Dave Porter and His Double: or, The Disapperarance of the Basswood Fortune

CHAPTER XV
THE RETURN TO CRUMVILLE

“If Ward Porton got my cap and overcoat he must have been staying at this hotel,” said Dave, after the announcement made by Ben. “Let us interview the proprietor without delay.”

He and his chums hurried back into the hotel and there met not only the proprietor but also his son.

“See here, have you anybody staying here who looks like me?” demanded our hero of both of them.

“Sure, we’ve got a fellow who looks like you,” declared the hotel-keeper’s son before his father could speak. “It’s a Mr. Jones. He has a room up on the third floor. He’s here with an older man named Brown.”

“I wish you would take me up to their room!” cried Dave, quickly.

“Why! what’s the matter now?”

“I want to find out whether that fellow is still here. If he is I want him placed under arrest.” And then Dave related a few of the particulars concerning Ward Porton and his doings.

“That certainly is a queer story,” remarked the hotel proprietor. “I’ll go upstairs with you.”

He led the way, followed by Dave and his chums. The youths were much astonished to see him halt at the door next to their own.

“They don’t seem to be there, or otherwise they are sleeping pretty soundly,” remarked the hotel proprietor, after he had knocked on the door several times.

“I guess you had better unlock the door,” suggested Dave. “I rather think you will find the room empty.”

A key was secured from one of the maids and the door was opened. The proprietor gave one look into the apartment.

“Gone!” he exclaimed. “Say! do you think they have run away?”

“That’s just exactly what I do think,” answered Dave. “And that fellow who looks like me most likely took my cap and overcoat.”

“And you say his name is Porton? He signed our register as William Jones.”

“Here’s his hat and coat,” announced Phil, opening the door to a closet. “Pretty poor clothing he left you in return for yours, Dave,” continued the shipowner’s son, after an inspection.

The hotel proprietor was very wrathy, declaring that Porton and his companion owed him for three days’ board.

“They’re swindlers, that’s what they are!” he cried. “Just wait till I land on them! I’ll put them in jail sure!”

“I’d willingly give you that board money just to get my hands on Ward Porton,” announced Dave. He turned to his chums. “This sure is the limit! First he goes to the stores and gets a lot of things in my name and then he steals my hat and overcoat right from under my nose!”

“Yes, and that isn’t the worst of it,” declared Roger. “There is no telling where he has gone; and even if you knew, in this awful storm it would be next to impossible to follow him.”

All went below, and there they continued to discuss the situation. In the midst of the talk the girls came down, accompanied by Dr. Renwick and his wife.

“Oh, Dave! you don’t mean to tell me that that horrid Ward Porton has been at more of his tricks!” cried Laura.

“Isn’t it perfectly dreadful!” put in Jessie. “And to think he was right in this hotel with us and we never knew it!”

“That’s what makes me so angry,” announced Dave. “If only I had clapped my eyes on him!” he added regretfully.

“Well, there’s no use of crying over spilt milk,” declared Roger. “He is gone, and so are Dave’s overcoat and his cap, and that is all there is to it.”

“Speaking of milk puts me in mind of breakfast,” put in Phil. “Now that the others are downstairs don’t you think we had better have something to eat?”

All were agreeable, and soon they were seated at a large table in the dining room, in company with the doctor and Mrs. Renwick. Here, while eating their breakfast, they discussed the situation from every possible standpoint, but without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion.

“Porton must have seen us when we came up to the rooms,” said Dave to his chums. “He probably heard me speak about leaving my cap and overcoat downstairs, and he just took a fiendish delight in walking off with them and leaving his old duds behind. Oh, he certainly is a peach!”

Had there been the slightest let-up in the blizzard, Dave and his chums would have gone out on a hunt around the town for Porton and his unknown companion. But with the wind blowing almost a hurricane, and the snow coming down as thickly as ever, Dr. Renwick told them that they had better remain indoors.

“It isn’t likely that they stayed anywhere around here, fearing detection,” said the physician. “They probably put a good distance between themselves and this hotel. And to go out in such a storm as this might make some of you sick.”

“Oh, well, what of that? We have a doctor handy,” answered Dave, whimsically. “Just the same, I guess we had better remain where we are,” he added, with a deep sigh.

It was not until the following morning that the wind died down and the snow ceased to fall. In the meantime, the young folks did what they could to entertain themselves, the girls playing on the piano in the hotel parlor, and the boys later on taking them to the bowling alleys next door and initiating them into the mysteries of the game. Dave was a good bowler and so was Roger, each being able occasionally to make a score of two hundred. But Ben and Phil could not do much better than one hundred, while none of the girls got over eighty.

“Now that the snow has stopped falling, I suppose we had better try to get back to Crumville,” said Laura to her brother.

“Yes, we ought to get back,” put in Jessie. “I suppose our folks are dreadfully worried about us.”

“It was too bad that you couldn’t send some sort of word,” came from Belle. “If you could only do that we could stay here until the roads were well broken.”

“In the West we don’t pretend to go out in such a storm,” remarked Cora Dartmore. “But, of course, our distances are greater, and we have so few landmarks that it is an easy thing to get lost.”

“I don’t think we are going to get away from here in any great hurry,” replied Dave. “It is true the snow has stopped coming down and the sun is breaking through the clouds; but I am quite sure the drifts on the road between here and Crumville are much higher than we can manage, even with the powerful horses we have. We’ll have to wait until the roads are more or less broken.”

Our hero was right about not getting away. They went down to the stables and interviewed Washington Bones and several of the other drivers present, and all agreed that it would not be possible to get very far beyond the town limits. This news made the young folks chafe considerably, but there was nothing to be done; so for another day they had to content themselves as best they could. During that time the boys did their best to send some message to Crumville, but without success, for all of the telephone and telegraph wires were still down and nothing had been done to mend them.

The next morning, however, things looked a little brighter. The weather continued to improve, and several horse teams, as well as an ox team, came through on the road from the direction of Crumville.

“The road ain’t none too good so far as I could see,” announced one of the drivers to Dave. “But if you take your time and watch where you’re going, maybe you can get through.”

“Oh, let us try it anyway!” cried Laura, who was present. “If we find we can’t make it we can come back here, or else stop at some other place along the way.”

It was finally agreed that they should make the effort, and they started about ten o’clock. The sun was shining with dazzling brilliancy on the snow, and with no wind blowing it was considerably warmer than it had been on the journey to Lamont. All of the young folks were in good humor, Dave for the time being dismissing from his mind the trouble occasioned by the loss of his cap and overcoat.

As they drove away from the town they could see the effects of the great wind. In some spots the road was almost bare of snow, while in others there were drifts ten and twelve feet in height. To drive through such drifts was, of course, impossible; so they had to make long detours through the surrounding fields. At such places the horses, of course, had to be driven with extra care, for no one wanted the sleigh to land in some hole or be overturned. Occasionally, when the turnout was on a dangerous slant, the girls would shriek and the boys would hold their breath; but each time Washington Bones was equal to the occasion and brought them through safely.

By noon they had covered five miles, and then they stopped to rest at a village where all procured a good hot dinner. Then they went forward once again, this time through a long patch of timber.

“If we gits through dat, we’ll be all right,” declared the colored driver.

The snow lay deep in the woods, but the horses proved equal to the occasion, and at last the timber was left behind and they came out on a ridge road where the snow was only a few inches in depth. Here they were able to make fairly good time, so that three o’clock found them almost within sight of the outskirts of Crumville.

“We’re going to make it easily,” declared Ben. But he proved to be mistaken, for a little distance farther on they ran again into the deep snow and had to pass around one drift after another, finally going clear across several fields to another highway. As a result it was well after dark before they gained the road leading past the Wadsworth jewelry works.

“Well, this looks like home, anyway,” declared Dave to Jessie, as he nodded in the direction of her father’s establishment.

“Yes, and I’m glad of it,” returned the girl. “Gracious! it seems to me that we have been on the road for a week!”

“We can be thankful that we got through so easily, Jessie. Wash is certainly some driver.”

On account of another big drift they had to pass to still another road, and this brought them finally to the street leading past the Basswood home.

“If it’s all the same to you folks, I’ll get off at my place,” announced Ben. “I suppose my father and mother are worrying about me.”

“Go ahead, Ben,” returned Dave. And then he added quickly: “I trust you find your father is better.”

With a flourish Washington Bones drew up the panting horses in front of the Basswood place. Just as Ben leaped from the sleigh the front door of the house opened and Mrs. Basswood appeared.

“Ben! Ben! is that you?” cried the youth’s parent, quickly.

“Yes, Mother,” he answered cheerily. “Don’t worry. I am all right.”

Forgetful that she had on only thin shoes, and no covering over her head or shoulders, Mrs. Basswood ran directly down to the big sleigh. She glanced over the occupants and her eyes fastened instantly on Dave.

“Dave, have you been with Ben since you went away?” she queried. “You haven’t been to our house?”

“Why certainly I haven’t been here, Mrs. Basswood,” he returned promptly.

“Then it’s true! It’s true!” she wailed, wringing her hands.

“What’s true, Mother?” demanded the son.

“The miniatures! They’re gone! They have been stolen! That young man who looks like Dave was here and took them away!”

CHAPTER XVI
HOW THE MINIATURES DISAPPEARED

“The miniatures are gone?” came from Ben Basswood in astonishment.

“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. Basswood. 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 Washington Bones to wait for them, and, entering the parlor of the Basswood 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. Basswood 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. Basswood’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. Basswood too much to have the miniatures examined in our house. The art critic did not want to become snowbound 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. Basswood, 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. Basswood. 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.”

“And then you gave him the miniatures?” questioned Ben.

“I did. Oh, Ben, I know now how very foolish it was! But I was so upset! At first I thought to ask your father about it; but I was afraid that to disturb him would make him feel worse, and I knew he was bad enough already. Then, too, I knew that Mr. Wadsworth was expecting some art critics to look at the miniatures, so I concluded it must be all right. I have always known the combination of your father’s safe, so it was an easy matter for me to open it and get the miniatures out. I told the young man to be careful of them, and he told me not to worry–that the miniatures would be perfectly safe, and that Mr. Wadsworth had promised to get the critic to set a fair value on each of them.”

“Was this Ward Porton alone?” asked Laura. The girls, of course, had listened with as much interest as the boys to what the lady of the house had to relate.

“No, he came in a cutter driven by a man who was so bundled up because of the cold that I could not make out who he was. As soon as I gave him the cases containing the miniatures the young man hurried off in the cutter, stating that the sooner the critic had a chance to see the paintings the better.”

“And what happened next?” questioned Dave, as Mrs. Basswood paused in her recital.

“I went back to assist a nurse who had come in, and all that night we had our hands full with my husband. We had to call in the doctor, and he was really not out of danger until noon of the next day. I had wanted to tell him about sending the miniatures over to the Wadsworth house, but he was in no condition to be told anything, so I kept silent.”

“But didn’t you get worried when noon came and the supposed Dave didn’t return with them?” questioned the son.

“Yes, as soon as the doctor said that your father was out of danger I began to worry over the miniatures. I waited until the middle of the afternoon, and then, although it was snowing and blowing something awful, I hailed a passing man–old Joe Patterson–and asked him if he would go on an errand to the Wadsworth house. He said he would try to make it for a dollar, and so I wrote a short note to Mrs. Wadsworth, knowing that she must be at home even though her husband and Dave might be away.

“Old Patterson delivered this message, and Mrs. Wadsworth sent back word that she had not seen anything of Dave since he had gone away on the sleigh-ride, nor had she seen anything of the miniatures. She added that her husband had gone to the jewelry works, but that she would send one of the hired men after him at once and acquaint him with the situation.”

“What did you do then?” went on Ben.

“I really didn’t know what to do. Your father was so ill that the nurse and I had to give him every attention. I was waiting for the doctor to come again, but he could not get here on account of the snow-drifts. Mr. Wadsworth put in an appearance about two hours later, and then I told him just what I have told you. He declared at once that it must be a trick, stating that Dave had not been near the house since going away with all of you young folks. Mr. Wadsworth was quite put out, and wanted to know how it was that I had not been able to detect the deception.”

“Well, I must say–” commenced Ben, and then stopped short, for he could see how his mother was suffering.

“Oh, yes, Ben, I know what you were going to say,” she broke in quickly. “Having known Dave so many years I should have discovered the deception. But, as I said before, I was terribly worked up over your father’s condition. Then, too, the young man came in bundled up in an overcoat and a cap that looked exactly like those Dave wears.”

“They were mine. That fellow stole them from me,” interrupted our hero, bitterly.

“Not only that, but he had a tippet placed over his head and around his neck, and he spoke in a very hoarse voice, stating that he had caught a terrible cold while on the sleigh-ride and while coming back to Crumville on the freight train. He spoke about Mr. Basswood’s real estate business, and about Mr. and Mrs. Wadsworth and Jessie, and so many other things that we are familiar with, that I was completely deceived. Then, too, his turning over that written card to me also threw me off my guard. But I know I was very foolish, very foolish indeed!” and Mrs. Basswood’s lips trembled and she wrung her hands once again.

“What did Mr. Wadsworth do?” questioned Dave, in the midst of rather an awkward pause. He agreed with Ben that Mrs. Basswood should have recognized Ward Porton as an imposter, but he did not want to say anything that might add to the lady’s misery.

“He said he would set the authorities at work and see if he could not find Porton and his confederate. I was so bewildered that I–well, I might as well admit it–I told him that I couldn’t understand how I had been deceived, and that maybe Dave had gotten the miniatures after all.”

“Oh, Mrs. Basswood, you didn’t really mean that!” cried our hero.

“I was so bewildered I didn’t know what I meant, Dave. That young man did look so very much like you. That’s the reason, when you folks drove up to the house, I ran out to ask if you had really been here or not.”

“Have you heard anything of this Ward Porton since?” asked Roger.

“I haven’t heard anything. Whether Mr. Wadsworth has learned anything or not I do not know, for he has not been here and the storm has been so awful, with all the telephone wires down, that I could not send for news.”

“Does father know about this now?” questioned Ben.

“No, Ben, I have not had the courage to tell him,” answered the mother. “I told the doctor, and he advised that I say nothing for the present.”

“I don’t think I’d tell him,” said Dave. “I think the best thing we can do is to try to follow Porton and this fellow with him and get back the miniatures. Then it will be time enough to tell Mr. Basswood about the affair.”

As soon as they had entered the parlor the lady of the house had shut the door, so that none of the conversation might reach the sick chamber overhead. In reply to numerous questions Mrs. Basswood gave all the details as to how the rascally Porton had been able to gain possession of the miniatures.

“I think I’ll hurry up and get home,” declared Dave, presently. “I want to hear what Mr. Wadsworth has to say; and also find out what he and my folks have done towards getting on the track of Porton and his confederate.”

“That’s the talk!” exclaimed Roger. “Say! but this is the worst yet, isn’t it?” He turned to the lady of the house. “I am awfully sorry for you, Mrs. Basswood.”

“I guess we are all sorry,” broke in our hero, quickly.

“Oh, I hope they catch that Porton and put him in prison!” cried Jessie.

“That is where he belongs,” answered Dave, soberly.