“Mrs. Carberry Ratcliff. By her death I become the legally irresponsible, and therefore all the more morally the responsible, manager of an estate of more than half a million, of which a considerable portion is to be used by me for the benefit of two women at present slaves.”
“But her husband will never consent to it!” interposed Vance.
“Fortunately,” replied Winslow, “all the property was some time since sent North and converted into gold. Well: I’ve just come from an interview with Ratcliff himself. He came to tell me of his wife’s death. He brought with him a quasi will, signed a year ago, in which his wife requests me to hand over to him such property as I may consider at her disposal. He called on me to demand that I should forthwith surrender my trust; said he was in immediate need of three hundred thousand dollars. He did not dream of a rebuff. He was in high spirits. The news from Bull Run had greatly elated him. His wife’s death he plainly regarded as a happy relief. Conceive of his wrath, when, in the midst of his lofty hopes and haughty demands, I handed him a copy of the memoranda, noted down by me this very day, in which Mrs. Ratcliff makes a very different disposition of the property.”
“I know something of the man’s temper,” said Vance.
“He laughed a scornful laugh,” resumed Winslow, “and, shaking his forefinger at me, said: ‘You shall swing for this, you damned old Yankee! Your trusteeship isn’t worth a straw. I’ll have you compelled to disgorge, this very hour.’ But when I told him that the whole half-million, left in my hands by his wife’s father, was safely deposited in gold in a Northern city, the man actually grew livid with rage. He drew his Derringer on me, and would probably have shot me but for the sober second thought that told him he could make more out of me living than dead. In a frenzy he left my office. This was about half an hour ago. After reflection on our interview I concluded it would be prudent in me to escape from the city if possible, and I have come to ask if you can aid me in doing it.”
“Nothing could be more opportune,” replied Vance, “than your coming. I have laid all my plans to leave in a small steamer this very night. A young friend goes with me. You shall accompany us. Have you any preparations to make?”
“None, except to find some trustworthy person with whom I can leave an amount of money for the two slave-women of whom I spoke. For it would be dangerous, if not impracticable, to attempt to take them with us.”
“Yes, use your golden keys to unlock their chains in this case,” said Vance. “Do not show yourself again on the street. Ratcliff will at once have detectives at your heels. Hark! There’s a knock at the door. Pass into my chamber, and lock yourself in, and open only to my rapping, thus,—one, two—one, two—one.”
Winslow obeyed, and Vance, opening his parlor door, met Kenrick.
“Well, cousin,” asked Vance, “are you all ready? You look pale, man! What’s the matter?”