True to Himself; Or, Roger Strong's Struggle for Place Part 56

"I thought I'd come over early," he explained. "I know young blood is impatient, and I half expected to find you gone."

"I didn't want to make a call before folks were up," I answered.

"Besides, I have made quite an important discovery since we parted."

"Indeed."

"Yes. Come away from this place and I'll tell you. I don't want to meet Duncan Woodward again."

And as we walked away from the hotel I related the particulars about the note-book.

"You are gathering evidence by the wholesale," laughed Mr. Harrison.

"You'll have more than enough to convict."

"I don't want to make a failure of it," I said firmly. "When I go to court I want a clear case from start to finish."

"Good! Strong, I admire your grit. Come in the restaurant, and while we have a bit of breakfast let us look over the papers. I declare, I was never before so interested in some one else's affairs."

And as we waited for our rolls, eggs, and coffee, we read the papers through carefully.

They gave much information, the most startling of which was that John Stumpy and Ferguson were one and the same person.

"That explains why Mr. Woodward made so many slips of the tongue when addressing him," I said.

"Here is another important thing," remarked Mr. Harrison; "a letter from this John Woodward stating that Mrs. Agatha Mitts knows of the forgeries. Now, if you can get this woman to testify against the two culprits, I think you will have a clear case."

"And that is just what I will force her to do," I said, with strong determination.

I could hardly wait to finish breakfast. Fortunately it did not take Mr. Harrison long to do so, and, five minutes later we were on our way to the ferry. The trip over the East River, near the big bridge, did not take long, and we soon stood on the opposite sh.o.r.e. Vannack Avenue was pretty well up town, and we took the elevated train to reach it.

"There is No. 648," said Mr. Harrison, pointing to a neat three-story brick building that stood in the middle of the block; "let us walk past first, and see if there is any name on the door."

We did so, and found a highly polished silver plate bearing the words:--

MRS. AGATHA MITTS Boarding

"Perhaps it would be a good plan to find out something about the woman before we call on her," suggested my companion, after we had pa.s.sed the house.

"There is a drug store on the corner," I said. "We can stop in there.

No doubt they'll think we are looking for board."

"An excellent idea."

We walked down to the drug store. On entering, Mr. Harrison ordered a couple of gla.s.ses of soda water and then called the proprietor aside.

"Can you tell me anything about the lady that keeps the boarding-house below here?" he asked.

"Which one?"

"Mrs. Agatha Mitts."

"I've heard it's a very good house," was the noncommittal reply.

"You know the lady?"

"She comes in here once in a while for drugs."

"May I ask what kind of a woman she is?"

"Well, she's good enough in her way, though rather eccentric. I understand she furnishes good board, however. She has kept the house for many years."

"Has she many boarders?"

"Eight or ten. She used to have more. But they were rather a lively set and hurt the reputation of the place."

Mr. Harrison paid for the soda, and a second later we quitted the place.

"Not much information gained there," said my Chicago friend, when we were once again on the street.

"One thing is certain," I replied. "She is the right party. It would never have done to have tackled the wrong person."

"I guess the best thing for us to do is to call on the woman without waiting further."

"So I think."

"She may be a very hard person to manage. Strong, you must be careful of what you say."

"I shall, Mr. Harrison," I replied. "But that woman must do what is right or go to prison."

"I agree with you."

Ascending the steps of the house, I rang the bell. A tidy Irish girl answered the summons.

"Is Mrs. Agatha Mitts in?" I asked.

"Yes, sir."

"We would like to see her."

"Will you please step into the parlor?" went on the girl, and we did so.

"Who shall I say it is?"

"Mr. Harrison," put in my Western friend.

"Yes, sir."

The girl disappeared. My heart beat strongly. It seemed to me as if life and death hung upon the meeting that was to follow.