Chapter XVI How the Miniatures Disappeared - Dave Porter and his Double by Edward Stratemeyer
“The miniatures are gone?” came from Ben Basswood in astonishment.
“Yes, Ben, gone!” and the mother wrung her hands in despair.
“Do you mean to say Ward Porton dared to come here and impersonate me and get them?” cried Dave.
“It must have been that fellow, Dave. He looked exactly like you. That is why I just asked you if you had been to our house.”
“I have been with Ben and the others since we went on our sleigh-ride,” said our hero. “This is terrible! How did it happen?”
“Come into the house and I’ll tell you all about it,” answered Mrs. Basswood. Her face was drawn with anxiety, and all could see that she was suffering keenly.
“And how is father?” questioned Ben, as the party trooped up the piazza steps and into the house.
“He isn’t so well, Ben, as he was before you went away. Oh, dear! and to think how easily I was duped!”
Dave had told Washington Bones to wait for them, and, entering the parlor of the Basswood home, the others listened to what the lady of the house had to tell.
“Your father had just had another bad turn, and the nurse and I were doing what we could for him when the door-bell rang,” she began. “I went downstairs, and there stood somebody that I thought was Dave. I asked him into the house and he at once wanted to know how Mr. Basswood was getting along.”
“When was this?” questioned Ben.
“This was two days ago, and just about noon time.”
“Two days ago!” repeated Roger. “Then Porton must have come here right after leaving the hotel in Lamont. How ever did he get here?”
“Maybe he took that train that got through from Pepsico,” answered Phil. “You remember we heard that quite a few people made that train.”
“Let us hear about the miniatures,” broke in Ben, impatiently.
“Well, he came in, as I said, and asked about Mr. Basswood’s health. Then he told me that he was in a great hurry–that a certain famous art critic had called on Mr. Wadsworth, and, having heard about the Enos miniatures, was very anxious to see them. He told me that the art critic had thought of coming over with him, but Mr. Wadsworth had said that it might disturb Mr. Basswood too much to have the miniatures examined in our house. The art critic did not want to become snowbound in Crumville, so he was only going to stay until the four o’clock afternoon train. The young man said Mr. Wadsworth wanted to know if we would allow him to take the miniatures over to the Wadsworth house, and that he would bring them back safely, either that evening or the next morning.”
“Oh, Mother! didn’t you suspect it might be a trick?” questioned Ben, anxiously. “You knew how this Ward Porton has been impersonating Dave.”
“Yes, yes, Ben, I know,” answered Mrs. Basswood, again wringing her hands. “And I should have been more careful. But you know I was very much upset on account of the bad turn your father had had. Then, too, the young man threw me off my guard by asking me if I had one of those cards which Dave had distributed among the storekeepers–the one with his autograph on it.
“I said ‘no,’ but told him I was very well acquainted with his handwriting. Then he said he would write out a card for me, adding, with a laugh, that he wanted me to be sure he was really Dave. He drew a blank card out of his pocket and turned to a table to write on it and then handed it to me. Here is the card now;” and, going to the mantelpiece, the lady of the house produced it.
“One of the cards that I left in the overcoat that was stolen!” exclaimed Dave. “He didn’t write this at all, Mrs. Basswood. That rascal stole my overcoat and some of these cards were in it. He simply pretended to write on it.”
“Well, I was sure it was your handwriting, and that made me feel easy about the fellow being you.”
“But you knew I was with Ben and the others on the sleigh-ride,” broke in Dave.
“Oh, I forgot to state that when he came in he explained that you were all stormbound at the hotel in Lamont and that, as the telephone and telegraph wires were all down, he had managed to get to Pepsico and reach Crumville on a freight train, doing this so that we and the Wadsworths would not worry, thinking the sleighing-party had been lost somewhere on the road in this awful blizzard.”
“And then you gave him the miniatures?” questioned Ben.
“I did. Oh, Ben, I know now how very foolish it was! But I was so upset! At first I thought to ask your father about it; but I was afraid that to disturb him would make him feel worse, and I knew he was bad enough already. Then, too, I knew that Mr. Wadsworth was expecting some art critics to look at the miniatures, so I concluded it must be all right. I have always known the combination of your father’s safe, so it was an easy matter for me to open it and get the miniatures out. I told the young man to be careful of them, and he told me not to worry–that the miniatures would be perfectly safe, and that Mr. Wadsworth had promised to get the critic to set a fair value on each of them.”
“Was this Ward Porton alone?” asked Laura. The girls, of course, had listened with as much interest as the boys to what the lady of the house had to relate.
“No, he came in a cutter driven by a man who was so bundled up because of the cold that I could not make out who he was. As soon as I gave him the cases containing the miniatures the young man hurried off in the cutter, stating that the sooner the critic had a chance to see the paintings the better.”
“And what happened next?” questioned Dave, as Mrs. Basswood paused in her recital.
“I went back to assist a nurse who had come in, and all that night we had our hands full with my husband. We had to call in the doctor, and he was really not out of danger until noon of the next day. I had wanted to tell him about sending the miniatures over to the Wadsworth house, but he was in no condition to be told anything, so I kept silent.”
“But didn’t you get worried when noon came and the supposed Dave didn’t return with them?” questioned the son.
“Yes, as soon as the doctor said that your father was out of danger I began to worry over the miniatures. I waited until the middle of the afternoon, and then, although it was snowing and blowing something awful, I hailed a passing man–old Joe Patterson–and asked him if he would go on an errand to the Wadsworth house. He said he would try to make it for a dollar, and so I wrote a short note to Mrs. Wadsworth, knowing that she must be at home even though her husband and Dave might be away.
“Old Patterson delivered this message, and Mrs. Wadsworth sent back word that she had not seen anything of Dave since he had gone away on the sleigh-ride, nor had she seen anything of the miniatures. She added that her husband had gone to the jewelry works, but that she would send one of the hired men after him at once and acquaint him with the situation.”
“What did you do then?” went on Ben.
“I really didn’t know what to do. Your father was so ill that the nurse and I had to give him every attention. I was waiting for the doctor to come again, but he could not get here on account of the snow-drifts. Mr. Wadsworth put in an appearance about two hours later, and then I told him just what I have told you. He declared at once that it must be a trick, stating that Dave had not been near the house since going away with all of you young folks. Mr. Wadsworth was quite put out, and wanted to know how it was that I had not been able to detect the deception.”
“Well, I must say–” commenced Ben, and then stopped short, for he could see how his mother was suffering.
“Oh, yes, Ben, I know what you were going to say,” she broke in quickly. “Having known Dave so many years I should have discovered the deception. But, as I said before, I was terribly worked up over your father’s condition. Then, too, the young man came in bundled up in an overcoat and a cap that looked exactly like those Dave wears.”
“They were mine. That fellow stole them from me,” interrupted our hero, bitterly.
“Not only that, but he had a tippet placed over his head and around his neck, and he spoke in a very hoarse voice, stating that he had caught a terrible cold while on the sleigh-ride and while coming back to Crumville on the freight train. He spoke about Mr. Basswood’s real estate business, and about Mr. and Mrs. Wadsworth and Jessie, and so many other things that we are familiar with, that I was completely deceived. Then, too, his turning over that written card to me also threw me off my guard. But I know I was very foolish, very foolish indeed!” and Mrs. Basswood’s lips trembled and she wrung her hands once again.
“What did Mr. Wadsworth do?” questioned Dave, in the midst of rather an awkward pause. He agreed with Ben that Mrs. Basswood should have recognized Ward Porton as an imposter, but he did not want to say anything that might add to the lady’s misery.
“He said he would set the authorities at work and see if he could not find Porton and his confederate. I was so bewildered that I–well, I might as well admit it–I told him that I couldn’t understand how I had been deceived, and that maybe Dave had gotten the miniatures after all.”
“Oh, Mrs. Basswood, you didn’t really mean that!” cried our hero.
“I was so bewildered I didn’t know what I meant, Dave. That young man did look so very much like you. That’s the reason, when you folks drove up to the house, I ran out to ask if you had really been here or not.”
“Have you heard anything of this Ward Porton since?” asked Roger.
“I haven’t heard anything. Whether Mr. Wadsworth has learned anything or not I do not know, for he has not been here and the storm has been so awful, with all the telephone wires down, that I could not send for news.”
“Does father know about this now?” questioned Ben.
“No, Ben, I have not had the courage to tell him,” answered the mother. “I told the doctor, and he advised that I say nothing for the present.”
“I don’t think I’d tell him,” said Dave. “I think the best thing we can do is to try to follow Porton and this fellow with him and get back the miniatures. Then it will be time enough to tell Mr. Basswood about the affair.”
As soon as they had entered the parlor the lady of the house had shut the door, so that none of the conversation might reach the sick chamber overhead. In reply to numerous questions Mrs. Basswood gave all the details as to how the rascally Porton had been able to gain possession of the miniatures.
“I think I’ll hurry up and get home,” declared Dave, presently. “I want to hear what Mr. Wadsworth has to say; and also find out what he and my folks have done towards getting on the track of Porton and his confederate.”
“That’s the talk!” exclaimed Roger. “Say! but this is the worst yet, isn’t it?” He turned to the lady of the house. “I am awfully sorry for you, Mrs. Basswood.”
“I guess we are all sorry,” broke in our hero, quickly.
“Oh, I hope they catch that Porton and put him in prison!” cried Jessie.
“That is where he belongs,” answered Dave, soberly.