The conqueror

CHAPTER 1. The city of was in some excitement

The entire front pages of the leading daily papers were covered with startling accounts of the arrival in their midst of the noted criminal, Schaft. Each paper contained a life-sized portrait of the notorious crook, reproducing a countenance handsome, bold, daring. The photograph showed a black moustache which Schaft was known always to wear and the detailed accounts of him called attention to the fact that he always wore a solitaire of brilliant luster on the little finger of his left hand. There were columns of descriptions of his life and the crimes he had committed. He was accredited with every known evil and the very name Schaft struck terror to every woman’s heart who had read or heard of him, for they knew of his reputation for heartlessness.

But with all his crimes and daring, Schaft had in some way escaped capture and had baffled the police in New York city and many other large towns in the East and West for some time past, although the tempting reward of $10,000 offered by the government for him kept the police and detective forces always on the alert in whatever vicinity Schaft was thought to be. But he had invariably evaded them and it was reported that on several occasions, in some make up, or disguise, he had boldly joined the police in search for himself, without their even suspecting for a moment his identity, a situation Schaft was said always to enjoy immeasurably. That Schaft was a desperado, murderer, thief and general reprobate, there was not a shadow of a doubt. He would take a life in a wink

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for his own safety or profit. There was not a commandment he had not broken and if there were other commandments to break, he would doubtless have added these to his list of transgressions.

In consequence of perusing the accounts in the paper of the presence in their midst of Schaft, husbands grew troubled, their faces wearing a thoughtful expression, while they were careful to warn wives and daughters of the danger of being out after dusk alone. And the mere mention of the name Schaft would make some women nervous and hysterical, for it was known that he had no regard for the station in life either of a man or woman. To the remorseless Schaft a man was a man, a woman a woman.

It was on the first night of his arrival in the city of

—7 , that Schaft started out for his usual

night’s stroll. He was prepared for any emergency — a pistol in one pocket, a gag and a small vial of chloroform in another. Was he ever without them? He had taken in all the principal business streets of the city and finally, starting towards the residence portion, had stopped in an oak grove, which covered several acres, but was unused on account of a litigation which was pending in the courts. The spot was thickly covered with trees and it was under the shadow of one of these that he had taken refuge, as he saw a blue coat in the distance and there was no other place of hiding for him just then.

That Miss Helen Grant had gone on this same evening to be with her friend, Miss Katherine Fielding, for the night, was no unusual occurrence, that is, so far as Miss Grant being at Miss Fielding’s house for the night, was concerned, for it had been a custom of hers, for years, to be with her friend, Miss Fielding, once each week for the night, but by chance, it happened that Miss Kate was to be away for the first part of. the evening attending a theatre party, thus leaving Miss Grant alone for the time being, with Kate’s mother, Mrs. Fielding, until Kate should return at a later hour. By loyal and constant friendship Helen and Kate had abandoned all formalities toward each other, and there was a mutual understanding that engagements wei e not to be interfered with because of

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the presence in the home of either, for it was Kate’s custom to be with Helen for the night once each week also. So, in Kate’s absence this evening, Helen was turned over to her mother, Mrs. Fielding, to be temporarily entertained, and the two spent the evening in conversation, discussing for the most part the work being carried on in the settlement, in which Mrs. Fielding was especially interested for Miss Grant’s sake, if for no other reason.

Miss Grant was well known in the city in both social and religious circles. Her father had been a man of some wealth and a banker, and at his death had left his wife and two daughters a fortune each, making them independently wealthy, and that Miss Grant, who could have reigned as a belle socially, had she chosen, she being a very beautiful and charming young woman, had abandoned society almost altogether for the charity work in which she had become so much interested, had been somewhat of a surprise to her almost numberless friends. However, after her debut and attending a few dances and parties, she suddenly began to decline the majority of invitations to any social functions whatever, and while she did not denounce these amusements in any way, she no longer seemed to care for anything in life of any consequence but the charity work to which she was giving her life as a sacrifice, still holding her friendships dear, however, for no one felt a truer, deeper meaning of the word friendship than she.

Miss Grant had been in all the poorer localities of the city and here her face was familiar to all. She supervised the settlement work and free kindergartens, and besides this, found time to devote to her beloved young ladies in the Sunday School of one of the leading churches in the city. This was designed for the good and inspiration of working girls principally, but it was said that in their eagerness to listen to Miss Grant’s talks to girls, many young ladies from the wealthiest and most representative families of the city came every Sabbath morning almost without fail and that the attendance was so large that there were often more present than the room assigned Miss Grant could ( 2 )

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accommodate. Miss Grant was loved and respected by every one who knew her well in the city, but among the unfortunate classes she was almost worshipped, she had done so much good among them and her gentle manner had endeared her to hundreds of hearts in the poorer communities. Everybody knew “Miss Helen,” as she was called, by sight and any body would have fought for her, had occasion called for such a demonstration of their esteem. In the poverty-stricken districts she had helped them in a practical way, giving them money and when no other assistance could be had, going herself to the sick to administer to the comfort, helping in many ways and doing many things, that would otherwise have been left undone.

It is no wonder then, that these unfortunates whom Miss Grant saw almost daily considered her a saint. Their very thoughts of her were gentle and her visits looked forward to always with eager anticipation. It was while Helen was discussing this work so dear to her heart with her friend, Mrs. Fielding, there was a ring at the telephone, and Helen answered the call, at the suggestion of Mrs. Fielding, who was suffering with a sprained ankle and unable to walk any distance unassisted. It was the voice of Helen’s little sister, Rose Mary, whom Miss Grant heard over the phone, conveying the message that her mother, Mrs. Grant, had been taken suddenly ill and that she must come home to her.

Helen waited to hear no more. She must go, of course, at once, but here was a dilemma. There was no one to accompany her home, for while in a city for a woman to go out alone at night is regarded as conventional and safe, still it is not always without its dangers and especially with a Schaft supposed to be in town. The hour was late and the friends in the neighborhood must have retired, for lights were out and on account of the lame foot, it was out of the question for Mrs. Fielding to go for any distance with her friend. Undaunted by circumstances, however, Miss Grant started out alone, assuring Mrs. Fielding that she was unafraid, as there could be no danger. There were a good many people still on the streets, as she

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could see from the window, and there would be no harm. At any risk she must get to her mother, for Helen was aware of the fact that Mrs. Grant was subject to attacks of heart trouble, although nothing as yet really serious, but there was no telling this time what the danger might be.

And so, at the door of the Fielding residence Helen bade Mrs. Fielding good-night and hurried away in the direction of her home. The streets were well lighted, and she felt no anxiety about her own safety, her only thought being of her mother and her condition. Helen found herself almost running that she might get to her the sooner and in her eagerness to reach home earlier, it occurred to her that she might go through a large oak grove near her home, which would shorten the distance about two squares. It was rather dark, it was true, among the trees, but it would save time and besides there could be no possible harm, Helen believed. Nevertheless she shuddered as she thought of the accounts in the paper that day of the presence of Schaft, the noted desperado. It was a very unpleasant sensation, but lasted only for a moment and was almost forgotten as her thoughts returned again to her mother, until as she was near the center of the grove and out of calling distance for any assistance should she need any, a shadow appeared in front of one of the trees and looking up she pereceived the figure of a man standing under one of them alone. Her heart began beating madly as she took in the situation. She was at his mercy if he chose, she realized. If a mirror could have reflected her face then, it would have shown it without color, for Miss Grant had grown suddenly very white and her limbs were trembling with the fright that had been given her, but she walked on and as she came nearer, the man stepped forward and offered her his arm.

“May I show you through this forest?” he said, gently, with a light laugh in reference to the word “forest.”

Instantly Helen recovered her composure. The soft voice of the stranger, so gentle and reassuring had told that she need have no further cause for uneasiness and she slipped her hand through his arm as confidingly as if he had been a brother or a life-time friend.

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“Granard is my name,” the stranger continued, as they started through the grove towards the street.

“A relation of Mr. Harris Granard, now of New York, but formerly of our city, I presume. Thank God,” she breathed fervently, and in somewhat excited tones, without awaiting a reply. “I'll admit that I was frightened. I was just reading in the papers today where Schaft, the crook, is at large in town, and I confess I was nervous when you came up, for I was thinking of him then. I am grateful to you for your kindness in offering to convey me through this ‘forest,* as you term it — it looks a wilderness to me tonight — and if you will be so kind as to go with me to my home, which is only a few squares away, I shall certainly appreciate it, for after the fright I have just had, I had rather not go alone. My mother is ill, and I am hurrying to her.”

“Certainly,” the stranger answered courteously. “It is always a pleasure to render any service to a lady in my power.”

By this time they had passed through the grove and had come to the corner where a street light was burning. Miss Grant perceived that the stranger was very handsome and wore a black moustache, and on the little finger of his left hand a diamond sparkled. But she thought nothing of this circumstance. Her thoughts had turned again to her mother, as they hurried on in the direction of her home. However, she listened with interest to her escort's conversation, and there was something in his tones that spoke of refinement and culture above the ordinary man, and as soon as she learned that he was a stranger in the city, but would be there for some time perhaps, she became more interested than ever. Here would be a new member (and an acquisition certainly, she thought) for the Young Men's Class in the beloved Sunday School, where she was a teacher. They were especially interested in strangers, and a hearty welcome was extended one.

“Then, if you are to be here for some time, you must come out next Sunday to hear our bishop, who has con-

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sented to give a talk especially to the young men’s class. It is to be a special service, and I know you will enjoy it, as our bishopp is said to be one of the best speakers in this part of the country. So you will come, Mr. Granard, I know. You can’t afford to miss it. Will you?”

“I — I don’t know that I can. I may have — er busi-

ness — that is — I don’t think I can.”

“Why, Mr. Granard aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” she asked in mild tones of reproof and laughing lightly. “I am afraid this tells that you are not in the habit of attending church.”

By this time they had reached her home, a handsome edifice on one of the most beautiful thoroughfares in the city, in the most select section perhaps, and as she gave him her hand in parting for the night, she asked that he call to see her the next evening when they might discuss the subject more fully, for she was very anxious that Granard should attend the services and she had not the time then to explain everything concerning the class, for she must hurry to her mother who must be needing her then. Then, too, when he came they would become better acquainted, for she knew that being a stranger, it would naturally be more pleasant for him to make acquaintances and there had been something very appealing to her in his tones when he said to her: “I am a stranger here. I don’t know any one in the city.”

Granard had turned to go away, without replying to her question and was lifting his hat to say good-night, and to express his pleasure at meeting her, although, as he said the meeting was so accidental, when Miss Grant turned to him in surprise, and said in half -injured tones : “Mr. Granard, you refuse my invitation to call ? I confess this is a rather unusual experience for me. I am not accustomed to having my invitations ignored.”

She laughed lightly again, but assuming a somewhat wounded air, added earnestly as she thought “this may be my opportunity to do good — who knows? Seriously, Mr. Granard, will you call tomorrow evening that I may tell you all about the class in detail and will

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you promise to go to our service Sunday ? But I must hurry on to mother. And now, good-night. Will you come, Mr Granard ?”

She offered him her hand and her soft fingers rested for a moment in the palm of his big one.

“Yes,” Granard answered impulsively, “I will come, Miss Grant tomorrow evening. You may look for me.”

“Very well. Good-night again, Mr. Granard, and thank you for seeing me safely home.”

She was gone the next moment and the door closed behind her. Granard turned away, the soft, musical tones of her voice still ringing in his ears, the touch of her hand yet on his own. He paused for a moment in the darkness at her threshold and his head fell on his breast and he leaned heavily forward on the banister and groaned. He was moved as he had not been in many heartless years. The soft tones of a woman’s voice, the touch of her hand can do many wonderful things.

True to his promise, the next evening Granard was at Miss Grant’s home at the appointed hour, for he was a man of his word and never broke a promise at any cost, if possible, let the circumstances be what they may, and his failings as multitudinous. On this one point he prided himself. And so he would not fail Miss Grant. What harm could it be? One evening with him could not contaminate her — she could not be contaminated, that was plain enough. Miss Grant greeted him warmly and ushered him into the drawing room, which looked very inviting in its elegantly appointed simplicity. There was an air of welcome and general hospitality in the very atmosphere of the room, and Granard felt comfortable and at home from the moment of his entrance until he arose to go. Miss Grant regretted that he could not meet her mother, who was very ill, but she was glad to be able to say, improving, and on account of Mrs. Grant’s illness Granard made his visit short.

It was a wonderful visit to him nevertheless. He found Miss Grant surpassingly beautiful and to look at her face gave him the keenest satisfaction. He

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could not see her features well on the evening before, but he had heard her voice and it had been ringing in his ears for the last wonderful twenty-four hours. And so it was no surprise to him to find her beautiful. It seemed the most natural and fitting thing in the world that she should be and yet if he had found her homely, it would have been no great disappointment to him after her extreme kindness and concern for him, which had gone so strangely to his heart and which, he assured himself he would never forget, tho’ he lived to be a hundred, and should he never see Miss Grant again. She had explained to him the details of the service for Sunday, told him where to go, at what time, and she would not let him leave without reminding him of his promise to attend the service and his assurance that he would be there.

Granard could not forget, try as he would, the promise, for he was even anxious then to be present, for it would give him the opportunity again of looking at the face that had suddenly become to him the most beautiful in the world. It was the last of the week, but a long time would seem to intervene between then and the following Sabbath, still Granard could not but be amazed at his own audacity in ever consenting to go. To church! Of all places on earth! He had been everywhere on the face of the earth, including some of the most notorious gambling dens in existence, but never to church.

On Sunday morning Miss Grant occupied her usual place in the choir, which faced the congregation, and she watched attentively all the faces of the people as they entered the door, but Granard did not appear. At length the services began. He was not coming. He had broken his promise. Miss Grant was keenly disappointed, somehow. She had given him up, and was forming in her mind what she would say to him the next time they met, in the event they ever did, when she looked up again and there was Granard coming down the side aisle. He might have felt somewhat ill at ease, but he held his head high nevertheless and there was not that cowed, haunted expression on his face characteristic of most criminals.

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Choosing an end seat, near the rear, he sat down, but as it happened, where Miss Grant could see his face and he hers. Her eyes turned to him often during the sermon and his eyes were not off her face, but he did not smile or show any sign of recognition. If she could have read his thoughts then, however, she would have known that he was thinking of her as others thought her, an angel. Her heavenly eyes, with the gentle dove-like expression, the regular features and flawless complexion and that expression about the mouth which suggested always a smile, although the features might be in repose — fascinated him, and try as he might he could not keep his eyes from her face and, for awhile, he was conscious of nothing but her presence.

Suddenly, however, he found himself listening to the service and he became interested. But how strange he felt. This was certainly a new and novel experience for him. To Sunday School ! “If Jacques could see me now. I wonder what he would think,” he thought, as his mind turned for a moment to his oldtime companion and friend.

Jacques, a noted gambler whom he had known for years, was acknowledged to be one of the most wicked men in the country, although he was recognized as being exceptionally intelligent and witty, and, as it happened, Granard had seen much of him in his past life, and Jacques never failed to interest him, for there was always something to be learned from him, if in his presence for only a half an hour. Granard found himself wondering where Jacques was, when the choir began singing, and his thoughts turned back to his present surroundings. The song ceased and then he heard a prayer for those present, including strangers. His heart beat quickly. He was a stranger. The prayer was for him, too. Prayed for! Schaft, the crook. He could not but smile, touched as he was, for he was amused at the absurdity of such a thing as a prayer for a criminal. With a sense of the ridiculous, he lifted his eyes to the ceiling as the invocation closed, and smiled again as he thought: “the part of

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the prayer which was for me has stuck right up there in the ceiling. I can see it now. It will go no farther. There is no mercy for Schaft, the crook.”

For a moment a feeling of bitterness held him, as he thought of many experiences he had gone through with in the past.

“I don't believe in any of their creeds,” he thought. ‘There is no charity in the world. Haven't I had opportunity enough to find out ?”

Then his eyes turned again to the face of Miss Grant and, as he looked at her and remembered her kindness to him, he repented the thought and the bitterness was gone. No mercy? Had she not been merciful and charitable to him? His eyes did not leave her face again, but he heard every word the bishop was saying, notwithstanding. His views were very liberal, his text being, “I was a stranger and ye took me in,” and oddly enough the discourse seemed strangely fitted for the occasion. He said it was circumstances and not the heart that often makes a man bad, and added in conclusion : “I have hopes for a Schaft even, if fates were kind enough.”

He said also that a man could not get too low to be redeemed if only he chose to do right. That the bad were half good and if the good were not half bad, the best of them had their failings. That there is a Father who always understands and is willing to be a friend.

Granard listened with intent interest. He heard the story of the Christ Child for the first} time in his life, intelligently. He remembered his mother telling it to him when he was a small boy, (his mother having died when he was only nine years of age), but it had seemed something like and scarcely more than a fairy tale to him then. He was too young to realize its true meaning. Granard was impressed as he had never been before.

“Perhaps this accounts for so little charity and so much heartlessness,” he thought. “A great many people are like myself, they have never heard. Why, I know hundreds of fellows who are good at heart, but ( 3 )

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are leading the lives of demons, but I’ll wager they never saw the inside of a church and have no idea what goes on in one. They are not aware of the fact that they are welcome. But this seems as much my property as my neighbor next me and no one seems inclined to bite. I am beginning to feel quite at home here. I wonder, though, if they should know who I am, what would occur? A panic, I suppose. Well, I’m not going to tell them right now, at any rate, and we’ll avoid the panic.”

The bishop’s discourse was short, but full of logic and eloquence. He was a very forceful speaker and of magnetic personality. He was not handsome exactly, but of powerful physique and with regular, well set features. He was the embodiment of mental and physical strength, commanding in appearance, but gentle withal, with a nature as sympathetic as a woman’s. That he had humanity at heart above all things, there was no doubting, as an evidence of which he had given his life to the cause.

At the conclusion of the service Granard hurried out, but he did not escape Miss Grant, for she met him at the entrance door. She was so pleased at his fulfilling his promise in coming that she was not going to let him get away without expressing her pleasure and appreciation at seeing him there, and this might influence him to come again. Miss Grant never let an opportunity pass to encourage her young friends to make the best of their lives, and she realized what an influence she held over the young people generally. She called Granard aside and welcomed him warmly, asking him how he enjoyed the services, and if he did not think the bishop an impressive speaker. Miss Grant was convinced from Granard’s reply that he was impressed and she was secretly pleased, for Granard had the appearance of a man fastidious not only in his dress, which was perfect, but in other things in life as well, and Miss Grant guessed that an ordinary speaker probably would not have appealed to him. But the bishop’s eloquence could not but appeal to any one.

“I want you to meet Bishop Northern. He will be

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here presently. We will wait here for him,” Miss Grant suggested.

Granard offered no objections, realizing how useless it would be, for he had no excuse to offer which would not seem absurd, and it was while they were waiting for the bishop to join them that Miss Grant begged that he promise her to attend the service again on the following Sunday as he had done that day. “The bishop is preaching a series of sermons, and I want you to hear them all, and I must tell you what to read before the next service. It will be more interesting for you. Have you your Bible with you ?”

“Er — no,” Granard stammered, in slight confusion.”

“You haven't? Most of our young men bring a small volume in their pockets, and I thought possibly you had one, but you may take mine and be sure to read this before next Sunday, as it will keep you in connection with his discourse of today and next Sabbath. It will be more interesting to know what his text will be,” and Miss Grant designating the chapter the bishop had chosen for a text, handed her Bible over to him. It was a small, but handsomely-bound volume in Morocco and gilt-edged, being a gift from her father, and this was the first time it had ever been loaned.

It was here that the bishop joined them.

“Bishop Northern, this is Mr. Granard. He is a stranger here and came out to hear your sermon this morning. I want you both to know each other,” Miss Grant said, sweetly.

Granard acknowledged the introduction in an easy, graceful manner, that spoke markedly of both good breeding and refinement.

“A stranger? How long do you intend staying in our city Mr. Granard ?” the bishop asked, in kindly interest.

“I am not quite sure, Bishop Northern,” Granard answered, unhesitatingly. “I may be here quite a while. It all depends on the police,” he thought.

“And locate here ? That would be nice both for yourself and our city, for we have the best town in America, we think, and we are always glad to welcome strangers

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in our midst and if you are thinking of locating here, Mr. Granard, I would be glad to show you our city. I am not a real estate agent at all, but I must say I have the interest of my town at heart, and have enough ambition for it to try to help increase its population with good citizens by doing all in my power for it, and I am sure when you see some of the tempting values we have in property, that if you are in doubts about locating anywhere, you will decide at once to stay with us. I am going out driving this afternoon, can't you go with me?”