Fighting for Fortune 21 – Franklin · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Fighting for Fortune 21Marcus Becomes a Detective
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Fighting for Fortune 21
Marcus Becomes a Detective
FranklinEnglish
Marcus’ manner as well as words showed that he was in earnest, and Dean felt a higher degree of hope than he had at any time.
“Our interests are mutual,” the first resumed, “and by working together I believe we can outwit our enemies and obtain justice.”
“You have some plan, Marcus?”
“Simply this: We must go back over the trail by which you were brought here step by step, to discover, if possible, the men and their motives in taking you away.”
“I have no definite idea of even the way we came.”
“We have a clue. The justice who convicted you was named Mullern and he lived in Daleford. Then there was claimed to be an uncle to you in the background. We must find out if he was a real person or a guy got up for the occasion. With such clues as these we shall not go it blind.”
“Marcus, you are developing traits that are decidedly of the Sherlock Holmes order. At any rate I am going to let you take the lead in this matter.”
“Only for the present. I happen to know a boy in Daleford, and we will try and find him.”
At nightfall the two boys reached an eminence, two miles beyond which lay the peaceful hamlet of Daleford.
They had not sought to hide from passers-by on the road thither.
“We can trust to our disguises,” remarked Marcus confidently, and to all seeming they were considered to be poor charcoal burners in quest of work by those who saw them.
It was dusk when they reached the town proper, and Marcus, leaving his companion in a field, went toward the residence portion of the village.
“Did you find your friend?” asked Dean anxiously, when Marcus returned after the lapse of an hour.
“Yes, and he didn’t know me. He don’t know me anyway by my right name.”
“No?”
“No; I lived with a farmer near here once named Grant, and people got calling me Bob Grant, my friend among them, and I never undeceived them so I run no risk of being seen by him. It’s all arranged. He will find out all there is to be found out by to-morrow at noon. He knows the justice, and, best of all, his hostler got his job through my friend’s father’s recommendation, so if there’s any tricky work on the part of the justice we shall soon find him out.
“You are a trump, Marcus, and I am getting to depend on you altogether. So go ahead and I will do what I can to help you.”
Marcus’ friend loaned them some money, and the boys bought food at the country store and camped in the woods at night.
The time hung pretty heavily on them, and when the boy did not come as he had promised, Dean began to fear that he had proved faithless. Then Marcus went in quest of him, when the suspense grew doubly hard to bear with Dean.
When Marcus came back his countenance was wreathed in smiles.
“Eureka, Dean!” he said, “I have got good news. The boy has learned all about the treatment given you by Justice Mullern through the hostler. The man who pretended to be your uncle was a man by the name of Daley, who lives in Springfield. He had another man with him whose name was Spofford.”
“That is news worth waiting for,” declared Dean. “What next?”
“I am going to call on this precious scamp who deals out justice in pieces that you can cut. Have patience with me long enough to see if I can beard the lion in his den.”
Half an hour later Marcus Ellison boldly rang the door bell of the Mullern mansion.
A servant answered the summons.
“I wish to see Justice Mullern,” explained Marcus.
“This way.”
The justice sat at his desk in the library writing. He stared wonderingly at Marcus’ uncouth figure.
“Well, boy?” he frowned.
“Are you Judge Mullern?”
“I am.”
“I wanted to find a gentleman you know, sir.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Daley.”
The justice started and looked alarmed.
“Who?” he demanded huskily.
“Daley.”
“Don’t know him.”
“Oh, yes, you do, judge,” replied Marcus audaciously.
“You insolent----”
“Hold on, judge.”
“How dare you?”
“I know you know him, and there’s no use denying it,” said Marcus firmly. “See here, judge, there’s trouble.”
“Trouble--trouble?” stammered Mullern vaguely.
“Yes, sir.”
“For who?”
“For you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t want to give away any secrets, but I’ve got to see Daley, and quick, too, or the whole Robert Rawley case will come out on you.”
Justice Mullern was very pale now. He stammered and reflected, and then said:
“Daley lives in Springfield. I think he once told me at Boyer’s Hotel.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Hold on.”
“Well, sir?”
“What--what trouble is anticipated?” asked Mullern uneasily.
“None for you, I reckon, if I see Daley.”
“Sure?”
“I reckon not,” and Marcus, with a chuckle of delight, hastened to the spot where Dean was waiting for him.
They chatted cheerily as they followed the road toward Springfield, which they reached the next morning, just before daylight.
“Don’t you feel afraid to go about the streets here?” asked Dean timidly.
“No; we’re safer in the busy, crowded city than in the country,” responded Marcus. “Besides, we are safe anywhere in our disguise.”
Marcus at once set about locating Boyer’s Hotel. It proved to be the very place whence Tim Downey had brought Daley and Spofford the night of the burning of the Spray.
It had an all-night saloon in the basement, and rooms overhead, and both boys decided that it was a resort for loafers and rough characters.
They went boldly down into the basement. There was a sign outside which read: “Coffee, 5 cents; coffee and rolls, 10 cents.”
“We’ll buy a lunch just to look around,” said Marcus.
The place was crowded, and no one seemed to pay any particular attention to them.
The boys dispatched their breakfast and then sat down at a table in a dark corner of the saloon.
They kept eyes and ears wide open, but an hour passed by and nothing had occurred to indicate that the men they sought were in the place.
“I had better make some inquiries,” said Marcus finally.
In an ante-room to the rear they could discern that a lot of men were playing at cards.
Finally, just as Marcus was about to speak to some one in the room about Daley, a man hastened into the saloon from the street.
“Where’s Spofford?” he asked of the bartender.
Marcus and Dean observed the man closely. They felt an intuition that he would interest them, and his query for Spofford was indicative of a further knowledge of Daley.
“In the cardroom, Daley,” replied the man at the bar.
“It’s our man--it’s Daley!” murmured Dean Mercer excitedly.
