THE FIVE-BAR GATE
"It may interest you young people to know," the bishop was saying in
the library, "that Annie Laurie--you know she was the daughter of Sir
Robert Laurie of Maxwellton, and--er--she married an ancestor of
mine."
"Really! Tell us about her," exclaimed Betty, leaning forward
eagerly.
"I'm afraid there isn't much to tell except that she did not marry
the poor young man--what was his name?--who wrote those tender verses
about her?"
"She didn't?" frowned Bob, while Miss Thompson watched him with a
roguish smile.
"No. She married my ancestor. I have always had the deepest
sympathy for that unappreciated poet."
Young Baxter nodded wisely.
"Perhaps he'd have been more appreciated if he hadn't been so much of
a poet. While he was making rhymes to Annie your ancestor got busy
with the girl, and the first thing Mr. Poet knew the other fellow had
landed her."
"Ha, ha, ha!" chuckled the prelate. "That sounds like one of your
father's remarks."
"Speaking of Father," Bob glanced at his watch, "I'm expecting him up
from town on this next train. I hope nothing detains him."
"I hope not," said the churchman earnestly. "I have been looking
forward to seeing my dear old friend and--er--I wanted him to be
present in case this detective reports anything that
seems--er--important."
"Exactly," agreed the young man.
At this moment Merle entered, looking pale and anxious, and, bowing
respectfully to the bishop, he went close to Baxter and said
something in a low tone.
"Oh! All right. I'll see him," nodded Bob. Then to Betty and his
lordship: "If you'll excuse me, I--er--there's a little matter I must
attend to." And he hurried off, followed by Horatio.
"Oh, Mr. Merle! May I speak to you a moment?" called the bishop.
Horatio turned and a faint flush spread over the ashen gray of his
thin face.
"Yes, your lordship."
Bunchester's eyes rested on the curate in kindly solicitude, then
with a ruddy smile he turned to Betty.
"I must tell you, Miss Thompson, that Horatio Merle and I are friends
of long standing, and naturally, when he came to my bedroom this
afternoon with a tray of tea and toast--exquisitely served, I must
say--I was somewhat surprised and--er--after a little talk, I became
acquainted with the unusual and--er--interesting position that Mr.
Merle has chosen to occupy in this household."
As the prelate went on his manner became more and more serious until
now, turning to the astonished and abashed Horatio, he addressed him
with all the impressiveness of his sonorous voice and his full
episcopal dignity.
"Mr. Merle, you probably do not realize how deeply I was affected by
what you told me this afternoon. I wish to shake hands with you,
sir, and say, both as your bishop and as a fellow man, that I respect
you and honor you for the fine simplicity and manliness you have
shown here at Ipping House in accepting, I may say in seeking, a
rather--er--humiliating position. I doubt, sir, if there is another
clergyman in my diocese who would be capable of such an act of
Christian self-effacement."
"I--I thank your lordship," murmured Horatio, retreating awkwardly
toward the door.
"Wait! I haven't finished. Mr. Merle, you have builded better than
you knew. It happens that my old friend, Dr. Dibble, the rector of
St. Timothy's in Ippingford, has become so infirm that we are about
to retire him on a pension. The living is in my hands and it is my
intention, sir, in fact, it is my absolute decision, to offer it to
you."
Horatio was so overcome by this extraordinary good news that for some
moments he could not speak a word. Was it possible? He, a poor
curate, who had made a failure of everything, suddenly lifted to this
splendid height? He, the rector of St. Timothy's? He, Horatio Merle?
"Oh, your lordship!" he stammered.
"There is a fine old rectory with five or six acres of land and the
prettiest rose garden in Kent. I am sure you and your wife will be
happy there."
"Your lordship, I--I thank your lordship. I--I would add----"
Horatio stood quite still, holding a few strands of his side whiskers
between an agitated thumb and forefinger. He opened and closed his
mouth several times and then, in a tumult of suppressed feeling, he
hurried from the room.
Just as he was closing the door Betty flew after him.
"Oh, Mr. Merle, I am so happy! I congratulate you with all my heart."
She clasped his hand impulsively with such sweetness and genuineness
that the good man's confusion was made more complete, if that were
possible.
"Thank you, Miss Thompson--thank you. Please don't say any more.
I--I must go. I--must tell my wife."
Horatio hastened away, his eyes shining with tears of joy.
And now there came a bad quarter of an hour for Elizabeth Thompson.
It was evidently her duty to tell the bishop immediately, without
losing a moment, about the stolen money. This was her opportunity to
tell him; she was alone with him and--she must tell him. And yet she
could not speak. She had promised Hester Storm to say nothing until
after Grimes had gone. She had promised faithfully, and--for the
moment her lips were sealed.
"Bishop," she began, and in her eyes there was the shadow of
impending trouble.
"Yes, my dear. Sit down." He made room for her beside him on the
davenport.
"There's something I've wanted to speak to you about--that is----"
"I understand, my dear," he anticipated. "You have reference to that
unfortunate affair on the train? You know I came here to-day for the
express purpose of--er--that is to say, I shall be glad to obtain, in
fact, the detective urged me to get from you, any information you can
give regarding that painful occurrence."
"But--I wanted to ask you----"
She paused, biting her lips, and the prelate went on serenely.
"I have been told of your very great kindness to the suspected young
woman who was in the carriage with us. I feel sure you acted in a
sweet, pitying spirit, but you can hardly realize, my child, as one
in my position does, the unwisdom of accepting too readily the
unconfirmed statements of--er--shall I say plausible strangers. By
the way do you happen to know what has become of this Jenny Regan?"
"Why--she told me--she spoke of living in New York, and--I think she
was--going back there."
Betty's distress of mind was so evident that the bishop must surely
have noticed it had it not been for the sudden entrance of Bob
Baxter, whose pale face and disturbed manner showed that something
serious had happened.
"I've been talking to the detective," he explained, "and--I want to
apologize to both of you in advance, and especially to you, Betty,
for what the man is going to say. He insists on coming in here,
and--if I had my way I'd chuck him out of the house, but--he comes as
an officer of the law, and I suppose I have no choice but to let him
do what he considers his duty."
"Quite right," nodded the bishop. "We must respect the law."
Betty stared, white faced, before her while young Baxter went to the
door and showed in the detective. Grimes had left his cigar outside.
"All right. Go ahead," said Bob with a contemptuous glance at the
newcomer. "Only, please make it as short as possible."
"I'm not in the habit of wasting words, Mr. Baxter," answered Grimes
curtly.
"You mustn't mind, Betty," continued the young fellow, "if he asks
you some rather impertinent questions. It's only a formality, and
it's part of his business. Now, sir!"
Quietly ignoring this high-handed manner, the detective seated
himself, and, facing the troubled secretary, went straight at the
business in hand.
"You remember Jenny Regan, the girl who was in the railway carriage
when the Bishop of Bunchester discovered that his purse had been
stolen?"
"Yes, I remember her," answered Betty.
"You took a great interest in this young woman, did you not? You
offered her money, gave her your card, although she was a stranger.
How was that?"
"I was sorry for her. She had had a hard struggle, and I wanted to
help her."
"Fine!" exclaimed Bob, and Grimes flashed him a sharp glance from
under his thick eyebrows.
"You had no idea she was a professional pickpocket?"
"No."
"No idea that she stole the bishop's purse?"
"Certainly not."
"You believed her to be an innocent and deserving person?"
"I did."
"Miss Thompson, are you still of that opinion?"
"I am sure she is a deserving person," was the firm reply.
"Who is?" asked Grimes quickly.
"Why, Hest--Jenny Regan," stammered Betty, and the detective smiled,
but he paid no attention to this slip.
"You say deserving, but not innocent. Do you still think Jenny Regan
innocent of stealing the bishop's purse?"
The crisis had come. Should Betty speak or keep silent? To speak
would bring inevitable ruin upon this unfortunate girl, who had
trusted her. Yet how could she not speak?
While she hesitated Bob spoke for her. "How can Miss Thompson
possibly know whether Jenny Regan stole the bishop's purse or not?"
he demanded.
"Miss Thompson has the best reason in the world for knowing that,"
Grimes answered, and there was a note of cold menace in his voice.
"See here," retorted the young fellow. "I won't stand for this.
Either you make good your words or----"
"Keep still, my friend. I'll make my words good." Then, turning to
the bishop, "I beg your lordship to believe that I am not speaking
lightly." He drew from his pocket a brown leather purse clasped by
an elastic band. "Does your lordship recognize this?"
"Bless my soul! My purse!" exclaimed the bishop. "Where did you
find it?"
"With your lordship's permission I'll explain that--a little later."
Old Bunchester coughed impressively. "And the money?" he asked.
"The five thousand pounds? Is it--in the purse?"
The detective shook his head. "Not a penny of it. The purse is
empty. There!" He handed the lean wallet to its owner.
"Quite true," sighed the bishop. "It is empty."
"Do I understand that you found this purse somewhere about here--I
mean about this house?" demanded Bob.
"Yes," said the detective.
"And you have no idea where the money is?" inquired Bunchester
anxiously.
"I have a very distinct idea where the money is," answered Grimes
slowly, "and this young lady----" he faced Betty accusingly, "she
also has a very distinct idea where the money is."
At this Baxter's eyes blazed fiercely. "You dare to----"
"Wait, Bob!" The girl laid a restraining hand upon his arm. Then,
lifting her head proudly, she challenged Grimes. "You mean to
insinuate that I took the money from this purse?"
"Impossible!" murmured the bishop.
A hard smile played about the detective's mouth.
"You mean to deny that you know where the money is?"
She hesitated. "Why--er----"
"Where is it?" he demanded.
"I--I can't tell you."
"You refuse to answer?"
"I--must refuse." She thought of her promise to Hester.
"My dear child," interposed Bunchester kindly. "I'm sure you are
actuated by the most honorable motives, but this is a case where the
whole truth must be told."
"Go ahead, Betty; tell what you know," urged Bob.
"I--I----" she began weakly, but rallied with a flash of anger.
"I'll not be questioned like this." Her pride and fighting spirit
were stirred now. The idea that she was actually accused of stealing
this money or of being an accomplice in the theft--it was outrageous,
preposterous. Very well, if they thought her guilty they could keep
on thinking so.
"I have made a serious charge here," Grimes proceeded quietly, "and I
propose to prove it." He turned sharply to the girl. "Whose desk is
that?"
"My desk," she answered.
The detective examined the drawers carefully. They were all unlocked
except the top one on the left-hand side.
"You keep this drawer locked?"
"Usually."
"You have the key?"
"Yes. It's in my bag." She opened her bag and produced a flat key.
"Here it is."
"Has anyone else a key to this drawer?"
"No."
Grimes looked at the key critically. "H'm! A spring lock. Do you
mind opening this drawer?"
"Why should I open it? It's my private drawer." Betty thought of
her Marcus Aurelius and Bob's precious letter. Why should these
sacred things be dragged out by this vulgar detective?
"Oh, it's your private drawer, is it? Just the same, I must ask you
to open it, Miss Thompson."
"Very well," yielded the girl. "There!" She put the key in the lock
and turned it while Grimes watched her keenly.
"Now if your lordship will look in this drawer?" he said.
"Certainly," bowed the prelate, and he pulled out the drawer to its
full length, then started back with a cry of amazement. "Good
heavens!" He drew forth a bundle of folded banknotes. "It's the
stolen money," he declared. "The exact amount! The identical notes!
Five thousand pounds!"
Betty started in bewilderment. "But--I don't understand," she said.
Old Bunchester turned to the girl in deep concern. "My dear Miss
Thompson, this is exceedingly painful, exceedingly compromising. I
beg you most earnestly, in the interest of everyone, in your own
interest, to tell us how it comes that this money is found in your
desk. You must explain this mystery, indeed you must."
"Hold on!" cried Bob, springing forward, his whole face transfigured,
and here it was, in the words of Hiram Baxter, that the boy showed
himself a thoroughbred and took the five-bar gate in one clean leap.
"Don't say a word, Betty. Don't explain anything. You're the
finest, pluckiest girl I ever knew, and right now, without any
explanation, I ask you to be my wife."
"Bob!" she cried, and her whole soul was in her eyes.
"It's all right, dear." He stood close beside her and drew her to
him protectingly. "There are two of us now." Then, turning to
Grimes: "Go ahead with your silly little game."
"All very pretty," sniffed the detective, while the bishop looked on
in purple amazement, "but, before we get through with our silly
little game you may not find it as silly as you think."
He strode across the library to the foot of the little stair and
pointed to the mezzanine door. "If Miss Thompson was so confident
that Jenny Regan was a deserving person why did she hide her in that
room this morning?"
"What?" cried Bob.
Grimes fixed his hard gaze on Betty. "Do you deny that you hid
Hester Storm, otherwise known as Jenny Regan, in that room?"
The girl eyed him steadily. "It's true," she said; "but--I can
explain it."
Young Baxter started to his feet. "It isn't possible this Storm girl
who's been working here is--Jenny Regan?"
Grimes nodded. "Jenny Regan is one of her aliases. It's a matter of
police record. You knew this, didn't you?" He turned to Betty,
whose cheeks were aflame with anger.
"Yes, I knew it," she flung back, "and what is more----"
"You knew she was a thief and a pickpocket?" he added.
With an effort the girl checked herself and stood panting.
"If your lordship will give me a few moments," she said in a low
tone, "I can make everything clear. You don't mind, Bob? Just a few
moments?"
Baxter bowed to her wish. "Of course I don't mind. Come on," he
said to Grimes.
"Not I," refused the latter. "Miss Thompson says she can make things
clear to his lordship. So can I. His lordship's purse was stolen by
Hester Storm, alias Jenny Regan, but this young woman," he swept
Betty with a cruel look, "was an accessory after the fact."
"You miserable hound!" roared Bob.
And the bishop said solemnly: "My dear sir, you are making an
incredible accusation. Miss Thompson is a lady--a friend of mine. I
knew her estimable father."
"I can only lay the facts before your lordship," shrugged the
detective. He went to the library door, and, motioning quickly,
returned followed by Hester Storm, who looked neither to the right
nor the left, but held her eyes straight down before her, as if
studying the yellowish pattern in the carpet. Betty watched her in
surprise.
"There," Grimes pointed to Hester, "is my answer to your lordship's
doubts. What is this woman doing here? She is a notorious thief and
a pickpocket. Why did she come to Ipping House? Why did your
lordship's friend, Miss Thompson, shelter her in that bedroom and try
to prevent me from arresting her? The answer is easy. It was
because Miss Thompson proposed to share the money this Storm girl had
stolen from your lordship."
"That's a lie!" rang out Betty's swift denial. "Tell them it's a
lie. You must tell them," she appealed frantically to Hester.
But the Storm girl never moved; she never spoke; she never lifted her
eyes from the carpet.
And Grimes went on relentlessly: "If Miss Thompson was innocent of
this crime why did she not tell the whole truth about it when she was
alone with your lordship not half an hour ago?"
"I wanted to tell the truth," insisted Betty, "but I had promised
this poor girl that I would do nothing until--until the detective had
gone." Again she appealed to Hester. "You know that is true. Tell
them it's true."
But the Storm girl stood there like a frozen image, her lips closed,
her eyes cast down. And a sickening terror filled Betty's breast.
"Your lordship must see that there is a strong case against this
young woman." Grimes moved toward Betty with a grim tightening of
the lips. "You'll have to come with me." He laid a hand on her arm.
Instantly Bob Baxter stepped forward, his face as white as Betty's.
"Take your hands off that lady."
"Oh, I don't know," retorted Grimes. "I'm an officer of the law
and----"
"My dear Mr. Baxter," reasoned the bishop, interposing his portly and
venerable presence between the excited adversaries, "believe me, we
must respect the majesty of the law."
"Majesty nothing," stormed Bob. "I tell you----"
"I tell you to step back," ordered the detective. "And you----" he
faced Miss Thompson, "consider yourself under arrest. If you have
anything to get ready you'd better do it. We start in----" he
glanced at his watch, "in ten minutes."
"Start?" cried Baxter, aghast.
The seriousness of the situation was now clear to everyone.
"See here," the young man appealed to Grimes after a moment's
thought, "there's some horrible mistake. Miss Thompson had nothing
to do with stealing that money. She couldn't steal. Look at her,
man! You know she couldn't. I'll be responsible anyway, or my
father will, for the money and everything else. You can't drag her
off like this and disgrace her. By God, I won't let you."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I've no choice. A crime has been committed,
and--there's evidence enough to hold her on if she was a cousin of
the queen."
"Under arrest!" murmured Betty twining her fingers together piteously
and fixing her eyes on Hester.
At this moment the sound of carriage wheels was heard outside. Bob
went quickly to the window.
"It's Father," he said with a movement of relief. "Cheer up, Betty.
Dad will think of something."
A moment later Hiram Baxter entered the room. His face was ashen
gray. He looked broken and ill, but a flicker of the old bright
smile spread over his rugged face as he glanced about the room.
"Hello, everybody! Why, hello, Bish!" He tapped Bunchester
playfully on the shoulder. "I'm awful glad to see you, Bish." Then,
as he noticed the universal gloom, "Say, it strikes me you folks are
a little frappay. What's wrong? What are you doing here?" he asked
Grimes.
The detective started to explain, but Bob cut in eagerly.
"One moment! Father, did you leave twenty-five thousand dollars in
the drawer of that desk?"
"Twenty-five thousand dollars! Say, boy, is this a joke? If it is,
I tell ye straight I don't like it."
"No, Father, it's not a joke; it's very far from a joke. Did you
leave it there?"
"Twenty-five thousand dollars in that desk? Say, if you knew what
I've been through to-day! I've been scratchin' around down where the
avenues are paved with red-hot bricks, lookin' for twenty-five
thousand dollars. And I didn't find it, either. No, sir, I left no
money in that desk. It ain't my desk, anyway; it's Betty's desk."
"Ah!" smiled Grimes.
"Say, who are you, anyway?"
"I'm Grimes from Scotland Yard."
"Let me explain," put in Betty. "I--I'm in great trouble, Guardy."
"I'll tell him, dear," said Bob. "Father, I--I've asked Betty to be
my wife."
"Well, it ain't that that's makin' ye look like a funeral, is it?"
drawled Hiram. "Go on, now; let me have it."
Betty and Bob spoke at the same time, both pointing scornful fingers
at Grimes.
"He says that I----"
"He dares to say that Betty----"
"Easy now! Not all at once. Say, Bish, you'd better tell it."
Bunchester coughed impressively. "My dear friend, it seems
incredible, but the fact is Mr. Grimes thinks that Miss Thompson was
concerned in the--er--misappropriation of that five thousand pounds."
"That was stolen from you? Betty Thompson? No, no, no!" thundered
the old man.
"That is how we all feel, but, with the utmost regret I am forced to
bear witness that this exact sum and, I believe, the identical
banknotes were found in Miss Thompson's desk--there."
"Five thousand pounds? What does this mean, Betty? How did that
money get in your desk?"
"I--I don't know," the unhappy girl answered. Grimes looked at his
watch again. "No use of any more talk," he said gruffly. "It's time
to start and----" motioning to Betty, "you'll have to come with me."
"You don't mean----" Hiram's eyes burned savagely.
"I mean that these two women are under arrest, sir, charged with
grand larceny, and I'm going to take 'em to London by the next train."
"But--I won't have it."
"Better not interfere, sir. I've men outside to help me, and--I'm
going to take 'em. Come now." He caught Betty by the arm and
marched her, half fainting, toward the door.
At this moment Hester Storm lifted her eyes, opened her lips, and
spoke in a strange, low tone:
"Wait! You mustn't take her. She didn't steal the money. She had
nothing to do with it. I stole the money. I put it in that desk.
I'm the one to take."
"Hester!" cried Betty. "You--you put that money in my desk?"
repeated Betty slowly.
"Yes. I meant to steal it or--I meant to steal half of it, but--when
you sang that song about--her promise true, why--I thought how you'd
been good to me, and--trusted me, and--I sneaked in here and left the
money. The drawer was open, and I snapped it shut. Then, when I
made my getaway he pinched me." She turned to Grimes.
The detective lowered his head as if he was studying the girl through
his eyebrows.
"You told me a different story just now?" he said.
"Sure I did. I lied. You know I lied. You don't think I'm stuck on
gettin' sent away for ten years, do ye? But if it's got to be her or
me, well, I won't have her sent away when all she's done is to treat
me right and try to save me. You can take that from Hester Storm."
"This is a rare and beautiful instance of gratitude and devotion,"
commented Bunchester.
"That's all right, Bish; but I want to know more about this." Hiram
turned to Hester, who was standing with bowed head and clasped hands.
"Well, fer a girl who talks about stealin'--I guess some o' the
honest folks could take lessons from you. Say, I didn't quite get
that about how you planned to steal half o' this money? Where did
the half come in? Why didn't ye plan to steal all of it?"
Then, little by little, with questions from Grimes and more questions
from Hiram the Storm girl told her story, sometimes in broken words,
as her feelings overpowered her, but in the main simply and bravely
and truthfully, as one who is strengthened by some higher power. She
went back to her childhood and spoke of her sister Rosalie. She told
of her wanderings and waywardness, then of her visit to Ippingford
and her meeting with Horatio Merle. Then, finally, of her efforts to
return the money and of the persecution she had suffered at the hands
of Anton. She kept nothing back, and she made no excuse for herself.
She had sinned and it was right that she should suffer.
As Hester finished her confession every heart went out to her in
genuine sympathy, and Grimes was seen to wipe his eyes.
"I want to say," he remarked, "that I've seen some strange cases in
my time, but when it comes to a woman trying to steal money over
again that she's stolen once so as to give it back--why, that's a new
one on me."
"Ye can't ever tell what a woman's goin' to do," nodded Baxter.
"Anyway, I owe you an apology, Miss Thompson," the detective went on,
and there was a little catch in his voice as he met Betty's grave,
beautiful eyes. "Things certainly did look black against you,
but--all I can say is, I'm sorry, Miss, I'm sorry."
"It's all right, old man," said Bob.
Whereupon the Bishop of Bunchester, clearing his throat ponderously,
addressed these comforting words to Hester Storm: "My dear young
friend, I am inexpressively touched by this story of your struggles
and temptations and your splendid moral victory. It is a most
meritorious case and one that the Society of Progressive Mothers will
take up with enthusiasm. As for the outcome of this affair, speaking
for the Progressive Mothers' Society and for myself, as bishop of
this diocese, I can assure you that there will be no unpleasant
consequences, so far as you are concerned. The money has been
returned. You have truly repented of your sin and you have given an
illustration of spiritual regeneration that will long be treasured in
the annals of the Progressive Mothers' Society.
"And now, my dear Miss Thompson, how shall I express my great
joy----" The bishop turned to Betty, and was about to launch forth
into another sounding period when Hiram Baxter interrupted him.
"Excuse me, Bish, fer breakin' in on yer speech, but--I've had a bad
day in town, and--if you don't mind takin' the detective into the
next room and finishin' up the details of this purse business with
him, why----"
Baxter leaned back in his chair with signs of physical distress--"ye
see, I'm just about all in."
"Why, certainly, my dear friend. Let us come in here." And,
motioning to Grimes and Hester, he led the way into the conservatory
and carefully closed the door behind him.
"Father! Is anything wrong?" asked Bob in concern.
"Guardy, you're ill?"
With anxious faces the young lovers stood beside the old man, who
smiled at them wearily.
"Children, I've got bad news fer ye, awful bad news for ye," he said.
"I've made the best fight I could, but that Henderson bunch, they've
done me up. Independent Copper broke twenty points to-day in the New
York market, and--I was long of the stock. My man cabled me the tip
to sell, but I never got it. I never got it. That cable was held
up." He bent forward, resting his big grizzled head on his hands in
an attitude of utter despair. "It's all off, children. It's all
off."
Betty's heart was pounding violently as she listened. Things had
happened so rapidly in the last few hours that she had scarcely
thought of Lionel and his wild sprint for the cable office. Had he
failed to get there in time? Had he made some mistake? What could
have happened to Lionel?
"Excuse me a moment," she said, and hurrying toward the conservatory,
she threw open the door and looked about her.
One glance showed that something had happened, for her eyes fell on a
murmuring group gathered about Anton and the detective. And there in
the group, calmly smoking a cigarette, was Lionel Fitz-Brown.
"Lionel!" Betty called, addressing him by his Christian name for the
first time in her life. "Please come here--quick." And then, when
he stood before her, very indignantly: "The idea of your not coming
to tell me!"
"Tell you about what?" he asked blankly.
"About the cable. Did you--were you in time?"
Fitz-Brown adjusted his monocle with great care, then, gradually, a
smile spread over his face. "Oh, I say! The cable! You see, I got
so beastly wet in the storm, Miss Thompson, that I--well, the fact
is, I had on thin flannel trousers and they jolly well shrunk up to
my knees and--haw, haw, haw!" He exploded into uproarious merriment.
"Oh, Mr. Fitz-Brown," she wrung her hands beseechingly, "please tell
me if you got the cable off by twelve?"
Lionel laid a reflective forefinger along his nose. "By twelve? No.
No, I didn't."
"You didn't?" Betty's heart sank.
"I go it off five minutes before twelve. Haw, haw, haw!" He fairly
doubled up in his enjoyment of this witticism.
Like a flash, Betty darted back to Hiram, thrilling with this good
news. And at the same moment Grimes entered, holding a cablegram in
his hand.
"Beg your pardon, sir," he said respectfully to Baxter, "I've just
arrested your chauffeur, Anton Busch. He's a crook, Slippery Jake,
sneak thief and confidence man, wanted by the police in half dozen
cities. He's been working some deviltry here, sir. I've just found
this cablegram on him. It's addressed to you."
"Thank you," said Hiram with a look of inexpressible sadness in his
eyes. "It's come too late."
"I'm sorry, sir. I--I'll wait outside," and Grimes withdrew, his
hard face softened by a look of deep pity for the shattered old
warrior.
Baxter sat still, looking at the yellow envelope. "Too late!" he
muttered. "Oh, if I'd only got this cablegram in time!"
"Guardy, I want to tell you something," Betty began, but Hiram paid
no attention.
"Nothing matters now," he went on bitterly. "I mustn't say that.
I'm happy about you two. Betty! Bob!" He joined their hands and
held them strongly. "It's what I've always dreamed of, but--I wanted
to leave ye well fixed and now----" The tears were coursing down his
grizzled cheeks. "We're ruined--ruined."
"No, no! We're not ruined. You mustn't say that, Guardy." The girl
dared not promise anything, for she did not know the result of her
effort, but she pointed hopefully to the unopened cablegram. "Why
don't you open this? Why don't you read it?"
He shook his head despairingly. "I know what it is. It's the notice
that I've been sold out and--everything's gone. God! If I'd only
known! If I could only have given the order to sell--even a few
thousand shares."
With a listless movement Hiram ripped open the cable envelope and
drew out the yellow sheet. Betty thought her heart would stop
beating as she watched his face. Slowly the look of amazement came.
He rubbed his eyes and read the message again. Then he sprang to his
feet with a great cry.
"What! It ain't possible! Listen to this!" In his excitement,
Hiram almost shouted the words written there before him.
"'Congratulate you on your splendid nerve. Executed order at once.
Sold fifty thousand shares at top of market and closed out with
twenty points profit. Gramercy.' You hear that, Bob? Read it! Am
I crazy or---- No, no! There's something wrong. I didn't show any
splendid nerve. I didn't cable any order to sell fifty thousand
shares. There's some mistake."
"There's no mistake," cried Betty. "I cabled the order to sell."
"You?" stared Bob.
"You?" gasped Hiram. "You cabled the order to sell fifty thousand
shares of Independent Copper stock for my account? Fifty thousand
shares?"
It was several moments before Betty could speak, and then, laughing
and crying hysterically, she told what she and Lionel had done.
"I should say it was splendid nerve," said Bob. And folding his big,
strong arms around her, "Betty, you darling!" he whispered.
She lay there happy in his arms and, looking up into his eyes with
all the fondness of her soul, answered shyly and sweetly, "Bob, my
love."
And Hiram Baxter, wiping away his tears of joy, muttered to himself
(since no one else was paying any attention), "Holy cats! Is there
anything a woman won't do?"
THE END