Part 40

In his extremity, he had forged certain drafts on the bank in which his firm did business, intending to keep all dark, and make these good in time. Though they were not large, he found he could not meet them at the proper time by the fitting deposits without further steps in crime. So he resorted to the country bank, in which his adopted father kept his funds, with drafts in the name of his father, from time to time, which were borrowed and paid; but these came so frequently as to excite the suspicions of the president of the bank, that Mr. Roberts was getting an undue influence over my client, his father; and so one day meeting the old gentleman (whose real name I have no right to disclose, but whom we will call Mr. Brown, for convenience), the president said,--

"Mr. Brown, Mr. Roberts seems to have occasion to use a great deal of money."

"Yes, yes," replied Mr. Brown, "he is doing a fine, large business since he's got on his feet again, after his 'failure'" (for it was by the modest word 'failure' that Mr. Brown always referred to the disastrous career of Roberts among his country friends).

The president, believing from Mr. Brown's reply that all was correct with Roberts, since he, if anybody, must know all about his business, he thought, said no more, and moved on. However, something suggested to him, when Roberts came to present the next check, to make matters more satisfactory to the bank, and to avoid any complaint on the part of Mr. Brown, against whom the debit side of his account was getting fearfully large, that when the day of settlement should come, he, Roberts, should obtain Mr. Brown's power of attorney to draw when and in what amounts he should like.

The president, on future reflection, thought Roberts acted a little "nervous" over this suggestion; but Roberts's ready acceptance of the advice caused him to forget it on the instant, and he had no suspicion whatever that Mr. Brown's name was counterfeited on the checks. In proper time Roberts appeared with a power of attorney, duly made, and purporting to be Mr. Brown's, which was securely lodged in the bank.

By and by Mr. Brown, who used his bank mostly as one of deposit, being then retired from business, and having money enough for his current wants accruing from the rent of some two or three farms, and his store-house, and interest on money lent to surrounding farmers, and having no business occasion to often visit the bank, going one time to the shire town on business, thought he would make a friendly call at the bank for a moment on his friend the president.

On his calling, the usual hand-shaking and salutations took place, and were followed by the usual gossip about a little of everything and nothing; and Mr. Brown, who had been invited to a seat in the directors' room, rose to retire, bidding the president good day. As he was passing out, he spoke jocularly to the president,--

"The banks' breaking, I suppose, does not disturb _you_? Bank's sound, I take it. You've got my deposits all safe as the rest, I dare say, eh?" with a little chuckle, as if he thought he had expended a little salutary wit.

"Yes, perfectly safe, what there's left of 'em. Can't tell you exactly, without looking, how the account stands; but some balance yet to your credit."

Brown thought the president was joking, laughed a little, and went out. He had not gone far on his way, however, when, recalling the president's manner when speaking, he began to think he wasn't joking. But Mr. Brown drove on and on. At last he got to be uneasy, and determined to go back to ask the president what he meant by that word "balance." The president was surprised by the query, and answered,--

"Why, I mean that Roberts has not yet drawn out all your funds on that power of attorney."

"Power of attorney? What do you mean?"

The president was confounded. He saw that old Mr. Brown was either forgetful, or that there was some wrong somewhere. He caused the cashier to look up Mr. Brown's account, and draw the balance, and presented the same to Mr. Brown; who, in turn, was confounded, said he had given Roberts no drafts, or any power of attorney. The latter was produced. Mr. Brown could not believe his own eyes. So perfectly like his own signature was that of the power of attorney, that he clasped his hand to his head, and after deep thought for a few moments, said to the president,--

"Well, I would not believe it. It seems like a dream to me. I cannot remember when I signed that power of attorney; but I must have done it in some hour of weakness for there's John Wentworth's name to it as witness, and I know his handwriting well. He has borrowed money of me often, and given his notes. But, see here, if my name is forged, so may John's be. I don't know anything about this power of attorney."

The checks drawn before the power of attorney was presented by Roberts to the bank were new to Mr. Brown. He was surprised by his exact signature to these, and the filling out of some of them as well, in his own handwriting apparently. But sure he could not remember ever giving one of them.

"Do you think," said the bank president, who understood the situation of things if these should all prove forgeries, and wishing to save the bank from loss,--"do you think sometimes, Mr. Brown, that your memory fails you at all as you grow older?"

"O, yes," said the honest old man, "I do. I find I forget a good many things. Well, well; have I come to this?"

What occurred thereafter, would be wearisome to recite in detail. Suffice it that search was made for Wentworth, the witness, by both Mr. Brown and the bank; but he was not to be found immediately. His signature was shown to several persons who knew his handwriting, and all declared it his. Roberts, in some way, got wind of the old man's having visited the bank, and he, too, was not to be found, and so matters stood for a while.

At last it was found out that Wentworth, who had a pretty good farm, which he worked only a part of the year, and occupied himself as a pedler, with a wagon, through quite a large circuit of country the rest of the time, had been taken to the Insane Retreat, at Hartford, Conn. His "team" having been run into and capsized one night on the road by another "team" furiously driven by some drunken men, Wentworth being violently thrown against a large rock, head foremost, and receiving such injuries as quite severely damaged his mind. He, therefore, could not be "improved" to determine whether his signature was veritable or not.

Mr. Brown had, meanwhile, persuaded himself that the "power of attorney" was a forgery; that he had _not_ suffered any such mental weakness at any time as would have allowed him to give such an instrument to Roberts. In fact, he knew that it was a forgery. Great though his grief was over the heartless conduct of Roberts, Mr. Brown could not make up his mind to tell his wife the facts. She noticed his sorrow, which he, upon her frequent inquiry, attributed to bodily ills, and time went on. Eventually Mr. Brown made up his mind that perhaps he ought to be willing to bear a part of the loss; and after consulting his lawyer about it, went to the bank, and generously offered to compromise; to lose half his deposit, if the bank would pay him the other half, or sixteen thousand five hundred dollars. But the directors seeing the advantage they had of him, refused to entertain his offer for a moment, affecting to believe the drafts and power of attorney genuine.

At last Mr. Brown broke the matter to his wife. She was struck with horror; but in the end counselled him to let it all go, inasmuch as they had enough left to "scrub along on the rest of their lives," as she expressed it, with economy. But the manner of his old friend, the president, when announcing to him the course taken by the directors, had greatly piqued Mr. Brown, and he was determined to have all his money at last. The great legal difficulties in the way were, however, insurmountable in the opinion of his attorney, who had exhausted his own resources in trying to get the proper testimony to set aside the power of attorney, and finally Mr. Brown had applied to me.

I had heard his long story with greatest patience, seeing nothing tangible up to this point to take hold of. Wentworth might not recover in years, if ever; Roberts was out of the way, and would, perhaps, never be found. All his neighbors would identify Mr. Brown's signatures as veritable, and he himself had admitted to the bank president, on the day of the disclosure of his claimed indebtedness, that he found himself frequently forgetful; and had half admitted that he might have been led to sign the power of attorney in some hour of weakness. The case was desperate. I pondered it over a while, and finally asked Mr. Brown if he could give me the _date_ of the power of attorney. He could not. I asked him then to go to the bank with some friend, and ask to see it, and note the date; telling him that this was the first essential thing for me to know. Before Mr. B. left my office, I had planned a course of operations, all of which I did not develop to him, however. In the course of a few days Mr. Brown sent me a letter, saying that the date of the instrument was the 26th of June, 185-. I turned to my diary for that year, and found where I was on that day,--at Coney Island, with quite a large party, who went down on the excursion steamer Belle, early in the day, and were gone all day; and, as I knew Roberts very well by sight, I was sure that I remembered his being there that day. Light began to gather in my mind. Perhaps Mr. Brown, too, could remember where he was that day; and I sent for him, told him what I wanted to know; and he was sure, on reflection (as was afterwards found certain), that he was visiting, during a week which covered the 26th of June, with his wife, some old friends at Danbury, Connecticut. So much being learned, I lost no time in hunting up parties who were at Coney Island that day, and established the fact, beyond doubt, that Roberts was there.

Next I turned my attention to Wentworth's case, and found that he was at Philadelphia that day, and the day before, making some purchases; and also found a letter from him to a brother, dated at Pittsburgh, Pa., on the 29th of June, in which we found a statement to the effect that he had left home on the 24th of June; had been in Philadelphia for a day or two; had gone from there to Pittsburgh, and should be "back about the 4th of July." We also found a man who had come on from Pittsburgh to New York with Wentworth on the 3d of July, and who had met him there several times a day, and for several days before. Armed with these facts, we went to the bank, and presented our evidence frankly, and were surprised at the officers' then refusing to pay over the money.

Suit was brought by Mr. Brown for the recovery of his money, and the bank undertook to keep it in court, thinking to weary out old Mr. Brown, and effect a compromise, perhaps.

But the old man grew more vigorous and confident as court after court sat, and the case was put over upon one pretence or another. But this, after all, was no disparagement to Mr. Brown's cause, for, before he could force the suit on to trial, Wentworth recovered his mind and health; and being apprised of what was going on, declared that he had not seen Roberts for several months before the 26th of June, and had not seen him since; and knew that he had never witnessed such an instrument for Mr. Brown. Wentworth also kept an accurate business diary, which covered all the time, and corroborated the testimony that we had secured of his being on that day, and before and after, in Pittsburgh, etc. Wentworth accompanied Mr. Brown and his attorney to the bank to see the power of attorney, and they were informed that it was at their attorney's; but the officers would give no order that he might see it. But Mr. Brown's attorney, conceiving that the bank's attorney would not refuse him a professional courtesy, took Mr. Brown and Wentworth to his brother lawyer's office, and they were at once shown the document. Looking at it for a moment in astonishment, Wentworth exclaimed,--

"No; that signature is not mine. The 'e' in the name ain't just as I make it; besides, I haven't signed my name, or written a letter, or made an entry in black ink, in many years (the signature was in black). I always use blue."

"But," interposed the bank's attorney, "you may not have had blue ink at hand when you witnessed that instrument."

"I tell you," said Wentworth, in a manner which could not be mistaken for its firm honesty, "I never witnessed that instrument. I never can use anybody's else pen, and I always go prepared," said he, taking out from his side coat pocket an old, long, portable inkstand, with a pen held in its leathern case. "There, I've carried that, now, for over eight years, and I have never written a word from any other inkstand, with any other pen but my own, or any kind of ink but blue, in all that time."

His manner convinced the lawyer of the bank that it was of no use to go to trial with such testimony against the bank, and he very frankly said so; and that he should advise immediate settlement, which he did; and old Mr. Brown recovered his whole deposit, with interest from the time he brought suit, and with sundry "costs."

But both he and Mrs. Brown declared that they felt no better after the recovery of the money, for, after the struggle to obtain it was passed, and the excitement was over, the heartless conduct of Roberts seemed to oppress them only the more, and Mr. Brown, after a year or two, pined away and died. Mrs. Brown is still living at this writing, an unhappy woman, when I last saw her.

As for Roberts, it is believed that he is leading a miserable life in the mining districts of California, under the name of William Simpson; but this is a conjecture, founded on testimony hardly sufficient to be relied on.

Thus were wrecked Roberts's bright hopes, and the happiness of his faithful old adopted parents. Playing cards "for fun," at first, not unfrequently leads to disastrous, deplorable, ends--to unalterable wretchedness.

OLD MR. ALVORD'S LAST WILL.

THE DESTRUCTIVE GREED OF GAIN--A WEIRD, WONDROUS TALE--"WHAT IF THEY BUT KNEW"--TELLING STORIES AWAY FROM HOME--REVELATIONS--AN OLD MAN OF THE HIGH MORAL TYPE--CURIOUS NOTION ABOUT THE SIZE OF A FAMILY; THE MYSTIC NUMBER THREE--PORTRAITS OF A FAMILY; A PERFECT WOMAN--DEATHS AND INTRIGUES--A "FAITHFUL SERVANT"--OLD WILLS AND NEW--LEGAL COMPLICATIONS--THE LAST WILL MISSING--A CRAFTY LAWYER--A THOROUGH SEARCH--A DIABOLICAL COURTSHIP, AND FIERCE STRUGGLE DURING THREE YEARS--A DETECTIVE AT LAST CALLED INTO THE MATTER--A PLOT LAID TO FOIL OLD BOYD, AN UNSCRUPULOUS LAWYER--DID IT SUCCEED?--THE READER PERMITTED TO ANSWER THE QUESTION FOR HIMSELF--A VITAL DISCOVERY--MORE PLOTTING--A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY MAKES A DIVERSION IN THE PLANS--OLD ANDREW WILCOX'S FUNNY LETTERS SEARCHED, AND A TREASURE "FOUND" AMONG THEM--OLD BOYD'S CONSTERNATION--THE LAST WILL FINALLY CARRIED OUT--"NOTHING IMPOSSIBLE"--A FORTUNE TOO LARGE TO BE LAUGHED AT--A CUNNING WIFE LEADS HER SIMPLE HUSBAND A CURIOUS LIFE--A BIT OF COMFORT, PERHAPS.

That "the love of money is the root of all evil," hardly needed for its proper declaration a divine voice. The records of man's life and struggles in all ages, in peace and in war, through the fictitious "honesties" of business enterprises, or in the eccentric ways called crimes, declare most emphatically that the "great good" _is_ "goods" or their equivalent in the "representatives of value" which we call money, in almost everybody's heart; and the sickening details of the struggles for it, with which the detective becomes familiar, are so multiplied, that one might almost write the history of current times, as well as of that of the past, in one phrase--"Money-getting!" "money-getting!" And the modes by which money is sought are almost as multiplied as the persons seeking.

The fierce quarrels between members of the same family,--an instance of which I have marked in my memorandum, to be presented in these pages if space permits,--and the devilish "greed of gain" which pursues a father, perhaps on his dying bed, and disturbs his last hour through the contentions of his loving children, quarrelling there, may be, with a step-mother, or somebody else equally "loved" by them, over the "goods and chattels" which the expiring man is expected to leave behind, have furnished matter for the satirist in all times; and most fit subjects are these for the satirist's and reformer's pen. They cannot be held up to too great execration.

The story which I am about to relate might, in its interesting details and phases, be readily made to fill a duodecimo volume of several hundred pages instead of the short article into which it is compressed, so peculiar were the characters, and so beautiful as well as painful the varied life of the chief person whom it regards. I find myself lingering over it, as now I turn over my diary and note-books, and recall it so vividly to mind, with the wish that I might, and with a half-formed resolve that I _will_ at some time, put it in the form of an extended narrative, so thorough a portrayal of human nature in some of its best as well as worst aspects, would it prove.

I am frequently vexed that I may not use the actual names of the individuals who figure in these tales. How many a neighborhood, or how large an acquaintanceship with this or that character would be astonished, if they but knew as they read that the subjects of this or some other articles are still beings lingering in the flesh, and residing, perhaps, next door!

I was telling a story one night in a stage-coach which was full of passengers. I was more than two hundred miles away from my own home, and over eight hundred from the place of the chief scene in my story. The passengers had, most of them, been favoring each other with "yarns," of more or less truthfulness, but usually untrue, in some respects, to the actual experiences of life, and my turn came then. I chanced to call to mind an experience of mine more than ten years before. My story, I fancy, was of a more interesting kind than my fellow-travellers were wont to hear, for there was the profoundest silence on their part. As now and then the clouds which threatened a rain broke away, and revealed the moon, I noticed that an old man, sitting opposite me on the back seat, was all ears, all intent.

To make my story comprehensible in some parts, I had, in the early portion of it, entered into a minute personal, rather, physical description of the chief character of it, and a bad one. It proved that the old gentleman recognized the very man, though he himself, when at home, lived some fifty miles from him, and it further proved that what that tale revealed led on to a course of affairs in which several families were more or less involved, to their displeasure.

When we alighted, the old man took me aside, and whispered in my ear, "That was a fearful story you told us, but I knew it was all true, because I know the man that you called 'Jones.' His name is ----, and he resides in ----, and I am greatly obliged to you for unearthing one of his villanies. I can see now _how_ he has accomplished others just as bad."

I tried to laugh the old man out of his notion, but he said it was of no use, that he knew Mr. ---- only too well. I have ever since observed a greater care in my general descriptions, and never forget that distance of space or time may be no surety of secrecy.

In the town of ----, in the State of New York, for fifty years before the time I was called to take part in the affair which is the chief part of the subject-matter of this, there had lived a quaint old man of wealth, whom his neighbors but little understood. He had had, in the course of his life, three wives, two of whom had borne him children, none of which lived but a few years, and the third had died childless. But the old man, in his grief over the want of "natural heirs of his own body," had adopted several children, one after the other, whenever he lost one of his, "to keep the number good," as he said. The old gentleman, whom we will call James Alvord, was born in Vermont, reared in the strictest Puritan ways, and was bred to work. At about sixteen years of age, I believe, he was apprenticed to learn the harness-maker's trade, from which time he left off going to school; but he was of studious disposition, and I was told (for I never saw him myself) that he had aggregated to himself a large amount of information upon almost all subjects, and that had he been an aspirant for public honors and distinctions, his fund of knowledge would have enabled him to cope successfully with almost any man in the State. But he had no vain aspirations. To accumulate knowledge and money was his chief desire, not to make display with either, but simply to enjoy the consciousness of having,--possessing, it would seem.

The old man had not far wandered from the moral notions and feelings which were inculcated or aroused in him by his Vermont education, but he entertained some peculiar notions of his own. In fact, he was all his own--all character, all strong individuality in everything.

Among his notions--perhaps I should call them his fixed opinions--was, that it was every married couples' duty, if possible, to bring into the world six children, and if they could not have them themselves, to adopt as many from families that had more; for in his early days, when he first imbibed this notion, it was no rare thing for families in Vermont to count around the hearthstone ten and twelve children apiece. Six is the product of two multiplied by three. Three, of course, comprehends a "trinity," and upon the mystic trinity, so frequently discovered in Nature, the old man built many theories. Three was a mystic number with him.

"There are but three primitive colors," he used to say. "All other colors are the results of the intermixture of two or all of these," and so on, the old gentleman was accustomed to elucidate his "philosophy;" and somehow he had so applied the mystic three to the matter of parentage, that he had arrived at the doctrine noticed above, and he was a man who most strictly observed himself what he was pleased to teach others as a duty; and so, from time to time, in the lack of children who continued to live, he adopted others. He did not seem, however, in his "adoptions" to have observed much "philosophy" (the word that was most often upon his tongue, and which, in fact, did signify not a little of the character it intimates, in his brain) in selecting the children.

He overlooked the matter of stock and blood, and seemed only anxious to make sure of healthy children; which is not so much to be wondered at in his case, perhaps. So that when these six grew up to maturity they developed characters about as diverse as could possibly be found, notwithstanding the course of their education, or rather teachings (mental and moral) had been about the same.

Some of them gave the old man much uneasiness; and notwithstanding that he had placed each in business when he had arrived at age, or had given the girls each of them a good outfit on her marriage, yet some of them were discontented, and thought the old man ought to have the grace to die in good season, in order that they might obtain their expected shares of property; for it was presumed by them that Mr. Alvord would treat them all alike, and leave no will in fact. I should not forget to say here, that there were of these children three males and three females. Mr. Alvord had first adopted a boy, next a girl, and so on, alternating.