The evening world. Newspaper, December 17, 1904, Page 7

WHO WAS JOHN PENDLETON? “You may t'ink dis a queer street and so it Is,” said Dr. Solaro, aa he helped the yosng lady out of the carriage and they entered the strange thoroughfare with its rows of second-hand stores. “They are all poor people ‘round here, but hon- est enough,” Gertrude Etheridge was staring about her with some amazement. “I live here from choice," said the doctor, who seemed ® think that some explanation was necessary. “I can reach the poor people. Dey would never come near me if [ did not live among dem, and to be of use to de oppressed is wherefor I live.” He delivered these high-flown sentiments with great gusto, as though he really regarded himself as a benefactor of the down-trodden and oppressed, but some- how the girl did not feel that he was sincere. But she consented to enter the house and let Mrs, Solafo show her into a tiny upstairs room. Was her father going to leave her all alone on this, her first night among strangers, In a stranger house, she wondered, He was not treating her aa kindly as she thought her upfortunate position demanded, and the tormenting question arose again her mind, what if her mother’s catimate of him had a basis of truth? ‘Well, whatever he was, she owed him the duty a daughter owes to a father, and she must pay the obligation to the bitter end. She was just considering whether sho sould rap on the floor to summon Mrs. Solaro to inquire after her father and the aggage when the sound of the doctor's voice in the hall without drew her to the door “There is no light.” No sound. She is ng doubt asleep,” she heard the doctor aay. “And it is the best thing she can do. feafly, Tam so unused to having @ young woman on my hands that I don't know what to do with her,” was the reply. Her father’s voice! So he had come already to feel that she was a burden, She had hoped that the father would in a measure atone for her mother’s loss, and already he found her in the way. She felt the need of consolation, so rose and left her room, walking in the direction of the voices. She groped her way along the hall in the dark and through an open door into a dark room, Then she became fear-stricken lest her father might blame her for thus intruding on him, As he and the doctor started to return along the outer hall toward the room In which She was, she slipped behind a heavy curtain until they should have passed, To her chagrin they entered the room, lighted a lamp and sat down. CHAPTER IV. An FEavesdr.pper. ELL, it ain't likely you'll have to go trough such troubles again. 46 \ ; It ain't every day a man loses a vife."’ remarked the doctor with “ 4 long suck at his pipe, “But I tink you are not too tired to talk a leetie businegs, eh? You mentioned to-day what I was to have aa the price for what I was expected to do, I tink since you have 80 moch money you should atill pay it. It was not my fault that J could not carry out the contract. It was only that I arrived a few hours too late, I dare say I might have made dat sum and more if | had been villing to sell you out.” “Now,” said Etheridge, resuming his place on the corner of the table, “hav- ing exchanged compliments, as we always must when we meet, let us falk sense. It was a mistake for me to let you know that I was able to pay any one such a Marge sum as $5,000, and you naturally come to the concivsion that I am rich enough to become your banker whenever you want to draw on me. Well, I muy come in for some Money some day, but I don't propose that much of it shal! And | its way into your pocket. That is, unless it is for value received. You need not look so grumpy about it, I have something on hand that will put a considerable sum to your credit if It is worked right.” “Anything to do with the old business?” asaed the doctor, “And if it is?” “Den I have nothing to 46 wit’ it,” shaking his head vigorously. “Oh, come, you are getting a littic too wary, you old fox,” Jaughed Etheridge; “am I not to be equally involved with the rest? Now here we have an almbst sure thing which I should not engage in if there was the slightest risk. You see, I don’t have to now, This is simply in tho cause of art, But, there, as soon as I have things arranged to my satisfaction I'll preeent the question aguin and unless you want to throw a chance to maky a smal fortune away you'll join us.” “And your daughter, Vot of her?’ and the doctor suddenly changed the sub- Ject. “Eh, what's that?" and George Etheridge seemed for a moment surprised. “Your daughter, did you forget dat you had one?” burating into a laugh that was like the croak of a frog. “Oh, vot a fine famfly man you are, to be sure!” raiging his lean hands with a supplicating gesture toward the ceiling. “Vot do you mean to do wit her?” “Well,” said George Etheridge slowly, “she must remain here until I can find her a home. It would never do for her to be alone in a hotel, and just now I don't care to make a public character of nvyself.” “Oh, how modest, when it was but a few weeks—you was !n dat affair and run away in a dress sult.” . “Never mind about that,” interrupted the other impatiently, about rehearsing the past.” “Yes, | understand.” “But I think It will be to your interest to join us. Having given you this hint it would look suspicious If you were to fight shy of the affair, it might ap- pear you had motives, that you Intended to turn traitor.” With this” significant warning George Etheridge made a mocking bow and strode out of the door, slamming It behind him, He had scarcely disappeared from view when Dr, Isaac jumped to hig feet and shook hia bony fists in rage in the direction his departed guest had taken, while his red-rimmed eyes snapped with fire, “Thief! Rogue! Jailbird!” he hissed in a shrill whisper that penetrated every corner of the room, “and you tink you shall treat me like a tog? I vill stant it no more! I vill never have peace ontil I bave sent you where you can do me no harm!” He let his handg fall and then brought them together softly while he looked around the room with a smile and moved his lips softly together as if tasting some delicious morsel, “Yea,” in a husky whisper, “his time has come and It will be old Isaac, de mummy, de petrifaction, that will send him out of sight,” and he broke into a cackling laugh and went oul the door shaking with merriment, * # . - . . . . Meantime Sam Pendrick, taking advantage of Pendleton’s absence from home, had gecretly entered the Marshfield house and now stood in the very room where the shooting had occurred. He lighted a candle. “Hello!” at the sight of a portrait on the wall. “This must be a photograph of Pendleton, Give him a few years more, and a beard, and he would look the very image of that rogue, the coiner.” He took a small tintype out of his pocket and lifted the picture down from the wall, Adjusting his glasses, he compared them long and carefully, Then he laid the big portrait aside with a sigh. “So all my worry has ended in a bottle of smoke. It was the resemblance between these two men that startled me when I met Pendleton the other day in the street. And no wonder. A few years’ different in ages, and little more. 1 wonder if they were of the same blood. Uspleasant it must be to have such a rascal resemble you.” “Never mind by which he eat and carelessly ran over a sheaf of papers that he found laid bia hand on his revolver and then, as the sound was repeated, he stooped over, blew out the light and, slipping down into the chair he had just vacated, waited silently in the dark for what migtt follow. A man stealihily entered and said in a rough whisper; “Oh, I know you're there, al right. Nico way to receive a friend, ain't 4? You know me, don’t you? Billy Higgins is a name you st/ll remember?” “That's right.” echoed Pendrick in a muffled voice, at a loss what to say, for he was thinking hard. “So yer name's Pendleton now, I hear, and ye've turned respectable?” con tinued the man. “Oh, yes,” replied the detective, as he moved forward and, feeling the edge of the table under his hand, quiekly struck a match and Ut the candle that stood there, “Quite respectable, Mr. Billy Higgins.” At the aight of the detective's lean face with Ks quiasical smile the visitor rose and lurched back against the wall with a mu.tered sound of wonder and amasement. “I don't say | am going to make things disagreeable for you if you follow my instructiona,” said Pendrick, “and I'll tell you that this man Pendleton had noth- ing to do with my being here fo-night. Iam going to give you a chance to save your neck, though, if you will help me to trap him.” “Will you now?" asked the other, his eyes glistening, his rough face at once becoming more cheerful. “But it is not here tuat you will have to look for bim if you want to find him,” sald the detective, ‘He seems to have satisfied every one that he is John Pendle ton, and I don't want to be made a fool of. Look at that portrait on the wall,” he _ said, pointing to the photograph that had excited his own interest. “Take it down and lopk at it well, and tell me who you believe that te be.” “Weill, I'n."— “Is that your former friend, the bushranger?’’ “Like enough to be his shadder, on'y now ye come to peek inter it, he's a mite younger.” He laid the portrait down and ran a red hand through his tangte of wild hatr, “And this ia?" “John Pendleton.” “Well—well—well!" staring at the picture again. doubtfully. “You see, you might-be mistaken, and for that reason 1 want you to find thia Pendleton in New York He seems to be acquainted with Dr, Solaro—you know, of River street. Make friends with him if you can; anyway, never lose alight of him. I'll do what I can to help you." ~ ,. ’ . . , * . Gertrude Etheridge had no very clear idea how she found her way back to her room after the meeting Letween her father and Dr. Svlaro, The stormy Interview she had overheard, the covert allusions and veiled threats had made her see fn their true light the kind of men into whose hands she had fallen. Early next morning she scribbled a note to Richard. Mre. Solaro’a face seemed kindly and she seemed to dislike Etheridge, So Gertrude, relying on in- tuition, took the woman into her contidence, Mrs. Solaro eagerly agreed to de- liver the note, If only to spile Etheridge. Mrs. Solaro slipped out of the room. “The poor thing has a lover—she has written him good-by, and all because she thinks her duty lies with that there wuthleas father of hers. Though she don't appear to be none of hig blood she must hev been changed at birth. Richard Draycott, Westminster Buildings, Madi- son avenue,” she read the inscriptions. “I know she has giv him up. I wouldn't be a woman if IT couldn't read that in her face.” She had reached the lower floor when suddenly tte letter was taken stlentty out of her hands. “IT was just going out and I will mail it for you,” eaid a chuckling voice at ber elbow. Dr. Soluro in his black suit, which made him, with his hatchet face and long sharp nose resemble a raven, stood smiling before her. He thrust the letter in his pocket. “By the way, you need not take any more letters from dot young gel onless f know it. See!" and with a significant look he adjusted a tall crepe-bound hat on his bald head and, swinging his ebony cane, disappeared in the direction of the slreet door. Mrs. Solaro watched him go with a frown on her face. It did not last long before a smile chased tt away. “That letter will neve reach the man, but stop in the doctor's pocket ‘leas he burns it up. They mean to shut her off from the out-ide world. Lat ‘om! I got that young man's name and address, and I'll let him know where she ls to be found!" CHAPTER V. A Flight for Life. ° HAVE some hope now, old man,” said Richard Draycott, cheerily. “If $6 they have not utterly disappeared off the face of the earth I shall soon have news of them.” John Pendleton, who had just dropped in to pay his young friend a visit in his rooms in the Westminster Bulldings, looked surprised. “IT have juat engaged a wonderful man to do the business for me, You may know him by reputation, He holds a sort of semi-official position in the police department, and rejoices in the homely name of Samuel Pendrick.” “I'm afraid | must go,” replied Pendleton hastily. “I've an engagement.” “It's that scoundrel of a husband who is the causé of ail the trouble,” exclaimed the young man, bringing his fist down on the table with a bang that set the glasses dancing. ‘He is the sole reason for their taking flight. Oh, but I should like to come up with that gentleman and have an Interview with him for a few minutes,” “Mrs, Evherkige might not make up with this rogue of a husband. Stranger things have happened. Where would your wife be then? No, if I were you I would obey her instructions, invest the money at once, as she ordered.” “IT never looked at it in that light. I'M think it ove?,” said Draycott. ‘There is @ great deal of reason in what you say. Drop in to-morrow, and we will have another (alk about it.” Pendleton seem rather disappointed, but he tried not to show it. “I have him secure,” muttered Pendleton, when he found himself in the cor- ridor, ‘A little more eloquence on mry part and I ought to nail the transection. But the ground is getting slippery under foot end I must look out or there will be a fall.” Here he jostled with a man who bad come up so silently that he hag fot no- Uced his approach. In the darkness of the private hail H was difficult to what sort of an individual it was who had collided with him, He was a little man and passed quickly, without paying any heed to Pendieton’s muttered apology. He app:oached the door of Drayvott's apartments and for a moment Pendle- ton, moved by curiosity, stood looking back. Then the door opened and he saw Drayoott appear in the light and say pleasantly: “What, Mr. Pendrick, you don't mean you have news for me already? How I wish you'd dropped in sooner; there was a friend of mine here I should have liked you to meet.” * Then the door closed behind them and Pendleton was alone in the gloom of the ball again, “Phaw!" he ejaculated, emitting a long whistling breath. ‘The entrance of this man—this meddler in our affairs, may ruin everything. What must be done muat be done quickly,” and he went down the stairs with a grave and perturbed (ace, . + ‘ ‘ . . . . ” . . . Gertrude Etheridge had found no opportunity to warn her father, as she in- tended against the doctor's threats, for the simple reason that since that night, his true character had been revealed to her she bad not seen him. One night as she was falling asleep a sharp ory from below stairs eturtied and left her shivering with unknown fears. Ghe drew near the door and out, A hoarse whistling sound as of t2bored breathing came from below, a dragging, shuffling noise, like some one far spent struggling up the steep 3 La to run back and close the door againat this panting thing that was drag itself up to her, but she could not find strength to move from the t of moontight from the hall window streamed in the direction of presently into Its rays something lurched upward—a man—and al- dothes were torn and mud-stained, ther returned to her again! ," he murmured, as she helped in danger. I have a shot in my~my arm. They will aphiha ait ree i ze yi my to his feet. “My life is here presently, Oh, Ger.