"But I came to bring you news," he continued. "Our detective returned
this morning and presented a full report of his investigation and its
result. You will be pleased with it."
"Oh, Mr. Goodlaw! is Ralph--is Ralph--"
She was leaning toward him with clasped hands.
"Ralph is your son," he said.
She bowed her head, and her lips moved in silence. When she looked up,
there were tears in her eyes, but her face was radiant with happiness.
"Is there any, any doubt about it now?" she asked.
"None whatever," he replied.
"And what of Rhyming Joe's story?"
"It was a pure falsehood. He does not tire of telling how he swindled
the sharpest lawyer in Scranton out of a hundred and fifty dollars, by
a plausible lie. He takes much credit to himself for the successful
execution of so bold a scheme. But the money got him into trouble. He
had too much, he spent it too freely, and, as a consequence, he is
serving a short term of imprisonment in the Alleghany county jail for
some petty offence."
The tears would keep coming into the lady's eyes; but they were tears
of joy, not of sorrow.
"I have the detective's report here in writing," continued Goodlaw;
"I will give it to you that you may read it at your leisure. Craft's
story was true enough in its material parts, but a gigantic scheme was
based on it to rob both you and your son. The odium of that, however,
should rest where the expense of the venture rested, on Craft's
attorney. It is a matter for sincere congratulation that Ralph's
identity was not established by them at that time.
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