IN WHICH THE BRIGHT EYES OF CONSTANCE "RAIN INFLUENCE"
There being no cozy corners aboard Mr. Courtney's snow-white Albatross
in which a couple with many important things to say could be free from
prying observation, Johnny and Constance behaved like normal human
beings who were profoundly happy. They mingled with the gaiety all the
way out through the harbor to the open sea, and then they drifted
unconsciously farther and farther to the edge of the hilarity, until
they found themselves sitting in the very prow of the foredeck with Mr.
Courtney and his friend from the West. If they could not exchange
important confidences they could at least sit very quietly, touching
elbows.
Mr. Courtney's friend from the West was a strong old man with keen blue
eyes, who sat all through the afternoon in the same place, talking in
low tones with Courtney on such dry and interminable subjects as
railroads, mines, freight rates, stocks, bonds and board meetings.
Constance wondered how an otherwise nice old man could reach that age
without having accumulated any lighter and more comprehensible objects
of interest, and she really doubted the possibility of any man's
understanding all the dry-as-dust business statistics with which he was
so handy. Suddenly, however, Johnny Gamble awoke from his blissful
lethargy and bent eagerly forward.
"Beg pardon, Mr. Boise," he interjected into the peaceful
conversational flow of the older men. "Did I understand you to say that
the S. W. & P. had secured a controlling interest in the B. F. & N. W.?"
Constance looked at Johnny in dismay. If he, too, intended to talk in
nothing but the oral sign language, she had a wild idea of joining the
frivolous crowd on the afterdeck, where at least there was laughter.
Mr. Boise looked at Johnny from under shaggy eyebrows.
"It's not generally known," he stated, struggling between a desire to
be pleasant to a fellow guest and a regret that he had fancied Johnny
absorbed too much in Constance to be interested in sotto voce affairs.
"That's what that territory needs," Johnny briskly commented. "As long
as the S. W. & P. and the B. F. & N. W. were scrapping, the Sancho
Hills Basin had as good service with burros."
Both Boise and Courtney laughed.
"Be careful, Johnny," warned Courtney. "Mr. Boise is president of the
S. W. & P., and is now also virtually president of the B. F. & N. W."
Constance sighed, but stuck gamely to her post. After all Johnny was
having a good time, and he actually seemed to understand what they were
talking about. There was no question that Johnny was a smart man!
"I'm glad he is president of both," said Johnny, "for with
consolidation things will start humming out there."
"Thank you," laughed Boise, no longer regarding Johnny as an
impertinent interloper. "That's what we hope to do."
"The first thing you'll start will be a cut right across the Sancho
Hills Basin, which will shorten your haul to Puget Sound by five
hundred miles and open up a lot of rich new land."
Boise studied him with contracted brows.
"That's a good guess," he admitted. "You seem to know a lot about that
country."
"I own some land out there," grinned Johnny. "Your best route will be
from Marble Bluffs to Sage City, and from there straight across to Salt
Pool, then up along the Buffalo Canon to Silver Ledge and on to the
main line."
"That's one of the three routes I've been worrying over," agreed Boise,
admiring Johnny's frankness. "I promised to wire my chief engineer
to-morrow which one to put through."
Constance noticed a slight squaring of Johnny's lower lip, and she felt
leaping within her a sudden intense interest in S. W. & P. and B. F. &
N. W.
"What are the others?" asked Johnny.
Mr. Boise promptly drew a canvas-backed map from his pocket. Mr.
Courtney reached for a folding deck chair. Constance helped Mr. Boise
spread out the map. Johnny weighted down the corners with a cigar-case,
a watch, a pocket-knife and a silver dollar.
"The favorite route at present," pointed out Boise, "is from Marble
Bluffs round by Lariat Center, across to Buffalo Canyon and up to
Silver Ledge. The other one is right through Eagle Pass."
"That one won't do at all," declared Johnny earnestly.
"It's the shortest," insisted Boise.
"You'd have to tunnel through solid granite," objected Johnny, "and the
only traffic you would pick up would be from two or three dead mining
towns. In the Sage City and Salt Pool route you would open up a big,
rich, farming territory."
"That route is the one I have practically discarded," said Boise.
"Right through here," and he put a broad forefinger on the map, "is a
large stretch of worthless arid land."
"Yes, I know," admitted Johnny, hitching closer, "but right here"--and
he pointed to another place--"is Blue Lake, and with very simple
engineering work, which has been begun, it could be brought down to
turn that whole district into land rich enough to load your cars with
wheat, corn and cattle. Just now that water wastes itself through
Buffalo Canyon and doesn't do a pound of work until it hits the big
river."
Mr. Boise studied the map reflectively. Mr. Courtney studied it
interestedly. Johnny studied it eagerly. Constance, with her hands
folded in her lap, looked on with puzzled wonder.
"Why, there's the S. W. & P.!" she exclaimed, as she discovered the
letters along a graceful black line.
"And here," supplemented the smiling Courtney, "is the B. F. & N. W.!"
"I see," returned Constance delightedly. "They're both railroads! They
run up into Washington and Oregon, but the S. W. & P. has to go away
round this big pink spot. If it cuts right across there it can go to
Washington much quicker. Why, I should think by all means that the
route by way of Sage City and Salt Pool would be the best!"
Mr. Boise surveyed her with joyous eyes and chuckled until his breast
heaved. "It might be," he admitted with a friendly glance at Johnny.
"One big advantage," urged Johnny, "is that it would be an all-level
route, with solid ground and but very little grading," and he plunged
with breathless energy into the task of convincing Mr. Boise that the
Sage City and Salt Pool route was the only feasible one.
They discussed that topic for two solid hours, but before the first
thirty minutes had elapsed Johnny had unconsciously reached over into
Constance's lap and had taken one of her hands. There seemed to be
nothing in particular that she could do about it, so she let him keep
it, and he used it occasionally to gesture with. What difference did it
make if Courtney and Boise did smile about it at first?
When the railroad party had been dispersed by Winnie--who had
constituted herself rigid master of the revels--Constance and Johnny
found themselves tete-a-tete up in the prow for just a tiny moment.
"Do you suppose he'll decide on the Sage City and Salt Pool route?" she
anxiously inquired.
"I hope so," declared Johnny. "If he does, I think I see a chance to
make a little money."
"Maybe we'd better talk some more with him," she suggested, looking
about for Boise.
"We'll let him alone for a little bit," laughed Johnny. "We've started
him to thinking about it, and I have that appointment with him at
eight-thirty to-morrow morning. Boise does a day's work before lunch."
Later, in the bustle of preparing for dinner, Boise sat down by
Constance.
"Are you still in favor of the Sage City and Salt Pool route for our
new cut-off?" he asked with a smile as he inspected her delicately
flushed cheeks and her bright eyes and her shining wavy hair.
"Really, I don't know very much about it," she modestly confessed, "but
I should think that an all-level route would be much the best."
At the pier that night at twelve-thirty the party, on account of the
lateness of the hour, very hurriedly dispersed. Johnny and Loring
secured a taxi and, with Polly and Constance, headed for Polly's house
where Constance had decided to spend the night.
As they crossed Seventh Avenue Johnny excitedly tapped on the glass in
front of him and poking his head out through the other forward window,
gave a sharp direction. The driver, a knobby-jawed and hairy-browed
individual, turned and tore down toward the big new terminal station as
fast as he could go.
"Gresham," explained Johnny briefly, peering keenly ahead.
"Well, what about him?" inquired Loring.
"He's jumping the town. I don't trust my detectives."
"Have you secured some proof?" eagerly inquired Loring.
"No, only evidence," laughed Johnny at his lawyer, and for the rest of
that brief ride neither the breathless girls nor the concentrated men
said anything. They only held tensely forward and helped hurry.
There were three taxis preceding them in the congested line which
turned in at the terminal station, and as the vehicles began to slow
down Johnny stood on the step.
"If I get in a mix-up you keep this taxi right round where it'll be
handy," he directed, and ran ahead just as Gresham, as fastidious as
ever, emerged at the entrance to the ticket lobby.
Gresham allowed a porter to take all of his hand luggage, with the
exception of one small black bag which he carefully carried himself.
"I guess these are those," observed Johnny in a pleasant conversational
tone of voice as he lifted the bag from Gresham's hand.
Gresham made a desperate grab for the bag, but Johnny gave him a shove
with one strong forearm, opened the bag and, diving into it, felt a
tight square bundle of papers near the bottom. Giving them one hasty
glance he rushed back, closely followed by Gresham, to the taxi where
his friends sat quivering with excitement.
"Hide these," he ordered. "Get out of here, quick!" he told the
chauffeur. "Mr. Loring will tell you where to drive."
"They're hid all right," Polly assured him. "What are they?"
"Amalgamated Steel bonds representing Gresham's half of my million,"
rasped Johnny, throwing Gresham's weight off his arm. "Ask me the rest
of it the next time we meet. Just now I have to see to getting this
thief pinched."
"As your attorney I'll have to caution you, Johnny, that your action is
entirely illegal," Loring confidentially stated.
"They're my bonds, bought with my money," asserted Johnny.
"I know, but it has to be proved," argued Loring. "Your only way to get
possession of them is through the courts. Your present action has no
better legal status than highway robbery."
"I got the bonds, didn't I?" demanded Johnny. "Now you move. Here comes
a copper, and if he gets those bonds for evidence I won't see them
again for months."
A policeman appeared in the exact center of the perspective, followed
by a faithful emissary of the Ember Detective Agency.
"The bonds are no good to you just now unless Gresham assigns them,"
insisted Loring almost tearfully, and both Constance and Polly gave up
in despair.
"That's right," agreed Johnny, glancing over his shoulder at the
policeman and the indignant detective. Suddenly he pushed Gresham
headlong into the midst of the party and jumped in after him. "Hold
him, Loring!" he directed, and dismissed the stupefied Gresham from his
mind.
With remarkable deftness he had extracted a single bill from his pocket
and thrust it into the hand of the experienced chauffeur.
"Break the limit!" he tensely ordered.
"Where?" asked the chauffeur, whirling out of the line with a jerk.
"Any place," and the chauffeur, being a night worker and understanding
his business, accepted that direction with grinning relish and left the
depot policeman trying to remember the number of his machine.
As they went up the incline from the ticket-lobby door Johnny arranged
the bewildered girls on the two little front seats, and wedged the
cowed Gresham carefully in between himself and Loring on the back seat.
The chauffeur, knowing the only regular time-killing drive in the city,
hit out for Central Park. Gresham was incapable of thought or action.
As they crossed Forty-second Street Johnny touched his driver on the
shoulder, and that handy criminal came to an immediate halt at the
curb. Johnny opened the door. Gresham moved. Loring quickly clutched
him by the knee. The chauffeur looked back.
"Leave it to me," he suggested in most friendly tones. "You don't need
to change taxis."
"I'd feel more like a real sport if I hired two," Johnny argued,
studying his man intently.
"I've got two numbers and I'll switch 'em," offered the assistant
brigand.
"I think the police must know you by name," commented Johnny, "but I'll
take a chance," and giving Polly's address he climbed back.
"Shall we hide the bonds?" whispered Polly as she prepared to alight at
the Parsons home.
"Certainly not," replied Johnny. "I have to get them signed," and he
pressed the hand of Constance with proper warmth as he helped her out.
Gresham made an attempt at that point to prove himself a man, but
Loring restrained him from that absurd idea with one hand while he
raised his hat with the other.
"Where next?" asked the driver huskily.
"The finest place for a kidnapping is Forty-second and Broadway,"
answered Johnny with his mind made up.
"I'll take you all the way," almost begged the chauffeur. "You're the
only sport that ever handed me enough for a night ride, and I'd like to
hand you good service."
"I don't know who else pays you," laughed Johnny, and his chauffeur,
with a mighty respect for his fare, drove to Forty-second and Broadway,
where Johnny paid him.
They walked to Johnny's apartments, and on their arrival Johnny
produced the bonds, spreading them out on his table.
"About the first thing is to sign these," he suggested to Gresham.
That abused young man, who had been in the constant expectation of
hearing himself yell for the police, but had been as constantly
disappointed, had walked along like a gentleman; now, at last, he found
his voice.
"This is an outrage!" he exclaimed.
"I know it," agreed Johnny. "It's even high-handed. Here's a
fountain-pen."
"I refuse," maintained Gresham. "Why should I assign my own personal
property to you?"
"Because your personal property is mine," Johnny informed him. "I don't
owe you any explanation, Gresham, but I'll make one. You helped
Birchard forge his power of attorney from the Wobbles brothers, and you
were with him in taxi 23406 when he collected my million from the First
National. You were seen again that night with Birchard on the Boston
Post Road, and from then on Birchard dropped off the earth; but you
didn't. You got Jacobs to buy you these bonds, and Jacobs is a piker.
He confessed and begged for mercy. You're through."
Gresham held doggedly to the thought that never, under any
circumstances, must he admit a criminal action; for such a thing was so
far beneath him.
"I deny everything that you have said," he declared.
Johnny had a sudden frantic picture of this man touching the hand of
Constance, and he leaned across the table until his face was quite
close to Gresham's. The muscles in his jaws grew uncomfortably nervous.
"Did you ever hear of the third degree?" he inquired. "Well, I'm going
to put you through it."
"The third degree?" faltered Gresham. "I don't quite understand what
you mean."
"You don't?" replied Johnny. "It begins this way"--and the watchful
Loring suddenly hung on Johnny's arm with his full weight.
"Don't!" implored Loring.
"I'm going to smash his head in!" husked Johnny, quivering with an
anger to which he had not given way for years.
"Wait a minute!" pleaded Loring, pulling on him with all his strength.
"Wait, I say! I want to help you, but you're in wrong. Listen to
me"--and he drew his reluctant client away from the table. "I've no
objections to your thrashing Gresham and I'd like to be your proxy, but
you'd better put it off. If you compel Gresham by force to sign these
bonds he can repudiate that action under protection of the court and it
will work against you."
Johnny Gamble controlled himself with an effort.
"They're my bonds," he persisted with his thoughts, however, more on
Constance than on business. "He'll sign them or I'll smash him."
Gresham, speaking above his panic of physical cowardice with a
tremulous effort, interpolated himself into the argument.
"I'll sign," he promised with stiff lips, and tried to write his name
on the cover of a magazine. The scrawl was so undecipherable that he
rose from the table and walked up and down the room in acute distress,
holding his right hand at the wrist and limbering it. "If I sign," he
presently bargained as he came to the table, "I must be promised
freedom from the distaste of a personal encounter."
Loring hastily complied, and Johnny, after having been prodded into a
recognition of the true situation, agreed with a disgusted snarl.
Gresham, with nerves much restored and a smile beginning to appear upon
his now oily features, carefully assigned each bond, and then, secure
in Johnny's promise, which he accepted at the par value all men gave
it, stood up and shook his finger warningly.
"A signature obtained under coercion is not worth the ink it took to
scrawl it," he triumphantly declared, having taken his cue from Loring.
"Any court in America will set aside this action."
"I know it," Johnny unexpectedly coincided. "I'm going to give you a
chance at it," and grabbing his telephone he called up Central Police
and asked for an officer to be sent to his rooms.
"Now, Loring, you disappear," directed Johnny briskly as he gathered up
the bonds. "I may have to dismiss you as my lawyer, but as my friend
you can hand these bonds to somebody who will lose them."
"As your lawyer I'd have to call you a blooming idiot," declared
Loring, "but as your friend I don't think Gresham will raise any
question about the bonds. They're yours, Johnny; but, nevertheless,
I'll forget where they are by the time the police come."
Gresham had been struggling with an intolerable lump in his throat.
"Gamble!" he abjectly pleaded, "I've signed the bonds. I admit that
they're yours. You're not going to have me arrested?"
Johnny turned on him with the sort of implacable enmity which expresses
itself in almost breathless quietness.
"I'm going to send you to the penitentiary for a thousand years," he
promised.