When he awoke eons might have passed. He didn’t know where he was, and
a broad band of sun was streaming across his bed. The wind was blowing
the muslin curtain gaily out like a streamer across the room, and Mrs.
Summers was tapping at the door with crisp, decided knocks, and calling
to him:
“Mr. Murray! Mr. Murray! I’m sorry to have to disturb you, but it’s
getting very late. You ought to be eating your breakfast this minute.
You don’t want to be late the first morning, you know!”
He opened blinded eyes and tried to locate himself. Who in thunder was
Mr. Murray, and why didn’t he want to be late the first morning? Was
that his man calling him? No, it was a woman’s voice. He blinked toward
the window and saw the outlines of a church against the brightness of
the sunny sky, and saw people going down a strange street. He turned
his head on his pillow and closed his eyes. What the dickens did it
matter, anyhow? He was tired and was going to sleep this heaviness off.
He must have been out late the night before. Hitting the pace pretty
hard again! Must be at some club, or one of the fellows took him home.
What was the little old idea, anyhow, trying to wake him up? Couldn’t
they let a fellow sleep till he was ready to wake up?
But the knocking continued, and he was about to tell the person at the
door what he thought of him in most forcible language, when he opened
his eyes again with his face the other way, and saw the old rough coat
he had been wearing for the past three weeks lying across the nice
comfortable chair by the side of the fireplace awaiting him. Then it
all came back to him like a slap in the face.
He sprang to a sitting posture and gazed hurriedly about him, a growing
alarm in his eyes.
“Mr. Murray! Mr. Murray! Are you awake? Breakfast is ready. It’s very
late!” reiterated the pleasant but firm voice. “I’m afraid Mr. Harper
will think--are you almost ready?”
“Oh--I--Why yes, Mrs. Summers,” he answered then, half abashed, with a
growing comprehension in his tone. “Why, yes,” crisply, “I’ll be with
you in just a moment. I’m nearly dressed. I must have overslept--”
Mrs. Summers, relieved, retired from the door, and Murray slid
cautiously from the bed and grasped what garments came to hand, which
proved to be the suit he had worn the night before. He couldn’t go
down in those old togs in broad daylight, of course. He had to make a
getaway the best way possible, now that he had messed all his plans by
falling asleep. Poor old guy, he would miss a suit also, but what’s a
suit of clothes in an emergency!
Murray dressed at lightning speed, giving little time to the brushing
of hair or arrangement of tie, and was soon hurrying down-stairs.
She had his coffee all poured, and there was oat-meal with cream and
pulverized sugar. There was a half a grapefruit too, all cut and ready
for eating, and he was hungry as a bear. Yet in spite of all her talk
about hurrying, she stopped to say that prayer before eating. Queer.
It seemed to be a matter of course, like breathing--a habit that one
couldn’t stop. He almost bungled things by beginning a bite of his
fruit in the middle of it. But she didn’t seem to notice. She was
bringing hot buttered toast and scrambled eggs and wonderful-looking
fried potatoes. He could have hugged her, they all looked so good, and
he had been hungry, hungry, hungry so many days before that!
Then right into the midst of that wonderful breakfast there came
a sharp ring at the door. He became conscious that he had heard a
high-power car drive by and stop, and panic seized upon him. He was
caught at last, caught in his own trap, baited by sleep. What a fool he
had been! He set down his cup of coffee and sprang to his feet, looking
wildly about him.
“I must go!” he murmured vaguely, feeling he must say something to his
hostess.
But she was already on her feet, going swiftly to the door.
“Get your coat and hat,” she said in a low tone as she went. “Too bad,
right in the middle of your breakfast. But he won’t want to wait--”
He dashed toward the stairs, thinking to make his escape out of a
window from above somewhere while the officers entered below, but
almost ran into the arms of Mr. Elliot Harper, smiling and affable,
with extended hand.
“Sorry to have to hurry you the first day,” he said pleasantly, “but
I didn’t think to mention it last night. There’s a conference this
morning, and I thought I’d like to have you attend. I drove around in
the car to pick you up. Don’t let me take you away till you’ve finished
breakfast, however--!”
“Oh, I’ve finished,” said the young man, uneasily glancing up the
stairs, and wondering if his best chance lay up there or through the
kitchen door. He seemed to be always just about to make a dash and
escape. It was amusing when one stopped to think of it, how he got more
and more tangled in a web. Hang it all! If he only hadn’t fallen asleep
last night! If he only could think of a reasonable excuse to get away!
It wouldn’t do to just bolt with this keen-eyed business man watching
him. He was the kind to set the machinery of the law a-moving swiftly.
He must use guile.
“I meant to go back and polish my shoes,” he said deprecatingly. “If
you can wait just a moment--”
“Oh, let that go till we get to the bank!” said the president genially.
“There’s a boy down there just dotes on polishing shoes. Save your
strength and let him do it. This your hat? I’m sorry to hurry you, but
I promised to see a man before the conference, and the time’s getting
short. If you can just as well come now I’ll take it as a favor--”
He went. How could he do otherwise with Mrs. Summers smilingly blocking
the way of escape upstairs, and the determined bank president urging
him toward the door? He would just ride down to the bank. There could
be no danger in that, and then while Harper was seeing his man he would
melt away quietly into the landscape and be seen no more.
He climbed into the luxurious car with a sense of pleasure as of coming
to his own surroundings once more, and rode down the pretty village
street, his companion meanwhile drawing his attention to the buildings
they were passing.
“This is the manse. You’ll like Mr. Harrison, I’m sure. He’s a
marvellous humble-great man. If it weren’t for his humility he’d
be nabbed up by some of the great city churches. Here the senior
elder lives. He has two daughters you’ll meet. Nice girls. One’s
engaged to my nephew. The big stone house on your right belongs to
Earle Atherton, one of our Directors. Made his money in oil. Keen
man. Next is the Stapletons’. Have a son in Harvard. You must have
heard of him in athletics, Norton Stapleton. Fine lad! Good sense
of balance. Comes home every year still unspoiled. Says he’s coming
back to go in business with his dad. Not many like him. Yonder’s the
Farrington-Smiths’. You won’t care for them. The girls all smoke
cigarettes and drink, and the boys are a speedy lot. The town as a
whole disapproves of them. They moved here from the city, but I hear
they don’t care for it, call it dull. They’ll probably invite you.
They are straining a point to get in with our best people, and the
girls are really quite attractive in a dashing, bold sort of way,
but you won’t want to accept. Thought it was just as well to let you
know how the land lies. There! That’s the bank in the distance, that
gray-stone front. We’ve made it on time after all. Now, we’ll go right
in, and I’ll introduce you to the Vice-president. He’ll take you to
our conference room. Mr. Van Lennup, I wrote you about him you know.
He’s immensely pleased at your coming. He was another one who knew your
father, you know. This way. Walk right in this side door!”
There was no escape, though he glanced furtively either way. The street
was full of passers-by, and the sunlight was broad and clear. A man
suddenly dashing away from his companions would excite much attention
in the quiet town. He could not hope to make any possible getaway
that way. He must bide his time and watch for a side door, a by-way
somewhere.
They led him across a marble floor down aisles of mahogany partitions,
through silently swinging doors to an office beyond, where he was
introduced to the Vice-president. They went down a marble hall to an
elevator and shot up several stories to a dim and silent room, with
thick velvet underfoot and a polished table of noble proportions set
about with lordly chairs. He perceived that he was in the inner sanctum
of the Directors of the bank, and when the heavy door swung back with
something like a soft sigh, he felt as if prison walls had closed
behind him.
A young man who had been writing at the table rose, went to the wide
plate-glass window and drew up the shade a little higher. Murray
perceived that the window overlooked the street, and was too many
stories above it to admit of climbing out and escaping that way. He
was evidently in for a Directors’ conference unless there might be a
chance when the others were all coming in for him to slip out as they
entered, and make his way by the stairs to the regions below. Strange,
he hadn’t expected this town was large enough to boast of high office
buildings for their banks. But then he had seen it only in the dark. It
must be larger than he had supposed.
Then the Vice-president shoved forward a chair for him to be seated,
and paralyzed him by remarking:
“They tell me you were in college with Emory Hale, and that you two
went to France together. That’ll be pleasant for both of you, won’t it?
Emory has, I think, decided to remain in Marlborough all winter. He is
doing some intensive study along scientific lines, you know, and thinks
Marlborough’s quiet will be a favorable atmosphere for his work. He’s
going to write a book, you know. Great head he has. By the way, you
knew his father was one of our Directors? He’ll be here this morning.
I met him as I came down. He says Emory wrote home that it had a great
deal to do with his decision for the winter, your being here!”
Murray’s brow grew moist with a cold perspiration, and he sidled over
to the window as his companion turned to greet a newcomer. Perhaps,
after all, the window was his best chance. Perhaps it was the best
thing to risk it. They couldn’t arrest a dead man, could they, even if
they did recognize him? But yet, if he should break both legs, say, and
have to lie in the hospital and have officers visiting him--Hang it
all! However did he get into a scrape like this? All for a row of buns
and cakes! And a foolish girl who thought she recognized him! If he
ever got out of this he would run so far and so fast that nobody would
ever catch up with him again. He would change clothes with the first
beggar whom he met, and chop wood for a living. He would do something
so that he would never again run the risk of being recognized, and
haled back to his home for disgrace.
And then the door opened, and half a dozen clean-shaven
successful-looking men entered, followed almost immediately by several
more, and the conference convened.
He was given a chair at the far side of the table away from both window
and door, and surrounded by strong, able-bodied men, who acknowledged
the introductions to him with pleasant courtesy, and the right hand of
welcome. Before he knew it, he found himself glowing with the warmth
of their friendliness, and his heart aching almost to bursting that he
could not stay and take refuge behind all this genial welcome. If only
he were sure that that bird Allan Murray was dead, really dead so he
could never come to life and turn up inconveniently any old time, he
believed he would chance it. He would take his name and his place and
make a new spot for himself in the world, and try to make something
of himself worth while. A tingle of ambition burned in his veins. It
intrigued him to watch all these business men who seemed so keen about
their part in the work of the world. He had never touched the world
of business much. He had not supposed it would interest him. He found
himself wondering what his superior, sarcastic father would think
of him if he should succeed in business some day and, having made a
fortune, should return home and let him know what he had done. And
then it came to him that even if he did make a new name and fortune he
would never dare return. He would only bring shame and disgrace upon
father and mother, because he was a murderer, and even if they tried
to protect him they would have to do it by hustling him off out of the
world again where he would be safe.
A wave of shame brought the color into his pale face, and he looked
quickly around the group of earnest men to see if any of them had
noticed him, but they were intent upon some knotty discussion that
seemed to have to be decided at once before they could proceed with
the day’s program, and he retired into his own thoughts once more, and
tried to plan an escape to be put into effect as soon as he should
be freed from the zealous watchfulness of these men who thought he
was their new teller. There was that Emory Hale, too, they had talked
about, who was supposed to have been with him in France. He must get
away before he turned up.
Two hours later he thought his moment had come.
They had all just come down in the elevator, and he was about to be
shown to the scene of his new duties. He came out of the elevator last,
and noticed an open door at the end of the hall but a few feet away,
and an alcove with a chair obviously for the comfort of the elevator
boy in seasons of relief. Deftly he swung himself back into this alcove
till the other men had passed and the boy had clashed the steel door
of his car shut and whirled away into the upper regions for another
load. For a brief instant the coast was clear, and he glided to the
doorway and was about to pass out into the sunshine, regardless of the
fact that he was hatless. A second more and he could have drawn a full
breath of relief, dashed around a corner and speeded up till he was
somewhere out of town in the wide-open country.
But in that instant’s passing he came face to face with Jane, smartly
coated and hatted in green, with brown fur around her neck, the color
of her eyes and hair, and unmistakable joy in her eyes.
“Why, Allan Murray!” she cried. “Good-morning! Where are you going
without your hat? You look as if you were running away from school.”
He came to himself with a click in his heart that reminded him of
prison bars and bolts, and stood to salute her.
Somehow he summoned a smile to his ashy lips.
“Not at all,” he answered gaily, glancing back of him at the still
empty hallway. “I was--ah--just looking for the postman.” A door opened
somewhere up the hall, and footsteps came out briskly.
“Excuse me,” he said to the lingering girl, “I must go back. We’re very
busy this morning. I can’t stop!”
He turned and dashed back again, coming suddenly face to face with
Elliot Harper, who surveyed him in a mild surprise.
“Oh, is that you, Murray? I was just going back for you! I must have
missed you somehow.”
“Yes,” said nimble Murray, “I just stepped to the door to get my
bearings! I always like to know how the land lies, that is, the
building I’m in, you know.”
“Well, we’ll go right in now. McCutcheon is ready to show you your
duties. We go through this side door.”
Murray followed him because there was nothing else he dared do, and the
steel gateway swung to with a click behind him as he entered the inner
precincts of the bank proper. And once more he heard dimly the echo of
bolts and bars and approaching prison walls about him. He walked to the
little grated window that was to be his, so cell-like with its heavy
grill, and saw an open drawer with piles of clean money lying ready for
his unskilled hand. He felt almost frightened as he stood and listened,
but he kept his calm exterior. It was part of his noble heritage that
he could be calm under trying circumstances. He was even jaunty with a
feeble joke upon his mobile lips and a pleasant grin toward the man who
was endeavoring to teach him what he had to do. The trouble was the man
seemed to take it for granted that he already knew a great deal about
the matter, and he had to assent and act as if he did. Here he was,
a new man, new name, new station, new portion in life. Yet the odds
were so against him, the chances so great that he would soon be caught
and put under lock and key for an impostor, that he would have given
anything just then even to be back riding on the trucks of the freight
train, and dodging policemen at every turn of his way.