Part 6 (1/2)
”It was not dreadful at all,” he said. ”I think, Cissie, half our troubles arise from our own selfconsciousness. We fancy people are thinking and talking about us, when in fact they are not giving us a thought; and if one does but grasp the nettle firmly, one finds that there is no sting in it.”
The next morning Roland received a letter from his mother saying that she had again heard from his father, and although he had not precisely given his address, he had given indications by which a letter could be addressed to him under a name not his own; and Roland that night sat down and wrote to him at great length. He told him that he and his mother were convinced that he was the victim of another's misdoings, and that he had determined that if it was humanly possible he would find out the guilty party; but that before he set about doing so with any chance of success, it was absolutely necessary that he should be in possession of all the facts of the case, and he implored him to write fully and frankly to him, giving him every detail, however minute, which could bear upon it. He concluded by saying:
”My dear father, I know how very painful to you the thought must be of appearing in the light of a suspected person in the presence of those who have known and respected you, but I cannot but think that it would have been better if you had made an effort and faced it out, for your innocence must sooner or later have been proved. However, for the sake of your good name and my mother's happiness, it is clearly inc.u.mbent on you now to aid us to the utmost in our effort to re-establish your good name, even if to do so you should have to come back and demand a trial.
However, this is not necessary now, and I hope never will be. But the first thing of all is for us to understand exactly what the circ.u.mstances were that have caused a suspicion of this crime to fall upon you.”
CHAPTER IV
A CLUE
A week later Roland received a letter from his father in answer to that he had written him. Its contents were as follows:
”My dear Roland,--I know that with your young heart and strong courage and a complete and happy absence of nerves, you cannot but think it weak and cowardly of me to run away instead of waiting and fighting hard against circ.u.mstances. I know as well as anyone can tell me that this is the course I should have adopted, and a score of times since I came away I have been on the point of returning and giving myself up, but each time when it has come to the point I have drawn back, and despised myself for my cowardice. But I cannot overcome it. I had an unhappy childhood under a stern father and a very unkind stepmother, and I think that any spirit I ever had was frightened out of me by the time I entered life--a shrinking, sensitive young fellow, conscious that I possessed fair abilities, but altogether unfit to fight my own way.
”For some years life was very hard to me, and my failing increased rather than diminished; and then by some good chance, certainly from no solicitation on my part, a course opened before me. I married. Your mother's firmness gave me support, and her love and goodness brought me happiness. Then when I obtained the post of cas.h.i.+er at the bank of Brownsville, it seemed that my trials were over. Although I could never bring myself to mix much with other men, I gained confidence in myself, and believed that I had grown out of that extreme sensibility which had rendered my early years so unhappy. When the trial came upon me suddenly I found that I was mistaken. The thought of standing before the world accused of theft filled me with an overpowering fear, and rather than stay and face it I should have put an end to my existence. I know that you will scarcely understand this feeling. I know that you will think it weak and cowardly. I simply say, my boy, that I cannot help it, and that I can no more withstand it than a madman can check his impulses.
”And now I have told you so much, my son, I will tell you of the events of that evening. For some days I had been low and out of sorts; a haunting sense that something was wrong had been upon me. The last clerk, before leaving, had, as usual, laid the keys on the desk beside me. I told him he could go, as I had some hours' work before me. For an hour I went through the books, and then a sudden impulse seized me. I would examine some of the securities and see that none were missing. I took the keys and went down to the strong room, a thing which I never that I can recall had done after the bank was shut; took out some large parcels of shares and bonds, and locked the doors again. I took them up with me to count in my room, and compare them with the books. I had just set to work when I heard the latch-key of the front door turn, and a minute later Mr. Johnstone came in. 'You are at work late, Partridge,'
he said. 'I saw your light burning as I was pa.s.sing. Why, hallo!' he said with a change of voice, 'what have you got all the securities up for? that is rather unusual, isn't it? Wasn't the strong room locked up before the clerks went away?' It had not struck me that there was anything strange about it, but the tone of the president's voice showed me that there was, and my old nervousness seized me as if with a sudden grip; and I have no doubt that the tone in which I explained my reason for going down into the strong room and bringing up the securities added to his suspicion. However, he said coldly: 'I am not aware of anything that should have excited your suspicions that all was not right, and induced you to unlock the strong room after the bank was closed.
However, as you have brought up some of the securities, and I have nothing to do for the next half-hour, I will go through them with you.'
”He sat down by my side, and took the book containing the lists of the securities held by the bank and I read out the number of the bonds.
'New York Centrals of five hundred dollars each.' Presently he said sharply: 'That does not tally with the book.' He ran his eye down and remarked: 'There are fifty missing here, running in successive numbers, between the last two you read out.' 'Perhaps they are out of place,' I said, and looked through the rest of the bonds, but they were not there.
'How do you account for this?' the president asked sharply. 'I cannot account for it,' I said, bewildered. 'Oh!' he said in an awkward tone, that particularly struck me. 'Here are your initials to all these figures, showing that they have been paid out. When were they redeemed?'
I looked at the book; there were my initials sure enough. The bonds had not been redeemed at all, I was certain, but there were my initials. I looked at them thunderstruck.
”'I have the highest opinion of you, Mr. Partridge,' the president said, 'but this, you must admit, has a very curious appearance. Here I find you have, after the bank has closed, opened the strong room, and have got some of the securities up here, and I find that some of them are missing, but that the book is initialled by you, so that anyone else going through it with the securities would suppose that they had been parted with in due course. Your own manner, if you will excuse my saying so, strikes me as altogether suspicious. However, let us go through some more.'
”Each bundle that we examined showed deficiencies, and although I had not brought up one-tenth of the bonds and securities, we found a deficiency of over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. When we had done, Mr. Johnstone did not make a single observation beyond briefly pointing out the numbers of the missing securities, and added: 'You see, Mr. Partridge, I have but one course to follow. The bank has been robbed of an immense amount. How much as yet I have no means of knowing. I find you here with the securities brought out of the strong room at this unusual hour. These securities were entirely in your hands, and no one touches them but yourself. You can give me no explanation of the deficiency, and in every case your initials are appended, as a proof that they have been paid out in due course. Under such circ.u.mstances it is my duty to at once give you into custody.'
”I had been getting more nervous and confused as each fresh discovery was made, and the horrible consciousness of my position became stronger.
”'I am innocent, sir!' I exclaimed; 'before G.o.d I am innocent!'
”'In that case, Mr. Partridge, you will no doubt be able to prove it to the satisfaction of the jury. In my mind I confess the matter is clear.
This book in which your entries are made is your own private property, and you keep it, I presume, in your own safe here, of which no one but yourself has a key, and it is not the sort of book that you are in the habit of leaving about. What you have done with the proceeds of the bonds I know not, but that you have taken them seems to me as clear as day. Of course the matter may be explained in some way. I hope that it will be. You have worked here with me for the last fifteen years, and I have hitherto not only had implicit confidence in you, but respect and liking. I would give anything to escape the situation in which I am placed, but my duty is clear. I must hand you over to the police.'
”'It will kill me!' I said. 'I am innocent, Mr. Johnstone, innocent as a child, but the disgrace of this will kill me!'
”He was silent for some time, and then he said: 'I am sorry for you, Mr.
Partridge, with all my heart, and still more sorry for your wife. This money, I suppose, is hopelessly gone in some wild speculation,'--I again protested, but he waved to me to be silent--'and irretrievably lost. For the sake of our long friends.h.i.+p and of the good lady your wife, I will suffer you to leave this office a free man. I will take no steps till morning. More than that, I will, if possible, keep the affair out of the hands of the police for the next twelve hours, by which time you ought to be across the frontier into Canada. I am risking a great deal in doing this, but I will do it, and I will satisfy my colleagues as well as I can. There, let no more be said. Go! and strive in future, by a life of strict honesty, to justify the course which I am taking.'
”I murmured something, whether of thanks or protest I know not, and, seizing my hat, went out into the air. Anyone who had noticed me on my way home must have thought me drunk, for I know that I staggered blindly along. Your mother will have told you what happened when I got home.
That is the tale, Roland, and it makes things look very black against me. I was at the bank late, having opened the strong room and taken out the securities. The president, coming in and finding me so employed, went through the books with me, and discovered large deficiencies in the securities, which were never handled by anyone but myself. Worst of all, in my private book, kept always under lock and key, are my initials, showing that I am cognizant of the securities having been parted with. Lastly, there is my flight and my manner against me. In answer I give my bare protest that I knew nothing about the securities being missing, and that though the initials appear indeed to be my own, that I certainly never signed them, though I own that the book was never to my knowledge out of my custody at any time, and that the safe in which it was kept was always locked up by me of an evening. That somebody has taken the securities is clear; also that somebody has got at my book and forged my initials.