CHAPTER XII.
AMOS PALMER FINDS HIS SON.
"What do you mean?" Doctor Wesselhoff sharply demanded, and losing color himself at the sudden suspicion that he also might have been the dupe of a set of rogues.
"Haven't you seen an account of the affair in the papers?" Doctor Huff asked. "They were full of it for two weeks after you left home."
"No, I did not see a New York paper from the time I started until I returned. I could not get one, even if I had not had too many cares and been too much absorbed in my wife's critical condition to think of or read news of any kind," Doctor Wesselhoff replied. Then, with a sudden thought, as he turned again to Ray: "Young man, is not your name Walton?"
"You know it is not," said Ray, with a flash of indignation. "I told you, the day I came, that my name is Palmer—Raymond Palmer."
"He is the man!" cried the assistant, starting up and regarding the invalid with a look of fear, "and it was Amos Palmer, the diamond merchant, who was robbed!"
"Can it be possible!" exclaimed the physician, amazed at this intelligence. "That woman—Mrs. Walton—told me that he was her son, only at times he denied his own name, so when he told me his name was 'Palmer' that day I imagined it only a freak produced by his mania."
Ray had been regarding the man curiously during this speech. He surely did not appear like a person who would have anything to do with so daring a crime as that of which he had accused him. He was strikingly noble in appearance; his manner was quietly dignified and self-possessed—he had a finely shaped head, a kind eye, a genial smile, while his astonishment and dismay over what he had just been told seemed too genuine to be feigned.
"Did you not expect to find me in your reception-room? Did no lady inform you of my arrival on the day I came here?" Ray inquired, searching his face earnestly.
"No, I saw no lady—a servant came to tell me that a gentleman was waiting to see me," responded the doctor.
"Then she must have gone immediately out and made off with all possible speed," said Ray, musingly.
"But," Doctor Wesselhoff continued, as if he had not heard his remark, "the woman I spoke of—a Mrs. Walton—called upon me the previous day and arranged with me to take you as a patient. She was upward of fifty years of age, her hair was white, and she had the look of one who had known much care and sorrow."
He then proceeded to relate all that had occurred during the interview, and Ray was astonished at the daring scheme which had been so successfully planned and carried out.
When the physician concluded his account, Ray gravely and positively declared:
"I do not know any person by the name of Walton. If this woman told you that she was my mother, she uttered a falsehood, for I have no mother—she died more than ten years ago, and her place has been filled, as well as another could fill it, by a housekeeper. My home is No. 119 —— street; but, Doctor Wesselhoff, if you still doubt my statements, and imagine that I am laboring under a peculiar mania, you can easily ascertain the truth by bringing my father here to prove my assertions. I beg that you will do so without delay, for he must be suffering the most harrowing suspense on my account."
Doctor Wesselhoff looked very much disturbed, for the more he talked with Ray, the more fully convinced he was that he had been unconsciously lending his aid to further an atrocious crime.
But as he saw how pale and weary his patient was, he was recalled to a sense of his duty as a physician.
He arose and kindly took the young man's hand.
"I am very much afraid," he said, "that we are both the victims of a complicated plot; but let me assure you that so far as I am concerned, the wrong to you shall be made right without a moment's delay. Now I want you to go to sleep, and while you are resting I will seek an interview with the man whom you claim as your father."
Ray's weak fingers closed over the hand he held in a friendly clasp at this assurance, and he was at once inspired with implicit confidence in the physician.
"Thank you," he said, a trustful smile wreathing his thin lips, "I will be obedient and go to sleep, but I shall expect to find my father here when I awake."
"If Amos Palmer is your father, you will surely find him by your bedside after you have had your nap," Doctor Wesselhoff responded, and with another hand-clasp he withdrew from the room.
In less than five minutes Ray was sleeping quietly and restfully.
Half an hour later the great brain specialist rang the bell of Amos Palmer's handsome residence. The servant who answered it replied in the affirmative when asked if the gentleman of the house was in, and ushered the visitor into a richly furnished reception-room leading from the hall.
A few minutes later a sorrowful, despondent-looking gentleman entered, and politely, although somewhat absently, saluted his caller.
He did not look much like the upright, energetic and affable gentleman who had so courteously served the elegant Mrs. Vanderbeck a few weeks previous.
His face was wan and drawn with anguish, his cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken, heavy and lusterless; his form was bowed, his steps feeble and faltering.
After saluting Doctor Wesselhoff, he threw himself, with a heavy sigh, into a chair, where he immediately became absorbed in his own painful thoughts, appearing to forget that there was any one present, or that there were duties devolving upon him as host.
"Mr. Palmer," said the physician, breaking in upon his sorrowful reverie, "my name is Wesselhoff, and I have called to consult with you regarding the very peculiar circumstances connected with your son's disappearance."
Amos Palmer was like one electrified upon hearing this. He sat erect, and stared with wondering eyes at his companion, and began to tremble violently.
"My son! my son!" he cried, in quavering tones. "Oh, if you can tell me anything—if you can tell me that he—lives," the word was scarcely audible, "you will put new life into me."
"Tell me his full name, if you please," said Doctor Wesselhoff, who was scarcely less excited than the trembling man before him.
"Raymond Palmer."
"Describe him to me."
Amos Palmer gave him a minute description of the young man as he appeared on the day that he had been trapped into the physician's house, even to the clothing which he had worn, and the doctor was at last convinced that, all unwittingly, he had assisted in the perpetration of a double crime.
"Yes," he said, when the eager father had concluded, and feeling that he must at once relieve the terrible suspense under which his companion was laboring; "your son lives, and is longing to see his father."
"Oh, then, I have nothing more to wish for—the world will be bright to me once more, for he was my all, Doctor Wesselhoff—my last, and best beloved. I have laid six children in the grave, and all my hopes were centered in Ray. My boy! my boy! I am content to know that you live—that you are not lost to me!"
The over-wrought man broke down utterly at this point, bowed his face upon his hands, and sobbed almost convulsively.
Doctor Wesselhoff was also greatly moved at the sight of his emotion, but as soon as he could control himself sufficiently, he remarked:
"I have a very strange story to tell you, Mr. Palmer, and you may be inclined, as your son was at first, to suspect me of complicity in the affair. I am, however, willing to be subjected to a rigorous investigation, if you demand it; but let me assure you that the moment I discovered the truth, I saw that I, as well as you, had been wretchedly imposed upon, and I was anxious to do all in my power to right the wrong."
He then related all that he had told Ray, and all that we already know, while Amos Palmer listened with wonder to the unfolding of the bold and cunning scheme which had so baffled the police and the best detectives in New York.
"It is the most devilish plot I ever heard of if you will excuse the expression," Mr. Palmer excitedly exclaimed, when his visitor had concluded his narrative.
"It certainly was a very brazen one, yet very cleverly arranged, and just as artfully carried out," Doctor Wesselhoff remarked; and then he inquired, while he regarded his companion with earnest interest: "But have you no doubts as to the truth of my statements? Have you no suspicions that I might also be concerned in the plot?"
"No, sir; I am impressed that you are a man of truth and honor. I have heard of you, and know something of your reputation; and I can but feel thankful that my son fell into your hands, rather than into the clutches of some unprincipled villain," Mr. Palmer replied, with a hearty confidence in his tones that could not be doubted. Then he added: "Excuse me for a few moments while I order my carriage, then you shall take me at once to my son."
Amos Palmer seemed a changed man now that hope throbbed once more in his heart, and he started up with all his old-time vigor and energy to leave the room.
But Doctor Wesselhoff stopped him.
"My own carriage is at your door—do not wait for yours; come at once with me and I will have you sent home when you are ready to return; but Mr. Palmer, you must be prepared to find your son greatly changed, for he has been very ill; the worst is over, however, and he will gain rapidly now, if we take proper care of him."
In a few moments the two men were driving rapidly toward the physician's residence, while they more fully discussed the affair of the robbery, and the skillful way in which it had been managed.
"I would never have believed that a woman could have nerve enough to attempt anything so daring," Mr. Palmer remarked. "I should have been willing to take my oath that she—this Mrs. Vanderbeck, so called—was just what she pretended to be—a refined and cultured lady accustomed to the most polished society. She did not overdo her part in the least, and had one of the most frank and beautiful faces that I have ever seen. Her figure and carriage were superb, her manner charming. The only peculiar thing about her was her hair, which was a decided red, as were also her eyebrows, and lashes. She had fine teeth, and she was very richly, though modestly, dressed. She came to the store apparently in her own carriage, with a colored driver, and everything seemed to indicate that she belonged in the ranks of high life."
"The woman who came to me, to make arrangements for the treatment of her pretended son, was a much older woman than you describe," Doctor Wesselhoff said, in reply, "her hair was almost white, her face was somewhat wrinkled, and she appeared sad and depressed. It must be that there were two women concerned in the affair, for my visitor remarked that since her son, when under the influence of his mania, was so determined to have her arrested, she would send her sister, whom she called Mrs. Vanderbeck, with him."
"Hum—maybe my adventuress was the same person in disguise," Mr. Palmer thoughtfully observed.
"But you said she had red hair, brows, and lashes, and was quite young in appearance; while Mrs. Walton was old and wrinkled, with white hair; the brows and lashes I did not notice particularly, but they certainly were not red," Doctor Wesselhoff responded, doubtfully.
"Well, whether they were one and the same or not, the whole thing is a perplexing puzzle, and I would sacrifice a good deal to have it solved," said Mr. Palmer. "But," he added, with a sigh, "I am afraid that it never will be, for the thieves, in all probability, left New York immediately, and were sharp enough to remove the diamonds from their settings before attempting to dispose of them."
"They may overreach themselves yet and be brought to justice," Doctor Wesselhoff remarked. "But is there no way of identifying the diamonds unset?"
"Some of them—two in particular—could be identified; they were a pair of magnificent solitaires, and I am sure my expert could tell them anywhere," Mr. Palmer replied.
"It is strange that you were not suspicious of a person who wished to purchase so many diamonds at one time," said the physician, thoughtfully.
"She did not pretend that she wished to buy all that she laid out, only that her selections from the lot were to be made with the advice and sanction of her husband; and in this way—don't you see?—the clever sharper got possession of a great deal more than she would otherwise have done."
"True, she showed herself very shrewd. But your son has in his possession a clew, though a very slender one, which may possibly lead to a solution of the mystery. It is a small piece of cloth that was torn from the woman's dress," Doctor Wesselhoff returned.
"I am afraid that won't amount to much, for, probably, if the woman is still in New York, which I doubt, she will never wear that dress again," Mr. Palmer responded. "But," he continued, cheerfully, "I shall not complain as long as I am to have Ray back again. I fully believed that he had been murdered. My loss I can never tell you what anguish I have endured, for will of course eat deeply into the profits of my business for this year, but that is of comparatively little consequence. I am more troubled to have such wickedness prosper than I am about any pecuniary loss."
The carriage stopped just then, and the conversation ended. Both gentlemen alighted, and Doctor Wesselhoff led the way into his house, and straight up to the chamber which Ray occupied.
He had not aroused once during the doctor's absence, but awoke almost immediately after their entrance, and the meeting between the father and son was both joyful and tender.
Neither had ever before realized how much they were to each other, or believed that life could be so dark if they were separated.
Doctor Wesselhoff would not allow them to talk very much that night, for he said that his patient was liable to have a relapse if he became too weary or was subjected to too much excitement; so Mr. Palmer was permitted to remain only a short time with him, but promised to return again at as early an hour in the morning as the physician would allow.
He visited Ray twice every day after that, and both father and son were fully convinced of the truth and honesty of purpose of the noted specialist, who had given Ray such excellent care, and whose interest in him continued to increase throughout his recovery.
The Palmers found him very genial and entertaining, and an enduring friendship grew up between the three.
Ray improved very rapidly, and was able by the end of two weeks to return to his own home; but, though he was very thankful to be restored to health and to his father once more he was saddened and dismayed upon learning of Mr. Dinsmore's sudden death, and that Mona had been deprived of her inheritance.
He was still more appalled when, upon making inquiries, he could learn nothing of her movements since leaving her home. No one seemed to know anything about her—even her friend Susie Leades was in ignorance of her whereabouts, for Mona had shrunk, with extreme sensitiveness, from telling any one, save Mr. Graves, of her plans for the future.
Ray did not know who had been Mr. Dinsmore's man of business, so, of course, he could not appeal to the lawyer, and he was finally forced to believe that Mona had left New York.
He could not be reconciled to have her vanish so completely out of his life, just when he had begun to entertain such strong hopes of winning her for his wife.
For more than two years he had loved Mona Montague in secret, but only during the last few months had he allowed himself to show her marked attention.
She had been in school until the previous June, and he had felt sure that Mr. Dinsmore would not countenance anything that would distract her mind from her studies, therefore he had waited, with commendable patience, until she graduated before making it manifest that he experienced any especial pleasure in her society.
Mr. Dinsmore and Mona had spent the months of July and August at Lenox, Massachusetts, and Ray, having learned their plans, arranged to be there at the same time. Therefore the young people had seen considerable of each other during the summer, and before their return to New York, Ray Palmer had begun to have strong hopes that he should eventually win the beautiful girl for his wife.
They met several times in society during the early winter, and Mona always appeared so happy with him that he gradually grew bolder in his attentions, and finally formally requested the pleasure of acting as her escort in public. This request was granted, as we know, and cordial permission to call was also given him, and when Ray left Mona that night, after their attendance at the opera, he resolved to seek Mr. Dinsmore at an early day and ask the privilege of paying his addresses to his niece with the view of winning her.
But he was very unhappy over his fruitless efforts to find her, and he grew strangely silent and depressed, greatly to his father's surprise, even while he was every day gaining in health and strength.
Finally Mr. Palmer questioned him outright as to the cause; and Ray, longing for both sympathy and advice, frankly told him the truth.
"That is too bad, Ray, and I am extremely sorry," the royal-hearted man remarked. "I should be very sorry to have you disappointed in such a matter, but do not be discouraged; we will do our best to find the young lady, and then you shall bring her home as soon as you please."
"Then you approve of my choice?" Ray remarked, with some surprise at his father's interest and even anxiety to have him succeed in his suit.
"Why not? I do not know Miss Montague, but I am sure that a niece of Mr. Dinsmore, and reared with the care which he would be likely to bestow upon her, could be objectionable to no one. Mr. Dinsmore was one of the noblest of men," said Mr. Palmer, with hearty commendation.
"But Mona is only a penniless girl now," Ray responded, determined that his father should fully comprehend the situation. "Mr. Dinsmore's wife has claimed all his property, I have been told, and even if I could find and win her, my bride would have to come to me without any dowry."
"That wouldn't trouble me in the least, my boy, provided the girl herself was all right," his father gravely returned. "We have enough," he continued, smiling, "without desiring to enrich ourselves by marrying money. You shall choose your own wife, Ray, be she rich or poor, plain or beautiful; only find a sensible little woman who will be a true wife and make you happy, and I shall be more than satisfied."
"Thank you, father," Ray gratefully returned. "I wish there were more men like yourself in the world—there would surely be fewer ill-assorted marriages if there were. Only let me find Mona, and I will soon convince you that she will be a girl after your own heart, as well as mine."