CHAPTER IX.
It was in the gray of the dawn when Sam alighted from the firstoutbound car at the junction of Twenty-third and Washington streetsand immediately struck out for the City park.
He was desirous of being the first visitor there, and he wasinordinately curious to examine by the light of day the ground he hadtraversed a few hours previous, and particularly the spot whereVirginia had met the mysterious stranger, as also the tangle of vinesin which he was satisfied had lurked most deadly danger.
He had been urged on by an indefinable something, a sort ofpresentiment that quickened to impatience, his desire for an earlytrip to the park, and pursuing his way steadily along, afraid of noambush now, for he was armed, he at length arrived at the spot whichhe recognized by the clump of firs close to the row of the esplanadebenches. He examined the ground as carefully as the uncertain lightwould permit. Discovering nothing unusual, he was about to abandon thesearch and make his way over to the tangle of vines, when on secondthought he decided to wait awhile for stronger light. Producing acigar, he contentedly sat on a bench--the very same Virginia hadoccupied--near a tree.
Sam was not of a romantic turn of mind, yet his attention was arrestedby the sublime grandeur of the scene confronting him. The morning wasemerging from the deep darkness of night, mild, clean and fresh. Thebase of the distant eastern hills was yet shrouded in inky blackness--ablackness intensified by a vast superimposed floating mass of thinfog, seemingly motionless in the noticeably still air.
The billowy crest of this fleecy, semi-transparent mass of vaporreflected a mellow chastity, while the irregular points of the ruggedmountain tops were sharply defined against the soft emerald,golden-pink light that streaked and massed the sky in the advance of apromising Autumn morn.
The huge, glistening white peaks of Hood and Adams and St. Helens,towered in lofty majesty, clear and individually distinct above thehigh altitudes of the range that encompassed them, and even as helooked, a soft, rose-red tinge tipped the apex of Mount Hood, whichappeared unusually close, and crept softly down the glacis of itssnow-covered, precipitous sides.
And nearer, at his feet, in a basin--the city spread out far and wide.
The silvery green waters of the Willamette River, cutting through thecity's center, silently glided along its sinuous course to theColumbia; while patches of thin mist flitted timidly about on itsplacid surface, to vanish like tardy spirits of a departing night.
The grand panorama gave his usually buoyant spirits pause.
Gradually the light of his eyes changed from absorbing admiration to areflective mood, in which the strange behavior of Virginia Thorpe wasthe predominating subject.
That money, possibly blackmail, was the object of thestranger--scoundrel. Sam could think of him in no other light after thenight's experience. There was no doubt, for he had plainly heard hersay in a loud, surprised tone, "Twenty thousand dollars."
Suddenly the hoarse whistle of a far-off industrial establishmentvibrated the air and aroused him from his deep reverie. The morningwas well advanced.
As the light in his eyes quickened from a pensive stare at the grounda few paces from his feet, he perceived a shred of red peeping betweenthe blades of short grass. He picked it up. It was a narrow piece ofsoiled and worn ribbon, but attached to it was an old oxidized bronzemedal, about the size of a silver quarter-dollar. The inscription uponits rim was in Latin, but Sam clearly made out one word, "Garibaldi,"from which he concluded its late owner must be an Italian.
From the smooth condition of the medal, and unweathered appearance ofthe ribbon, he judged it must have been recently lost.
"What if it had been accidentally dropped by the man talking toVirginia last night?" The idea was fraught with great possibilities.
"A clue! A sure clue, as I live," and Sam's enthusiasm soared with therecollection of seeing the man thrust his hand into the inside breastof his coat to show the knife, when it was quite possible the medaleither became unfastened from its clasp, or being loose in his pocket,had been drawn out with the knife and slipped noiselessly to theground.
Somehow Sam's thoughts flew back to the night of his uncle'sreception, and connected the old Italian beggar loitering about thegrounds with the medal.
"Was he the owner of the medal? And, if so, was he the same party thatmet Virginia, and whom he had followed last night?"
"Heavens! Could he have kidnapped Dorothy?" A train of thought hadbeen started and rushed through Sam's brain with prodigious alacrity.
"Was the twenty thousand dollars he had heard Virginia mention withsurprise, a ransom?"
"If Virginia knew that Dorothy was in the hands of the Dago, why didshe keep it secret? And what business had Beauchamp out on the Barnesroad last night?" Sam derided the idea of him being out there alone,for a spin.
With these thoughts, and others, pregnant with momentouspossibilities, he continued the search. Finding nothing more, hesprang onto the path that led to the tangle of vines. There was thevery spot. No mistaking it. Along that fence he had crept in thedarkness of night. Those the leaves he had touched with his hands, andhe thrust his stout cane among them, but no hiss, or rattle, orglitter of something sinister, greeted his probing now.
Into the gloomy recess of the jungle he made his way, derisivelyfearless of any possible lurking danger.
He parted the overhanging foliage to let in more light. Ah, it was allplain now.
There close to his elbow was the artfully concealed exit through thefoliage, and the pickets loose at the bottom. There the man hadstood--not more than a foot of space separating them when Sam's handtouched the leaves, and the glitter--well, it was the vicious glint ofan ugly knife. Of that Sam now felt perfectly satisfied.
Pushing the leaves further apart to enlarge the opening overhead, soas to admit more light, he discovered several strands of hair of abrownish color clinging to the end of a broken twig in the cavity ofthe tangle, which he at once conjectured had been torn from the man'sfalse beard. These strands of hair Sam carefully gathered and placedbetween the leaves of his notebook. "Maybe, maybe they'll be usefulsome day. I guess so," he muttered.
He resumed the search, but with the exception of a few indistinctshoeprints on the soft soil, found nothing more to interest him, andsqueezing himself through the aperture in the fence, he quicklyemerged on the Barnes road, well satisfied with his morning's work.