CHAPTER XV.

A LIFELONG ENEMY.

“Hush! for God’s sake, don’t air your knowledge before all the world.”

William Temple fairly hissed these words as he stooped and brought his lips on a level with the ear of his companion, while his face was absolutely colorless.

“Humph!” observed the other, as he roughly put away the hand from his mouth, “then it seems that I have at last jogged your memory sufficiently to make you willing to acknowledge a previous acquaintance.”

“I should have supposed that you would not be very anxious to renew an acquaintance with one whom you once bitterly repudiated,” Mr. Temple retorted acrimoniously, while a spot of angry red settled upon either cheek.

“Humph! it is one thing to repudiate—it is another to be ignored,” was the grim response. “Where have you been all these years? What are you doing now? Come, sit down here and give an account of yourself,” and the man moved along, making room for him in the seat he was occupying, for he had no companion.

“Really, sir, I am not aware that I am accountable to you for my movements, either in the past or present,” haughtily returned Mr. Temple, and regarding the face before him with a malignant look, while he mentally cursed himself in no measured terms for having come into the smoker.

“No—possibly you are not accountable to me,” was the sarcastic rejoinder; “at the same time, you might find it to your interest not to carry too high a head with me.”

William Temple shot a swift, searching glance into the steely eyes regarding him, and grew white again with mingled anger and fear. The other, observing it, smiled knowingly.

“Sit down! Sit down!” he said authoritatively, and patting the cushion with his strong, brawny hand; and, as if powerless to disobey, the haughty banker sank down beside him.

“Light a cigar if you want to smoke,” the man continued, as he glanced at the costly case in his companion’s hand, “it may serve to quiet your nerves after the start they’ve had. I have my pipe here.”

“Thank you; but I will smoke later,” said the banker, as he slipped his case into a pocket, while he waited with a set and rigid face for what might follow.

His companion smiled again, and coolly looked him over, from the silk traveling-cap upon his head to the fine, highly polished shoes upon his feet.

“Ahem! you look as if the world had used you pretty well,” he remarked laconically, at length.

“Yes, I have made some money during the last few years,” was the brief but rather complacent reply, while a gleam of evil triumph leaped into his eyes as he now observed, for the first time, the rather shabby duster that lay over the back of the seat in front of him, and the well-worn grip underneath it.

“Where did you make your money?”

“Some of it in Colorado—some in California.”

“Humph! Been quite a traveler, haven’t you? Been in the mining business, I suppose.”

“Yes; part of the time.”

“And the rest?”

“Taking my ease.”

“Really! You must have struck it rich?”

“Rather.”

“What have you on the docket at the present time?”

“I’ve just come from New York. I’m going to——”

“Saratoga, perhaps, for the races,” supplemented the stranger, as Mr. Temple suddenly cut himself short, and he caught the startled flash in his eyes.

“To Albany,” Mr. Temple added, as he began to revolve a certain plan in his mind, in case he found the man by his side was going beyond there.

“Well, you at least haven’t forgotten how to keep your own counsel, Bill,” his companion remarked, with a note of irritation in his tone. Then he added with a malicious leer: “Any interest to hear about the old folks and——”

“No!” emphatically interposed Mr. Temple, with an impatient frown.

“All dead—every one.”

“I know it.”

“Oh, you do! Who’s been keeping you posted?”

“I’ve read the papers.”

“Then you know, perhaps, how the property was left; but you couldn’t have expected anything else, taking all things into consideration,” and the stranger searched the banker’s face with keen, avaricious eyes.

“Oh, you need not be disturbed. I shall never put in any claim. You are welcome to every penny of it, as far as I am concerned,” responded Mr. Temple, with galling contempt.

“Well, now, prosperity seems to have made you surprisingly generous; but your magnanimity is all lost, for everything was made so tight that you couldn’t get a penny if you should try,” snapped the man, but his face had cleared at the other’s assurance, nevertheless. “Pity,” he continued tauntingly, “you couldn’t have been a little more square in the old days about some other matters.”

Mr. Temple turned upon him with a fierce though low-toned imprecation.

“You’d better let sleeping dogs lie,” he continued between his tightly closed teeth, and his eyes glowed with a savage light. His companion appeared to rather enjoy the effect which his words had produced, for he chuckled audibly.

“Well, Bill, wherever you may have been and whatever you may have been up to all these years, one thing is sure—you haven’t lost your hot temper. But where are you living now? Are you married, and have you a family?”

“Those are matters which do not concern you in the least,” was the cold reply. “Our paths diverged years ago, and I hoped at that time that they would never cross again. Let me advise you to go your own way, and I will go mine; mind your own affairs, and don’t presume to pry into mine—if you do, I swear I will spare nothing to crush you. I am rich and powerful, and I can do it. I will, too, I tell you, if you meddle with me.”

He had risen from his seat while speaking, and, as he concluded, he turned abruptly and swung himself out of the car without even a backward look.

He carried himself proudly erect until he was out of the sight of his enemy; then his haughty head dropped, his step faltered, and he groped his way back to his section like one who had suddenly been stricken partially blind, and with an overwhelming sense of weakness.

“Heavens!” he breathed, as he sank into his seat and wiped the moisture from his white face, “to think, of all the people in the world, I should have happened to run across him. Where on earth can he be going? Not to Saratoga, I most devoutly hope. Ha!” with a violent start, “he used to be tremendously fond of horses, and perhaps he is bound to Saratoga for the races. I don’t know of anything else that would be likely to take him so far from home. Oh! if I had not been in such a hurry to get back! If I had only waited for the next train!” he concluded, with a despairing sigh.

While he was absorbed in these painful thoughts the train stopped at a station. At first he paid no attention to the circumstances, but after a minute he glanced from the window, and saw his enemy walking the platform outside.

“Ah-a! he is watching for me—watching to see where I get off,” he muttered angrily. “But”—with sudden animation as some novel thought seemed to strike him—“I’ll lead him a dance that he will not soon forget. The next station is Albany. I will get off there. He will doubtless follow me to ascertain what my next move will be; but, by a little maneuvering, I can easily outwit him, and then catch the next express for Saratoga, which will leave Albany in about two hours.”

Accordingly, as the train drew near Albany, he began to gather up his belongings, and as the train pulled into Albany station he was standing on the steps ready to alight.

At the same moment his enemy hove in sight. Without appearing to pay the slightest attention to him, Mr. Temple deliberately walked inside the station. He was closely followed, and aware of the fact. Passing through and out upon the other side, he signaled a carriage.

“I wish to go to 257 —— Street,” he informed the cabman, who instantly responded to his call.

“Yes, sir; take you there in less than twenty minutes, sir,” and the next moment he was rolling along toward the street he had named.

Arriving at 257 —— Street, which proved to be the office of a prominent Albany lawyer, with whom Mr. Temple had some acquaintance, he ordered the cabman to wait, and, entering the building, inquired for the gentleman.

He was told he was out, and might not be in for some time. Mr. Temple said he would wait, and, seating himself, took up a newspaper to pass the time away.

More than an hour elapsed before the lawyer came, when his visitor informed him that, as he was passing through the city and had a little time to spare, he thought he would improve it by making him a friendly call.

They chatted socially for half an hour or so, when Mr. Temple bade him good day and returned to the station.

Five minutes later he met his pursuer face to face on the platform. The Saratoga train was due to start in about ten minutes. Fifteen minutes after that a train was scheduled to return to New York.

Presently Mr. Temple repaired to the ticket-office. He was immediately followed thither by the one who was shadowing him.

“A ticket for New York, please,” he said to the agent.

A minute later the bit of pasteboard and the change were in his hands, when he turned abruptly to find a blank look of disappointment had overspread the face of the man at his elbow.

“Well, is your—curiosity satisfied at last?” he demanded, with a sneer. “I told you I was coming to Albany. I have transacted my business here, and now I have bought my ticket back to New York. Come on, if you want to keep this thing up, and I’ll give you a good time at that kind of racket.”

The stranger flushed crimson, and his eyes blazed with anger at the taunting tone of his enemy.

“Do you live in New York?” he demanded.

“That is a matter which I will leave you to ascertain for yourself, Mr. Paul Pry,” said Mr. Temple, with a contemptuous laugh, as he turned his back on the man with an insolent air.

The stranger darted to his side.

“You and I will have a long account to settle one of these days,” he said menacingly, and then, putting his lips close to his ears, he whispered something that instantly blanched Mr. Temple’s face.

“I don’t believe it,” he said, with stiffening lips and a look of horror in his eyes.

“It is the truth—I swear it—I can prove it,” was the fierce retort, and then, without waiting for a reply, he strode for the Saratoga train that was waiting and almost ready to start.

“I thought so,” muttered Mr. Temple, as he watched him board it. “He is going to Saratoga for the races, and the very devil will be to pay if he should see me there with Nell and Minnie. What am I going to do to avoid such a catastrophe?”

At first he thought he would not rejoin his family at all, so great was his dread of again encountering the man from whom he had just parted.

He was tempted to telegraph his wife that he was unavoidably detained; that unforeseen business would not permit him to return to Saratoga, and it would be necessary for them all to go home at once; that she must come on immediately after the ball.

Then he feared that his telegram might alarm her, and cause her to worry and fear something had gone wrong with him; this would spoil the ball for her; he would miss seeing her in her new gown and jewels—an event which he had looked forward to with almost as much interest as she herself; while his heart yearned mightily for his child, and the thought of not being able to see her for several days longer was unbearable.

While he was standing there disconsolate and revolving these things in his mind, and feeling that he could not endure to see the train move on its way, his restless glance settled upon a placard that had been placed upon the wall near the ticket-office.

With a start and a thrill of exultation he read the board, which had the following notice upon it:

“A special car will leave Albany for Saratoga at 6:30 P. M.”

He went immediately to the ticket-office and inquired more particularly regarding the matter. The agent informed him that “the extra” had been put on for the superintendent and some other high officials of the road, who were going to Saratoga to attend a ball that was to be given at Congress Hall that evening; that the notice had been posted so that others, if they wished, might avail themselves of the arrangement.

Mr. Temple grasped at the chance like the drowning man at the proverbial straw, and, finding that his ticket would be good for the special, at once felt as if a mountain had been removed from his heart.

Fearing, however, that his wife might be anxious over his non-appearance on the regular train, he sought the telegraph-office, and sent her the following message:

“Am unavoidably detained here. Will leave on special two hours later. Have maids pack for Boston—must return to-morrow.

“W. F. T.”