The Gerrard Street Mystery and Other Weird Tales | Page 8

John Charles Dent
not finish before we get home. In order that you may clearly
understand how matters are, I had better begin at the beginning, and I
hope you will not interrupt me with any questions till I have done. How
I knew you would call at the Boston post-office, and that you would
arrive in Toronto by this train, will come last in order. By the by, have

you my letter with you?"
"The one you wrote to me at Boston? Yes, here it is," I replied, taking it
from my pocket-book.
"Let me have it."
I handed it to him, and he put it into the breast pocket of his inside coat.
I wondered at this proceeding on his part, but made no remark upon it.
We moderated our pace, and he began his narration. Of course I don't
pretend to remember his exact words, but they were to this effect.
During the winter following my departure to Melbourne, he had formed
the acquaintance of a gentleman who had then recently settled in
Toronto. The name of this gentleman was Marcus Weatherley, who had
commenced business as a wholesale provision merchant immediately
upon his arrival, and had been engaged in it ever since. For more than
three years the acquaintance between him and my uncle had been very
slight, but during the last summer they had had some real estate
transactions together, and had become intimate. Weatherley, who was
comparatively a young man and unmarried, had been invited to the
house on Gerrard Street, where he had more recently become a pretty
frequent visitor. More recently still, his visits had become so frequent
that my uncle suspected him of a desire to be attentive to my cousin,
and had thought proper to enlighten him as to her engagement with me.
From that day his visits had been voluntarily discontinued. My uncle
had not given much consideration to the subject until a fortnight
afterwards, when he had accidently become aware of the fact that
Weatherley was in embarrassed circumstances.
Here my uncle paused in his narrative to take breath. He then added, in
a low tone, and putting his mouth almost close to my ear:
"And, Willie, my boy, I have at last found out something else. He has
forty-two thousand dollars falling due here and in Montreal within the
next ten days, and he has forged my signature to acceptances for
thirty-nine thousand seven hundred and sixteen dollars and twenty-four
cents."

Those to the best of my belief, were his exact words. We had walked
up York Street to Queen, and then had gone down Queen to Yonge,
when we turned up the east side on our way homeward. At the moment
when the last words were uttered we had got a few yards north of
Crookshank Street, immediately in front of a chemist's shop which was,
I think, the third house from the corner. The window of this shop was
well lighted, and its brightness was reflected on the sidewalk in front.
Just then, two gentlemen walking rapidly in the opposite direction to
that we were taking brushed by us; but I was too deeply absorbed in my
uncle's communication to pay much attention to passers-by. Scarcely
had they passed, however, ere one of them stopped and exclaimed:
"Surely that is Willie Furlong!"
I turned, and recognised Johnny Gray, one of my oldest friends. I
relinquished my uncle's arm for a moment, and shook hands with Gray,
who said:
"I am surprised to see you. I heard only a few days ago, that you were
not to be here till next spring."
"I am here," I remarked, "somewhat in advance of my own
expectations." I then hurriedly enquired after several of our common
friends, to which enquiries he briefly replied.
"All well," he said; "but you are in a hurry, and so am I. Don't let me
detain you. Be sure and look in on me to-morrow. You will find me at
the old place, in the Romain Buildings."
We again shook hands, and he passed on down the street with the
gentleman who accompanied him. I then turned to re-possess myself of
my uncle's arm. The old gentleman had evidently walked on, for he was
not in sight. I hurried along, making sure of overtaking him before
reaching Gould Street, for my interview with Gray had occupied barely
a minute. In another minute I was at the corner of Gould Street. No
signs of Uncle Richard. I quickened my pace to a run, which soon
brought me to Gerrard Street. Still no signs of my uncle. I had certainly
not passed him on my way, and he could not have got farther on his

homeward route than here. He must have called in at one of the stores;
a strange thing
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