

"I had none in the world. I never saw nor heard of you previous to hiring
your boat, and I might have hired anybody in Glen Arbor for that matter."

"How is it you are in New York now?" questioned Ralph, suddenly.

"I brought Toglet home to his folks."

"Does he belong here?"

"Yes. He lives but a few blocks from here. I will tell you what we had
better do. We had better go to his home, and you can interview his folks
and make sure that I have told you the truth about him. Perhaps he will
even confess, if he is in a proper state of mind to do so."

Ralph hesitated. Martin spoke with so much apparent candor that he was half
inclined to believe the man's story concerning Toglet's mental condition.
Besides, as Martin had said, what reason could there have been for such an
attack if it was not that of a madman?

"Come on, if only to please me," urged Martin. "You will find Toglet's
mother a very nice old lady, and you will certainly believe her, even if
you will not believe me."

"You say it is but a few blocks?"

"Not more than four. Come, I will show you the way."

Martin linked his arm in that of Ralph, and together they proceeded down
the street.

Presently they came in sight of a large tenement house, although Ralph,
being a country boy, did not recognize it as such.

"Here we are," said Martin. "Mrs. Toglet lives on the upper floor."

He led the way into the hallway and up the somewhat narrow and dirty
stairs.

They passed up two flights, and then reached a floor which was not
occupied. Martin threw a quick glance around and entered an empty room, the
door of which stood open.

"They are getting ready to move up-town," he said. "This neighborhood is no
longer nice enough for them."

Ralph followed him into the room. Hardly had he done so, when Martin
slammed the door shut and sprang upon him.

Ralph was taken so off his guard that he went flat on his back. His head
struck a block of wood that lay near, and for the moment he was dazed.
Before he could recover, Martin had his hands bound with a strap he took
from his pocket.

"Make a sound and I'll choke you!" he cried, in a warning tone.

Then he struggled to fix a gag in Ralph's mouth. A fierce fight ensued, but
finally the rascal was successful. Then he bound Ralph's legs.

The poor boy was a prisoner at last!




CHAPTER XXXVI.

MICKETY TO THE RESCUE.


"That was easier done than I anticipated," muttered Martin, grimly, as he
gazed down at his young prisoner. "Now what is best to do? It's good I
remembered these rooms were empty."

He walked about the bare apartment and then paused to listen.

All was silent save for the rattle of the wagons and the shrill cries of
the playing children in the street below.

"Humph! I thought I heard a footstep," he went on. "I must be getting
nervous."

He left the apartment, and was gone several minutes. When he came back he
raised Ralph in his strong arms as if the boy were a small child.

"Now I am going to lock you in a closet for a few hours," he said, harshly.
"Don't you dare to attempt an escape, or it will be the worse for you, mind
that!"

He walked with his burden to a rear room. Here was situated, in one corner,
a large kitchen pantry, now bare of even the shelving.

Into the pantry Ralph was thrust, in a sitting position. Then the door was
closed and bolted on him. Presently he heard Martin leave the room and
hurry downstairs.

The poor boy was dazed and bewildered by the rough treatment he had
received. For some time he sat where he had been placed, not daring to move
for fear his tormentor would come back and finish his evil work.

"There is something behind it all," he thought, dismally. "Martin is doing
this for some purpose. What can that purpose be?"

Ralph did not brood over the mystery long. As the minutes passed slowly by
and Martin did not come back, the youth began to speculate on the chances
of escape.

"If I could only get free of these cords I might burst open the door," he
thought. "Let me see what I can do."

Ralph struggled manfully, but it availed him but little. He was no great
contortionist, and his efforts resulted only in a painful laceration of his
wrists and ankles. Martin had done his work well, and the bonds could not
be severed without outside aid.

Five minutes more went by--to poor Ralph they seemed an age. Then the boy
fancied he heard a light footstep without.

"Hullo! where are yer?" came in a clear but subdued voice, which Ralph was
sure he had heard before.

The cry was repeated several times. In the meanwhile Ralph changed his
position and began to kick upon the door.

"In the kitchen closet, dat's where he is!" exclaimed the voice, and the
patter of bare feet came toward Ralph's prison.

A second later the bolt on the door was shot back. A flood of light came
into the place and Ralph beheld the face and form of the bootblack he had
become acquainted with at the entrance to the post office.

"I t'ought so!" exclaimed the bootblack. "Say, he's a corker ter treat yer
dis way, ain't he?"

Then he saw how Ralph was gagged and bound, and he gave a low whistle of
surprise.

"Gee! What's dis, highway robbery?" he cried.

In a trice he had out his pocketknife and with it he cut Ralph's bonds.
Ralph himself removed the gag.

"Thank you, Mickety!" he ejaculated, as he sprang to his feet. "You are the
friend in need!"

"I seen him leadin' yer up here, an' I t'ought it was mighty queer," said
the bootblack. "Wot's de game?"

"I am as much in the dark as you, Mickety. That man has tried twice before
to take my life."

"Gee! yer don't say!"

"It is true."

"Maybe he wants ter git a fortune away from yer, like der villain in der
play."

"There is no fortune to get away--at least none that I ever heard of. But
where has he gone?"

"He went down der street. I watched him around der corner before I came up,
so as ter make sure I wouldn't be collared."

"We had best get out of here before he comes back," went on Ralph, after a
moment's thought. "I do not wish to meet him again," and he shuddered.

"All right, come on."

"What brought you here?"

"I live across der street, an' I just come home fer me grub. I kin take yer
ter our rooms if yer want ter come."

"I will tell you what I would like to do, Mickety. I would like to stay
here until he comes back, and then follow him."

"Gee! dat's der ticket. Come on right over."

The bootblack led the way across the dirty and crowded street, and into an
alleyway.

"Me home is back dere," he said, pointing to a rear tenement. "I don't
suppose yer want ter come in, if yer goin' ter watch fer dat man."

"No, I will stay here," returned Ralph.

"I'll git a bit of grub an' den come out ag'in," said Mickety.

He ran off, leaving Ralph alone. The crowd of street children looked at the
country boy, but they had seen him talking to Mickety, with whom they were
well acquainted, and they did not offer to ask Ralph any questions or tease
him, as they might an utter stranger.

In less than a quarter of an hour the bootblack was back, munching the last
of a big doughnut.

"Ain't come yet?"

"Not yet, Mickety."

"Kin I stay an' help yer watch fer him?"

"If you wish, certainly."

"He may try to do yer ag'in, an' I kin call a cop."

"That is so. Yes, stay with me, and I will pay you for your trouble."

"Huh! don't want no pay, Mr. ---- Yer didn't tell me yer name."

"Ralph Nelson."

"I ain't askin' fer no pay, Mr. Nelson. Dis sort of a job is nuthin' but
fun."

"You may be of valuable assistance to me," went on Ralph. "I may have that
man arrested. You can prove that he bound and gagged me, and locked me up
in the closet."

"Dat's so."

"I want to find out what his object is. He may----"

Ralph broke off short and pointed across the street.

"Dat's him, true enough!" whispered Mickety, as Martin entered the tenement
opposite. "Wot yer goin' ter do now?"

"Wait till he comes out."

This did not consume much time. In less than three minutes after he had
entered the building, Martin came running out. He looked greatly disturbed
and hurried down the street as fast as his long legs would carry him.

"Dere he goes!" exclaimed Mickety, in ill-suppressed excitement.

"Come on," returned Ralph. "He must not get out of our sight."

He started off, with the bootblack at his side. He looked at Mickety and
saw that the little fellow's head was about the size of his own, and that
he wore a large-brimmed soft hat.

"Let us trade hats for a while, Mickety. I can pull that down over my
face."

The exchange was quickly effected. With the soft hat bent down Ralph knew
he would stand a much greater chance of escaping detection at the hands of
Martin than before.

On went the man and his followers for fully a dozen blocks. Then Martin
turned into a very respectable side street, and, ascending the stone steps
of a large brick mansion, rang the bell.

A man came to the door and let him in. Then the door was tightly closed
once more.

"Dat's de end of dis case," muttered Mickety, in a disappointed tone.

"Not a bit of it, Mickety," returned Ralph. "See if you can hunt up a
policeman. In the meantime I will watch the house so that this man does not
get away."




CHAPTER XXXVII.

MARTIN IS TRAPPED.


Mickety at once went off to do as Ralph had requested. He was rather
doubtful about a policeman listening to his tale, but he resolved to do his
best.

In the meantime Ralph inspected the house, and wondered what sort of place
it was, and what had brought Martin there. His inspection ended in
disappointment, for nothing came to light.

Presently, however, a young girl came out of the basement of the house with
a pitcher in her hand. She was evidently a servant girl. A milkman drove
up, and from him she purchased a quart of milk.

Before she could return to the house, Ralph touched her on the arm.

"Excuse me, but I believe you live in that house," he said, pleasantly.

"I works there, sur," said the girl, in a strong Irish accent.

"Will you kindly tell me who lives there?"

"Mr. Martin Thomas, sur."

Ralph stared at this bit of information. Martin Thomas and the man he was
after were most likely the same individual.

"Did he just come in?"

"Yis, sur."

"He lives there alone, does he?"

"Oh, no, sur. There's another family occupying the house, but they are away
for the summer, sur."

"Oh. I see. Thank you."

"Did you wish to see Mr. Thomas, sur?"

"Is he busy?"

"He said he was going away, sur. He's at work packing up some things, I
believe."

"Then I won't bother him. It isn't likely that he would want to buy a new
History of the United States, is it?"

"Indeed not!" cried the girl, in deep disgust.

She at once took Ralph for a book agent, a set of men she thoroughly
despised.

"I won't bother him," said Ralph, and walked away, while the girl hurried
back into the basement.

"So he is going away," thought Ralph. "I must see to it that he does not
get very far."

He took up his position behind the stone steps of a house nearby, so that
looking from the windows of his own residence, Martin might not see him.

While he was waiting, Ralph looked up and down the street for the
bootblack, but Mickety had disappeared.

"He won't leave me in the lurch, I feel certain of that," said Ralph to
himself. "Yet I would feel easier if there was a policeman in sight."

Five minutes more went by, and then the front door of the house opened and
Martin came out.

He was elegantly dressed and wore a silk hat. In one hand he carried a
large leather valise.

He looked up and down anxiously, and then ran down the steps to the
pavement.

He started to walk down the block, and Ralph allowed him to get a hundred
feet or more from the house.

Then he stepped out and confronted the man.

"Well, Mr. Martin Thomas, we meet again," he said, coolly.

Martin Thomas, for that was really the man's name, was thunderstruck.

"What--er----" he stammered.

"I say we meet again," repeated Ralph. "I guess you did not expect to see
me quite so soon."

"Confound the luck!" muttered the man, biting his lips nervously.

"You did not expect me to obtain my freedom as quickly as I did."

"How did you get out?" muttered the man, savagely.

"A friend came to my assistance."

"A friend!" repeated Martin Thomas, with a start.

"Yes, a friend."

"Who?"

"Perhaps you can guess," went on Ralph, who wished to prolong the
conversation as much as possible.

"I cannot."

"Make a guess."

"Somebody from Glen Arbor?"

"No."

"A city friend, perhaps?"

"Exactly."

"Well, what are you going to do now?"

"Rather, let me ask you what you are going to do?" returned Ralph, warmly.

He was much relieved just then to see Mickety across the way, with a
policeman beside him.

"I?"

"Exactly. You tried your best to get me out of the way," went on Ralph, in
rather a loud voice. "And now you have failed, I want to know what your
next move is going to be."

"Hush, not so loud!" cried Martin Thomas in alarm. "Never mind what I am
going to do."

"Will you tell me why you tried to take my life?"

"Hang it, boy, don't talk so loud!"

"Then tell me your object."

"I won't."

"You will have to."

"What's that, boy?"

"I say you will have to."

"Nonsense. Get out of my way. I am in a hurry."

Martin Thomas tried to brush past Ralph, but the boy caught him by the arm.

"Let go of me, boy, unless you want me to do something desperate. You
escaped me three times, but----"

Martin Thomas broke off short, and his face turned a sickly green. He had
just caught sight of the policeman and Mickety, who were dodging behind
him.

"Why--er----" he began.

"Dat's der feller, officer!" cried out Mickety. "Didn't yer hear wot he
said?"

"I did," replied the policeman.

"Arrest this man, officer," put in Ralph. "And be careful, for he is a
desperate criminal."

"This is an outrage!" cried Martin Thomas, but he was too overcome to put
any courage in his words.

"I will make a complaint against the man," said Ralph, calmly. "This boy
will be a witness for me, and I can get other witnesses against him if it
be necessary."

"That's all I want," said the policeman. "You just come with me," he went
on, to Martin Thomas.

The rascal begged, pleaded and threatened, but all to no purpose. The
policeman held him on one side, while Ralph ranged up on the other, and
Mickety marched behind. In this order they soon reached the station-house.

Here Ralph told his whole story, and Mickety related what he knew of the
affair. Then the country boy sent a special messenger to Horace Kelsey.

The arrival of the rich insurance agent helped Ralph's case considerably.
Martin Thomas was locked up in default of a thousand dollars' bail, pending
trial for atrocious assault.




CHAPTER XXXVIII.

BEGINNING OF THE END.


"It would be a great thing if you could get this Martin Thomas to confess
his secret," remarked Horace Kelsey to Ralph, after the hearing was over.

"That is true," returned the boy. "But I don't see how I am going to do it.
He is very stubborn."

"He won't be stubborn long. He knows the charge against him is too grave.
You might intimate to him that it will go easier with him if he confesses."

"That is true, sir."

"If he is merely a tool it is nothing to you whether he is punished or not.
You wish to bring the instigator of this plot against you to justice."

"Supposing I go in and have a talk with him, then?" suggested Ralph.

"We will both go in," returned Horace Kelsey.

Half an hour later they were closeted with Martin Thomas in a side room of
the police station. They told the rascal of the object of their visit.

At first Martin Thomas would not listen to them but when Horace Kelsey
pictured the possible future to him he grew more pliable. He began to pace
up and down nervously.

"Well, supposing I own up to everything," he said, at last. "Will you drop
this case against me?"

"That depends on what you have to say," said Ralph, cautiously.

"Well, I can say this much: I was only hired for this work--I and Toglet."

"Who by?"

"Squire Paget, of Westville."

Had a bombshell exploded at Ralph's feet he would have been no more
astonished than at this declaration.

"Do you mean to say Squire Paget hired you for this work?" he demanded.

"Yes, I do. The whole scheme was his."

"But what was his object?"

"He wanted to get you out of the way."

"But why?"

"He didn't tell me why, but I reckon it was on account of some valuable
Westville property."

"It must be the property down by the lake front!" cried Ralph.

"Had he the papers for that land?" asked Horace Kelsey.

"I never thought so," returned the boy, slowly. "But he might have. He used
to transact most of father's business for him years ago."

"Then you can depend upon it that he has the papers."

"But the land belongs to my mother."

"He's going to force her into selling out to him," put in Martin Thomas.
"With you out of the way he felt sure, I suppose, that he could do as he
pleased with your mother."

"The scamp!" ejaculated Ralph, his honest eyes flashing fire. "If you have
told the truth, he shall suffer for this, mark my words!"

"And, hoping you will drop this matter against me," went on the prisoner,
"let me give you another pointer. You wrote to your mother the other day,
didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, he got that letter. Your mother never saw it."

"No wonder I haven't received any reply then!" burst out Ralph. "Did you
ever hear of anything so mean?" he added, turning to his rich friend.

"Your duty at present is plain, Ralph," replied the insurance agent,
pointedly. "The best you can do is to take the first train home."

"You are right."

"There is no telling, if this Squire Paget is so villainous, what he may
not try to do."

"You think he will not wait?"

"It is not likely. He has shown a great haste in the whole matter."

"No. Don't wait. Go home and have him locked up," put in Martin Thomas. "I
will appear against him, if you wish it."

He was willing now to do anything to save himself from a long term in
prison.

"I will go home," said Ralph. "I will not lose another minute."

"Shall I go along?" asked Horace Kelsey. "You may need some one to help you
in your fight against so influential a man as Squire Paget."

"I shall consider it a great favor," said Ralph, and he gave the insurance
agent a grateful look.

They consulted a time-table, and found that they could get a train for
Chambersburgh in an hour. This train would connect with the regular lake
steamer that stopped at Westville.

The two questioned Martin Thomas for a few minutes longer, and got what
additional information they could from him. Then they called in the jail
keeper and hurried off.

"I guess Squire Paget will be surprised when we walk in on him," said
Ralph, with a grim smile.

"He will be still more surprised when he learns that Martin Thomas has been
arrested and that his whole plot is known," replied Horace Kelsey.

The insurance agent had several small matters to attend to. But these did
not take long, and then they took an elevated train for the depot.

Fifteen minutes later, Ralph's homeward journey had begun. It was none too
soon, as the sequel will show.




CHAPTER XXXIX.

A SURPRISE AT CHAMBERSBURGH.


"I believe that one reason why Squire Paget wished to get me out of the
situation on the bridge was because he hoped thereby to force me to leave
Westville altogether," remarked Ralph, as the train sped on its way.

"Perhaps you are right," returned Horace Kelsey. "One thing is certain, he
was decidedly anxious to get you out of the way; otherwise, he would not
have hired this Martin Thomas a second time."

"I never thought it of Squire Paget," murmured Ralph, thoughtfully. "Why,
it is simply horrible!"

"There is no telling to what depths a man will sink for the sake of money,"
returned the insurance agent. "Here in the city we see it more than in the
country."

"I thought Percy Paget bad enough, but he can't be a patch to his father."

"You must be careful how you go ahead, Ralph. Squire Paget may deny the
whole statement made by Martin Thomas, and then you will have some trouble
to prove anything against him."

"I know that."

"The best thing you can do is to call on your mother first----"

"I intend to do that. I am much worried since I know she has not received
my letter."

"She may have news to tell. Who knows but what the squire has approached
her about this property question already."

"I shall look to you for advice before I make an important movement," said
Ralph.

It was growing dark, and soon it became time to go to bed on the train.
Horace Kelsey had procured berths, and both retired. But to tell the truth,
Ralph did not sleep a wink all night.

He could not help but think of all that had happened, and speculate as to
what the future held in store. Never once did he dream of the many
surprises so close at hand.

Ralph was up before any one else among the passengers. It was a good hour
before Horace Kelsey followed.

"Anxious, I suppose," smiled the insurance agent. "Well, I don't blame
you."

"There is so much at stake," rejoined Ralph. "I feel as if a fuse had been
lighted, and I was just waiting for something to explode."

"And something will explode ere long, I imagine," laughed Horace Kelsey.

It was a little after eight o'clock when the train rolled into
Chambersburgh and they alighted. Both knew the place fairly well, and
started at once for the steamboat landing.

Just as they turned a corner of the street they came face to face with
three police officers who were escorting two men and a boy to the
station-house. The men were Dock Brady and another. The boy was Percy
Paget.

"Look!" cried Ralph. "What can this mean?"

"I don't know them," returned Horace Kelsey.

"Why, that is Percy Paget!"

"Is it possible?"

"And one of those men is Dock Brady, the man who is supposed to have robbed
the Westville post office."

"Really! That is interesting!"

"I'll bet a fortune they are the three that did that job!" burst out Ralph,
excitedly. "There were two men and a boy, and this crowd is the same."

"Ask one of the officers," suggested Horace Kelsey. "Or, stop, I will do
so."

He stepped up to the little crowd, which had come to a halt at a corner,
and tapped one of the policemen on the arm.

"I wish to ask you a few private questions about your prisoners," he said,
in a low tone.

"Ask him," returned the officer; and he pointed to a quiet-looking man in
black a few steps away.

Horace Kelsey at once stepped up to the person indicated, Ralph beside him.

"We are interested in these prisoners," he said. "Will you tell me why they
have been arrested?"

"I am not at liberty to say much just now----" began the man in black.

"Are they not the Westville post office robbers?" questioned Horace,
eagerly.

"Ah! What do you know of that case?" and the quiet-looking man became
interested at once.

Ralph told him what he knew in a few brief, well-chosen words. The man
smiled.

"You have hit it on the head," he said. "They are the guilty parties. I am
a post office detective, and have just run them down."

"And is Percy Paget as guilty as the rest?"

"He was drawn into the scheme by this Brady, who is a very smart fellow.
Brady also drew in the other man, who was formerly a horse dealer in this
city."

"And did you obtain the money and packages that were stolen?" asked Horace
Kelsey.

"We recovered nearly everything. By the way," went on the detective, "did
you say your name was Ralph Nelson?"

"Yes, sir."

"I overheard this Percy Paget say how he had put a valise in your yard in
order to throw suspicion on you. I knew of that valise being found. You are
now cleared on that point."

"I am glad of it," replied Ralph, heartily.

"There is something else which may interest you. I do not quite understand
it, because this Paget boy is one of the robbers. Among the registered
letters which Dock Brady held was one sent by Squire Paget to some friend
in New York. This contained several important papers relating to some
property in Westville belonging to a Mrs. Martha Nelson, widow of the late
Randolph Nelson----"

"My mother!" shouted Ralph. "Hurrah! the missing papers have been found!"

"Dock Brady was evidently holding them to obtain money from the squire on
them," went on the man in black. "What shall we do with them? Under the law
they ought to be forwarded to the party in New York."

"Keep them until matters can be straightened out," said Horace Kelsey,
coming to Ralph's rescue. "Listen, and I will tell you where we are going,
and what my young friend intends to do."




CHAPTER XL.

THE EXPOSURE--CONCLUSION.


Let us again shift the scene to Westville, and for the last time.

Mrs. Nelson had recovered from the first effects of her severe shock
attending the announcement that her son was dead, but she was still very
weak and sick.

"Poor Ralph! poor Ralph!" she murmured, over and over again, as she sat by,
the kitchen window, while kind-hearted Mrs. Corcoran moved about doing the
simple household duties. "Oh, Mrs. Corcoran, it cannot be possible, can
it?"

"There, there, try to think of something else, that's a good dear!"
returned the neighbor, sympathetically. "It won't do any good to brood over
the matter."

"But Ralph was my only child! And his father gone, too!" and Mrs. Nelson
heaved a deep sigh, while the tears streamed down her cheeks anew.

The widow's sorrow was deep, and up to now she had not allowed herself to
think of aught else. She was alone in the world, so she thought, and did
not care how the future shaped itself.

Presently there was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Corcoran opened it to
admit Squire Paget. The head man of the village wore a look of hypocritical
sympathy upon his sharp features.

"I was just going over the bridge to Eastport," he explained, "and thought
I would drop in for a neighborly chat."

Even in this simple statement he could not put a grain of truth. He had
made a special trip to the cottage, and had come solely for his own selfish
ends.

Mrs. Corcoran bid him welcome, and offered him a chair.

"I trust you do not let your sorrow rest too deeply upon you, widow," he
went on, to Mrs. Nelson. "We all have our trials in this world," and he
gave a grunt that was meant for a deep sigh.

"How can I help it, squire?" she replied. "Ralph was all the world to me."

"So was my late wife, widow, and yet I had to give her up;" and again he
gave a grunt-like sigh.

This statement did not affect Mrs. Nelson greatly. She knew that it was a
fact that the squire and his late wife had quarreled continually, and that
many had said he had not cared at all when death had relieved him of her
companionship.

"I was wondering what you intended to do," went on the squire, after an
awkward pause. "Do you intend to stay here?"

"I do not know yet, squire."

"I should think you would want to change your surroundings. Does not
everything in this cottage remind you of your late husband and late son?"

"Indeed it does!" cried Mrs. Nelson. "Sometimes I cannot bear it!"

"If I were you I would sell out and go elsewhere," suggested the squire,
coming around to the subject that was on his mind. "Perhaps a little trip
somewhere would do you a world of good."

"It would do her good," put in simple-minded Mrs. Corcoran, who believed
the squire sincere.

"I cannot afford a trip," sighed Mrs. Nelson. "Besides--I--I--sometimes
think that Ralph may come back," she faltered.

"Never, in this life, widow," returned the squire, solemnly. "Alas! the
dead never return, no matter how much we love them."

"Sometimes they do, Squire Paget!" cried a young voice from the open
doorway, and Ralph sprang into the room. "Mother!"

"Ralph, my son!" screamed Mrs. Nelson. "Thank Heaven for its many mercies!"

And she thew herself into Ralph's arms, while the tears of sorrow were
quickly turned to tears of joy.

Squire Paget was dumbfounded. He stared at Ralph as if the boy was an
apparition.

"Is it really you, Ralph?" he stammered at last.

"Sure, an' it is, Heaven bless him!" put in Mrs. Corcoran.

"And where have you been, Ralph?" cried Mrs. Nelson, when she could again
speak.

"I have been in New York. You would have heard from me before had not that
villain stolen the letter I sent."

"Villain, Ralph----"

"Yes, villain, mother. Squire Paget is the blackest-hearted wretch in
Westville."

"What's this, and to me!" ejaculated the squire.

"Yes, to you, Squire Paget, you mean, contemptible coward!" returned the
boy, boldly. "Look at him, mother, and see him quail while I tell you of
all he has done."

"I have done nothing," faltered the squire, but he looked as if he wished
to sink through the floor.

"He hired two men to throw me over the cliff on Tree Top Island, and when
they failed, he got one of the men to follow me to New York and try to put
me out of existence there."

"Oh, Ralph, I cannot believe it!"

"It is all true, mother. Here is Mr. Kelsey, and he will tell you the
same."

"This is preposterous----" began the squire, faintly, but Ralph cut him
short.

"It is all true. The man who followed me to New York was Martin Thomas. He
is now in jail and has confessed all."

The squire tottered as if struck a blow. He tried to speak, but the words
would not come.

"And do you know why he did it?" went on Ralph. "He had the missing papers,
and wished to get hold of our property here. But the missing papers we have
found----"

"Found!"

The squire managed to gasp out the single word.

"Yes, found. They were in a registered letter sent by Squire Paget to some
friend in New York. They were stolen by the post office thieves, who are
now in custody. And, by the way, squire, shall I tell you who the thieves
were? Dock Brady, a man named Cassidy, and a boy named Percy Paget."

It was a final and telling blow. The squire fell back, pale and trembling.
Ralph faced him dauntlessly, while the others stood around, holding their
breath.

Squire Paget could not answer. He wanted to speak, but not a word would his
tongue utter. He looked about for his silk hat, and, finding it, dashed out
of the house as if a legion of demons were after him.

We will pass over the immediate scenes that followed. Mrs. Nelson could not
let Ralph leave her side for the rest of the day, and Horace Kelsey
undertook to follow the squire and bring him to terms.

But the exposure had been too much for Squire Paget. He disappeared that
night, leaving his business affairs just as they were. It was not until a
year afterward that he was heard from as living in an obscure state in a
little town in Canada.

On the strength of his confession, Ralph did not appear against Martin
Thomas, and the man got off with a very light sentence. Toglet took time by
the forelock, and fled to the Southwest.

The post office robbers were all heavily punished, although Percy Paget, on
account of his years, received a lighter sentence than his older
companions.

It was not long before the papers which had been missing were turned over
to Mrs. Nelson. Under Ralph's advice, the entire question of property was
placed in Horace Kelsey's charge.

The insurance agent was not long in finding out what Squire Paget had
intended to do with the land along the lake front. Part of it was to be
turned over to a syndicate for a factory site, and the balance was to be
cut up and sold as town lots. The plan was carried out later on for Mrs.
Nelson's benefit, and the sum of seventy thousand dollars was eventually
realized out of the transaction.

Of course this made the widow and her son the richest people in the
village. Ralph at once left off work, and took up his studies, and passed
through Yale College with high honors. To-day he is the mayor of Westville,
honored and loved by all who know him, and here we will leave him.

THE END.