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Updated: June 29, 2025
Then Muchmore began to make out deeds and other papers, compelling his uncle, by threats of violence, to sign such as were necessary for his purpose. Mr. Stockton tried several times to escape, but the rascally nephew and housekeeper were too much for him. Once Mr. Stockton managed to get as far as the office where Mort Decker, under the direction of Muchmore, was in the habit of copying deeds.
Stockton's nephew, Alfred Muchmore, who was running the place during his uncle's absence. As to where Mr. Stockton had gone, Mrs. Blarcum did not know, though she said the nephew had given her to understand his uncle was traveling in Europe. Muchmore was not known to any of the village people, and seemed to keep pretty much to the mansion. He was seen about the grounds occasionally, but Mrs.
"I didn't think he had any work you could do," said Bert, recalling the rumor he had heard, that Muchmore was a professional gambler. "Well, he has quite a lot of business papers to copy, and I am doing that for him. He pays me well. Still, I can't say that I altogether like the place." "Why not?"
No sooner was he installed in the mansion than he began to scheme to get possession of it, and also what other property Mr. Stockton had. To this end he secretly administered to his aged relative a medicine which greatly weakened him. Then, when the old man was not capable of defending himself, Muchmore had shut him up in an unused part of the house. From then on the nephew's course became bolder.
"There are no pictures in there!" declared the man. "The housekeeper said so," put in Bert. "Yes, yes! The valuable paintings belonging to Mr. Stockton!" exclaimed Mrs. Blarcum. "They'll be burned up! The fire is coming this way!" "I don't care if it is!" fairly shouted Muchmore. "Let the pictures burn.
"No one saw him go, and, though he never used to be seen much around the village, still we did have occasional glimpses of him. Now no one has seen him for some time." "So it appears. But the old woman Blarcum, she said her name was called a young man to talk to me. He was Alfred Muchmore, Mr. Stockton's nephew, and, after I had told him what I could do, he engaged me."
As for you, old woman, if I find you meddling any more, with what doesn't concern you, I'll find a way to stop you! Now clear out!" The woman shrank back, mumbling to herself, and hastened down the stairs. "You boys are too fresh!" went on Muchmore. "Why don't you mind your own business?" "Our business is to put out fires!" declared Herbert. "And that's what we're doing here."
Muchmore says he is in Europe, and I often write for him letters addressed to his uncle, which are directed to different cities in France and Germany. But Muchmore always mails them himself. I don't know where Mr. Stockton is. If I did I'd send him word of what is going on in his house, and what I suspect his nephew is up to." "But what about this queer message?" asked Bert.
Once I was going down a long corridor, when he called me back, and said those were his private apartments, and no one was allowed there. Then, again, I was just going into a room that the old housekeeper said contained fine paintings, for I am very fond of pictures, but Mr. Muchmore thrust me back, and seemed quite excited. Then, too, the housekeeper seems very much afraid of the young nephew.
But the diplomacy had been this: "There is one thing, Argie, I should really like Sylvie to have. It is getting to be almost a necessity, living out of town as we do." Mr. Argenter's other names were "Increase Muchmore;" but his wife passed over all that, and called him in the grace of conjugal intimacy, "Argie." Increase Muchmore Argenter.
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