|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 16
"Mr. Holcombe," interrupted the other, earnestly.
"Sir," replied the visitor.
"Mr. Holcombe," began Allen, slowly, and with impressive gravity, "I
do not want any words with you about this, or with any one else. I am
here owing to a combination of circumstances which have led me through
hopeless, endless trouble. What I have gone through with nobody knows.
That is something no one but I can ever understand. But that is now at
an end. I have taken refuge in flight and safety, where another might
have remained and compromised and suffered; but I am a weaker brother,
and--as for punishment, my own conscience, which has punished me so
terribly in the past, will continue to do so in the future. I am
greatly to be pitied, Mr. Holcombe, greatly to be pitied. And no one
knows that better than yourself. You know the value of the position I
held in New York City, and how well I was suited to it, and it to me.
And now I am robbed of it all. I am an exile in this wilderness.
Surely, Mr. Holcombe, this is not the place nor the time when you
should insult me by recalling the--"
"You contemptible hypocrite," said Holcombe, slowly. "What an ass you
must think I am! Now, listen to me."
"No, _you_ listen to me," thundered the other. He stepped
menacingly forward, his chest heaving under his open shirt, and his
fingers opening and closing at his side. "Leave the room, I tell you,"
he cried, "or I shall call the servants and make you!" He paused with
a short, mocking laugh. "Who do you think I am?" he asked; "a child
that you can insult and gibe at? I'm not a prisoner in the box for you
to browbeat and bully, Mr. District Attorney. You seem to forget that
I am out of your jurisdiction now."
He waited, and his manner seemed to invite Holcombe to make some angry
answer to his tone, but the young man remained grimly silent.
"You are a very important young person at home, Harry," Allen went on,
mockingly. "But New York State laws do not reach as far as Africa."
"Quite right; that's it exactly," said Holcombe, with cheerful
alacrity. "I'm glad you have grasped the situation so soon. That makes
it easier for me. Now, what I have been trying to tell you is this. I
received a letter about you to-night. It seems that before leaving New
York you converted bonds and mortgages belonging to Miss Martha Field,
which she had intrusted to you, into ready money. And that you took
this money with you. Now, as this is the first place you have stopped
since leaving New York, except Gibraltar, where you could not have
banked it, you must have it with you now, here in this town, in this
hotel, possibly in this room. What else you have belonging to other
poor devils and corporations does not concern me. It's yours as far as
I mean to do anything about it. But this sixty thousand dollars which
belongs to Miss Field, who is the best, purest, and kindest woman I
have ever known, and who has given away more money than you ever
stole, is going back with me to-morrow to New York." Holcombe leaned
forward as he spoke, and rapped with his knuckles on the table. Allen
confronted him in amazement, in which there was not so much surprise
at what the other threatened to do as at the fact that it was he who
had proposed doing it.
"I don't understand," he said, slowly, with the air of a bewildered
child.
"It's plain enough," replied the other, impatiently. "I tell you I
want sixty thousand dollars of the money you have with you. You can
understand that, can't you?"
"But how?" expostulated Allen. "You don't mean to rob me, do you,
Harry?" he asked with a laugh.
"You're a very stupid person for so clever a one," Holcombe said,
impatiently. "You must give me sixty thousand dollars--and if you
don't, I'll take it. Come, now, where is it--in that box?" He pointed
with his finger toward a square travelling-case covered with black
leather that stood open on the table filled with papers and blue
envelopes.
"Take it!" exclaimed Allen. "You, Henry Holcombe? Is it you who are
speaking? Do I hear you?" He looked at Holcombe with eyes full of
genuine wonder and a touch of fear. As he spoke his hand reached out
mechanically and drew the leather-bound box toward him.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|