A Young Inventor's Pluck Part 30

"My father was ten years younger than his step-brother," continued Mont, slowly. "He was quite well off, having been left considerable money by an old aunt, who always took a great interest in him. My uncle Felix induced him, shortly after receiving his inheritance, to locate at Corney, and both became equal partners in the tool works."

"On your father's capital?"

"So I imagined; his brother putting his experience and command of trade against my father's money."

"Then you really own a half interest in the works!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise.

"So I always believed. But listen. My father died suddenly, it was said. I returned home in time to hear his will read. In this, his property, without being specified, was left to me as the only surviving member of the family, with Felix Gray as the sole executor and my guardian."

"It was a good deal to trust in his hands."

"I suppose my father had unlimited confidence in his brother. I trusted him, too, and continued at school for three years longer.

"When seventeen years old I returned home, and asked him if I was not old enough to take an active position at the works, and then he offered me my present clerks.h.i.+p, and astonished me by a.s.serting that my father had squandered most of his wealth by extravagant living, and that several hundred dollars was all there was remaining of my share."

"And you think?" began the young machinist, who was beginning to see through the situation.

"What would you think, Jack?" asked the young man, earnestly. "My father lived well--owned the yacht we just left, and all that--but was on the whole, I've been told, a prudent man. Now you know my uncle, what do you make of the matter?"

"Did Mr. Gray ever offer to let you examine the accounts?"

"Only those at the tool works, but not the private ones at home."

"Then, to say the least, he is certainly not acting as a guardian should," declared Jack. "And I think you would be perfectly justified in demanding an examination."

"That's your honest opinion?"

"It is, Mont. If he is acting right he won't mind it, and if he isn't, why the sooner you find it out the better. From my own experience I am sure he would stoop pretty low to increase his wealth or position."

"Yes, but that--that----" hesitated the young man, his face flus.h.i.+ng.

"I know what you mean," replied Jack quickly. "To deprive you of what's yours is a crime punishable by imprisonment, and you hate to have such a thing connected with any one in your family. But it's not your fault, and you ought to have your rights."

"Yes, but the publicity?" faltered Mont.

"Oh, pshaw! you don't owe the public anything!" exclaimed the young machinist, somewhat impatiently, so anxious was he to see Mont get his rights. "Perhaps the affair can be settled privately."

"I wish it could," returned the young man eagerly. "I would sacrifice a good deal to have it done in that way."

Mont's nature was a shrinking one. Had he been less diffident it is probable that he would have demanded an account from Mr. Felix Gray long before this.

"How will you approach your uncle?" asked Jack. "Have you any proofs to show that all is not right?"

"I think I have. During the fire I helped carry out a desk from the library, and the other fellow let his end fall, and burst open one of the drawers. The contents rolled out on the ground, and in putting the papers back I came across a bundle marked with my father's name. I was at first going to put it with the rest, but as matters stand, changed my mind, and pocketed it. I took it down to the office, but haven't been able to examine it, except in a general way. And then those doc.u.ments from the yacht----"

"Here they are," replied Jack, producing them. "You have some, too."

"Yes, quite a bundle."

Mont undid them, and tried to read some of the faded ma.n.u.script.

"It's too dark to see much," he observed. "If I'm not mistaken, my father wrote everything that is here."

"It's queer that Pooler should leave all those things on the yacht undisturbed," returned the young machinist. "One would think that such a man as he would have ransacked the boat from stem to stern."

"He certainly must have a reason,", said the young man. "Or else--I've been thinking--he may be a little off in his mind. Did you notice what a restless look his eyes had?"

"Yes, as if he expected to be nabbed by some one."

"What Mosey and Corrigan and my uncle do there beats me."

"And then the yacht. Was your father on board when he died?"

"I don't know. I always supposed he was at home, and never asked about it."

Both felt that for the present at least, the solution of this question was beyond their power to reach, and they lapsed into silence.

They were now near the old mill, and remembering the kit he had dropped when he discovered Mosey, Jack made a search for it.

"What are you looking for?" asked Mont.

"My tools I dropped--gracious, listen!"

A shrill, girlish voice penetrated the air, and fairly struck him to the heart.

"Help! Jack! Help!"

"It's Deb!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "She's in trouble!" and he ran toward the old building, closely followed by Mont.

It took but a few seconds to reach the place. The door was tightly closed, but with one heavy kick the young machinist burst it open.

They were astonished at the sight within.

There was Corrigan--his red face redder than ever with rage--and in his arms, her hair flying, and her dress plainly showing the effects of her terrible struggle for liberty, was poor Deb!

CHAPTER XXI.

CORRIGAN MAKES A MOVE

Both Jack and Mont had had surprising adventures in plenty, but both of them agreed that none of them equaled the present one.

The noise in the room prevented Corrigan from hearing their entrance, and it was not until Jack's strong hand grasped his arm that he realized the sudden intrusion, and let go his hold upon Deb.

As for the poor girl, she was too exhausted to speak, but with a glad look of recognition, sank back in a faint, supported by Mont, who sprang forward to prevent her from falling to the floor.