“What a poor, weak man his father must be,” said Hannah, contemptuously, “to let a woman like her turn him against his own flesh and blood!”
“I agree with you, Hannah. I hope some time he may see his mistake.”
Carl kept on his way to the hotel. It was summer and Mr. Thorndike was sitting on the piazza smoking a cigar. To him Carl delivered the note.
“It’s all right!” he said, rapidly glancing it over. “You may tell Mr. Jennings,” and here he gave an answer to the question asked in the letter.
“Yes, sir, I will remember.”
“Won’t you sit down and keep me company a little while?” asked Thorndike, who was sociably inclined.
“Thank you, sir,” and Carl sat down in a chair beside him.
“Will you have a cigar?”
“No, thank you, sir. I don’t smoke.”
“That is where you are sensible. I began to smoke at fourteen, and now I find it hard to break off. My doctor tells me it is hurting me, but the chains of habit are strong.”
“All the more reason for forming good habits, sir.”
“Spoken like a philosopher. Are you in the employ of my friend, Mr. Jennings?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Learning the business?”
“That is my present intention.”
“If you ever come out to Chicago, call on me, and if you are out of a place, I will give you one.”
“Are you not a little rash, Mr. Thorndike, to offer me a place when you know so little of me?”
“I trust a good deal to looks. I care more for them than for recommendations.”
At that moment Phil Stark came out of the hotel, and passing them, stepped off the piazza into the street.
Mr. Thorndike half rose from his seat, and looked after him.
“Who is that?” he asked, in an exciting whisper.
“A man named Stark, who is boarding at the hotel. Do you know him?”
“Do I know him?” repeated Thorndike. “He is one of the most successful burglars in the West.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
PREPARING FOR THE BURGLAR.
CARL stared at Mr. Thorndike in surprise and dismay.
“A burglar!” he ejaculated.
“Yes; I was present in the courtroom when he was convicted of robbing the Springfield bank. I sat there for three hours, and his face was impressed upon my memory. I saw him later on in the Joliet Penitentiary. I was visiting the institution and saw the prisoners file out into the yard. I recognized this man instantly. Do you know how long he has been here?”
“For two weeks I should think.”
“He has some dishonest scheme in his head, I have no doubt. Have you a bank in Milford?”
“Yes.”
“He may have some design upon that.”
“He is very intimate with our bookkeeper, so his nephew tells me.”
Mr. Thorndike looked startled.
“Ha! I scent danger to my friend, Mr. Jennings. He ought to be apprised.”
“He shall be, sir,” said Carl, firmly.
“Will you see him to-night?”
“Yes, sir; I am not only in his employ, but I live at his house.”
“That is well.”
“Perhaps I ought to go home at once.”
“No attempt will be made to rob the office till late. It is scarcely eight o’clock. I don’t know, however, but I will walk around to the house with you, and tell your employer what I know. By the way, what sort of a man is the bookkeeper?”
“I don’t know him very well, sir. He has a nephew in the office, who was transferred from the factory. I have taken his place.”
“Do you think the bookkeeper would join in a plot to rob his employer?”
“I don’t like him. To me he is always disagreeable, but I would not like to say that.”
“How long has he been in the employ of Mr. Jennings?”
“As long as two years, I should think.”
“You say that this man is intimate with him?”
“Leonard Craig–he is the nephew–says that Mr. Philip Stark is at his uncle’s house every evening.”
“So he calls himself Philip Stark, does he?”
“Isn’t that his name?”
“I suppose it is one of his names. He was convicted under that name, and retains it here on account of its being so far from the place of his conviction. Whether it is his real name or not, I do not know. What is the name of your bookkeeper?”