Warren sheaf. [volume] (Warren, Marshall County, Minn.) 1880-current, 1896-05-07
passerby, however, you are. dead man

passerby, however, you are dead man
on the word. Go on.
The rest of the way was made in
silence. Scott was close upon Derwent's
heels when he mounted the marble steps
of his stately mansion and turned the
latch key. Within all was quiet. the
wretch had counted on this; it was we'll
past. midnight. The gentle radiance
of the soft lights, the warm air of the
elegant house almost overpowered him,
but Derwent heard the click of the pis
toll in his trembling hand and pushed
open the library door.
$50 this is your home, Henry Mason p
said Scott, staring at him. s
Not so loud, man, for Gods sake!"
cried Derwent. 80 Y #
80 this is your home?" Scott pro-
ceeded, unheeding. Not much like the
prison cell that was my home for ten
years, thanks to you, Henry Mason; not
very much like the ratholes that make
about the only home know now"
What do you want, man?" began
Derwent, his hand finding his pocket
again. ,r.... -,
"Pen and paper!" said Scott, fiercely,
rousing himself and sinking into chair
at the writing table. "Now, do you sit
there across the room from me. Move
or speak at your own risk" "
Scott took the pistol in his left hand
and began to write, yet'keeping close
eye upon Derwent all the while. BY
and by he read aloud:
"San Francisco, CAL, Jan. ~, 1867.
Henry Mason, alias Thomas J. Derwent,
do hereby certify that I forged the note
upon the Goldthwaite bank of New York
city 20 years ago, for which crime Howard
Scott stood accused. I declare said Scott
innocent; alone am guilty."
''Come, now, and sign your name.
Straight goods; know your sigma
ture, remember" ..--
Il will give you $4,000, $4,000, $780,
ooo--" began Derwent, eagerly.
'Sign."
Fifty thousand"
'Sign," and the pistol clicked.
Derwent bent over the paper. Zone
hundred thousand-anything, every
thing"
''Write Henry Mason, alias Thomas
J. Derwent,' said Scott.
The man wrote, staggering back
from the table with groan.
snow, that part of the business is
finished. Resume your seat, said Scott.
Il want to do some writing on my own
hook, and these are about as cozy quar-
ters as can find. You are pretty well
known at home, Henry Mason, if you
did shunt'that forgery off on me, and it
will add somewhat to the interest of
my kilograms to state that they were
written in your own handsomely-ap-
pointed library. When have finished
shall use your telephone moment.
The boys at the station know me pretty
well. A special correspondent comes
to know a great many people, you
know he said, with short laugh,
and shall have no difficulty in getting.
a man to take charge of you. Whatever
else they know about me they know
I am no liar. After that my game is
played" ,-.
He wrote on busily for an hour. At
last he picked up the loose sheets and
read aloud what he had written. He
had told the truth when he said he
knew how to write. The story that he
told of his own suffering for the crime
of another would have made him ia
nous, so full was it Of dramatic power
and graphic detail. At the first merci-
less headlines Derwent groaned aloud,
but Scott went on pitilessly, telling the
whole dark story Of the mans crime.
Meanwhile he sat with his head bowed
in his hands listening. He did not raise
his head even when Scott rang the tele-
phdne bell and ordered man up from
the station. The house of cards which
it had taken him 20 years to build had
tumbled about his head and he sat
bowed and broken among the ruins.
The passing moments seemed hours of
agony and despair. In the midst Of it
all there was frou of skirts in the
hall and the patter of slippered feet
on the hardwood floor. The door
opened softly. g.. ~
''Is it you, father, dear?" a sweet
voice asked, and Scott looked up to see
young girl standing in the doorway,
the brass bolt still in her small white
hand. She was beautiful, sweet-faced
young thing, and her dead gold hair
was flung loosely back over her wrap
pered shoulders and tender look of
sleep was in her blue eyes.