Upon Monday morning Armstrong and Dorns ascertained very speedily
that Tom Windsor was still out of the city. His office reported that
he had come and gone, and was expected back again Tuesday morning by
latest.
Overnight, Dorns heard Armstrong's tale and strongly commended the
impulse to seek out Windsor.
"I've heard of this bird," said the detective musingly. "He's all
they say of him, and then some. He's nobody's fool, but it looks as
though Macgowan had made a fool out of him this time, with that
ten-thousand-dollar job."
"He's an innocent party."
"Sure. Well, you got to see him quick and find out what's been
hatched. It must be something slick, to get past this Windsor party.
He figures to work up a fine case against you, resign his present job
in a blaze of glory, and then start life in New York as a famous man.
The straighter they are, the harder they fall--when they're
approached the right way. Bet you ten bucks that when you get to the
bottom of this, you'll find there ain't a single peg to hang Macgowan
on, not a one!"
Armstrong feared that his friend was right.
Upon learning that Windsor would not be back until the following
morning, Dorns hastily consulted a timetable, then proposed that he
catch the next train to Chicago, arrange his business there, and
return to Indianapolis the next morning. Armstrong nodded assent.
"You get a line on Windsor," said Dorns. "I'll be here by nine or
ten o'clock in the morning, maybe earlier. If you can't get to him,
I will. He ain't going to refuse to see me--not much!"
So, bidding Dorns farewell, Armstrong went about his business frankly
and bluntly, going direct to the office of the state commissioner of
securities.
He found himself welcomed by the commissioner, if not with suspicion
certainly with a lack of cordiality mingled with astonishment.
Obviously, his name was unfavorably known; but he lost no time in
stating his case. The commissioner listened, eyed him appraisingly,
and shook his head.
"I'm afraid it would do you no good to see him--"
"You misunderstand," cut in Armstrong curtly. "I want a hearing from
Mr. Windsor before he acts further--that's all. I am ignorant of
what charges are laid at my door; I know only that nothing can be
brought against me or the Armstrong Company unless backed by fraud.
I am acquainted with Mr. Windsor's character, and I believe that he
has been made use of by other parties. If that's the case, I want a
chance to show him the facts before this thing, whatever it is,
attains publicity. I've nothing to conceal."
"Personally," returned the commissioner slowly, "I have no knowledge
of the exact case upon which Mr. Windsor is working. Certain facts
came to his attention; he requested that he be appointed special
investigator to look into your handling of the Deming Food Products
stock. More than this I don't know. But, Mr. Armstrong, I do know
something of recent publicity which has come your way. The fight
which has centered around Consolidated Securities has been widely
advertised. You have, for example, been indicted in Illinois--"
Armstrong uttered an angry laugh.
"If you'll keep your eye on that Illinois indictment, you'll see it
dismissed next week. However, I am not here to defend myself, nor do
I wish to see Mr. Windsor for that purpose. Will you try to prevail
upon him to see me to-morrow, out of common justice to me?"
The commissioner nodded.
"I will. I had a wire half an hour ago saying that he would get in
on a night train and that means we'll see him early in the morning.
Where can I reach you?"
"At the Claypool."
"I shall telephone you at eight-thirty--but don't be too sanguine. I
fear that he'll refuse absolutely to see you."
"Thank you."
Armstrong left, confident that he had done all that was humanly
possible. If the stubborn Windsor still refused an interview, things
could take their course and be damned to them. Whatever evolved from
this tangled skein, Armstrong felt that no great harm could be done
him. And he could not forget that, only a few hours and miles away,
was Dorothy.
"If I fail to-morrow, I'll jump the next train to Evansville and see
her," he said to himself, as he walked the streets that afternoon.
"Perhaps time has softened her--at least, she may give me a calm
hearing. Confound it all, what have I done that I should have to go
about the country begging for hearings! It's outrageous, it's
damnable!"
Back at the hotel, his mood passed again into one of despair, for
loneliness took hold upon him. It seemed that he was engaged in an
interminable struggle in which he achieved only new defeat at every
turn. The amazing insolence of Macgowan was insuperable; the man was
a very Antæus, rising from every onset with fresh strength and new
cunning. At length, dreading the return of his old despondent
apathy, Armstrong forced himself to a moving picture theater, which
afforded him an hour of mental relief and sent him to bed with the
issue of things confided to the knees of the morrow's gods.
At eight-thirty on Tuesday morning, Armstrong was nervously pacing
his room when the door was flung open and Robert Dorns entered,
unannounced. At the same instant, the telephone rang; with a gesture
to Dorns, Armstrong turned quickly to the instrument.
"Yes, this is Mr. Armstrong--"
"The commissioner speaking, sir. I've just seen Mr. Windsor. I
regret to say that he refuses absolutely to see you."
Armstrong turned and shot a glance at Dorns, watching and listening.
"He refuses, eh? Does he give any reason?"
"None. I'm sorry."
Armstrong hung up the receiver, and with a gesture of despair turned
about. Dorns eyed him, produced a cigar, bit on it.
"Back, is he?"
"Yes. No chance."
"Huh! Had breakfast?"
"Yes."
"So've I. Let's go! I want to get this thing cleaned up and catch a
noon train East. Got to be in New York to-morrow night sure. Come
on! This bird sees us inside of ten minutes."
Armstrong shrugged, caught up his hat, and followed Dorns. They
found a taxicab at the hotel entrance. Dorns growled at the driver.
"Statehouse. Make it quick."
Neither man spoke for a moment, until suddenly Dorns reached out,
violently struck Armstrong's knee, and looked the startled Armstrong
in the eye.
"Wake up!" he said. "You're at the breakin' point; to-day is either
the start or the finish for you, me lad. I can see it in your eye.
There's just so much any man can stand, and you're at the end of your
rope. Buck up, now! Don't play Macgowan's game for him; he's been
tryin' all the while to wear you down, blast his soul! I know him.
He figures that if he can devil you just so long, you'll go smash at
last. And he's right--you will. But, me lad, hang on a bit longer.
Don't play his game for him."
Armstrong nodded soberly. This thought about Macgowan was new to
him; he admitted its truth without demur.
"You're right. I suppose I'm pretty close to the edge. Well, thanks
for the advice! I'll hang on."
Before the statehouse, Dorns left the taxicab.
"Don't come with me, now. Come right after me. Where's his office?"
"With that of the attorney general."
"All right. Loaf along after me."
Dorns swung up the steps, entered the building, with Armstrong in his
wake. He went direct to Windsor's office and sent his card in to
Windsor. A moment later, Windsor himself appeared with outstretched
hand and welcoming smile.
"Mr. Dorns? I'm very glad to meet you. This is an unexpected
honor--"
Dorns grunted. "Want to see you in private a minute."
"Gladly. Come along!"
When they stood inside Windsor's private office, Dorns regarded his
man steadily, refused to sit down, and then spoke with a blunt
directness.
"I'm informed that you've been offered a job in New York, with the
law firm of Milligan, Milligan, Hoyt & Brainard. Is that a fact or
not?"
Windsor's eyes widened slightly.
"Eh? Sure, it's a fact. I wasn't aware that it had become widely
known, however. I have accepted the offer, which does not go into
effect for some months."
"That's bad news--for you."
Windsor sensed antagonism in that hard eye, and stiffened. A flush
crept into his face.
"What d'you mean by saying that?" he demanded sharply.
Dorns jerked his head toward the door.
"Armstrong's out there and wants to see you. If you don't let him
in, you'll go up for conspiracy and for acceptin' a bribe--and I'll
send you up, me lad! Macgowan is back o' that fine job in New York;
he's a silent partner in this Milligan law firm. Lord help ye,
Windsor, if this ever busts loose in the papers! Now, I know you're
square. I know ye weren't aware to Macgowan's part in this. Going
to see Armstrong or not? You're in a deep hole, me lad; crawl out of
it quick!"
Windsor stared at his informant; into his face crept a species of
horrified comprehension. Those blunt words hit him like so many
hammers, jarring the truth into him with smashing impact. Nor did he
so much as protest the veracity of this information.
"Dorns--is this a fact--about Macgowan?"
"A cold fact," said Dorns. "We know you're square; that's why we're
holdin' nothing back. Give Armstrong a hearing--that's all I ask.
If you're still satisfied he's a crook, then go ahead; we'll never
bleat a word about this bribery thing. But, if ye don't so much as
give us a show for our white alley, I'll raise hell's roof with it!
Yes or no, me lad?"
Windsor drew a deep breath, realizing that Dorns meant every word,
and assented.
"All right. Bring him in. Are you acting with him, for him?"
"Nope. I'm listening with him, that's all. I know he's on the
level."
Dorns turned to the door. The gaze of Windsor followed him in
puzzled and startled surmise, provoked by those final curt words.
When Armstrong came in, Windsor was seated at his desk, and looked up
with a brief nod of greeting; he was once more himself, and motioned
silently to chairs. Both men sat down.
"What is it you want?" asked Windsor, steadily regarding Armstrong.
"A chance to show that whatever charges you hold against me are
fraudulent."
Windsor swung his chair around, took a cigar from his pocket, and
lighted it. For a moment he looked through the window with unseeing
eyes, collecting his thoughts; then he swung about again, and faced
Armstrong.
"You have a job ahead," he said ominously. "I'm going after you
because you obtained a license to market that stock issue of the
Deming Company in this state--and obtained it by fraud and perjury
and conspiracy. Is that enough?"
Armstrong looked incredulous. "Enough? You don't mean to say that
that's the basis of this affair?"
Windsor merely nodded, studying his antagonist through the cigar
smoke. Armstrong caught his breath as the tension snapped within
him, and broke into a laugh.
"Good Lord, Windsor! That's the simplest thing on earth to answer.
When the license was obtained, I had no connection with that company;
it was obtained by the previous directorate, before we took over
Deming's plant!"
Windsor smiled thinly.
"Sure," he said. "Armstrong, when I called you a crook in New
York--if you got my message--I meant the words. I still mean them.
I expected exactly that answer from you. It merely confirms my
opinion. You're clever, but in this case I have the goods on you."
Armstrong was irritated. "By Macgowan's aid?"
"Not a bit of it." Windsor in turn showed a temptation to anger, but
held himself in check. "He had nothing to do with it. The proofs of
your crookedness were obtained by me alone. Macgowan's own cousin,
Ried Williams, is involved in the conspiracy."
Armstrong stifled his resentment. He was startled, alert,
battle-cleared.
"Very well," he said crisply. "Since you already know that I had no
connection with that stock issue, except to market it later on, what
the devil is there against me?"
Windsor smiled genially.
"I only said that I expected such an answer from you, Armstrong.
Here are the facts, straight from the shoulder. Ostensibly, you had
nothing to do with that stock issue. In reality, you had everything
to do with it. At your suggestion, false statements were sworn to by
the Deming directors; the entire scheme of operations as laid out by
you was followed by them. The fraud originated with you. Your man,
Jimmy Wren, came to Evansville and completed secret arrangements with
Williams, at that time Food Products' treasurer. I have absolute
proof of all this.
"I have forced confessions from Slosson and from Williams--affidavits
which give away the whole game so far as you're concerned, and which
completely bare your little conspiracy. My attention was directed to
the matter in the first place by certain small investors who demanded
an investigation; this led me to uncover the facts; these in turn led
me to Williams and Slosson--and there you are."
Windsor replaced his cigar between his teeth and benignly regarded
Armstrong.
The latter sat in silence, his brain working at high speed. In a
flash he perceived the whole scheme, and realized the danger.
Macgowan had cooked up this affair with Williams and Slosson, of
course, had laid a very crafty train which would lead Windsor to
them. He had carefully covered his own tracks, and had placed
Armstrong in a serious predicament.
The cool audacity of the thing was staggering. No wonder Windsor was
convinced by the evidence furnished him! Affidavits from two of the
former Deming directors, actually implicating themselves, probably
supported by cunning additional evidence twisted out of the truth to
suit the occasion--why, it was damning!
Armstrong realized instantly that unless either Williams or Slosson
could be shaken in their statements, he was doomed. If they stuck by
their guns, nothing could save him. He turned suddenly on Robert
Dorns, the flicker of a smile on his lips.
"I'd like to have Mansfield here!" he observed whimsically. "I told
him about those fraudulent statements when Wren first discovered
them, and he was certain that the matter could never be raised
against me."
"Why didn't you report them, if you knew they were fraudulent?" shot
out Windsor, pouncing on this apparent admission of guilt. "Why
cover them up?"
"It was no business of mine." Armstrong faced him, realized that the
crucial fight was on. "I had nothing to do with the statements filed
by Deming's directors. So far as I know, they were made out by the
treasurer, Williams, and he was the only one who knew them to be
false, unless the other directors were in on the deal with him."'
Windsor leaned back. "Going to stick to that story?"
"You bet! It's the truth," snapped Armstrong. "That devil Macgowan
is back of this whole thing, just as he's behind that offer to you."
Windsor's eyes narrowed uneasily, but he shook his head.
"I can't agree with you. I'll look into that New York job; and I'll
say that it was white of you to give me warning about it. But
there's no tracing these charges back to Macgowan."
"He's behind it, none the less. He knew about those fraudulent
statements."
Windsor quietly dissented. "Armstrong, I've gone through things
carefully, looking for just such a connection; I was warned of the
possibility in New York. I was in Evansville yesterday and met
Dorothy on the street; she suggested the same idea to me--that
Macgowan had framed you. I'm sorry for her, cursed sorry! But the
facts are open. You're the boss in this thing, and there's enough
contributory evidence to put you behind the bars."
"I don't doubt it; Macgowan seems to have done this job up brown!"
Armstrong leaned forward earnestly. From the look on Dorns' face, he
knew that he was at a critical point. "Now, Windsor, I insisted on
seeing you because I knew you were honestly convinced. You believe
I'm a crook, don't you?"
"Absolutely," said Windsor calmly.
"On the evidence of two men whom I threw out of Food Products because
they had wrecked that company. Good. Suppose we call on Williams
and Slosson. Let me talk to 'em in your presence. If they stick to
their lies, I'm through. Let the matter come up in court and be
fought out. If not--it's up to you."
Windsor removed his cigar and surveyed Armstrong with an indolent air
which masked his keen eagerness.
"Either you're the nerviest devil I've ever met or--well, I'll take
you up! Wait till I get copies of those affidavits. Back in a
minute."
He sprang to his feet and went into the adjoining office.
Armstrong waited. Inwardly, his thoughts had been wrenched aside by
Windsor's mention of Evansville, of Dorothy; a fierce, fighting
exultation swept through him. So she had appealed to Windsor--she
had cared enough to do this thing!
"By gad, that means a lot!" he muttered. "A lot! She's had time to
think it over, and there's still hope--"
The voice of Windsor came from the next room, addressing his
stenographer.
"If anything important comes up, call me at the office of Williams &
Slosson, across from the Board of Trade--you know where it is."
Windsor appeared. "All right," he said. "Let's go!"
CHAPTER VII
The brokerage firm of Williams & Slosson had not yet arrived at the
point of throwing away money on externals. The offices consisted of
a reception room and outer office, and two private offices, in one of
the old buildings across from the Board of Trade.
Under their windows was Monument Place. All the life of the city
flowed around and through and under the monument; from his desk, Ried
Williams had beneath his eyes the pulsing heart of Indianapolis.
Upon this particular Tuesday morning, however, he was taking no
interest whatever in the view. He had arrived early at the office
and was in irritable humor.
"No word yet from Mr. Slosson?" he snapped at the typist.
"No, sir."
"Confound it! Nine o'clock now--here, call up his hotel and get him
on the line if he's there. If not, see if they've heard from him."
Five minutes later, Williams uttered a grunt of satisfaction as he
seized his desk telephone and heard the sleepy accents of his partner.
"Where've you been, Pete? Why didn't you show up here
yesterday--what?" He paused, listening, and changed countenance.
"What's that? Robbed and thrown off the train? What have you done
about it?"
He listened anew, his sallow features tightening with anxiety.
"Well, I suppose you did right to say nothing," he admitted. "You
don't know who it was, eh? Were you drunk? Oh, never mind all
that--I know you. Well, get dressed and get down here right away.
You've had a fine long spree in New York, and now you're going to
watch your step--what? Yes, the checks came in this morning's mail;
Macgowan must have sent them out first thing yesterday morning. Get
down here, now, and get down at once. All right."
Williams hung up the receiver. As he did so, his door opened and the
typist appeared.
"There are three men here to see you," she said. "Mr. Windsor--"
The eyes of Williams darted to his desk. He hastily dropped certain
papers into the top drawer, closed it, and nodded.
"Very well, bring them in,"' he said.
"Good morning," said Windsor, as he entered the office. "Mr.
Williams, here are Mr. Armstrong and his friend Mr. Dorns. I've
consented to let Armstrong ask a few questions about those
affidavits, if you don't mind. Where's Slosson?"
At hearing this, at sight of Armstrong and Robert Dorns, Williams
stiffened. His darkly vulpine features turned a shade lighter; his
crafty eyes settled on the gaze of Armstrong with a species of crafty
boldness. Beholding himself unexpectedly cornered, he rose to the
occasion with an outward display of assurance which, however
desperate it was, betrayed no weakness or hesitation.
"I am entirely at your service, gentlemen," he said coldly. "Mr.
Slosson has been in New York--"
"Why, I thought he'd be back before this!" exclaimed Windsor.
"He should have been. I had a telephone message from him, a moment
ago that he would be at the office in a few moments. It appears that
en route here he was assaulted and robbed and thrown off his train.
I had not learned of it before now, and know no details. Sit down,
please. We might as well be comfortable."
Armstrong perceived danger in this admirable sang-froid, and from
that moment despaired of his purpose. This man was not to be
browbeaten or tricked; only some accident, some slight word or
action, could overcome him. Accordingly Armstrong, who now had
himself perfectly in hand, plunged straight into the midst of things
with as quiet and businesslike an air as he could summon up. He
glanced at the copy of the affidavit in his hand, then spoke calmly.
"You know what I want to ask you, of course. This affidavit that you
gave Mr. Windsor is the cause of our visit."
"So I presume." Williams was imperturbable. "As you may imagine, it
was not given of my own choice, but from necessity."
"Every statement in this affidavit," went on Armstrong coolly, "is
false--"
"One moment, if you please," intervened Williams, and looked up at
Windsor. "May I inquire whether this conversation is to be made a
matter of record? In such event, I should like to have my lawyer
present."
Windsor nodded. "If you like, of course. But this is entirely
informal and between ourselves. You are compelled to answer nothing."
"Thank you. In that case, Mr. Armstrong, proceed. I have nothing to
conceal."
Armstrong faced defeat, and knew it.
"The statements in this affidavit will have to be backed up on the
stand," he continued. "You realize that?"
"Certainly."
"You say that I corresponded with you in regard to the Deming
Company's affairs, in June of last year, urging you to put upon the
market a stock issue which I might handle. What proof have you of
such a statement? Are you able to produce the correspondence?"
"As you are aware," and Williams smiled slightly, "you instructed me
to destroy the two letters which I had from you. I so did. Mr.
Slosson read them, however, and will be able to reproduce their gist."
Armstrong compressed his lips. At every step, the trap was closing
more firmly.
"Then," he went on slowly, "you say that complete instructions
regarding this stock issue were given you verbally, by my
representative Wren, in Evansville on the tenth of July last--"
"Mr. Slosson was a witness to the conversation," struck in Williams
smoothly.
"--and that he advised you," pursued Armstrong, "to falsify the
company's financial statement in such a manner that blue sky licenses
might be obtained."
"Do you deny that Wren did so?"
"Of course," said Armstrong impatiently. "He was in Evansville then,
and I believe that he interviewed you, gaining certain information
about the standing of the company. I understood that it was in bad
shape, due to incompetent directors, and was making plans to the end
of helping Mr. Deming to retrieve the lost ground--but Wren certainly
never made such proposals as you here assert."
Windsor was intent, Dorns was frowning; Ried Williams shrugged and
spoke with an assumed helplessness that was very well done.
"Of course, Armstrong, passing the lie does no good here and now."
Armstrong looked at him.
"Williams, how long has Slosson been in New York?"
This question brought a narrowing of the other man's lids.
"A week, or a little over."
"Did you or Macgowan send him to my house?"
To all three of his listeners, this question brought startled
surprise, for Dorns knew nothing of Armstrong's recent domestic
trouble. For an instant Williams was so badly shaken that Armstrong
thought the victory won.
"Your house?" repeated Williams, bewildered and wildly alarmed.
"What the devil was he doing there?"
"Talking," said Armstrong. Perceiving the advantage of reticence,
and being himself ignorant of Slosson's exact errand at Aircastle
Point, he gave the frowning Windsor a slight smile. Obviously, that
gentleman thought that Slosson had given Armstrong warning of this
whole affair, and was disturbed thereby. Armstrong shifted his
ground quickly.
"As you very well know, at the time you charge that I was conspiring
with you, my affairs were all in the hands of Lawrence Macgowan.
Just where does he enter into this matter?"
Williams hesitated slightly before this shrewd demand.
"So far as I know," he responded, "he was not connected with it at
all."
"Really?" Armstrong laughed. "When, at the time, he was my personal
adviser and chief aid? You never suspected that he was involved or
had knowledge of this?"
"No," said Williams stubbornly.
"Not even when, after my marriage, he handled on my behalf all the
negotiations which ended in Consolidated Securities taking over Food
Products?"
Williams rallied. "The matter was never discussed between us," he
responded. "If Macgowan was aware of the matter, he never mentioned
it."
"Yet you are relatives," persisted Armstrong. "And you have been
very intimate with him, particularly of late. You were in Wilmington
at the annual meeting of Consolidated, and voted ten thousand shares
of stock, paid for with your note for five thousand dollars. Before
you went to Wilmington, you must have been aware of Mr. Windsor's
active interest in this present affair--isn't that so, Windsor?"
"Yes," said Windsor quietly. Armstrong looked at Williams.
"Then you did not discuss the matter with Macgowan while you were in
Wilmington?"
"No." Williams clenched his thin lips for an instant. "No. He was
too much occupied with his campaign to give time to outside matters."
"That is very extraordinary." Armstrong laughed again. "You'll have
to fix up a better story on that before you go on the witness stand,
I warn you! Then you don't know about Slosson coming to my house, or
what took place as a result of his call?"
Fear leaped into the eyes of Williams again, yet he answered quickly
and with obvious sincerity that impressed even Armstrong.
"No. We went to New York together, and separated. I haven't seen
him since, and he certainly did not intend seeing you."
Windsor intervened quietly.
"Mr. Armstrong, may I ask just what did take place as a result of his
call on you?"
"I can't answer that question now." Armstrong paled slightly; a
spark leaped into his eyes. "Wait until Slosson gets here, and we'll
have the matter out then."
So far as Williams was concerned, he knew himself beaten. Dorns, who
was sitting close to Williams' desk, must have known it also; but the
sharp eye of Dorns had been prying about that desk. Now Dorns leaned
forward, and reached out one long arm.
"D'ye mind if I look at this?" he said, and extricated a
half-concealed check from among the papers there. Williams did not
answer, but sat immobile, silent, his eyes narrowed upon Dorns. The
latter shrugged, and handed the check to Windsor.
"This ain't my funeral," he said. "But you might like to ask
questions yourself."
Windsor inspected the check, and glanced up at Ried Williams.
"A check for five thousand from Consolidated?"
Armstrong thrilled to those words, but Williams only nodded slightly.
"Certainly. What is wrong about that?"
"Nothing," said Windsor slowly. "But I don't like your close
connection with Macgowan. May I ask what this check is to cover?"
"Of course." Williams, with perfect aplomb, leaned over and drew a
second check from the top drawer of his desk. "Here is another check
of similar amount drawn to Mr. Slosson. Both are dated April tenth,
you will observe. They constitute payment to us for services
rendered in placing a stock issue for them."
"What stock issue?" demanded Armstrong crisply.
"That of the National Reduction Company." Williams met his gaze
squarely.
"Ten thousand dollars commission, eh? So you're in on the looting
too. Whew! You got a fine slice, Williams. Do you happen to have
any record of the transaction?"
"I have records showing that we placed this entire stock issue with
brokerage houses in Chicago," returned Williams. "But I've no
intention of exposing the business of a client to the active enemy of
that client. If Mr. Windsor wants to see the records, that's another
thing entirely."
"I think I'd like to see them," spoke up Windsor quietly.
Ried Williams touched a button on his desk, and his typist entered.
He instructed her to bring the records in regard to the National
Reduction stock issue, and she retired.
Armstrong, who had hoped for a moment that they had at last stumbled
upon something, immediately perceived that Williams had fortified
himself against every contingency. Those two checks had undoubtedly
come for services rendered at Wilmington; unless, indeed, they had
come as payment for the perjury and fraud which Williams and Slosson
were perpetrating in this very affair with Windsor! No matter if
Windsor's suspicions were now aroused, the crafty Ried Williams would
scrape through.
The typist appeared, but without the records.
"Mr. Windsor is wanted at the telephone," she announced. "By his
office."
"Give me the call here, please." Windsor reached for the desk
telephone. "Yes?" He listened for a moment, then an expression of
amazement crossed his face. "Who? Wait a minute--say that over
again! What's the amount? Give me the date, please."
The typist entered, handed the records required to Williams, and
closed the door again.
"Very well," said Windsor. "You're sure of that date, are you?
Good. Why, you'd better come over here right away. Yes, bring them
along."
He hung up the receiver. It appeared that his call had no relation
to the business in hand, for he turned to Williams at once.
"Ah! You have the records?"
He took the typed sheets and glanced through them rapidly. Then,
with a nod, he returned them to Williams.
"What other sums have you received lately from Macgowan's company?"
he asked.
"None," said Williams composedly. "As you see, this transaction is
closed."
"Then you and Slosson have no further business under way with
Consolidated?"
"None."
"And these two checks dated the tenth are the final step in the
transaction?"
"Yes."
Windsor nodded. "I see. This appears to be perfectly straight,
Armstrong. Are there any further questions you'd like to ask?"
Armstrong knew that he was checked. He was in a trap from which
there was no way out; all the exits had been blocked by so cleverly
woven a fabric of perjury that he could do nothing except struggle in
futile passion.
At this instant the door opened and Pete Slosson appeared on the
threshold.
CHAPTER VIII
Slosson stared at the men facing him. Dorns he did not know; the
sight of Windsor and Armstrong here together brought an angry glint
into his eyes. One of those eyes was very discolored, his face was
bruised and cut, and his right hand was half concealed in bandages.
"Come in, Mr. Slosson," said Windsor genially, yet with a certain
repressed eagerness in his voice which caused Armstrong to wonder.
"You know Mr. Armstrong, I think; this is Mr. Robert Dorns. We came
over here in order that you and Mr. Williams might answer a few
questions in regard to these affidavits, if you don't mind. Nothing
compulsory at all. Mr. Armstrong merely wishes to satisfy himself on
certain points. You look as though you'd had a pretty bad accident."
"I did." Slosson entered, dropped his hat on a chair, and himself
into another. "I was robbed and dropped off my train--had a devil of
a time. Well, what can I do for you?"
He flung a glance at Dorns which was half defiant, half alarmed. The
name must have startled him. Dorns, being the man he was, took
instant advantage of what he read in Slosson's glance, and leaned
forward.
"I'd like to know," he said, hard of eye and voice, "just what took
place at Armstrong's house when you called there--"
"Not so fast, Mr. Dorns," cut in Windsor coolly. "Mr. Armstrong is
doing the questioning here, if you please, and so am I. Do you care
to answer that question Mr. Slosson? This is a conversation among
ourselves, understand, and not a matter of record."
"It's none of his business, then," shot out Slosson defiantly.
Windsor smiled in his cordial manner, and glanced at Armstrong.
"Do you care to ask the question now, or defer it?" he inquired.
Armstrong suddenly perceived something tense in the manner of
Windsor, and this query startled him into swift thought.
"I'd like to see Slosson in your presence, or in private," he
rejoined calmly. Under his look, Slosson's bold gaze wavered. "I'll
defer my questions, if you wish."
"Very well, then." Windsor produced a cigar and mouthed it,
unlighted. "Mr. Slosson, there's something I'd like to ask you
myself. A check for five thousand dollars was made out to you by
Consolidated Securities on the eighth day of April, Saturday last--"
"It was made out on--" The intervention of Williams was swiftly
checked.
"Be quiet, please!" cut in Windsor curtly. "I'm asking this
question."
Williams sat back in his chair, his furtive eyes filled with
uneasiness. Windsor looked again at Slosson, who was frowning
suspiciously. Armstrong and Dorns, equally puzzled to understand
what Tom Windsor was driving at, awaited some clue.
"This check was made out to you on April eighth. I'd like you to
tell me why it was given you--for what service."
Slosson was obviously doing some quick thinking. Windsor took from
the desk the two checks and idly fingered them, as though the
discrepancy in his dates were of no moment. Slosson darted a look at
his partner, then made response with a shrug.
"Why, we put over a deal in the stock of a new company for
Consolidated, and those checks were given in payment for our
services."
"I see," said Windsor, and nodded. He regarded Slosson, a reflective
look in his clear gaze. "Mr. Williams has already given us the
details of the affair. You see, our friend Armstrong, here,
suspected that there might be some connection between my case against
him and Lawrence Macgowan. We are endeavoring to disabuse his mind
of that impression, and it is important that both you and Williams be
absolutely frank and open with me."
Slosson threw Armstrong an angry, defiant glance.
"You'll not get away with any of your fancy bluffs around here--"
"Just a moment, please!" intervened Windsor pleasantly. Both
Armstrong and Dorns were now watching him keenly. Ried Williams was
watching both him and Slosson, in uneasy and anxious suspense. "Mr.
Slosson, I understand that you've had no further relations with
Macgowan, beyond this transaction?"
"That's right," affirmed Slosson.
"These two checks are all that you have received or will receive?"
"Sure. We want nothing else to do with Macgowan or his company, I
can tell you!" rejoined Slosson easily.
"Oh!" said Windsor. "But it is a most extraordinary fact that these
two checks are dated yesterday--the tenth! Whereas, the other check,
also in the sum of five thousand dollars, issued to you on the
eighth--"
He paused meditatively.
In the moment of silence that ensued, Slosson realized that he had
made a frightful blunder. As the others realized that Windsor must
have some information of which they knew nothing, they tensed; the
air of the room became charged, vibrant. Slosson burst out in a
swift and angry denial, as vehement as it was inspired.
"There was another check, yes! I called up Macgowan about this ten
thousand, on Saturday morning--told him we wanted the money. He said
he'd mail out the check Monday. I told him that wouldn't do. He
said he'd send me one for five thousand then, to my hotel, and would
mail Williams another for five thousand on Monday, and I assented.
That check was in my pocket when I was robbed. How the devil you
knew about it, I don't know or care! I called up Macgowan long
distance on Sunday morning, from the town where I was picked up, and
he agreed to stop payment on that check and send me another with
Ried's on Monday. That's how there were two checks issued."
In the eyes of Ried Williams gleamed admiration, but only for an
instant. Windsor nodded assent.
"I see," he said suggestively. "Then of course your explanation can
be easily proven."
"Sure it can!" blustered Slosson. "Call up Macgowan long distance
and see."
A knock sounded at the door. The typist entered, and looked at
Windsor.
"There are some people here to see you, sir--"
Windsor leaped to his feet. "I'll see them outside. Wait here,
gentlemen!"
He went out, closed the door, but almost instantly was back in the
room. In his hand was a slip of paper. He went to the desk, and
then turned to Slosson. All the genial tolerance was suddenly gone
from his air; here was the assistant attorney general, curt, crisp,
suspicious. His words came like a whipcrack:
"Come here and endorse this check, Slosson. We'll send it out to a
bank and have them call up New York about the number of this check."
Mechanically Slosson stepped forward. It was a moment before he
could actually realize that this was the check, the identical bit of
paper, of which he had been robbed. Then a tide of color leaped into
his cheeks, and with an abrupt outburst of fury he caught up the
check and tore it asunder.
"So you hired a thug to waylay me, did you?" he cried out at
Armstrong. "Thought you'd lay a trap for me, did you?"'
The words died upon his lips as he perceived the absolute futility of
speech. Williams had sunk back in his chair, ashen to the lips;
Windsor was cold and accusative, though silent. Armstrong and Dorns
were on their feet, eager, watching, tense. Then, in the moment of
silence, Windsor went to the office door and opened it.
"Come in, please," he said. Jimmy Wren and Dorothy Armstrong entered.
Armstrong stiffened as he met the jubilant grin of Wren and looked
past him to see Dorothy. Into her cheeks mounted a faint color upon
meeting the gaze of her husband, but she was given no chance to
speak, for the moment. Windsor addressed Jimmy Wren curtly.
"Wren, where did you get this check?"
Jimmy Wren regarded the bruised features of Slosson, and chuckled
heartily.
"Out of that bird's pocket. We had a scrap on the train, and went
over the rail--he was pretty drunk, and got a grip on my throat
that's there yet!" He grinned again as a low exclamation broke from
Slosson. "Didn't know me, did you? Well, I knew you, Slosson! Why,
as to the check, Mr. Windsor, I took all the papers I found on him.
Yep, deliberately and with malice aforethought, you might say. Got
that check, and a few other things, and Mrs. Armstrong helped me
figure matters out and then brought me here to see you. Looks like
I'd landed right in the middle of a party, too! By the way, Windsor,
here's a letter of introduction you might like to glance over.
Macgowan sent Slosson to that Milligan law firm and told 'em to lay
the town at his feet, and said what a good friend Slosson was--
"Give me those papers!" burst forth Slosson. "I demand--"
The huge hand of Robert Dorns dropped on his shoulder and crushed him
into a chair.
"Sit there, me lad! Your demands don't go here."
From the broken figure of Ried Williams sounded a low groan. Windsor
quietly glanced over the letter that Jimmy Wren handed him, and a
flame shot into his eyes. He looked at Slosson with contempt, then
turned to Ried Williams.
"So that offer of a job in New York was a bribe, was it?"
Williams swallowed hard. "It--Macgowan thought it--that it would
repay you--"
His voice died out. Windsor swung from him. "Gentlemen, kindly
remember those words. Mr. Armstrong, I withdraw all my previous
words to you, and apologize for them. I'm going to the bottom of
this thing--and I don't think the bottom's very deep now. Williams,
here is your one and only chance: Do you wish to withdraw those
affidavits in regard to how Armstrong handled Food Products stock, or
not?"
"Yes," said Williams in a hollow voice. "Yes. They--we were
mistaken about his part in things--"
"Very well," said Tom Windsor crisply. "Mr. Armstrong, I
congratulate you. I'm going through with this thing whether you
prosecute or not. Now, Williams, turn around to that desk and write
out a statement for me."
Armstrong found Dorns pulling at his elbow. "Let me have a word with
you outside, quick! Mr. Windsor, I'm glad to have met you; I want to
catch a noon train for New York. Let me know if you want any
testimony from me in this matter, and you'll get it."
Armstrong followed him outside and closed the door. Dorns turned and
caught his hand in a hard, cordial grip that spoke more than words.
"We've done it, me lad--hurray! Talk quick, now. D'you want to
prosecute Macgowan or will you make terms? Windsor is goin' after
him anyhow, I take it."
"If we can chuck him and Findlater out of Consolidated, I'll make
terms," said Armstrong promptly. "But we've no direct evidence on
Macgowan yet--"
"Windsor's getting it now." Dorns grinned. "We'll take a leaf out o'
Mac's own book, and arrest him anyhow. I'll get hold of Judge
Holcomb to-morrow and we'll nab him for conspiracy. You see to it at
this end that no warning is sent him. Trust me and Holcomb to
arrange a settlement, will you?"
"Of course. But I'll want both him and Findlater out of the company."
"Listen!" Dorns tapped him on the breast. "When I get done with
that crook to-morrow night, he'll be clean--clean! So long, and good
luck. I got to rush. Where'll I wire you?"
Armstrong's face brightened in a smile.
"Wire me--well, wire me at Evansville, and hope for the best!"
Dorns clapped him on the shoulder, and was gone.
Armstrong went back into the private office. Slosson, in a dazed
panic, had just been checked in an outburst of speech by Windsor. As
for Ried Williams, he was a broken man.
"I have a little matter to settle with Slosson," said Armstrong
quietly. "Strictly a personal matter, Mr. Windsor. Dorothy, will
you kindly go into the adjoining office and wait for us?"
He received a smiling assent from her that made his heart leap, and
she left the room. Windsor put out a hand to Armstrong.
"Hold on a second! What was that about Slosson being at your house?"
"That's what I'm going to find out now." Armstrong turned to
Slosson. "Come along!"
"What for?" demanded the other with a show of defiance.
Armstrong answered very softly.
"Either you come or I'll force you. Why, you damned cur, do you want
me to drag you in there by the collar?"
Slosson turned to the door without a word. Armstrong paused for an
instant to grip the hand of Jimmy Wren, and to utter a quick word.
"Jimmy, you're all right! Watch out, now, that no warning message is
sent Macgowan. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Dorothy was seated before the desk in Slosson's office. When the two
men entered, she looked up at them; under her gaze, the sullen eyes
of Slosson dropped.
"Our friend is going to tell us something, Dorothy." Armstrong
motioned to a chair. "Sit down, Slosson."
The other man stole a half-frightened glance at him, flinching under
the crisp asperity of the words. He was startled and perturbed at
the very manner of Armstrong, which was all untouched by victory.
The intoxication of that sweeping triumph in the other office had now
gone entirely from him. No trace of emotion, of exultancy, of
domination, showed in him. He was his usual cool self, as though
this affair were of no very great import.
Yet to Slosson this imperturbable calm was terrible; behind it, he
sensed an inexorable and frightful force which was moving to crush
him. Despite his guilty conscience he did not entirely comprehend
what was coming next. His own wretched blunders, the abject
breakdown they had caused in Williams, his exposure at the hands of
Jimmy Wren--all had left him confused and helpless. Behind his
remnants of effrontery, he was conscious that he faced prison. All
the fabric of his strutting and posturing had been stripped away. He
beheld himself as these other people beheld him, and the reality
staggered him.
"When I was away in Wilmington," said Armstrong, watching him
closely, "you came one morning to my home. Suppose you relate what
passed between you and Mrs. Armstrong."
A sudden pallor crept across the face of Slosson. According to the
code by which men of his caliber lived and moved, he saw himself
facing a retribution of swift and brutal personal violence--a bullet,
perhaps. He knew no other code.
Then, as he hesitated, Dorothy spoke quietly. "I can tell you,
Reese." Armstrong turned to her. He was conscious of a sense of
relief in her manner, a gladness that everything at last was coming
open before them. She went on, without heat:
"He came with a pretended warning for you, Reese. He had learned, he
said, about this case of Tom Windsor's and wanted to warn you. Now I
know that he lied to me. Also, he told me that you had robbed my
father, that you had planned long ahead of time to take Food Products
away from him--oh, it was so cleverly done, Reese! I was completely
taken in. I had been led to suspect the Food Products affair, from
little things--it was Macgowan all the time, making me think so! I
believe now that it was all a terrible lie, Reese. Well, after
Slosson went away, I called Jimmy Wren at Wilmington. He admitted
that he had been in Evansville a month before our wedding--"
Armstrong nodded, no trace of any emotion marring the even calm of
his features.
"Yes, Jimmy was there. We knew that Food Products was going under.
Jimmy was observing the general conduct of things at the plant, and I
was trying to formulate some method of saving the company."
"According to Slosson," and Dorothy looked squarely at the man,
"Jimmy was then making arrangements with the directors to take the
company out of father's hands!"
Armstrong laughed. "And according to Macgowan, Jimmy was then
arranging to issue the stock, acting as a go-between from me to the
old directors. Well, Pete? How about it?"
Under their gaze, Slosson whitened still further, wet his lips, could
not answer. His whole cosmos of artifice and peacock lies had
crashed down about him. No longer was he a fine arbiter of destiny,
one whose subtle genius could control things around--but a petty
trickster, unmasked, facing retribution. One could see the horror of
this exposure, the bitter physical fear of Armstrong, working in his
brain.
"Speak up!" snapped Armstrong. He moved slightly; a movement of
swift restraint. It became suddenly evident that this calm manner of
his was deceptive; his was the quiet of effort, of tension, of a sane
mind controlling surging impulses. "Do you want me to make you
speak, you cur?"
Slosson broke.
"No, no!" The wretched man threw out his hands in a miserable
gesture of despair. "I--it was all false, Dorothy. It--that
visit--Macgowan wanted me to do it all, to tell you those things--"
He paused. His dead and lifeless voice rang upon the stillness of
the room with inert tones.
"He wanted you to think that--that Armstrong had robbed your father.
He'd been working a long time to make you believe that. When you
were in Evansville at Christmas, Williams said something that was
meant to be overheard by you--"
He lifted his glance to Dorothy. What he read in her eyes caused the
words to falter on his lips, brought a slow, deep tide of color into
his face. He came to his feet and went stumblingly out of the
office; nor was his departure stayed.
When the door had closed, Armstrong rose and went to Dorothy's side.
"Lady!" he said softly. She raised her face to him.
"Reese--can you forgive me?"
A happy laugh shook him as his arm went about her shoulders.
"Dear lady--forget everything but our gladness! Everything's won,
but the best of all is that I've won you back. Nothing else matters
now; Macgowan, all the rest of it!"
She was silent a long moment, trembling against him, blinded with
quick tears of joy. Then, suddenly, she moved.
"Dear--is it true? That everything is won, and the fight over?"
"I think so," he said gravely. "Yes."
"I'm so glad! And I know what's in your heart, Reese, what your eyes
are shining about! The sixteen thousand--"
"Oh, plague take the sixteen thousand!" His laugh rang out clear and
vibrant. "It's you, my dear, you! Just ourselves, set right again."
A tremulous smile broke on her lips. "Yes--and I've been so jealous
of those sixteen thousand! Now kiss me--and forget everything--"
Their lips met.
CHAPTER IX
Wednesday night in New York--a warm, sweet night of April. The
windows of Mrs. Fowler's apartment were open to the touch of melting
spring that drifted in from Central Park, just across the street.
Lawrence Macgowan glanced across the room, caught the eye of Mrs.
Fowler, and a slight smile touched his lips. Undoubtedly his hostess
quite comprehended the subtle depths of that smile, for her answering
glance was whimsical and flitted lightly to Mrs. Findlater. For
Henry C. Findlater was here, pursily important, and his wife--a meek,
colorless woman who was distinctly not at her ease.
Here, too, was Milligan, of the law firm in which Macgowan was
silently interested; and Harry Lorenz, a cynically genial bachelor
who cherished a fancied resemblance to John Drew; and finally Mrs.
Fowler's accompanist, one Percival Hemingway. This last was a
smoothly sweet person who spoke in lisping accents mild and was a
delicately cultured soul. His affiliations with a musical journal
made him quite useful at times.
Over this gathering Macgowan reigned supreme, for various and sundry
reasons. He was deferred to and lionized, and enjoyed himself
mightily--enjoyed the half-frightened toadying of Findlater, enjoyed
above all the art of his hostess. For Mrs. Fowler could sing, and
Macgowan, possessing a real discrimination, laid at her feet a
tribute of appreciation which was sincere.
When she rose and asked for suggestions, it was at Macgowan that she
glanced.
"Don't let Percival trot out any of his favorite problem pieces," he
responded. "Save 'em for the concerts, Percy--sweet angel! Let's
have something with music in it, and none of this French and Swedish
stuff. The older the better, I say."
Harry Lorenz spoke up, his mustache lifting in a thin and ironic
smile.
"Quite so, quite so!" he approved smoothly. "There's one thing, Mrs.
Fowler, which I should like to hear you sing. I believe it would be
distinctly appropriate, and is quite in line with Mac's suggestion.
My request number is--'He Shall Feed His Flock.'"
At this, Milligan broke into a roar of laughter, while Findlater
discreetly smothered his smile. Macgowan, relishing the cynicism of
his friend, tendered Mrs. Fowler a smiling nod of assent.
"By all means! It's one of the few perfect things; the simplest is
always the best in music, despite the critics. Percival, don't look
so pained! It won't hurt you to get back to the farm for once and
see where real music came from. Have you the number? And look up
some Cherubini while you're about it."
Hemingway began to rustle through the cabinet. Macgowan turned to
the others, with his amused chuckle.
"Harry, there's more truth than poetry in your palpable hit! I've a
grand idea for Consolidated to take hold of, if our esteemed
president in the corner yonder doesn't sit on the notion. How about
an Academy of Musical Art, eh? Plenty of money in the idea--at
least, in the stock end of it. Something new in the stock line, too."
Findlater started slightly. "Come, Lawrence! You're not serious?"
"Dead serious." Macgowan eyed his uneasy victim and chuckled again.
"Put Mrs. Fowler at the head of it. Get some of these vaudeville
hicks from the Village, plaster 'em with Russian names and titles,
call it the Imperial Russian Academy. How's that? Can't you see the
provinces falling for that stuff, Harry?"
"Splendid!" responded Lorenz with enthusiasm. "You've said
something, Mac! Why not widen out into a general cultural
establishment? Teach the fine arts, writing, painting, dancing, a
course on social accuracy and when to tuck napkins in the neck!
Anybody can teach anything. With a prince or a countess in charge of
each department you'll put the S.R.O. sign up in a month's time!
Even Broadway will fall for it hard."
Findlater struggled for air. "But, Macgowan--er--you don't really
purpose that Consolidated should back such a project?"
"Surely you'd not veto it?" returned Macgowan. His genial words,
however, were accompanied by a sudden flashing glance which caused
Findlater to change countenance. "Think of it, Henry C.! Every one
who buys a share of stock can send the young hopeful to the Imperial
Russian Academy at reduced rates; think how the nobility worshipers
will eat it up! What say, Milligan?"
The lawyer nodded thoughtful approval.
"It looks like a good scheme. As a stock proposition, can you get
away with it?"
"Wait and see. Didn't we get away with Consolidated?"
Findlater flung an uneasy glance at his wife. Harry Lorenz turned
serious.
"Don't shout until you're out of the woods; you're not through with
that case yet! What's become of your old pal Armstrong?"
"He's headed for the high places," said Macgowan coolly. "Going to
jail, and soon." He glanced up and smiled slightly at Mrs. Fowler.
"Academically speaking, he's headed for prison. At least, I had a
tip that such is the case. I'm shedding no tears."
There was a general laugh, and then Hemingway intervened.
"Ready, Mrs. Fowler?" he piped up hopefully, and a chord from the
piano silenced the talk.
Macgowan leaned forward, intent, drinking in the music with eager
senses. He was supremely content with the world, supremely confident
in himself and his ability. This was his hour of relaxation, of
triumph. Success had crowned his talents, and in the past week he
had been drinking deep from the cup of victory.
As the final chords of the music died away, Macgowan was aware of the
maid, who leaned over his shoulder with a quiet word.
"There's a gentleman in the hall, sir, who wants to see you. He
wouldn't give his name or come inside."
Macgowan nodded, and under cover of the applause, rose and left the
room. He passed out into the entrance-hall and closed the room door
behind him. The closing of that door was symbolic, had he but known
it.
He found himself face to face with Robert Dorns, and behind Dorns was
the blue-clad figure of an officer.
"Come along, Mac," said Dorns.
CHAPTER X
The old-fashioned Deming mansion in Evansville, so often a witness to
scenes of gayety or sorrow or boredom, was to-day shrouded in a
singular and terrible air of hushed expectancy. Voices were low,
every action was tense. Old Doctor Irvin, curator of the family's
health these two-score years and more, had come over from Louisville,
and through the high halls flitted two white-capped nurses. The
servants were tremulous, afraid, gulping in their throats.
Thus Armstrong found the place when he arrived on the noon train from
New York. Deming took him into the library, and to his flood of
questions lifted a protesting hand. Dorothy was ill before her time,
and no one knew what was happening upstairs.
"Irvin's got those rooms to himself--he's turned us all out and has
refused to give out any information," said Deming brokenly.
"Something's wrong, we know, but there's nothing to be done. Irvin
has never lost a case in sixty years of practice--well, well, hope
for the best. How did things turn out? No more trouble?"
Armstrong, pacing up and down the room, laughed harshly.
"No more trouble," he repeated, almost bitterly. He was fresh from
victory, master of those who had sought his destruction; destiny lay
in his hand, yet he turned on Deming with a swift irony. "The
trouble's over. We smashed Macgowan--but that devil has a most
uncanny brain. The very last thing, he gave me a word and a look
that I'll never forget. 'How long,' he said to me, with his damnable
sneer, 'how long will these folks let you go on playing with their
money?' That was all. And it started me to thinking--"
Armstrong resumed his nervous stride up and down. Deming nodded
slowly, wearily.
"The easiest thing on earth, Reese, is for a man to fool himself--"
At this instant the door swung open. The nurse appeared, but shook
her head at Deming.
"The doctor wants Mr. Armstrong upstairs."
Armstrong left the library and hastened to the upper hall. There he
found old Doctor Irvin, outside the closed door of Dorothy's room.
Irvin swung around to meet Armstrong, faced him, put hands to
shoulders with a sudden air of challenging defiance. In the
narrowed, keen old eyes Armstrong read a momentary flare of vivid
enmity which astounded him. "What is it?" he demanded swiftly. "Is
she so ill--"
"You call yourself a husband?" said Irvin, the Donegal burr coming
harshly from his tongue. "What've ye been lookin' at all these
months, eh? Why haven't ye been gripping at the big things instead
o' the dollars? No, not you. Grip, grip, grip! That's all ye can
see or do. Well, there's one thing you can't grip, my man."
"What d'you mean?" Armstrong exclaimed, wondering. "Is Dorothy--"
"There's one thing ye can't grip, as you'll learn. No; I'm telling
the truth when I tell ye that I don't know about Dorothy. This thing
is mental and spiritual with her. She's been so bent on having it
out with ye that it'll either kill or cure--oh, ye poor blind fool!
There's no fool like a sincere fool--"
Armstrong smiled suddenly. "I know it, Irvin," he said quietly. "I
should have written Dorothy--but it's one of those things that's
mighty hard to write. I think I know what you mean, and if I'd only
known earlier that Dorothy realized it also--well, no matter now. Is
she very ill?"
"She is," said Irvin, staring at him with penetrating gaze. "D'you
mean to say that you've seen this thing for yourself? Well, go your
way to her and talk it out, and heaven send ye may cool down the
fever that's in her heart! It's her only chance."
He swung Armstrong to the door.
The room was empty save for the figure on the bed. Armstrong crossed
the floor, knelt beside Dorothy, felt her fingers creep into his.
Her blue eyes fluttered open, her look fell upon him like a caress.
"Dear!" she said, faintly. "What kept you away? You wrote that
you'd won--"
"Yes, we won," said Armstrong, yet cold sweat sprang on his face.
Dorothy's voice, her mortal pallor, above all the look in her
eyes--these things pierced him. He knew that he must talk swiftly to
keep her from talking, as Irvin had ordered him.
"There was more trouble that kept me," he went on. "Macgowan made a
remark that opened my eyes--dear girl, I've had a tough time trying
to realize the truth of it all, now I've seen it at last."
He paused, trying to find words, and a sudden wondering smile came to
her lips.
"Reese! Nothing has been visible to you except the things you have
seen--do you understand? The things which are seen are temporal--but
those which are not seen are eternal; and you never saw them. Is
that it? Have you--"
"Hush, my dear," he commanded, and smiled down into her eyes. "Yes,
that's one way of putting it. And the queer thing is that it should
have come to me from Macgowan--"
"It didn't--it came to you from me, from my heart and mind!"'
"Well, it came," he went on hastily. "It's like Irvin said--I've
done nothing but grip. I've denied it, I've never believed it, but
it's been true. Oh, it's hard to see myself as I really have been,
stripped bare of my fine theories and plausible words! Yes, I've
reached out only for the things actual and temporal. All my fine
reasonings were false at bottom--I was blinded by everything."
Even now, clearly as he saw the fact, he shrank from the admission;
he moved dry lips, trying to deny it, yet forced himself on to lay
bare his inmost self before those blue eyes that stared up at him, to
expose to this wife of his all the struggle through which he had so
lately passed.
It was the veriest truth that behind all his actions for others had
been his action for himself. Had it been to save Deming that he had
gripped so hard, on his wedding-day? So he had thought, yet now he
found the thought crumbling before the deeper truth. Had it been for
the sixteen thousand that he had fought Macgowan--or to keep himself
from going under? He understood now the flaming will to victory
which even in his own sight had been masked. He could no longer
delude himself, hypnotize himself. The truth faced him in naked
guise, and it was ugly.
All this poured from his lips, and Dorothy's fingers gripped ever
more tightly on his, and tears came into her eyes until she closed
them to ease the smart. Here, where least expected, she found a new
Reese Armstrong--a man never glimpsed ere this, glowing with
discovery and eager with action, yet humble and bitterly penitent
withal.
"I fought it out with myself, Dorothy, and then I took action,"
concluded Armstrong. "I realized that when it came down to rock
bottom, that last bitter jibe of Macgowan's had a ring of truth.
After all, I've been playing with other people's money--just that.
Nothing criminal in it, nothing wrong in it; yet there's dynamite
underneath. I've managed to readjust my whole viewpoint on things,
Dorothy--or I hope that I have."
"To find the things which are not seen, dear?" came the faint voice.
"I hope so." Armstrong nodded and drew a long breath. "Well, here's
what happened! I had the whip-hand, so I came down to the office
four days ago and began to clean house. First, I got clear out of
Consolidated,--lock, stock and barrel. I turned over every scrap of
stock and practically all the ready money I had and could raise--in
return for which I procured a controlling interest in the Deming Food
concern here. Then I went to work and smashed Consolidated--put it
into liquidation. I don't dare leave that structure to be grabbed by
other men like Macgowan once I'm out of it. I've personally
guaranteed that every investor gets his money back in full anytime,
if he doesn't care to wait for the profits of the liquidation--but
they'll all wait, never fear! Consolidated can get rid of all the
other companies and then liquidate itself; and the result will be a
good profit for every investor who hangs on. And as for me--"
"Yes, Reese?" asked Dorothy quickly, as he paused. A smile touched
his lips.
"Well, as for me, Dorothy--that's up to you. I've sort of figured on
selling our little estate, coming back here, settling down and
running the Deming concern, if your father wants to go into
partnership with me. What do you say? I'm through with the big town
and the whole game--through for good. I don't want to play with
other people's money any more, Dorothy--just with my own, after this.
And besides--"
"The things which are seen are temporal," said Dorothy, and a low
laugh came from her throat. "Oh, Reese, you've made me so happy!
And now we'll find the other things together--the things that are
eternal--"
Armstrong felt her fingers reach out to him. He put down his face
and kissed the soft palms, gently, and then knelt there silently for
a long while. When at last he lifted his head and looked at her
again, she was asleep, and a smile was on her lips. The hall door
was opening, and he looked up to see Irvin coming across the room.
Quietly he disengaged himself and went to the door. Irvin, after a
brief examination, joined him in the hall, closed the door, then
caught Armstrong's shoulder.
"Look here--what have you done to her?" he snapped out.
Armstrong smiled wearily and wiped his forehead. He was very pale.
"I don't know, Irvin. I think the only thing I did was to make her
happy," he said simply. "How is she looking--"
"You're a better doctor than I am, for she's turned the corner this
blessed minute," said Irvin emphatically--then suddenly struck
Armstrong on the shoulder and gripped his hand. "Oh! By the piper,
I clear forgot to tell you! I wouldn't let a soul know about it
until I was sure which way Dorothy was goin'--go on into the next
room across the hall--"
"What for?" demanded Armstrong, in astonishment at this outburst.
Irvin seized his arm and propelled him across the hall-way, abruptly
giving vent to a low and whimsical cackle of laughter. He flung open
the door.
"Go in, ye big rascal, and see what the stork left for ye!"
THE END