Having nothing to lose, he has nothing to fear.”
The landlord of the Greenville Hotel faithfully kept his promise in revealing to no one the secret which his late guest desired him to keep. And in due time, three days later, the false Mr. John Dinsmore returned to the village, and after partaking of one meal at the hotel, for which he paid liberally from a large roll of bills, he set out at once on foot for Blackheath Hall, which lay on the outskirts of the town.
For once fate had been exceedingly kind to the daring adventurer—his hasty letter to the doctor in Newport had come in the nick of time. In John Dinsmore’s haste away from the place where he had so nearly lost his life he had accidentally left behind him a satchel which contained all of his valuable papers. These were handed to the doctor by the nurse at whose cottage the sick man had been stopping.
He was just on the point of advertising it—not knowing where his patient was bound for when he left—when two things happened at one and the same time: the total wreck of the train on which he was believed to have been a passenger; and the second, the receipt of the letter, in which Raymond Challoner laid his daring scheme of the winning of a fortune—if he had his co-operation—before him, offering him a goodly share of the Dinsmore millions if he would but help him to obtain them.
The doctor was poor; everything had been going against him of late, and he needed money badly. The battle between his will and his conscience was sharp but decisive—his will had won.
Lest he should change his mind, the doctor had shipped the satchel containing John Dinsmore’s important papers to Challoner, at New Orleans, in accordance with his request, and eagerly awaited results, for he had misgivings as to how it would turn out.
Armed with the needed credentials, the fraudulent Dinsmore proceeded at once to present himself to the New Orleans lawyer who had the settlement of the Dinsmore estate in charge.
It was no easy ordeal to pass muster with the astute old man of law, but Challoner accomplished it.
The important documents he brought with him for that gentleman’s inspection proved satisfactory upon examination, leaving no room for doubt—there being a letter among them from the deceased George Dinsmore, written fully twenty-five years before to his nephew—for the postmarked envelope bore that date—stating if he grew up to be a good boy he should one day inherit Blackheath Hall, to which he was invited on a visit.
The old lawyer did not fancy the young heir particularly—there was something about him that seemed to grate harshly upon him.