Parks," said Randolph Mason, taking off his great-coat in the private
office, "who wanted to see me at this unusual hour?"
"He was a Philadelphia man, he said, sir," answered the little
melancholy clerk.
"Well," said Mason, sharply, "did he expect to die before morning that I
should be sent for in the middle of the night?"
"He said that he would leave at six, sir, and must see you as soon as
possible, so I thought I had best send for you."
"He is to be here at ten, you say?"
"At ten, sir," answered the little man, going out into the other office
and closing the door behind him. When the door was closed, Parks went
over to a corner of the room, took up a hackman's overcoat and fur cap,
put them into one of the bookcases and locked the sliding top. Then he
went quietly out of the room and down the steps to the entrance of the
building.
In the private office Randolph Mason walked backward and forward with
his hands in his pockets. He was restless and his eyes were bright.
"Another weakling," he muttered, "making puny efforts to escape from
Fate's trap, or seeking to slip from under some gin set by his fellows.
Surely, the want of resources on the part of the race is utter, is
abysmal. What miserable puppets men are! moved backward and forward in
Fate's games as though they were strung on a wire and had their bellies
filled with sawdust! Yet each one has his problem, and that is the
important matter. In these problems one pits himself against the
mysterious intelligence of Chance,--against the dread cunning and the
fatal patience of Destiny. Ah! these are worthy foemen. The steel grates
when one crosses swords with such mighty fencers."
There was a sound as of men conversing in low tones in the outer office.
Mason stopped short and turned to the door. As he did so, the door was
opened from the outside and a man entered, closed the door behind him,
and remained standing with his back against it.
Randolph Mason looked down at the stranger sharply. The man wore a gray
suit and gray overcoat; he was about twenty-five, of medium height,
with a clean-cut, intelligent face that was peculiar; originally it had
expressed an indulgent character of unusual energy. Now it could not be
read at all. It was simply that silent, immobile mask so sought after by
the high-grade criminal. His face was white, and the perspiration, was
standing out on his forehead, indicating that he was laboring under some
deep and violent emotion. Yet, with all, his manner was composed and
deliberate, and his face gave no sign other than its whiteness; it was
calm and expressionless, as the face of the dead.
Randolph Mason dragged a big chair up to his desk, sat down in his
office chair and pointed to the other. The stranger came and sat down
in the big chair, gripping its arms with his hands, and without
introduction or comment began to talk in a jerky, metallic voice.
"This is all waste of time," he said. "You won't help me. There is no
reason for my being here. I should have had it over by this time, and
yet that would not help her, and she is the only one. It would be the
meanest kind of cowardice to leave her to suffer; and yet I dare not
live to see her suffer, I could not bear that. I love her too much for
that, I----"
"Sir," said Mason, brutally, "this is all irrelevant rant. Come to the
point of your difficulty."
The stranger straightened up and passed his hand across his forehead.
"Yes," he said, "you are right, sir; it is all rant. I forget where I
am. I will be as brief and concise as possible.
"My name is Camden Gerard. I am a gambler by profession. My mother
died when I was about ten years old and my father, then a Philadelphia
lawyer, found himself with two children, myself and my little sister, a
mere baby in arms. He sent me to one of the eastern colleges and put the
baby in a convent. Thus things ran on for perhaps ten or twelve years.
The evil effect of forcing me into a big college at an early age soon
became apparent I came under the influence of a rapid and unscrupulous
class and soon became as rapid and unscrupulous as the worst. I went all
the paces and gradually became an expert college gambler of such high
order that I was able to maintain myself. At about twelve my sister
Marie began to show remarkable talent as an artist and my father,
following her wishes, took her to Paris and placed her in one of the
best art schools of that city. In a short time thereafter my father
died suddenly, and it developed after investigation that he had left no
estate whatever. I sold the books and other personal effects, and found
myself adrift in the world with a few hundred dollars, no business, no
profession, and no visible means of support, and, further, I had this
helpless child to look after.
"I went to supposed friends of my father and asked them to help me into
some business by which I could maintain myself and my little sister.
They promised, but put me off with one excuse after another, until I
finally saw through their hypocrisy and knew that they never intended
to assist me. I felt, indeed, that I was adrift, utterly helpless and
friendless, and the result was, that I resorted to my skill as a gambler
for the purpose of making a livelihood. For a time fortune favored me,
and I lived well, and paid all the college expenses of Marie. I was
proud of the child. She was sweet and lovable, and developing into a
remarkably handsome girl. About two months ago, my luck turned sharply
against me; everything went wrong with long jumps. Night after night
I was beaten. Anybody broke me, even the 'tender-feet,' I gathered
together every dollar possible and struggled against my bad fortune, but
to no purpose. I only lost night after night. In the midst of all, Marie
wrote to me for money to pay her quarterly bills. I replied that I would
send it in a short time. I pawned everything, begged and borrowed and
struggled, and resorted to every trick and resource of my craft; but all
was utterly vain and useless. I was penniless and stranded. On the heels
of it all, I to-day received another letter from Marie, saying that her
bills must be paid by the end of the month, or they would turn her out
into the city."
His voice trembled and the perspiration poured out on his forehead. "You
know what it means for a helpless young girl to be turned out in Paris,"
he went on; "I know, and the thought of it makes me insanely desperate.
Now," said the man, looking Mason squarely in the eyes, "I have told you
all the truth. What am I to do?"
For a time Mason's face took on an air of deep abstraction. "This is
Saturday night," he said, as though talking to himself. "You should
complete it by Friday. There is time enough."
"Young man," he continued, speaking clearly and precisely, "you are to
leave New York for West Virginia to-morrow morning. A messenger boy will
meet you at the train, with a package of papers which I shall send. In
it you will find full instructions and such things as you will need.
These instructions you are to follow to the very letter. Everything will
depend on doing exactly as I say, but," he continued, with positive and
deliberate emphasis, "this must not fail."
The man arose and drew a deep breath. "It will not fail," he said; "I
will do anything to save her from disgrace,--anything." Then he went
out.
At the entrance of the building Parks stepped up and touched the
stranger on the shoulder. "My friend," he said, "I will bring those
papers myself, and I will see that you have sufficient money to carry
this thing through. But remember that I am not to be trifled with. You
are to come here just as soon as you return."