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Updated: August 22, 2024
She took a street car to the suburbs, and then, with directions from the driver, set out to find the house of Mr. Bordine, which she had never visited. These were among dwellings in Grandon similar to the one occupied by August Bordine and his mother. In a little time the girl came to a halt in front of a cottage. "This must be the place," thought Rose, opening the gate.
It will be seen that the man in hunter's costume was not August Bordine, although he had deceived Ransom Vane into believing him to be the engineer. It was this close resemblance to Bordine that put a scheme into the head of a villain. "I had no idea that I looked so much like somebody else," mused the young villain as he rode toward Grandon that night. "I'll profit by this, or I am a fool.
Think you a doctor can be of service?" groaned the young brother. "No, but it is customary in such cases, and the coroner must be notified." August Bordine turned to depart. "Stop!" Ransom Vane laid a detaining hand on the arm of the young engineer. "See; what is that?"
The eye beneath the patch did not seem defective to Bordine, yet the slight view he obtained of it was not sufficient to make sure as to that. When he had finished, the peddler opened his lips to give utterance to one word: "Fool!" "I admit it," returned the engineer.
With a wild cry Barkswell flung down the light, and fell fainting across the grave of his murdered victim. The bullet that Andrew Barkswell sent hustling after the fleeing Bordine went wide of its mark. The young engineer was moving at such a rate of speed, however, that it was wholly impossible for him to halt.
"Hold up!" yelled Jones, whose face was bleeding from scratches received in the scuffle. Panting from exertion, August leveled his revolver and fired. His hand was unsteady, and the bullet flew wide of the mark. At this moment a sound behind him warned Bordine to guard his rear.
"He said that the weapon used was a dagger of slender make. If we could find that." "Have you searched for it?" "Not exactly. We have been looking more particularly after the man." The police sergeant returned then to the inside of the cottage. Mrs. Bordine was still defiant.
"Wonder if the folks are gone." Bordine rapped. No answer was vouchsafed. He rapped again. Silence profound as the grave. "Well, there seems nobody at home. Vic sometimes occupies the back porch with the cat and her book; I will see." He walks swiftly around the house. He came to a sudden stand as he gained the broad side porch of the cottage.
"Yes; but young men sometimes have more strings than one, you know." "But August ain't that kind." "Artless, old mother!" thought Keene. "She knows nothing of the doings of this son of her's." Then, thinking of the forger whom he had come so near capturing that evening, Keene said: "You are from New York, I believe, Mrs. Bordine?" "Formerly, yes." "From the neighborhood of Rochester?" "Yes."
"Hold your tongue," retorted the second man, laying his hand on the arm of the widow. "We have the law and the right on our side." "You have not," retorted Mrs. Bordine. "I haven't heard you read a search-warrant." "It's not necessary." At this moment an exclamation fell from the lips of the police sergeant.
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