Edward Stratemeyer - A Young Inventor's Pluck - or, The Mystery of the Willington Legacy

"So don't cry, my dear girl," added Mrs. Snitzer, sympathetically. "It vill come out all right by der end;" and she took one corner of her clean gingham apron and wiped the tear-stained cheeks.

"Where is the-the jail?" asked Deb presently, in a low voice.

Mr. Snitzer described its location.

"You don't vas going there!" exclaimed the German woman.

"Yes, I am," declared the girl, resolutely, with a sudden, strong look in her beautiful eyes.

"But it vas a terrible bad blace," Mrs. Snitzer ventured to remark.

"I don't care," replied Deb. "I won't mind going where Jack is. I must see if I can't do something for him."

Deb ran up stairs. Her heart was full of fear, and beat wildly.

She exchanged her wrapper for a suitable dress, and arranged her hair. As she was adjusting her hat, there was a knock on the door, and thinking Mrs. Snitzer had come up, she bid the person enter.

"Ah, just in time, I see!" was the exclamation, made in Mr. Hammerby's voice.

Deb's face clouded even more than before.

"Oh, dear, you here?" she ejaculated in vexed tones.

"Yes; on hand, as I always am," replied the agent, removing his hat. "I suppose you are ready with the rent?"

"No, I haven't the money," replied Deb. Somehow it was all she could manage to say.

"Your brother was unable to raise the amount?"

"He hasn't had time to try."

"I'm sorry, but as I said before 'business is business,' and I'll have to serve the notice," and drawing a paper from his pocket, Mr. Hammerby handed it over.

It was a regular notice drawn up in due form, demanding that in three days they quit the place.

Deb read it, but in her excitement did not notice that the avaricious agent had dated it one day back.

"And must we leave in three days?" she faltered.

"Most assuredly-unless you raise the cash."

"But where will we go?" continued the girl hopelessly.

"That's for you to decide," was the answer. Mr. Hammerby had gone through so many "scenes," as he termed them, that the evident suffering of the person he addressed did not affect him.

"But we haven't got anywhere to go," burst out Deb.

"Well, that's not my fault, is it?"

"No, but-"

"Then it's pay or leave," was the cold reply.

"What's up now, Mr. Hammerby?" asked a quiet voice from the hallway.

It was the nephew of the tool manufacturer who had come. His name was Monteray Gray-the Monteray being generally shortened to Mont. He was a young man of twenty, and kept the books for the shipping department of the tool works.

"What, Mr. Gray, is that you?" exclaimed the agent, taken back at the sudden interruption. "Oh, it's only the same old story of no money for the landlord," he added.

Mont looked at Deb. He knew both her and Jack very well.

"I am sorry to hear it," he said, with a pained face.

"It's all because of the shut-down at the factory," explained Deb, who, for a purely womanly reason wanted to set herself right with the young man.

In a few short words she made him acquainted with the situation. Involuntarily Mont's hand went down in his pocket, and then he suddenly remembered that he had no money with him.

"See here, Mr. Hammerby," he said, "you had better take this notice back. There is no doubt that you will get your money."

"Can't do it," replied the agent, with a decided shake of the head.

"But my uncle would never consent to having them put out," persisted the young man.

"Mr. Gray's orders are to give notice to any one who doesn't pay," returned Mr. Hammerby, grimly; "I'm only doing as directed."

"But this is an outrage!" exclaimed Mont. "My uncle virtually owes Mr. Willington twenty odd dollars, and here you intend to put him out for a few dollars rent."

"You can see your uncle about it, if you wish. I shall stick to my orders."

"Then you won't stop this notice?"

"No."

"Very well," replied Mont, quietly.

"I'm hired to do certain things, and I'm going to do them," continued the agent. "Besides, I just heard this morning that this fellow is locked up for setting fire to your uncle's house. I should not think that you would care to stick up for him," he went on.

"But I do care," returned the young man, with a sudden show of spirit. "He is a friend of mine, and I don't believe him guilty."

"Humph! Well, maybe. It's none of my business; all I want is the rent, and if they can't pay they must leave," said Mr. Hammerby, bluntly. "Good morning," he continued to Deb, and without waiting for more words, turned and left the apartment.

"I am sorry that my uncle has such a hard-hearted man for his agent," observed Mont to Deb with a look of chagrin on his face.

"So am I," she replied, and then suddenly; "Oh, Mont, Jack is-"

"I know all about it," he interrupted. "I've just been down to see him. He gave me this note for you," and Mont handed the note to Deb.

Jack hardly realized what arrest meant until he heard the iron door clang shut, and found himself in a stone cell, scarcely six feet square, with nothing but a rough board upon which to rest.

He sat down with a heart that was heavier than ever before. The various misfortunes of the day had piled themselves up until he thought they had surely reached the end, and now, as if to cap the climax, here he was arrested for the burning of a place that he had worked like a beaver for two hours to save.

He wondered how Mr. Felix Gray had come to make the charge against him. He could think of no reason that could excite suspicion, saving, perhaps, his rather hasty words in the tool manufacturer's library the afternoon previous.

"I suppose he thinks I did it out of revenge," thought the young machinist; "but then there are men-like Andy Mosey, for instance-who have threatened far more than I. Guess I can clear myself-by an alibi, or some such evidence."

Nevertheless, he chafed under the thought of being a prisoner, and felt decidedly blue when Deb entered his mind. What would his sister think of his absence, and what would she say when told what had happened?

"Maybe I can send her word," he said to himself, and knocked loudly upon the door.

The watchman was just asleep on a sofa in an adjoining room and did not hear him.

Failing to attract attention in this way, Jack began to kick, and so vigorously did he apply his heels that he awoke the sleeper with such a start that he came running to the spot instantly.

"Can I send a message home?" asked the young machinist.

"Not till morning," was the surly reply; "is that all you want?"

"Yes. Isn't there any way at all?" persisted Jack. "I have a sister who will worry over my absence."

The man gaped and opened his eyes meditatively.

"You might if you was willing to pay for it," he replied, slowly.

"I have no money with me," replied Jack, feeling in his pockets to make sure.

"Have to wait till morning then," was the short reply, and the young machinist was once more left alone.

He was utterly tired out, and in the course of half an hour fell into a troubled slumber, from which he did not awaken until called.

"Some one to see you," were the watchman's words, and the door opened to admit Mont Gray.

Mont was a tall, thin young man. He had a large brow, deep, dark eyes, and a strangely earnest face. He was quiet in his way, attended punctually to his office duties, and was on much better terms with the hands at the tool works than his uncle had ever been. He was the only son of Mr. Felix Gray's youngest brother, who had died a widower some twelve years before-died, some said, and put out of the way, others whispered. That there was some mystery connected with those times was certain. Rumor had it that Felix Gray had crowded his brother out of the business in which he originally owned a half share. This transaction was followed by Monterey Gray's sudden disappearance. Felix Gray gave it as his opinion that his brother had departed for Australia, a place of which he had often spoken.