Rogues and Vagabonds

by George R. Sims

He had found out now the whole vile plot against him, and as he sat at home and coughed, he brooded over his wrongs. He had found out that he had been frightened out of the country by a ruse, and that Marston and Preene were at the bottom of it. Every time he coughed, every time he swayed to and fro, the great gorged veins on his head standing out in ridges with the violence of the paroxysms, he cursed Marston. He believed that he had caught his death that night in the cold waters of the Serpentine, and he grew almost to thirst for his destroyer’s blood.

If he had met Edward Marston face to face now he would have sprung upon him and throttled him where he stood. But the temptation did not come, and he sat and brooded over his wrongs, and matured the deep-laid scheme which was to put his enemy under his feet.

He rubbed his hands when he thought of the scene. He chuckled and laughed to himself as he pictured the hour of his triumph.

And day by day the cough grew worse and worse, and his brawny limbs lost more and more of their strength. Long sleepless nights and days of unrest were telling on him, and at times he would lean back in the easy-chair, which Bess had wheeled to the fire for him, close his eyes, and wonder what sort of a world it was men like himself went to when they died.

Bess and George knew only a portion of their protector’s secret. They knew that he, like themselves, had been foully wronged by Marston. George lost sight of everything in his desire to wipe the awful stain from his name, and to clear himself before the world. And Josh Heckett promised him if he would only be patient he should wring a confession of his innocence from the real culprit himself.

It was necessary for them to act with caution, for George’s recapture would have ruined all. Heckett would not risk all by striking till the blow was sure, and he had not the information he wanted yet, though some of his old associates were at work for him.

Birnie had promised to assist him in something that he particularly wanted to know, and one day the doctor’s carriage drove up to the door, and the doctor came in and told Josh two things—one he was glad to hear, and one he would not have heard for untold gold.

From the first piece of information he learnt that Marston was in his clutches now. The doctor had traced him to his den; the doctor had found out that he had inherited, through his wife, the Heritage estates, and that he had taken the name with the money.

But the doctor also told Heckett that his cough was worse, and that he must take every care of himself, for the symptoms were serious, and a fresh cold on this one would end in consumption.

And the doctor spoke only half the truth.