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Updated: June 6, 2025
"It won't do for you to cross the river to-night," said Ben decisively; "the air is damp and raw, and I think it is going to rain again. I'll do it for you, and whatever extra I collect from Mr. Burkhill you shall have, Tim; now go home and go to bed." And waving me a good-night, Ben hurried out of the door and vanished down the street.
"This Uncle George of Dolly's is the G. R. Burkhill who received that cipher dispatch. I am satisfied he is a villain, and there's trouble close at hand." Ben Mayberry was born in Damietta, and his parents, as I have shown, were extremely poor. He had been a barefooted urchin, who was ready to fight or engage in any reckless undertaking.
Then he turned to the desk, and was engaged only a minute or two when he handed a return message to Ben, paying for it as the man had done who forwarded the other to him. It was this: "Uibu rthsr fybdumz Vhkk cf qdzex. "G. R. Burkhill." Will be ready. "G. R. Burkhill."
It required but a few minutes for him to translate it by the method which has already been made known, and the following rather startling words came to light: "Everything is O. K. On time Thursday at corner." This unquestionably referred to the same unlawful project outlined in the former dispatches. Mr. Burkhill had not been in the office for months.
It was only by accident that I made this discovery, for the man acted precisely as if he were preparing a message to send away. Mr. G. R. Burkhill overwhelmed Ben Mayberry with thanks for the heroic manner in which he saved his niece and strove to save his sister. He offered the boy a handsome reward, but I am glad to say Ben refused to accept it.
"He went peaceably enough for a while," explained the aid, "and then he tried to bribe me to let him go. When he found that wouldn't work he became ugly, and I had to use my club, but he ain't hurt much." His face was bleeding, but Ben Mayberry, with a shock, recognized the prisoner as G. R. Burkhill, the uncle of Dolly Willard.
Neither Burkhill, the tramp-like looking individual, nor any character to whom the least suspicion could attach, put in an appearance at the telegraph office during the day; this was another disappointment to Ben and myself.
Burkhill understood, as he remarked that he would pay well for the trouble. I assured him that I would see that the telegram reached him that night, if received before ten o'clock. Thanking me, he said good-evening, passed out, mounted his horse, and galloped away in the wintry darkness.
He was shadowing the suspected party, and if he deemed it necessary, he would call on the mayor for assistance. While I was absent from the office, who should walk in but Mr. G. R. Burkhill. He greeted Ben with much effusion, shaking him warmly by the hand, inquiring how he got along, and telling him that his niece sent her special regards to him.
All four of the burglars were duly tried, found guilty, and sentenced to the penitentiary for ten years. Rather curiously, both Dandy Sam and Burkhill died during the third year of their imprisonment, and it is safe to say the world was the gainer thereby.
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