It was after ten the next morning when Armstrong entered his own home.
Wearily, he discarded his things and turned to the living room, where
he glimpsed the figure of Dorothy. Why she had not come to meet him,
he did not know or care. He thought only of the news he bore,
hesitating to face her with word of complete defeat. He was
overwhelmed by a sense of futility. Even though the defeat were
temporary, even though his conscience were clear, even though that
indictment were certain to be dismissed--what was being gained by a
prolonged fight?
"I might still get out of it, turn over my Consolidated stock to
Findlater, and be rid of it all," he thought in despondency. "I've
failed at every point, and might better acknowledge it. I could go
to work at something else--"
So the temptation gnawed, as he came forward to join his wife. He
was too dejected even to observe her manner or the distinct challenge
of her greeting. He threw himself into a chair and stared at the
fire.
"I've failed," he said abruptly. "Macgowan has beaten us all along
the line, lady. Last night we tried to compromise, and failed.
We've lost, but he's beaten us illegally; we'll fight on and in the
end, we'll win. But that's not the worst news I have."
Dorothy did not answer. Armstrong stole a glance, found her gaze
fastened steadily upon him. Something in her eyes frightened him.
He realized that she had not welcomed him home.
"Dot! What's the matter?"
"Nothing," she responded calmly. "I'm sorry you were beaten, Reese.
I have some news for you, too, but finish what you have to say."
The dreadful quietude of her manner shook him to the depths. One
blow after another had reached him; now he began to fear something
vaster and deeper--he knew not what.
"I've been indicted in Illinois for perjury, in connection with Food
Products stock," he said. "Macgowan got the indictment in order to
discredit me. He got it fraudulently and it'll be dismissed. But
it's one more thing."
"I know."
Armstrong jerked up his head. "You know?"
"Yes. A man was here to warn you. He told me. I learned other
things, too. That is not the only indictment you'll have to face;
Macgowan is going to push you to the wall. And, Reese, I'm afraid he
can do it."
"What do you mean, Dot? What do you know?"
"I know everything." A hot torrent of words broke from her.
"Everything, Reese! I know how you've deceived me all this time;
I've suspected it a long while, but now I know it. How you planned
everything, took advantage of our wedding-day, even postponed our
wedding in order that you might steal father's company from him.
I've stuck by you through it all, Reese. I've tried to do my duty by
you, tried to make my love and faith blind to everything; but now a
time has come to speak. You must give up this fight against
Macgowan, at once, to-day!"
"Stop, stop!"' cried out Armstrong. The agonized incredulity of his
voice made her wince, but her steely eyes remained steady. "Dot, you
don't know what you're saying! Good heavens, girl--do you realize
what you're charging me with? It's preposterous!"
Sudden anger blazed in Dorothy's face.
"Can you deny that you planned to take father's company away from
him? Can you deny that it was all arranged in advance, with this
same Macgowan? Can you deny that at the very hour we were to be
married, you were robbing my father of his life-work--basely striking
him in the back? And then you dared to complain when Macgowan turned
on you and did the same to you, after I had given you warnings! Poor
father, there was none to warn _him_."
"Dot!" exclaimed Armstrong, in bewildered horror of her words.
"Don't say--"
"Can you deny these things?" she persisted coldly.
"Absolutely!" Armstrong came to his feet. "It's a lie, all of it!
A cursed lie! Dot, I give you my word of honor--"
"Don't," she said coldly. "I don't believe you."
These words delivered the worst blow that Armstrong had ever
received. For a moment he actually reeled under their impact,
disbelieving his own senses. He stared at Dorothy from distended
eyes; then a rush of frightful anger flamed into his face.
"You don't believe me!" he repeated. "God forgive you for saying
such a thing--"
"Oh, let's have no heroics, Reese," she intervened. Her savage and
relentless cruelty stung him to the very soul. "I've discovered the
whole affair, and now I am laying a choice before you. I know why
you are fighting Macgowan so desperately. I know why you pretend to
fight on behalf of the sixteen thousand investors--"
"Pretend!" he uttered in a strangled voice. "Pretend!"
"--and now it is going to end." She was cold, inexorable,
emotionless. "You may as well learn that if you keep up this fight,
you'll end by being branded as a felon. I would stick by you through
that disgrace, Reese, if it were achieved in a just cause. Now that
I know the truth, now that I know retribution is upon you for what
you did to my father--it's all ended for me."
She paused an instant, then went on.
"Go and see Macgowan. It may be too late, but at least make the
effort. Give up this fight. Abandon this righteous pose of yours,
and be done with it. Either that, or I shall leave this house
immediately."
Armstrong was stupefied. He could only stand staring at her like a
man paralyzed.
The most frightful part of it was his absolute ignorance of what had
so aroused her anger and bitterness. He could not imagine how she
had gained this idea that he had stolen her father's company, that
retribution for such a theft was facing him. This was all so
preposterous to him that he could not even view the accusation in any
correct perspective.
And then the scorn of her words reached to the quick, seared him
intolerably. That she should so turn upon him in this hour of defeat
and black despair, evoked from him a passionate fury.
"Tell me what's behind all this!" he demanded hotly. "Out with it,
Dot! What basis have you for uttering such damnable lies about me?"
He received a frigid glance.
"That is gentlemanly language to use, Reese," was her response. "I
was not brought up to hear such words addressed to me--but I shan't
argue with you. Do you intend to give up this fight or not?"
"Dot, listen to me!" he broke out frantically, desperately.
"Whatever has come over you, at least listen to me! Surely you can't
ask such a thing, in all sanity? Oh, the devil himself must be in
this! You can't mean it, Dot; you've been with me from the first,
helping and backing me--and now you ask that I submit! You know I'm
not fighting for myself alone--"
Her eyes, dark with anger, flashed at this.
"I thought it was not for yourself, but I've learned better. I've
learned that you are using these investors as a shield for yourself.
Do you think it's for myself alone that I'm making this demand? No,
no! It's not for my sake that I want this mad obstinacy of yours
abandoned!"
The wild vehemence of her words frightened him, sent him into a cold
chill of stark terror. He had never seen her in so blazing an anger,
so passionate a fury--he had not dreamed such a condition would be
possible to Dorothy Armstrong.
"I'll not have my child branded the child of a felon!" she rushed on
in an impetuous burst. "I know better than you yourself where you
are heading; so far as I'm concerned, it ends now! My marriage vow
to you has ended. My obligations to you have ended. What I now have
to do, is to live and act and hope for the child that I shall bring
into the world. If you persist in your course, the blame is not mine
but yours. I am giving you your chance."
Armstrong was absolutely stunned, as much by the savage conviction of
her manner as by what she said. He comprehended that she was
speaking from a terrible sincerity--but he could not understand it.
"Dot--" He checked himself, paused, forced himself into a semblance
of calmer speech. "Dot, I swear before heaven that I don't know what
you're talking about! Somehow, Macgowan must have reached you--"
"He has not. Will you give up this fight, or give me up?" she
demanded coldly.
He was terrified afresh by her air.
"I can't talk about it now, Dot. I'm all unstrung--in no shape to
think or speak calmly. I can only hope that what you've said is
assignable to your condition, that you can't realize what you are
saying--"
"You dare to attack my sanity, do you?" she burst forth.
Armstrong made a despairing gesture. "I'm not attacking you--for
heaven's sake, Dot, try and be calm!" The cry was wrenched from him.
"We'll take this thing up again after luncheon, dear; I'll have to
learn what's in your mind. You know I'll not give up this fight.
You know I simply can't give up, abandon the people who trust and
look to me! I'll not do it, no matter who asks it."
"Very well. If that's your decision--"
"It is my decision--and I'll not change it!" he exclaimed in a gust
of anger. "It's bitterly wrong of you to ask such a thing. But let
all that go now, Dot; we'll take it up after luncheon and thrash it
out calmly. I'll have to get calmed down a bit."
He turned and strode from the room, and so upstairs.
There in his own room, he strove desperately to get himself in hand.
The touch of cold water on his skin cooled his blood, but only made
him more aware of the awful chaos into which he was plunged. Who was
responsible for this attitude on the part of Dorothy? What had
caused it?
He changed his clothes, his brain in tumult. Dorothy seemed to know
as much as he did about this indictment. He was frightened, too; in
her condition she was receptive to delusion, obsession, madness!
This thought made him frantic in his very solicitude for her, and
lessened his resentment of her words and manner. It was not his wife
who had been speaking downstairs--it was the woman who carried a
child under her heart, the woman whose entire physical and nervous
system was for the moment thrown out of balance.
He was longer than usual about dressing, but at length descended the
stairs. At their foot, he encountered the maid, and thought that she
regarded him with a singular air. He halted her curtly.
"Who was here yesterday or the day before?"
"Nobody, sir, but a Mr. Slosson, I think the name was--yesterday
morning early."
"Slosson!" The name broke from Armstrong. He clenched his lips for
an instant, and flung an appearance of calm into his reply. "Very
well. You may serve luncheon whenever it's ready."
"It's ready now, sir." The maid's face was frightened. "If--if Mrs.
Armstrong is coming back--"
"Coming back?" Armstrong looked at the maid with terrible eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"She called the car and went out, just after you went upstairs, sir.
And--and she had her traveling-bag--"
Armstrong put out a hand to the stair-rail. For a moment he stood
speechless, his face gray as death. The maid started forward to stay
him from falling, then she shrank back from his burning gaze.
"Never mind luncheon," he said thickly.
BOOK III
"A MAN'S HEART DEVISETH HIS WAY"
CHAPTER I
Upon the Saturday after the triumphal return from Wilmington,
Lawrence Macgowan sat in the office that had once belonged to
Armstrong. A thin, malicious smile drew at his lips as he studied a
typed document which lay on the desk before him. He leaned back and
lighted a cigar, laughing silently and amusedly to himself.
The door opened, to admit Findlater.
"Good morning, Mr. President!" exclaimed Macgowan heartily. "I was
just thinking about you! Come in and make yourself at home."
Findlater, looking well pleased with the world, lowered himself into
a chair. Success had agreed with him. It had even given him a
slightly superior air with Macgowan.
"Er--something I'd like to inquire about, Mac. How do you expect to
meet these suits that have been brought by Armstrong's crowd?"
Macgowan waved his cigar genially. "Tut, tut, my boy! Never worry
over little things like that."
"But it may become serious." Findlater frowned, as though displeased
by this light response. "Everything's being done in my name, and I
should have a clear idea of the program ahead of us."
"Oh, leave the legal affairs to me," and Macgowan's shoulders shook
in a hearty laugh. "Haven't I taken care of them pretty well so far?"
Findlater reddened. He was ruffled, irritated by this evasion.
"Confound it, Mac, why can't you be talked to? Why, look at
Armstrong! He'd let a man sit down and talk an hour. With all his
cursed blue-law character, he'd listen to any proposition--he's big
enough to do it. But not you. Why are you stalling about these
suits?"
Macgowan's eyes narrowed, then a smile crept into them; not a nice
smile. This unfavorable comparison with his enemy, particularly
coming from Findlater, stung him unbearably.
"All right, have your way--and pay for it," he said, a rasp in his
voice. "You want to know how I'm going to deal with that crowd, eh?"
"Exactly. But what do you mean by paying for it?"
Macgowan waved this query aside, ignored it temporarily.
"Armstrong's going to give up this fight," he said, mouthing his
cigar and regarding Findlater with an air which appeared to cause
that gentleman some uneasiness. "Our suits against Armstrong can be
dismissed any time now. As for the suits against us, they can be
postponed. All we want is delay. Armstrong will give up."
Findlater grunted. "Maybe--and maybe not. I know Armstrong as well
as you do."
"Not quite as well. You don't know where he's vulnerable; I do."
Macgowan chuckled. "He's the heart and soul of the crowd that's
fighting us. If he quits, we'll have a clean sweep, eh?"
"Yes," admitted Findlater.
Macgowan smiled as he regarded his confederate.
"D'you know what's happened? Armstrong's wife has left him--gone
home."
Findlater stared for a long moment, until gradual realization came to
him. Something in the voice and eye of Macgowan wakened his
comprehension, conveyed to his brain that these brief words not only
constituted a statement of fact, but also held a note of triumphant
boasting.
Even Findlater was stupefied by this admission. Bad though he was,
Findlater had certain bounds which he disliked to cross.
"Lord!" he ejaculated. "You--Mac, you didn't do this?"
"I?" Macgowan's brows went up. "Certainly not, certainly not! I've
not spoken a word to Mrs. Armstrong in months."
A momentary snarl lifted his lip, as the memory of that scene in the
Waldorf smote into him. The snarl crept into his voice as he went on
speaking.
"But I'll not say that I knew nothing about it. When I go after a
man, Findlater, he's gone! I went after Armstrong, and I'll finish
him. You thought during the campaign that I was taking wild chances
in my attacks; perhaps I was, but haven't we won? Libel suits don't
worry me. We'll not press our own suits. That Illinois indictment
against Armstrong came too late to do us any good; let it be
dismissed. But wait--just wait!"
He leaned back, deliberately checking himself, not wishing to reveal
too much of his inner feeling to this confederate of his. His usual
suave calmness returned to him.
Findlater nervously cleared his throat. He had not missed that
quick, vindictive snarl. During the past few weeks he had become
much better acquainted with Macgowan than ever before; and in his
heart he had grown terribly afraid of the man, having learned with
what reckless and even criminal audacity Macgowan could act. He now
realized that he himself had been drawn slowly but surely into the
meshes of a net, the drawstrings of which lay in the powerful grip of
Macgowan.
Now, in his cowardice, he made an effort to change the subject--only
to find that it drove back again upon him with new insistence.
"Something else I wanted to ask you, Mac. There's a check on my desk
to be counter-signed--five thousand dollars to a man named Slosson.
I can't locate the record of any transaction--"
Macgowan cut in blandly, with all his suave poise to the fore.
"It's quite correct, I assure you. The check goes to him for--shall
we say, legal services?
"Slosson," went on Macgowan, "has executed a slight commission for
which Consolidated can well afford to pay. He is a partner of our
friend Ried Williams, by the way, and is waiting to get this check
before returning to Indianapolis. If all goes as I expect, we shall
issue checks in a similar amount both to Williams and Slosson, within
a few more days. Perhaps at once."
This was all news to Findlater, and inwardly it infuriated him to
perceive that Macgowan was handling funds and making plans without a
word of consultation.
"I'd like to know more about this," he said aggressively.
"Of course! Did you ever hear of a gentleman named Windsor?"
Findlater shook his head. "Who is he?"
"Assistant attorney general of Indiana," said Macgowan smoothly. "At
present he is a special investigator, appointed to probe into
something connected with the Food Products stock that Armstrong
marketed. Somehow, word of something rotten about this stock issue
reached him--unfortunately, I can't explain the entire matter just
now. I assure you, however, that the checks going to Slosson and
Williams have been well earned."
Findlater made an angry, irritated gesture.
"This pouring out money by the thousands is sheer waste," he
exclaimed heatedly. "You've admitted that the Illinois indictment
amounts to nothing, that we'll not press any of the suits we've
filed. Then why the devil are you spending all this money to get an
Indiana indictment on the same grounds?"
"Ah, but I'm not!" Macgowan chuckled amusedly. "On materially
different grounds, my dear chap. This Mr. Windsor is a man who
cannot be bribed or coerced, a man whose acumen is keen, whose
integrity is as Cæsar's wife."
He paused and surveyed Findlater blandly.
"Such a man becomes an invaluable tool in the proper hand. I may
inform you that he will not only indict Armstrong, but will convict
him. He is now collecting the proofs, and upon his return to
Indiana, he will send Armstrong to prison."
"What have you found against Armstrong, anyway?"
"That remains a secret in which I have no concern," responded
Macgowan cheerfully. "A secret which is supposedly locked within the
breast of Mr. Windsor and one or two--"
"Damn it, why can't you come into the open with me?" exploded
Findlater.
"I shall, presently." For an instant the gleam in Macgowan's eyes was
wolfish. "Since you have demanded my program, I am presenting it.
Armstrong will be indicted, tried, and convicted; this is certain.
He is already ruined in his home, with his wife departed. He will be
a broken man. The Armstrong Company will go to pieces with him. The
fight being waged against us will die of inertia. This is
inevitable."
Macgowan puffed his cigar alight, then went on.
"You see, then, why I am not concerned over these legal affairs? The
suits against us will hardly be pressed, with Armstrong a convict.
Our own suits we calmly dismiss."
"But are you sure of convicting him?" asked Findlater, a glow of hope
in his eyes.
Macgowan smiled cynically. "I prepared the evidence myself. Need I
say more?"
Findlater leaned back and drew a long breath. At this moment,
however, Macgowan changed the subject. He regarded Findlater with
latent cruelty, a steady appraisal which showed how absolutely he
held the other man in his power.
"There is a little matter which you and I must settle," he said. His
tone made the other man jerk around. "Suppose you affix your
signature to this."
He held out the typed document which lay before him.
Findlater took it, adjusted his glasses and glanced at the paper. He
looked more attentively. Slowly the color faded out of his cheeks,
and the paper shook in his hand. He looked up, caught his breath.
"I--I don't understand!" he began. The challenging gaze of Macgowan
seemed to sap the man's vitality. His voice failed.
"Can't you read?" asked Macgowan coldly. "Your resignation as
president of Consolidated, undated; also, an agreement empowering me
to vote your control in the voting trust. It seems very simple."
Findlater rallied. His countenance purpled with a rush of anger.
"Damn you, Mac, you can't force me out--I'm not to be bullied into
walking out of here like Armstrong did! If you think you'll stab me
in the back, you can guess again. I know too much about you and how
you've run things--"
"You'll tell it, will you?" cut in Macgowan, chuckling.
Findlater glared at him, trembling with rage and fright. Like a rat
backed into a corner, one touch would either lend him a devastating
fury to fight at all costs, or would send him scurrying away in blind
panic.
Macgowan, watching him, applied the touch very deftly.
"I don't want to use that resignation now; it may never be used. As
to talking, everything in the campaign has been done over your name,
as president, so talk all you like, and I'll leave you to settle
matters with the other crowd. And I will leave you, unless you sign.
Why shouldn't I? What about that proposition you made Armstrong over
in Wilmington? All ready to sell me out, weren't you! And you
thought I'd never know it."
At this, Findlater turned white again. Macgowan laughed thinly.
"I'll take no more chances on you, Henry C. Findlater! From now on,
you'll be in my pocket, under my hand--or else I'll walk out of here
and give a statement to the press that will wake things up! Who
issued those ten thousand shares to Williams? You did."
"At your orders!" cried Findlater wildly. "It was you who did
everything!"
"Prove it." Macgowan, abruptly, flamed with arrogance and tumultuous
violence. His fist crashed on the desk as he leaned forward and
transfixed Findlater with his wolfish, menacing stare.
"Sign that paper and get out of here!" he roared. "Throw me over,
will you? I'll show you where you get off, you dirty hound! We'll
have this paper signed and witnessed, and if you ever again try to
knife me--Lord help you! Get busy!"
Findlater, his brow streaming with perspiration, laid the paper on
the desk and reached out trembling fingers for a pen.
CHAPTER II
Jimmy Wren looked with harassed eyes at Armstrong, who sat at his
desk listlessly going over a report.
"Reese," he broke out impulsively, "what the devil can I do? How can
I help?"
Armstrong looked up at him soberly.
"Nothing, Jimmy, thanks," he answered in a flat voice.
"You've not heard from Dorothy?"
Armstrong shook his head. "No. She's in Evansville, and has opened
her father's house there, I understand."
Jimmy Wren was aware only of the troubled fact, and not of the
details that lay behind Dorothy's desertion. Armstrong had closed
Aircastle Point the day after she left, and was now in an uptown
hotel.
Reese Armstrong was still bewildered, dazed, by this private tragedy,
which over-shadowed everything else. He could not spur himself to
take any interest in the winding-up of the campaign, and accepted
without question what was done by Holcomb and the others. Dorothy
had returned no answer to his one implorant letter; this silence hurt
more deeply than her words.
A profound apathy was upon him. Somehow, he felt, Macgowan had been
responsible for this final and crushing blow; but how, he was at a
loss to know. His apathy was continually pierced by the thought of
going to Indianapolis and wringing an explanation out of Slosson, yet
he could not stir himself to the action. He had not the slightest
idea what Slosson had implanted in Dorothy's mind. He could not
imagine why she had been so insistent upon his guilt, how he had been
so utterly damned in her eyes. He must face Slosson with nothing but
surmise--and the heart was gone out of him. He knew it, as did those
around him; but only Jimmy Wren knew that his domestic separation was
the cause of it all.
"Damn Slosson!" he burst forth despairingly. "If I had him here I'd
choke the truth out of his--"
He checked himself abruptly, with an effort. Jimmy Wren stared.
"Slosson! The fellow on the old Food Products board? Why, I met him
in Evansville. What's he got to do with this, Reese?"
"Oh, nothing, Jimmy, nothing I can go into!" groaned Armstrong,
flinging the paper in his hand across the desk. "Don't ask me, old
man. It's hell, that's all."
He reached for a cigar and lighted it, biting hard on the weed, his
brow furrowed and lined by the stormy mood within.
Armstrong had ceased to evince interest in the various suits and
legal activities; their issue or rather lack of issue now mattered
nothing to him. What did matter was Dorothy's accusation. Upon what
had she based her arraignment? She must have acted after deliberate
thought, with apparently firm grounds. He could only lay hold upon
the obsession that he had robbed her father of Food Products; any
other surmise could only appear weak and unsatisfactory. He had been
tempted to cable the Demings to come home and help straighten the
thing out--
"Look here, Reese!" broke in the voice of Jimmy Wren again. Wren
seated himself on one corner of the desk and lowered his voice to a
confidential pitch. The warm geniality of his features, however, was
obviously an attempt, an effort, and could not quite disguise the
anxiety in his eyes as he regarded Armstrong.
"If you're not doing anything to-night," he went on, "s'pose you let
me take you uptown and meet a friend of mine, will you? This is just
between you and me, Reese. I'd like to have you meet her--haven't
mentioned it before, because we've all been so infernally balled up
with this campaign."
Armstrong smiled slightly at him. "What, Jimmy! Are you hooked at
last?"
"Not yet, but I'd like to be! You come along with me to-night,
Reese, and we'll have a bit of real music that'll take the edge off
your nerves. Come on, now, will you? Or wait--this is Saturday!
I'll call her up, and we may run up there this afternoon, and all
have dinner and a show later on. What say?"
Armstrong hesitated. Although he was well enough aware that this
proposal was made to provide some distraction for him, he knew that
he needed the distraction. Besides, he was curious about Jimmy
Wren's very secret love affair.
"You've kept quiet about her, Jimmy--why?"
"Well, she wanted me to," admitted Jimmy Wren, reddening a bit. "You
see, she doesn't go in for gay life and all that sploshy stuff--to
tell the truth, she's given me a lot of help these days--well, it's
just that she understands, see? We're not engaged yet or anything
like that; she just lets me come around, and we have some music, and
talk. You'd have to know her to understand, Reese."
Armstrong's lips twitched; this took him back to college days. He
was upon the point of accepting Jimmy's invitation, when the
telephone rang. He pulled forward the instrument.
"Armstrong? This is Todrank speaking."
Todrank was his banker, not a warm personal friend, but a man of wide
influence and connections. His interest in the fight on Findlater
and Macgowan had been keen and tense, because Todrank was a man who
never relented unto an enemy. And, at some period in the past,
Todrank and Lawrence Macgowan had been bitter enemies. Macgowan
might have, probably had, forgotten this fact, but with Todrank there
was no past tense. If he liked Armstrong, it was largely because he
hated Macgowan.
"Do you know anything about Tom Windsor," he went on, "assistant
attorney general of Indiana?"
"No," said Armstrong. "I think I've met him in Evansville. A tall,
lean-jawed chap?"
"Yep. He's a friend of mine; straight as a string and can't be
reached. He was in to see me yesterday. Didn't know that I knew you,
and asked questions. You'll regard this as confidential?"
"Absolutely," returned Armstrong. He made a gesture, and Jimmy Wren
closed the door.
"Didn't you market a stock issue of the Deming Food Products Company,
around the end of last year?"
"Most of the issue, yes. It's a subsidiary of Consolidated
Securities. Why?"
"Windsor intimated that there'd been something crooked about that
stock--"
"Oh, that's all old stuff," cut in Armstrong wearily. "You know all
about it. Macgowan has tried to get indictments--"
"Wake up, Armstrong!" snapped the banker curtly. "This is something
else again--something different! Windsor swears that Macgowan has
nothing to do with it--doesn't even know Mac by sight. Get this man
right, or you'll make the mistake of your life! He's so straight
that he'll fall over backward some day. And he's hot on your trail."
Armstrong's curiosity was slightly stirred, no more.
"Let him go as far as he likes. I've nothing to hide. He can come
around here and go through the books if he likes."
Todrank uttered a disgusted oath.
"Damn it, that's just what he won't do! That's why I'm trying to
warn you! He isn't going, either--he's gone! He appears to have a
hatful of the most damning evidence against you. I don't know what
it is, but if Tom Windsor thinks you're a crook--then look out. He's
stubborn as the devil. I believe that Macgowan is in it somewhere,
although Windsor laughed at the idea. I gave him the inside stuff on
your fight, and he merely showed his teeth.
"You wake up, now!" went on the banker earnestly. "This is serious.
I gathered that the license to market the stock was gained under
false pretenses--"
Armstrong was stirred at last. "That was arranged by the former
company. I only took over the issue and marketed it."
"Well, there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere. Windsor thinks
you're the nigger; I'm suspecting Macgowan of some hidden stuff.
This is no fake, now; you can't afford to let it go through. If
Windsor once gets action in the courts, he'll shove till hell freezes
over, because he's absolutely honest. He's a fanatic in this
respect, the most dangerous sort! He's got the goods, or he'd never
talk as he did to me."
"Why, confound it," burst out Armstrong, roused at last, "it's rankly
impossible that he could have anything on me!"
"You fool, don't you know Macgowan yet?" roared the banker angrily.
"Listen here! Windsor mentioned another thing. He's been offered a
ten-thousand-dollar job here in town, with the firm of Milligan,
Milligan, Hoyt & Brainard; a corporation law firm, fair to middling
but nothing extra. The opening takes effect in about four months; it
came to him through Western sources entirely. Personally, I smell
Macgowan in the whole game. So far as I know, though, that firm has
no connection with Mac, so it's a wild guess."
"Where can I get in touch with Windsor?" said Armstrong.
Todrank laughed. The laugh was hard, sharp.
"You'll have your job cut out to get in touch with him! That lad
wants facts, not personalities. He figures that the whole crowd of
you are a gang of cut-throat financial crooks, and wants to keep away
from you."
"But it's absurd!" cried Armstrong.
"Sure. Our jail system is absurd too, but the fact doesn't empty
Sing Sing," came the caustic reply. "You act, and act quick! I know
Tom Windsor, and he's the only and original leader of the bloodhound
chorus, once he gets after a crook. And he really thinks you're one.
Don't mention my name to him."
"All right, Todrank, and many thanks. Is Windsor in town?"
"He's at the Pennsylvania, or was. No telling now; he's a vigorous
young devil."
"Good. Thanks again."
"Good luck!"
Todrank rang off.
Armstrong began to pace up and down, wrestling with this information.
He found himself lifted out of his lethargy, found the old hot anger
running and leaping again, found the apathetic and muffling impotency
stripped suddenly away. The very mystery of this new blow roused him
to fight. In what way could he be reached for any illicit operation
of Food Products? He knew of none; yet Todrank had supplied the
hint, and he knew better than to disregard the warning. He turned,
and found Jimmy Wren staring at him from the corner. Abruptly,
memory wakened within him.
"Say, Jimmy--why, what's the matter?"
Wren laughed aloud. "Nothing, only you look waked up! Good news?"
"No. More bad news. That party for this afternoon is all off,
Jimmy; thanks just the same. Do you remember when you came to
Evansville, the day before Christmas?"
"You bet I do," said Wren, blinking.
"You told me about an irregularity in the issue of Food Products
stock. What was it?"
"Why, the Deming directors could never have marketed that stock issue
under the blue sky laws if they'd revealed the actual condition of
the company. They falsified it."
Armstrong nodded. "Yes, that's what I remember. It was all their
doing? It had no connection with us at all?"
"Not a shadow," said Wren confidently. "Not even Macgowan could make
that stick on us."
"So Mansfield said. He should know. I'll call him up--"
"He's in Albany."
"Judge Holcomb around?"
"Yes."
"Well, you keep quiet about this." Armstrong rose. "It may all come
to nothing, as usual."
He went to the office used by the committee of the Protective
Association, where he found Judge Holcomb. The latter gave Armstrong
a keen glance, and smiled.
"Congratulations, my boy! You look yourself--got your fighting
clothes on again?"
"Lord, I must have been moping around here like a wet hen! Judge,
I'm trying to run down something. Did you ever hear of a downtown
law firm by the name of Milligan, Milligan, Hoyt & Brainard?"
The old judge leaned back.
"Did I ever hear of them? I did, to my sorrow. Haven't I ever told
you about the time that Macgowan's law firm hooked me hard and fast?"
Armstrong thrilled suddenly. "But that firm isn't his--"
"That firm," said Judge Holcomb with decision, "is the one that
handled my case for me. On the other side of the case was Macgowan's
firm. And Macgowan was a very silent but active partner in Milligan
et cetera! Oh, yes, they hooked me."
"Can you prove that statement?" demanded Armstrong sharply.
"I cannot. As we know to our cost, any one who can obtain definite
evidence against Lawrence Macgowan is a miracle worker. Still, a
number of attorneys are convinced of the fact."
"All right, thanks." Armstrong nodded and rose. "I may see you later
about it."
Returning to his own office, he summoned his secretary. Already a
keen exultation was thrilling inside of him; already he felt that at
last he was going to score a point against Macgowan. This Windsor
would never suspect that he was being bribed, that Macgowan had any
connection with the legal firm offering him a job. Armstrong
accepted Todrank's estimate of Windsor implicitly, knowing that it
would be accurate.
He gave his secretary Windsor's name and asked her to call him at the
Pennsylvania and make an appointment for that afternoon. She left on
her errand. Armstrong sat for a space in silence, eagerly awaiting a
call. None came. Presently the secretary returned.
"Did you get him?"
She hesitated. "I--yes, I got him, but--"
"Well?"
"He said that he was leaving for Indianapolis in half an hour and had
no time for--for crooks. He said the only appointment he would make
with you was before a Federal judge, and that he'd make this
appointment in his own good time. I'm sorry, sir--"
"Never mind." Armstrong shrugged. "Get Mr. Dorns on the wire if you
can."
He reflected rapidly. The situation was undoubtedly serious.
Windsor would never have given such a message unless he had some
incriminatory evidence--yet what could he have?
The telephone rang. Armstrong picked up the receiver.
"Hello, Dorns? Oh, pretty well, thanks! Something very important
has just come up. I must get to Indianapolis Monday morning
sure--I'll catch a late train to-night. When I get there I'll want
help. Can you put me in touch with your agent there?"
"Better'n that," responded Dorns quickly. "I've got to be in Chicago
next Saturday. I can spare a few days in Indianapolis. But can't
you catch that train at five this afternoon?"
"Yes."
"Good. That gives us a clear night's sleep in a bed before Monday
wakes up. Same old fight, is it?"
"Yes, only something new this time. A fighting chance to put the
enemy down and out. Bully for you, Dorns! I'll get that five
o'clock train."
"All right. You get the reservations--I'll meet you at the gate five
minutes before the train goes. I'm busy. So long."
Armstrong turned from the telephone. The thought of Dorothy leaped
into his mind with a swiftly searching pang; he could not conquer it.
After all, Indianapolis was so close to Evansville! He had no
definite reason for seeing Tom Windsor, other than to demand a
hearing. Perhaps, despite warnings, he would not have bothered about
going except that--
"Maybe I'm a fool," he thought moodily. "I wonder if I've let this
Windsor menace impress me too strongly--because of Evansville? It's
not too late to change my mind--no, I'll go!"
It did not occur to him that this urge and pull of spiritual forces,
this compellant thought of Dorothy, might have any connection with
practical things. Men are slow to believe in guardian angels.
CHAPTER III
Late in the afternoon of that same Saturday that saw Armstrong's
departure for Indianapolis, the same Saturday that saw Findlater
placed completely in the power of Lawrence Macgowan, Jimmy Wren
called to see Mrs. Bird Fowler. The call was unheralded and purely
on impulse, for Wren was harassed and at his wits' end to serve
Armstrong; the latter had not confided in him about Todrank's
warning, but Jimmy Wren had guessed the purport from what Armstrong
had said. He was worried and nervous.
Wren was sent up to the apartment and was received by the maid, who
knew that he was a favored visitor.
"Mrs. Fowler is out, sir," she told him, "but I'm expecting her back
at any minute now. I know she'd not want to miss you. If you'd care
to wait--"
"Why, thanks, I will," said Jimmy Wren gratefully.
"Would you care for a fire, or tea--"
"No, nothing, until Mrs. Fowler comes," he rejoined, handing over his
things. "I'll just sit around and smoke."
"Make yourself at home, sir. If you want anything, I'll be in the
kitchen."
Jimmy Wren made his way to the cushioned window-seat, and with a sigh
of relaxation settled down with a cigar. Mrs. Fowler's apartment was
on the second floor, the windows overlooking the flashing street
below, and the cool green distances of Central Park across the way
were just emerging into the virginal glow of springtime.
The restful quiet of the room soothed Jimmy Wren's nerves; the
silence, the sense of being at home, were grateful in the extreme.
He watched the slithering motors in the street below, the glint of
water and the thronging people in the park opposite, and felt himself
gradually return to normal. Presently Mrs. Fowler would come, and a
bit of music, a little sympathetic talk, would clear the blues from
his mind.
After a bit he rose, abandoned his occupation, and began to walk
about the room, seeking something to divert his thoughts. In one
corner stood Mrs. Fowler's desk. It was open, and the noon edition
of a paper lay upon it, an inkwell weighting down the newspaper.
Pausing idly beside the desk, never thinking that the newspaper might
have been so placed designedly, Jimmy Wren removed it and opened it
out, glancing through the columns and scanning the headlines with
careless gaze.
Then he turned and put down the paper--and as he did so, observed two
objects over which it had originally been laid. One of these objects
was a check; the other was an unsigned note.
Jimmy Wren stared down, absolutely petrified by the thing he saw, his
eyes widening in fearful and terrible comprehension. For a long
moment the written words did not penetrate to his consciousness. It
was only the handwriting that he saw, the handwriting that smote into
him with an actual physical shock, blinding him to everything but the
staggering realization of its presence here on Mrs. Fowler's desk.
No one who had ever seen it could forget that bold, angular,
masterful handwriting of Lawrence Macgowan.
Wren wet his lips, swallowed hard, stunned beyond any swift recovery.
Mrs. Fowler did not know Macgowan, except very slightly indeed, and
certainly had no use whatever for the man; indeed, Wren had very
often discussed Macgowan's acts and schemes with her, feeling a
sympathy and comprehension on her part which was very grateful. Her
detestation of Macgowan's type of man was intense.
Then, why this letter--this communication with Macgowan?
Startled, angered, a flood of horrible suspicion searing into his
soul, Jimmy Wren reached down and picked up that sheet of notepaper
bearing the few lines of writing. Not until then did the words
achieve impact upon his brain, but now that impact came with
astounding and terrific force:
"Dear Viola: Herewith a check in the usual form, on account. During
the next few days I want the fullest possible information. Then
we'll hold that party of celebration."
Wren replaced the note, and let his eyes drop to the check. It did
not bear Macgowan's name, and the signature was wholly strange to
Wren.
After a moment he drew a quick breath, looked down at the desk,
replaced the newspaper and weight as they had been originally, then
turned and walked to the window-seat. There he sank down, staring
out at the street and park beyond.
His brain was at work now, dreadfully at work. Viola! So Macgowan
knew her by that other name, the same name Dorothy Armstrong had
used. Viola Bland! And what information did Macgowan want--how long
had Mrs. Fowler been collecting information for Macgowan? A little
shiver passed through Wren's body. He remembered now about his
flight to Tampa, and putting two and two together, began to form an
unescapable certainty.
Presently he took off his black-rimmed glasses and polished them
methodically. Fiery and impulsive as Jimmy Wren was, in a moment of
crisis he was anything but emotional. The blow was sudden and
severe, staggering him and sending all his scheme of things into
reeling chaos; yet it was not in him to take it with any hysterical
whirlwind of outward display. Instead, as he came to cold
realization of the truth, all the acute perception of his character
was wakened and rallied to face the situation.
The hurt was there, and it was deep, but not so deep as Jimmy Wren
thought with the first blaze of pain. His quick, sharp wakening was
proof sufficient of this. In Macgowan's handwriting he was given a
broadly comprehensive vision of Mrs. Fowler to which he could not
blind himself. Nor did he doubt or quibble for an instant. The
feeling which he had taken for love was wrenched out of him with
fearful abruptness, but no vacuum remained.
Fright deadened the force and the pain of it; a horrified fright, as
the man comprehended what had been going on during these weeks and
months of the campaign against Macgowan. All this while, Armstrong's
right-hand man had been confiding everything in his heart, hopes and
fears and plans, to the ear of a hired spy. That was the cold fact
of it.
"By golly, but I've been a fool!" murmured Wren abjectly. "To think
that she'd do me that way--why, she's lied like a Trojan to me!"
Suddenly he reacted; it was characteristic of him. Another man might
have pondered his folly, mourned the consequences of his blindness.
Jimmy Wren was abruptly stirred to sanity, to a cold anger, to a keen
lust of fight. His one thought now was how best he could strike
back, repay this blow, use this bitter knowledge to repair the damage
he must have unwillingly caused Armstrong.
Face Mrs. Fowler down? No. To let the enemy know they were
discovered, would effect nothing. Outwardly cool, inwardly a
seething mass of activity, Jimmy Wren decided upon that keynote of
caution--and then leaned forward, his attention drawn by a taxicab
which had just pulled up at the curb below his window. A man
alighted and assisted his companion out; his companion was Mrs.
Fowler.
But the man--the man himself! Jimmy Wren's eyes blazed as he craned
forward, unable to recognize the figure, as the two below him stood a
moment in talk. Then the man doffed his hat, and a low whistle broke
from Wren. He had not seen that face in long months, yet he knew it
again at sight, knew it and thought of Armstrong's deadly trouble.
Pete Slosson!
"What the devil have I stumbled upon, anyhow?" muttered Wren, as he
hastily drew back from the window. "Here's a connection between
Slosson, the lady, and Macgowan--but what's the connection? Damned
if I can see any. A fine fool, I am! If I'd trusted Mrs. Armstrong
enough to--"
He started, and a slow smile came to his lips. Dorothy Armstrong!
Somehow, Slosson was connected with the private trouble of the
Armstrongs; just how, he did not know. But Dorothy would know. Here
was the weapon laid ready to his hand, could he but use it!
"By the gods, I'll use it, too!" he exclaimed to himself, flaming at
the thought. "Reese has gone West. I'll beat it to Evansville and
make a clean breast of the whole thing to Dorothy; got to do that,
now. Whatever the reason she left Reese, this business will throw
some light on it, I'll bet. How did Slosson come to know Mrs.
Fowler, anyhow? Why, Macgowan put him next, that's all. And it was
Lorenz, Mac's friend, who introduced me--well, I'm getting a line on
this thing, right enough!"
The apartment door opened and closed again.
When Mrs. Fowler stepped into the room, Jimmy Wren was puffing away
at a fresh cigar and making some notes in a memorandum book, too
absorbed to hear her entry. She shot one swift glance at the desk,
then came forward. Wren was on his feet instantly, his face beaming
with surprise and delight.
"Hello--I didn't hear you come in! May I stop and talk to you for a
moment?"
"My dear boy, I'm delighted!" she greeted him warmly. "Why didn't
you call up and I'd have been here?"
"I came in a rush, as usual," and Jimmy grinned as he helped Mrs.
Fowler doff her wraps, and handed them to the maid. "You see, I'm
leaving town to-night for a day or so, and I wanted to get a last
glimpse of you before going."
"Mercy! You're not starting for the North Pole?" Smiling, the lady
seated herself among the pillows of the window-seat, and accepted the
cigarette which Jimmy procured for her. "Thank you. What's this
sudden trip about? More business?"
"Nope," responded Jimmy Wren. "An aunt of mine is dying in Chicago,
and I'll have to run out there and do the decent thing. Haven't seen
the old lady for uncounted years, but that doesn't matter. Too bad I
didn't get the wire a few hours earlier. I might have gone with
Reese. He's off this afternoon--gone to Chicago to look into some
bond issue they want him to take over."
Wren rattled all this off in a breath. Mrs. Fowler smiled.
"My, Jimmy, but I wish I had your eager vitality! You seem to have
more pep to-day than you've had in a month! Does the passing of an
elderly relative always affect you this way?"
Wren grinned, but took warning. He shook his head.
"No, but the prospect of a change of scene probably is responsible.
Things are in bad shape at the office, you know. Macgowan has
completely won his fight, and Armstrong has given up the battle
entirely. I'm glad to get away from the gloom."
The lady's eyes gleamed, and the gleam was swiftly hidden.
"Poor boy!" she commiserated softly. "And you're so devoted to
Armstrong, too! I do hope that things will take a turn for the
better from now on."
"They will," said Jimmy devoutly. "Now that the fight's over, even
if we've been well beaten, we'll try to take out the smart by going
ahead with other things and forgetting the defeat."
He knew better than to try and extract any information, and contented
himself with supplying as mendacious an account as possible to be
taken to Macgowan's ears. Presently he glanced at his watch and
rose, giving an exclamation of dismay.
"I didn't dream how the time has gone--I'll have to rush for it! A
thousand things to do yet! If I'm back Tuesday, may I see you?"
"The first minute you can, my dear Jimmy!" Mrs. Fowler rose and held
out both hands to him warmly. "Will the aunt leave you a fortune?"
"No chance," and Wren laughed with an amusement that was unaffected.
"Nothing like that in our family, I'm afraid!"
Mrs. Fowler accompanied him to the door, and Jimmy Wren congratulated
himself upon a very graceful exit. When the door had closed behind
him and he was in the elevator, he uttered a long sigh of relief.
"There's an extra fare train on the Pennsylvania to-night," he
reflected. "I can make it, connect at Terre Haute, and get into
Evansville to-morrow morning--good! And I sure hope Mrs. Armstrong
can make some sense out of this affair--more, at least, than I can!
But Slosson's the nigger in the woodpile, and maybe she can pull him
out. Whew! I've got some confessing to do and no mistake!"
His smile was rueful at the thought.
CHAPTER IV
Jimmy Wren made his train without difficulty that evening. He spent
half an hour in the diner and then made his way forward to the club
car, anticipating a smoke and an hour of talk before retiring. To
his infinite disgust, he found the car crowded.
As he stood beside the magazine rack and scanned the smoke-filled
body of the car, he was suddenly aware that most of the men were
amusedly watching one of their number--and Jimmy Wren, following the
general gaze, found himself looking at the flushed features of Pete
Slosson.
Obviously having ordered innocuous drinks for himself and a
protesting fellow-traveler, Slosson was putting into the drinks a
heavy "stick" from a large pocket-flask. It was his maudlin
ostentation that had drawn all eyes, in tolerant amusement, for he
was flourishing the flask and delivering a general address upon
prohibition, while inviting all and sundry to join his libations.
Uttering a grunt of contempt, Jimmy Wren turned and retraced his
steps to the rear of the train. Gaining the observation platform, he
found himself alone, and settled down in a corner chair. He lighted
his cigar and stared out into the night across the rails that flashed
in the track of the train.
"Confound the fellow!" 'he thought angrily. "Confound the luck that
brought me on the same train with him!"
He removed his black-rimmed glasses, pocketed them, and cursed the
cinders and Slosson impartially.
In reality, Jimmy Wren meant his oaths to apply liberally to himself;
his folly was magnified in his own eyes. There was no telling how
much harm his intimacy with Mrs. Fowler had done Armstrong's cause in
the past few weeks; and now that he had to sit here inactively and
think about it, he was tormented anew.
Again, that glimpse of Pete Slosson revived in his mind the memory of
how he had looked from the window to see Slosson bring Mrs. Fowler
home. All tenderness and fond imaginings had been ripped out of
Wren's soul at one quick wrench, yet the hurt was there. Unable to
vent his anger on the lady in the case, he scowled blackly at thought
of Slosson's vaguely-guessed hand in all this game, and cursed
himself for a fool.
Jimmy tossed away his cigar and produced another one. As he was
lighting it within cupped hands, the car door opened and another man
came out beneath the dome light of the observation platform. In no
mood for conversation, Jimmy Wren did not glance at him.
"Hell of a conductor on this train!" said the other, with voice
uplifted above the roar. "Hell of a conductor, that's all I've got
to say! Idea of tellin' me to go to bed an' behave myself!"
Jimmy Wren looked up. Slosson stood there, swaying unsteadily to the
swinging lurch of the train, trying to extract his flask from his
hip-pocket. As he labored, Slosson looked down at Wren, but entirely
without recognition. The absence of Wren's usual glasses, and the
light from directly above, combined with Slosson's befogged condition
to render him entirely oblivious of the identity of the person whom
he now addressed.
"Ain't that the limit, I'm asking you? What right's a conductor got
to put passenger out o' the club car, eh? I've paid my fare and I'm
'titled to ride where I like. You see what happens when I write in
to the company about this, that's all! Here, have a li'l drink?
Don't be 'fraid; no white mule in this, brother."
"To hell with you," snapped Jimmy Wren, and turned his shoulder to
the intruder. He saw that he was unrecognized, and was glad of the
fact. None the less, his temper was hot and at the surface.
Slosson uttered a propitiatory laugh.
"Oh, it's all right! Bonded stuff, I'm tellin' you, brother! Go
far's you like; more where this comes from. Can't fool me on liquor,
you bet! Here, take a li'l sample, just to prove you'n me--"
He thrust the flask under Wren's nose. Irritated beyond endurance,
Wren angrily struck it aside; there came a shivering crash of glass
and an odor of raw whisky as the flask shivered on the brass
guard-rail.
"Hey!" cried Slosson's indignant voice. "Now look what you've done!
What's matter with you, eh?"
His hand clamped down suddenly on Wren's shoulder. Wren took the
cigar from his mouth and shoved the glowing end into Slosson's hand.
"Get to hell out of here," he snarled.
A howl of agony burst from Slosson, then his fist drove into Wren's
face and sent him sprawling. A long train of sparks flew out into
the night from the cigar as it shivered; the train clattered over a
crossing and the brakes screeched slightly, slowing down for a stop
at a large town ahead.
To everything except each other, the two men on the observation
platform were blinded.
Wren rose and hurled himself on Slosson, lashing out in wildcat fury.
Every restraint was gone from him, swept away by a whirlwind of rage;
he forgot everything except that detested face, and slammed his fists
into it frantically.
It was well for Jimmy Wren that Slosson's muddled brain could not
exert its usual keen cunning. Aghast before the unexpected passion
of this attack, Slosson was slow to answer it in kind, until the
sting and batter of Wren's blows hammering into his face roused him
to response. Then, bearing forward with a storm of oaths, he beat
back the more slender figure of Wren, his arms working like
piston-rods. Both men were too beside themselves to hit vitally for
the body; they struck only for the face, for punishment, insensate
with mutual madness and battle-fever.
Wren had the worse of this slugging-match. Backed into a corner of
the guard-rail, he received terrific punishment--until he seized an
opening and got in a whip-crack blow to the mouth whose impact
staggered Slosson. Enraged afresh, the latter flung himself bodily
at Wren; the two men clinched, and went reeling back and forth across
the narrow platform to the lurches of the train.
Slosson, panting forth curses, got his fingers locked about Wren's
throat, and the latter tried desperately but vainly to free himself
of that death-grip. One of the folding chairs tripped them both.
The train swung sharply; for an instant Wren felt the brass rail at
his back--then he was over, falling into the night, and Slosson with
him. A crash, the keen edge of cutting gravel in his face, and Wren
found the hold upon his throat loosened as they struck and rolled
over together.
The train went thundering on.
After a moment Wren pulled himself to hands and knees, dazed by the
shock, and stared about. Dotting lights showed him that he was in
the precincts of a town; then, with a low exclamation, he drew
himself to where Slosson lay motionless under the stars.
"Stunned--thank heaven he's not dead!" murmured Wren. "Why both of
us weren't killed, is more than I know--"
The whistle of another train warned him that they were yet in danger.
He stooped, dragged Slosson's inert figure down the embankment, and
then relaxed, panting. A brief examination served to show that he
was badly bruised and knocked about, a mass of cuts and scratches,
but sound in wind and limb. His quick wits took stock of the
situation.
"Hm! Nobody saw that scrap," he reflected swiftly. "They'll think
we got left at this station or some other one, when they find we're
gone. Well, I sure bit off more than I could chew this time--if we
hadn't gone over, that devil would have choked the life out of me!"
He bent over Slosson again, and this time made a more careful search.
He could find no serious injury, and as he worked, Slosson's
stertorous breathing became regular and deep. The man's coma had
passed into a drunken sleep.
Jimmy Wren laughed softly. He removed Slosson's coat, emptied it of
everything, and then rolled it up and put it under the head of its
owner. Stiff and sore, he dragged himself to his feet.
"Sleep hearty!" he admonished his unconscious enemy. "And if I ever
hit you again, it'll be with a crowbar--'and let no mournful
yesterdays disturb thy peaceful heart!' Pleasant dreams."
Gaining the track, he took up his slow and painful way toward the
town.
CHAPTER V
Tom Windsor reached Indianapolis on Sunday, spent a few hours with
his family, and the same evening boarded a train for Evansville. It
was the same train from which Armstrong and Robert Dorns alighted.
Windsor's business in Evansville was slight but highly important.
One who knew the reputation of Tom Windsor, would have visualized an
altogether different type of man. He possessed a long, hard jaw; no
mistake about that! For the rest, his appearance gave no indication
of undue rigidity; quite the contrary, in fact. His cheerful smile
was much in evidence, and he wore an air of alert optimism. He was a
man of many friends, always in demand as a speaker at Rotarian or
"uplift" banquets, and shared with Will Ross the distinction of being
the most popular pall-bearer in southern Indiana.
Reaching Evansville toward noon, Windsor took his way at once to the
hotel where he had a particular errand. He had relatives in
Evansville, but was seeing no one this trip. He was keenly on the
scent of the final bit of evidence that he desired to establish his
case against Armstrong. In this case he was entirely ready to
suspect anything and every one, particularly after learning in New
York what a network of intrigue underlay the Armstrong-Macgowan
battle. Windsor intended to be nobody's tool.
He went direct to the office of the hotel manager, whom he knew very
well personally. He met with an uproarious welcome, and an offer of
a quart of rye. All roads led to the river towns, from the earliest
days of prohibition in the state.
Windsor waved aside the offer with his usual smile.
"Judge Sanderson'll get you yet, Norman, and up you'll go! But
to-day I want another sort of favor. I'm going to lunch in your
esteemed hostelry, and my time is short--I want the next train back
to Indianapolis. While I'm lunching, will you look up your registers
for last July? I believe a man named Wren was here, between the
first and fifteenth, and I must verify the fact."
"Sure thing!" was the hearty response. "Everything in the house
except the cellar is at the service of the law! I'll have the
evidence waiting for you after lunch."
Windsor promptly repaired to the dining room. As soon as luncheon
was over, he found the manager as good as his word. With keen
satisfaction he discovered that Jimmy Wren had been here during the
second week in. July, and he carried away with him the loose-leaf
page of the register which confirmed the fact. The final link in his
chain of evidence was complete.
He left the hotel, meaning to get a taxicab at the corner and spend
his remaining half-hour in the city making a quick round of his
relatives. As he came to the curb, he paused and turned. A passing
car had swerved in suddenly, and he heard his name called. The
chauffeur gestured to him.
Windsor stepped forward. The sedan door opened, and he found himself
facing Dorothy Armstrong. She was leaning forward eagerly, her hand
extended; and the startling change in her appearance since his last
view of her, astonished and alarmed Windsor. He shook hands
heartily, yet with the fervent inward wish that he were elsewhere.
She could not know of the case on which he was working, yet--
"Get in, Tom, and I'll take you wherever you're going," Dorothy was
saying. "There's something I want very much to ask you about. No,
keep your cigar--I adore it, and you always picked such good ones!"
Windsor was caught off guard, and for once his ready brain failed
him. He meekly entered the sedan, murmuring that he was on his way
to the station.
"Then we can have a little talk," said Dorothy. "You're looking
splendid, Tom, and I hear such fine things about you! Tell me--is it
true that you're working on a case that involves Mr. Armstrong?"
For one instant Windsor was staggered, panic-stricken; even to the
average eye Dorothy's condition was evident, and he hesitated whether
to lie or tell the truth. Then he rallied, squared himself to meet
pleas and protests, and the gaze that he turned to Dorothy was keenly
alert.
"I can't discuss the matter, Dot," he said quietly. "I'm sorry,
but--"
"Now, Tom, please don't be silly!" Her calm look disquieted him to a
singular degree. "You have already answered my question. When I was
in New York, I heard that you were about to involve Reese in some
business matter, and I'm not going to ask you to discuss it in any
way. But it's providential that we met, because there's something I
want to ask you. And I'm not going to defend Reese or stand up for
him."
Windsor could find no response, and waited. He was acutely
embarrassed, but he was thoroughly on the alert. Dorothy's next
words startled him afresh.
"Do you know anything about the business fight between Reese and a
man named Macgowan?"
"Something," returned Windsor cautiously. The car was driving slowly
along Main Street toward the railroad station, and he wished most
heartily that it would quicken pace.
"Well," Dorothy spoke with an air of seeking exact words to express
her thought, "for a long time I have known that Macgowan was seeking
in every underhand way to hurt Reese, even in ways of which Reese
knows nothing. Macgowan's a very clever man, Tom. I should like to
ask you--and I think you can answer the question fairly--whether this
present matter came to your ears, in any possible way, through or
from Macgowan?"
Windsor considered this question a moment. He could discern no trap,
and made up his mind to accept Dorothy's words at their face value.
He turned to her.
"I understand what you're driving at, Dot," he answered quietly.
"I'll be frank. Had it come to me through Macgowan, I'd have
distrusted the whole thing, although I've never seen the man himself.
But the affair came to me directly from two small investors in Food
Products stock, who wrote in to the office about it."
"Couldn't Macgowan have prompted them to write?" she demanded sharply.
"Of course." Windsor nodded. "But they had nothing to do with
the--the actual crime that was committed, Dot. I have traced that
independent of any one else. The stock of this company was placed on
the market in a fraudulent manner, that's all. I have absolute
evidence that it was done by your husband. I'm sorry to say this;
it's hard for me--"
"Never mind, Tom. I know you're only doing your duty, and I'm not
trying to argue the point. It had, however, more than once occurred
to me that behind this there might be the hand of Macgowan, and I
meant to write you about the possibility. If there were any least
connection with that man--"
"I get you," he said with a curt nod. "There is absolutely none!
I've gone over everything very carefully to avoid that possibility,
in fact. A relative of this same Macgowan is involved--you know Ried
Williams, of course."
Dorothy caught her breath.
"Williams! But he hates Reese, hates him bitterly! And he's a
cousin--"
"I know all that, Dot." Windsor smiled grimly. "Don't think for a
moment that Williams came forward to tell what he knows! On the
contrary, I went after Williams and forced him to a showdown; he's
incriminated in the affair himself, you see. No, Dot, you may be
sure of one thing--I'm trying to be just. I'm not letting any one
use me for a tool if I can help it."
"I know, Tom, I know," she responded, and sighed. "Well, I suppose
that's all. I know you can't talk about the case, and I don't want
to hear about it. But, Tom! You'll be careful? You will? Not to
let Macgowan reach you in any way?"
Windsor laughed shortly. "Do you think I'm easily reached?"
"Oh, you know what I mean. That man is so clever, and he hates Reese
so vindictively! And he knows so well how to hide himself behind
other people."
Tom Windsor patted her hand as it lay beside him.
"My dear Dot, I read law, as they used to call it, under old Judge
Williamson--one of your father's best friends. He used to say that
the law was an institution for the protection of honest men against
rascals, but that the rascals have turned it into a protection
against honest men. I've remembered that saying, Dot, mighty often;
and as long as I have any connection with the practice of law, I'll
try to keep the institution in its original channels. Well, I must
say good-by--and I'm glad we've had this little talk."
"So am I, Tom," said Dorothy simply. He alighted and said good-by,
and as he turned into the station, Dorothy ordered the car out into
the country.
She wanted to get away from home, from town, from every one she knew,
out into the open air. Her last hope, faint and half-cherished as it
was, had been destroyed by this meeting with Windsor. Only within
the past few days had the vague fancy arisen within her--that
Macgowan might somehow be connected with the charges against Reese.
Now it was gone. There remained only the bitter hurt of her mortal
wound.
She knew well enough what she must now expect of the immediate
future, and the thought sickened her. Even the sweet springtide all
about her furthered the hurt; spring in the world, and winter in her
heart!
For her life ahead, Dorothy could make no plans, could take no
thought; it was bleak. In another month her parents would be home
from Europe, and then something could be settled, some decisive
course of action taken. She remembered how, after the wedding, she
had surprised her father upon his knees, praying for her happiness;
and he cheated and robbed in that very moment by the man she had just
married!
It was hours later when Dorothy came home--to find Jimmy Wren
awaiting her.