"As we are equal partners, I have the right to know all the affairs of
the firm. I want to see the accounts of those insurance buildings, at
once--and to know the exact truth about them."
"You left that matter entirely to me," replied he, sullen but uneasy.
"I haven't time to-day to go into a mass of details. It'd be useless,
anyhow. But--I do not like that word you used--fraudulent."
She waved her hand impatiently. "It's the word the public will use,
whatever nice, agreeable expression for it you men of affairs may have
among yourselves. Have you signed vouchers, as you said you were going
to do?"
"Certainly. And, I may add, I shall continue to sign them."
"Haven't you heard that that investigation is coming?"
He gave a superior, knowing smile. "Those things are always fixed up.
There's a public side, but it's as unreal as a stage play. Fosdick
controls this particular show."
"So I hear," said she, with bitter irony. "And he purposes to throw you
to the wild beasts--you and me."
Siersdorf laughed indulgently. "My dear sister," he said, "don't bother
your head about it." The idea seemed absurd to him: Fosdick sacrifice
him, when they were such friends!--it was an insult to Fosdick to
entertain the suspicion. "When the proper time comes," he continued, "I
shall be away on business--and the matter will be sidetracked, and
nothing more will be said about me. Trust me. I know what I am about."
"Yes, you will be away," cried she, suddenly enlightened. "And the
whole thing will be exposed, and they'll have their accounts so cooked
that the guilt will all be on you. And before you can get back and
clear yourself, you will be ruined--disgraced--dishonored."
The situation she thus blackly outlined was within the possibilities;
her tone of certainty had carrying power. A chill went through him.
"Ridiculous!" he protested loudly.
"You have put your honor in another man's keeping," she went on. "And
that man is a thief."
"Narcisse!"
"A thief!" she repeated with emphasis. "They don't call each other
thieves downtown. They've agreed to call themselves respectabilities
and financiers and all sorts of high-flown names. But thieves they are,
because they're loaded down with what don't belong to them, money they
got away from other people by lying and swindling. Is your honor
_quite_ safe in the keeping of a thief?"
"Narcisse!" repeated Alois, wincing again at that terse, plain word,
rough and harsh, an allopathic dose of moral medicine, undiluted,
uncoated.
"_I_ don't think so," she pursued. "What precautions do you purpose to
take?"
He looked at her helplessly. "If I say anything to Fosdick," said he,
"he will be justified in getting furiously angry. He might think he had
the right to act as you accuse him of plotting."
"But you must do something."
He shook his head. "I have trusted Fosdick," said he. "I still think
it was wise. But, however that may be, the wise course now certainly is
to continue to trust him."
"Trust him!" exclaimed Narcisse bitterly. "I might trust a thief who
wasn't a hypocrite--he might not squeal on a pal to save himself. But
not a Fosdick. A respectable thief has neither the honor of honest men
nor the honor of thieves."
"Prejudice! Always prejudice, Narcisse."
"You will do nothing?"
"Nothing." And he tried to look calm and firm.
She went into her dressing room with the air of one bent on decisive
action. He could but wait. When she came back she was dressed for the
street.
"Where are you going?" he demanded in alarm.
"To save myself and--you," she replied with a certain sternness. It was
unlike her to put herself first in speech--she who always considered
herself last.
"Narcisse, I forbid you to interfere in this affair. I forbid you to go
crazily on to compromising us both."
She looked straight into his eyes. "The time has come when I must use
my own judgment," said she.
And, with that, she went; he knew her, knew when it was idle to oppose
her. Besides--what if she should be right? In all their years
together, as children, as youths, as workers, he had always respected
her judgment, because it had always been based upon a common sense
clearer than his own, freer from those passions which rise from the
stronger appetites of men to befog their reason, to make what they wish
to be the truth seem actually the truth.
"She's wrong," he said to himself. "But she'll not do anything foolish.
She's the kind that can go in safety along the wrong road, because they
always keep a line of retreat open." And that reflection somewhat
reassured him.
Narcisse went direct to Fosdick at his office. As there was only one
caller ahead of her, she did not have long to wait in the anteroom
guarded by Waller of the stealthy, glistening smile. "Mr. Fosdick is
very busy this morning," explained he. It was the remark he always made
to callers as he passed them along; it helped Fosdick to cut them short.
"The big railway consolidation, you know?"
"No, I don't know," replied Narcisse.
"Oh--you artists! You live quite apart from our world of affairs. But
I supposed news of a thing of such tremendous public benefit would have
reached everybody."
Narcisse smiled faintly. She could not imagine any of these gentlemen,
roosted so high and with eyes training in every direction in search of
prey, occupying themselves for one instant with a thing that was a
public benefit, except in the hope of changing it into a "private snap."
"It's marvelous," continued Waller, "how Fosdick and these other men of
enormous wealth go on working for their fellow men when they might be
taking their ease and amusing themselves."
"Amusing themselves--how?" asked she.
"Oh--in a thousand ways."
"I'm afraid they'd find it hard to pass the time, if they didn't have
their work," said she. "The world isn't a very amusing place unless one
happens to have work that interests him."
"There's something in that--there's something in that," said Waller, in
as good an imitation as he could give of his master's tone and manner.
It had never before occurred to him to question the current theory that,
while poor men toiled for bread and selfishness, rich men refrained from
boring themselves to death in idling about, only because they
passionately yearned to serve their fellow beings.
"Do you still teach a class in Mr. Fosdick's Sunday school?"
"I'm assistant superintendent now," replied he.
"That's good," said she, as if she really meant it. She was feeling
sorry for him. He had worked so long and so hard, and had striven so
diligently to please Fosdick in every way; Fosdick had got from him
service that money could not have bought. And the worst of it was,
Fosdick had never tried to find a money expression for it that was
anything like adequate, but had ingeniously convinced poor Waller he was
more than well paid in the honor of serving in such an intimate capacity
such a great and generous man. The mitigating circumstance was that
Fosdick firmly believed this himself--but Narcisse that day was not in
the humor to see the mitigations of Fosdick.
And now Fosdick himself came hurrying in, eyes alight, strong face
smiling--"Miss Siersdorf--this is a surprise! I don't believe I ever
before saw you downtown--though, of course, you must have come." He
looked at her with an admiration that was genuine. "Excuse an old man
for saying it, but you are so beautifully dressed--as always--and
handsome--that goes without saying. Come right in. You can have all
the time you want. I know you--know you are a business woman. Now,
that man who was just with me--Bishop Knowlton--a fine, noble man, with
a heart full of love for God and his fellows--but not an idea of the
value of a business man's time. Finally I had to say to him, 'I'll give
you what you ask--and I'll double it if you don't say another word but
go at once.'"
They were now in the innermost room, and Fosdick had bowed her into a
chair and had seated himself. "I came to see you," said Narcisse,
formal to coldness, "about the two office buildings--about the accounts
our firm has been approving."
"Oh, but you needn't fret about them," said Fosdick, in his bluff,
hearty, offhand manner. "Your brother is looking after them."
"Then they are all right?" she said, fixing her gaze on him.
"Why, certainly, certainly. I have absolute confidence in your brother.
Have you seen Overlook? Yes--of course--my daughter told me. You
delighted her by what you said. It is beautiful----"
"To keep to the accounts, Mr. Fosdick," Narcisse interrupted, "I am not
satisfied with our firm's position in the matter."
"My dear young lady, talk to your brother about that. I've a thousand
and one matters. I really know nothing of details, and, as you are
perhaps aware, my interest in the O.A.D. is largely philanthropic. I
can give but little of my time."
"I've come," said Narcisse, as he paused for breath, "to get from you a
statement relieving us from all responsibility as to those accounts, and
authorizing us to sign them as a mere formality, to expedite their
progress."
Fosdick laughed. "I'd like to do anything to oblige you," said he, "but
really, I couldn't do that. You must know that I have nothing to do
with the buildings--with the details of the affairs of the O.A.D."
"You gave us the contracts," said Narcisse.
"Pardon me, _I_ did not give you the contracts. They were not mine to
give. What you mean to say is that I used for you what influence I
have. It was out of friendship for you and your brother."
There he touched her. "We had every reason to believe that we got the
contracts solely because our plans were the most satisfactory," said she
coldly. "If we had suspected that friendship had anything to do with it,
we should certainly have withdrawn. I assure you, sir, we feel under no
obligation--and my present purpose is to prevent you from putting
yourself under obligation to us."
"I don't quite follow you," said Fosdick, most conciliatory.
"There has been some kind of--'bookkeeping,' I believe you call it--in
connection with the payments for the work on those buildings. If we
were to aid you in your--'bookkeeping,' you would certainly be under
heavy obligations to us. We cannot permit that."
Fosdick laughed with the utmost good nature. "I see you misunderstood
some remarks I made to you and your brother one day at my house.
However, anything to keep peace among friends. I'll do as you wish."
His manner was so frank and so friendly, and his concession so
unreserved, that Narcisse was surprised into being ashamed of her
suspicions. "I believe 'Lois is right," she said to herself. "I've
been led astray by my prejudice."
Those shrewd old eyes of Fosdick's could not have missed an opportunity
for advantage so plain as was written on her honest face. He hastened
to score. "I'll dictate it to Waller," said he, rising, "when he comes
in to round up the day. You'll get it in the early morning mail.
Good-by. You don't come to see us up at the house nearly often
enough--at least, not when I'm there." He had opened the door. "Waller,
conduct Miss Siersdorf to the elevator. Good-by, again."
With nods and smiles he had cleared himself of her, easily, without
abruptness, rather as if she were hurrying him than he her. And Waller,
quick to take his cue, had passed her into the elevator before she was
quite aware what was happening. Not until she was on the ground floor
and walking toward the door did her mind recover. "What have you
_got_?" it said, and promptly answered, "Nothing--for, what is a promise
from Josiah Fosdick?" That seemed cynical, unjust; as Fosdick not only
was by reputation a man of his word, but also had always kept his word
with her. But she stopped short and debated; and it was impossible for
her to shake her conviction that the man meant treachery. "He'll
sacrifice us," she said to herself, "if it's necessary to save intact
the name and fame of Josiah Fosdick--or even if he should think it would
be helpful." What were two insignificant mere ordinary mortals in
comparison with that name and fame, that inspiration to honesty and
fidelity for the youth of the land, that bulwark of respectability and
religion--for, as all the world knows, the eternal verities are kept
alive solely by the hypocrites who preach and profess them; if those
"shining examples" were exposed and disgraced, down would crash truth
and honor. No, Josiah Fosdick was not one to hesitate before the danger
of such a cataclysm. Further, she felt that he had been plotting while
he and she were talking and had found some way to pinion her and her
brother during the day he had gained. "To-morrow morning," she decided,
"I'll not get the paper, and it'll be useless to try to get it.
Something must be done, and at once."
She turned back, reentered the elevator. "To Mr. Armstrong," she said.
Armstrong, whom she knew but slightly, received her with great courtesy,
and an evident interest that in turn roused her curiosity. "It's as if
he knew about our affairs," she thought. To him she said, "I want to
see you a few minutes alone."
He took her into his inner room. "Well, what is it?" he asked, with the
sort of abruptness that invites confidence.
She had liked what she had seen of him; her good impression was now
strengthened. She thought there was courage and honesty in his face,
along with that look of experience and capacity which is rarely seen in
young faces, except in America with its group of young men who have
already risen to positions of great responsibility. There was bigness
about him, too-bigness of body and of brow and of hands, and the eyes
that go with large ways of judging and acting--eyes at once keen and
good-humored. A man to turn a shrewd trick, perhaps; but it would be
exceedingly shrewd, and only against a foe who was using the same
tactics. Half confidences are worse than none, are the undoing weakness
of the timid who, though they know they must play and play desperately,
yet cannot bring themselves to play in the one way that could win.
Narcisse flung all her cards upon the table.
"I've got to trust somebody," she said. "My best judgment is that that
somebody is you. Here is my position." And she related fully, rapidly,
everything except the source of her warning against Fosdick. She told
all she knew about the unwarranted vouchers A. & N. Siersdorf had been
approving--"at least, I think they are unwarranted," she said. "We know
nothing about them."
"And why do you come to _me_?" said Armstrong when he had the whole
affair before him from the first interview with Fosdick to and including
the last interview.
"Because you are president of the O.A.D.," she replied. "We have
nothing to conceal. You are the responsible executive officer. If you
do not know about these things, you ought to be told. And I am
determined that our firm shall not remain in its present false
position."
Armstrong sat back in his chair, his face heavy and expressionless, as
if the mind that usually animated it had left it a lifeless mask and had
withdrawn and concentrated upon something within. No one ever got an
inkling of what Armstrong was turning over in his mind until he was
ready to expose it in speech. When he came back to the surface, he
turned his chair until he was facing her squarely. His scrutiny seemed
to satisfy him, for presently he said, "I see that you trust me," in his
friendliest way.
"Yes," she replied.
"It's a great gift--a great advantage," he went on, "to make up one's
mind to trust and then to do it without reserve.... I think you will
not falter, no matter what happens."
"No," she said.
"Well--you came to just the right person. I don't understand it."
"Woman's instinct, perhaps."
He shook his head. "I doubt it. That's simply a phrase to get round a
mystery. No, your judgment guided you somehow. Judgment is the only
guide."
Narcisse had been debating; she could not see how it could possibly do
any harm to mention Neva. "Before I came downtown," said she, "it
drifted into my mind that I might have to come to you. So I asked Neva
Carlin about you."
"Oh!" Armstrong settled back in his chair abruptly and masked his face.
"And what did she say?"
"That she was sure you wouldn't do anything small or mean."
The big Westerner suddenly beamed upon her. "Well, she ought to know,"
said he with a blush and a hearty, boyish laugh. Then earnestly: "I
think I can do more for you than anyone else in this matter--and I will.
You must say nothing, and do nothing. Let everything go on as if you
had no suspicion."
"But, when Mr. Fosdick does not send me the authorization?"
"Wait a few days; write, reminding him; then let the matter drop."
She reflected; the business seemed finished so far as she could finish
it. She rose and put out her hand. "Thank you," she said simply, and
again, with a fine look in her fine eyes, "Thank you."
"You owe me nothing," he replied. "In the first place, I've done
nothing, and I can't promise absolutely that I can do anything. In the
second place, you have given me some extremely valuable information. In
return I merely engage not to use it to as great advantage as I might in
some circumstances."
In the entrance hall once more, she wondered at the complete change in
her state of mind. She now felt content; yet she had nothing tangible,
apparently less than at the end of her interview with Fosdick--for he
had promised something definite, while Armstrong had merely said, "I'll
do my best." She wondered at her content, at her absolute inability to
have misgiving or doubt.
*XV*
*ARMSTRONG SWOOPS*
About an hour after Narcisse left Fosdick, he sent for Westervelt, the
venerable comptroller of the O.A.D. But Westervelt came before the
message could possibly have reached him.
Westervelt's position--chief financial officer of one of the greatest
fiduciary institutions of a world whose fiduciary institutions have
become more important than its governments--would have made him in any
event important and conspicuous; but he was a figure in finance large
out of all proportion to his office. He was one of the stock "shining
examples" of Wall Street. If industry was talked of, what more natural
than to point to old Westervelt, for fifty years at his desk early and
late, without ever taking a vacation? If honesty was being discussed,
where a better instance of it than honest old Bill Westervelt, who had
handled billions yet was worth only a modest three or four millions? If
fidelity was the theme, there again was old Bill with his long white
whiskers, refusing offer after offer of high stations because he was
loyal to the O.A.D. Why, he had even refused the financial place in the
Cabinet! If anyone had been unkind enough to suggest, in partial
mitigation of this almost oppressive saintliness, that old Bill had no
less than ninety-six relatives by blood and marriage in good to splendid
berths in the O.A.D.; that he had put his brother, his two sons and his
three sons-in-law in positions where they had made fortunes as dealers
in securities for the O.A.D. and its allied institutions; that a Cabinet
position at eight thousand a year, where such duties as were not
clerical consisted in obeying the "advice" of the big financial lords,
would have small charm for a man so placed that he was a real influence
in the real financial councils of the nation--if such suggestions as
these had been made, the person who made them would have been denounced
as a cynic, gangrened with envy. If anyone had ventured to hint that,
in view of the truly monstrous increase in the expenses of the O.A.D.,
old Bill's industry seemed to be bearing rather strange fruit for so
vaunted a tree, and that his fidelity ought to have a vacation while
expert accountants verified it--such insinuations would have been
repelled as sheer slander, an attempt to undermine the confidence of
mankind in the reality of virtue. So great was Westervelt's virtue that
he himself had come to revere it as profoundly as did the rest of the
world; it seemed to him that one so wholly right could do no wrong; that
evil itself, passing through the crucible of that white soul of his,
emerged as good.
Fosdick simply glanced at his old friend and associate as he entered.
"Hello, Bill," he exclaimed. "I was just going to send for you. I want
the Siersdorfs suspended from charge of those new buildings. And give
the head bookkeeper of the real estate department a six months'
vacation--say, for a tour of the world."
But Westervelt had not heard. He had dropped into a chair, and was
white as his whiskers, and the hand with which he was stroking them was
shaking. As he did not reply, Fosdick looked at him. "Why, Bill, what's
the matter?" he cried, friendly alarm in voice and face. "Not sick?"
"I've been--suspended," gasped Westervelt. "I--suspended!"