HOW RICHARD RECEIVED A LETTER
Inspector Val did not resemble the detective officer of literature. His
foppishness arose from an over-elegance of costume rather than any
violence of color. The famous thief-taker might have stood for what was
latest in fashionable dress, with every detail of hat and glove and
cravat and boot worked out. There befell no touch of vulgarity; the
effect was as retiringly genteel as though the taste providing it
belonged to a Howard or a Vere de Vere and based itself upon ten
unstained centuries of patricianism. When he lifted his hat, one might
see that the dark hair, speciously waved, was as accurately parted in
the middle as though the line had been run by an engineer. The voice of
Inspector Val, low and lazy, fell on the ear as plausibly soft as the
ripple of a brook. His eyes wore a sleepy, intolerant expression, as if
tired with much seeing and inclined to resent the infliction of further
spectacles. The nose was thin and high, and jaw and cheek bones were
thin and high to be in sympathy.
There were two impressions furnished the student of faces by Inspector
Val. Glanced at carelessly, one would have called him not more than
twenty-five; a second and a sharper survey showed him fifteen years
older. Also, there came now and then a look, quiet at once and quick,
which was calculated to arrest the trained attention. What one thought
following that second sharp canvass was in exact opposition to what one
thought after the glance earlier and more upon the casual.
Inspector Val baffled Richard's conception of the man concerning whom
all who read papers had heard so much. Was this indolent individual that
inveterate man-hunter who, with courage of berserk and strength of
steel, had pulled down his quarry in the midst of desperate criminals,
and then, victim in clutch, cleared his path through? Something of this
may have glimmered in Richard's eye; if so, Inspector Val assumed to
have no hint of it, and busied himself in a more precise adjustment of
his boutonnière, which floral adornment had become disarranged. The
longer Richard contemplated Inspector Val the more he felt his whalebone
sort. The slim form and sleepy eyes began to suggest that activity and
ferocious genius for pursuit which are the first qualities of a ferret.
"If we could be more private," suggested Inspector Val, casting a tired
glance about the big public room at Willard's where the two had met.
"We will go to my house," replied Richard.
"And if you don't mind, we'll ride." This with the rising inflection of
a request. "There are carriages at the door."
"My own," said Richard, "should be across the way. I seldom require it;
but I might, and so it follows me about."
Richard and Inspector Val stepped to the Fourteenth Street door. At
Richard's lifted hand an olive-tinted brougham, coachman and footman
liveried to match, drawn by a pair of restless bay horses, came plunging
to the curb. The footman swung down in three motions, like a soldier
about some point of drill.
"Home!" said Richard.
The footman in three motions regained his perch; the whip cracked and
the brougham went plunging off for Mr. Gwynn's.
Richard came to the common-sense conclusion to lay the complete story of
his perplexities before Inspector Val. A detective was so much like a
doctor that frankness would be worth while. One was called to cure the
health, the other to cure a situation; the more one told either
scientist the faster and better he could work. Acting on this thought,
Richard related all there was to tell of himself, Dorothy, Mr. Harley,
and Storri, being full as to his exclusion from the Harley house and the
manner in which it was brought about. When he had finished, he waited
for Inspector Val.
[Illustration: That Artist of Pursuit]
That artist of pursuit did not speak at once, and asked permission to
smoke a cigarette. Richard offered no objection, although he privily
condemned cigarettes as implying the effeminate. Inspector Val lighted
one, and blew the smoke thoughtfully through the thin, high nose.
Suddenly he threw the cigarette away half smoked; it had served the
purpose of its appearance. Inspector Val had smoked himself into a
conclusion.
"This is the way the thing strikes me," began Inspector Val. "Storri, as
you say, has a hold on Mr. Harley--has him frightened. There are three
ways to frighten a man; you can threaten him physically, or with
disgrace, or with the loss of money. Storri, by your report, is a coward
with not half the courage of Mr. Harley; besides, in this case, a
physical threat is out of the question. So is a threat of money loss; it
is preposterous to suppose that this half-baked Russian has got the
upper hand in a business way of a shrewd one like Mr. Harley, or that
the latter would permit him to drive him about like a dog if he had. No,
Storri has caught Mr. Harley in some wrong-doing, or, what is as bad,
the appearance of it--something that looks like crime. Doubtless it
refers to money, as from Mr. Harley's sort it isn't likely to include a
woman."
Inspector Val was here interrupted by Matzai, who said in excuse that
the note he bore was marked "important."
"Open it," observed Inspector Val. "Once in one thousand times a letter
marked 'important' is important."
Richard cut the envelope with a paper knife and, after silently running
the missive up and down, remarked:
"This note works into our conversation as though timed to find us
together. I'll read it to you. It's in French, and if you aren't
familiar with that language I'll translate."
Inspector Val said that he preferred a translation, and Richard gave him
the following. The address and the entire note were in typewriting:
Mr. Storms:
Count Storri's hold on Mr. Harley consists in this: Mr. Harley
wrote Count Storri's name on five stock certificates aggregating
two hundred shares of the Company Provence of Paris, France. It was
done to borrow money, but with honest intentions and at Count
Storri's request. Now Count Storri, who has the shares in his
possession, threatens Mr. Harley with a charge of forgery. In that
way he compels him to do his bidding. The man who writes you this
does not do it for your interest, but for
His Own.
"This did not come through the mails," said Inspector Val. "Ask your man
who handed it in."
Matzai said that the note was not handed in, but thrust beneath the
door. The bell had been rung; when the door was opened no one appeared.
The note was lying in the entry.
"Will you mind," said Inspector Val, "if I call a man from across the
street?"
"Certainly not," replied Richard, somewhat astonished.
Inspector Val stepped to the window. Over the way a man was sauntering,
for all the world like a sightseer from out of town. He was admiring the
stately residences, and seemed interested particularly in Mr. Gwynn's.
Inspector Val made a slight signal, and the sightseer came over and rang
Mr. Gwynn's bell.
"Have him up," said Inspector Val to Richard. Then, as the sightseer was
marshaled into the room by Matzai: "Mr. Storms, this is Mr. England."
Mr. England's eye was bright and quick like a bird's; with that
exception he was commonplace. Inspector Val, without wasting time, began
to ask questions:
"Who shoved this note under the door?"
"A colored man, sir. He sneaked up and tucked it beneath the door as
though trying not to be caught at it. Then he pushed the bell and
skipped. The thing looked queer, and Mr. Duff thought he'd follow him.
He'll be back, Mr. Duff will, presently."
"That will do," said Inspector Val. "When Mr. Duff returns, tell him to
come in."
Mr. England withdrew, and recommenced his sightseeing on the opposite
side of the street.
"Mr. England and Mr. Duff," explained Inspector Val, "came down with me.
I shall use them to shadow Storri, as that kind of work is their
specialty. It is difficult work, too, and demands a man who has talents
for seeing without being seen. Also, he must be sharp to think and act,
and full of enterprise. To keep at the heels of a gentleman who may take
a cab, or a street-car, or enter a building by one door for the purpose
of leaving it by another, is no simple task; so I brought with me the
best in the business."
"How did your men come to be outside the door?" asked Richard, whose
curiosity concerning metropolitan detective methods had been sensibly
aroused.
"To save delay," returned Inspector Val, "which is the great rule in
detective work. They were within ten feet of us when I met you; they saw
us drive away, called a coupé, and followed. I should have given them a
jacketing if they hadn't."
Inspector Val asked Richard to slowly translate the note, while he made
a copy in English. This Richard did; at the close, being interested in
the workings of the man-hunting mind, he asked Inspector Val for his
theory of its truth and origin.
"Why, then," observed Inspector Val, pausing over Richard's translation
as he had written it down, "this would be my surmise. The note tells the
truth. It was written by a Frenchwoman who probably came from Ottawa.
She is in love with Storri, and jealous of Miss Harley, whom she thinks
Storri aims to marry. You said nothing about Storri seeing Miss Harley,
but he does. Miss Marklin was afraid to tell you and Miss Harley was
afraid to write you that feature of the situation, fearing you would
pitch in rough. It shows they have sense."
This was the first time Richard had heard how Storri enjoyed the
privilege of Dorothy's society while he was warned from the door. The
thought was fire. He sprang to his feet, growling an oath under his
breath.
"Take it easy," said Inspector Val, with a manner full of warning.
"Don't spoil a game just as the cards begin to run your way. After we
get our hands upon those French shares you may raise what row you like.
But take it easy now; try another cigar."
The prudent sagacity of Inspector Val was not thrown away, and Richard
saw the force of that gentleman's arguments.
"Tell me how you arrive at those beliefs about the note," said Richard.
"That's not so simple," returned Inspector Val. "It's like asking a
pointer to tell you how he scents a partridge. My argument takes
somewhat this route: I think the note tells the truth, as there's no
reason why it should lie. Moreover, it is a reasonable explanation of
Storri's command over Mr. Harley. I know a woman wrote it because she's
at such pains to call herself a man. Another thing, a man wouldn't have
marked this note 'Important!' It's important, but it gains no advantage
from being labeled. A woman, who acts from feeling, marks it 'important'
because she feels its importance. Now a man might feel its importance,
but he acts from reason rather than feeling, and in that respect is the
antithesis of a woman. It would never occur to a man to mark the note
'important,' because it would never occur to him that by so doing
anything would be gained. Then a man would have sent this through the
post office. A man is more cunning than a woman. The mails would have
served as well, and a messenger might be recognized and followed. To
send messengers is essentially a trick of the feminine. Your District
Messenger Service will tell you that nine-tenths of its calls are from
women."
"You have read Edgar Allan Poe, I take it," observed Richard, smiling
over the processes of Inspector Val.
"I've read Poe, Gaboriau, and Conan Doyle," returned Inspector Val; "all
detectives have. They are amusing if not instructive. But to resume:
There is another reason why I'm certain a woman wrote this note. All the
writer knows the writer got from Storri. It's a long yarn; it must cover
in its transaction a dozen interviews between Storri and Mr. Harley. And
they were not interviews at which a third party was present. You will
see the truth of that the instant I mention it. No; Storri told the
whole tale to the writer of the note. Mr. Harley wouldn't tell it for
obvious reasons. Neither would he write it to you or anybody else; it is
the publication of it that he fears. Storri was the only one besides Mr.
Harley who knew of those French shares; or of Mr. Harley's imitation of
Storri's signature and the threats of arrest for forgery which Storri
made. It's as plain as the stars at night that Storri furnished the
information upon which this letter is based. Now whom would he tell? Not
a man; there would be nothing to gain and much to risk in that. A woman,
then? Sure; this fellow has been strutting and bragging to a woman. It
is the commonest weakness of the congenital criminal. It is his way of
swaggering and seeming powerful. But mark you: he never takes a woman
into dangerous confidences unless he thinks she loves him. Do you
follow? Storri has told this to a woman in whose love he believes."
"You reason well, at any rate," observed Richard.
"Yes, sir, I reason well," returned Inspector Val. "I have reasoned like
this a thousand times, and a thousand times I was right. To go on: I
agree with Storri; the woman does love him. Why does she write this
letter? Because she wants to break Storri's grip on Mr. Harley. On Mr.
Harley's account? No, she cares nothing for Mr. Harley. In a clash
between the two her sympathies would be with Storri, whom she loves. Now
the woman in telling a lie--the only one in the letter--has also told an
important truth. It is in her last sentence. She was thinking to throw
you off as to her sex, and went out of her way to do it. She was hunting
a chance to write 'man' and 'his' and at the same time not advise you of
her purpose. The 'man' and the 'his' were to be by way of incident. With
her mind on fooling you as to her sex, she was so wholly engaged that
she told an unwitting truth; she did write this letter in her own
service. One step further: The object of the lady, as I've said, is to
break Storri's hold on Mr. Harley. Now how could the lady who writes you
benefit by that? What could there be about Storri's ascendency over Mr.
Harley to which a woman who loves Storri would object? I will tell you.
That ascendency gives him not only a hold on Mr. Harley, but a hold
through him on some woman whom the writer fears as a rival. And there
you are; I've brought the argument to Miss Harley. Storri threatens Mr.
Harley. What does he demand? That you be excluded from the Harley house.
Why? Because you see Miss Harley. Why should Storri object to that?
Because he desires to court the lady himself, and would do away with
dangerous competition. His simple hatred of you, and nothing more, would
not set Storri to talking forgery charges to Mr. Harley; that would
sound too much like burning a barn to boil an egg."
Richard growled an acquiescence.
"Very well; the woman who wrote the note would have you get possession
of those French shares. Storri has described you to her as Miss Harley's
lover; that sets her to writing you--you who have an interest as strong
as her own. Storri has never told her that he loves Miss Harley. She has
guessed it and accused him of it, being jealous; and he in reply and
denial has laid especial emphasis upon you as Miss Harley's lover. It's
more than a chance he told her the whole story as part of a jealous row.
As to the woman being French, I infer that from the note. She couldn't
trust her English or she would not have written in French. That note,
being in French, would narrow any search for its author; and that, too,
whether the author were English or French. Certainly there are fewer
people in Washington who can write French than English. You see the
point?"
"But you said a Frenchwoman from Ottawa."
"The note is on paper that was made and sold in Ottawa, as you see by
the raised mark in the corner. We've no trade with Canada for
note-paper; besides, our stores wouldn't handle such as this. It's not
of fashionable shape and size as Americans understand fashions in
note-paper. It's scented, too; and that's vulgar from American
standpoints. Also, it's feminine. No, my word for it, the woman who
wrote that note bought the paper in Ottawa and brought it here. She did
the typewriting herself, which was but natural; and she is not an adept,
as anyone may tell by the clumsy, irregular way in which she begins her
lines. Now take----"
Matzai came in and announced Mr. Duff.
"Bring him up," said Inspector Val, and then, turning apologetically to
Richard, he added: "Pardon the liberty of giving commands in your house.
I'm so eager to hear whether Mr. Duff's investigation corroborates my
theory that for a moment I thought I was back in Mulberry Street. Well,
Mr. Duff," as that worthy was ushered in, "what did you learn? This
gentleman is Mr. Storms."
Mr. Duff seemed to know all about Richard; probably his partner
sightseeing over the way had told him. He nodded blandly as Inspector
Val gave his name, and then proceeded to answer that superior officer.
"The man is a laborer in the Treasury Department. He went to the
Treasury Building from here, and made a straight wake for a woman who
works at drawing plans and that sort of thing in the office of the
Supervising Architect. He whispered something to her, and she nodded.
When he got about ten feet away, he turned like a man who has overlooked
a point, and said: 'I rang the bell; they'll get it right off.' Then he
went away. The woman's name is San Reve--Sara San Reve. She's a
Frenchwoman, and came from Ottawa. She has had her place only a short
time, and was appointed on the recommendation of a member of the
Senate--Senator Hanway."
"Senator Hanway!" repeated Inspector Val, looking dubiously at Richard.
"He's a brother-in-law, you say, of Mr. Harley?"
"Your deductions were none the less right," returned Richard, who saw
the doubts which the name of Hanway bred in the other's mind. "I'd wager
my life on it. I never heard of this Miss San Reve, but she is from
Ottawa, Mr. Duff says. I ought to have told you that Storri came to
Washington from Ottawa."
"Oh, I see!" exclaimed Inspector Val, his brow clearing. "Storri came
from Ottawa, and brought his sweetheart. Storri worked Senator Hanway
through our friend Mr. Harley, and Senator Hanway found her a place."
"Yes," returned Richard, "I think you've hit it off. The next thing is
to get hold of those French shares."
"Right there," said Inspector Val, "let me say a word. I'll first go and
put my people on the track of Storri; they'll run him, turn and turn
about, until further orders, and report each morning. That done, you and
I will take the Limited, and run over and talk with Mr. Bayard. It will
require his help to get those French shares. I'll meet you at the
station then at four."
"I shall be there," responded Richard. "Before you go, let me give you
this by way of anticipated expense," and Richard tendered Inspector Val
a check for one thousand dollars.
"That wasn't necessary," said Inspector Val, as he calmly pocketed the
check.
When Richard arrived at the station he found Inspector Val already
there. "I've taken a drawing-room," said the latter. "It may be a
weakness, but my inclination runs heavily towards concealment. I have a
horror of being seen."
"I have horrors of much the same color," returned Richard.
Richard showed Mr. Bayard the note he had received, and told of its
appearance, and the construction of the note as given by Inspector Val.
"And the question is," concluded Richard, "can we by any chance get hold
of those French shares?"
"Can we get those French shares?" repeated Mr. Bayard, as though
revolving the question in his thoughts. "I should say we might; yes, I'm
quite sure. I think it will offer no more of difficulty than just
finding out where this Storri negotiates his loans. I know where to go
for the information and, if I ask it in person, it will be forthcoming."
While Mr. Bayard spoke, his wits were working like a flashlight,
displaying for his consideration every possibility presented by the
situation. His confidence must have been strengthened by the survey, for
he closed with emphasis, saying: "I am a false prophet if I do not place
those French shares in your hands, your own property and bought with
your own money, within a fortnight."
"Within a fortnight!" exclaimed Richard, his face brightening with the
satisfaction the promise gave him.
There was that in Mr. Bayard's manner which invested his utterance with
all the credit granted his signature at the banks. Richard felt as
though the French certificates, which meant so much to Dorothy and to
him, were as good as in his hands.
"When I say a fortnight," observed Mr. Bayard, "I ought to add my
reasons. The source of my news is unimportant, but you may accept it as
settled that Tuesday next has been secretly pitched upon by our worthy
President for divers warlike declarations, founded on the Monroe
Doctrine, and pointed at Germany, whose cruisers are just now nosing
about on a debt-collecting errand against one of the South American
states. The President will resent the nosing, call German attention to
our Monroe Doctrine as the line fence between the hemispheres, and then
mount guard over the sacred rails of that venerated barrier with a gun.
All of which might excite but little interest were it not, as a
demonstration, sure to send the market tumbling like a shot pigeon. I'm
not certain that the whole affair hasn't some such commercial purpose.
Be that as it may, the day following that valorous manifesto will be a
time of panic, and the bottom will fall out of stocks. You remember what
I told you as to the plans of our friends to 'bear' Northern
Consolidated? This will bring their opportunity. When the markets begin
to toss and heave and fall with those White House antics touching
Germany and the Monroe Doctrine, Senator Hanway's report will be sprung
in the Senate. He will give it to the press the night before, so that
the morning papers may ring an alarm to the 'bulls.' This will be the
procession of affairs: The President will threaten Germany on Tuesday;
Senator Hanway's report will be in the papers and the Senate on
Wednesday; by Wednesday night our 'bear' pool will have been clamorously
selling Northern Consolidated all day. Per incident, we will have been
buying Northern Consolidated all day. By Friday evening--I give them
three selling days in which to work their ruin--I shall wire you that
they are caught in the trap by all their feet at once. It is then I
shall mail you those French shares."
"No letter will ever mean so much to me, be sure," said Richard.
"You shall receive it," returned Mr. Bayard. "By the way, we are
prepared to the last detail for that raid. I've bought more than five
hundred thousand shares of Northern Consolidated in Europe at an average
of forty-two. In order that our raiders may have what rope they require
to thoroughly hang themselves, I've brought more than two hundred
thousand of those shares to this country. It is placed where they may
reach it for the purpose of borrowing stock for delivery. In fact, our
arrangements are perfect; they make as complete a deadfall as ever
waited for its prey."
Richard and Inspector Val returned to Washington, Richard to write
Dorothy a letter freighted of promise and hope and love. In it he told
her that soon he would have canceled the last element of Storri's power,
removed the last fear of Mr. Harley, and, in loving brief, destroyed the
last bar which separated them and kept them apart.
Dorothy read the letter again and again, and then kissed it pending the
advent of something more kissable. Richard's promise was like the smell
of flowers to refresh her jaded, fear-wearied heart. The one regret was,
since Richard had forbidden it, that she could not share the blessed
promise with her father.
Richard wrote nothing of the note of warning; nor did he speak of
Inspector Val and his deductions as to Storri's visits to the Harley
house. His only thought had been to cheer the drooping soul of Dorothy
with the glad nearness of happier days. The word of comfort came in good
time, for the shameful weight of the situation was crushing Dorothy.
Mr. Harley these days walked in troubles as deep as those of Dorothy,
but not the same. Mr. Harley was not borne upon by the shame of the
thing; that did not depress him any more than the knowledge that he was
guiltless of wrong upheld him. A man of finer nature would have been
strengthened by his innocence. To such a man his self-respect would have
been important; while he retained that support he could have summoned up
a fortitude to bear the worst that lay in Storri's hands. But Mr. Harley
was no such one of fineness, upon whom he would have looked down as a
visionary and a sentimentalist. There arose the less cause why he should
be, perhaps, since Mr. Harley was sure of being popular with himself in
spite of any conduct that could be his. His ideals were not lofty, his
moral senses not keen, and what original decent point the latter might
have once possessed had long been dulled away. True, Mr. Harley was
shaken of an ague of fear; but his tremblings were born of the
practical. He was agitated by thoughts of what havoc, in his own and in
Senator Hanway's affairs of politics and business, naming him formally
as a forger would work. Such a disaster would be tangible; he could
appreciate, and, appreciating, shrink from it.
One thing to feather the wing of his apprehensions and set them soaring
was his uncertainty concerning Storri. He could not gauge Storri; he
would have felt safer had that nobleman been an American or an
Englishman. Storri was so loaded of alarming contradictions; he could so
snarl and purr, threaten and promise, beam and glower, smile and frown,
and all in the one moment of time! Mr. Harley could not read a spirit so
perverse and in such perpetual head-on collision with itself! Nor could
he, being fear-blind, see that in most, if not all of these, Storri was
acting. If Mr. Harley had realized what a joy it was to Storri to
frighten him, the knowledge might have made for his peace of mind. As it
was, he looked upon Storri as at the best half mad, and capable, in some
beckoning moment of caprice, of any lunatic move that should level the
worst against him.
Mr. Harley had one hope, and that rested with Northern Consolidated. If
he could stand off disaster until the raid on Northern Consolidated had
been made, and the profits, namely the road, were in their hands, he
might then arrange a permanent truce. In this he reckoned on Storri's
rapacity, to which a million of dollars was as a mouthful. Given a
foretaste of what riches should dwell therein, Storri would desire with
triple intensity to push forward in his earth-girdling dream of Credit
Magellan. The conquest of Northern Consolidated would teach him to look
upon the rest as sure. Being in this frame, Mr. Harley argued that
Storri, feeling his inability to go forward without him, might be
softened to the touch of reason. Under these pleasant new conditions,
with Credit Magellan hopefully launched, Storri could be treated with.
Mr. Harley would then feel his way to some safe compromise; he would
invent an offer for those French shares which should present both peril
and profit. He would threaten to go no further with Credit Magellan
unless Storri put those French shares in his hands; and he would give
him twenty-fold their value if he did. Mr. Harley harbored the thought
that Storri would yield; and yield all the more readily since his
passion for Dorothy and his appetite for revenge against Mr. Harley
would have had time to cool. Thus reasoning, and thus hoping, and, one
had almost said, thus fearing, Mr. Harley gave himself to the task in
two parts of keeping Storri in paths of peace, and praying for a break
in the market so that the attack on Northern Consolidated might begin.
You are not to suppose those changes in Mr. Harley and Dorothy went
uncounted by Mrs. Hanway-Harley; that would be claiming too much against
the lady's vigilance. In her double rôle of wife and mother, it was her
duty to observe the haggard face of Mr. Harley and the woe that settled
about Dorothy's young eyes; and Mrs. Hanway-Harley, as wife and mother,
observed them. And this is how that perspicacious matron read those
signs. She translated Mr. Harley's haggard looks at a glance; he was
losing money. Legislation, or stocks, or both, were going the wrong way;
but in legislation, or stocks, or both, or the way they went, Mrs.
Hanway-Harley refused to have an interest. If Mr. Harley had lost money,
Mr. Harley must make some more; that was all.
In divining Dorothy's griefs, Mrs. Hanway-Harley showed even greater
ingenuity. Dorothy and Richard had quarreled; Mrs. Hanway-Harley was
sharp to note that now she neither saw nor heard of Richard. Also,
Dorothy came to the dinner table when Storri was there, and neither fled
to her room nor called Bess to her shoulder on hearing that nobleman's
name announced. Mrs. Hanway-Harley saw how the land lay; Dorothy took a
more lenient view of Storri when now her fancy for Richard was wearing
dim. After all, it had been only a fancy; it asked just a trifle of
care, and the happy dénouement would be as Mrs. Hanway-Harley wished.
Mrs. Hanway-Harley began now to play her game exceeding deep. She would
say nothing of Richard; to name him would serve to keep him in Dorothy's
memory. She would say nothing of Storri; to speak of him would heat
Dorothy's obstinacy, and Mrs. Hanway-Harley had learned not to desire
that. No, she would be wisely, forbearingly diplomatic; the present
arrangement was perfect for the ends in view. Storri came to the house;
Richard stayed away; the conclusion was natural and solitary, and
Dorothy would marry Storri. Mrs. Hanway-Harley, fully understanding the
currents of events and the flowing thereof, became serenely joyful, and
the charm of her manner gained accent from those clouds so visibly
resting upon Mr. Harley and Dorothy. Yes, indeed; it must not be written
that the sun did not shine for Mrs. Hanway-Harley, whose conversation
the satirical Storri told the San Reve was as the conversation of a
magpie.
* * * * *
Tuesday came, and the President of this republic shook a pugnacious fist
beneath the German nose. Some impression of the weird suddenness of the
maneuver might have been gathered from the comment of Senator Gruff.
Speaking for the Senate, that sagacious man remarked:
"It came down upon us like a pan of milk from a top shelf!"
In Wall Street the effect was all that Mr. Bayard foretold. Prices began
to melt and dwindle like ice in August. Panic prevailed; three brokerage
firms fell, a dozen more were rocking on their foundations.
In the midst of the hubbub, Senator Hanway sent for Richard. Our
statesman's smile was bland, his brow untroubled.
"You see I do not forget," said Senator Hanway sweetly. "I promised that
I'd give you an exclusive story when the committee on Northern
Consolidated was ready to report. Here is the report, it was finished
last evening; I have added a brief interview to explain it."
Richard's impulse was to ask a dozen questions; he restrained himself
and asked none. Richard was not so fond of fiction as to invite it. He
sent the report and interview to the _Daily Tory_, and dispatched a
private message to Mr. Bayard, giving him the news and congratulating
him on his unerring gifts as a seer.