eyes of all those assembled in the room were turned upon Van when this startling fact came to light.
But the boy was not a bit more pale than he had been since the murder, and regarding the looks of the inmates of the room as a question put to him, he said in a clear, calm voice:
"I care not for the fact that my uncle left me out of his will. He has always been kind to me since I can remember, and I appreciated it and loved him. My mission now is to hunt down his murderer and bring him to justice, and I swear to do it. Cousin John Moreland, I congratulate you on being the heir to uncle's estate. Accept my hand on it."
As Van clasped the hand of John Moreland a sudden thrill shot through his frame, and he glanced downward.
The hand he held in his own was minus the thumb.
In the twinkling of an eye Van's whole manner changed.
With the force of an enraged lion he seized the man by the throat and hurled him back against the wall.
Then in a voice that rang out like a clarion note, he exclaimed:
"I accuse this man of being the murderer of my uncle!"
CHAPTER II.
A PLUCKY CHASE
As Van Vincent's startling words rang out a low murmur of surprise came from the assemblage.
Not one offered to make a move until the lawyer stepped quickly forward, and seizing the boy by the shoulder, pulled him away from John Moreland, whose face had turned the color of ashes.
Van pushed the lawyer away from him rather roughly.
"I registered a vow to hunt the murderer down," said he in the same clear voice, "but did not expect to find him so quick. There he stands before us all. What have you to say against the charge, Doc Clancy?"
The boy had no sooner uttered the name of Doc Clancy than, quick as a flash, John Moreland rushed from the room.
His action was so sudden no one could intercept him.
"That proves his guilt," cried Van, now in a high pitch of excitement. "I am going after him, and will not return until I have caught him and brought him to justice!"
Seizing his hat, Van left the room and dashed outside after the accused murderer.
He beheld him running across a field in the direction of the railway station.
Van glanced at his watch.
A train for New York was due in three minutes, and he knew full well that a good runner could just about reach the depot in that time.
And the villain had a good three hundred yards' start of him!
Van Vincent was an excellent runner, but, strive as he might, he could not gain upon the fleeing stranger.
Over fences and ditches went the pursued and pursuer, until the broad lane leading to the station was reached.
Van heard the shrill whistle of a locomotive, and his heart sank within him.
He knew that the train was coming.
It reached the depot just as John Moreland came to the track.
The villain knew that he would not have time enough to reach the platform to board the train, so he clambered upon the last car from the ground.
The train stopped about half a minute, which gave Van time to get within a hundred feet of it before it started.
But he was too late.
The bell rang, and away went the train, with John Moreland standing on the platform of the rear car, shaking his fist at Van in a derisive manner.
Van stood still in his tracks until the train had disappeared from sight, and then, without answering the station master's query as to what the matter was, started slowly back to the house where he had lived for so many years.
When he reached it he found no one there but Ben, the old servant, and to him he stated that he was going away.
Van had about four hundred dollars that he had saved, and he at once got this and placed it in a stanch, leather pocketbook, which he put in the inside pocket of his vest.
He next packed a few things in a satchel, and then set out slowly for the depot.
Another train would be along in about thirty-five minutes, which would bring him to New York one hour behind the man he was chasing.
As Van walked along thinking over the general appearance of Doc Clancy – for he was sure that John Moreland was no other than he – it occurred to him that the man had some of the characteristics of a seaman about him.
This gave the plucky boy an idea.
If Doc Clancy really was a follower of the sea, would he not most likely ship aboard some vessel to make his escape? He had been publicly branded as a murderer, and his action in fleeing from his accuser was pretty good proof that he was guilty of the charge.
This was the way Van reasoned, and he concluded to make his way to the shipping district as soon as he reached New York.
He reached the depot and purchased his ticket, and the train came along a few minutes later and whirled him toward his destination.
Van was not playing the part of an amateur detective because he had any particular hankering after that profession, but because he had made a solemn vow to hunt down the murderer of his uncle.
He would try and locate his man, and then call the New York police to his aid.
The distance by rail to New York was not great, and an hour later our hero was walking down West Street in the busy metropolis.
He had often been to the city, and consequently knew something about it.
The boy did not stop until he reached the South Ferry, and then, acting on an uncontrollable impulse, he boarded a South Street car and took up his position on the platform with the driver.
He had not rode over ten blocks when he gave such a start that the car driver made an involuntary movement to catch him, thinking he was going to fall from the platform.
But Van did not notice him. The boy's eyes were riveted upon the back of a man who was just entering the door of a saloon.
As he passed through the doorway the object of his gaze turned his head around for a single instant.
"That's the murderer!" exclaimed Van, and with a single bound he sprang from the car platform into the street, leaving the driver staring at his retreating form in blank amazement.
Van was satisfied that the man he saw was Doc Clancy, alias John Moreland. He had the features and general appearance of the villain stamped too deeply upon his mind to be deceived.
With a bound he dashed upon the sidewalk, nearly upsetting a passer-by, and then hurried into the saloon.
It was just after six in the evening, and the place was crowded with a set of laboring men who had stopped in to quench their thirst on their way home from work.
As
