Part 22 (1/2)

”Yes, Ben, gone!” and the mother wrung her hands in despair.

”Do you mean to say Ward Porton dared to come here and impersonate me and get them?” cried Dave.

”It must have been that fellow, Dave. He looked exactly like you. That is why I just asked you if you had been to our house.”

”I have been with Ben and the others since we went on our sleigh-ride,”

said our hero. ”This is terrible! How did it happen?”

”Come into the house and I'll tell you all about it,” answered Mrs.

Ba.s.swood. Her face was drawn with anxiety, and all could see that she was suffering keenly.

”And how is father?” questioned Ben, as the party trooped up the piazza steps and into the house.

”He isn't so well, Ben, as he was before you went away. Oh, dear! and to think how easily I was duped!”

Dave had told Was.h.i.+ngton Bones to wait for them, and, entering the parlor of the Ba.s.swood home, the others listened to what the lady of the house had to tell.

”Your father had just had another bad turn, and the nurse and I were doing what we could for him when the door-bell rang,” she began. ”I went downstairs, and there stood somebody that I thought was Dave. I asked him into the house and he at once wanted to know how Mr.

Ba.s.swood was getting along.”

”When was this?” questioned Ben.

”This was two days ago, and just about noon time.”

”Two days ago!” repeated Roger. ”Then Porton must have come here right after leaving the hotel in Lamont. How ever did he get here?”

”Maybe he took that train that got through from Pepsico,” answered Phil. ”You remember we heard that quite a few people made that train.”

”Let us hear about the miniatures,” broke in Ben, impatiently.

”Well, he came in, as I said, and asked about Mr. Ba.s.swood's health.

Then he told me that he was in a great hurry--that a certain famous art critic had called on Mr. Wadsworth, and, having heard about the Enos miniatures, was very anxious to see them. He told me that the art critic had thought of coming over with him, but Mr. Wadsworth had said that it might disturb Mr. Ba.s.swood too much to have the miniatures examined in our house. The art critic did not want to become s...o...b..und in Crumville, so he was only going to stay until the four o'clock afternoon train. The young man said Mr. Wadsworth wanted to know if we would allow him to take the miniatures over to the Wadsworth house, and that he would bring them back safely, either that evening or the next morning.”

”Oh, Mother! didn't you suspect it might be a trick?” questioned Ben, anxiously. ”You knew how this Ward Porton has been impersonating Dave.”

”Yes, yes, Ben, I know,” answered Mrs. Ba.s.swood, again wringing her hands. ”And I should have been more careful. But you know I was very much upset on account of the bad turn your father had had. Then, too, the young man threw me off my guard by asking me if I had one of those cards which Dave had distributed among the storekeepers--the one with his autograph on it.

”I said 'no,' but told him I was very well acquainted with his handwriting. Then he said he would write out a card for me, adding, with a laugh, that he wanted me to be sure he was really Dave. He drew a blank card out of his pocket and turned to a table to write on it and then handed it to me. Here is the card now;” and, going to the mantelpiece, the lady of the house produced it.

”One of the cards that I left in the overcoat that was stolen!”

exclaimed Dave. ”He didn't write this at all, Mrs. Ba.s.swood. That rascal stole my overcoat and some of these cards were in it. He simply pretended to write on it.”

”Well, I was sure it was your handwriting, and that made me feel easy about the fellow being you.”

”But you knew I was with Ben and the others on the sleigh-ride,” broke in Dave.

”Oh, I forgot to state that when he came in he explained that you were all stormbound at the hotel in Lamont and that, as the telephone and telegraph wires were all down, he had managed to get to Pepsico and reach Crumville on a freight train, doing this so that we and the Wadsworths would not worry, thinking the sleighing-party had been lost somewhere on the road in this awful blizzard.”