There is no danger from that. It is my rascally
nephew whom I fear. Save me from him!"
"Your nephew? Who is he?" asked Bert, wondering what was about to
happen.
"Alfred Muchmore. Have you seen him? Where is he? If he finds me
talking to you, he'll lock me up again. He shoved me back in the room
after I started the fire, but I broke through the door. See my hands!
They are cut and bleeding!"
"Who are you?"
"Harris Stockton."
"What? The owner of this place?"
"Yes, my lad. The owner of the Stockton mansion, which my rascally
nephew is trying to force me to convey to him, together with all my
other property. He has compelled me to sign some deeds, but to-night I
refused to give him any more of my property. He has kept me a prisoner
here many months, for I am weak and sickly, and he is strong. That old
woman helped him. Once before, there was a fire here, and I thought I
might escape, but I could not. Then, last night, some people tried to
break down the door, but he drove them away. To-night, when he left me
for a while, I started this fire. I knew it could not do much damage,
and I hoped it would bring me help. Thank God, it has! You will not
let him shut me up again, will you?"
"Well, I guess not!" exclaimed Bert, as he climbed over the window
sill, and entered the long hall that was part of the unfortunate man's
prison.
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