When Sowers strode out of the parlor and left Kent so unceremoniously, he went to the stable to see Wilse again.

He couldn’t stay away from Wilse no way. He could plan, and so there is where the old adage “birds of a feather flock together” comes true. Although Wilse was considered by everybody too low-bred a person to be a companion to Sowers, if they had known what a nefarious scheme he had been engaged in several years before the opening of our story, they would have spurned him from them. But society only looks at one side of the picture. If you act as a gentleman or lady in society, you are at once taken as a true gentleman or lady. They never look at the other side of the picture, or a great many would be found inefficient to fill their respective places in society.

Sowers had repented his evil deeds—so he said—and yet he was ashamed to own it.

He would lie before he would tell of what he had done years ago. He wasn’t brave enough to divulge a secret he had kept. For years and years, he had told no one—no one knew of his secret but the man who called himself Wilse Reed—at least he thought so. But a Nemesis was on his track, and in a few months more his secret was to be divulged, to be divulged in the presence of the very persons he did not wish to hear it.

Anyone would have thought he would have been a better man after seeing him kneel at the bedside of his daughter and call out to the Great One to spare his child—his only child—she had been spared to him, and still he would not turn from his evil ways and try to lead a better life, a life clear of all secrets, clear of all hidden sin. He could not bear the idea of being degraded in the sight of his fellow-men. Oh, if he had only divulged his secret, what a load he would have lifted from a gentle mother’s heart—but no, he must keep his secret, he thought. And Wilse? As for Wilse, he was satisfied he would never tell.

“Wilse, we didn’t get off after all,” said Sowers, as he seated himself near Wilse in the large haymow.

“No sir, I see you didn’t,” said Wilse. “That prying detective will keep you here all the summer, if possible.”

“Yes, he never could find Al King until we were ready to start on our journey,” replied Sowers in his usual tone.

“Mr. Sowers, mark my words, that very same David Kent is going to make trouble at Brookland,” said Wilse positively.

“Do you really think Kent will bring trouble on the inhabitants of Brookland? If so, I will try to get him away,” was Sowers’ question and comment.

“I do really think so, indeed I do,” replied Wilse. “And more, I think he has a slight clue to our scheme of years ago.”

“Well, Wilse, he must leave here, and that very soon,” said Sowers tremblingly. “I won’t have the dog about here.”

“How will you get him away?” queried Wilse, eyeing Sowers furtively.

“I will tell him to go, that I don’t want him any longer, and I will make him leave,” answered Sowers. And he meant more than he said—so did Wilse—Wilse had a good plan in his mind, a plan that would exterminate a dozen detectives like Kent or any other man. But he was afraid to trust Sowers, so he awaited that gentleman’s good will to name a plan.

But Sowers was as wily as his accomplice. He wasn’t going to order any plan until he saw Wilse was determined not to do so. His patience died out and he said:

“Now, suppose you or I were to drop a little white lead or phosphorus in his coffee or tea—accidentally, of course—what do you think would be the consequence?”

Wilse studied awhile and then said: “I haven’t the least idea what the consequence would be, do you?”

Sowers looked at Wilse steadily for some time before he spoke. At last, he said: “Well, I ain’t certain what would be the consequence in such a case.”

Wilse smiled a contemptible smile as he commented: “You are a wily dog, Sowers, but I[’ll] prove myself more than a match for you, if you don’t look sharp.”

Sowers shuddered involuntarily at Wilse Reed’s prophetical words. He saw trouble brewing on life’s uncertain sea, literally speaking.

“Oh Pshaw, Wilse, you ain’t anything, generally speaking,” said Sowers, as a hideous smile rested on his face.

“I ain’t anything? Ain’t I though? Well, you will and shall see what I am. You don’t know me. You don’t know who and what I am,” asserted Wilse confidentially.

“I have known you for at least twenty years. And I know who and what you are fully,” assured Sowers. “But for all I have known you so long, I have never known any good of you.”

“Yes, I have done wrong in letting you run so long,” said Wilse tauntingly. “You have known nothing but good of me, you old scoundrel!”

“Easy, Wilse, easy, don’t get desperate,” said Sowers. “Always take things easy—not so fast, be reasonable, you dastardly wretch.”

Wilse was exasperated with rage at Sowers’ taunting words. He made a desperate lunge at Sowers, but Sowers succeeded in getting out of his reach in time to prevent getting struck, for Wilse intended dealing him a stunning blow. By Sowers’ quick movement, Wilse fell sprawling on the floor, and his head struck against a projecting beam with such tremendous force as to knock him senseless for some time.

“Great heavens, I believe the rascal has killed himself outright,” said Sowers in great consternation. “I will do all I can for him, for I may be suspected of his murder if he dies.”

So saying, Sowers went down and got some cold water and hurried back to bathe Wilse’s face, for death seemed staring him in the face in a hundred ways.

“What if Wilse should die and I be caught bathing his face? I would be indicted on the charge of his murder,” said Sowers to himself as he faithfully applied the cold water to Wilse Reed’s face, temples, and wrists.

“Ha! He is coming around at last,” thought Sowers triumphantly: “Wilse, Wilse, come rouse up, fellow, don’t be laying here. What is the matter, my man? You were so mad you fainted and fell against that beam.”

Wilse did not answer or show any sign of life except by the beating of his heart.

“Why, everybody seems to be dying or sick at my house. Kent’s words are strangely prophetical in their real meaning,” continued Sowers, still doing his best to arouse his accomplice, his brows knitting and his face turning pale. “The idea of him wanting to go into my office, why the very idea is preposterous. I’ll have him away from here if I have to poison him!” Sowers’ voice sank very low as he spoke the last words. His words were strangely suggestive of some mischief. And Kent seemed to be implicated.

Sowers didn’t relax his efforts until he brought Wilse to consciousness. Wilse slowly opened his eyes and glared at Sowers savagely.

“Wilse, you had a very narrow escape from death. That ought to remind you of your wickedness in—” Sowers was cut short in his exhortation to mindfulness of the mercies of Deity by Wilse saying:

“Sowers, I don’t want any more foolishness, you old scoundrel. If you think you can silence me by your hypocritical talk, you are thinking wrong—very—wrong.”

As Wilse ceased speaking, he looked at Sowers again savagely—as savagely as if he would willingly rend him in pieces, if it was in his power to do so.

“Let up, Wilse, and go to the door. I think a little air will help steady your nerves,” said Sowers, half tauntingly.

“You had better hush your accursed mouth, you ugly daredevil!” snapped Wilse.

“I tell you to be easy, Wilse. We can settle this without so much bad talk,” asserted Sowers in his mildest tones.

“Well, settle it then,” assented Wilse. “I don’t care what you do.”

So they “settled” their little “fuss” in a quiet way. Then they talked of other topics. Finally, Sowers said:

“Kent wanted to go in my office this morning. You know, Wilse, that I have things in there that no one knows of but you and myself.”

“I keep telling you to send Kent away from here,” was Wilse’s comment. “And if he gets a hold of the things you were saying no one knew of but you and I—he’ll make short [work] of you.”

“Yes, he will do that,” said Sowers. “And he must be sent away somehow or other.”

“He has found Al King now, and he’ll soon go,” asserted Wilse. “For he will be through with his ‘job’ when Al King gets well and appears at court.”

“I don’t believe it is Al King, for my part,” said Sowers positively. “Kent has made a blunder, I think. What do you think?”

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” answered Wilse. “The young man’s face is so badly disfigured that it is hard to identify him.” Wilse seemed to be a little reserved in regard to the identification of the young man whom Kent had brought to the house on that morning. They were silent for some moments.

Finally, Sowers said:

“Ella Armstead had a fainting fit this morning. I think we are having plenty [of] sickness.”

“What was the cause of her fainting?” asked Wilse, looking a little interested.

“We have not and it seems cannot ascertain the cause,” replied Sowers. “Kent[’s] words keep ringing in my ears.”

“What were his words? I believe he is getting you bewitched,” responded Wilse.

“Why, he said it seemed as if my house was ill-fated,” replied Sowers uneasily.

“He is a downright fool!” said Wilse. “And I’ll tell him so. If he bothers me, I’ll put his ‘light’ out as sure as peas are peas. If he bothers me, I’ll see if I can’t slit his accursed Wind-pipe.”

Sowers shuddered to think of the desperate man he had made his companion. He had been thinking—yes, saying—he would poison Kent, and yet he shuddered to hear Wilse say he would cut his throat.

Sowers was a man with very little courage. Our Readers have doubtless already found that out.

He would suggest this and reply to that, graphically speaking, but he would always back out when the time came for [him to] carry into action his words.

He had never had courageous [sic] in but one transaction. That was when he carried out his terrible plan of revenge by going to the                 . My pen revolts from the task of writing his awful, heart-rending deed. Was it as bad as murder? We shall see.

“Wilse, let us both go over to the house,” said Sowers as he rose to go. “I want to see the young man. Will you go over or not? Yes, you had better go and see him.”

“Yes, I will go over and see him,” reluctantly assented Wilse, as he preceded his employer out of the stable. They leisurely walked to the house, talking as they went. They saw Herbert Armstead and Ella in Mattie’s room.

“I wonder what caused him to go in there?” queried Sowers discontentedly.

“Doubtless to see his sister, as she is standing very close to him. And look, she is crying!” Wilse ended his answer in an exclamation.

They went upstairs quietly.

Just as Sowers opened the door where the young man was, he heard Ella’s command, “Look.” He strode into the middle of the room where the others were standing. Wilse did the same.

They all looked and were greatly amazed at what they saw!