CHAPTER XXII
THE MISSING PAPERS
TOM hardly breathed, fearful lest he might be discovered. But the lawyer was apparently satisfied with casually looking into the room, for, in a moment, he had turned out the light and Tom heard him going back to the main apartment.
“Now to listen to what they say,” thought the telephone boy. “I hope Sandow calls him up.”
No sooner had he spoken than he heard from outside, the buzz which told that one of the disk signals had fallen. Tom had purposely left the buzzing arrangement on, so that he might know when the call came in.
“There it is,” he went on. But it did not continue long for Mr. Cutler shifted the lever controlling it, and the buzzing ceased. The lawyer knew how to operate the switchboard.
Tom softly lifted the receiver from the hook of the instrument at his side. He did it carefully in order that the click, which always takes place when this is done, might sound as softly as possible in the listening ear of Mr. Cutler. Then Tom heard voices in conversation, and he knew that the two plotters were making their plans. He listened intently.
“Is everything ready?” he heard the lawyer ask.
“Everything,” was Sandow’s reply. “I got him to sign the deeds and mortgages this afternoon. He didn’t realize what they were. I told him they were some orders for books he had purchased, and he is so forgetful that he believed me. He is getting worse every day.”
“All the better for our purpose then. Well, if you have all the papers signed, send them to me at this office to-morrow.”
“What will that mean?” asked Sandow, who knew little about law.
“It will mean that the property will belong to your wife and you—after I have attached my signature as witnessing that of Dr. Spidderkins. But of course, I get my share or——”
“Of course, you will,” Sandow hastened to assure his fellow-schemer. “I’ll do just as I promised.”
“You’d better,” announced Cutler grimly, “or I could have you held for fraudulently obtaining the deeds and mortgages.”
“What about yourself?”
“Oh, a lawyer knows enough to look out for himself. But everything will be all right.”
“I hope that meddlesome boy doesn’t interfere again,” Tom heard Sandow say. “Did you get him discharged?”
“No; my plan didn’t work. Boise brought in a central girl, and she said it wasn’t Tom’s voice that gave the secret away. I believe the little witch suspected me. I’ll have to be careful. Now don’t come here to see me, and don’t call me up. I think Boise also suspects me, and I’ll have to go slow. I guess that’s all now. Don’t forget to send me the papers.”
“I’ll not. I suppose it’s safe to talk over the ’phone this way.”
“Of course. That’s why I selected this time. There’s no one here, and that central girl is off duty at night. Well, I guess——”
At that instant Tom’s elbow accidentally touched the receiver hook, and depressed it sufficiently to produce a loud click in the instrument.
“What’s that?” asked Barton Sandow, suddenly. “Is some one listening on this telephone?”
“No; I guess not,” answered the lawyer. “It was only a click on the wire.”
Tom smiled to himself, as he thought of how the click had been produced.
“Well, I’ll have to go now,” went on the lawyer. “I guess we’ve arranged everything. Don’t forget the papers.”
Then came another click, which told that Sandow had hung up his receiver. A little later Tom heard the office door close behind Cutler.
“He’s gone,” the boy thought, “but I guess I heard enough. This settles the case. I wish it was morning, so I could tell Mr. Boise. I wonder what he’ll do?”
In accordance with the plan, made the night before, the senior partner of the law firm came to his office very early the next morning. Tom was there waiting for him, and none of the clerks, nor the other two partners, had arrived.
“Well, Tom?” asked Mr. Boise anxiously, and our hero told all that he had heard.
“Too bad! Too bad!” murmured Mr. Boise. “Cutler is a bright young man. I am sorry to see him going wrong. Well, there is no help for it; I must expose him. You say Sandow is to send some papers to him this morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we must intercept them. Watch all the mail that comes for him, and bring it to me. I will arrange to send him to the court house to look up some records, so he will be out of the way.”
Mr. Cutler seemed quite surprised when, as he came in a little later, he was told by Mr. Boise to go to the surrogate’s office, to see about a certain will.
“But I have some matters here that require my attention,” he objected. “Can’t one of the clerks go? I——”
“It is a very particular matter,” replied Mr. Boise somewhat stiffly. “I prefer to have you do it.”
“Very well,” answered the junior partner. “Is there any mail for me?” he asked of Tom, for the postman used to lay all the letters on the telephone table, whence, after Tom had sorted them, a messenger boy distributed them to the different offices.
“No, sir,” replied Tom.
“If any comes have it at once put in my desk,” went on Mr. Cutler, “and see that it is not disturbed. I am expecting some important letters.”
“Yes; I guess they are important,” thought Tom.
With no very good grace Mr. Cutler left the office to go to the court house. He had not been gone more than an hour before a special messenger left a bulky package for him.
“These must be the deeds and mortgages, secured from Dr. Spidderkins by that rascally Sandow,” thought Tom, as he left the switchboard for a moment, to take them to Mr. Boise.
“You had better remain here, Tom,” said the senior lawyer. “I may want you to go to see Dr. Spidderkins. Tell Roscoe to take the switchboard for a while.”
Roscoe was the young clerk who relieved Tom at noon.
“Yes, these are the papers,” went on Mr. Boise, when Tom had returned to his office. “Ah, to what depths of depravity Cutler has sunk! He would commit a serious crime in order to enrich himself.”
“Is it too late to save the property for Dr. Spidderkins?” asked Tom.
“No; fortunately you spoke in time. Had it not been for you the doctor would have lost nearly all he possessed. His sister-in-law seems to be in the game also. Her name is on some of the documents. Now I want you to hurry to the doctor’s house. You must see him at once, and get those papers which I sent to him by you, some time ago. I will need them in arranging this matter. Do not let Mrs. Sandow know what you come for.”
“All right,” said Tom as he started off. “Here is where I get ahead of Sandow, and get even with him for calling me a gutter-pup,” he added to himself.
Mrs. Sandow answered the door bell, as usual, when Tom rang. Probably the old doctor, if he ever heard it, forgot all about it as soon as the echoes of the peals died away.
“Well, what do you want?” asked the woman, in a sharp tone, as she saw Tom.
“I wish to see Dr. Spidderkins.”
“Well, you can’t. He’s busy.”
“But this is very important.”
“I can’t help it. You can give me the message, and I’ll tell him when I get a chance.”
“I am sorry, but I can’t do that,” said Tom firmly. “What I have to say is for the doctor personally.” Then he had an idea. Raising his voice, so it would penetrate down the long hall to the doctor’s private library, the boy said: “If I can’t see Dr. Spidderkins now, I’ll wait here until I can.”
He fairly shouted the doctor’s name.
“Look here, you young rapscallion,” exclaimed the woman, “do you think I’m deaf?”
“I didn’t know,” replied Tom, innocently, in his ordinary tones. “I thought maybe you were.”
But he had accomplished what he desired, for the doctor, hearing his name called, had roused himself long enough from poring over his books to emerge from his room. He came toward the front door.
“Who called me?” he asked. “I was just reading an account of the Marathon runner, who brought the news of that great victory. It is in a very rare volume, which I found yesterday on—Why, bless my soul! If it isn’t the boy from the book store. Let me see, I think I never paid you that ten dollars. Very forgetful of me, I’m sure. Come right in, and I’ll get it. How is Mr. Townsend?”
“I’m not there any more,” said Tom. “But you paid the ten dollars all right. Don’t you remember, I thought I had lost it?”
“Oh, so you did. That was the night you brought me the rare volume about—er—um—well, really I have forgotten what it was about. But I remember now, you are an electrician.”
“Not quite,” said Tom, with a laugh, “but that’s pretty near it. I’m a telephone boy, and I have a message for you.”
“A telephone message?”
“Not exactly; though it’s about a telephone.”
“Come right into my study,” went on the doctor. “I was just reading a book on—why, bless my soul, I’ve forgotten what it was about. Oh, my wretched memory! I must try to be more careful.”
He pulled out an easy chair for Tom, and then stood in the middle of the room, looking about him in some bewilderment.
“What is the matter?” asked the boy.
“Why—er—I have forgotten what we came here for.”
“I came here with a message for you.”
“Oh, yes. About a book.”
“No; from your lawyer, Mr. Boise.”
“Oh, yes, yes. You are in a law office. I remember now.”
“It’s very important,” went on Tom, in a low voice, approaching close to the aged physician. “Perhaps I had better shut the door.”
“No, no,” said the doctor. “Leave it open. If it’s closed, she’ll sneak up, and listen at the key hole. She’s—she’s a—a Tartar!” he exclaimed softly. “She makes life miserable for me. I don’t wonder my poor brother died. Come, we’ll go into an inner room. Then she can’t hear us.”
He opened a door of a smaller apartment, leading from the main library.
“This is where I keep the rarest books,” said the doctor. “There is one volume of Horace here that is worth—well, I really have forgotten for the moment just how much it is worth, but I know it is quite valuable. I picked it up the same day I secured a copy of Plato—but there—what have you to tell me?”
“Mr. Boise wants those papers I brought to you one day. Those papers about your estate.”
“Papers—did you bring me some papers?”
Tom was beginning to despair of ever getting the doctor to understand what was wanted.
“Don’t you remember?” he asked. “It was the same day you secured that edition of Smollett,” for Tom had an excellent memory.
“Oh, yes! Now I remember, of course. Why didn’t you say that at first? The papers about my estate. Why, yes, of course. You brought them up the day I secured that rare copy of Smollett. Of course, I remember now,” and the doctor chuckled at his excellent memory, which never could remember anything unless it was associated with a book.
“Will you get those papers and bring them to Mr. Boise’s office?” asked Tom. “He wants to see you at once. It’s very important.”
“Yes—yes, of course. Right away. The papers? Of course; let me see now, where did I put them?”
Tom felt like groaning. It seemed hopeless to try to get the old physician to remember where the documents were.
“Let me see,” mused the physician. “Did I put them in my desk? I’ll look.”
He did without result. Then he explored a small safe, next a chest of drawers. Then he looked in all his pockets. Then he stared around at the rows of books.
“That’s queer,” he murmured. “I can’t remember where I put them.”
Tom thought instead of being queer that it was the most natural thing in the world for the doctor not to remember.
“Now where did I put them?” murmured the old man. “If I had only stuck them in some book, I’d be sure to remember them.”
At this Tom gave an exclamation.
“What’s the matter?” asked Dr. Spidderkins.
“The book!” cried the boy. “Don’t you remember? You put the papers under a volume of Fielding!”
For, like a flash, it had occurred to the boy what the doctor had done with the documents, and Tom recalled the mistake he had made about the book—thinking it had to do with baseball.
“Oh, yes, of course. Now I remember,” cried Dr. Spidderkins. “That’s where they are. I knew I would remember. I’ll get them at once.”
He went to where the book was. He had no difficulty in recalling where any volume, among his several thousand, was located on the shelves.
“Here is the book,” he said. “A very rare edition. Now the papers——” Then a blank look came over his face. “The papers are gone!” he exclaimed.