Reluctantly enough, Lynde Pyne left the room in which the mortal
remains of Godfrey Cuyler lay, after having assured Leonie of his
immediate return, and went to the office where Leonard Chandler awaited
him.
Upon the way, his reflections were not enviable ones. He felt quite
convinced that Leonie's agitation was not the result of her grief
occasioned by her grandfather's death. On the contrary, there was
something behind that seemed to overshadow death, and cause her almost
to forget it.
What was it? and what had Evelyn Chandler to do with it?
Those were the questions that he put to himself persistently, and to
which he found no answer.
He gnawed his mustache in helpless silence, his brows drawn in a heavy
frown, and decided upon the only course open to him, to wait for the
assistance that time renders.
That is not an easy method, particularly to an impulsive man, but it
was the only way. His humor, therefore, was not of the pleasantest when
he entered the office to which he had been so imperatively summoned.
"Good-morning, Mr. Chandler!" he exclaimed rather somberly, shaking
hands. "I am sorry that you were forced to wait for me, but----"
"Never mind that, sir," interrupted Chandler, not even the shadow of a
smile lighting the anger in his eyes. "I want an explanation from you,
sir. I understand that you furnished the bail under which that girl,
Leonie Cuyler, was released from jail. Is that true, sir?"
"It is perfectly true!"
"And you did that, knowing that I wished her to remain there until she
had sense enough not to decline to reveal the name of a thief?"
"Pardon me, Mr. Chandler. I am afraid I did not think of your wishes
upon the subject at all. Miss Cuyler's grandfather, her only living
relative, died this morning. She was as devoted to him as any own child
could be, and in common humanity, if there had been no other reason, I
could not have allowed her to remain there."
"What do you suppose I cared for her grandfather? That girl shall tell
who the thief who robbed my house was, or I will prosecute her to the
day of my death. I will spend every cent of money that I possess, but
what I will find out the truth of this affair. Do you understand that,
Mr. Pyne? Nothing in the shape of sentimentality shall deter me. That
girl went there for the purpose of convicting the thief, and she shall
do it."
The words were spoken slowly, and with an emphasis upon each that
showed Lynde Pyne very clearly that his guest meant every word he
uttered, and more.
Pyne raised his foot, placed it upon a chair, and leaned his arm upon
his knee with greatest nonchalance.
His eyes were fixed upon Chandler's calmly, almost coldly.
"Mr. Chandler," he said, impressively, "for several years I have been
your attorney. You have always followed my advice implicitly in every
instance, and there has never been a time when it has been incorrect!
Am I right?"
"Yes."
"Then there is reason why you should listen to me in this. Do not press
this case against Miss Cuyler. If you do you may regret it to the last
day of your life. Withdraw the charges you have made against her."
"But I will not. Do you suppose that I will let a matter like that
rest? Never, I tell you. Leonie Cuyler shall speak, or the whole weight
of my fortune shall be turned against her. I direct you now to press
this thing to the last extremity. Let no stone go unturned. Move heaven
and earth to----"
"Pardon me, Mr. Chandler. It is useless for me to allow you to go
further. If you persist in this heartless scheme I must resign from the
case. I cannot act where my client refuses to follow my directions."
Chandler lifted his eyes aghast.
"What!" he gasped. "You throw up all the business that I have put into
your hands because of that girl? You must be mad! Why, man, I will ruin
you!"
"If you think you can you are perfectly welcome to try, but I tell you
frankly that you have not enough money in your possession to tempt me
to lift a finger against Leonie Cuyler."
"And you dare to tell me this? You, the betrothed husband of my
daughter!"
"I dare do anything that my conscience and my duty may dictate, Mr.
Chandler, regardless of other considerations."
"Then I tell you, sir, that you shall never enter my doors again!
Remember that. If you presume to call, the servants will have
instructions to throw you out. And as for that Cuyler girl, I am all
the more determined that she shall be forced to tell all she knows, if
my entire fortune must be spent upon it. Good-morning, Mr. Pyne. I am
afraid that you will discover before you are through with it that this
morning's work is liable to cost you dear!"
He banged the door behind him, and for many minutes Lynde Pyne stood
there looking at it intently, then he turned suddenly, with a short,
mirthless laugh.
"I am afraid I have played the dickens!" he muttered. "But there seemed
to be nothing else for it. He will leave no stone unturned to force
this story from Leonie; she will emphatically refuse to answer, and
then--well, God knows what will come after the 'and then!' There is
nothing to think of now but burying that man, and getting at the bottom
of these facts that threaten such danger to Leonie."
"Mr. Davidge is here to see you, sir!" said the office-boy, at his
elbow.
"Tell him that I am out! That I have gone over to the courtroom about a
case that I have on. Tell him anything that comes into your head, but
don't let me be interrupted again to-day. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
The boy had scarcely closed the door behind him than Pyne leaped to his
feet.
"I must go and see about that funeral!" he exclaimed to himself. "That
poor child is there all alone, except for that ignorant mob. What a
relief it is to think that old Chandler broke that engage---- Bah! that
savored very strongly of cowardice and almost dishonor; but somehow I
can't help feeling that I am ten years younger."