THE COPELAND-FARLEY CELLAR
At twelve o’clock on the night of Nan’s prolonged struggle, Jerry,
having walked to the station with a traveling man of his acquaintance,
paused at the door of Copeland-Farley, hesitated a moment, and then let
himself in. He whistled a warning to the watchman, as was his habit
when making night visits to the establishment. Hearing no response, he
assumed that the man was off on his rounds and would reach the lower
floor shortly.
He opened his desk and busied himself with some memoranda he had made
from the books that afternoon. There was no denying that the house
was in a bad way; the one hundred thousand dollars of notes carried
by the Western National matured the next day, and in addition to
these obligations the Company was seriously behind in its merchandise
accounts.
A quarter of an hour passed, and the watchman made no sign. Jerry
closed his desk, walked back to the elevator-shaft, and shouted the
man’s name. From the dark recesses of the cellar came sounds as of some
one running, followed by a stumble and fall. He called again, more
loudly, but receiving no response, he ran to the stairway, flashed on
the lights, and hurried down.
His suspicions were aroused at once by a heap of refuse, surmounted
by half a dozen empty boxes, piled about the wooden framework of the
elevator-shaft.
The room where oils, paints, ethers, acids and other highly inflammable
or explosive stock was stored was shut off from the remainder of the
cellar by an iron door that had been pushed open. As he darted in
and turned on the lights, he heard some one stealthily moving in the
farther end of the room.
Seizing a fire-extinguisher he bawled the watchman’s name again and
plunged in among the barrels. A trail of straw indicated that the same
hand that had piled the combustibles against the shaft had carried
similar materials into the dangerous precincts of the oil room. In a
moment he came upon a barrel of benzine surrounded with kindling.
He decided against calling for help. No harm had yet been done, and
it was best to capture the guilty person and deal with him quietly if
possible. He kicked the litter away from the barrel and waited. In a
moment a slight noise attracted his attention, and at the same instant
a shadow vanished behind an upright cask. He waited for the shadow to
reappear, advancing cautiously down the aisle with his eyes on the
cask.
“Come out o’ that!” he called.
A foot scraped on the cement floor and definitely marked the cask as
the incendiary’s hiding-place. He jumped upon a barrel, leaped from it
to the cask, and flung himself upon a man crouched behind it. They went
down together with Jerry’s hand clutching the captive’s throat.
“Good God!” he gasped, as he found himself gazing into Copeland’s eyes.
The breath had been knocked out of Billy and he lay still, panting
hard. His right hand clenched a revolver.
“Give me that thing!”
Jerry wrenched it from Copeland’s convulsive clutch, thrust it into his
coat pocket, and stood erect.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” he said.
“Damn’ near shootin’ you, Jerry,” drawled Copeland, sitting up and
passing his hand slowly across his face; “damn’ near! Gimme your hand.”
Jerry drew him to his feet. Copeland rested heavily on the cask and
looked his employee over with a slow, bewildered stare.
“Might ’a’ known I couldn’t pull ’er off! Always some damn’ fool like
you buttin’ into my blizness. ’S _my_ blizness! Goin’ do what I damn’
please with _my_ blizness. Burn whole damn’ thing down ’f want to. I’m
incenjy--what you call ’m?--incenjyary,--what you call ’m--pyromaniac.
Go to jail and pen’tenshary firs’ thing I know.”
“Not this time,” said Jerry sternly. “I’m going to take you home.”
“Home? Whersh that?” asked Copeland, grinning foolishly.
“Well, I guess a Turkish bath would be better. Where’s Galloway?”
“Gall’way’s good fellow; reli’ble watchman. Wife’s sick; sent him home
with my comp’ments. Told ’im I’d take full reshponshibility.”
“You didn’t expect to collect the insurance on that story, did you? You
must have a low opinion of the adjusters. I’ll fire Galloway to-morrow
for leaving you here in this shape.”
“Not on yer life y’ won’t! Silly old man didn’t know I wuz loaded.
Came on me sud’ly--very sud’ly. Only had slix slocktails--no; thass
wrong; thass all wrong. You know what I mean. Effect unusual--mos’
unusual. Just a few small drinks at club. Guess I can’t carry liquor’s
graceful-ly as I used to. Billy Copeland’s no good any more. Want lie
down. Good place on floor. Nice bed right here, Jerry. Lemme go t’
sleep.”
He grasped the edge of the cask more firmly and bent his head to look
down at the heap of straw he had been planting round it when Amidon
interrupted him.
“Not much I won’t! But before we skip I’ve got to clean up this trash.
Steady, now; come along!”
He seized Copeland’s arm and forced him to the stairway, where he left
him huddled on the bottom step.
“No respec’ for head of house; no respec’ whatever,” Copeland muttered.
Jerry bade him remain quiet, and began carrying the straw and boxes
back to the packing-room. He swept the floor clean, and when he was
satisfied that no telltale trace remained he got Copeland to the
counting-room and telephoned for a taxi.
“Goin’ to be busted to-morrow; clean smash. You made awful mistake,
Jeremiah, in not lessing--no, not lesting me burn ’er up. Insurance’d
help out consid’ble. Need new building, anyhow.”
“I guess we don’t need it that bad,” remarked Jerry, rolling a
cigarette. He called the police station and asked for the loan of an
officer to do watchman duty for the remainder of the night; and this
accomplished he considered his further duty to his befuddled employer.
Now that the calamity had been averted, his anger abated. Copeland’s
condition mitigated somewhat the hideousness of the crime he was about
to commit. Only his desperate financial situation could have prompted
him to attempt to fire the building. Jerry’s silence and unusual
gravity seemed to trouble Copeland.
“Guess you’re dis’pointed in your boss, Jeremiah. Don’ blame you.
Drunken fool--damn’ fool--incenjy-ary; no end bad lot.”
“Put your hat on straight and forget it,” remarked Jerry.
He telephoned to Gaylord, an athletic trainer who conducted a Turkish
bath, and told him to prepare for a customer. He knew Gaylord well,
and when they reached his place Jerry bade him stew the gin out of
Copeland and be sure to have him ready for business in the morning.
While Copeland was in the bath, Jerry tried all the apparatus in the
gymnasium and relieved his feelings by putting on the gloves with
Gaylord’s assistant. After all the arts of the establishment had been
exercised upon Copeland and he was disposed of for the night, Jerry
went to bed....
In the morning Gaylord put the finishing touches on his patient and
turned him out as good as new. It had occurred to Amidon that Copeland
might decide to avoid the store that day. He was relieved when he
announced, after they had shared Gaylord’s breakfast, that he would
walk to the office with him.
“Guess I’ll give the boys a jar by showing up early,” he remarked.
It was a clear, bracing morning, and Copeland set a brisk pace. He was
stubbornly silent and made no reference to the night’s affair until
they reached the heart of the city. Then he stopped suddenly and laid
his hand on Jerry’s arm.
“Jerry, I never meant to do that; for God’s sake, don’t believe I
did!” he broke out hoarsely. “I was troubled about the business, and
some other things had worried me lately. I took too many drinks--and
I’d never meant to drink again! I wouldn’t have tried that sober--I
wouldn’t have had the nerve!”
“It was the drink, of course,” Jerry assented. “It’s all over now.
You’d better forget it; I’m going to!”
“I wish to God I could forget it!”
Copeland shrugged his shoulders impatiently, then drew himself erect
and walked on more quickly. Jerry cheerfully changed the subject, and
when they were near the store dived into an alley that led to the
rear door of Copeland-Farley to avoid appearing before the clerks in
Copeland’s company.
Copeland remained in his room all morning, summoning the auditor from
time to time to ask for various data. He called Jerry once and bade him
make every effort to find Kinney by telephone. Kinney was in New York;
had been there for a week. Copeland smiled sardonically at this news.
“All right. I knew he’d been away, but the fool said he’d be back
to-day,” he said spitefully. “That’s all!”
At two o’clock he put a bundle of papers into his pocket and walked
toward the Western National. The bookkeepers exchanged meaningful
glances and Jerry imagined that even the truckmen loading freight
appeared depressed. Copeland’s desperation had been expressed vividly
enough in his drunken attempt to burn the store. And now, if the
Western National refused to extend his loans, Copeland-Farley might
cease to exist. Jerry’s usual nonchalance left him. He failed to seize
a chance to “land” on a drummer from a New York perfumery house who was
teasing him for the latest news of Main Street....
At three o’clock Eaton called Jerry on the telephone.
“I want to see Copeland; please call me the minute he comes in,” said
the lawyer.
Shortly before four Copeland came back and walked directly to his
office. There was another exchange of glances along the accountants’
desks, where the clerks bent with affected diligence over their books.
The auditor was summoned again, carried a book into Copeland’s room,
and reappeared instantly. The air was tense. It was a source of relief
to Jerry to hear Eaton’s voice as he reported Copeland’s return.
“Watch him,” said the lawyer, with his usual calmness; “and don’t let
him leave the store.”
As Jerry nervously watched the door for Eaton’s appearance, Louis M.
Eichberg, of Corbin & Eichberg, entered and asked for Copeland. The
bookkeepers exchanged glances again and bent over their ledgers with
renewed zeal. The door of the private office closed upon Eichberg. It
snapped shut sharply--ominously, Jerry thought.