It was not until Bradley Wentworth was on board the train that was to bear him to Chicago that he drew out the letters which he had secured through the agency of Standish and examined them.

He almost leaped from his seat in anger and disappointment.

“They are fraudulent, and not worth the paper they are written on,” he at once decided. “And I have actually given that scoundrel three hundred and fifty dollars for them. Why didn’t I take the precaution to examine them before handing over the money?”

He examined them again. They might be fraudulent, for the handwriting was not his, but they were word for word similar to the genuine letters which he had written many years since to Warren Lane. The question arose, Who had copied them? Was it Standish? He dismissed this supposition as very improbable, and adopted the theory that the genuine letters were not in existence—that Warren Lane had given these to his son as a record of what had passed between himself and Wentworth.

“In that case,” he reflected with satisfaction, “the boy has no hold upon me. I have only to deny all knowledge of the letters and stigmatize them as part of a conspiracy to extort money from me on false charges. It is worth three hundred and fifty dollars to find this out.”

So Wentworth’s anger was succeeded by a feeling of satisfaction.

“It is better to pay three hundred and fifty dollars than a thousand,” he reflected, “and that was the sum I was ready to give Gerald. On the whole my meeting with this fellow Standish was a fortunate one. I shall destroy these letters, and with them will perish the only evidence of my crime.”

When Mr. Wentworth reached home he found among his letters the following written in a regular schoolboy hand:

Bradley Wentworth read this letter with a mixture of feelings. He had been very anxious about his son, but he was not a soft-hearted man, and now that he knew him to be alive his heart hardened.

“He hasn’t suffered enough,” he said to himself. “If I forgive him too quickly he will do the same thing again. He has dared to disobey me, and he must be made to understand that he has been guilty of a serious offense. This fellow Grigson has the hardihood to suggest that I telegraph money to Kansas City. If I should do so he would probably claim a share of it, and instead of returning, the two would very likely continue their journey.”

Under the influence of these feelings Mr. Wentworth wrote the following letter:

Hard as his nature was Bradley Wentworth did not send away this letter without momentary compunction. So far as he was capable of affection he was attached to his son. But he was a man who required implicit obedience, and Victor’s flight had excited his sternest indignation. He was a proud man, and was not willing to show signs of softening though he really yearned to see his absent son.

He held the letter in his hands undecided whether to send it or not, but pride finally gained the ascendency, and he dropped it into the box in which he deposited his outgoing mail.

“He will see that I am not to be trifled with,” he soliloquized, as he closed his lips firmly.

So the letter went on its cruel mission.