CHAPTER XXVII

TOM OSTRELLO’S STORY

On the following evening, at exactly seven o’clock, an old man came to the depot at Sidham and met the incoming train.  He was rather feeble in his movements and hobbled rather than walked to meet a man who came in with a portfolio under his arm.

“Excuse me, but is this Mr. Granby?” he asked in a quavering voice.

“That’s my name,” said the new arrival, with a slight start.

“How are the sketches getting along?  I hope you are making a good picture of my daughter.”

“Very good, I think, sir.  If you will come to my room, I will show you my proof.”

“All right, sir,” answered the old man.

The two men left the depot, and crossing the roadway, walked to a hotel on the next block.  They ascended to the third floor and made their way to a fine apartment in the front.  Here the door was locked, the curtains drawn, and the gas was lit.  Then both men removed wigs and false whiskers, and there stood revealed Charles Vapp and Adam Adams.

“You are on time, I see,” said the latter, as he dropped into an easy chair and lit a cigar.

“Yes, I was lucky enough to get your telegram directly after it came in.  The trail took me near the office and Frank passed it to me.”

“What of the man you have been following?”

“He is looking for you.”

“Do you know the reason?”

“Yes.  He has had several talks with Letty Bernard, and she has advised him to speak to you, and tell you everything, whatever that may mean.  The girl told him that you could clear him.”

“Humph!  She takes a good deal for granted.  Anything else?”

“Do you know that Margaret Langmore has disappeared?”

“So I heard, less than an hour ago.”

“They say she ran away to escape trial.”

“Perhaps so, but if she did she was out of her head.  It is too bad, for it complicates matters.”

“By your telegram I see that you want me to turn to something else,” went on Charles Vapp, after a pause.

“I do.”  Adam Adams drew a long breath.

“Charley, wonderful things can happen in twenty-four hours.”

“I know that, Adam.”

“Last night I was doomed to die.  I was in the hands of one of the worst band of evil-doers I ever ran across.  They drew lots as to who should slay me—­just as the Anarchists draw lots to kill one who has been marked by them.”

“And you escaped?”

“If I hadn’t I shouldn’t be here.  It’s a long story.  As luck would have it, the foul deed fell to the lot of a fellow known as Number Four.  He was a weak-kneed chap, and I had previously spoken to him about getting caught and imprisoned, and I said I would befriend anybody who would befriend me.  He was to shoot me, tie my body in a bag with rocks, and sink me to the bottom